#and if you read this and are even reading these tags like the masochist you are

[koalas-koalas-everywhere]

One argument I've seen crop up when criticizing deanlisa is "why didn't he go to Cassie, who he had a better relationship with?" And even people who like the ship will take up that criticism, accept it but... it doesn't really make sense either? He only knew Lisa for a weekend, sure, but he also only knew Cassie for "a couple of weeks". It's true that he loved Cassie, while nothing of the sort was said about Lisa (nor do I think that they went beyond "chemistry so exceptional that they remember each other almost a decade later, one told all her friends that it was the best night or her life, the other made a repeat part of his bucketlist")!

But it was Cassie herself who said they were never good with anything but fighting and sex. They had chemistry off the roof, they loved each other a lot, which I think makes us forget that this is what they —most importantly, Cassie— say about their relationship:

CASSIE Actually we were always pretty good at fighting. (Indicating their position) This we were good at. It's all the other stuff… not so much. DEAN Hey, I tried. I told you who I really was. That was a big first for me. CASSIE Why'd you tell me? DEAN I don't know. I guess I couldn't lie to you. CASSIE Dean. You told me that story…it scared the hell outta me. I thought you were nuts. Dangerous even. Actually, maybe I was looking for a reason to walk away.

It's also true that, while Lisa kept inviting Dean to stay (she offered at the end of 3.02 and in 5.17), Cassie told him not to come back. Not in a mean way! And maybe it's better to say that she told him not to have hope of them ever getting back together, because she didn't think they had a future. And he was going at it, trying to get her to bend even a little:

DEAN Yeah well maybe this time it [the goodbye] will be a little less permanent. CASSIE You know what? I'm a realist. I don't see much hope for us, Dean. DEAN Well, I've seen stranger things happen. A hell of a lot stranger. CASSIE Good bye, Dean. DEAN I'll see ya, Cassie…. I will.

I'm not trying to paint it as a who's better for Dean contest. I'm not even saying that this makes it less sudden for him to go to Lisa. Just saying that a reason why Dean didn't go to Cassie, or even think of going to Cassie, is that she told him not to. She broke it off for what was clear to be the final time. With this same dialogue, Megalyn Echikunwoke could have played it in a lighter tone, like she was willing to be convinced or charmed by Dean, but she very much wasn't. As far as she was concerned, their reunion gave her closure.

TL;DR: The love was there, but Cassie had made it clear that she didn't want him to come back. He listened. End of.

[twirlingsmilingwriting]

Tolerate it || Young!Coriolanus Snow X Reader

"I sit and watch you reading with your... head low"

Truly feeling like the luckiest person alive when your former classmate and short term boyfriend asked you to marry him. Not even a year into the marriage and also a year into his presidency does the original love and admiration you felt from him start to dissipate. You can't help but feel trapped and tricked into a marriage in which he may have never loved you to begin with. Warnings: Angst, Love-Bombing, marriage, gender ambiguous reader, typical snow tags (manipulation), social isolation, alluding to sexual acts but not described, kissing Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: I was listening to Evermore after watching tbosas and Tolerate It was just SCREAMING Snow vibes. I was fidgeting with the gold charm of my pearl necklace while anxiously looking over at my husband whose nose was too deep into a book to seem to care about me. I dropped my gaze from him to scan across the table and room. Our large dining room was red with gold accent pieces I had spent the morning dusting decorating the walls. We both sat at opposite ends of the long table, ever too long to just seat two people but it seemed the man couldn't do anything at home if he was within five feet of me. A bouquet of roses I placed in a ceramic vase sat between us on the table. He loved roses, he always did, so I placed them there to brighten his day and maybe even spark up conversation between us. I polished the plates we ate on delicately and even spent the afternoon painting designs onto the back of them. I had done all this in hopes I'd receive some sort of compliment from him but alas, there was none. I sat back and reminisced on the days of our love before it was like this. Truly, when I had first married Coriolanus I had felt like my life had started a new chapter. We dated in the spring and summer time of the year after we graduated from the academy. He was top of the class and while I never matched him in intelligence he had seemingly randomly taken a liking to me. We were acquaintances at most before that and then he started talking to me any chance he could get. I would gush to my friends about his charming smile and posture and they would warn me of the rumors that went around about him. They would tell me to never get to close to him as all those who got did would end up disgraced, missing, or dead. In some masochistic way, I truly felt enthralled by his magnetic aura, danger, and the mystery that surrounded him. His bright red coat was as red as the flags that man was but the danger of it all excited me. He wasn't the nicest man out there but when he was nice to me, I felt unique. I was the exception to his coldness.

We'd go out on dates and he would shower me with sweet nothings. He would tell me how I was the light that lit up the darkness of his life. He said my beauty could turn a man to stone. I will never forget the way he kissed me on the busiest street in the capital under the dancing streetlights and how I felt like time had stopped in that moment. The way he stroked the side of my face so delicately and told me I was the only one who had ever made him feel so alive. I was holding onto every breath that man had exhaled hoping he'd inhale me further into his life. We'd spend days together and call at night. I didn't notice it at the time but in retrospect it was tactical. I spent every moment of my waking days with him and soon my life started to be built around him. Every phone call from a friend I received that spoke about him in any negative way made me push them away and out of my life even further. He was the only one I talked to. He is my world. We were two seeds that had gotten dropped into the same pot and were growing into each other.

In the fall, I fell for him harder than I ever had before. It came to a height when we were walking through a park and watched as the changing leaves fell from the trees. He held my hand in his and he held me so tight as if he was afraid I'd float away and leave him. I would never of course, my life would bend to his will. My head rested against his arm like the red coat he always wore. He'd recount to me stories of his life that would make me laugh and smile. His strikingly blonde hair blew in the wind softly and I noticed every detail of how his icy blue eyes would crinkle when he'd smile at me. He was like a beautiful painting whose artist was unknown. I remember thinking that all I would ever want to be in this life is as significant to him as he is to me. I remember the earth shattering halt my heart felt when he turned to me and dropped down to one knee and proposed. A smirk plastered his face when I said yes. He stood back up and pulled me in by the waist. One hand on my chin and the other on my lower back. The feeling of his warm, soft lips on mine and the feeling of his hair tangled between my fingers. I remember the ecstasy of the moment and the feeling that my friends were wrong, the world was wrong, no one knew Coriolanus like I knew him. He wasn't a cold, calculated, and constantly plotting man, he was just misunderstood. When he pulled away from the kiss, he whispered in my ear that he would live a thousand life times if it meant he got to love me in the next. I remembered everything.

That was the first night we spent together. He snuck me into his house and we giggled in his bedroom when he shut the door. We told each other secrets and moved the furniture so we could dance. My head was placed onto his chest and we swayed to the sound of the music playing from his grandmothers record player. We shared moments of passion in his bed, fell asleep in each others arms, and woke up tangled in bed sheets. I remember thinking he was truly mine.

We married shortly after in the beginning of December. The ceremony was lavish and beautiful. I remember the way his fingers tucked my hair behind my ear. A single tear fell from his eyes and he leaned in and kissed me. He must've been so taken aback from my beauty as I was with his. Only one of my friends attended the wedding but I was too happy that I was marrying the man of my dreams to care. The first weeks of our married life were wondrous. He had risen to power and we had moved into the absolute gargantuan mansion we live in today. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off me and I was the diamond of his eyes. He loved to show me off for the cameras and crowds. Then one day, winter came and roses don't survive.

It started off small. He didn't want to talk or cuddle in bed at night anymore. I assumed he was just tired from working so hard. Then he stopped complimenting my outfits or hair, trading them with passive aggressive comments and ways I could improve myself for him. He no longer wanted to talk at dinner. We stopped speaking at some point. He wouldn't want to hear my voice unless it was to service him. In public, he still was my adoring husband but in private, I felt like I was living with a stranger. At night, I can hear him whispering sweet nothings to the air and humming melodies and I can only hope he's dreaming about me.

These days, I haven't been sleeping, I've been trying to listen in and see if I can make out the words he is saying in his sleep but I haven't been able to make out any other words than lines about trees. While he is having his meetings all day, I am constantly doing new diets, trying new makeup, new hair, decorating the house differently, leaving loving notes on his desk, anything to try and earn a compliment from him. Even if a compliment is too much, I am begging for a word from that man. I love him. I still love him. I don't believe it is possible for me to stop loving him. I can't dare to think of loving any one else. He is so much wiser, and smarter, and more beautiful than I am and I find myself becoming the moon to his earth. I spin around him, pulled in by his orbit except, I'm not his moon. I'm just a star in his sky that is begging to be his sun. I just want a footnote in the story of his life. Even an annotation on a page of his story will be enough for me.

The sound of him placing his heavy book onto the table pulled me out of my trance and my eyes met his blue ones once more. Instantly, I am struck frozen. His eyes had such a way of pulling you in. I looked down at his lips as they pressed a small smirk and his eyes squinted a little while he picked up his fork from the table and looked at me. He examined my appearance and I sat up straighter. The thick tension in the air put me on edge. Finally, his lips parted and he spoke.

"Is that a new hair color?" he asked, keeping his eyes laser focused on me.

"It is... d- do you like it?" He looked me over again and leaned back in his chair contemplating what to say next. Then, shortly, sweetly, and sharply, he muttered the word,

"Tolerable"

~

PART TWO PART THREE

[theworldofotps]

A Lady and a Freak. (Drabble) NSFW

Pairing: Drew McIntyre x Reader Word Counter: 486 Description: Drew loves Y/n's otherside.

Thank you @madhatterbri for reading over part of this. A little NSFW _______ Tag list: @omg-im-such-a-masochist @melissahausen @new-zealand-chic @writtingrose @hotgirlgraps @madhatterbri @sjwrites22 @sassymox @mrsacklesevansmgk @xladyxfatex @adamcolesbaybay @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @rebellious-desires @claymorexpunisher @letsgivethisonemoreshot @ava-valerie @shortyiceheart @serpantscorpio8497 @thatpanpal @thatnerdwriter @wrestlersownmyheart @vebner37 @seeingstarks @whenimakeitshine1234 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @blaquekitty @ironshamelessyouth @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin ​ @ripleyswhore @moonrosekk @xbreezymeadowsx @alyyaana @elevennbloom @melblacc @alliwant456 @mcreignsera @auburnwrites​ @aews-four-pillars

If you wanna be added to the list lemme know.

Drew Taglist:

@eddie-kingstons-wifey

@akiko-tanaka

@cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore

@maryjaneleaholland26

@slutfortheeclaymore

______ There’s not much left in this world that marveled Drew, he’s seen a lot and heard even more. However there was one thing that would always leave him stunned and that was the majesty of a woman. The way they could transform so easily from one thing to another was mind blowing.

One moment y/n was accompanying him to a dinner for work, a lady dressed to the tens her hair artfully piled on top of her hair in what looks like took hours of styling but in fact took her less than half an hour. She had been laughing and chatting with some very important members of his company. Her makeup perfect everything about her flawless. Whenever his gaze would meet hers from across the room she’d give him a sly smile her eyes held a hint of mischief. 

Drew knew all too easily that her mischief could get them in trouble if not careful. Despite being difficult he convinced her to behave. And she did, no one could ever tell the ideas swirling in her head or the lustful thoughts running through his. When they were finally alone back home is when she could let loose. And did he absolutely love the other side of her she showed for only him.

Yes, one moment she was a lady rubbing elbows with successful people and the next her hands were tied up while she withered under his touch in bed. Her hair tumbling all around her freed from the hair tie and pins she’d used to keep it up. It mesmerized him that she was able to do both so quickly the ever so elegant lady was moaning like a whore as his cock and fingers drove her over the edge. Drew listened as she whined and begged for him to go faster as the sound of skin slapping filled the room. 

She looked otherworldly, her lipstick was smeared over her lips from sucking him off, the slight sweat caused her mascara to run just a little. At this moment he couldn’t think of a more beautiful sight. The fact nobody but him got to see her this way drove him wild as he continued to pound into her. Drew knew she was right on the edge of orgasm as her noises got higher, the feeling of her walls clenching around him. A tremble ran through him as his own release quickly approached. Once, twice and a third thrust caused them both to unravel, Drew did his best to keep his eyes open. He loved watching her come undone, her chest raising and falling rapidly as she tried to catch her breath.  The eyes that at one point in the night were filled with mischief were now glazed over from passion and love. There wasn’t a whole lot that Drew didn’t understand, but a woman was a mystery he hoped to never solve.

[ramlightly]

if you ever do get around to writing and posting the kink character analysis ramble you mentioned in the tags of the "lapis tops" post i would be very interested in reading it and hopefully other people agree with me

Lol I did get a couple of asks for this! Lets see if I can keep this from getting too long.

Okay so- there is a doylist and watsonian aspect to writing kink for characters, right?

Basil and Dandelion have a sub/dom relationship with kinks like humiliation, voyeurism, and bondage. A lot of this is based around Basil''s complicated relationship with sex and catholicism and his own desires to be submissive. Or Dandelion's preference for being on top and being in charge during sex. That's the Watsonian layer.

But then there is my own desires out of their relationship, where I'm playing with hierophilia and a corruption kink and monster-fucking, these not things the characters would be aware of. This is the Doylist layer and are the foundations is what their relationship is actually built on. Basil/Dandelion came together pretty naturally in that regard. I am their god and I want them to fuck like this

In fact, a lot of the characters I make for Temptations are originally because I wanted to explore a different dynamics and relationships. Ginger was for fem-dom. Thistle was because I wanted a bigger lady and a character that acted a third to Basil/Dandelion's dynamic that wasn't romantic. Hollyhock because vampires are hot. They all grew from those originally seeds, but only because I planted them there first.

There are the character's preferences and my preferences for the characters. A a certain point , the actual characterization begins to get in the way. You can't do the same dynamic of Basil/Dandelion with Malady/Lapis. You just cant. Even when originally I that was I was planning for.

Look at Lapis and Basil: they're both bottoms with masochistic tendencies but they have such different characters especially with their feelings about sex. Lapis is sly, clever, and very very careful when it comes to other people. He isn't interested in being humiliated or being treated as an object, he's far too distrusting. There's just been too many relationships where he got hurt from and he likes having control too much. He's the one who holds the reigns during sex, even with Malady. Especially with Malady. They're both into that.

In fact, Lapis and Malady's attitude towards sex is so much more casual compared Basil's and Dandelions. There is a power dynamic, because all relationships are, but they don't have any angst towards fucking. It's fun, they like each other a lot, so they have sex. I was originally planning on them having multiple partners like Basil/Dandelion do, but, honestly those two are stuck at the hip.

It's what I mean about characterization ultimately trumping my intentions. Malady definitely has developed beyond my original concepts for him (he's such a simp now lol, he was supposed to be cool!!!). But it's better to just let character become what they need to be rather try to hamstring them. It's more fun that way, imo.

I'm sparing everyone from going on another tangent, so I'll end it here lol. I hope that was... interesting? At least it's a peak into how I think about characters.

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

hey, can you please write sub! lowkey masochist! kappa smut where he’s like totally obsessed with the reader and devoted? and he also has a hair pulling kink🤭

ARF ARF ARF! BARKING RIGHT AT IT!...and by that, I mean I added some puppy play because I like giving y'all a little whiplash 😘🐶

Worship

Summary: Kappa is begging to be touched. That's really all you need to know.

Pairing: Kappa x fem!Reader

Content Warnings: Kinky Smut 18+!, Two Idiots In Love Your Honor, Dry Humping, Affectionate Petnames, A Sprinkle Of Dumbification, Puppy Play Because Deep Down Kappa Just Wants To Be A Good Boy, One Sloppy Handjob, Premature Orgasm, So Much Begging, So Much Gratitude For Reader, A Teeny Tiny Bit Of Crying

Word Count: ~1,4k

A/N: I feel like I'm becoming more and more unhinged by every new fic and I love that for me.

Tagging the hoe squad (gender neutral!):

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @alalalaaallaaalaaa @bvg-w1res @milsthouqhts @roryculkinsbf @roryculkinsgf @amayalul

Weigh down on me

Stay till morning

Way down, would you say I'm worthy?

- Just Pretend by Bad Omens

Turning another page from the book that you were reading, you smiled to yourself softly. Gentle snoring blubbered out of Kappa’s half-way closed mouth, his head resting on your chest. He must’ve fallen asleep while your free hand had toyed around with frizzy strands of his black hair. You couldn’t blame him, not even the slightest bit, for just dozing off. If you just could, you would’ve, too, but a relentlessly racing mind kept you awake. All the what if’s, the uncertainties mixed with a heaping pile of overthinking was hardly shut down by the light reading you did, but at least it helped somehow.

Yawning a little, you placed the book onto the concrete floor right next to the old mattress and leaned yourself back against the wall, careful not to wake Kappa. Your gaze wandered down to his sleeping body. He looked so beautifully calm and relaxed all curled up into your arm like that…vulnerable even. You felt your heart swelling in your chest at the sight in front of you. You knew that he trusted you but sometimes it’s the little things that really hammered it down home.

“Such a good and pretty boy…” You whispered under your breath and placed a loving kiss to his head, inhaling his scent for a moment before you closed your eyes in a new attempt to find some sleep.

You didn’t really believe in it but you could at least give it another try, right?

To soothe your ever so loud thoughts, you concentrated on Kappa’s slow, peaceful breathing, acknowledging the tiny snores falling from his lips here and there and enjoying how his cheek felt all warm against your chest. For a second you wondered whether he’d fallen asleep listening to your heartbeat. At times he liked doing that.

“Huh…?” For a split second you were, in fact, about to drift off a little but then you felt Kappa pressing his form closer to you.

Curious as to what was going on, you opened one eye just enough to let your view wander downwards.

“Oh…” The corners of your lips curled upwards into an intrigued grin as you realized how he rolled his hips against your thigh, pressing his crotch to your skin in subconscious movements.

“Are we having nice dreams, huh?” Your voice barely audible and more of an amused comment to yourself as you opened both eyes to watch him.

In slow yet surprisingly aimed, little thrust of his hips against your thigh Kappa was dry humping you and you bit down on your bottom lip, feeling the rising heat from the friction of skin grinding against skin. With every small movement his hardening cock stroke over your thigh, the first eager droplets of pre-cum pooling at its head.

“You’re such a horny boy, no?” It rolled over your tongue in a light chuckle as you watched him, wondering what was going on in that dreamworld of his.

With your mind a little absent, your hand wandered back to the mess that was his hair, your fingers entangling themselves deep into it before carefully grabbing a whole fistful. You pulled slowly yet steady, dragging his head back inch by inch until his face pointed right at yours, the sensation apparently enough to wake him up just a bit.

“Uh..?” Kappa looked at you with half-lidded eyes, his voice drowsy and raspy.

“Naughty…” You stated, the grin still playing around your lips.

For a good moment he was completely oblivious to what was going on but after a few deep breaths Kappa must’ve started to grasp the situation he was in as his eyes widened.

“ ‘M sorry, I..” He started scooting away from you, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Oh no, you stay right there, naughty boy!” Your demand hit him in a serious tone as you yanked him right back to you, your hand still tightly intertwined with his hair.

At that a needy moan erupted straight out of his throat.

“Oh, you like when I do that?” The words had hardly left your mouth before you pulled his hair tighter, more vigorous.

“Yes, Ma’am…yes..” Kappa mewled, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief instance.

It sent a seething hot pang of arousal directly down between your legs seeing him like this, hearing his already desperate voice addressing you like that.

“Good boy…you really need me right now, don’t you?” You teased him, looking straight into his bright, steel blue eyes.

“Yeah..” He admitted, staring back at you with a silent plea.

“Yeah, what? Use your big boy words, Kappa.” Another jolt of longing rippled through your system.

“I need you, Ma’am.”, Kappa answered, his entire face flushed with a soft tint of red, “C-could you please touch me, Ma’am?”

“Hmm…”, You tilted your head to the side, “Where do you want Ma’am to touch you, huh?”

It took everything out of you to not grin widely as you witnessed how Kappa blushed even harder, his jaws clenching as the need for your attention and his own embarrassment fought for the high ground.

“Hmhmm, please..” His body squirmed as his crotch jutted against your thigh once more.

“No, no…”, You drew his head back by his hair a little further, mimicking a sympathetic frown on your face, “If you don’t tell me where, I guess I can’t help you, puppy.”

"My cock…", Kappa pressed out reluctantly," 'M so horny right now, Ma'am."

"Oh, I can see that.", You chuckled a little,"Then be a good puppy for me and beg."

Kappa nodded slightly, his pupils blown wide and his cheeks tinted red. His facial expression an already fucked out stare before anything even really happened, not a single thought left behind his slightly watery eyes.

"P-please…please touch my cock, Ma'am, I…I can't help myself but I'm so so fucking horny right now, Ma'am.", It cascaded right from of his quivering lips,"I..I'm just your dumb little puppy, Ma'am! Please…please…."

You couldn't deny it, his desperate begging made your cunt clench and throb. It was so deliciously pathetic.

"Hmm…I'm not really convinced, puppy." You shrugged your shoulders and Kappa looked like he was close to crying out of desperation, faint tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

"Fuck… please, babe…I mean Ma'am, shit! Please, I need you to touch my cock…'m just your stupid, brainless puppy, Ma'am!"

"Hmhmm..see? That more like it.." You sat up straight and your free hand reached down between Kappa's legs, palming his twitching hard on.

He mewled at the touch and a few wayward tears started running down his flushed cheeks.

"T-thank you, Ma'am…good god, fuck..thank you!" He rambled as you let go of his hair.

Sobbing a little in relief, Kappa hid his face in your shoulder, pressing his head to your skin.

"I'm to thankful that you touch me, Ma'am.." The words got lost in your shoulder whilst you started stroking his thoroughly pre-cum smeared cock in languid, fast thrusts.

"I know…I know…", Your voice soft as you whispered against his forehead, "You're such a good little plaything for me, aren't you? I love you so much, puppy."

"I-I love you too..so fucking much…ah, fuck." Kappa's body turned rigid in your touch and a surprised gasp left your mouth as hot, sticky spurts of his cum covered your hand.

"I'm sorry…" He sniffled, his voice coarse.

"Oh, no…it's okay, babe. You were just so horny, don't you worry." You pressed a loving kiss to his forehead.

"But how about my good puppy now cleans up the mess he made?"

[ohworm-writes]

I NEED TO HEAR ABOUT STATION 141. PLEASE. for a friend definitely not for me thinking about how fucking FINEEE good they would be.

「✰」 ━━ STATION 141

RATING PG-13 - Parents strongly cautioned [ Content warnings : light cursing, depictions of a vehicle accident, fires, mentions of injuries, references to and depictions of smoking, peer pressure (?), depiction of a house fire, mentions of and references to 9/11, implications to alcoholism, brief mentions of guilt and insecurity ]

SYNOPSIS Character explorations for the members of Task Force 141 in the case that they opted towards working for the fire department instead of the military, expanding on what the roles they play are, their backgrounds before pursuing the profession, and a few headcanons, here and there.

WORD COUNT 4.9k

Station!141

Firefighters are known for being dorks and pranksters outside of their profession when they’re trying to relax and ease the tension that comes with the job, and Station 141 is no different. Gaz and Soap are the resident pranksters, of course, and perhaps that comes with being the youngest out of anyone employed at the station. But, unfortunately, that leaves Price and Ghost to deal with their tormentation, both the acts and the aftermath of it.

Soap and Gaz do simpler, more tame pranks. Something like dumping water over someone’s head, pieing someone in the face when their backs are turned, or if they’re dozing off, switching the salt and the sugar—that kind of stuff. Simple, annoying pranks—those are elementary. Ghost and Price are evil when it comes to pranking, or, more accurately, getting people at people for pranking them. They’ve replaced the water in the ice cube trays with hotdog water, put cling wrap over the toilet bowl, replaced shampoo with hair dye, and done other things that you wouldn’t even dream of. The two of them get really creative with it. 

Gaz very quickly stopped pranking the two after Ghost snuck into his house and hid those really loud alarm clocks with the bells everywhere, setting forty of them up to go off in the middle of the night. When they went off, he screamed so loudly that he swore he had a heart attack because of it. Soap’s a masochist, though, and he keeps on pranking the both of them without any sign of stopping. He’s never able to one-up Ghost or Price, though, that’s for certain. It’s a challenge for him, though, and it’s fun (sometimes, not often, though). 

Granted, most firefighters already do this, but making fun of, taunting, and mocking cops is a given, and the 141 boys are no different. Soap hooked a donut onto a fishing line once, positioning himself on top of the firetruck, staying hidden, and dangling it above a cop when they were visiting the station one time. They locked onto it quickly. Another time, he did the same sort of thing but left a donut on the floor attached to a fishing line, pulling it closer towards him any time a cop tried to come close to it. Also, plain and simple: making pig sounds. 

They do have a fire dog of their own at the station, actually! And, of course, ever the classic choice, it’s a Dalmatian. In terms of technicality, it’s the Chief’s dog, given that he bought the thing... but, ever the generous man, he allowed the station to adopt the dog as their own. They all fought over the name for days, with some individuals actually getting heated about the matter. Price eventually got sick of it, went down to a pet store, and printed out a tag for the pup, a circular tag that reads the name ‘Ozzie’ with the station’s address printed on the back. Nobody argues against it. 

Soap isn’t the biggest fan of dogs as is, but Ozzie loves him, trailing after him and following his lead without hesitation, the others often joking about how the animal played his shadow better than his own did. Ozzie’s the only dog he likes, but he won’t admit it aloud, giving the dog a playful rub on the head here and there when someone’s around and roughhousing and playing freely with him when they’re alone. Gaz and Price are unabashed in their affection for the canine (Price has bought everything for this dog, he swears it), while Ghost is more or less neutral about his presence, but he won’t deny him a good rub behind the ears if he barks enough.

Let’s spend a moment talking about and appreciating the uniforms that firefighters wear, yeah? Station wear is typically worn around all the time, even under their PPE uniforms when out on calls. It consists of a short or long-sleeved button-up shirt, sometimes as simple as a t-shirt, which is navy blue in color and often sports the insignia of the department or the station or something of the like or any relevant patches. They’re matched with navy blue or black pants, giving the whole outfit a formal yet equally comfortable look.

As for PPE uniforms, the bunker pants are held up by a set of suspenders and matching jacket, often being either black or tan in color with long yellow or red reflective strips stretched out along the fabric at the chest, waist, shoulders, wrists, shins, back, and legs, with knee pads visible from the front of the uniform. The color can depend on either the rank the firefighter holds or, simply, what’s in stock.

But, just to state it, each and every one of the boys within the station looks good in their uniforms. They fit snugly in just the right places and loosely in others, especially the station wear—not to say the PPE doesn’t do the same, but rather, it looks good in the sense that we can all appreciate a man in uniform, now can’t we? PPE uniforms are designed to not fit snugly, providing more mobility that way, and they’re rather bulky. This, however, doesn’t at all negate the fact that the men within Station 141 look fuckin’ good in them.

As a matter of fact, the boys often get a lot of people who come up and flirt with them shamelessly. Sometimes, it can be a bit of a nuisance, with civilians watching from the sidelines as they respond to a call, making flirtatious and lustful remarks—it's distracting, in more negative ways than positive, in complete honesty. Though, when they’re off duty, maybe dressed in a tee with the station’s logo, they can be entertained. 

Gaz was shell-shocked the first time he was flirted with by someone for nothing more than his profession (and, honestly, it pissed him off a little, but he wouldn’t say that aloud), and he was turned into a confused, awkward mess, trying to get himself out of the interaction. Soap will entertain them as much as his attention can handle, but after that? He’s giving polite nods and hums here and there, but he isn’t listening all that much. Ghost just tells people he’s married, even though he isn't—he isn’t all that fond of getting flirted with on the basis of solely his job, much like Gaz. Price, honestly? He could care less. Have at him. 

One of the scariest moments that the station went through where one of the boys lives’ were at stake was in the case of a methanol fire that had broken out on the highway as a result of a crash. A car had run head-on into a truck that carried a methanol chemical tank, which had been damaged and spilled. Nothing bad happened until the car involved in the accident caught fire, lighting the methanol and causing an invisible flame to spread. While all of the boys were on scene, Gaz was busy helping one of the civilians out of their car from the wreck when the fire started. 

Obviously, immediately, he jumped away from the civilians, not wanting to catch them on fire too—they didn’t, thankfully—but Gaz was left screaming and yelling for help as the fire began to burn through his PPE equipment. Ghost put out the flame with a CO2 ABC extinguisher, realizing what the cause was immediately, but Gaz still suffered through some heavy burns along his back, legs, and arms and rushed to the hospital sooner after being put out. 

The first time Soap tried to go down the fire pole during the fire academy, he sprained his ankle, not knowing how to descend it properly and just shooting straight down onto his foot. He was fine, thankfully, but nobody ever let him live it down. Ghost tells him to be careful with this big, smug grin spread out across his face anytime Soap rushes through the fire house to go towards the fire pole to descend the floors (he flips him off each and every time, rightfully so). 

Price tries to call out sick every time he thinks it’s going to rain. For anyone who knows anything about first responders, it’s that they hate it when it rains. It’s a guarantee for more accidents, more calls, and, put simply, more work. Price has been working long enough in the field to know this, so he just so happens to catch the cold or the flu any time he sees it’s going to downpour—unless, of course, someone calls in sick before him and he can’t get out of work, or if he fails to check the weather. He’s pissed off for the rest of the day, and he makes it everyone’s problem. 

Soap is the one who's driving the truck, obviously, with Price sitting in the passenger’s seat. Behind Soap sits Ghost, and Gaz sits across from him. It’s lively whenever they go on calls together; most of the conversation in the truck is devoted to work, but there are more than a few occasions when they’ll just talk comfortably together. Especially on the rides back to the station from calls, usually when it’s getting late at night. That’s when the most heartfelt conversations happen. 

Overall? A dorky yet hardworking group of firefighters dedicated to their professions, sharing a bond like no other. 

Firefighter!Price

He, of course, plays the role of ‘Captain’ at the station, primarily due to the fact that this role does actually exist as a role within the profession; while I would have made him the ‘Chief’, the ‘Captain’ plays a way more present role as the commander of a company and overseeing the daily operations of a station. Chiefs, typically, only supervise and view the situation as is, not often actually being a part of the process of resolving an incident.

Firefighter!Price, who, contrary to popular belief, does not, in fact, smoke. It’s not as if he’s prohibited from smoking, per se, especially given that around 13.6 percent of firefighters smoke, but it’s more of a moral thing for him—his job is to fight fires, and cigarettes and other smoking materials make up a huge percentage of top fire causes, so it seems, to him, like a stupid decision to make to smoke. Also, it would affect his ability to do his job, and it just looks bad to have someone that people are supposed to look up to doing something like that, so he doesn’t.

Firefighter!Price, who, okay, yes, has smoked a cigarette and cigar at one point in his life, maybe once or twice, or a few more times than that, but never consistently. It’s not a habit that he has or ever indulges in, only having ever taken part in it thanks to a friend or two offering him a cigarette or cigar, outstretched hands taunting him, and teasing “c'mon, one puff ain’t gonna kill ya’, mate”, to which he relents. He hates the taste of cigarettes, and he refuses to go anywhere near one again, but he can entertain a cigar around the right company. 

Initially, he had intended on joining the military straight out of secondary school; however, a few months before he intended on joining, he bore witness to a violent house fire within his neighborhood. The house had been completely engulfed in flames, with smoke pluming into the sky and the flames spreading to a few nearby houses. He watched on with awe as the fire department showed up with swiftness and took care of the situation with ease, resulting in no casualties whatsoever. 

Although, yes, the job was far from being a proper equivalent to the military, it still provided a similar sense of fulfillment, and he would still be protecting innocents. (On a morbid note, his life would still be consistently on the line and threatened.) Thus, he joined the profession when he was around nineteen, working as a volunteer firefighter for a few years before eventually taking on the job full-time. He’s worked with numerous different stations and companies for the past ten years, give or take a few, and he’s made a number of different connections throughout different departments. 

Firefighter!Price, who toys with his suspenders when he’s clad in uniform like it’s a second job. It’s an unconscious habit he’s developed with the elastic straps, and there’s a certain progression it follows—it's like clockwork. It’ll start off with him simply hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of the trousers of his bunker gear, holding himself there comfortably as he stands and walks around the station—casual, if anything. But then, it slowly starts to progress further, with his hands wandering, his fingers gently trailing up and down the straps, and his calloused fingers brushing over the material in a repetitive up-and-down motion.

Firefighter!Price, who holds onto his suspenders near his chest in a loose grip, his thumbs grazing back and forth over them, pulling them not even an inch away from his chest, just holding them there. That is, of course, before he starts to snap the elastic against his chest, gently or not, it doesn’t matter; the sound muffled by the fabric of his shirt as he repeats the action over and over and over again—it's something to do with his hands; he’s restless, and who can blame him?

Firefighter!Price, whose natural scent is simply smoke, the acrid redolence of sulfur clinging to his skin like a parasite, a second skin that he’s come to call his own. No matter how many times he washes his clothes until they start to fade into a lighter shade, no matter how many times he scrubs his skin until it blotches into harsh, raw, red patches, that scent still clings to him. It’s, in a sense, becoming a part of him, molding in with his natural musk effortlessly until it becomes it, a scent identifiable to him, whether that’s for better or for worse, he wouldn’t know.

Firefighter!Ghost

Again, of course, Ghost plays the role of ‘Lieutenant’ at the station, which is a role that falls directly under ‘Captain’, leaving him tasked with typical daily operations, readying their crew for emergency situations, and supervising the Engine or Rescue Company and the personnel within it, reporting directly to the Fire Captain or Chief, acting as a temporary captain, should they be absent from a scene.

Firefighter!Ghost, who kids absolutely adore. He can come off scary and intimidating, sure, given the fact that he’s, put simply, a huge guy, not to mention the balaclava he often sports that conceals his identity. But kids still think he’s the coolest guy in the whole world. Being a firefighter already has its own charms; several kids are asking him about his profession and how their dream job is to become a firefighter when they grow up, like him. He’s a bit awkward, unsure of how to respond to all of the compliments and praise, but takes it in stride.

Firefighter!Ghost, who has to deal with the fact that nearly every kid he comes across adores him, soon decides to just embrace it, honking the horn on the engine any time he passes by kids who wave at him or whose eyes light up when they see the truck, relishing in the way they let out loud, excited yells. Whenever kids come by the station, either for field trips or to simply ask if they can have a tour, he takes up the task of touring them around, lifting each and every one into the truck, watching as they giggle, laugh, and smile so brightly at him. 

A close friend of his who became a firefighter from secondary school was the one who eventually got him into the field, the friend in question having joined a little more than half a year after the two of them had graduated, though he didn’t immediately and solely join due to his friend’s encouragement. He still worked as an apprentice butcher for nearly two years after graduating at a local grocery store; that job kept up most of his focus, though instead of joining the military after September 11th, he chose to join the fire department.

(Because the fire department played such a large role in this event, I thought it would match more appropriately than him joining the military, like his background states in his biography.)

His friend was the one to tell him everything he needed to have before joining: his certifications, his license, his CPAT, et cetera. He completed each task without any hesitation or reluctance, and he was even willing to get a degree in Fire Science if it meant he would get into the profession. He passed the academy with ease and, soon after, was offered a volunteer position working at the same station his friend was positioned at, transferring, unfortunately, without him to Station 141 a year and a half later, though the two still keep in touch regularly. 

Firefighter!Ghost, who comes back to the station after a long day of rough calls, be it mentally or physically grueling, likely both, hops off the truck with deep, guttural breaths, beginning to strip himself of his PPE as he makes his way towards the locker rooms, hanging and folding everything up, his SCBA first, then his helmet, then his bunker gear, before he finally tears off his balaclava—his hair’s completely damp with sweat, beads dripping down his face, splayed across his forehead messily, letting out an exhausted sigh, running a hand through his hair, slicking the blond strands back across his skull.

Firefighter!Ghost, who takes a seat on one of the benches in the locker room, leans over with his elbows on his knees, his hands falling limp in the space between them, his back slumped over, and his shoulders dropped. His station wear is stained with sweat; the skin around his eyes and across the bridge of his nose darkened from the smoke that had penetrated through, dirt clinging to his body like a second skin. His suspenders hang off around his waist lazily, clinking against the bench as he shuffles around, letting out a long, drawn-out groan before standing and moving to rid himself of the day’s events with a well-deserved shower.

Firefighter!Ghost, whose vice falls to liquor. It’s nothing close to an excessive extent, but it’s enough to take the edge off and ease his mind from the horrors that come with the profession. It's a heavy task to fulfill, and having worked in the field for so long, enough so that he’s become an officer, that means he’s seen his fair share of shit, so who can blame him? After a particularly rough day, he’ll take a seat in the common room or his dorm, hand gripped tightly around the neck of a bottle of Bourbon, mask pulled up to his nose, drinking until his head spins and he can’t think. He'll wake up with a hangover that bashes against his skull, wash his face, and prepare himself for the day, only to repeat this cycle over and over again—maybe it is a bit excessive.

Firefighter!Soap

In a more unique aspect, Soap, instead of simply being a firefighter, works as a Firefighter Engineer, his primary focus being directed towards maintaining and driving firefighting vehicles and performing maintenance tasks on the vehicles. Though, still, he does play his role as a firefighter all the same, his specialized position not interfering or making it so that he has to do one or the other. He’s still put in his time to become a firefighter and accomplish the tasks that come with the profession, and he does his job well; all it is is that he plays a specialized role in addition to that fact. 

Firefighter!Soap, whose dorm is positively filled with the drawings and doodles he’s received personally when he and his crew visit local primary schools to teach them about fire safety and how to properly act during a fire drill, spends a significant amount of time telling the kids all about their careers and what they do, giving them a tour of the truck and everything. And, by the end of the day, three or four separate kids had given him drawings they had made of him and his crew. One little girl in particular gifts her drawing to him, and it’s just of him and her, holding hands, his mohawk overexaggerated, with a message written out sloppily, stating, 'I want to be just like you when I grow up!!!’.

Firefighter!Soap, who tapes each drawing he receives to the mirror in his dorm, the one he gets ready in front of each and every day without fail, fingers gently grazing over the different people within the pictures, each messy stroke of crayon, colored pencil, and washable marker. It’s a reminder to him of why he does what he does. Of why he puts his life on the line each and every day without fail. When the job gets tough and unbearable, the weight of it laying heavy on his shoulders, guilt and insecurity eating up at him, he looks at the drawings, memorizing them, committing every detail to memory—he has to make those kids proud by keeping on. And so he does. 

He dropped out of university to become a firefighter. He initially majored in the field of Military Technologies and Applied Sciences, specializing in the fields of Explosive Ordinance and Bomb Disposal, but after spending nearly five semesters in school, he concluded that the field and higher education weren’t something he was willing to pursue. So, he applied to become a firefighter when he was twenty-one, spending the first year and a half working towards getting his EMT certification and taking his CPAT, already having his driver’s license, and spending the next six months in the fire academy before he was eventually employed as a volunteer firefighter.

He spent the next two years working as a volunteer firefighter, not yet deciding to take on the role of a full-time firefighter, given he had a bit of apprehension and worries about taking on the job for longer hours. However, it was soon after he first became a volunteer firefighter that he learned about the career path of a firefighter engineer, which garnered his interest, which eventually led him down the path of driver training before ending up with the position and taking on the job full-time. 

Firefighter!Soap, who can’t even help the way his muscles flex as he works, which is most visible when he’s in his station wear—that short-sleeved button-up shirt hugging onto his biceps with ease, his pants holding onto his thighs snugly—it's the perfect combination of loose and tight. It leaves nothing and everything up for the imagination to think of. Especially when he’s sweating through his top, the fabric clings to his skin like a glove, showing off every inch of him without shame. 

Firefighter!Soap, who is so unconscious of how strong he actually is, regularly wearing equipment that can weigh up to seventy-five pounds (34.01 kilograms), not to mention the weight of the hose and the pressure it exudes, the way he has to control it, or all of the other equipment he uses while on the job. Because he’s so unaware of it, this just leads to him picking up some of the heaviest things—people, too—and acting as if they were nothing, because, to his credit, it isn’t anything to him. 

Firefighter!Soap, who is an earlier riser. He wakes up the earliest of anyone who works at the station, being the first one to arrive at work if he’s sleeping off site. He tidies up what he sees, maybe goes out and grabs some coffee or pastries for his co-workers, and just relaxes and basks in the silence of the station—that is, before the others begin to arrive, of course. If he’s sleeping on site? Same thing. The only difference is that he doesn’t have to rush around like he typically would; driving to work takes up the most of his time, so he can work at his leisure if he's already at the station.

Firefighter!Gaz

Gaz, arguably the coolest of them all (it’s not an arguable statement whatsoever; it’s just a fact), gets the job, plain and simple, of just being a firefighter. Responding to emergency calls, performing search and rescues, providing aid with traffic accidents, and educating the public on fire safety are just some of the tasks he completes each and every day. The job is both physically and mentally grueling. Yes, the horrors that can come with the job are unlike any other, but god, is it such a rewarding profession to be able to see the direct result of your actions 

Firefighter!Gaz, who actually really enjoys having new recruits shadow under him their first few months on the job. Even in meeting them for the first time, he has such a welcoming and warm personality, not at all shy to introduce himself, how long he’s been working in the field, the ups and downs of the job—everything! He spends a lot of time getting to know the recruit, not just in a professional sense but a personal one, too, and it fosters such an accepting environment that the recruit can become comfortable in, which is the whole goal!

Firefighter!Gaz, who can be stern sometimes when it comes to teaching newer recruits, but those occasions come far and few between, favoring a gentler, kinder approach of encouragement and redirecting and teaching the recruits on how to properly hook up the truck to a hydrant or operate the pressure controls for the water on the truck as opposed to yelling and barking out orders with a firm strictness. The Chief typically sends all of the new recruits over to Gaz for this exact reason, and, as you might have guessed, these recruits become professionals in no time. 

Unlike the others, Gaz actually had the intention of joining the fire department since he was young. He was one of those little boys who had a number of different toy trucks and cars and played with them obsessively, and his favorites were the firefighter trucks. His dream of becoming a firefighter was solidified when they came to his primary school one day. One of the firefighters present gifted him one of those crappy plastic helmets, letting him sit in the truck and telling him everything he wanted to know. 

From that point onwards, he dedicated himself to becoming a firefighter, spending years getting himself into the ideal physical shape required for the job, taking medical and health courses throughout secondary school to prepare himself for the EMT training program he’d apply to take once he turned eighteen, obtaining his license as quickly as possible—he's devoted to the career path, and he fully intends to push every ounce of his being into fulfilling the role to the best of his abilities, and then some. The day he graduates from the fire academy, in addition to actually receiving an offer to join a station as a volunteer firefighter, he swears up and down, is single-handedly the best day of his life. 

Firefighter!Gaz, who's almost always the first one to rush inside a burning building, given that it’s still structurally stable and will remain that way for the duration of time that he’s inside, holds a hatchet in both hands, firmly grasped, kicking the front door inwards before making his way through the interior. He’s completely composed, not an inch of doubt taunting him as he sweeps the area, finding civilians and immediately working to usher them out of the building, barking orders in a way where it sounds less like a command, so softer and so much more filled with care. He can easily sling anyone over his shoulder, hold them in his arms, or lift them on his back if need be, rough grunts resounding from him, strained at times from both the heat and the weight of carrying another human being.

Firefighter!Gaz, who doesn't ever complain or tell the other person to move and fend for themselves, because that’s his job, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t fulfill it to the fullest. Given he doesn’t have any civilians to worry about, he’s rushing through flames, heat nipping at his PPE, trying its hardest to penetrate the fabric, failing while he comes out of the building, fire trailing after him, smoke and dirt caking his body beneath his uniform, and labored breaths wracking his body. All he can do is rip off his SCBA when he's at a safe distance from the smoke, mask off, sweat dripping down his skin, soak his hair, and kick his head back as he breathes the smell of anything but smoke.

Firefighter!Gaz, who always walks around the station in his bunker gear, is ready to go at a moment's notice. He's rarely seen in something as simple as his station wear, complaining that the uniform is unnecessary to be seen in if he’s going to change into his bunker gear anyway. In reality, the weight of the gear is comforting to him—it's heavy, yes, and can leave him sweating until he’s certain he’s drenched if he’s in it for too long—but the weight, feel, smell, and overall “vibe” of the bunker gear is something he’s spent his whole life dreaming of. Why be out of it if he’s dedicated his life to becoming the person to wear it?

[izgnanik-a]

CoD ABC’s

NSFW 18+ x Reader Edition - Minor DNI!

Masterlist here

M - Masochism (König x Reader)

Tags: degradation (names used: bitch, whore), headspace, aftercare, heavy BDSM, orgasm denial, unprotected p-in-v

Not beta-read, we die like men 🤷🏽

Prompt: You discovered on your own that König was a masochist, and decided to indulge in his fantasies in the bedroom. You just didn’t know you’d get such a good reaction as a leather Mommy.

Happy Easter Sunday! And a belated Happy Passover!

You looked to the mirror strategically placed at the head board of you bed, fixing the corner of your red lipstick that had smudged. A gentle whimper pulled your attention away from yourself, down to the floor.

You panned your eyes down to your 6’9 partner, a quivering mess, told to ‘be a good table and nothing more’. A cold glass of water balanced on the small of his back, the droplets of ice cold condensation pooling on his skin.

His erect, hard cock dripped between his legs, stripped bare of even his hood.

You slid your legs off the side of the bed, dressed in a leather zip up suit, and stood to collect your glass. You took two noisy gulps before replacing the glass between König’s trembling shoulder blades.

He’d been in this position for a good half hour now, proving to be more of a masochist than you thought.

You crouched down, balancing back on the heels you had stepped on his back with gently before. “Look at you, you poor thing.” You cooed, and could see the blush spreading across his downed face. Your teasing voice was humiliating and pleasing to him. “You look thirsty. Would you like a glass of water?” You hoisted the cup, rolling the cold sides along his shoulder.

He shivered, clenching his eyes tightly.

You held it to his neck. “No?”

He didn’t reply. Like he was supposed to.

“Good.” You set the glass on the bedside table, rising to your feet. “Kneel.” You pointed at the ground before you and watched him sit back on his haunches. His body so close to yours.

His erect cock pushed up deliciously, leaking against the floorboards. Red smudges of lipstick sat across his collarbones, trailing down his stomach to the base of his cock.

You lifted your heel, pressing gently into his thigh just to hear him whine. “You liked being used as a table, didn’t you?”

König turned shades of red. His eyes narrowing on your dress.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

His eyes flit up.

You dragged your heel along his skin, nudging the side of his cock. He twitched but kept his eyes up on yours. “You’re nothing but a tool. A whore to be used and forgotten about.”

König’s face scrunched up as you rubbed the side of your heel against his cock. You dropped it between his spread legs, pushing up against his balls.

“That’s what you like, right? To be used?” You reached out to grab him by his hair, tugging his head forward until his chin rested against your belly. “Say it.”

He whimpered, mouth falling open, “I like to be used by you.” He shivered against you, his hands ghosting along the ankle of your heels. “I want to be used. I like- being your table.” He began blabbering, and you knew he was strokes from cumming.

“So be a good tool,” you stepped away from him, and leaned back with your elbows on the mattress, legs hanging apart, “and fuck me like the bitch in heat you are.”

König rose from his weak knees, leaning over your body, and still holding your gaze with soft eyes; as if to say, ‘can I please?’

“What did I say?” You barked. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

König moved quicker than before, his hands grabbed the bottom of your dress and yanked up. The effective grip made a tear in the fabric, and he glanced to you in worry that he wasn’t supposed to. But with a stronger tear, he exposed your entire body, the collar hanging limp against your chest.

He wasted no time as he stood, bringing your hips up with him, and locked your legs behind himself. The underside of his erect cock pressed down against your wet cunt. His nervous eyes flickered up at your pliant, parted lips as he held himself at your wet hole.

“Wait.”

König froze, meeting your eyes with uncertainty.

You just wanted to watch him suffer a moment more. “Do you think you deserve it?”

Just waiting at your soaked cunt, tip already kissing it, you could feel him trembling. He took labored breaths to still his doubt, “Please?”

You raised your brow, leaned up on your elbows.

He dropped his hand from his cock, leaned forward and hovered his mouth over yours. “Please use me, let me be a tool for you to cum. I won’t cum inside. I’ll pull out. Please. Meine Schatz. I’ll be good for you.”

As he spoke, his cockhead sneakily sunk past your soaked lips and his eyes rolled back.

You caught his mouth against your own, tongue and teeth clashing as he pushed in. You tugged his hair in yours hands, pulling his forehead against yours and joined in a unison of moans with his brisk thrusts. “Such a— good bitch.” You shivered as his cock pushed up against your pelvic bone, rubbing deliciously. You shut your eyes in euphoria, “My good whore.”

König wrapped his arms around your lower back, bracing you against every blistering punch of his hips. He whimpered, cock twitching, and tucked his face into your neck as his hips stuttered. His moaned increased in volume, his hips quickened, and then—

“I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY. Ah fuck— I’M SORRY.”

König’s cock twitched and pumped into your pussy until he was spent. His skin turned an even hotter blaze as he realized his mistake; he clenched onto your waist.

“I’m sorry.” He sobbed. “It felt so good, Meine Schatz, I couldn’t take it anymore, I—“

You stroked your hand through his hair, massaging down his back. “It’s okay, König. You did so well for me.” You hummed, wrapping an arm around his neck, and pressed your lips to his cheek. “You made me feel so good. My best boy.”

König’s hips held tight against your pussy, plugging you up; he rubbed his forehead against the bed, suckling your neck.

“Did that feel good for you?” You asked as he lifted his head.

His lips were stained red with your lipstick, maybe even his teeth with how vicious he was kissing you. He nodded.

You smiled, “We can do it more often then. Yeah?”

He nodded again, kissing you softly with a squeeze to your waist. “Meine liebe.” He cooed against your lips.

You smiled, stroking your hands through his hair, “Mein König.”

4/8/23

[monayen]

uhhh I dunno really but — maybe a fic of reader just walking in the forest because they r lost then getting caught in a bear trap nyen set up and uh he does something fucked up to reader, like fucks them then kills them or something? Or something heavy gore related while he fucks them.. sorryyy ahhh (I’m a damn masochist.)

The Lost Camper | Nyen

➷ Paring - Nyen x Fem!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

�� CWs - noncon, unsafe sex, fear play, knife play, blood kink, stabbing, sadism, fingering, violence, degradation, dacryphilla, READER DEATH

a/n - this came out to 4k words :') i know anon described a bear trap/hunting-esque situation but i felt making the reader a more cryptic-like being of the woods made a bit more sense (and easier to fit in) either way, reminder that this is DARK. there isn't a happy ending and the reader does freakin' die. (though rebirth is implied. see it how ya' do) i apologize for any mistakes as this is my longest work to date (whoop whoop) thank you for your comments and requests on both ao3 and tumblr. keeps me motivated ^^ currently working on a Randal fic and some Luther headcannons :3 inbox open as always. ANYWAYS ENOUGH

You aren't sure why you decided to hop over the Ivory household's security measures and rummage through their things while they slept. You’ve seen campers before in these woods plenty of times. Hundreds, if you kept count… but you don't.

You also don't ever interact with campers these days either. They didn’t tend to be special and they didn’t ever really get in the way. Maybe you’ll spook them by hovering around behind the greenery, sticks cracking underneath rugged boots. They don't interest you anymore beyond listening to them talk about their boring, human lives. 

It doesn't make them completely irrelevant to you though, as you’ve gained a habit of sneaking onto their campsites. You steal – quite often. Well, as often as people come this deep into the woods. It's how you justify it, how else are you supposed to get canned food and new clothes? And so what if you also take a couple of books you can't read and stuffed animals whose furs mat under dirty hands. The mossy den you reside in could always use new things, even if you have no use for them.

For as long as you remember, it has been like this. A being of the woods, you’ve become a cryptic-like legend. “The Lost Camper”, you’re called. Whatever that means. You aren't sure what life is like past bark and muddy soil, clothes messy and hands rough. You were never lost, this is all you know.

Is it all so bad? So bad that humans go out of their way to tell campfire stories about your existence? The grass gives you more comfort than any sleeping bag can. 

So there really wasn't any need for you to be past that fence they set up. The truth was that they were… interesting. More interesting than any other family who ventured out here. You saw as they gathered around and talked, well, two were doing most of the talking. Brothers, apparently. (despite not looking much alike) 

They tagged along a couple more… characters. Notably, these two catmen that hovered around the older one of the brothers. They looked more alike, cat ears dawning their similar haircuts. You could tell them apart by their clothes – easier, their demeanors. 

The blue haired one stood hunched, staring at his… ”master” talk. Immediately, you could tell he was the more timid of the two. You observed the other pinkish haired one smoke a cigarette a few steps away from the group. His eyes – eye, actually – looked low and dark. The patch on one of them leaves you to wonder what might've happened for it to be left in such a state. Catching his name from his master, “Nyen”, which made sense considering his appearance.

You must have been staring too long, because suddenly Nyen lifts his head and his sunless eye meets yours for a second. Ducking quickly behind the trees, it should have been your sign to leave, to go on your merry way of collecting berries and getting high off of mushrooms for entertainment. 

But of course – you didn't. Instead, you retreated to the comfort of the conifer and stood idly. The sun set faster than you expected, any thoughts of simply leaving long gone hours ago. An eager smile spread across your face, these unique campers were asleep and you were going to rein free on their grounds. This was going to be the most fun you’ve had in ages!

As you tiptoe to their spot, you point out the odd set up. They had a truck and two tents, but only one tent actually seemed to be occupied. They also left a plethora of things outside unattended. Great for you. 

Nimbly, you start pocketing random things into your large well-loved leather crossbody bag. You’ve rummaged through many people’s unattended things before, but they definitely take it to a different level. This place was filled with bizarre stuff, stuff you’ve never seen before. 

Why the fuck were they carrying several wooden carvings of beavers and… birthday cake flavored “lube”... unsure what the latter was. Either way, you found it all the more entertaining to stuff these random things into your bag, giggling slightly when you pulled out a photorealistic framed drawing of a blue pony with a rainbow mane. 

You were so intrigued by all these things that you didn't realize masked, narrow eyes staring at your figure past the of the darkness camp. 

-

Nyen had been waiting for this. How stupid can you be? He saw you past the trees when the sun was still up, staring with a stable gaze – observing. Your face was shaded by the leaves, but he could see the grip you had on the tree trunk you stood behind. You looked rugged, you weren't just another camper or hitchhiker. He huffs his cigarette, more freaks. Nyen moves his eyes towards his master, clearly already stressed with the hitchhiker they had picked up hours before. Another huff.

His eyes meet yours when he decides to look up again and just as quickly – you're gone. 

Once Luther hears about this, his brows furrow slightly at the idea of another thing to deal with. “Oh dear, I just can't catch a break.” Nyen waits for his master to continue.

Randal (who totally wasn't eavesdropping) perks up once he recognizes who they were talking about, “Oh! Oh! You mean the…” He pauses for dramatic effect, “The Lost Camper…” Luther twists his head to stare at his brother, “Is that the name?” 

Randal nods excitedly, “I’ve read all about her! Apparently, she’s a ghost. Or like a cavewoman. Or an animal-hybrid. I actually didn't read that much.” He shrugs, “She doesn't hurt people, I think. Just swipes a few things and wonders around. Which is a little boring, would love it if something tried to kill us! AGAIN!”

Luther shakes his head and looks back at Nyen, “Hm, it’s too late now to move everything back inside…” He places a finger on his chin, “If that's true, then deal with her if she becomes a problem, alright?” 

Nyen nods, “Yes sir.”

From what Randal said, he knew you would most likely lurk in the incognito of the night. So he took his stance outside the tent everyone else slept in. 

He almost giddily twirls the handle of the knife, waiting and waiting. Hours pass, he doesn't have a watch but his internal clock tells him it’s around 3 am when he finally spots you. Look at you, being a problem.

Your back is faced away from him. Through the darkness, (and thanks to his skill of seeing well in the dark) he witnesses the silhouette of your thievery. Nyen can't point out exactly what you are taking but all he can imagine is his master’s upset face if he sees things are missing. The grip on his knife tightens.

He needs to wait again, wait for the perfect moment, wait to pounce . Nyen hears giggles escape your mouth – small, but he hears it. His jaw clenches. How dare you tee-hee while taking his family's very important stuff? He almost wants to lunge at you straight away, but he decides against it. Nyen wants to stab you in the throat and watch the blood splurt once you turn around. He just needs to get a bit closer…

SNAP

How irritating. Nyen just had to step on a twig. 

Your reaction time is just as fast as his, darting into the dark woods with him quickly trailing behind you.

Nyen huffs to himself. He wanted to make this quick, but he certainly doesn’t mind a chase.

-

Holy shit, shit, shit. Thoughts race a thousand miles per hour, with your legs following right behind. You admittedly got too into it that you weren’t focusing, now you have to make a great escape. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve had to run away from a camper, there was a time where a woman got spooked by you on her way to take a piss. Her scream was so loud that you immediately dashed past her, dropping the clothes you had stolen. Her husband (presumably an experienced outdoorsman) actually trekked through the woods with a shotgun for a while as you held your breath in the branches above. Ultimately, her family was gone before the sun was down. 

But you aren't sure you can just avoid this one. You allow yourself to turn peek behind you and see him . The smoking catman, Nyen. The shade of the night is heavy, but you’ve adapted to see well in the dark. You’re sure he has that skill too with the way his gaze is steady, hard, and right on yo u through terrifying masked eyes. Where did his eyepatch go?

Shaky hands clutch the filled crossbody bag that jumps with your every movement. If you had to go through this, you at least want to keep the stuff. 

Just tire him out, you think. It's reassuring that you know these woods like the back of your hand. You’ve tread several miles, exploring and wondering, though never finding a road. (Odd.)

Agilely weaving him past trees and fallen logs, your boots try to find leaf covered ground in an attempt to not leave visible tracks, but that would cause you to move slower – and you can't afford that. You assume with enough loops and turns, he will lose your trail.

A loud, gravelly yell can be heard behind you, “You can't run forever!” It makes your heart hammer because it's true. You aren't sure how long you’ve been running now but it feels like hours .

Periodically, you pause to catch your breath, but it isn't long before you hear his heavy steps get closer and closer, forcing the chase to start again.

It’s terrifying. You have amazing stamina. It's part of being in these woods, moving a lot. Nyen is different though, you don't think he’s stopped once. He’s a hunter, a bit slower than his prey but always behind. 

Huffing, you duck under branches and jump over uneven ground with aching legs, barely catching yourself a few times. It’s strenuous to carry on like this, so close to giving out. It’s impossible to focus with this adrenaline pumping through your veins, are you going in circles? Herbage you’re so used to begin to feel like a labyrinth of ever consuming moss and vines. 

Managing to keep your distance, you start to believe that maybe you’ve lost him when the echo of rushed footsteps begin to fade. There’s a wave of relief when all that can be heard is the sound of heavy panting and earth stirring underneath sore feet. 

You close your eyes as you continue to move forward, wind flowing through your hair with momentum. It’s just for a second, for a moment of clarity. It's a terrible second. Your right ankle rolls horribly on a rock, making you tumble down with shriek. It reverberates past trees and you’re sure he's heard it. 

He’s already closing the gap, leaves shuffling behind you. Regaining composure with gritted teeth, you come to the conclusion that he can have his damn things. It’s not worth running forever. Peeking at your quickly growing swollen ankle, you aren't sure you even could.

Finding an area where the trees thin out with patches of soft grass, you use the last of your excretion to exclaim, “Wait, wait!” Facing him finally, he stops feet away from you. 

You finally get a closer look at him. His stance is still aggressive, as if you are about to take off at any moment. You see his glare filled with pure disdain, thin lips curling in a snarl. His eyes go beyond his bizarre mask, it feels like he's piercing you with them.

“Say it.” It's a husky voice that makes the anxiety in your stomach swirl. You realize you haven't been face to face with someone in… a while.

Croaking out with a strained voice, “Look, here. Have it back, I don't want it anymore.” With shaking hands, you tug the worn leather over your body and drop it onto the ground in between you two. Gulping, you scan his figure for any type of reaction.

That's when you notice a glint in his hand – a knife. Maybe it was foolish to assume he wouldn't have a weapon on him, he was chasing you after all. But it dawns on you that you don't have one. 

Nyen seems to pick up on your sudden stiffening, taking a step forward. It takes everything in you to not take off, but you know it would be fruitless with a sore ankle. 

“I know who you are.” You shake, “You do?” He nods slowly, “Randal told me about you. ‘The Lost Camper’, a habitual thief and urban legend. A fucking pussy too.” 

A low laugh escapes his lips, he’s getting closer. “So, you think you can just get away with this?” Sweat builds even heavier on your brow and you shake your head, “No, no. I’m – I’m sorry. I didn't mean to–” He cuts you off, “You knew exactly what the fuck you were doing. You need to be dealt with. ”

Your flight instinct kicks in and despite the light injury you sustained, your feet begin to move on their own. It's not fast enough though, he lunges at you and the sudden weight causes you to fall down with a pained hiss.

There's a tackle, he's grabbing at you while you try to force yourself up under him. It’s incredibly rough, there isn't enough room to struggle around with how his weight presses you down.

You watch terribly as Nyen brings his knife up in the air. The pale moon shines on the blade, and for a second, you see the reflection of your terrified face before it stains red. 

A guttural scream forces out of your mouth, making you throw your head back before it crooks back down to see crimson blood seep through your jeans down the side of your thigh. 

Nyen doesn't waste time in pulling the blade back, watching how you writhe in pain. Through teary eyes, you see pure excitement spread across his shaded face. He’s enjoying this. 

You can barely resist when he's forcing your thick jacket off your body – not satisfied with how the material lessens the cuts he’s adorning your body. “Don't do this…” It’s meek and pathetic, you know but you can't help it. He stands above, blood staining his hands. 

“It's already happening.” It's deep and low, and you feel every drip of venom that laces his words. 

You witness Nyen begin to rub the growing bulge in his tan jeans, causing your stomach to twist in a way that you're scared you may vomit out of the fear and pain. The catman groans, “Fuck… I’m going to make a mess out of you.”

Soon enough, he strips you of your worn shirt and jeans clothes. It's scary how Nyen handles you like a ragdoll, no concern for the twists and gashes your injured body has to endure. 

“So this is what you were hiding under all that? Lucky me.” It’s so condescending that you grit your teeth. For any chance of keeping your dignity, an attempt of covering yourself and moving is made – but it’s met with a swift kick to your ribs that results in burning heaving.

A cold hand slips under your bra, lifting it over and groping at your chest. Whimpering, you attempt to shy away from his touch but he draws you back with an even colder tip of a blade that swipes across your skin. 

Red drapes over your body like a warm blanket in contrast to the cool chill of the forest air. You can almost stare off into the starry night you are so used to while you try to regain bated breath, just for an escape.

Nyen doesn't allow this though. He flips you over roughly onto your stomach, ripping away the comforting sky from your vision. Again, you want to at least protest when he greedily spreads your legs open, hand prodding at your sensitive heat.

Shit. You don't remember the last time you ventured into anything sexual. Maybe you’d rub one out when the idea popped up, but it never really did. You’ve seen a… er– dildo (if you remember correctly what it was called) once or twice when snooping around camps. It gave you a good laugh then, but you would ultimately leave it. 

Now you can feel how his hard length presses up against you. It’s an uncommon sensation, and fuck – why does it have to be big? 

Cutting your underwear off, his long fingers soon dip into the heat of your pussy, pushing in and out. You gasp and tremble underneath his touch. He doesn't wait for you, curling his digits up as growing wetness coats his knuckles. It's disgustingly good, making your traitorous body clench around his fingers. 

Nyen looms over you, wiping the soaked knife onto dark long sleeves, helping him keep his grip on the handle. Then, he pulls his fingers out of you, tauntingly slow to hear how you whimper pathetically. “Look at you, bitch. You're fucking dripping.” He mixes the juices with your blood, “Heh, in more ways than one.”

With unbuckled jeans, he moves fully on top of you, knees pining the sides of you down as he grunts against your soft ass. Nyen then grips your hair and pulls your head back, curving your spine into an uncomfortable position. His knife finds its way to your exposed neck. 

Shaking, it nips at your skin as shallow breaths escape you. He brings himself closer . “Should I just kill you now? What do you think, slut?” Adrenaline rushes through your body, a shameful cry escapes you, “No, no! Don't– don't!” 

He grinds against you, “Then beg.” Shaking your head, you respond – “Please. Please let me go, I’m sorry.” A deep sinister chuckle responds, “No, bitch.” He yanks your head back even farther. Feeling his hot breath against your face, he spits, “Beg for me to fuck you.” 

Tears pool in your eyes, shutting tightly when his blade grazes hurt skin once more. His hard length prods at your entrance – waiting. With a deep breath, you whisper oh-so pathetically. “Please fuck me.” You pray it's enough.

“Better than that. C'mon, or I’ll slit your pretty little fucking throat.” He yanks your hair, pushing into your skin. You panic, fat tears streaming down your face. “No! Don't kill me! Please, please just fuck me. Please.”  

Your screams turn into loud cries, echoing onto the tall trees that surround the scene. Nyen relishes in your wails, nails digging into the back of your scalp before his cock sinks into you roughly. You squirm with a loud pained gasp, you weren't close to ready for him. 

His knife (thankfully) removes itself from your neck, grip on the handle still iron strong. It doesn't give you anything to distract from as he stretches you out incredibly painfully. Inch by inch, your muscles contract and try to adjust to his size – but it's not nearly enough when he begins to start to move. 

“You're so fucking tight.” He lets out a sharp grunt, skin slapping against yours. “You've never fucked, haven’t you?” All you can do is cry. “Perfect.”

Forgetting the threat of his knife, he reminds you with a deep slash across your back. Pain vibrates through you, hands grip at soil and blades of grass in an attempt to stiffen the burning sensation that consumes you. Nausea festers and chokes at the back of your throat, certain that if you had eaten this morning it’d be spilling out your mouth by now.

It's an entrancing sight for Nyen, the large gash displays the crimson beautiful blood dripping down your arched back and onto your asscheeks as he slams into you. It’s a lot of blood. So much so that he feels how you physically weaken under him, fully incapacitated.

He decides to flip you back onto your back once again like the ragdoll you are. There, he can see how the light in your eyes start to dim. Red, and swollen, and tear rimmed – they stare back at him, wordlessly pleading for any type of mercy.

Nyen ignores it, choosing to grab your injured thighs and hike them over his broad shoulders, angling even deeper inside of you. Tight muscles draw him closer, grunting at the feeling of your warmth enveloping him. “Shit, you're a greedy fucking thing, aren't you?” He spits at you, grabbing your face to make sure your eyes stay on him, inches separating your faces. 

You don't respond, hoarse cries and moans are all the sounds you can make. Nyen’s mask taunts you, wide eyes never leaving yours as his nails scratch at your chest and waist, marking and trailing. Nyen’s nails even have the nerve to dig into your open wounds, forcing the blood to escape even faster. 

Any pleas you can muster out fall on deaf ears, and you almost wish he killed you before all this. But then it clicks that this is all just a game to him – you're simply a toy. The evil grin on his face is evident of this, he's truly enjoying watching this horrible scene come undone by his hands. The chase, the torture, your cries . It only makes his heavy cock harder and his thrusts sloppier. 

Your head is woozy and your vision is getting blurry. Numbness circuits through your body, the only thing you can feel is the sensation of his cock ramming into you over and over again. 

Nyen lets go of your face and chooses to grab at your bouncing tits, squeezing hard enough to create bruises. His twitching cock then rubs inside of you perfectly . A loud whine follows that causes Nyen’s jaw clench at the sudden extra pressure around his length, “Ah, hgh,– take my cum like the pathetic bitch you are,”

Stars in your vision soon mix with the stars in the night sky, you can't feel your legs anymore, neither your arms. Blood loss is getting to you – and quickly.

His body drives into yours, the sensation of gore under you squelches around against skin and dirt. Then, the knot building inside your numbing abdomen finally snaps, your breath hitches and you keen loudly – writhing around him.

Nyen soon follows, basically growling at how your pulsating pussy feverishly sucks him in and empties his balls. He rides the orgasm, fucking his cum deep inside you, and basking in the gripping release.

When he pulls out and off of you, your body limps on the ground. Overlooking, he can see how your lungs shallowly take in much needed air. Blood glistens off your cut adorned skin, and god is it a fucking beautiful sight.

He tucks his cock back into his blood soaked jeans, and he can already hear about how it's extra laundry to do now. But frankly, he doesn't care. Nyen gives you a once over, just to make sure the image of you really seeps into his brain. After well enough, he pockets his knife and walks over to the criminal leather bag that started this all. 

Suddenly, a weak grip holds onto his ankle. You.

You look at him with big, lidded eyes and croak out, “Wait… wait– am I… am I going to die?” He stares back at your frightened face with his reactionless one. It's quick before he gives you a sinister smile, then he yanks his ankle out from your grasp and grabs the bag that lays beside you. 

“Yeah, probably.” He then pulls a cigarette out of his back pocket and lights it, flicking hot ash onto your chest. 

“You were a good fuck though, I’ll give you that.” It’s patronizing. A final tear streams down your cheek as you watch him walk into the fog of the trees without another word.

You stare at the sky once again, leaves sway above and let moonlight peek through. Your inhales seem to be getting shorter and shorter, but you don't realize. You just pay attention to the movement of the leaves and the formation of stars. 

Grass picks at the back of your head, it’s soft – one of the only things you can feel besides excruciating pain. You let it be your pillow, the comfort that is ever fleeting from your grasp. 

This wasn't a fate you ever expected to have, it wasn't even proper death. It all makes you want to get up and fight for yourself. To live. He wasn't going to win. 

But reality sinks in when your vision fills with black spots, and you remember you're actively bleeding out, abused and hurt. Dying. It hurts to move, and the lone thought of welcoming it reverberates in your mind. It’s okay… It’s okay… 

With a final breath and ringing ears, darkness finally mercifully consumes you. 

To the dirt you were born, to the dirt you return to. 

And to the dirt you will rise up from again. 

[crowleyholmes]

hi there chris! since the new year is approaching rapidly, i wanted to ask my favorite creators (that includes you! i love your art!) how they look back on their 2023 tumblr year and which blogs made them happy to be here. i am very happy to follow you and hope you'll have a great 2024! 💘

Hiiii omg this is so sweet and means a lot to me, thank you! 🥺💕

I've been meaning to do a little end-of-the-year shoutout/love post for some of my favorite blogs, so I hope you don't mind if I use your ask as the perfect excuse!

I've had many fun years on tumblr, but this one has been extra special. Falling into the Good Omens fandom and meeting all of you amazing people has made this year so so SO much better than it otherwise would have been, so here are some special shoutouts (apologies, I'm sure this will get long, things like this tend to get away from me, so I'll put it under a read-more)

@majortomyourcurcuitsdead SASHA can you believe I was going to just send you an anon telling you that I think you're cool and leave it at that. Can you believe it. WELL thank Somebody you had your anon turned off and I had to expose myself in your dms because it feels like we just instantly connected about like 20 different things and haven't stopped talking since sskjdfhs anyway I'm so happy I met you you're so fun and so clever and so talented and so enthusiastic and I've only known you for like. What 2 months?? Ish? But I already love you so much <3

@lineffability !!! Line you are so *struggles to find words* you're just great is what you are okay. I feel like you are what happens when somebody takes a big cup and puts six shots of love, chaos, sunshine, talent, fun, and enthusiasm into it, generously sprinkles intelligence on top and gives it a good stir. I don't even remember how or when or why we started talking tbh? But your creativity is so inspiring, and some of my favorite tumblr-moments of this year have been 'yes-and'ing with you about one thing or another in a very >:3 manner hahah so! my point is! i love you lots <3

@dontbotheraziraphale Teeeedddd you're wonderful, I vented at you one time and then we talked for like 2 hours and at the end of that 1 conversation I already considered you a friend - and not just in that "tumblr mutuals who talk 1 time are my friends" kind of way but like. Genuinely. You're so kind and so fun and every time we talk it's such a good time ily a lot my bro my buddy my man <3

@crikey01 Tallulah HI I also completely forgot how we started talking but I remember connecting the dots that you were the one who painted those INSANE black and white and gold oil paintings and the way my jaw dropped like?? BRO you're so talented I admire you so much! And I love that we bonded over stopping each other from masochistically checking certain peoples' blogs... 😂 Anyway you're so sweet and fun and ily lots <3

---

The list could probably go on but you four are the people I've talked to most on here and you're the tumblr chat boxes I never close but always just minimize and y'all better see this as the ultimate internet declaration of affection that it Clearly is >:D 💕

---

And here are some more shout-outs because I just HAVE to.

Apologies, I know I've already tagged a bunch of you recently in a mutuals appreciation post but. This is my official thank-you-for-2023 post and I just have a lot of love for you all okay sorry feel free to ignore this <3

@rowan-ashtree (i'll text you back soon I promise I'm sorry I just haven't had the brain-space recently ssjkdfh) @crawley-fell (we've never talked but i love you from afar :')) @ineffabildaddy @llokilaufeyson @actual-changeling @saryasy @hyperfocusthusly @beccibarnes @rainbowcrowley @thesherrinfordfacility @goodoldfashionednightingale @wibbly-wobbly-blog @highlyillogicalandroid (i see your data obsession and i agree <3) @tortugay @foolishlovers @stargazing-crowley @gingiekittycat @weasleywrinkles @bildads-shoes @finleycannotdraw @bowtiepastabitch @heytherefluffy @samwwise @nocturnal-birb @athousandyearstime @angelsdiningattheritz @most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer @jedthesecretdreamer @wraithee @hydrangeadangea @southfarthing @frodo-baggins @mobius-m-mobius

[copaline]

IT'S WIP WEDNESDAY! You all thought I forgot!

I got tagged by @man--eater even though my writing doesn't even go to the Hazbin fandom!

Anyway! As you may or may not know, @punedrr and @mask-knife-is-scarecrows-girl straight up failed as my impulse control and I started a little one-shot spinoff of Horror Vacui called The Dealer and the Oracle!

It's a fix it fic that answers the question "what if someone had rescued a young 1982 Model Ford as he was being tortured by Bill"! Anyway the fic is 75% done but here's a little snippet of the upcoming Chapter 3:

Ford had fainted in Leaf’s arms and hadn’t stirred since. After weeks of sleep deprivation and exhaustion his body had essentially shut down to recover. No amount of noise or motion could break the spell. He stood amidst the wreckage that was his mindscape and walked through aimlessly. For the most part, his mind was quiet, like the bones of a forest after a massive wildfire. There were still corners that remained intact and stood out juxtaposed against the cinders. Most of what he encountered were echoes of a softer, more naive time.  A chess piece here. A tattered book there. The fragment of a half-forgotten equation. And then there were the darker portions of his mind. These were the places where He had lurked, entire portions of Ford’s mind that had been forcefully torn open and defiled. Everything in him screamed to stay away from those shadows but some masochistic portion of himself spurred him on to face the mutilated remains of his psyche. Yet when he found them, he was surprised to see coils of violet, silver, and gold had stitched the wounds closed. Something or someone had carefully found all of his pieces and repaired the damage. He stared at each intricate swirl feeling as though he had seen this pattern before. He brushed a hand over what should have been a particularly nasty gash, and the patchwork shimmered with a violet light. Something gentle and intangible settled around him as a constellation sparkled above. As his thoughts settled, he recognized her familiar presence. It was the same creature who had dragged Bill away from him and chased him off. The same being who had held him when he found himself unable to hold it together. Hello Ford. “It’s you again.” Are you having a bad dream? “I’m not sure. I’m still processing everything that’s happened.” That is understandable. You have been through a lot. The scenery changed and Ford found himself on a beach filled with smooth pebbles. Cypress trees grew up the slopes of the seaside hills, sea lions basked on boulders just off the shore amidst a sapphire blue ocean. “What is this place?” A pleasant site on planet Sol 3. Locals call it a beach. You may be familiar with it. He smiled at the snarky answer but something kept him from fully embracing her attempt at levity. Bill’s specter still cast a shadow over his mind. Having already been once, he wasn’t exactly eager to make the same mistake again. No matter what this creature had done for him, he couldn’t allow himself to trust so easily.

Tagging @spoopyghostgirl and @i-prefer-base-twelve because I must read your things!

[beerok23]

Runaway Groom AU - Chapter 16

With the compliments of my beta @somewhere-in-wales

Excerpt from Chapter 16 - The Interview

It was mid-December and Crowley was reading the final draft of his manuscript. Even if he hadn’t properly finished (it still needed a huge amount of editing), he’d never been so proud of himself. On that memorable night, Crowley told Comma that he ‘would never forgive Aziraphale, never in 6000 years’; five minutes later, he wrote a very contradictory dedication at the beginning of the book. Crowley was still struggling with such an idiotic decision (seriously, what kind of masochist would come up with a dedication like that?), when he received a voice message from Beez. It had been a while. Back in October, after Crowley had informed his friend that he was fine but he needed time to himself to heal and forget (read: forgive), Beez had given up on contacting him again. Later, he hadn’t specified that he was writing a book. Apparently, tonight they had decided to interrupt radio silence and try again. It wasn’t that long, but Crowley’s blood ran cold nonetheless when he listened to it. “Hey, arse. How you doin’? Listen, I don’t know if you still read The guardian. Shit, it wouldn’t surprise me if you didn’t anymore...Anyway, Hastur wants me to cover for you with Rainbow Thoughts, and I’m trying to keep up the good work. Not your shitty articles of the last few years, mind, but…you know.” Crowley knew. And he couldn’t have left his column in better hands. He was glad that Beez was the designated writer to carry it on. “Well, that’s not why I’m sending you this. I’m calling in a favour. I really need your opinion on my first piece, it comes out tomorrow. I have a pdf proof copy, and I really want you to read it. If it’s not too weird, you know, with you being jobless and everything.” Crowley chuckled and reacted to the voice message with a thumb up emoji. A few minutes later, Beez sent him the pdf file of the following day's newspaper. The former columnist couldn’t imagine that a simple 4.580 Mb file would shake his whole world.

[READ FROM THE BEGINNING]

TAG LIST

@firephoenix2305 @on1occasionfork @moralsofanalleycatsposts @captainblou @bellisima-writes @shadesofecclescakes

With the ineffable trailer created by @ineffablerainstorm and the support of my second beta @pookasluagh 💛🧡

[theworldofotps]

The Nights (Drabble)

Pairing: Hook x Reader Word Counter: 780 Description: He's just trying to get over the thought of you.

Loosely based off the song Stick Season _______ Tag list: @omg-im-such-a-masochist​ @melissahausen​ @new-zealand-chic​ @writtingrose​ @hotgirlgraps @madhatterbri @sjwrites22 @sassymox @mrsacklesevansmgk @xladyxfatex @adamcolesbaybay @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @demonqueen29 @itsicantbelievethis666 @lilred91 @rebellious-desires @claymorexpunisher @letsgivethisonemoreshot @ava-valerie @shortyiceheart @serpantscorpio8497 @thatpanpal @thatnerdwriter @wrestlersownmyheart @vebner37 @seeingstarks @whenimakeitshine1234 @legit9thlunaticwarrior @blaquekitty @ironshamelessyouth @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @ripleyswhore @moonrosekk @xbreezymeadowsx @alyyaana @elevennbloom @melblacc @alliwant456  @mcreignsera @auburnwrites​ @aews-four-pillars If you wanna be added to the list lemme know. Hook Tag list: @wickedval ________ Another night, another cloud of smoke encircled his head as he sat on his fire escape watching the city buzzing by. His phone lit up illuminating his face as he read it hoping but knowing it wouldn’t be a text from you.

‘We’re really worried about you man nobody’s heard from you in a week least let someone know you’re okay.’ Setting the phone back on his lap Tyler took another inhale of the joint holding the smoke until his lungs burned then blew it into the dark night sky. Of course, he was okay well at least physically he was but emotionally he probably wouldn’t be the same ever again. Not after losing the most important person in his world.. “This is going to be amazing mamas I can’t wait for you to come back to New York I have so much for us planned.”

Tyler smiled as he put away the last of the laundry making sure his apartment was clean and suitable enough for you. The line remained quiet with the only sound being the tires on the road before you let a breath out. “Actually, I’ve um changed my mind.” He didn’t know this but at the time you spoke these words you passed his exit and continued driving. “I’m sorry what?” “I know it’s a shitty thing to do on the phone but I’m going up to Canada to visit a friend for a few weeks. I didn’t know how to tell you and honestly wasn’t sure how I was going to.” “Why didn’t you just say anything?’ “Because breaking up over the phone isn’t something I planned to do but I think it’s for the best. We’ve been growing apart with your traveling and my work schedule. I’m tired of not seeing you and of not having a boyfriend close by. I’m sorry this is the last thing I wanted to have happen, but I think it’s for the best.”

Thinking back over that night all these weeks later and if he was honest with himself, he knew something wasn’t right. You had been acting weird ever since the two of you started making plans for a visit, you’d trail off or switch the subject to something else.

He was still dealing with all the feelings that came from having a relationship suddenly end, he felt pain that he never experienced before not even in ring. His chest was heavy and often felt tight, he was angry that you wouldn’t even give him a chance to try and make things better or reassure you it would work out.

But he knew it wasn’t just all on you, he’d been a bit too busy with work and didn’t call you as often as he should have. He never imagined he would be at this end, sure other relationships failed but he always had faith that yours would last. And now just like that you were gone, you who was supposed to be Tyler’s future. The love of his life the person he hoped to marry someday not that he ever got the chance to ask you.

Despite the breakup being over two months ago he still felt like he did the night it happened; felt like a whole opened in his chest. It got worse because he saw your mother recently. She stopped by to pick up some of your things and told him that you were taking it hard despite everything she knew that you loved him. It helped a little but not enough to make him want to rejoin society.

He'd called a couple of times and even sent a few texts to try and see if he could change your mind but you never returned them. Tyler knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to get back to real life. Tony was trying to be understanding and give him time, they wrote him off with an injury, but he knew he needed to get back. Most days he spent smoking trying to numb the longing and loneliness he felt for you, but no matter how much he smoked he still thought about you. At night was the worst when the rest of the world was silent his mind and dreams were plagued with different versions of you. No matter what he tried he just couldn’t escape it all. Tyler knew in time he would get over you, knew that one day in the future you’ll be nothing more than just a thought in his mind. As for now? He would just have to take it a day at a time trying to get over loving you.

[munsonkitten]

steddie smut | read the tags first | 6400 words choking, spanking, sub eddie, masochist eddie (slightly), dom steve, coming in pants 5+1, play fighting, dry humping, nipple play

1. 

Eddie’s not really used to this.

He’s never really had friends his own age. His band and Hellfire are all younger than him, Rick and his friends are all older. It’s been difficult to get close to anyone, when everyone his age has thought of him as a freak since he moved to town. 

All of that, plus his new friend being Steve, put Eddie in some situations he never really thought he’d be in. Situations that he, maybe, dreamed of one day being in, but not really like this. 

Pinned under Steve Harrington with his wrists held down to the ground above his head. Yeah, he’s thought of that, but not… 

Not the part where they’re apparently wrestling.  

Eddie doesn’t remember why this started. One second he was on the couch and the next he was on the floor, and something probably happened in between there, but he doesn’t really know what. His brain is kind of fuzzy, the memories clouded by the fact that Steve Harrington is currently sitting on top of him.

He tries, though not very hard, to roll Steve off of him. He probably could, honestly, but there’s something about this that makes his limbs heavy, and yeah, Steve feels good on top of him. Warm and solid, and it’s kind of Eddie’s dream to be underneath him, so sue him for his efforts being minimal here. 

It’s just that he should probably try a little bit harder to get Steve off of him because Eddie’s very close to sporting a little problem. Steve’s ass is pressed right to Eddie’s crotch, and he’s just laughing. He’s holding Eddie down and he’s laughing about it, like he’s won some prize here by beating him, even if Eddie doesn't remember why they’re wrestling to begin with. 

“Okay, okay, that’s—” Eddie starts. 

Steve shifts in his lap, and oh god that’s — okay, Steve needs to move now or he’s going to notice how hard Eddie is, and then Eddie needs to run to the bathroom before Steve sees or he’ll punch Eddie in the face, probably, and—

He shifts again. Steve shifts again and then his entire face changes, and he’s leaning over Eddie, hands still pinning Eddie’s wrists to the ground, and Eddie has no idea why Steve isn’t getting up. 

“Are the rumors true?” Steve asks.

Eddie wishes he could hide his face behind his hands, hide the heat blooming on his cheeks. 

He doesn’t answer. 

“The rumors that Eddie Munson has a thing for me?” Steve continues. 

“Where did you hear that rumor?” Eddie blurts out. Yeah, sure, people have called him a faggot for longer than he’s known it himself, but his crush on Steve has been as tightly under wraps as it could possibly be. 

Maybe not. 

“We had gym class together my senior year,” Steve says, leaning down to whisper right in Eddie’s ear. “All the boys said you looked at me in the locker room.”

Eddie feels like he might die right about now. Of shame, embarrassment, anxiety that the entire male population of Hawkins high school knows he’s got a raging hard on for Steve Harrington. 

“They said you’d look at my dick,” Steve continues. “Like you wanted me. But I never believed them because why would Eddie want me? I was everything you hated back then.”

“No,” Eddie says. “No, you weren’t. You were — beautiful. You are. W-who told you all that?”

Steve laughs quietly, brushing his nose against Eddie’s ear. “No one. I made it up.”

Eddie wrenches himself out of Steve’s hands and shoves him off. “Fuck you, man!”

But he’s laughing, head falling into his hands as he sits up. 

“Hey, I got what I was looking for,” Steve says. “You’ve totally got a thing for me.”

“Shut up,” Eddie mutters. 

“No, no,” Steve says. “No, it’s cute. I — well, I’d been hoping. Didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Eddie’s head snaps back up. Steve’s just sitting there on his knees watching him, waiting. 

So Eddie throws himself at Steve, wrestling him back to the ground, laughter bubbling out of his lips because he can’t believe Steve just said that. I’d been hoping. It can’t be real, but — but Steve’s laughing too, something sweet, chiming like bells in Eddie’s ears, and his hands are squeezing Eddie’s hips and pulling him down against him. 

The feeling of Steve against him, his thigh between Eddie’s legs, it has him going fuzzy again. Warm and tingling, spreading through his entire body. 

Steve flips them while Eddie’s distracted, pushing his hands back up on the floor, pinned beneath his wrists. 

“You mean it?” Eddie asks. 

Steve bends down, nosing along Eddie’s cheek, and whispers, “Yeah. I mean it.”

He grinds down against Eddie, their dicks pressing together. Steve’s just as hard as he is, he notices now. It’s too good, too hot, and Eddie drops his head heavy on the floor and moans, loud and uninhibited because he’s never felt another person’s body against his own, and he can’t contain it at all. 

“A-and you want this?” Eddie asks. “With me?”

“Mhm,” Steve hums. He pulls his hands away from Eddie’s wrists and whispers a quiet, “Stay,” in Eddie’s ear. 

Eddie wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. 

“Good boy,” Steve murmurs.

It goes straight to his dick, making him buck up against Steve’s body. He can’t believe any of this is real, that any of this is happening. He wants to pinch himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming, but he has to leave his hands where they are. Steve told him to, and Eddie needs to be good for him. 

Steve shifts, his hands going to Eddie’s thighs to spread them apart, and Eddie whines. He fucking whines over Steve’s big hands moving his legs into position, spreading them so Steve can fit between them, slotting their bodies together. 

“This okay?” Steve asks. 

Eddie nods quickly. Of course it’s okay. It’s beyond okay. It’s everything. 

Their dicks press together through their jeans again, and Eddie brings his knees up, squeezing them around Steve’s sides. He hooks his ankles behind Steve’s back, and he wants to wrap his arms around his neck, but Steve told him to stay so he is. 

Steve thrusts against him, his head dipping to press his lips against Eddie’s neck. 

This isn’t going to last long at all, not with Steve thrusting and grinding like he’s fucking Eddie through their jeans. Eddie’s never done anything with anyone, and now he’s beneath the man of all of his wet dreams, and he’s hurtling toward the edge embarrassingly fast. 

“Steve,” he moans. “I’m gonna — Steve.” 

“Okay, okay,” Steve whispers. “That’s alright, baby, go ahead. Just like this. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“N-not in — this is my last pair of clean underwear,” Eddie pants, bucking his hips up against Steve’s body, rutting himself hard and fast against Steve’s dick.

Steve chuckles against his neck. “Want me to stop?”

“No,” Eddie rushes out. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

Steve laughs again, lifts his head ahead from Eddie’s throat and looks down at him. “Cum for me, baby. C’mon.”

Eddie needs more. He wants his pants off, wants to feel skin on skin, but he doesn’t want to go through the effort. He doesn’t want to move his hands from where Steve placed them and told him to stay. 

He wants — 

“Kiss me,” Eddie pants. “Please. Stevie, I want —”

Steve cuts him off with a kiss, soft and gentle, and Eddie  has nothing to compare it to but he thinks it might be the best kiss in the history of the world because it’s him and Steve. Eddie can’t keep his hands in place anymore, has to move them to cup Steve’s cheeks as he moans into the kiss, his hips twitching one more time before the tension snaps and he shakes apart completely, coming in his pants. 

He cries out, legs tightening around Steve’s waist, arms sliding to wrap around his shoulders. His dick throbs and twitches in his underwear, making a mess that Steve keeps driving himself down into, leaving Eddie wet and oversensitive, and then — Steve stops. 

He pulls away, hands flying to his zipper. He draws his cock out of his underwear, hard and leaking and red, and Eddie watches. He watches as Steve quickly strokes his cock, quiet moans falling from his lips. His eyes shut, his head tipping back, and with a moan he cums all over his hand, spilling over onto Eddie’s stomach where his shirt has ridden up. 

It might be the hottest thing Eddie’s ever seen. 

He suddenly feels self conscious about not lasting long enough to get his dick out. He starts to become completely aware of the mess crusting in his pubes, Steve’s mess on his stomach. 

“Shit,” Steve pants. “Sorry. Let me — I’ll clean you up. C’mon.”

Steve makes good on that promise. He takes Eddie to the bathroom and strips him out of his clothes, then takes off his own. He pulls him into the shower, helps scrub Eddie down. The shift in their friendship is immediate. If it can even be called a friendship anymore. 

That’s just the start of it. 

2. 

It happens again a few days later. 

Not the whole wrestling part of it, no, because apparently Steve was just using that as an excuse to be close to Eddie, and now he doesn’t need an excuse. No, Eddie cums in his pants again a few days later, his hips grinding against Steve’s while they make out in Steve’s bed. 

It’s embarrassing, really, how quick it happens. One second they’re laying side by side, the next Steve’s on top of him asking if he can kiss him, and Eddie’s sitting there like no shit because all he ever wants to do now is kiss Steve. It’s kind of a problem how much he likes kissing Steve. 

Steve barely has to touch him, barely has to slide his dick against Eddie’s through their jeans, and Eddie’s rock hard and throbbing in his boxers. 

And it happens so quick because, when Eddie tries to stifle a moan into Steve’s neck, Steve pulls back and says, “C’mon, baby, let me hear you,” and then whispers, “Good boy,” when Eddie tips his head back and lets sounds fall from his lips. 

It’s like those three words in close proximity to each other flip a switch in Eddie’s brain and cock. Baby, good boy. It’s fucking embarrassing, is what it is. 

He cums just like that, hips bucking against Steve’s, mouth open with his moans spilling out. 

“Jesus, Eddie,” Steve chuckles, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Did you just…?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, no that’s — don’t apologize,” Steve says. He pulls away, rolling over to the side.

He doesn’t make any attempt to get his dick out, just lays there pressing lazy kisses to Eddie’s lips.

Eventually, Steve finds a pair of underwear and some sweatpants for Eddie to change into and they settle into Steve’s bed again. They’ve only been together for a few days, but they’ve been friends for months. Their routine is pretty established at this point — get into pajamas and lay in Steve’s bed listening to music or reading or talking. 

Now, though, Steve pulls Eddie against him, plays with his hair while Eddie rests his head on his chest. 

Read the rest of this 5+1 on AO3

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Bonus Chapter 26

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

This chapter took me two days to go through! It's SO LONG (120 pages). I wanted to post yesterday but I got 60 pages in and started fading. Winter is here and the sun keeps disappearing too quickly, your boy is feeling the SAD.

The tea photo is from today and not yesterday- I tried out a new one it's almond amaranth and rooibos.

let's get into this monster of a chapter!

Fuck yeah, we have an airplane POV! Though this chapter is BEEFY. I think I'm going to read half today and half tomorrow before posting it (present me: and I did! ^-^).

I love that we are getting all of these forum comments. This is so fun! One of my favourite brands of fics are fics that include elements of social media/forum/blog style au's and this is a vibe! pp140-147

This guy is not wrong "Even though this famous Lord Cucumber spewed criticism constantly and without end in 'Great Master' Airplane's comment section, his subscription payments and demands for updates never waned. Because of this 'Great Master Airplane had come to suspect that this person was a masochist". p148 I mean yeah lol

OMG what an awful way to die! Alone in your house, let's be real - likely in his underwear- via electrocution induced by his sad instant ramen noodle dinner. p149

and the fact that he transmigrated so young. He was there for a while before the plot plotted with SY. 17 years old! p150. I do wonder if there is a wiggly time thing. Like years in the transmigrated novel equal like hours in the world he came from or something. They died close together I think? anyways- any theories on this are welcome!

Same though- Airplane is so real for this. The way in which I would just want to spill all of the foreknowledge and secrets to people I held in my brain as the creator of this universe p153

The SASS [Tip Complete. We wish you the best of luck]. p155

Are you kidding! This man didn't even write the plot that led for his main spy character to becoming a spy...dang man. the potholes are real bad. p156

Okay but this would seriously be me af. I am such a wimp- and that is totally okay! In the face of most definitely death, I would submit myself to being the Little Bitch Boy and pledge myself, my body, my undying love, to my new demon overlord and master. Good for baby him ahaha. p158

"As Shang Qinghua overflowed with snot and tears, clinging on for dear life, begging to pledge fealty to Mobei-Jun - wholly without warning, the demon collapsed." p160 Again, same. I'm feeling seen with Airplane here XD Screaming, crying, throwing up.

Man. I really see how these two end up together (I'm assuming they do?). He had a solid chance to murder the guy and he just couldn't because the character is just his ideal man. p162

"This character had been created entirely to the author's own tastes" p163 MHMMM. Yeah he was.

ehehehe and here we have the only one bed trope at the inn he got to nurse his ideal man back to health. p165

This guy is so shameless. Straight up just watching Mobei-Jun strip while he sits there and snacks. p169

It is so unhinged that this man just has a string tied to his neck pp170-171

that congee- YARF "clear as water" sounds so unappealing p174

"When in doubt- just cry" - Airplane definitely p176

The security on this mountain is so shit. Demons just popping in all the time under the radar. Mobei-jun literally lived there for three days no one even knew XD p183

awww, Airplane tried to warn Liu Qingge about the upcoming Qi deviation. That was nice of him. p190

Yes! Thank you! The scene I have been waiting for; in which the other characters are all like "wtf is up with shen qingqiu? He really is 100% different overnight, but also, no one say anything to him because we like this him better" p192

Fair though, I too would think that SQQ was possessed p194

The way in which airplane is SHAKEN by the actions of SQQ right now is so funny. Him frozen expression, this is NOT the character I wrote what the fuck is happening. p206

Someone commented on an earlier chapter post I had about the theory that the system is the manifestation of airplane's actual wants for the story and like- I stand with this theory. It really checks out with this POV the man keep's fantasizing of a queer man story and like he sure does get it. p207

LOOOOL oh no. the fact that the man who created these characters - VERY different than this experience. Has to listen to Binghe "If you hold unique feelings for a certain person, how can you make them understand you intentions?" p208.

Not airplane giving LBH love advice just so cucumber bro can literally Get Fucked. pp212-213

AND THEN HIS ADVICE BACKFIRES WITH MOBEI-JUN LOL"So, if you want to be liked by a man, the best method is to act pathetic?" p214. Like he set this up for himself

Wait. Airplane had the option to return home! And he just didnt??? p217

Airplane really is weak for these villainous men. The way in which he describes Linguang-Jun is so simpy. p228

The drama. Airplane doing the MOST to save Mobei-jun. This man could have avoided all of this and just gone home. What a horrible torture! :( p235

Get it airplane! You yell at him ahaha p237-238

I AM SCREAMING. Airplane: I'm your daddy! p239 AND THEN him just leaving in a panic because he really thinks he's going to get murdered after that outburst LOL

I love SQQ sitting in domesticity with his man giving airplane love advice pp244-245

Awww, Mobei-Jun came back for his boyfriend! He's going to make him hand pulled noodles :'3 p255 I honestly think that Mobei-jun actually needed to be bossed around this entire time

BYE. LOL SGH deciding to continue writing in this world by basically writing slash fanfiction about LBH/SQQ + the other peak lords/famous cultivators LOL p256. Good for him ahaha.

We did it!

This chapter was such a ride ahaha. it was fun to see the POV for airplane but also him and the progression of his weird AF relationship with Mobei-jun. I honestly kind of love these two. They were such a mess in the beginning but it ended so soft :'3

[thepepsislvt]

Ok but imagine barto with a lover who like really likes when he bites.. I mean he has the epithet “The Cannibal” for a reason…

also goes with the idea it jay be a different kid of eating that he’s doing if ykwim

I hear you loud and clear tulip anon and I've been thinking about this for so fucking long

We share the same brain cell I'm convinced and I'm just mischievously smiling at my phone rn

this one has my usual no pronouns but reader had a coin slot for this one so it can be read as fem or trans masc 👍

‼️anw this one is nsfw so please be adviced‼️

Warnings: Nsfw, eating out, masochist reader, bottom reader, blood play (?)

you like it when Bartolomeo bites you

and i mean you really like it

he loves to give you little love bites

he mainly does it for attention or to show off to his crew as a reminder not to mess with you

but you especially love it when he bites your thighs

one of your hands is gripping the bed sheets underneath you and the other is tightly gripped on in his brightly colored hair as he eats you out like a man whose starving

he licks and sucks at your clit as two of his fingers are pumping in and out of you

“feeling good, sugar?”

he would ask every now and again. it may sound like teasing to anyone around but you know that deep down he wants to make sure you’re doing alright and its not too much

last thing he would want to do is hurt you in a bad way

once he gets the okay to continue, you dont have to tell him twice

turns his head to face the inside of your thigh

he presses kisses to the soft flesh before biting it

not hard enough to cause a serious problem but just enough to break the skin

the painful sensation quickly turns to pleasure as he licks the spot he just bit to sooth it and collect any blood that may have spilled from the wound

you moan even louder and arch your back off the bed at the sensation

“Barto! more please!”

He laughs lightly and bites you again on the opposite thigh “what ever you want, Sugar”

he then adds a third finger inside of you right as he bites you

this was enough to pull you over the edge

you came on his fingers and scream his name.

you pulled his hair

he groans when you do and slows down his movements to help you through your orgasm without overstimulating you

once you come down from your high he pulls his fingers out of you and starts to suck on them, tasting your realease

you moan softly at the sight of him

once he was finished cleaning his fingers, he hovered over you and kissed you deeply

you can taste your release and blood in his mouth

“well hope ya ain’t tired yet, I want seconds”

Tags:

@residential-havoc

[mcl4r3n]

Ego

Or, a 2,500 word fanfic of Lando Norris discovering AO3 and getting off to fanfiction that nobody asked for but I wanted to write, anyway. :3

-

Lando Norris is a cunt and should lose his seat

Why the fuck do people keep hyping this kid up

Driver of the Day????? ARE U KIDDING ME???? WHEN CARLOS DEFENDED LIKE THAT??? Wtf

Lando exhales through his nose, slow and long, before smiling to himself and closing out his private Twitter browser.

The reception to his performance at Austria is expected, and it's a little amusing to read that that's the worst these strangers on the internet seem to be able to come up with. 

He's gotten better, certainly, at not running his mouth with reckless abandon. Charlotte would be proud of him, if she still worked for McLaren. 

He leans back in his seat, the jet preparing for takeoff. The articles were nice to him. Damon Hill had good things to say about him. P5 to P4, thanks to the penalties. It's a good fucking day. 

-

It's a little masochistic, a little narcissistic, to peruse the internet for his name as much as he does, but he’s a Silverstone winner now. He’s really enjoyed the things written up about him. 

Besides, that's how Lando learned to get over caring so much in the first place. Just a few years back, he used to agonize over a slip of the tongue, used to wring his hands and fuck up his hair in worry over what the pundits would say about him because of a careless soundbite. 

He dealt with some of the worst of it when Daniel became his teammate, and even at the end, he had to learn how to stop flinching whenever he saw the word 'sympathy.' 

Now it's different. It helps, of course, that Daniel taught him how to get over it, grow thicker skin, and deal with the worst of it. 

"Let it roll off you like water," Daniel said. So Lando did. 

It's a slower news week though, and he's bored, so he searches up his name and scrolls through all the posts on the first few pages of his Google search. 

And then he sees it, a link to something called 'Archive of Our Own,' and decides to press on it with his thumb. 

It opens to a page that appears to be. . . stories, written about. . . them. Drivers. 

Drivers with other drivers. Drivers' names next to 'Original Female Character(s)'. 

It's fiction written by fans about them. 

Lando looks around his living room, at the stalled Netflix homepage on his television screen. He really should be on the sim instead, but mostly, he's tired, and would rather do some other mindless thing. 

He scrolls through and sees one that says 'Lando Norris/Carlos Sainz' with an E in a red square. Beside it, a link leads to 'Formula 1 RPF'. 

He toggles onto a new tab and types in 'rpf meaning,' which shows the definition: real person fiction. Well, he gathered as much. 

The tags are interesting, he'll give it that. 'Blowjob', '2023 Formula 1 Season', 'Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot'.

He opens the story and scans it quickly, the morbid curiosity of wanting to know how fans see his relationship with Carlos overriding the fact that it's fucking weird to be reading what is essentially smut about himself and his friend. 

This story seems to have them written like they're secret lovers, that they have been since Carlos' McLaren days, and absolutely doesn't take into account that both he and Carlos had girlfriends at one point. 

He snorts when he reaches a line that has him saying, "Carlos, please, you're so big, please fuck me."

Lando frowns at the screen. His skin is starting to itch. Why do people think he'd say that to Carlos? For one thing, Carlos doesn't even have a big dick. Lando knows—he's seen it himself. Changing in a hurry tends to lead to that, flinging bits about while they finish golf.

"Cariño," the Carlos in the story says, and that's when Lando loses it, no longer able to contain his laughter. He's honestly tempted to send a screenshot off to Carlos, but then he'd have to explain how he found it in the first place, and he doesn't feel like doing that just now. 

So instead, he clicks back and scrolls down some more. 

There seems to be a pretty steady stream of people who are invested in Max and Daniel, and also Max and Charles, based on the list of pairings that he sees, which he can like, understand. He doesn't blame the fans at all for that, considering how many antics they get up to in the name of PR. 

They know that shit sells. Lando’s just getting a full proper look at what that actually means for fans. 

Yeah, that’s right, he tells himself. This is just homework. He’s doing recon to see what else they can do to boost their socials. 

He takes a little more time to read through the page properly. It lists the number of words in the story, the ratings that imply just how explicit the story is, and something called a ‘kudos’ which he figures means that it’s the same as likes on Instagram or whatever. 

He stops at one that has him and Daniel, and curiosity gets the better of him. It’s short, too, roughly 1,500 words. It’s listed as Explicit, but the summary is what gets him. 

“Daniel knows exactly how to congratulate Lando properly for his win at Silverstone.” 

Lando leans back into his throw pillow and holds his phone a little closer to his face. 

The story is set in the new Hilton hotel, and this must have been written by a fan who was actually there because the description of the room itself is eerily similar to the room he himself stayed in just last week. 

This story seems to get the way he and Daniel talk a little closer to reality than the previous one he perused. 

It’s so strange to be reading this, to have his mannerisms laid out in text, to see how a fan describes him through this fictional version of Daniel. 

Lando can’t seem to exit out of it, though. The Lando in the story is happy, of course, about winning. But the Daniel in it—seems desperate. For him. 

Lando’s fucking hooked. 

Daniel wants to reach out, wants to mess up Lando’s curls even more, never mind the fact that it’s sticky with sweat and champagne. Lando hasn’t even changed out of the clothes from the fan stage yet, but all Daniel wants to do is undress him, bury his face in Lando’s armpit, and inhale deeply, abolish any sort of space that separates them. 

Lando puts his phone down. His heart rate has kicked up a little. This is fake. This is fake. This is fake.

He gets back to reading. This is fake. Like, it’s all made up, but the details that this fan throws in… well. It has Daniel staring longingly at his moles, and the way his clothes hug his thighs and—

And now, the Lando in the story is turning around and tipping his head to the side and saying, "Why are you looking at me like that?" 

Lando draws his knees closer to his chest, curling his arms in and reading intently. 

"Mate, I'm really—I'm having a hard time right now and I think I should uh, go," Daniel says. He starts to scramble. He doesn't even know why he thought visiting Lando in his room would be a good idea. 

Daniel turns to leave but Lando steps in closer, frowning. 

"What's going on?" Lando asks, his eyes searching Daniel's face for any sort of answer. Daniel needs to go. He needs to go right fucking now, but Lando has his hand wrapped around his wrist and he looks wounded by Daniel's abrupt one-eighty. 

Daniel hangs his head in shame. 

"I want to—to kiss you, and I need you to let me go before I do that." 

Lando doubts that Daniel would ever actually say that, but somehow he’s not inclined to laugh about this the way he was with the other story. 

Lando’s hand remains where it is, fingers strong and unyielding. 

“You—you wanna kiss me? Are you drunk right now?” 

Daniel wants to fall into the floor beneath him, have the marble or whatever the fuck this tile is made of to rearrange its molecules so he can become one with them. That's better than having to repeat himself. That's better than having to admit out loud that he wants to fuck his ex-teammate who is ten years his junior. 

Lando pauses here. He's realizing that the AC isn't quite cold enough. How'd that happen? 

He readjusts himself on his couch. There's really no point in reading on but now he wants to know what happens. Morbid curiosity really is getting the better of him. 

His screen lights up again when he raises his phone and unlocks the screen to where the story is still there, taunting him.  

He exhales. He reads on. 

"Yeah, Lando, I wanna kiss you," Daniel says, his voice steadier than how he actually feels. 

Lando's eyes narrow, and he tilts his head, regarding Daniel like he's lying, like he's fucking with him. And, yeah, okay, fair, Daniel's said enough gay-sounding shit around him for him to be suspicious, but that was all for the cameras. 

There aren't any, here. There's no reason for him to be playing gay chicken. 

Lando's hand tightens around his wrist. 

"Prove it, then," Lando says, raising his chin, like a dare. Like a fucking dare. 

Daniel could easily leave. He isn't much bigger than Lando but he could have pulled away earlier. Except—except now Lando is taunting him. Telling him to put his money where his mouth is. 

Lando's heart is racing now, torn between wanting to close out of this story and reading on, just because he's gotten this far. He might as well finish it. 

Daniel steps closer, and even if this isn't exactly how he'd fantasized about kissing Lando for the first time, but somehow it's still fitting. Lando is so handsome like this—blush high on his cheeks, all the way down to his neck. 

He cups his hand under Lando's jaw, and brushes his thumb over the stupid fucking beard that he hated at first but now loves—

Lando frowns. Was his beard really that bad? 

—and presses his lips to Lando's. It's tentative at first, exploratory, hesitant in its early press, but then Lando moans, gasps against his mouth, and Daniel takes that as his cue to seal his lips in closer and slide his tongue against Lando's. 

It becomes frantic then after they both cross the threshold into each other's breaths. Lando's hands grasp at Daniel's shirt, and the next thing Daniel knows, he's being guided to the bed, collapsing on top of the pristine duvet without ceremony. 

Lando clambers on top of him and straddles his hips, and Daniel can already feel himself getting hard in his jeans. 

Lando stops reading. 

He stops because all of a sudden, he can feel himself getting hard, too. 

He glances between his legs as if looking will make it go away but it’s futile. He can see his half-chub starting to tent his shorts. Fuck. What the fuck? 

But then again—he’s alone right now. No one is around to see this. 

He feels juvenile, like he’s thirteen all over again trying to sneak porn on his older brother’s laptop and then learning how to delete his search history. Except that porn sort of made sense, to him, at least. He was watching girls with big boobs getting railed by these buff men. 

This is—this is different. Kind of concerning. He’s sure none of the other drivers have ever done this. 

But the more he waits, the more impatient the little voice in his head gets, wanting to know what happens in the story. He sighs, resigned, and opens his phone back up. 

“Lando, Lando, wait,” Daniel says, pulling away and desperately trying to catch his breath. “I—There, I proved it to you. Are you happy?” 

“Yeah, I was, until you stopped, you muppet,” Lando frowns. “Why’d you stop?” 

Daniel swallows the spit in his mouth—Christ almighty, that’s spit that also came from Lando’s mouth. “Because if we keep going, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back.” 

Lando leans over him, and Daniel has to suppress the shudder that courses through the entirety of his body because Lando is hard, too. Lando is hard and pressing his erection against Daniel’s steadily growing one, and he has to curl his toes to deal with the fucking emotion of it all. 

Lando’s fucked. He’s so fucked. He’s fully hard now from reading this scene, and before he can bring himself to feel too much shame over it, he’s tugging the elastic of his shorts and his boxers down to tuck it under his dick and—fuck, fuck—

He holds his phone in his left hand and spits into his right before bringing it to his cock to wrap around it while he reads on. 

The story progresses quickly from there, the Lando and Daniel in the scene getting back to kissing frantically and undressing each other, and none of the words feel cliche. It’s almost chilling how clearly he can hear his voice and Daniel’s in the dialogue, but what’s most concerning is that the more he reads, the faster his hand goes. 

In the story, Daniel takes Lando’s erection in his hand and kisses him silly while Lando fucks into his grip, and Lando tries to follow suit, so caught up in what he’s reading that he finds himself feeling like his hand isn’t his own, like it’s Daniel’s instead, and by the time this imagined Lando finally spills all over his own belly, Lando’s own real-fucking-life orgasm is ripped out from him, and he’s coming all over his own hand, matting down his pubes with how much jizz there is that’s still coming out in small little spurts from his dick. 

He drops his phone, now that he’s spent and boneless on his couch. His right hand is gross and he doesn’t even have any tissues nearby, so he has to settle for taking his shirt off to mop up his mess. 

He’s sated and sleepy, but then the shame starts to creep in, except that his phone starts to ring, and—Jesus Christ, speak of the devil—he sees that Daniel is calling him. 

It’s with shaky hands that he retrieves his phone from the carpet, and it’s with a shakier voice that he answers it. 

“Heya, Lando,” Daniel says. “D’you wanna meet up for dinner tonight? I just got back to Monaco and I’m jonesing for that rotisserie place we went to last time.” 

Lando exhales, now that post-nut clarity has started to suffuse his brain with rationality from the comedown. 

“Yeah, Danny, I’m in,” Lando replies. “I can pick you up at 6:30?” 

“Super,” Daniel replies. “It’s a date!” And then ends the fucking call. 

Christ. He has no idea how he’s going to face Daniel tonight after what he just did.