#and i love getting to draw hooked noses i love hooked noses and broken noses. yes I'm biased (i.e have a bumpy nose). I'm proud

[pseudowho]

Behind the Wall

Who was this stressed, suited man...and how could you love him so easily?

A Nanami Kento glory hole story.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Corporate!Nanami (before return to sorcery), falling in love with a stranger, hand jobs, blowjobs, fingering, excessive cum, creampie, anonymous PiV sex, tiny bit angsty if you squint

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"How much do they pay you here?" A deep voice, smooth, but rusted with whiskey and smoke.

Your eyebrows raised spontaneously; kneeling down behind your black screen and hole, you didn't necessarily expect the small-talk with your clients to be romantic, but such business-like enquiries did not suit the tone, either.

Regardless, you would accept almost any pay, to find somewhere clear of the monsters that plagued you; the monsters that had chased you from job after job after job. None had followed you here tonight, it seemed, so you answered, trying to sound light-hearted.

"About industry average, I think."

A huff, the man's voice now bitter; "After they skim the majority off for themselves after your hard work, though."

You shrugged, as if he could see. He hadn't even begun to hook his cock out yet, so all you could see was a pair of lean, long legs in a black pinstripe suit. You found yourself tickled by your interaction beginning with anti-Capitalist outrage, and you quipped.

"Great pension plan, though."

"I somehow doubt that."

You laughed, musical and sweet, and were satisfied to hear another huff, the barest hint of laughter from your stranger, before his voice toned lower, his words for your ears and yours alone.

"Well...though I'm sure you deserve better than this place, I'll make it worth your while. I have to get back to work, and I'm sure you have bills to pay."

Beautifully veined, thick, long hands had begun to undo his belt, and you felt a strange thrill of excitement that you didn't feel with the other men. He sighed, unzipping, hooking out a long, thick, pretty cock that looked painfully hard and weeping pre-cum.

"I can't concentrate like this, I'll just...get this poison out and then I can focus."

He sounded almost apologetic, his words dripping with loathing in a way that made you frown. You reached one finger out through your hole, beckoning, tender as you whispered.

"Well, I can help with that."

Your stranger had grasped his cock to direct it through your glory hole, but hesitated at your tone, as if the tenderness you gave him was an odd specimen, requiring examination before he could accept it.

The tip of his cock, pink and full, nudged against your cheek and nose as it pressed through the hole. You heard your suited stranger hiss and shudder. You couldn't help but be impressed by your stranger's size, spitting onto the tip before beginning to stroke him in long, languid, practiced strokes.

"How do you hide this beast when you get a boner at work--"

A huff again, almost amused, drawing out into a ragged, needy groan. His fingertips pressed on the board on the other side, white-knuckled, his voice straining as he tried to speak past the pleasure of your pumping hand.

"--sit-- sit at my desk...hoping it'll go away-- fuck, you're good...just help me, please...pay you well, just-- just get it out and I'll head back--"

Your suited man groaned again, deep and fractured as your hand picked up its pace. When you spat on his tip again, your lips ghosting against him, he bucked involuntarily, cursing and apologising under his breath. When you drew the flat of your tongue across his slit to taste the salty pre-cum there, he almost whimpered with divine agony.

You felt a squirm of pleasure in your belly, sure that his beautiful voice alone could form the soundtrack you could orgasm to, night after night.

"You sound like you should have a girlfriend to help you with this." You bit your lip, satisfied to hear how his cool, bored tone had broken into something altogether more desperate.

"--sh-shit, u-ungh...any woman deserves better...better than anything I can offer-- f-fuck, I'm close already--"

You felt it; his balls were too big to fit through the hole alongside his cock, and they looked heavy, aching, his body struggling to draw them up as your suited man threatened to spill in your hand after a single flat minute. You whispered to him, soft in a way that offered him an intimacy he was clearly desperately lacking.

"Stop hating yourself when you should be coming in my hand, big guy."

When his knees buckled against your wall at you cuffing the base of his cock with your other hand, making the veins stand proud, you knew he was crumbling.

"--a-agghh fuck-- come too hard if you-- if you keep that up...shit, like a cock ring, I..."

You hoped that when he came, some of his abject self-loathing would pour away, too. His groans were rapidly turning into short little growls, the screen shaking as he bucked into your fist with such desperate force.

"--f-fuck, good girl, perfect...unnnhhh, perfect...shit, I'm...I'm..."

"God, you really do need thi--"

Your voice broke off with a squeak to feel a veritable fountain of cum spurt over your face, stripe after stripe of thick white release spattering over your cheeks, flooding down your hand and chest.

"O-oh-- wow--"

Your mouth dropped open in shock as your suited man grunted and cursed through his orgasm, his balls heavy and twitching, and you tasted a drip of his seed trickle down your nose and onto your tongue. Musty, sweet; nothing like its thickness would suggest.

His cock twitched for what seemed like an eternity in your hand, as you stroked him down from his peak, so covered in cum that you considered you may have to call it a night to go home and shower. As his groans faded, his voice ragged, you felt the guilt and shame radiate off him in waves.

"Shit, that was...ugh, I'm sorry. It's disgusting, I'm sure."

"It's absolutely not. I'm just...wow. Do you always come that much?"

A pause, guilty again as his voice rumbled; "...yes."

You laughed, and his cock twitched in your hand. He chuckled, warm and gravelly, when you pressed a cleaning wipe out through the hole.

"See you soon?" You asked, strangely hopeful.

"Not soon enough." He answered, soft in a way that surprised himself. His voice dropped an octave as a roll of bills pressed through the hole to you. "Here...keep it quiet. They're taking advantage of you."

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You were prepared, the second time your suited stranger visited. Having required an early finish and a shower two nights before, covered with an obscene amount of cum, you blushed to recall that you brought your vibrator to the shower with you, climaxing against the wall to the memory of his velvety voice.

You hoped he couldn't hear the faint buzzing between your legs on your side of the wall. You squirmed, muffling a moan around his cock head as you prepped him, your lips stretched and glossy with pre-cum.

"-h-haaaah, god, you...you're wasted here-- feel so pathetic-- no stamina with...with a mouth like that around me-- o-oohhh...fuck..."

You released him with a wet little pop, feeling your own pleasure building with the insistent buzz against your aching clit. He seemed just as happy to have your hand, and you admired the little neat trail of honey-blond pubes at the base of your fist as he fucked into it.

"Yeah, well...you're wasted too, at that company, by the sounds of it."

"Mmm...feels like what I deserve--"

You cut him off with a tongue to the underside of his cock, his voice fracturing into growled curses and hungry moans again.

"I already told you, if you talk about yourself like that again, I'll make you come faster--"

A breathless, rumbling laugh; "You're a monster."

You whispered, your breath ghosting against his cock head just enough to make him shudder; "Plenty of monsters in this world, beautiful man...but not me."

Your suited man stopped arguing with you, losing himself instead in the way your mouth, hot and suckling and eager, drew him in deeper with every bob of your head. The gasping, husky cry he made when his tip curved round the back of your throat, sent a burst of pleasure through you that had you humping your vibrator involuntarily.

Between his gasps, his vision fizzling with pleasure, you heard him hesitate, his voice barely above a whisper; "What's...that buzzing noise, I-- do you have...back there, are you--"

Barely pulling back, approaching the climax you tried to muffle as you pumped his base with your hand, you moaned, sweet and sinful around his cock head; "B-brought my vibrator...hope you don't mind--"

"Oh-- fuck-- FUCK--"

You squeaked, your orgasm muffled by the cum that flooded your mouth and tongue. As your pleasure threatened to make you convulse, you pushed forwards instead to take the rest of what he offered down your throat, and you lost sight and sound for an indeterminate amount of time, blinded and deafened by thigh-trembling ecstasy.

Swallowing, gasping, and fumbling a hand in your underwear to pull the vibrator off your overstimulated clit, you babbled at him, apologetic.

"S-sorry, hard to--to get guys off sometimes-- without a bit of a hit myself--"

"Fuck, don't talk about other guys when you just came with my cock down your throat."

You giggled, breathless, hearing your suited man pant as he came down from his high. When he removed his cock from the hole, a long, beautifully crafted thumb and forefinger reached hesitantly through instead, and gently pinched your chin.

You pressed a lingering, affectionate kiss to the pad of his thumb as it swiped over your lower lip, and you felt your heart thud to hear such a delighted, satisfied hum from him. He opened the palm of his hand, surreptitious, and your stomach twisted to see an even thicker roll of bills than before.

"...you don't...don't have to--"

"I want to, I...I meant it when I said you're wasted here. They're monsters. Animals."

You took the money with a heavy heart, pressing another kiss to his palm, and leaving your whispers there with it;

"Scarier monsters than them in the world."

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A black dog hunted your suited man, the next time he came to you. You felt it snapping at his heels, and when your stranger approached, it was to sit with his back against your wall, instead. You saw the briefest flash of a thick, corded neck, broad shoulders, a neat blond undercut. He was quiet for a few minutes, before you spoke, soft.

"...hey, you. I missed you last night."

He scoffed as if he didn't believe you, and you reached a hand through, poking him briskly on the shoulder.

"I mean it." Another pause, and you swallowed. "Do you...did you want to...?"

"I...I just want to talk. I'll still pay."

"I'd talk to you for free."

A further silence from him, your warmth a balm for his fractious self-loathing. His next words hung heavy with the weight of the world.

"When will we rest, do you think? When will it end?"

Your eyelids fluttered, looking down in thought. Your fingers stroked over the pad of his suited shoulder. You thought of how you'd been late to your gloryhole, that evening, your usual path blocked by some stop-motion atrocity, an eldritch horror only you could see, and you swallowed hard.

"...I don't know. It doesn't feel like it ever will."

A soft sigh, his voice rich and smoky; "I hesitate to ask what your particular burdens are, to have led you to a pit like this."

You felt tears prickle on your lashes. Taking a deep breath, and tippy-tapping your fingers on his shoulder, you tried to remain upbeat against the rising tide of misery.

"H-hey, it's not all bad. I got to meet you, after all."

"If that's your greatest joy, I pity you."

You winced. Your suited man jumped, when your hand gripped his shoulder with beseeching fervour, his own hand slowly coming up to overlay yours, dwarfing it in his palm. He tensed, unsure. When you spoke it was with the certainty that he needed to understand you.

"Get your tie off, and tie it around your eyes."

He was silent, stunned, his voice brittle as he replied; "...excuse me?"

"Just do it. Blindfold yourself. Then come here."

A moment of hesitation again...then a groan, surely older than he was, as he moved. You heard the silken friction of his tie being undone. You felt the anxious tension radiating off him, and you closed your eyes, eager not to ruin this mystery for yourself.

"Alright...if you insist."

When his voice sounded again, you felt his breath across your lips, inches from each other at the hole in the wall. You raised your hand up, feeling his shudder as your fingertips examined his face as though you were examining a sculpture; and, a sculpture he could have been, with high cheekbones, a thick squared jaw, narrow soft lips. You smiled, your eyes still closed.

"You're too handsome to leave here without a kiss."

Your suited man was silent, but you felt his breath hitch and his heart stutter.

When you finally pressed your lips to his, he moaned with ecstasy, just as he did when you pressed your lips to his erection. Though you took the lead initially, with your lips softly parting his until you could taste him, your permission imbued him with a bravery and confidence he hadn't revealed to you before.

He took charge, and kissed you like a man starved, his evening stubble rasping across your chin, nose against nose. His tongue trailed with a rusty shiver over your lips.

"F-fuck...you taste good...I-- ungh..."

He broke off to you biting his lower lip softly between your teeth, drawing him back in until your lips melded closely enough for you to suckle on the tip of his tongue. He moaned again, desperate and stuttering in his chest. You heard the brush of his palms pressing against the other side of the wall, desperate to cup your face and tilt his kisses down your throat.

Your mingling breaths tasted sweet, so indescribably erotic in its simple intimacy as you pulled away. You fought against the desire to open your eyes, instead biting your own lip, your brow furrowed against your own stupid decision. You whispered, to a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, from your suited man.

"And I'd do that for free, too."

It was the most he had ever paid you, that night, for the simple intimacy of a conversation and a kiss.

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Not a single solitary man visited your gloryhole the next night. You fizzled with worry, as man after man appeared to loiter near you, before choosing someone else; anyone else. It didn't make sense-- even your regulars would be heard mumbling nearby before walking away from you.

You felt a clench of worry; the managers would still pay you, you were sure...but not if it continued.

You felt almost lightheaded with relief and something deeper, when a familiar voice graced your wall near the end of your shift.

"Are you lonely, in there?"

You felt a frisson of joy, and you knelt upright, grinning, your heart fluttering.

"Not anymore."

There was a momentary pause, and you felt the words that your suited stranger wanted to say, stuck, gated by his teeth. Eventually, when he spoke, it was strained, as if fearful of damaging the sprouting intimacy between you both.

"I've...been thinking a lot, recently. About what's fair."

You blinked, unsure, but answered anyway. "Oh?"

"It's not fair that I have to do a worthless job for people I hate, just to earn enough money to retire young. It's not fair that you're here, selling your body to make a living. It's...its not fair that it's only me being pleasured."

You swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks, feeling him err against what he wanted to say, and he continued.

"I...would like to do something for you. For...for both of us. At the next window."

Oh. The next window. The curtained table, upon which you could lie your lower half, for a man to use the deepest parts of you for his own pleasure. If any other man-- any other man, had asked this if you, you were sure you'd have hated yourself for it. And yet...

"I...I've never done...that."

"I'm...I'm glad, I...I hate myself. For using you, and how other men would use you, and I'd like...to give you better. To treat you as you deserve. God knows, I'd like to tell you to walk away from this shit hole altogether but that's ignorant of me, so I...just for tonight, I--"

"Okay."

You almost clapped your hands over your mouth, your acquiescence so natural that it shocked you. Your suited man seemed surprised, too, and you could almost smell the thudding scent of testosterone from his body as it readied itself for the primal promise of spilling inside your core.

"Yes? You...are you sure?"

"Never been more sure of anything in my life, actually. I...I'll come round."

"Fuck, I...I'll be waiting. Nobody else can-- fuck."

You stood on shaky legs, suddenly self-conscious. Arriving at the table, you took a deep, trembling breath, before starting to strip. You heard heavy, pacing footsteps; more mumbling; a snapped, deep, possessive response.

"This one is mine."

You bit your lip, muffling a laugh at your suited man's immediate dismissal. By the skittish footsteps of the rebuffed other man, your suited stranger was not one that other men would choose to fight. You spoke up, your voice smaller than usual.

"Alright, here...here I come."

Reverent silence hung in the air, as fine as spun gold, when you finished moving your bare lower half down the table. Self-conscious, with your hands pressed over your face in blushing mortification, your thighs and knees remained clamped together.

You heard slow, deliberate footsteps towards your body, as if your suited man had forgotten how to walk. His voice spilled forth, full of sighs.

"Exquisite, I...god, I don't deserve this."

You could have cried for him. Sick of his apparent self loathing, you stretched one foot out until your toes pressed against rock solid abs beneath a pressed, twill shirt. You felt another blush rock your system, not expecting your suited man to be quite so buff.

A large, warm hand grasped your foot, stroking up your arch, your ankle, your calf, and settling with a squeeze behind your knee. When his other hand began to mirror the first, both of your knees now bent and pressed together in his grasp, you heard him whisper as he held you.

"I'll cover you," he promised, ragged with need, "with my body, I...I'll keep you hidden. Keep you safe."

"Thank you."

"Do you trust me?"

"One hundred percent."

A pleased rumble. "Good girl."

Softly, tenderly, two great hands stroked up the sides of your thighs, gliding around your hips with his shuddering groan. Your suited man's hands felt like liquid sex, turning every patch of skin he touched into an erogenous zone.

By the time his thumbs had begun to trace up and down, up and down the V shaped creases of your mound, you squirmed in his grasp, heat pooling in your belly. He chuckled, his thumbs stretching up to massage circles on your lower belly, warming you before he filled you.

"Does that feel good?"

"So good," you whispered, struggling to remain bashful with his obvious adoration.

This warm-palmed massage, from belly, to V, to thighs, to hips, and back again, melted you. Your thighs began to part, your code cracked, without you even noticing. When he settled his hips between your thighs, you moaned involuntarily, and felt his mouth, familiar only to your lips, begin to trail kisses along your ribs, your breasts hidden by a thin black curtain.

He appeared to resist temptation, nipping along the marks left by your bra beneath your breasts. Though outwardly calm, his hands grew ever tighter, shockingly strong and needy on your hips, and you could feel how ragged his breaths were against the soft wet suckling marks left by his mouth.

You had never felt so worshipped, and your suited man seemed determined to know you before he buried himself inside you. The only natural response to those strong hands beginning to creep up the inside of your thighs, was to offer him the treasure he sought, by opening your thighs completely to him.

"Please, can I...make you come on my fingers?"

At this point, you'd have to beg him not to stop if you opened your mouth, and instead locked your thighs around his hips so he couldn't escape. That deep chuckle again, this time against your sternum, and he kissed you in reward.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

"I won't, I-- o-oooh...my...haaaah..."

His fingers, wet with his spit, had slid between your folds, two of them teasing around your entrance while his thumb circled with blissful ease around your clit.

Utterly unafraid of playing you like an instrument, he massaged your little bud until the noises you made were to his liking. You whimpered to feel the insistent press of his two thick fingers, and his murmured growls, add to the fold.

"Fuck, you're...perfect. Get you ready...or I won't fit...fuck..."

Within seconds, he had found your spongy soft spot, turning your moans guttural, making love to you with his fingers before he took you. Your suited man was certainly no boy, responding to every moan, and every whimper, with the surety needed to take you to orgasm.

Only the tenting press of his cock, harder than ever against your inner thigh, gave away how well he was controlling himself for your sake. Already at the edge, you tumbled into completion when one beautiful, fine boned hand slipped under the curtain to cup your breast, to the tune of his hushed curses.

"Come for me, my love."

As if he hadn't noticed you were already arching, mewling, and fucking yourself down on his fingers, halfway through your peak. He stroked your inner walls as if to comfort you, shushing you, soothing, until your quivering pussy stilled around him. You heard the clink of his belt, your head spinning to remember that the best was still yet to come.

"Beautiful girl...sound so pretty when you come. I...I'll pull out--"

"--don't you dare."

The strangled noise that left him, and the way you felt a spurt of pre-cum spill onto your belly, signalled a farewell to his restraint. You squeaked to feel him bracket two thick, strong arms beneath your thighs, bracing you for the way he was about to take you.

Jolting into place, his cockhead nuzzled between your folds. He appeared to be needing nothing but ragged, shallow thrusts to pleasure himself against your oversensitive clit, his lovely voice speaking as if to himself before notching at your entrance.

"--s-so long, it's been...been so long...worth the wait, for you, though, sh-shit...augh..."

He entered you with one deep, smooth press, shushing you again with a tender grasp, and little shallow rocks to kiss his tip against your cervix. He felt absolutely enormous, squeezing himself into you until every little ridge within you shaped to him, hot and wet. You babbled, your words shooting through him like knives.

"--oh m-my god you feel so good so so good so big-- barely fits, o-ooohh--"

When you gasped with the sudden fullness, one of your hands flew down past the curtain to hold your lower belly, and something in your suited man snapped. He laid one hand over yours, pressing it down hard on your belly, before cursing a half-hearted apology, and taking you with the desperation of a man possessed.

Three strokes, deeper, and deeper, and deeper, sent him roaring into a frenetic pace. Your hand clasping your lower belly had sent him spiralling. If his other hand hadn't held your hip so tightly, you'd have been fucked up the table.

And despite the mind-numbing force of his thrusts, you still, with every scrap of you, knew that he was making love to you, and not just fucking you. It made no difference, in the end, your voice growing in volume until it was nothing more than whimpered, mewling cries, only wishing you could have a name upon your tongue instead.

Stilted with the force of his thrusts, he blessed you with it.

"Say...say my name..."

"I will I will just give it to me gimme your name--"

"Kento--"

"--o-ooohh, f-fuck, Kento, harder--"

The cry that left his chest was visceral, animalistic, wrenched out of him with the same sudden finality as his orgasm. You felt him fold over you, his hands gripping your ribcage, his cock jolting and twitching within you as the heavy, obscenely long ejaculation that you knew so well, filled your pussy instead of your mouth.

"--unh...unh...haah...aaa-aahhh never...never gonna come like that-- e-ever again...that was it, that was the...the one that'll end me-- fuck...darling..."

Your suited man's bucks grew lazy, his torso almost completely blanketing yours, humping away the last vestiges of his orgasm. He stayed nestled within you, unwilling to let you go yet. You reached through the curtain, stroking a hand through his hair, and hearing him purr.

"...Kento, huh?"

He huffed a laugh. "Sorry, I...was that too intimate?"

"That? You're worried that was the intimate part?"

He laughed, rich and deep and genuine, kissing your ribs once more. You heard him reach into his pocket, and you spoke up, immediate.

"I won't let you pay me for that--"

"--I absolutely fucking am--"

"--no you are not--"

After he won the argument, and left with heavy reluctance, your manager pulled you aside with a dirty grin.

"You were popular tonight. How many men? Ten? Twelve?"

You blinked, confused.

"Just...just the one. Right at the end."

Your manager shook his head, turning back to the TV in his grubby little office, his fingers orange with Cheeto dust. Your brain ticked, and whirred...all the mumbling outside your gloryhole. All the murmurs, men almost visiting before moving on...and it clicked with absolute certainty.

Your suited man had guarded your gloryhole all night, paying other men to choose another woman. To choose anyone but you.

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"I worried you wouldn't be here."

You swallowed, sniffling, and settling behind your wall. More terrible monsters had settled around the building, blocking almost every pathway in, and you knew that you'd have abandoned your shift and run home to hide, if not for the hope of hearing your suited man again.

"You're...crying, my love, why are you crying?"

You felt him stiffen against the other side of the wall, at the sound of your sniffle, and his hand automatically reached through to cup your face, his thumb swiping away your tears. You turned your cheek into his palm, holding his hand against you.

Your gaze turned to the doorway...and to the bug-eyed, many-armed, puce coloured spindly monster leaning around it to stare at you.

You shrieked, crashing against your wall in terror. Your suited man took in a sharp breath, and the normal chatter and movement of the room quieted at your cry. Your suited stranger grasped your hand hard to hold you still, and his voice dropped to a horrified whisper.

"Stop-- oh, fuck, I understand-- your monsters-- can you see that? That thing in the doorway?"

Time slowed. Your jaw dropped. Your voice was thick, quiet, your insanity validated for the first time in your life.

"Kento, you...see it too?"

"Oh fuck. This...this is why you're in this place? Never been able to hold down a job, no? You've never felt safe anywhere?"

You could do nothing but weep into his palm, nodding, and nodding, and nodding. His voice rang, deep and commanding and final.

"I've got you. I...I've got you. You're safe. Just come with me."

"Kento, I can't just walk out--"

"You can. You don't need money. I've got enough. You just need...you just need me. I'll...I'll tell you everything. I'll explain everything."

When your face, tearstained and sniffling, leaned around the edge of your wall, you froze. Kento froze.

The silence was thick with wonderment, already in love before you had even seen each others' faces. But now that you saw him (obscenely handsome, tall, kind-eyed and exhausted), already overwhelmed, a sob bubbled over--

"Oh, god, you're so out of my league--"

A scoff, and adoration burning in his tired, under-shadowed eyes. He held out one hand, rescuing you as you'd rescued him.

"Come. I have some calls to make. You can tell me your name over dinner."

Your feet were numb as Kento walked you past the monster, shielding your fearful gaze with his hand. You ignored the shouts of your managers, half-deaf and stunned. In the chill evening air, his arm that was not around you, reached into his pocket, tapping, before holding a phone to his ear.

"Gojo, it's Nanami...why are you laughing?"

[luveline]

Hi jade, I have a hurt/comfort request for Steve, maybe reader was there with the party for all the vecna stuff and maybe gets hurt, afterwards Steve taking care of her and staying w her in the hospital and stuff? Love your writing!

thank you for requesting <3 fem!reader

“Did you know there’s like, a concessions stand?” 

You moan at the pain between your shoulders, turning onto your arm. Steve lounges in the chair beside you with a paper plate of donuts on his chest. His legs are kicked up on your bed. He’s taken his shoes off, at least. 

“Free donuts, coffee, they even had flapjacks.” 

“Steve, I think you have to pay for those.” 

He puts the plate on your bed. “Well, they can’t send you to jail.” 

“‘Cos my back’s broken?” 

“‘Cos you’re too pretty for prison.” Steve sits up properly. “You need help?” 

He moves the donuts again onto your nightstand and hooks you under the arms to ease you into a sitting position. You’re back isn’t broken, for the record, but you fell funny coming out of the gate a few days ago and you haven’t bounced back yet. Worse, you've got an infected burn on your hand, wrist and arm from your Molotov cocktail. It’s out of commission, as are you while they pump antibiotics into the crook of your elbow. Steve’s careful not to tug your IV. 

You gasp, the twinge in your back turning to flame. “I know,” Steve murmurs, shockingly sincere, “I’m sorry. You’re not supposed to lie down all the time, or it won’t get better.” 

“I know.” 

“Yeah, of course you do. You know everything.” 

Insult or compliment, you’re unsure. What you do know is that Steve’s come to see you every day since you were checked in, he’s the one who checked you in, and he’s taken good care of you so far. He’s not even your boyfriend, you thought he liked Nancy— but he’s rubbing his hands down your shoulders and looking you in your face despite the horror he’s sure to be witnessing. Bruised eye, greasy nose, hair thankfully clean but completely untouched otherwise. 

“Better?” he asks, cupping your cheek. 

Is he gonna kiss me? you think. You glance down at his lips, then back up. Steve doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it, his fingers drawing a gentle path behind your ear as his thumb aligns with your jaw. 

“Hey, don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m not.”

“Sorry, you just looked so sad for a second.” He laughs wryly. Though you don’t feel like he’s making fun of you, he teases, “Cheer up. What have you got to be so sad about?” 

“You keep harassing me.” 

“Oh, that’s how it is!” He tips his head back. “Nurse! I’d like to report a thief!” 

You gasp, laugh, and attempt to cover his mouth as strikes of pain nibble up your spine. “Steve, don’t–” He catches your hands to stop you from silencing him, but he doesn’t shout again, holding your hands together in his lap, smiling smugly and affectionately at once. He has nice eyes that are almost almond in shape and a lovely light brown. They glow in the slither of light that sneaks its way through the blinds, raw amber, stomach-achingly pretty. 

You can’t look at him for too long. You defer to your hands scrunched up in the sheets instead. 

“I did pay for the donuts, by the way. I’m just messing with you.” 

You try to laugh. “Why doesn't that surprise me?” 

“You act like I’m such a jerk,” he says fondly, pulling you in for a cautious hug. He’s tender when he needs to be, you’d never have thought it of him, how sweetly and softly he rubs your back, how he murmurs near your ear. “Do you need more meds? I’m sure they can get you another dose of the good stuff if you pretend your gummy arm is aching.” 

“Thanks, Steve, but I’m fine.” 

He hums. “Think I can get them to let me stay the night?” 

“Steve, I’m really okay.” 

“It’s not about you, I just don’t wanna go home,” he lies poorly, “they don’t have donuts at home–”

His hand leaves your back. “Are you eating over my shoulder?” you ask. 

He hugs you tighter with the remaining arm. “What? No.” 

You feel sprinkles falling down your back and ignore it for now. He’ll have to help you out of bed in a few minutes anyways. He can sort it out then. For now, you lean into his chest and close your eyes tight. 

“I’ll sleep better in the chair by your bed,” he promises. 

[crguang]

Hi!! May I request NSFW with these prompts. I prefer if you write them with sub afab!reader in mind cuz I'm just a big sub and bottom for these gorgeous women <3 kafhimeswan makes my heart swoon ♥

1. gp!Kafka

“Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere.” (#43)

2. Black Swan with this prompt makes me akbdhsbsjsbs hehe “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”(#86)

3. Himeko makes me yearn!! “I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do.” (#64)

btw I always come back to your kafka fics and your black swan 9k+ smutshot, I just can't get them out of my head, I love how you write them!!!

ive been wanting to do this one as soon as you sent it and finally got the time, hehe. save me kafhimeswan, save me… these prompts were amazing, ty for the kind words too!

cw: smut, fem!subreader, gp!kafka, vaginal penetration (kafka), fingering and mirror sex (swan), scissoring (himeko)

The two of you are a tangle of limbs and heated touches, needy sighs and broken moans as your lips lock in sloppy kisses and your hands travel down each other’s bodies in messy attempts at undressing the other completely. Kafka has an advantage since you’re only wearing jeans and a t-shirt for this infiltration mission; she lifts the shirt off your head and absentmindedly throws it across the room, and her mouth is back on yours the moment it’s taken off. Her nimble hands make quick work of the buttons on your pants while you fumble with the harness over her chest. She chuckles into your mouth, a low, muffled sound of amusement, and one of your hands leaves her torso to tangle in her hair, gripping tight. Her head tilts back with the movement, a sharp exhale through her nose the only indication of how aroused the gesture made her. The smug smile on her face shows her pearly white teeth. Her eyes, though lidded, threaten to swallow you whole.

“Eager?” She asks, but she doesn’t need an answer. 

Kafka guides you back into the wall with a firm hold on your hips, pinning you between the cool drywall and the warmth of her body pressing against yours. You feel her breath on your lips and her chest into yours. She lifts a hand to tilt your head further up, giving her better access to steal the air from your lungs with another heady kiss. Her tongue explores the inside of your mouth, swirling around your own and wetting your lips in the process. Your mind fogs up and desire takes over your senses. You want her closer despite there being little to no space for it, and your fingers hook under the waistband of her shorts to pull her further into you. Kafka doesn’t bother taking off your bra, she slips a hand under the material and grabs a handful of your breast, delighting in the noise of pleasure she draws from you. She squeezes and fondles, her need apparent in her lack of gentleness. Your hips rock into hers and the pleased hum that rumbles from her throat only turns you on more. 

You’re already wet, you can feel the fabric of your underwear cling to your cunt as Kafka kisses you languidly and plays with your hardening nipple. Your fingers wander down her shorts to palm her over the clothing. The sensation of her growing bulge under your hand combined with her hot mouth assaulting yours makes your head spin. You need her so badly, you’re tempted to beg her to fuck you stupid. 

Her lips trail down your jaw and end where your neck meets your shoulder, parting to suck the skin until it darkens, and her tongue darts out to soothe it afterwards. Her teeth leave love bites across your shoulder, prettily marking you up in a way that would take half an hour to cover up. Her fingers harshly twist your nipple, prompting a surprised moan from you, and you grip her clothed cock over her shorts in retaliation to which she simply hums dazedly. 

“If we had more time I would punish you for that,” her voice speaks of future promises, and she raises her head to gaze down at you, the dim light darkening her irises. “That’ll be for later. Luckily for you, there’s only half an hour before the IPC barges in here, so…”

Kafka pulls her shirt out of her leather shorts and expertly unclasps their buttons. You watch her hands push the clothing past her hips and down to her ankles, busying yourself with doing the same thing to your jeans. Your mouth waters at the outline of her thick cock under her boxers. You swallow a couple of times, not dwelling on your disappointment at the fact that you won’t have the time to properly take it into your mouth. Kafka’s hands are on you again, squeezing your hips as she presses against you and bucks into your covered cunt. Her lips find yours hungrily with a pace even you have trouble following.  She takes, takes, takes what she wants without ceremony; she pulls down your underwear so it hangs around your ankles and spreads your thighs as far as they can go using one hand, never letting go of your mouth and swallowing the breathless whimpers that escape it. 

She betrays her own need with how urgently she sinks two fingers between your labia and smears your slick over your pussy. Her middle finger dips past your dripping entrance, drawing another weak, broken moan from you, but it withdraws a few seconds later. You don’t have time to whine for her to fill you, Kafka separates from your mouth and slides her underwear down her legs, freeing her already leaking cock. You don’t have the time to admire her either, she’s on a mission (well, two) and instantly grinds her cock into your cunt. Your eyes fall shut at the sensation of her shaft sliding between your pussy lips, coating her length in your slick. It brushes the tip of your clit and you have to hold on to the back of her shirt to stay upright, thighs trembling from the pleasure. 

Your needy moans and quiet mewls drive Kafka crazy. Despite the need to keep a clear mind, her desire to take you right there burns hot in her stomach and makes her throb almost painfully. She aligns her cock with your entrance, groaning low as she sinks the head into your warm cunt. Your forehead falls on her shoulder, lips parted to let out another whine, and your fingers’ tight grip on her shirt wrinkles the fabric, pulling her even closer.

“Mm… Slowly, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

Kafka inches into you slowly enough to allow you some time to adjust to being filled. Her fingertips dig into the skin of your hips. It takes some effort to pause and let you catch your breath once she’s fully inside you. She lifts your thighs and wraps it around her waist to give herself more room to thrust deep into your pussy, not bothering to conceal the drawn out groans that spill from her lips. 

“Mmm…” Kafka’s lazy moans sound near your ear, breath heavy as she fills you with her cock. Her pace is irregular, only seeking pleasure from you, and it takes all of your strength to keep yourself standing against the wall. 

It feels so good, you feel so full, you barely register your own pitiful whimpers. 

“F-Fu—Hah… Please…” You don’t know what you’re begging for; her throbbing head hitting that sensitive spot deep inside you, the release building in your stomach, the need for her to paint your walls white like icing on a wedding cake… 

You can’t think, can only babble broken sentences as she drives into you and pleasure rocks through your body in electrifying little jolts. You don’t feel the saliva at the corner of your lips from how long your mouth has stayed open. There’s that familiar, intoxicating feeling of your guts tightening before you cream on Kafka’s cock with a muffled cry into her shoulder. Her hips stutter, your cunt clenching tight around her and slowing her pace, though the intensity of her thrusts only increases with the need to come herself. She bucks into you roughly, taking your breath away. You see the birth of a star behind your eyelids. Kafka comes suddenly and bottoms out inside you, emptying herself into you in hot spurts, a curse on her lips. 

You’re a bit dizzy when you come down from your high, biting your lip as she slips out of you. You know you have a mission to complete, but your legs have turned into mush and Kafka has to support your standing weight with an arm around your back. You’re breathing heavily, and the minutes pass where your mind begins to sharpen back to its original state. Kafka has a pleased smile on her face, gently letting go of you to dress herself, and you sigh happily while you do the same.

You hear thumping footsteps from the floors below.

“Kafka, where’d you put my shirt?”

“…Mm?”

“…Are you fucking serious?!”

Your eyelids lower, your mind in a daze so blissful you can’t fully register the scene happening through the standing mirror right in front of you. Dried fruit and smoky notes fill the room with the scent of her and unscarred hands brush along the muscles of your arms; the unnatural warmth of her immaterial body pressed into your back cages you in, a dizzying embrace you wish you could live in until her duty calls her away. She is at once in front of you, staring back at you with dim, lustful eyes, and she is around you, touching you like she’s savoring the feel of you under her fingertips. Her presence appears larger than life and you are sprawled in the center of her palm, exposed to her hungry gaze and unable to hide even the deepest parts of you. You find it difficult to meet the galaxy reflected in her eyes, its intensity is only amplified by the fact that she undressed you mere moments ago and you are now stripped to your underwear and completely at her mercy. Round nails painted to match the colorful stained glass jewelry over her collarbones leave proof of their passage in the form of goosebumps that rise on your skin as they trail across your chest, following the edges of your bra. She teases you, revels in your flustered expression and the knowledge that she has reduced you to a puppet on her strings. 

You watch as her hand travels under the pad of your bra and replaces it with her palm, possessively cupping one breast. Your head lolls to the side and your eyes flutter shut for only a second; slender fingers under your chin firmly guide you back to face the mirror and you bite back a needy noise when your nipple is pinched between two digits.

“Forgotten already?” Black Swan’s low, sultry voice sounds from behind your ear, amused and playful. “Eyes on me, sweet girl…” 

You comply and meet her gaze through the mirror, embarrassment washing over you at the sight of her pleased smile and the position you’re in. Your stiff nipples are visible beneath your bra, your thighs are already spread in anticipation for her touch without her saying a word, and in this moment, she could do anything to you and you would take with a desperate moan. Her fingers dig slightly into your jaw, keeping you from moving your head to evade her heated stare a second time. You shift a little, flustered, because the hand around your breast has stopped moving and your body longs for her skillful ministrations.

“You’re squirming…”  You feel her warm breath on the back of your ear and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Does it make you nervous when I stare?”

Your throat is dry, and you can’t manage a reply. You swallow once, unable to be anything but honest when she looks at you this way, as if she already held every answer you could ever provide. You feel her at the edge of your consciousness, her presence made purposely obvious to your senses. She is everywhere and she wants you to be aware of it. 

“How adorable,” Black Swan’s hand leaves your face and traces the plane of your bare stomach. Her lips stretch in a wider smile, one she means innocent but that has an edge of desire she can’t contain. “Forgive me, darling, but I cannot resist. You are a painting.”

The compliment doesn’t surprise you, she repeats it quite often, but her sincerity still makes you bashful. Black Swan chuckles at your reaction and presses a kiss to your shoulder. Her fingertips slither further down, toying with the waistband of your underwear, and you suck in an inaudible breath, anticipation taut in your belly. You watch each of her movements through the reflecting glass like she wants you to; embarrassment and arousal merge together inside of you as her middle finger sinks between your lips and leisurely rubs your covered slit, feeling the wetness through the thin fabric. You feel Black Swan’s aroused hum from where her lips are still pressed to your skin. She proves her own eagerness by slipping her hand into your panties and running two of her fingers down your slit, properly coating them in your slick. You can’t conceal a quiet moan when she circles your pulsing clit with a digit and applies delicious pressure to the sensitive bud. The hand on your chest resumes its gentle massage. All the while, her eyes, like glowing suns against the pitch black of the firmament, drink in every inch of your body under her touch and sears the moment in a corner of her mind she will share with no one else. 

Black Swan touches you with the expertise of someone who’s learned you from the inside. She draws sharp gasps and breathless moans and lustful sighs out of you as if she were a conductor and you her favored symphony. Her lips follow a path to the crook of your neck, prompting you to tilt your head, and plant hot kisses on your skin. She toys with your clit using two fingers and repeats each ministration with the ones on your nipple. Your stomach tightens, pleasure tingles down to the tip of your toes, and your own fingers grip her thighs to keep yourself upright, digging into the soft flesh. You don’t last long. Your clit throbs as you come with a long moan, eyes screwing shut with the intensity of the pleasure assaulting you, and your thighs close together, trapping her hand between them. She’s forced to stop the sweet torture of your pussy but continues to pinch and twist your stiff nipple under your bra to prolong the sensations.

Black Swan’s mouth wanders up the side of your neck to your ear. She sucks the lobe between her lips, and your chest heaves, body shuddering as your orgasm slowly subsides. 

“How ravishing you are…”

Your lashes flutter at her soft words, blinking to look back at her through the mirror. In her eyes is a bottomless hunger that you’ve become familiar with over time, it is gaping and consuming, and she doesn't have to utter another word for you to understand that she will indeed ravish you.

Himeko is a vision above you, straddled on your lap with her knees on each side of your frame, forcing her plush thighs open; she towers over you as a fragment of your most yearnful dreams, long vivid hair cascading down her back like the most beautiful waterfall and creamy skin so soft to the touch it almost feels blasphemous to sully with your hands. Her bare body is a creation of a higher being, but your disbelieving eyes are drawn to the stars in her eyes when she gazes down at you like you are worthy to stand by her side. She looks at you the same way you stare up at her, with undeniable devotion. It is something you often have difficulty coming to terms with because how can someone so beautiful choose to wake up next to you every morning? Your lips are parted and her gaze is tender, an adept hand brushing up between the valley of your breasts. 

Himeko leans forward until her chest is flushed to yours and cups your cheeks in her warm hands, staring into your eyes with a smile in hers. 

“Is it not obvious how much I adore you?” Her muttered words are warm against your lips, her golden irises as bright as an afternoon sun. 

It is. Himeko loves you in a way that is so evident, to you and everyone with eyes to see and ears to hear. She always handles you so carefully, not because she’s afraid you’ll break with a firmer touch but because this is how she loves. It’s in a reassuring hand on your lower back when you’re nervous and in gentle kisses up your neck when she wants to show you just how much she reveres you. It’s in how deeply she listens when you speak and the words of affirmation that easily spill from her lips. Her feelings are incontestable, she makes sure of it, but your treacherous mind still can’t fully comprehend why. Even now, beneath her weight, you feel she could have anyone she desires and is instead here with you. It’s baffling.

“Of course,” you reply just as quietly, lifting a hand to brush red strands out of her face, “it simply feels… nonsensical, at times.”

Himeko’s thumb brushes the skin under your eye. “You idolize me too much.”

“It’s impossible not to.”

She fondly shakes her head but her small smile is radiant. She traces your features with a finger, over your brows and along the bridge of your nose, then follows the curve of your upper lip. Himeko watches the movement of it on your face before meeting your eyes once again. 

“You’re so beautiful. How could I be anything but in love with you?”

You don’t answer her soft question, averting your gaze for a second. Her head bends to press a kiss on the corner of your mouth before capturing your lips with hers. Her kiss is gentle yet firm, tangible proof of her desire for you, and you feel your body heat up under her for the second time tonight. Her tongue swipes over your bottom lip then slips into your mouth to entangle with yours. You’re aware of the warmth of her thighs caging your hips and the remnants of the pleasure you ripped out of her earlier, a mix of slick and cum smearing over your lower belly from where she is pressed against you. Your hands take hold of her waist, squeezing once. Himeko’s uneven breath fans across your lips when she withdraws from you. Bodies flushed together, you can feel each shiver that runs through her as her need for you builds, the heat between her thighs growing wetter with every kiss she takes from you. 

“You are worth… all of my attention...” she breathes out between each one, “all… of my devotion… so sweet…”

Himeko kisses your lips, your jaw, up your cheek and down to your mouth again like she can’t get enough. Your lashes flutter under her affection, and you readily welcome her mouth on yours, your cunt throbbing with arousal. Her hips begin to roll into you, seeking sweet friction, and she swallows the moan that leaves you. She smears her cum on your skin with every rhythmic motion of her body, but it isn’t enough for either of you. Himeko lifts her head and the thin string of saliva connecting your lips breaks on her chin as she straightens up above you, the embers of her eyes alight with both lust and a determination to prove that her heart belongs to you. 

Her chest rises and falls, perky pink nipples adding a soft color to the canvas of her skin. She shifts, settling between our thighs with one leg over yours, and holds it up over her shoulder with a hand. 

“I want to feel you…” 

Himeko lowers herself on you, slick pussy sliding over yours in a messy kiss, and she makes a low noise that is half moan and half groan at the contact. She looks so pretty with her lidded eyes and parted lips, your breathing stutters as she takes what she needs from you and bucks her hips further into your cunt. A quiet moan escapes you and your fingers grab a fistful of the sheets beneath you. You follow her pace, encouraged by her sounds of pleasure and the feeling of her clit bumping into yours. 

“Aeons… Mmnh…” Himeko’s broken sentences are breathless and underlined with pretty moans. She lifts her free hand to cup her breast, long hair draped over her back when her head tilts back.

She feels so good against you, your combined wetness makes it easy to grind into her pussy in search of friction. You’re unable to look away from the flush across her chest, her rosy cheeks and the shine on her lips, greedily taking in the sight of her as if you’ll wake up any moment and find her gone from your bed. Your body is hot, sweat begins to cling to your brow, but you can’t focus on anything but how gorgeous Himeko is and how good her cunt feels like this. She spreads her cum over you, warm and slick. She doesn’t contain the noises that tumble from her mouth, aroused sighs and low hums, and the frequency of them tells you that she’s close to coming. You feel your own orgasm build in your lower belly, begging to burst. 

“H-Hime—” you stammer pathetically, words interrupted by a needy whine. 

Himeko’s gaze connects with yours at the sound of her name uttered so breathlessly. She understands what you mean to say, she’s teetering on the edge herself, and she manages a quiet command.

“Come with me, sweetheart.”

A quiver runs through your thighs as your release washes over you, and Himeko lets out a high-pitched moan at the same time, fingers closing around her nipple. She comes with you, bucking her hips into your pussy to ride her high, her head tilted to the ceiling. Your cum mixes with hers, dripping down your cunt and ruining the sheets below you. You try to steady your thundering heart, a forearm over your forehead. You feel Himeko’s little shivers and hear her heavy breaths before she finally separates from you and resumes her earlier position on top of you. Her nose burrows into your neck, breasts pressed to your torso, and you wrap an arm around her frame to hold her against you. 

It takes a moment before she can speak properly again. 

“I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do.” The confession is warm against your pulse, directly spoken over your heartbeat. “I’ll prove it as many times as I have to.”

You don’t tell her that you already believe her.

[feyhunter78]

Hi!! I’ve been thinking about that one scene in 10 Things I Hate About You, when Patrick walks Kat to the swings when she’s drunk and he says “Leave it to you to use big words when you're shitfaced.” Except! Kat is Nerd Miguel who somehow ended up drunk at some frat party or something, and Patrick is reader who has to deal with his antics. I imagine him spewing random scientific words/facts that reader tries her best to understand. All while she’s just trying to sober him up a bit. This lil scenario has been running through my head, and who best to share with than you!

(The chokehold you’re Miguel, specifically nerd Miguel, has on me is insane! It’s a great distraction while at work! <3)

I love that scene so much!!!! I made this a bit different, but I think I still hit the mark for ya anon <3 (Also this is a normal house party bc guys that are not in a frat are not allowed to attend frat events just like with sororities!)

House Parties

Art cred: Treelover_5

Nerd!Miguel masterlist

You weave through Brett’s parents’ guest house on the edge of town, downing your drink as you search for Miguel. It was really nice of Brett to invite you and Miguel to his pre-winter break bash. You know Miguel doesn’t party much, and Brett has been trying to encourage him to come out of his shell, so this was the perfect opportunity.

The sound of chanting draws your attention, and you see Miguel surrounded by a few other friends of Brett’s. Brett seems to be explaining something to him, car keys in hand. You drove here, so you know the keys aren’t Miguel’s, which makes you feel a bit better.

“Chug, chug, chug.” They chant, and you watch as Brett and Miguel simultaneously shotgun their beers, the foam dripping down Miguel’s tan skin.

Smash. You think instantly, your brain supplying you with images of what Miguel might look like as he comes up from between your legs, his lips, and chin slick with your arousal.

Then Miguel throws the beer down and throws his arms up victoriously.

Brett finishes, then throws his beer down as well and hooks an arm around Miguel’s neck, bringing him down to his level. “My boy Miguel has done it again! Absolute beast of a man!”

The other guys cheer, and you see Miguel smile shyly.

He’s been gaining in popularity, not that he really cares, nor do you, but it makes you happy that he’s made some new friends. Even if those friends challenge him to shotgun races.

Miguel spots you before you can even breach the circle and latches onto you. “Y/N, I won, did you see?”

Brett gives you a look that means dude should probably get some air, and you nod in response.

“Yeah I did, hey Miguel, you wanna step outside with me?”

“Yes, always.” He says instantly, his lips far too close to your neck for you to feel normal about.

You guide him through the crowd and out the door, his arm slung over your shoulders. He’s so heavy, all those stupid hot muscles making him dead weight as he mumbles to himself incoherently.

“What was that sweet boy?” You ask, when you hear something that sounds like your name.

“Did you know that the hydrochloric acid in the human stomach is so strong it can dissolve metal? Thin metal, mind you, but still, metal.” Miguel says, his cheeks red, his glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose, and a goofy smile on his face.

“Wow, that’s crazy.” You say, struggling under the weight of him as you try to lug him over to a nearby porch swing, the neatly trimmed grass around you littered with solo cups and soaked with various spilled drinks.

“And beer—beer is twice as fizzy as champagne. I know this for a fact, I had four or so beers? They taste bad, did you know that?”

“Yeah, house parties usually have pretty cheap beer.” You laugh, swaying a little when Miguel leans on you.

“And cheetahs, super inbred, ten thousand years ago, taboos were broken, and now they’re all…ya know, the way they are.” He continues on, letting out a surprise oof, when you slide him onto the white porch swing, the weathered green cushions not doing much to break his fall.

“Very cool, so now can you tell me what the hell you were drinking in the twenty minutes I left you alone? Besides beer? Because Miguel, you are so fucked up.” You ask, sitting next to him, your legs tucked beside you as you turn to face him, an affectionate smile on your face.

He drags a hand down his face, and his glasses fall into his lap. He pouts at them, a small aw leaving his lips.

You pick them up and hand them back to him, and he clumsily puts them back on.

“Brett suggested we do shots before the races, he passed his midterm, we were celebrating with him.”

Fucking Brett. You loved the guy, he was nice, nonthreatening, watched out for you when you were in the Sig Epp house, but he also was a menace, who wanted everyone to be as drunk as he was.

“Miguel, you’re a big guy, but you don’t have Brett’s tolerance.” You pat his chest consolingly.

Miguel looks at you, eyes a little hazy, his shirt unbuttoned far more than it normally would be, his hair ruffled. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leans his head back against the swing, staring up at the stars. “You know a cloud can weigh around a million pounds?”

“I did not know that.” You respond, trying to see if you can check his pupils without him noticing.

He notices and rolls his head to face you. “Everyone blames women when they don’t have sons, but it’s actually male genes that decide it.”

“I did know that one, actually.” You say, as you run your hands through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

He smiles, and you swear it’s brighter than any star in the sky. “You’re so smart, y/n.”

You’re taken aback for a second, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Thanks, that means a lot coming from you.”

“So smart and so, so pretty. I know I said it’s on me, but will you give me a girl y/n? I want a daughter with you, my brains, your everything else, she’d be unstoppable.” He says, his words slurring together. Then he falls forward with a yelp, hands, and elbows hitting the dirt.

You sit frozen in shock, staring down at Miguel, before you snap out of it and scramble to help him. “Shit, Miguel, are you okay?”

He holds up his right hand, it’s bleeding. “Just put some sugar on it, it’ll heal faster.”

“Full of fun facts, aren’t you?” It’s another trip back inside to find a sink and a band-aid, his words still bouncing around in your head.

I want a daughter with you.

Fuck, he’s going to kill you one day, and you’ll let him.

Not me doing a little callback to what Miguel thinks at the end of his encounter with drunk y/n hehe

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows

[runninriot]

Hurt full of Hope (i'll be the pit to your pendulum)

prompt: "I thought we agreed it was over." | rated: E | wc: 4.307 | cw: sexual content, emotional breakdown, unhealthy coping mechanisms | tags: 'friends' with benefits, pining, Eddie is a mess, Steve is a mess too but in a different way, emotional hurt, hurt/comfort, angst with happy ending | complete fic on ao3

written for @steddieangstyaugust day 27

The grip in his hair is tight, almost possessive, as strong hands guide him further down the pulsing intrusion blocking his airways. It burns, makes tears well up in his eyes, and Eddie has to fight the urge to cough but at the same time-

he hasn’t felt this good in days.

The familiar stretch of his lips around the girth is heavenly like the scent flooding his nostrils as his nose is pressed into soft skin and coarse hair.

Eddie chokes, feels saliva dripping uncontrollably out of the corners of his mouth and down his chin, making a mess between the other guy’s thighs.

A rough tug brings him back up, lets him breathe for a moment before he’s forced back down.

   “Ah! Yeah, just like that! You always know how to make me feel good, Eddie.”

The praise is like a drug; he’s always been too weak to withstand the drawing power of it, the toxic concoction he knows is killing him slowly each time he goes back for more.

Eddie swallows, sucks, licks as if his life depends on it. And maybe, in a way, it does.

Because this is all he has, all he is.

It’s all he can offer to get what he desperately craves in return - affection, at least. Not love. But everything is better than nothing.

   “Fuckin’- God! Look at you, Eddie. You’re such a mess!”

Isn’t that the truth. The bitter, undeniable truth.

He knows it’s wrong, that he shouldn’t settle for this. Shouldn’t give himself up for a quick blowjob in the back of the car, out on the side of the road where no one can see them. No candle light, no soft sheets, no comfort – just the dirty act of being used for pleasure because somehow, that’s all he’s good for.

And Eddie must be good. Why else would Steve keep coming back after he dumped him?

   ‘I thought we agreed it was over,’ Eddie had dared to say the first time Steve called him again in the middle of the night, asking if he wanted to meet. Said it as if they’d both made that the decision, when in reality-

    ‘You didn’t want to do this anymore.’

Steve had laughed at his words, told him to stop pretending that he didn’t want it just as much.

And he was right; Eddie wants this.

He’s desperate for it.

Because while for Steve their hook-ups had always just been a casual thing, for Eddie it’s always been so much more.

Steve knows that, knows that Eddie’s in love with him. That he wants to be more than just a toy, a warm body, a willing mouth.

That’s why Steve told him to get fucked – before he came back five days later to fuck him once more.

Then again, and again, and each time, Eddie says yes. Each time he puts up with the ache in his heart just to have Steve for a little while longer.

He knows it’s stupid, knows it’ll only end in one-sided misery. That no matter how good he is, no matter how many times Steve comes back to him, he’ll never stay.

Steve will use him up, drain him until he has nothing more to give and then, inevitably, he’ll throw him away like a broken tool.

Eddie’s throat aches because he keeps himself down, forcefully overstepping that fine line between good and too much as he constricts helplessly around the tip of Steve’s cock until he comes, spills his release and fills his mouth with bittersweet poison.

   “A-ha, oh fuck! That’s it, take it all in.”

Eddie doesn’t need to be told, greedily swallows Steve’s cum along with his pride, tastes bitterness on his tongue in more ways than one.

And when he’s done, Steve pulls him up quickly, doesn’t even look at him while he tucks himself back into his boxers and jeans.

    So, he’s not gonna fuck me today, Eddie thinks with too much regret.

He would’ve let him. Would’ve let Steve press him face-down, ass-up into the backseat and fuck him hard. Would’ve wanted it to hurt because then he’d have something to drown out the pain in his chest.

   “Need me to take you home?”

Eddie wants to say yes, wants to have just a few more minutes with him. But he declines the offer, knows they would only drive in awkward silence and he already feels like crying, doesn’t want Steve to see how broken he is.

   “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll walk,” Eddie answers quietly, voice hoarse.

He can still taste Steve on his lips, has his senses full of him. It clings to him, like it’s part of him, like it lives there in every cell – Steve is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

And it hurts. It fucking hurts.

He pulls the handle with too much force when he opens the door, trying to keep himself steady. He feels dizzy and his legs tremble when he steps out of the car.

   “You sure you’re good?” Steve calls after him but Eddie doesn’t turn around, just pushes the door shut and starts walking.

He waits until he hears the engine go off, waits until he can see the headlights passing in his peripheral vision before he lets the tears flow.

The night air is warm but inside, Eddie feels cold. He shivers, wraps his arms around his middle, tries to calm his breathing but nothing helps because everything hurts. His jaw, his throat, his heart most of all and-

No more. He can’t do this anymore because if he doesn’t put an end to this torture, it’ll be the end of him.

continue reading here

[octothinq]

Ok. I'm going to give you guys a list of all the kinds of noses I think a few hrs characters would and should have.

Starting off with Sampo Koski. I think he'd look absolutely gorgeous with a hooked nose. I don't know. Maybe it's just because I love hooked noses a lot but I think it'd fit his face perfectly.

Next I think Black Swan would look really pretty with a big nose. I think sort of like a curved shape with like a bump at the bridge would fit her face really nicely.

Third I think Argenti would look wonderful with a sort of flat but big nose. I don't know. That's just the vibe I'm getting from him.

Fourth, Gallagher should have a crooked nose. One that points downward at the tip. I don't know. It would fit his face really well and it would give him a nice side profile.

Fifth, one that I think can all agree on, Dr Ratio should have a hooked nose that's slightly down turned at the tip. No further explanation will be given. You already understand.

Sixth, i think jingliu should have a slight nose bump and also a slightly crooked nose.

Seventh, Natasha should definitely also have a nose bump, and hers should be upturned.

Eighth, Boothill would look great with an incorrectly healed broken nose, since I think he's definitely broken his nose plenty of times. He would also have a hooked nose also, one that's slightly upturned.

Ok. That's everyone I can think of off the top of my head. I just think nose variety would be nice with a few characters. But maybe that's just because I'm a big nose fan. Not like big as in physically big. Big like in. Whatever you know what I mean. I'm probably going to draw a few examples to show you what I mean and so you can also understand my vision.

[brian-in-finance]

Orlando Bloom /The Cut

Orlando Bloom And Sean Ellis Talk About Star’s Transformation Into Past-His-Prime Boxer In ‘The Cut’: “He Was Willing To Have His Nose Broken” – Toronto Film Festival

Sean Ellis’s sixth feature, following the deliriously atmospheric 19th-century vampire movie Eight for Silver (2021), is yet another curveball from the criminally underrated British director. Titled The Cut, it is the story of a past-his-prime boxer who goes behind his wife Caitlin’s back to accept a lucrative comeback fight in Las Vegas. But this is not yet another Rocky-style underdog story, the kind that culminates in the ring. Instead, it is a sometimes-shocking psychological thriller, a sort of boxing procedural that details the extreme lengths that cornered fighters will go to. On paper, it sounds like Southpaw, but in reality, it has a little more in common with this year’s Cannes hit The Substance, a visceral body-horror movie about a fading starlet (Demi Moore) and her desperate drive to maintain her fame.

Sean Ellis / Getty Images

In The Cut it is actor Orlando Bloom’s turn to defy expectations. As the boxer, the former Pirates of the Caribbean and Lord of the Rings star is a revelation. He’s not entirely unrecognizable as the matinee idol of the 2000s, but, thanks to the magic of prosthetics, he certainly looks like he’s been through the wringer, and his return to professional boxing is not a sure thing. In fact, the most suspense in the film is generated by the initial weigh-in, which will determine whether he even gets to fight in his own title category at all. Caitlin (Caitríona Balfe), his wife and his trainer, can only get him so far, and when the team gets to Vegas, the boxer meets the charismatic Boz (John Turturro). Boz hooks into the boxer’s insecurities, drawing him into an increasingly dangerous training and weight-loss routine.

With the film about to make its world premiere at the Toronto Film Festival, Deadline sat down with Ellis and Bloom to discuss the film and its themes.

DEADLINE: Where did the project start? Who was attached first?

ORLANDO BLOOM: I’d worked with our producer, Mark Lane, some years ago on a movie for Tea Shop Productions. We did a movie together in London called Retaliation, but it was released as The Romans. It was another small, British independent movie production. It was brutal, and I loved the brutality of it. One day Mark said, “I’ve got another one for you,” and he pitched me The Cut. We talked about it, and I loved it immediately. I loved the idea — the premise of a boxing movie without the boxing, where the focus of the fight wasn’t the boxing match itself but rather the fight within the character, who just happened to be a boxer. I thought that was really fascinating, an interesting commentary on the way masculinity operates within that space.

We worked on the script for about a year or two with [screenwriter] Justin Bull, who was fantastic. And then we were just over the moon when Sean read it and responded to it exactly as you’d hope a director with his kind of vision would. He said, “Yeah, I see this.” [To Sean.] Right, Sean? That’s the long and short of it, isn’t it?

SEAN ELLIS: Yeah, that was pretty much it. The first time I read it, actually, was over the Christmas period [in 2022]. Mark had sent it to me, and I was interested because I’d been looking to do a boxing movie. But how do you do a boxing movie? I mean, it’s become almost a genre in itself. They’ve become so clichéd. Like submarine movies: You’ve got to have a scene with one person trapping themself in the air lock and drowning, as they tap away at the little porthole.

With boxing, you’ve got to have an impossible match that they’re not going to win, and then they either do or they don’t. And I thought The Cut was just a really interesting take on that. It was the about the preparation that an athlete goes through, and the drama of that. I thought that was so much more interesting than anything we’ve already seen in a boxing movie. I called Mark back, and I said, “It’s great.” I mean, it grabs you and it doesn’t let go. And it really delivers. It doesn’t let you down, and it really takes you right through to the end. And as OB was saying, it’s pretty brutal.

BLOOM: It’s an assault on the senses — which was kind of what it was like for me, physically.

ELLIS: Yeah. But I love cinema like that. I love it when it grabs you and shakes you. I think that’s what cinema should do.

DEADLINE: Orlando, how much did you weigh when you started the process?

BLOOM: I was about 185 pounds. [Laughs.] Sorry to use pounds and not stone!

DEADLINE: Same as the character?

BLOOM: Give or take.

DEADLINE: How did you lose the weight?

BLOOM: We worked with a great nutritionist called Philip Goglia. He started me on a program about three months prior to filming, and I tiered down from there. I was eating more food than I’d expected, in order to maintain the muscle but drop the weight. There was a sort of science to how much and how often I was eating, like having a spoonful of honey at night, things like that, to hold the muscle but lose the fat. This was three months prior to filming, so when I landed in London to start — which was about three and a half weeks before filming started — I would say I weighed about 170 pounds. I’d dropped quite a lot of weight before I came to the UK, and then in that three-week period I was basically eating five tiny meals a day. A lot of it was tuna and cucumber, and nothing else. I dropped to 152 pounds for the weigh-in scene. We shot that at the beginning of the movie, and then we shot the whole movie backwards.

DEADLINE: Why was that?

BLOOM: Philip, the nutritionist was like, “He’s not going to have any brain function or energy to make the movie.” [Laughs.] He said, “You’ve got to start with the weight loss and then feed him through the movie.” So, we shot the movie in reverse. I remember, I had this massive drop [in weight], because I was sitting at about 163 pounds for what felt like forever. And the training regime was a lot. It was two hours of cardio every day, an hour in the morning and again at night, and then boxing, and then weights, and a very limited amount of food.

I’d already started training — I’d been doing boxing training in America before I came over — and then I dropped 10 pounds of water weight in one night, which was crazy. Philip had told me about this routine that boxers do — they have a hot Epsom-salt bath. I don’t know whether it’s down to osmosis or just some weird body science, but it worked. I had a photo of myself, and I sent it to my partner and my mates, who were tracking me through this wild experience. I sent it to Sean. And then I sat in this space of that weight for about two and a half weeks before we started filming. [Pause] Is that right, Sean? I have to say, my brain is very scrambled…

ELLIS: Yeah, he came to us at his lightest weight because you can’t lose weight and work. It’s almost impossible — you can’t remember your lines or anything else. So, Phil said, “He has to come to you at his lightest, and then you need to allow him to start eating again. But that means you have to shoot the movie in reverse chronological order.” Now, chronological order is a nightmare at the best of times. But reverse chronological order is a total Rubik’s cube. We only had 25 shooting days, and, obviously, Orlando was putting weight on as we were reaching the end of the shoot, which was actually the beginning of the film. But when you edit it in reverse, he starts off heavy and then goes to his lightest point. It was a big jigsaw puzzle, but we got there.

DEADLINE: How did you feel about him losing all that weight? Did you ever feel guilty?

ELLIS: Mark Lane said, “Look, he’s really committed to this. Have a call with him and see if you guys jell,” and I did, instantly. But more than that, what I saw in OB was a huge commitment to make this right. And he was willing to do anything. I think at one point we even spoke about him going to the dentist and having his teeth filed and recapped. There was also the idea that he was willing to have his nose broken. [Laughs.] I was like, “I’m not sure we have to go that far.” But Orlando’s a good-looking bloke, and we were thinking, “How do we convince the world that he’s a professional boxer and make him look like a professional boxer?”

[British makeup artist] Mark Coulier came in and did a lot of work on his face. Mark got an Oscar nomination for Elvis. I’ve worked with him on a couple of movies and he’s just amazing. He took a head-sculpt of Orlando and then showed us what he would be able to do with him. A broken nose; fake ears that were more like cauliflower ears from the fighting; a change of the jawline — there were these “plumpers” that went into his mouth — and the teeth. The eyes as well: Mark gave him a droopy boxer’s eyelid.

I remember when I saw him sitting in the makeup chair. He had the haircut and everything, and I thought, “I buy this guy as a professional fighter.” At that point, he didn’t actually look like Orlando, strangely enough. In fact, I remember when we were shooting, there were two girls in the hotel we were using — just were members of the public — and they were waiting for the elevator to go down. Orlando was down the other end of the corridor, in his pants, and one of them nudged the other one. She whispered, “That’s Orlando Bloom.” The other one looked up and said, “Nah,” and then they got in the lift. I was laughing, because they didn’t recognize him.

DEADLINE: Were you surprised by his dedication?

ELLIS: Even from that first call with him, it was obvious that he was just so committed to this film and was willing to immerse himself. We were referencing [Irish featherweight and lightweight champion] Conor McGregor for a while, to the point where we started talking about the character being Irish, and we loved that idea. Then we cast Caitríona [Balfe], who’s Irish as well, and it made even more sense. It felt like the journey from Ireland to Vegas was bigger, because in the original script he was American, I think. Those changes came about from just me and Orlando talking about the character. I love his accent in it. Honestly, he’s not giving us an Orlando that we’ve seen before, and I love that. I love the change.

DEADLINE: Why did you want Caitríona?

ELLIS: I’d seen her in a couple of movies, Belfast and Ford v Ferrari, and her TV show Outlander. And at the point when we were having these discussions about Orlando playing Irish, I was like, “Well, let’s find an Irish actress.” So, I spoke to Jamie Dornan about Caitríona, because he’d worked with her on Belfast, and I said, “What’s she like? Is she nice? I love her movies. Is she good to work with?” And he was like, “Oh, she’s the best.” So, I got that endorsement, we offered it to her, and, luckily, she said yes. [To Bloom] It was just the three of us a lot of the time, wasn’t it?

DEADLINE: How did her casting affect the script?

ELLIS: A lot of her character was really born out of a lot of the discussions that the three of us had about the relationship that the two characters had. How their past dictated their relationship, and how it was going to dictate their future. So, it was really lovely just to work with both Orlando and Caitríona on finding those characters and really giving them life without really having to spell it out. Boz has more of a visual background, because you see him in flashbacks, but what I love about Caitríona’s character is that there’s a lot of subtext in her performance. It’s not overwritten, but you still get a sense of her life and what’s happened to her in the past.

BLOOM: I remember a conversation I had with her when we first spoke. I called her up. In the early drafts, the script was really centered on this transformation that the boxer goes through, the inner torment and the fight. And I said to Caitríona, “Look at the script as a blueprint, because there’s so much more between the lines than there is in the lines.” I really wanted the authenticity of this relationship to play. Because I think he can’t live without her. He can’t function, he can’t operate without her.

DEADLINE: In the middle of these two you have John Turturro as his trainer, Boz. It’s a very interesting part, almost like a kind of sadistic Jiminy Cricket…

ELLIS: We had many conversations about the script before John actually came on board, but I think John wanted to reassure himself that he was right about how he was going to do it. Because when John turned up — am I right, OB? — he’d fully formed that character. You said, “Action,” and John just did it. There was no, “What do you think?” He’d decided how Boz was going to be.

BLOOM: Can I jump in, Sean? What was on the page for that character was completely different to what John brought to the film. I remember sitting next to him in the makeup chair, and I was in and out of consciousness, in terms of how I felt emotionally. I was paranoid as hell. It was a really weird time, because of my mental state: I wasn’t having any food. Or sleep. I wasn’t sleeping because you don’t sleep when you’re not eating — you keep waking up.

And then he said to me, “It’s love.” And I was like, “What?” He said, “It’s a love story.” And my mind exploded. Sean was like, “Yeah, of course it’s a love story.” But his part wasn’t really written like that. He was written as a pretty straightforward character, like a drill sergeant, very aggressive. And then when he told me that, it became this love triangle in my mind. Boz was seducing me, in a way, into his web. Like, “You’re my guy now.”

Obviously, I’ve been huge fan of the man and the actor for years, and everything he’s ever done. That part could have been so generic in the hands of anyone else, but he just knew what to do. He was sprinkling magic dust all around us. I think we had that conversation on the second day of filming because we were all a bit thrown to begin with. Do you remember that, Sean? I was, certainly. I was like, “Wait, what’s going on?”

ELLIS: I remember Mark coming up to me and saying, “So, is that how we want Boz to be?” Because Boz was very much on the page as a character like the drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket. I remember saying to him, “That’s John Turturro, and he’s giving you Boz. It might not be the Boz you saw on the page, but it is a Boz, and he’s absolutely made it his own.” As OB said, he’s sinister, he’s conniving, and he’s also kind of a groomer, because he understands his victim and he knows how to take control. So, he really pulled himself into this in a very insidious way, which I find very creepy and just brilliantly executed.

BLOOM: Yeah, he totally transformed what the movie could have been.

DEADLINE: You’ve got the Toronto premiere coming up. What kind of reactions are you hoping for?

ELLIS: Well, I hope they don’t throw eggs at the screen. [Laughs.] Listen, I’m incredibly proud of the film and I’m incredibly proud of the performances that the actors have given. It was just such a privilege to record them, and be present, and see them craft those characters. That’s the thing I’m most proud of when I look at it. I think it’s very strong, and it’s a drama with very strong characters.

DEADLINE: Orlando?

BLOOM: Yeah, it’s funny, when I was at drama school, I remember working on The Seagull, the Chekhov play, and there’s a moment at the end where the audience goes silent, because it’s just so uncomfortable. And I think this movie has a similar impact. It’s such an assault on the senses. And, to his credit, Sean never takes his foot off the gas. You can’t hide at any point in this movie. It’s like we strap you into a rocket, and you’re off. And there’s a lot of commentary on the way athletes — male athletes in particular — operate. Obviously we haven’t taken this from a true story, it’s fictitious. But I think it deals with very real ideas about self-worth. It’s about what people will do to fill the void that’s in their stomach, or in their soul. It’s about the lengths they will go to.

Deadline

Remember… (about Caitlin, Caitríona’s character) I really wanted the authenticity of this relationship to play. Because I think he can’t live without her. He can’t function, he can’t operate without her. — Sean Ellis

[captain-mj]

Roach asks Ghost to dress up as Predator. Primal kink.

I love predator so much, Predator 2 was my favorite movie as a kid (my mom was worried about my mental health). I love the Yautja so much and the idea of Ghost dressed up like that got me feral, foaming at the mouth, fucking crazy

I can offer no money but if anyone wants to draw Ghost dressed as predator, I'll start crying and send you the tears

It had taken forever to get the costume. The mask fit perfectly over his face and the rest of the outfit, the armor and the fishnet, fit a bit snug but perfect. Roach was already hiding somewhere, so how he looked would be a completely surprise. He barely looked human, but Ghost liked it. Using his scythes from his Azrael skin, he put them again his back.

Then, he started hunting Roach. Following tracks and broken twigs to his prey.

Roach hadn't hid very well. Mostly because he was impatient. Ever since he had made the comment to Ghost that the monster in predator was hot and Ghost joked they were probably the same height, Roach had been desperate. He currently was furiously fingering himself, so horny it made him stupid.

Ghost's footsteps made the slightest sound and Roach quickly ran away from the sound. Judging by the harsh sound of Ghost in pursuit, he wasn't bothering to muffle his footsteps at all, it wasn't the smartest idea. The sound disappeared but Roach kept moving for another minute. He eventually did stop though, turning around.

Ghost was gone.

Roach panted and tried to catch his breath. His heart raced.

Giant hands grabbed him, one over his mouth and one around his waist. Ghost dragged him so his feet only dangled above the ground uselessly. He didn't speak, just shoved Roach's face, rather gently so the bark wouldn't hurt his face, directly into a tree.

Ghost bent down slightly and grabbed his ankle, yanking it up so one of his legs was pulled almost straight up. His other foot had to stay firmly on the ground to prevent him from falling. The strain in his thighs started to hurt but Ghost's gloved hands grabbed at him, exposing his hole and the tip of his finger slipped in slightly.

Ghost grunted and slid the front of part of the gear up so he could grab his cock. Roach whimpered and he struggled, trying to kick him away but between the position and Ghost's strength he couldn't really fight back. He felt him shove into him and let out a silent scream. He understood why he held him like this though. The angle meant it felt like Ghost was deep in his stomach, breaking him open.

Roach scratched at the wood helplessly as Ghost started to fuck him hard. No chance to adjust or prepare. He slammed right into him, leaving Roach to scramble and learn to take it.

Ghost leaned down, nosing at his neck before breathing him in. The cold mask stared down at him and Roach's dick twitched. His eyes were filling with tears and he tried to grab on to Ghost's shoulders instead. Ghost shoved him off like he was nothing and fucked him harder for the inconvenience. Eventually, he moved so Roach's leg was hooked over his shoulder and he wrapped his free hand around his throat, choking him.

Roach held on to his forearm, feeling the metal under his nails. He let himself start crying because he knew Ghost liked that. Ghost immediately sped up, hitting his prostate with the accuracy you'd expect from a sniper. Slammed right into him over and over and over.

Roach sobbed and his back arched, silently wailing. His mouth opened and throat convulsing against Ghost's hand.

Ghost growled in his ear before forcing him to arch further, moving his leg so the ache in his thighs would stop. He didn't pause his assault on his body though before letting go of this throat and slapping his ass hard. Roach whimpered and hid in his hands, feeling his body start to tense. Right when he felt himself get close, almost at his release.

Ghost pulled out and let Roach crumple to the ground. Roach looked up at him, bewildered. Ghost's boot lightly tapped him, clearly wanting him to lay back. He obliged, legs spreading of their own accord.

Roach lifted his hands and shakily signed. "Please."

Ghost laughed. Cruelly. He moved closer and crouched, grabbing his face. "Little prize. What should I take from you?" His hands traced down Roach's chest, enjoying the frantic panting.

Roach shook his head and tried to push his hand down to his cock, desperately needing to come. He was so hard and so close it wouldn't take much.

Ghost flicked his hand away and settled between his thighs again. He pulled him closer and thrust back into him, groaning.

Roach sighed in relief and Ghost shoved his knees to his chest, happily fucking into him. His cock made a small indent in Roach's tummy and it drove them both crazy. He tried to fight back just a little and received a backhand for it before Ghost grabbed his chin again.

Roach was so close again. He rocked his hips back and groaned, body spasming around Ghost. Two fingers hooked the side of his mouth before forcing him to open it. Ghost found a harsh rhythm and kept thrusting while his fingers explored his mouth.

Roach came hard, shivering. He quickly closed his eyes and whimpered against him.

Ghost kept thrusting into him over and over again before coming deep inside him.

Roach shivered and fell limp. Ghost pulled him into his lap, not pulling out. "I think I'll take all of you as a prize."

Roach nodded lazily and smiled, kissing the nose of the mask. He couldn't quite see Ghost's eyes, but he didn't mind. He signed "Love you"

"Love you too, Roach."

[halfadoginatank]

Eldritch König teaser

——————

He can't stand it, the stares, soon enough he hears more whispers. They call Konig a monster on the battlefield. They wonder where the enemy's bodies went, they no longer see johans eyes. So he covers his face, he doesn't know what to do when he looks in the mirror. His hair has grown down to his waist since getting back, it grows faster than he can keep up, his hooked nose, the one his mother had loved had been broken and reset wrong, and there was death in his eyes. He chopped up a T-shirt, the only thing that would work with his helmet, he takes the cleaning products from the supply closet and draws tears on it. Tears for the first ever thing he killed, that poor helpless elk. The first thing to feed the king of monsters.

——————

Oh boy oh boy yall better get ready because I am COOKING

[anamelessfool]

Cringe is dead, make messy drawings of your blorbos

Exerpt from Tilted

There was a knock on her door, which meant she had about fifteen seconds before Copia opened it.

Halfway through his count, she ripped the door open, grinning wildly. He nearly jumped out of his skin. “Oh-eh!”

Copia was wearing his usual threadbare red tracksuit, and he had never looked better in it. She had requested he wear something comfortable for their night in. She grabbed him by his ratty red hoodie and brought him in for a vigorous kiss. “Hey, I have a surprise for you! You'll love it!”

He uttered one of his exasperated noises, then smiled faintly. He gazed at her tenderly across his delightfully upturned nose, the white Infernal Eye bright in the half dark. He pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her waist. “And what's this surprise now, hm?”

“One of my favorite ways to spend a Saturday night,” Marian said, leading him into her room. On the floor was a pizza box and pillows from her bed, next to the large cardboard box and an ancient television set hooked up to her garage sale prize. “Pizza and games.”

“Oh!” Copia looked a little disappointed, but smiled anyway. He pointed at the mass of cables attached to the TV. “And what is all this?”

“It's a game system! I had the same one when I was a kid.”

“And you have a television here, as well?” He attempted to spy around her. “Fridge, microwave, What else do you have in here?” 

“Barely works, there's no cable or antenna,” Marian redirected. “And the panini press has been broken for a while, so that doesn't count.” 

“Games?” 

“Yes! You've shown me your thing, now let me show you mine.” She grinned. “I haven't played in ages. I loved it. Inner child healing shit, right here.”

“I thought we would um…well um… you know ,” muttered Copia, shuffling his feet and twisting his fingers. “That's the most popular pastime of ours, anyway.” 

“Right but...This is fun! Adventure! Character development!” Marian gestured wildly towards the game system. “I bought it for you. For us.”

He looked into her face, a genuine smile appearing on his. He brought her hand to his lips. “Sure. How could I say no to your inner child?”

“She's quite fussy,” Marian replied, pinching his ass and making him yelp. She sat down by the television, hugging a pillow to her chest. “You pick the first one.”

He looked through the box, picking up one cartridge at a time, nodding, then returning it to the box. She watched him minute after excruciating minute. “Copia, just pick one!”

“Oh uh ok here this one ah—here,” he stuttered, handing her a random game. There was a cartoon of an old lady on it. Marian took the cartridge from him, blew a bit into the socket, then shoved it into the console.

Driving Miss Daisy the pixelated screen said, while snoozy 8-bit music played. The game started and Copia was, in fact, a chauffeur for someone named Miss Daisy.

“What the fuck is this?” Marian was maneuvering a pizza slice into her mouth.

“I er…I like the realism,” Copia said. “It's like you're actually driving her. I wonder if I get the good ending.”

Marian frowned. “I can't play a game like this. It's what I do for work, why the hell would I do this for fun,” she muttered. She dropped her slice on a paper plate and rifled through the cardboard box again.

“Copia, oh my god!” Marian grinned ear to ear, grabbing him so suddenly he jumped. “We’ve got to play this!” She pulled out a well-loved cartridge that said Tetris 2 on the torn-up sun bleached label. “The hours I played this as a kid…” She hastily shoved it into the machine. “Just try it!”

A cheery, reeling Russian folksong played forever on the start menu. Copia tentatively picked up the controller and pressed start. The view cut to a small frame with blocks floating softly down. Copia stared, enchanted, as the blocks stacked on top of themselves like layers of brightly colored snow.

Copia’s wistful excitement turned to panic as the blocks slowly overwhelmed the screen. “Marian?! What do I do?!”

“Rotate the blocks! Like this!” She reached around behind him and put her head on his shoulder. She grabbed the controller around his hands and pressed a button. “You try to stack them perfectly. And then—” Marian completed a large section of wall with a long piece, and the screen flashed. The wall was gone. She gave his cheek a victorious kiss. “That's how you get points.” She nuzzled the side of his handsomely graying hair, taking in his warm scent, sighing deeply by his ear. He shuddered in happiness. This was exactly what she imagined when she snuck this game system into her room this afternoon.

“Hmmm…erm…oh! Aha!” Copia uttered his little noises of satisfaction as the game began to make sense to him. He gently rotated the blocks and watched them finish the walls. Marian was in agony watching how slowly and thoughtfully he played. 

[alenseress]

Dushan laugs, the sound roaming deep and warm in Solas' face. The man never keeps his distance. Always back to back, nose to nose, in the heat of battle or a drunken night. It makes his frame seem larger than life, brighter, so much more. "Felt the whole world change?"

"A figure of speech."

Dushan shakes his head. Laughs again, shorter, quieter, softer, smaller. Leans in even closer, squinting his eyes in a deeply amused manner.

Solas wants to flee. He doesn't admit to it again, holding his ground.

"A figure of speech," Dushan repeats after him, face open and mockingly curious.

So Solas tries again. "You changed everything."

There's something in his eyes, utterly tired and utterly angry, a wounded creature Solas can't quite make sense of. He walked his dreams a dozen times and yet, as the Inquisitor turns away and clicks his tongue, Solas finds himself wanting to see even more. A desperate thought.

"Sweet talker that you are."

A moment of quiet stillness and then a hand grips his hip, drawing him in swiftly. It's awkward, their teeth clacking together and Dushan's hair getting between them in a way that makes the kiss break apart in a second. There's guilt and a sudden flush of shame and Solas reaches out to palm away the wild strands from his face before they have time to think more. It's a lost fight, the way the hand moves up to his back and slides down, following the curve of his spine, anchor burning the touch like open fire and Solas gasps into strange lips. He traces the man's brow, his cheek, finds the heavy bone of his chin buried under coarse hair. Finds the ears, unfamiliar to the touch, smaller and tender and rounder, but Dushan pushes his elbow up until Solas' hand slips and grips the neck. Dushan pulls him in closer, Solas pulls on him too, lickings into his mouth with some quiet insanity.

I want to love you. Gods know I want to.

Solas pushes his way out with a barely audible "no, no" and Dushan blinks in a daze. Doesn't reach for it, a searching hand carefully frozen in the air.

"No?"

"We shouldn't. It isn't right. Not even here."

They flee apart without much to it. The Inquisitor clears his throat, lost fingers digging into his scalp for a second, gaze wandering somewhere above as Solas watches the snow set on his shoulders.

"Even here?"

"Where do you think we were?"

He takes his last liberty in the false safety of his room. The hair, as much of a mess, covers Dushan's face as he jolts his head uneasily on the couch. Solas hooks the strands behind his ears once again, kissing the broken line between his eyebrows with dry lips.

The fade makes him restless. The voices from the tower above grow louder. Solas cracks his knees, getting up, and grabs a mug from his table as Dushan almost tumbles down from the couch with a gasp.

Solas smiles.

"Sleep well?"

[gayemochick69]

Arsonist's Lulluby (chapter 1)

Summary: Shaena hated Aegon, hated him so much she wanted to bury her knife so far in his chest that it came out the other end,she also couldn't live with out him, or his cock

Rating: 18+

TW: 18+, Oral sex, Toxic relationships, Drug use

Word count: 581

A/n: This story is also co-written with

it will also be posted on ao3 and wattpad

I do not condone anything that happens on this story, it is a fanfiction, not real life

Also Shaena is a icon, slay, we love toxic and violent women.

Shaena is Rhaenerya and Daemons first born daughter,

Enjoy do not try this at home.

xx

- Whorefortargaryens

AO3 - Whorefortargaryens

Wattpad - whorefortargaryens

Alright here we go...

Your such a fucking slut, Shaena" Aegon screamed across the room at her, as she was packing her clothes in a bag,

***

The night before Shaena had once again fought with Aegon after finding him getting a blowjob from some random whore, she had gone out for a girls night at a strip club, after watching the main show she had managed to find one of the strippers in one of the VIP lounge.

Still angry with Aegon, she decided to get revenge, she thought about the time that Aegon and her had broken up and he had sent her a video of a girl sucking him off on their lounge and him moaning Shaena's name as he came.

Already having her plan, planned out in her head she set up her phone camera and pressed record and put her phone on the armrest of the lounge the stripper was sitting on. She took the small bag of cocaine she had in her bra and put it next to her phone.

She hooked her fingers in the belt loops of his shorts and pulled them to his knees, his semi-hard cock slapped against his stomach, she began slowly placing open mouthed kisses to his toned stomach and traced them down to his v-line.

Hearing the stripper let out a laboured breath she wrapped her hand around his cock and began to kitten-lick the now fully hard head, licking up the pre-cum that had started to come out.

She removed her tounge from his head and grabbed the bag off the armrest, still keeping her hand firmly on the base of his cock, Slowly she sprinked a line of coke on the top of his cock, from the top to the edge of her hand.

After placing the bag back on the armrest she brought her nose to the base of his cock and snorted the line up to his head, she threw her head back as the cocaine entered her system bringing her the feeling of ectasy.

She brought her face back down to his cock and licked the rest of the coke off before resuming the licks on his head.

She licked a strip up his cock from his balls to the top, before wrapping her lips around his head and sucking his head like a lollipop.

The stripper let a breathy moan at her actions and put his hand on her head and pulling her hair into a makeshift ponytail. At the feeling of his hand on her head she began to push her mouth lower on his cock slowly bringing her mouth up and down.

She cupped his balls with her other hand and gently squeezed, she felt his balls tighten at the action, signaling that he was going to cum, she sank her mouth to the base of his cock feeling his pubic hair oh her nose.

He let out a long moan as his cum filled her mouth, Shaela brought her mouth back up to the head and sucked hard drawing another moan and another string of cum to come out. After she felt the last of his cum in her mouth she removed her mouth from his cock and grabbed her phone and opened her mouth to the camera zooming in on the cum still on her tounge.

After stopping the video she spits the strippers cum in the bin, in the corner of the room. As she walks out she presses send, the video going straight to Aegon.

[thiefoflight68]

Broken Heat

MCU - Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes. Omegaverse.

This was a plot bunny prompt competition. My first ever fanfiction that is not MHA!

Omega / Alpha. DNI unless over 18

“Sam,” Bucky panted, leaning back on his elbows on the bed, watching as he walked towards him slowly, too slowly.  “Fuck, you’re killing me.”  He tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut against the raging heat in his body.  

“Hold on there,” Sam chuckled low as he peeled off his shirt.  “I’ve got to get undressed to make sure I can take care of you properly.”

“Properly?”  Bucky laughed desperately, keeping his eyes closed trying to concentrate.  “You fucking Alpha prick,” he snarled.  “If I could move, I’d slam you against that fucking wall and take you myself.”

“Mmmm hmmm, you would?”  Stopping, Sam took in the sight of him.  Naked, sprawled out, waiting for him.  His cock was ready for this man but he wanted to go slow. “So, come on then, jump me.”  

“You… you know I can’t… not when I’m in my heat. Fuck! My legs barely work.”  Sam's long low chuckle should’ve irritated him further and any other time it would’ve, but not right now.  Instead the deep husky growl unsprung the coil deep in his groin, he squirmed on the bed. “Dammit, Sam… please?”  He gritted out between clenched teeth.

Leaning down Sam planted his hands on either side of his legs enjoying the view of his man completely at his mercy.  A formidable partner in all things, Bucky was unlike most Omegas he’d ever known, in fact, it wasn’t even something he’d considered when he first met him.  But when he was in heat, he succumbed to his nature.  It was a brief window of time for Sam to enjoy him as he wished, without risking a right hook to his jaw.  “I think you can sound a bit more convincing there Bucky, try that again.”

“I fucking hate you,” Bucky snapped his eyes open to glare at him. Mistake!  He realized too late that he’d taken off his shirt, his muscles rippling under his dark skin.  His gaze drifted lower where he could see the outline of his hard dick, pressing through the thin jersey of his running pants. He looked away but it was too late, the image of him was driving the whipping need to a frenzy.  It grated over every last nerve but if Sam didn’t fuck him soon, he’d probably explode in a burst of Omega pheromones.  “Would you just-”

“Mmmm, watch that tone,” Sam teased.  The smell coming off of Bucky was thick, almost metallic, like the smell of rain as it first hits the asphalt.  Heavy, pungent and completely intoxicating.  He was struggling to keep himself from pouncing on him, just a little more fun.  Releasing his pheromones, he knew it would calm him for a few moments, long enough that he could take his time.  Otherwise he’d be rutting him before he pulled down his pants.

The smell hit his nose and plunged into his brain, Bucky’s eyes rolled back in his head.  The flavor of Sam was his one true north, his scent brought equilibrium to his body for a blissful moment.  Shaking he inhaled deeply, nodding.  “Thank…you.”  It was an effort but he really was thankful for the reprieve from the hunger that gnawed through his body.

“You may want to wait to thank me,” Sam smiled cockily, “now close your eyes.”

“Finally,” he muttered under his breath, but he did as he was told.  Sam knew he was near his breaking point but still loved to push him well beyond his control, torturing him during his heats was a delight of his.  Bucky’s hips thrust involuntarily as he waited.  His nipples pulled painfully taught in the anticipation of his mouth.  His smell that had settled in the air around him seemed to be growing weaker, the soothing balm losing its strength.  “Sam?”  Bucky huffed, laughing almost hysterically.  He lifted his hips, “C’mon, really?”  He moved his leg slightly out, waiting to feel his arm brush on his skin.  His foot only found the edge of the bed, had he moved back?   Clearing his throat he knew he had to play the game, Sam would draw this out if he didn’t.  “Please… babe, I really need you right now.”  His tone was soft, begging, desirous, just the way he liked it.  Nothing, his ears strained to hear him but it was quiet.  The hum of the city outside their closed bedroom window was the only thing he could hear.  “Sam?”  He gulped in air, thrusting his hips futilely again. Frustration began to mount, why was he being such a damn cocky Alpha?  “Dammit Sam!!”  Pushing up, he disobeyed and opened his eyes, sending him a death glare.  He was gone.  Blinking Bucky looked around the room.  “Sam?”  Had he gone into the bathroom?  Anger started to boil over his frustration.  “Are you fucking kidding me?!”  He shouted, the veins popping out in his neck.  “I’m in heat and so fucking horny I can’t even walk and you’re playing fucking hide n’ seek?  Look at me!!” He pointed to his painfully throbbing cock. “I’m so hard I could probably fucking cut steel with my dick and you!”  His voice strained against another wave of unrelenting need.  “You jerk!”  Panting, he sat up holding himself steady.  “SAM!!”  Again there was nothing.  Letting out a sharp breath, he struggled to stand.

Taking slow mincing steps, he grimaced at the flood in his ass, “damn, shit Alpha,” picking up his T-shirt he shoved it into his butt.  “That’s your fucking favorite shirt, isn’t it?”  He laughed loudly, “shouldn’t have left, ‘cause now it’s my butt sponge.”  Shuffling across the room, he opened the door to the living room.  He wasn’t there.  “Sam?”  For a second he faltered.  Spinning around, he really wasn’t in the bedroom?  Panic began to bloom in his mind, lungeing awkwardly for the bathroom he ripped open the door. Empty.  “SAM!”  He yelled less convincingly this time as fear laced his hoarse voice.  

Ding… ding…ding…ding…ding…ding…ding…ding…

The continual chirping was coming from his phone.  The hair on his neck rose painfully against the wave of chills coursing over his body.  His instincts were popping off.  Something was wrong. 

Walking stiffly to the nightstand, he picked up the phone, his jaw clenched.  He began to read through the cascade of texts coming in from friends and the others.

Missing…

Missing…

Missing…

Missing…

Missing…

Missing…

The weight of sheer dread plunged into his gut, he sat heavily on the bed.  His phone began to ring.  Tears sprang in his eyes at the number, his throat pinching at the welling emotions.  Clicking answer, he sucked in a deep breath.

“Nick?  What’s going on?”

[batsing]

SO. SLUGLINGS AMIRITE??

I heard some of you were interested, so here's a bit of info on them! Sorry it took a little while I ended up drawing a ton for my scrimblos here </3

Sluglings evolved from sea slugs as you probably know, which are known to have up to 700000 microscopic, razor sharp hook shaped teeth. (I sure love animals that are biological horrors up under a microscope!!) Over time this became a useless thing, so they began to evolve in favor of merging the teeth into much larger, actually usable fang-like teeth. These fangs are semi retractable and are also heavily used to convey emotion, similarly to their antenna, unsheathing when angry.

Sea slugs are solitary creatures, unlike sluglings which had evolved to be much more sociable over time. At first so they could hunt with a chance of succeeding, but now to the point of having a complex social structure. They have developed a unique language called Sluguni, alongside some highly expressive body language. Some examples found below.

Another thing to note is the rounder, broken mask shape. They partially come up the nose bridge, but are ultimately broken apart, taking on an almost heart shape in most common cases. In rare cases, there will be only one rounded shape, making them look almost like a weird inkling if it weren't for their antenna. They most commonly have two rounded "eyelash" shapes, but it's also not unheard of to have more than two. More examples below!!

Their hairstyles are composed of several things as well, with no real requirements other than the antenna! Plus one other trait.. This trait can be anything, from the gills, to the cerata, to the mantle skirt!! You could even get creative and slap the tail/foot on as a sort of longer hairstyle! Antenna + hairstyle can be mixed and matched should you so desire; More examples below!!! You do not need to follow these examples, and if you do you don't need to follow them to an exact! Creativity is encouraged just like you would with an inkling character!! Like look at Frye compared to other inklings!!

SO GET OUT THERE AND CREATE A SLUGLING IF YOU WANNA GOOFS GO CRAZY GO WILD HMU IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS I DONT BITE I PROMISE!! :D

IF YOU MAKE ONE TAG ME THIS IS A THREAT I WANT TO SEE THE SCRUNKLY

[pennydoe]

hi lucky you reblogged my post bringing me back to life and i'm filt with months of unbridled and unreleased anger so now i'm gonna say my lil ocean hcs (half of them r me saying 'me fr')

•Lesbian + Asexual of course (She/They she doesn't think she's fully s girl but doesn't care to think about it much)

•Short obv, like 5'1

• Adhd + Sensory issues (just like me fr)

• She has a hooked nose or just a nose bump in general

•Thick, big, eyebrows

•tooth gap

•Her hair is like, puffy..? but not..? like her hair is straight at the top then it just gets crazy at the bottom being completely crazy.

•Has broken into noel's house.

•Definitely some built up tension and anger (also just like me fr)

•Twitches/fidgets a lot (me fr 😭😭)

•LOTS of freckles like TONS of them, Penny/Jane likes to count them.

•Dimples !!

•she has Like a small natural blush cause she's lucky like that fr fr, jist some rosey cheeks.

Then ofc there's the way i draw her with like her being unhinged and calling Noel mean names and just being a generally awkward lesbian, like yea she's good at social interaction but she's AKWARD and freaks out about it inside her head.

I just love her okay she's literally so me i'm not even joking (im not okay(

me when I realize i can draw a character with any hcs i want (Ocean with a hooked nose and big eyebrows and freckles and noticable arm air and tooth gap and- *gets shot*)

[welcometogrouchland]

for the toh reqs~

SIBLING GAME NIGHT SIBLING GAME NIGHT!!!!!!!!!

anyway hope you are having a lovely day!!!!!!!! ty bestie🙏🙏🙏🙏💕💖

[ID: a comic featuring the cast of the owl house, split into two images. The first image shows King holding a pair of uno cards, looking up to the left- towards Luz, who we see in a cut-in-half close up panel of her face, holding three cards in a dramatic fashion. Her face is in shadow and sparkles appear around her eyes. Paralleling her in the other corner is a panel of hunter, holding yellow cards and sweating nervously.

The next image is two rectangular panels of hunter and Luz sitting across from each other with king in the middle, all three of them playing cards. In the background is Gus, Willow and Amity (who is saying "go Luz!"). The first panel is silent, until in the second panel, Luz says "draw 5" with a smug expression. Hunter stands up angrily, his cards flying in the air, and yells "IT IS NOT LEGAL TO DO THAT FOUR TIMES IN A ROW, HUMAN!". king says "haha, yes it is! Loser boy has lost again!" Gus summons a puff of illusion smoke with a scoreboard on it reading "L: 12, H: 0". Amity is cheering and willow summons the word, "R.I.P (again)" in vines and flowers next to hunter. The background is colored with peaches and oranges. End ID]

Frantically ignoring the implications of todays ep. Incredibly funny to me how these bitches ended up actually being siblings