#and the way he got out scot-free.

[cominy-kiwami]

i cant believe catch 22 is done i wish it was still going on. im not done i have to yell and cry and throw myself out a window about the last part after la spezia when everything went to utter shit.

[codnasties]

kinktober ₊˚ · ♡ ·˚₊ soap & price ₊˚ · ♡ ·˚₊ punishment

price is a man who likes his rules in some aspects. especially when it comes to you and soap. he knows the both of you love to misbehave, doing shit you're not supposed to or allowed to do. because you and soap are two of the bratiest and most misbehaving subs ever.

so when price went out to run some errands, you and soap had to seize the chance. you had been waiting for the captains aproval to jump each others bones, and he had told you to wait, that whatever they wanted was going to happen that night. but he wasn't home, so he couldn't stop you.

that's why the last thing price expected when he got back home was to see his two misbehaving subs fucking like two mutts in heat. you sitting in soap's cock riding him while he thursted up into you from bellow, right in the fucking middle of the livingroom.

and it seemed like you had been going at it for a bit now. proof of it was the mess you had made out of yourselves. both of you covered with a mix of johnnys cum after his numerous releases and your juices and also staining everything within hand's reach.

saying price was mad is an understatement because that anger soon turned into disappointment. you couldn't wait. you had to go and break the rules. and now he has to punish you both. but especially soap because he was the one who got the idea and started all of it.

so price completely ties him to a chair, in a way that he's unable to free himself, and plays with his already sensitive cock, but always bringing him to the edge of an orgasm before pulling his hand away. his dick imposibily hard and his tip turning an angry red. and you knew better than trying to help him, because if you interfered, your awaiting punishment would only get worse.

once the captian knows johnny is so pent up that a simple graze of his finger will make him spill his seed all over himself, he stops and turns to your sitting form on the couch. wainting expecatantly to be disciplined but with a tang of fear, looking at the older man with puppy eyes trying to soften him up.

but john doesn't have to think twice before he grabs you, throws you onto the couch and manhandles you until you are bending over the armrest. he pushes himself in using the accumulated fluid from you and so fucking and starts roughly fucking your pussy, making you even more overstimulated after all the orgasms with soap.

if he's feeling extra benevolent, he might untie his seargeant, but with the sole purpose of giving him an even better view of his cock plunging repeatedly into your weeping pussy. and just watching, no touching allowed.

and that's what he does, he breaks the rules a bit once again by holding your hand in a desperate attempt to get something, but he ends just there, seeing your cunt get pounded for the n-th time that day - he's lucky price is going to let that one slide-.

soap is shaking with need. he wishes he could join in, latch onto your clit and suck it, play with your tits, play with price's balls or lap at the juices that are runing from your wet middle down his shaft. but all he's getting, as the final part of your punishement is to cum on you.

yes, cum on you, because price has to make a statement to finish it all. if you wanted to make a mess, then so were you. he orders the scot to cum on you, covering your lower stomach with his cum. and he hates it, trust me. he wished he could be shooting his load inside of you insted of letting it go to waste. so did you.

but price had told him to just keep going. keep firsting his hypersensitive dick until he was shooting blanks. all while seeing you chase another orgasm by riding price's cock until he came while being snuggle inside of you.

captain prices hopes that the two of you finally understood that there are rules for a reason.

[ghostaholics]

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.

Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.

It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?

𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.

And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.

But no.

Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.

Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.

Law of the jungle, plain and simple.

To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.

Incredible.

You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.

All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.

From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.

Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.

But somehow he did it with you beside him.

You try not to think about the implications of that.

𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?

The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."

Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.

Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.

He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.

For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.

But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.

More witnesses.

Great.

Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?

Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.

Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.

Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.

"Say cheese."

An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—

"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.

You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—

"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.

"Aye, thanks mate.”

Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.

Fucking traitor.

"Knobheads—"

They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.

"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.

"Bite me, MacTavish."

"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.

"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"

"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.

And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.

"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."

"Sod off."

"He'll appreciate bein' included."

Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”

“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.

What.

There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.

Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.

So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.

Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."

Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"

There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.

But somebody else beats you to it.

“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”

Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.

There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.

And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.

But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"

"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"

"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"

"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."

"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."

He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."

Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”

[the-californicationist]

Cali's Kinktober: Day 07

Kinktober Masterlist ad captandum vulgus - "to captivate the masses" TF141 x f!reader Kinks > glory hole, anal virginity, gangbang Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

Your four boyfriends are overrun by stress. Hunting terrorists is a full-time job, so you take matters into your own hands to help them blow off some steam.

Sorry I'm late! Working on catching up right now. Y’all ever watched those Czech Fantasy glory hole videos? Anyway, can't get enough of those, so here's this.

The soft, silicone cock in your mouth was muffling the cries coming from deep in your chest as you felt two thick fingers pry their way into your cunt. You were laying on your back inside the dark, empty void of one of the weapons crates in the warehouse on base, the top half of your body concealed inside of the wooden box, and your lower half sticking out of a hole in the side, naked and exposed to the chilly air. Your legs were tied up, ankles hooked up to the metal storage shelf racks, thighs spread open, forcing your pussy lips to splay wide and wet and ready for someone’s mouth and fingers and prick. 

The voices outside of the crate were muffled, but you could just barely make out their words. 

“Pretty cunt on offer, huh? Free for any bastard to come and take,” you heard your lieutenant’s dark chuckle as he pushed his fingers even further inside of you, curling them to shove and prod against the pliant spot that made you scream. 

“Wha’s all this, then?” Kyle’s voice came through from the side of your box as he made his way over to where Simon was hard at work, making your hips writhe and hump his hand. 

“Our perfect little slut…” You heard him cruelly spit onto your clit, and you felt it, warm and slick, slip across your skin, “Got all set up for us. Wanted to welcome us home from our mission.”

“Needy slag, innit she?” John purred, and you felt his hand join Simon’s, pulling at your plump ass cheek to make your holes stretch and gape. 

“Lemme go first, LT. I cannae wait any longer,” Johnny begged. 

“Alrigh’, Johnny,” Simon pulled away from you, “But, don’t be too rough with her. We all want a turn, mate.”

You immediately felt a familiar mouth seal itself across your clit, sucking up Simon’s hot spit and your sticky precome all in one savage gulp. You’d know that tongue anywhere. Johnny ate you in the most blindingly erotic way. You felt like he was consuming you, inside and out. You didn’t know what was lip or tongue or finger, but he used them in symphonic unison to drag you, writhing and screaming, into an orgasm. But, your Scot was as cruel as his masked friend, and he didn’t care if you were in the throes of a hard come; he would double down, shoving his tongue down your hole and slurping your gifts into his throat. 

Then, he pulled away, leaving you with nothing, curling your hips to reach for him, until –

“Oh, shite. Tha’s it, right there. Unghh…” Johnny groaned. 

He was shoving his fat, curved cock into you, slow and steady, scraping his head on those same sensitive spots Simon had been torturing with his fingertips. Johnny still played with your clit as he rammed himself into you, stretching you, pulling you apart at the seams, making you feel like you were being stuffed beyond your limit. 

You wanted to cry out, to tell him to slow down, but you couldn’t. The gag would only let you scream against it and swallow your hot, thick drool as your mind began to burn away to a blank nothingness. 

He fucked you so hard that the box creaked, over and over, the wood crying out the same as you, whining from being overused. 

Then, you felt him dig deeper inside of you, dropping load after load of his come into your hole, deep enough that you could feel it sliding around in your soft channel, foaming and hot like milk in coffee, creamy and smooth. Two loving slaps against your ass as he slid out of you were the only thanks you got before you felt the next man at your hole. 

You couldn’t tell, at first, which one of your boyfriends was having his way with you this time, until you realized how long it was taking him to slide his entire length into you. Kyle’s prick always preferred a long drive in and a long retreat back out. He loved it when you stroked his entire length with your hands clasped together around him, soaked in lube and slowly massaging him from tip to root, and he used your pussy in much the same way. It was hypnotic, and when he did finally squeeze himself all the way to his base, it made it hard for you to take a breath. 

Usually, he was Mr. Foreplay. He’d spend twenty minutes on your tits alone, much less fondling your wet little hole. He loved getting you screaming for him before he even had himself out of his pants, but today, something was different. It was as if the box allowed him to be selfish. He didn’t care about your pleasure this time. He just wanted to take and take and take. 

So, he did. He stroked himself with your quim like you were his toy. You were just a warm, wet fleshlight, there to be used and nothing more. You were made to take his load, nothing more. The feeling of him being so unabashedly greedy was electrifying. His cock was so mean to you, ignoring your pulsing, writhing signals and blowing past your clenching quivers. In and in and in… out and out and out… that was all you knew. He had wiped your mind clean. 

Then, the final time he shoved himself in, he stayed there, grinding into you, humping and thrusting at a punishing pace, milking himself with your gooey textures and grunting like an animal as his hands clutched the corners of the box, blocking out the light from where his palms dug into the pine. 

You were so close to coming, but right when you began to tense up, he felt you, and he came to a sudden halt. He was teasing you. You tried to fuck him back, pushing your hips in every direction, working to fit his thick base back inside you, but he stopped you, gripping your body in his huge hands and holding you still.

Once you stopped fighting him, frustrated by the futility of it all, he watched your muscles melt back into submission, and he rewarded you with slippery, firm strokes along the hardened body of your clit, rubbing it affectionately like a well-heeled pet. It was not enough to bring your orgasm back to the surface, but instead, it caused your pleasure to roil and turn inside of your core like an unfed beast, pouting for its dinner. 

“Too greedy, babes,” he laughed at you with a tinge of ridicule, knowing the others were watching, “You only come when I want you to come.”

Kyle returned to his long, aching strokes, working his cock like the piston of a machine, unwavering in its rhythmic pattern or its ferocious power. Then, just as his pacing increased, he pinched your clithead between his knuckles, bringing tears to your eyes. In the middle of the most intense pleasure you’d ever been given, he had made you deal with this sharp agony, and your mind could not handle both at once. So, you lost your orgasm, but he enjoyed his. 

You sobbed as you felt his prick jerking inside of you, spitting fiery hot ropes of his come all over your walls and womb, filling you deeply just like Johnny. 

You expected him to pull out, and you were already grumbling about it in your head, silently bratty and plotting your revenge. But, he didn’t. He’d come in you and yet he was still seated inside, sealed like a sword in its sheath. The same fingers that had been so malicious were now back to their delicate, coaxing affection. He was pressing soft circles around your clit, picking up speed when he felt you pulse around the softening body of his dick. 

You were going to come, and you knew you were going to come hard. 

“Tha’s it. Good girls get rewards, innit that right, Cap?” 

John hummed, obviously watching your body sing for its conductor. 

The pressure within you built and built, and you were having trouble breathing. You wanted to cry out, but the gag was in your way, and you had to keep swallowing around it, stuck in a loop of feeling full in both ends of your body. 

Just as you were about to crash into bliss, Kyle ripped himself from you, and at the same time, your pussy beared down, thinking it had something hard to press against. But, you were empty, and so all of that force sent the come that you had been keeping warm in your belly squirting out of your hole and onto the floor. Sliding out of your cunt, it dripped down your ass cheek and pooled on the ground, making you look every bit the freeuse slut that you knew you were. 

“My, my…” Price’s dark growl commented, “Filled her to the brim, didn’t you, Sergeant? Good lad.”

You could feel John playing with the stream of milky come that was oozing out of your hole, spreading it around. He scooped it onto his fingers and began to shove it back into your pussy, fucking you with his middle and ring fingers gently at first, and then not at all. He was fucking you on his hand hard enough to shake the box, and you knew he could make you squirt. He loved it. He didn’t care how overstimulated you were; he would keep pushing your buttons over and over, watching you spray your liquid joy all over him and you and whatever else was in the way. 

You twisted, trying to escape him, but he was too strong. 

“C’mon, love. Come for me. I wanna see it.”

You’d just come from Kyle’s big dick, but Price didn’t give a damn. He yanked another one from you, making you feel as if you were wetting yourself, pressing deep enough and firm enough to force your pussy to squirt all over his palm. Your whole body seized, unable to control the movements he was putting you through. You felt like his helpless puppet, stuck on his hand and thanking him for it. 

Price left you there, your ankles hanging limply in their ties where you’d stuck your feet in them, your legs trembling like a fawn, shaking and shining from your come, your body begging for more and your mind too fuck-drunk to protest. 

Then, he was back. You knew it was him because you always struggled to take his girthy cock. The head was immense and hard like a fist. It bullied its way into your cunt, using your other boyfriends’ come as lube. Even so, he had to retreat over and over, whetting himself repeatedly, just so that he could make progress. He stretched you so far that it ached like a bruise, and your pussy, already primed to come for him, started up again, making you tense and squeeze and roll and spread yourself for him, opening wide like a whore, like he paid you for it. 

“Fuck, I willnae ever get tired of watchin’ how he makes her do that. Struggle on that cock, bonnie. Your man loves it when you fight, don’t he?”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ do,” Price agreed, the tips of his fingers held tight together and slapping sharply on your clit and mons, stinging your flesh as he fucked you deeper and deeper. 

Someone else’s fingers started to grope your thighs and ass, gripping you hard and trailing wet kisses across your skin. You felt your body melting into his touch, such a stark contrast from John’s lustful torment. When his mouth dragged its way up your thigh, his nose bumped your calf, and you knew it was Simon, your Ghost. He was still in his mask, and you could feel the folds of it against the bridge of his nose, scrunched up to let him use his mouth on you. 

Simon played with you while Price stuffed you full of cock, his captain set on pounding your pussy until it was hot from his work. You felt Simon’s fingertip dip into the tight hole of your ass, testing your leniency. He’d been begging you for weeks to let him try anal, but you had told him that he was too big. Now, he saw his chance. His finger sank deeper, down to the first knuckle, and he made firm circles around the rim, massaging you open, getting you ready for him. 

Price held you around the waist, both of his thumbs pressing down into your womb, taking away any remaining space inside of your stuffed cunt, making you feel every single ridge and vein on his prick. It made you want to come, and he knew you were about to explode. 

“I know what you want, love. Take it. C’mon, make me come. Make this fuckin’ pussy grab my cock,” Price talked you through each suffocating wave of your orgasm, barking orders like you were one of his men, knowing you could follow them like he’d trained you to. 

You wanted him to come with you, to fill you up with his soft seed, but he didn’t. He pulled out and then stuck just the tip of his dick inside of your asshole, letting his spend shoot through your forbidden hole, lubing you up for his lieutenant. 

“There you go, Riley. Should do the job, aye?”

“Yes, sir. Cheers, mate.”

No sooner was Price gone from you than Simon had taken his place, settling his dick on top of your pussy and dragging it through your slick skin, letting your lips lick him wet. He teased you with his hard length, using his dick like a toy, jerking his shaft so that his head would vibrate against your clit, making you squirm beneath his touch. 

“Deep breath, princess,” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, taking two fingers of your pussy’s sticky fluids and smearing them across your asshole. 

His pet name for you sent butterflies through your stomach. He only used it on special occasions, and for him to use it now, when you were hidden away and splayed open, vulnerable as you’d ever been, made your head swim. He was really going to take your asshole right here in the warehouse, shamelessly taking your untouched hole in front of your other lovers, claiming it for himself. 

The press of his head was enough to make your blood rush through your body and head for your core. You felt dizzy. He pushed forward gently, going so slowly that it didn’t seem as if he was even moving in you, using his head to kiss your tight muscles until your body relented, allowing him through. Then, you felt him spread your walls apart, making contact with Price’s come and using it to ease his path. 

It made you feel full in a new way. You were familiar with fingers and tongues invading your space, but having Simon’s heavy cock there gave you a whole different kind of experience. You were so sensitive, and what you thought would be painful or upsetting was actually warping itself into a wild, unbridled kind of pleasure. It was like a scalding hot bath that, once you got used to the heat, made you dissolve into the delicate warmth of it like fine sugar. 

“Mnghff-fuck,” Simon groaned roughly, “Tha’s it, baby. Relax for me just like that.”

Another pair of hands began to play with your pussy, two fingers at your clit, two inside your cunt, and Simon rutting himself steadily into your asshole. 

“Takin’ you so well, LT. Didnae think it’d fit.”

“She’s perfect, Johnny. Just wait until you try her arse. Fuckin’ heaven.”

You felt Johnny’s mouth on your clit as another man finger-fucked your pussy, and he sucked greedily on your overstimulated clit, swollen and sore from all the attention. But, he didn’t hear your protests, and he simply suckled away, licking you and using his jaw to spread your folds so he could use his tongue to reach for more of your taste. 

Simon had reached his root, shoving his damp curls against your core, and now he began to slowly and shallowly fuck you, worried that more would be too much for you to handle. You wanted to tell him you needed more, wanted to scream for him to bury himself in you, to fuck your asshole like he would your pussy. But, he didn’t. He was careful, deliberate, and you could feel the shudder of his body from just how hard he was holding himself back. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” Kyle’s deep voice came through a smile. You could tell he was pleased by something, “You should feel her cunt, mate. She’s lovin’ this.”

He was the one fucking you on his hand, and all of your excitement was obvious from your pulsing need. 

“I can feel her,” Simon grunted, overwhelmed by the knowledge that you were indeed enjoying your ass being invaded by his throbbing rod.

His trembling was getting progressively worse, and you felt it in his hands as he grasped your thighs. He kept readjusting his grip, but you knew that his hands were shaking, the tremors of his restraint exacerbating his ability to hold his own pleasure at bay. He hissed as you started to come from Johnny’s mouth,

“So fuckin’ tight, princess. Fuck!”

You wanted to bring him with you into the swirling mesmerism of bliss, so you stayed tight, using your weak muscles to squeeze him as much as you could, imagining your holes like soft, wet fists, grasping at his tool and trying to use him to work yourself into a high, vicious fever. 

You could feel the fabric of his mask as Simon leaned his forehead against your leg, the heat from his panting breaths, his exhaustion breaking your heart. You promised yourself in your heart that, as soon as you were out of this box and fully recovered, you’d show him how well you could take him. He didn’t need to temper his passion. 

The only time you got a glimpse at his true hunger was right as he started to come. His hips jerked forward, as if he was shoved, and he thrust his cock far into your asshole, spreading his slick cream as deep as he could reach. Johnny had stepped back, and Kyle pulled his fingers from you, moving out of their lieutenant’s way as he completed his ritual, marking your insides, making you his. 

You felt the sweetest kiss against your ankle just before he slid himself from you, trying to go easy on your used hole. But, you couldn’t feel any pain. Not anymore. Your body was racked with pleasure. If someone had even brushed their finger over your pussy, you thought you might come. 

Simon’s hands fumbled with one of the ropes around your foot, and someone else took care of the other. Then, bright light filled your eyes as John pried open the crate. Then, all four men peered inside, starting down at you with wide smiles and satisfied grins plastered across their faces. 

“Hey, love. Let’s get you out, yeah?” Price purred, removing your gag and wiping your mouth with his thumb. With ease, he pulled you from the crate and cradled you in his arms, helping Johnny wrap his jacket around you. Johnny leaned forward to kiss your forehead, and Simon lifted your fingers to his lips before he replaced his mask. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, babes,” Kyle spoke to you in a low tone, petting his thumb across your cheek. 

“Took such good care of us, lass. It’s our turn, now.”

You let them take you back to their shared room, holding onto them and letting them bathe you and set everything right, tucking you into bed and sitting with you as you dozed. They had all sprawled across the mattress, laying on you and each other, not truly caring whose limbs were whose. 

As usual, Simon was the last to doze off, and you whispered to each other in quiet voices.

“You alright, missus?” He asked, his voice attempting to hide his troubled concern.

“Mmm,” you nodded, “More than alright.”

There was a bit of a lull; he was considering something, and then he asked,

“Did you like it? Was I too –”

“No,” you stopped him in the middle of his worry, “You were perfect. Maybe next time we could –”

“Next time?” His surprise warmed your heart, and you smiled up at him, lifting his mask up to kiss his mouth.

“Yeah, next time.”

[silversodas]

My Favorite Thing About Mastermind

Well it’s actually two things

The first thing, even though Stolas lost everything. For the first time in possibly his whole life, he is not alone, even if he feels alone

In this frame you can see how alone he feels. You can tell how horrible Moxxie, Millie, Loona and Blitz feel for Stolas. This shows me that even though he can’t see it right now, he isn’t alone. I don’t think they are doing this just for Blitz. I actually get the feeling that they will reach out to Stolas over time, here is why.

I actually got this inspiration from a post about the show Arcane. The cycle of violence and the cycle of mercy. Blitz ended the cycle of violence for Moxxie and Loona (though it took longer with Loona) and started the cycle of mercy.

Moxxie and Loona know what it’s like to be thrown away like you’re nothing. Blitz unknowingly set an example for them by saving them. Moxxie and and Loona were not abandoned, Stolas will not be abandoned

Blitz also set an example for Loona about making room when you need to. Blitz always found a way to take care of her, even when he really didn’t have the room or means to. So even though they really don’t have room for Stolas she will help make room for him.

The second thing is how the consequences of their own actions shoved Blitz and Stolas together. When I saw Ghostfuckers I had a feeling that even though Blitz was sad about Stolas, he wasn’t going to go after him, he thought Stolas was better off with out him.

And man I was not expecting the show to not only have Stolas come in and save him but to make Blitz face just how much Stolas loves him, to have Stolas come in, gloves off, manipulating the court into getting Blitz off totally Scot-free, ready to throw down his life, zero hesitation. AND AS AN ADDED BONUS! Makes him the hero to imps everywhere!!

[thewritetofreespeech]

Here & Now

pairing: Aemond targaryen x Targaryen!reader [Rhaenyra & Daemon's daughter]

summary: on the morning you were set to return to Dragonstone to reunite with your family, the Greens make their move to take the throne, and Aemond comes to you.

tags: heterosexual sex, fingering, loss of virginity, targaryen incest themes, tw: blood, tw: knives

words: 3.1K

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When you were a little girl, your mother used to read you stories. Ones about knights, fey creatures, and princesses locked in towers. You never liked the tower ones. You always asked why they just didn't jump out of the tower to get away.

Looking down at the courtyard from your window, you realized that maybe they had a long way down as you did and that's why they couldn't get away.

The door opened and you sprung from your seat to face your intruder. You weren’t sure who you were expecting, but it wasn’t Aemond. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you.” His voice was even, but years of being near each other told you that his undertones were that of someone who was ashamed. “Are you alright?”

“I am a prisoner in my own home, Aemond. What do you think?!” You don’t mean to scratch at him. You are sure this is none of his doing, but he was the only one here.

You felt the fool for choosing to stay with your great-aunt Rhaenys, not wanting her to be left alone; even fierce she-dragons needed someone to lean on. But this morning you were barred from leaving your chambers by gold cloaks. You demanded to know what was the meaning of this. Demanded to know what was going on. Demanded to speak to your grandfather. Yet no one would answer you.

“Our patriarch is dead.” You felt a stone sink into your stomach. Somehow, you knew this to be true. King Viserys was very ill. It was only a collection of days in the best circumstances. “They’re going to make Aegon king this afternoon.” You felt as though the stone, and your breakfast, was going to come back up.

“So you are going to usurp my mother’s claim?! Take her birthright away!”

“It’s not my doing.” Aemond snapped at you. Clearly tired of being scratched. “It’s my mothers.” You scoff. You both know that Alicent’s clumsy maneuverings are just the attempts of her father. The King’s Hand with the knife in his back.

“So I am to what, hm? Sit here quietly while you take away my family’s future until you throw me over the walls edge?”

“I doubt you would sit here quietly, and no one is going to throw you over a wall, or any other ledge. Not if I have a say in it.”

You laugh. Despite yourself. Aemond was always funny, if you paid attention to him.

So few ever did. A second son, of a second marriage, with a princess in line for the throne. He was as meaningless as sand to the beaches to most people, then avoided completely after he was maimed. You always felt bad for that. Thought it was unfair that Lucerys got off scot-free after he crippled one of their own. People called those who took blood from their family Kinslayers, but what of those that maim their members?

“So you will let me go?”

Aemond shrugged. “Probably.” It was likely the best answer he could give. This wasn’t his decision. He couldn’t honestly tell you either way. But he did know, “you cannot take your dragon though.”

You felt your heart freeze in your chest. As if your Targaryen blood rushed out of you at the thought of abandoning your dragon. “You would take Stormsheild from me?” Your voice quaked despite your efforts. “Why not just cut off my arm? My heart….”

Aemond rushed over to you as you began to sob. Everything crashing down around you, and the thought of losing your dragon too much to bear. He wrapped his arms around you and held you close. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” He whispered in your hair. “You can stay here. With me.”

You pull back from Aemond’s chest to look at him. Blinking away tears as you must not have heard him right. “What?”

“Stay here with me.” He repeated it. You had not misheard. “Stay with me and you can keep Stormshield and your home, and be back in line for the throne. As my queen.”

You step back from Aemond to look at him. “You would…have me forsake my own mother? Turn my back on her?”

“You were always meant to turn your back on her to be with me.” He clasped at your hand. Not pulling you close again but not letting you go. Aemond speaks of course of your engagement. You had been betrothed from a young age, much like Aegon & Helaena or any other noble child in the realm. King Viserys last ditch effort to bring the two sides of his family together, you assumed. It had not gone over well with Alicent or your mother. Your father threw a chair when his side was alone. But none of them could stand against the king and his decision, so the pact stood.

You had not been upset about it like the adults. You cared for Aemond. He had been sweet when you left him. You sent him ravens. He remembered your nameday and sent your candied treats in secret. And when you return, he had grown into a fine, if not jaded, man. Fierce, refined, handsome. What had been childhood friendship and fancy turned into a blooming love overnight. One you were excited to explore. But now your blooms were burning into ash.

“My mother won’t stand for this. My father will come.”

“I have no doubt he will try.” There was no way Daemon would let his truest daughter, his favorite, stay here without a fight. He wouldn’t be so brazen about his favoritism like his father, but even with his one-eye Aemond could tell that you were his favorite over his Velaryon vipers. If Rhaenyra took the throne, he would have broken their engagement the first chance he got. A second son nowhere near good enough for his Targaryen jewel. Now he had all the more reason to break it, as Aemond wasn’t stupid enough to think Rhaenyra & Daemon were going to give up the throne without a fight. But what if he didn’t have a choice?

“I want you to be my wife. Right here. Right now.”

You looked at Aemond in shock. Suddenly afraid. “You’re not going to—“I would never hurt you.” He seemed offended you would even suggest it. Understandable. “But this was how it was always meant to be. You and me. No matter what happens, no one can take that away from us if you agree to be mine. We can be together.”

Your head was swimming. Your heart was pounding. “L…Let me think…”

“There’s no time.” Aemond insisted. “Once the coronation starts, Aegon will be King and that will be the end of it.” They will be divided. Those for Rhaenyra. Those for his brother. And Aemond did not trust his brother or family not to ruin this for him. Just as Daemon would have her taken from him, his mother and family would do the same. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear to give up one more thing for Aegon’s happiness. “Say you’ll be mine. Say you will be my wife. Say you’ll stay here with me and we will be here together. Tell me that you want that.”

“I do.”

The words leave your mouth without you even realizing it. You had spent so long imagining a future with Aemond. He was your intended. He was your future. You loved him, but you also loved your mother & your family.

Aemond doesn’t recognize your distress though and swooped in to kiss you passionately. The two of you had kissed before. Brief, as children, to see what it was like. Then again before you left as a sort of parting gift. Then once final upon your return as a welcome home and back in his arms. It had never been like this before. Aemond, for all his hard edge, was gentle and shy with you. Now, however, he kissed you like a man who meant to consume you. Taking you into his body, instead of the other way around, so you could never leave him. When he broke away from you your vision swam. Righting itself after a few deep breaths but all you could see was Aemond.

“Undress.” You blink up at him in shock. “If we do this now, there’s nothing they can do.”

You realize Aemond wants not just your words but your chastity. As a sign of good faith. He wants to consummate your marriage before your vows. Cart before the horse. Everyone would have no choice but to accept your marriage now, or your side would risk the news that you were no longer a maiden and rumors Aemond was no more than a craven opportunist who would force himself of a captured princess.

You gulp. Feeling your tears bead up again in your eyes. This was not how you pictured your life with Aemond starting. This was not the dream you were meant to share. But dreams often fall short of reality.

For Aemond’s part, he also swallowed the lump in his throat and began to undress. Paying no mind to the habitual work of undoing his jerkin and belts to look at you. He hadn’t thought much on his marriage before your return. Save that he would do it and try his best. He would do his duty and have you give the realm more Targaryen blood to reign and treat you as honorably as he could. But on the few times he did think of his marriage, he would think of the wedding and your wedding night. How he would take his time with you. Appreciate you, the way you should be appreciated as a lady, as a Targaryen royal, and as his wife. But that was all gone. They will not have time for sweet words and sweet moments. That will have to come later now. Just another thing taken from him.

You feel embarrassed to be standing naked in from of Aemond. Your hands hopelessly trying to cover your modesty. Fretful glances around as if some septa in the shadows was going to jump out and cast shame on you. “Lie on the bed.” You do as you’re beckoned and lay down. Stiff. Ridged. Your hands balled into fists at your sides to keep them from flying up and covering you again.

Aemond watched all of this and did not look pleased. Still, he climbed onto the bed on top of you, and you try to sink further into the mattress to instinctually get away. “I will try to be gentle.” His words certainly were. You relax as a bit of the Aemond you knew came back into his voice and nuzzle against the hand on your cheek. “But this may hurt. It is not my intention. None of this…this wasn’t what I wanted.”

You know he doesn’t mean ‘this’ in general, but how this has come about. “I know.” You were both doing something neither of you wanted in order to get what you did want. What was love without sacrifice?

“It should only be this time. And I swear I will never hurt you again. Please, do not hate me.” You touch Aemond’s cheek in return. You could never hate him. Be cross with him. Snap and bite at him from time to time, but never hate him. He must know that.

He nuzzled into your palm as you did his and rested there for a moment with his eye closed. He then nodded, opened it, and his hand was no longer touching your cheek but the sacred spot between your legs.

You jump at the touch with a sharp hiss. Trying to crawl out from under Aemond but blocked by the pillows. He held you back. Shushing you as he continued his touching. “It’s only this time.” He reminded you. And you try to remain calm and still as he kept going.

Aemond needed no proof that you were a maiden. Your trust and faithfulness was all he needed to know that you would not break the arrangement between you; although he had not been so chaste, but he was a man. When he touched you, however, it was clear that no one had been there before him. Your entrance was tight around his finger. Nearly barring him out. He wanted to tell you to relax, but felt he had no place for it. ‘Yes, my love, relax. Don’t think about the fact that you are about to lose your chastity to a brute. Or that my family is usurping yours. Don’t think about the fact that this still may not work and you have thrown everything away for a hairbrained plan of a desperate man who just doesn’t want to be alone.’ Yes. Those were the sweet words every girl wanted to hear on her ‘wedding night’.

He removed his finger from her entrance, bringing it up to his mouth to lick two then pushing both back in. You whine. Feeling your entrance stretch to an uncomfortable level of accommodation. Your mother had been very forthcoming on what to expect from your wedding night, although she had been clear she wished it to be far in the future. She let you know that there would be pain. That there would be times that it felt like it wasn’t worth it. But it was your duty as a wife, and, with the right man, it could be quite enjoyable. You knew what she meant now as you felt your apex burn. When would the ‘quite enjoyable’ start?

By the third finger inside you, you had gnawed on your bottom lip so hard you were drawing blood. Aemond said nothing. Just watched you. He seemed terrified to do anything than what he was doing. Finally, his fingers came free of you and shifted above you. "You need to spread your legs." They had instinctively closed when he pulled from you and you blush as you do as he says. "Please do not hate me."

You had thought your apex burned when his fingers were inside you, but if that was the case then your whole pelvis was on fire when he pushed inside you. Your hands fly up to claw at Aemond's back as you let out a wordless scream when he split you & your maidenhead open. "Stop! Wait, wait! It hurts!"

"I know." His words are apologetic as he offers you a kiss on the cheek but does not pull out. "Just bear with it for me."

He stopped long enough to give you time to adjust. Try to relax. Anything. Then he pulled his cock out and slid it back in. Your teeth grit at the pain. It’s not as bad as you thought, after the initial shock. It does hurt, but to hear people talk about it it was the same as losing a limb. You fell off Stormsheild once when you were a little girl. Bruised something fierce from the fall. That hurt worse than this, but it was no less uncomfortable.

Aemond tried to take this as slow as he could for you. He knows this is not how a maiden expects to become a woman. Some hard fast thing to be done with and move on. But the clock was ticking. They had very little time left before the coronation and the ceremony started. It needed to be finished before then.

That’s what he told himself.

In truth, he was a lost novice again inside you. Your warmth. Your tightness. Just…you. This was not how he pictured you being bonded to him, but he would be a liar if he said he wasn’t still elated that you were beneath him and soon all his.

He could feel his climax building. Unable to hold it back any longer. Aemond reached blindly for the knife at the side of your bed, as no true Targaryen would ever go to sleep without a blade at their side, and sliced your hand open. You cry out finally. Having kept your jaw tight the whole time you were doing this in order to not scream and turn wild eyed toward Aemond to ask him what the hells he was doing, only to see him cutting his own hand. He threw the knife away to the side and linked your hands together. His eye turned to you. Holding you there for a moment before he kissed you deeply to fully seal your bond. A Valyrian bond.

With the pain redirected to your hand, you can finally feel Aemond inside you with some joy. It’s not pleasurable, but it’s not painful. Your head swam at the realization that he was inside you, he was kissing you, that he was all around you until suddenly Aemond’s hips stopped and you realized that there was more than just his cock inside you.

He let your lips go after that. Panting with you. Sweaty. Whole. You hiss sharply when Aemond pulled out of you. The pain returning to your center from your hand. Still bloody, sheets bloody, why did there have to be so much blood for this?

Aemond sat up and ripped a corner of the sheets into two clean strips. One for you and one for him. He wrapped your hand first and then his own, before he pulled you close to him on the ruined bedding. “Are you alright?”

You shrug against him. Your maidenhood was sore. Your hand was throbbing. Your mother was about to be tossed aside and you were still technically a prisoner in your childhood home. You weren’t sure how to answer that question.

“I will have to go. For the ceremony.” Aemond doesn’t want to talk about it, but he does have to go. Must show a united front for the kingdom. “I’ll come back later. To check on you.”

“Will I be allowed to leave?” You ask him. That question had still not been answered.

“After it’s over we’ll go talk to my mother and King Hand.” A name you both gave his grandfather as children to tease him, in secret of course. It wasn't nearly as funny as you remembered now. “You are under my protection now. I will keep you safe.”

Safe. How strange that word sounded now. You had felt safe with your parents. You had felt safe within these walls. You had felt safe with Aemond. But all of that had suddenly changed. What was 'safe' now?

Aemond dressed quickly, then came over to you again. Tentative, shy even, he came over to give you a brief peck on the lips. Like the ones you used to give as children. “I will come back.” He promised again. “Everything will be alright.”

Then he was gone. You were alone. You pulled your knees to your chest, despite the pain in doing so, and look out your window. Maybe the other princesses stayed in the tower because they had no choice too.

[pretty-circa006]

Dumb Little Slut

Negan x F! Reader

summary It was a stupid mistake, really, but she didn't think Negan would get this mad at her.

tags rough sex, boot worship, gagging, spanking, choking, unprotected p in v, creampie, squirting, crying and dacryphilia, degradation and name calling, mild dub-con

wc 1.3k

note i totally forgot i had an ao3 account where i uploaded this fic, so when i remembered, of course the first thing i did was cross post it here! fair warning, this is something i would consider dark.

*you are responsible for your own content consumption. if this is something you DO NOT like, simply DO NOT read or interact! :) *

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆ 

With Lucille in hand, Negan sat at the head of the table surrounded by Saviors as he awaited an explanation as to why they only came back with less than half the stuff they were supposed to.

Simon sighed. "One of the workers forgot to close the back of the truck and most of the stuff fell out." 

"Ya couldn't go back and get it?" Negan questioned. 

"We didn't notice until we got back." Negan sighed and ran a hand over his face. He was beyond pissed. Even though The Saviors would be okay without it, he still hated that half his shit was out scattered on the roads somewhere. 

"Who in the hell forgot to close the truck? I want a name and I want it now," he demanded with a slam of the baseball bat to the table. 

"[Name]," Simon said. Negan sighed. He should've known it'd be her. This wasn't the first time she's fucked up this stupidly and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last if he didn't teach her a lesson. 

"Bring her to my room. Dismissed." He stood up and stormed out before the others could. 

...

She nervously stood under Negan's harsh, hazel glare. He was sure she knew why she was here, because the first thing that came out of her were streams of apologies. 

"I-I'm sorry, S-sir! I thought I had closed it, honest!" she sobbed with big teary eyes. He grabbed a fist-full of her hair and forced her head back to make her stare up at him. She winced, which only motivated him to tighten his grip, earning a whimper from her trembling lips. 

"This isn't the first time you've fucked shit up," he growled, a dark look in his eyes. She started crying even harder, which made him smile. He roughly released her hair from his grip. With his gloved hand, he cupped her jaw, his thumb and fingers squeezing her cheeks so hard her lips puffed out. He leaned down to her level, his face barely an inch from hers.  

"Your ass is so damn lucky I don't have that pretty fuckin' face of yours burned," he said lowly. He could feel her quivering in his hold, but she maintained eye contact. 

"T-thank you for not b-burning my face off," she choked out. 

He smiled his charming dimpled smile at her, but his eyes were still dark. With anger or lust, she didn't know, but either way she was afraid. 

"Don't think for a second you're getting off scot free. You know damn well you have to make it up to me." She nodded her head as best she could in his grip. He roughly let go of her jaw and shed off his leather jacket before sitting down in his leather couch. 

"Strip," he ordered once she was standing before him. 

"Y-yes, sir." She unlaced her boots before toeing them off. With trembling hands, she unbuttoned her jeans before stepping out of them along with her panties and pulling her tank top over her head. Negan wolf whistled when he saw she wasn't wearing a bra. Normally, that would've had her all hot and bothered, but this wasn't like the other times she's been called to his bedroom.  

"On your knees." She lowered herself to all fours and crawled over to him. She awaited her next orders like an obedient puppy. 

"Get yourself off on my boot." His boot was relatively clean, considering, so she didn't hesitate to put her bare clit on the toe of his boot. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes with remorseful doe eyes. She began to  grind her hips on the leather, giving her clit the much needed friction.

"You are one filthy slut! Look at you gettin' off on my goddamn boot," he mocked. 

Without warning, Negan shoved his index, middle, and ring finger in her mouth, commanding her to suck, which she did eagerly. Her tongue swirled around the digits before he shoved them as far down her throat as he could, until the rest of his hand stopped him, causing her to gag around his hand.

"Thaaat's it, take it like a good little slut," he simultaneously praised and degraded. 

She continued humping his boot, coating it in her slick as she became more aroused and closer to her orgasm. The coil that built up in her lower belly was so close to bursting and Negan could tell by the garbled moans that came out around his hand. Every now and then, he'd press down on the back of her tongue, causing her to gag and more hot tears to pour down her face, making him grow even harder in his pants. She was about to come, Negan saw all her telltale signs, but this was a punishment and she didn't deserve to.

"Oh no, you don't get to cum, at least not yet!" 

He yanked his hand out, causing her to cough and picked her up from under her arms bent her over his lap. Her hard sensitive nipples against the rough fabric of his pants caused her to moan. He slapped her ass hard enough to leave a handprint before slapping it even harder a few more times. He could see her arousal pouring down her inner thighs. She was enjoying this far more than he'd like her to. 

"N-negan, please!" she begged, earning another slap to the ass. 

"You do not fuckin speak unless I tell you to," he said darkly. He pushed her off his lap and onto the floor before ordering her to crawl to the bed and get on it. He followed behind her as he undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants, freeing his rock hard cock. It sprung up and slapped his abdomen. Negan was huge and she was honestly nervous to take him without prep. He never prepped her when he was angry at her. He stroked it a few times before lining it up with her leaking cunny. He slid his aching red tip up and down her slick slit before sliding himself all the way in and bottoming out from behind. She screamed out in a mix of pain and pleasure. 

"What a slutty pussy, baby," he moaned. He didn't wait for her to adjust to his size and started roughly fucking her with a bruising grip on her hips. As he pounded into her, he roughly kneaded the soft flesh of her ass. Wanton moans escaped her lips with every deep thrust. He tangled his hand in her hair before pulling her head back by it, earning a pained scream from her. His large hand wrapped around her throat, cutting off her oxygen as he got himself off. Her slick, velvety walls clamped down on his girth, a sign she was close. She clawed at Negan's hand, but he only gripped her throat harder. 

"Take it like the goddamned dirty girl you are, doll," Negan encouraged. The sounds and smell of sex filled the bedroom. He removed his hand from her throat when he felt her go limp in his hold. Slightly worried, he turned her onto her back while still balls deep in her pussy. His thrusts slowed as he lightly slapped her face a few times until she woke again.

"Don't go passin' out on me now, babydoll." 

He put her legs over his shoulders, bending her in half as he picked up his rough pace. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she moaned his name repeatedly. He pawed at her tits as they jiggled with each thrust. His dick twitched inside her before he came without warning. He threw his head back as he moaned her name while emptying his white hot seed into her slutty pussy. She shook with her orgasm as she squirted around his now semi-hard cock, wetting his dark comforter. 

"That's my dumb little slut," he praised as he pulled out. His girl was lazily sprawled out on his bed, barely able to keep her tired eyes open as his cum leaked out of her. He sent a playful slap to her already abused cunny. 

"You won't be so lucky next fuckin' time, so I suggest you get your goddamn shit together before you get burned." 

She sleepily mumbled in response, too tired and fucked out for anything. 

this was originally posted on my ao3 account on 4/28/2024. i haven't posted on there since because people don't comment and barely leave kudos 🥲

[to-the-stars8]

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

My Type of Nanny

You wished Bruce hadn’t put you down as an emergency contact for the school. Every time one of the kids was sick or forgot something, the school would call you. Not even Mr. Wayne was all that impressed, and even thought it was a little sexist. He had called the school multiple times to inform them that he should have been the first person they called, but, alas, they never listened. 

That morning you had received a call from the principal informing you that Dick was in big trouble. When you asked what the “big” trouble was, the man refused to say and demanded that you get down to the school to see what had happened. You complied, leaving Damian in Alfred’s care. Bruce didn’t answer your phone call, more than likely in a meeting or on a date, so you decided to brave the storm alone. 

Dick was sitting opposite the principal with another boy sitting by his side when you entered. When the secretary announced you through, he hardly budged and continued to brood. Upon further inspection, it was evident that he had been in a fight. There was a cut under his eye, dirt all over his gym clothes, and a cut on his lip. Glancing at the other boy next to him, it was clear that Dick was the real winner of the fight. He was practically unscathed compared to the much taller, buff teenager next to him who was sporting a black eye, bloody nose, and a terrible head bump. 

“What happened?” You asked. 

“Won a fight,” Dick said with a smile. 

The kid next to him raised his fist to threaten Dick but was quickly stopped by his mother standing behind him. You bit back a chuckle before reaching over to press on the bruise blooming on Dick’s cheek. The boy winced before pushing your hand away. 

“Now’s not the time for your smartassery,” You remarked before turning to the principal. You gently pushed his face side to side to make sure nothing else was broken or bruised. When nothing else seemed out of place, you ruffled his hair before turning to the principal. “Alright, how’re we doing this?”

“Excuse me?” The man said, surprised. 

“How’re we doing this? Are both boys getting suspended, one getting suspended and the other…”

The principal laughed and waved his hands about like he was trying to get rid of any notion of the idea. “No, no, no. We won’t suspend either boy. Kids fight, we understand that here, but we do ask that, in return for not suspending the boys, a donation to the school be made. A quid pro quo, if you will.”

You were stunned into silence, surprised that money could be thrown about anywhere, and looked at Dick. He stared back at you expectantly, like he was waiting for you to call up his father and ask for money. The other woman was already getting out her checkbook while mumbling under her breath. 

“Absolutely not,” You said. “You can’t fight someone and get away with it.”

“Call Bruce, he’ll handle it.” Dick rolled his eyes and slouched in his chair. 

Before any other protest could leave your mouth, the secretary was already letting Mr. Wayne in. Bruce came in with an easy smile that charmed everyone else in the room, before stopping to clap his boy on the shoulder. 

“Looks like you got it rough, kiddo,” He said with a laugh. “Gotta stay off the playground!”

Everyone in the room laughed save for you and Dick, who mumbled something about how the other boy shouldn’t have messed with Jason. The principal went over the same request as before; donate and both boys would get off scot-free. You watched as Bruce’s hand slid into his pocket and pulled out his checkbook. As much as you didn’t like it, you held back the urge to reach over and snatch the checkbook right out of his hands. It wasn’t right to just pay your way out of a bad situation, but Bruce seemed to be happy to do it. 

Once the cheques were handed over to the principal, the boys were let go for the rest of the day. You scolded Dick on the way out, telling him that not only would he be banned from any and all games, but he would be spending his weekend in his room.

“No!” Dick whined before turning to Bruce. “You can’t let her do this! She’s not even my mom.”

“But she is your nanny, and it’s in her contract that she makes sure you don't turn into a brat,” Mr. Wayne said in a matter-of-fact tone. 

You smiled and thanked Bruce for backing you up, which made Dick exclaim, “Why don’t you two just get married already!”

You rolled your eyes, knowing that was just one of his ways to get what he wanted by saying something absurd, but Bruce scoffed. You caught that and quickly asked, “What was that scoff for? You think you’re too good to marry me?” Putting your hands on your hips, you stopped to look at Mr. Wayne. He stopped, too, suddenly realizing what he had done. 

“No. No, you’re just not my type,” Mr. Wayne said nervously like he didn’t want to say what he truly thought.

You snorted before mumbling, “And here I thought you were open to all.”

“What was that?” Mr. Wayne stopped to look at you. 

You put up your hands as you scooted around the man, urging Dick to get to the car. Mr. Wayne didn’t let it go though, following closely behind you as you continued to the car.

“Is this coming from the woman who has made a move on half of the people in the elite of Gotham,” Bruce remarked. 

“Hey, if you got to them first, I’ll respect it,” You said as you opened your car door. “I’m sure you rich boys don’t like to share.”

“I’m not going to be mocked by a door-to-door sales girl,” He said, leaning against the side of your car. 

Dick smiled to himself, glad that his plan of shifting the attention from him worked, and felt brave enough to even get out his GameBoy. As he played Mario, he listened to the two of you bicker like an old married couple. Alfred was right, the two of you really did like each other’s company too much. 

“Wow,” You laughed as you smacked your hands on the steering wheel. You glanced over at Dick in the passenger seat, seeing the GameBoy in his hand, and promptly reached over to take it. Handing it off to Bruce, you continued like nothing had happened, “Classist much?”

Mr. Wayne went to answer, but then he glanced over at Dick. He sucked in a breath and decided to let his comeback die there since it wouldn't have been suitable for his son to hear. “Just get him home and grounded.”

“Will do, and I’ll make sure to let Alfred know,” You said. 

“No!” Dick cried. Alfred’s punishments were the worst. 

You clapped the boy on the shoulder before winking at Mr. Wayne. Dick groaned, knowing full well that he was going to make sure you were never the first one to be called by the school again. 

[hana-no-seiiki]

This is generally such a stupid ask but I feel like it would be.. Chaotic? At the very least amusing

Anyways

Batfam x Nicole from Class of 09! Reader

Do what you want (etc make it romantic or platonic, doesn't matter)

Just the batfam (yandere ofc) dealing with a chick who loves to ruin lives for her amusement and sometimes for revenge

Istg she'll just bully them at any chance she gets

~ 🕒

I just binged watched Class of ‘09 and all its endings/choices for you non. I don’t think I can fully depict how brash wittiness of Nicole is but here I go! (I am so traumatized) Didn’t know that’s where “No I’m flirting with you flash me a tiddy bitch” came from no wonder Nicole sounded so familiar.

btw if people are interested in watching class of ‘09 just be warned it’s basically a VN version of Degrees of Lewdity but the mc is actually a minor (without the sex/r*pe mechanic though) and it depicts a lot of just… pedophilia, necrophilia, assault, su*c*de, school shootings, racism??, BE WARNED.

The following content above ^ might be mentioned in this fic but in passing. MASSIVE DDDNE WARNING.

I don’t think I’m comfortable writing stepcest/incest in this blog so despite how perfect it’ll be to make Bruce your step father considering Nicole’s mom has divorced like a hundred times…maybe ask me in @yoru-no-seiiki and I’ll be down for it.

THIS IS ADMITTEDLY TIM + DAMIAN CENTRIC

“Do you even care? Do the results of your actions mean anything to you?”

“Yeah when they affect me, sure.”

You were a bitch. There was no denying that. But you were a pretty one. One many would grovel to be under.

You were used to this, ever since you reached a certain age people just looked at you different, acted in a way that… made you think they were boring, utter losers.

One of those losers was Tim’s friend.

Like all the stupid, horny men in your life, you hung out with him once and he spilled everything there was that you could share.

To the entire campus, the internet, even the news.

And because you were pretty, you got off scot-free. Those morons didn’t even check to see what you’ve been doing the past decade.

Except Tim. Timothy Drake. You only knew that his dad was super rich, and as much as it was tempting to sink your teeth into him and get a load of that daddy’s money, you knew better.

He apparently didn’t.

You see there was one thing every batfam member couldn’t resist. Well, two things. The first was saving people.

The second? Fixing them.

When Tim first approached you he was confused.

You were quite the popular figure in Uni. He heard the rumors. He fully expected to be cussed out to hell and back.

But you were… nice. Agreeable at most really. Brash was an understatement. But you were witty. Your comebacks were swift and deadly.

The more he studied stalked you the more he realized that the two of you were the same.

Two bright people stuck with dull idiots.

And Tim? Tim interested you enough for you to not to completely drop him after the first week. That and most of your bullying probably wouldn’t bode well towards the son of a billionaire.

He was smart, even more so than that nerd friend of his that you destroyed the life of. But more importantly he actually had some tact, and was surprisingly packed underneath all those baggy clothes.

Tim had to admit he was kind of forgetting his entire purpose of ‘fixing’ you.

Until you manipulated yet another guy into jumping off a school building for you. Thankfully he survived because Red Robin happened to be there to apprehend him but still!

And what’s worse, you met up with him afterwards talking about how that Red Robin ruined all your plans of crippling a r*pist.

Wait, a r*pist?

Tim looks through your past victims once more. Admitted he only did a surface level job of studying them in comparison to his PhD level knowledge on everything about you specifically.

And…you were right. Every guy you’ve harassed was being pushy with you in the first place, if not people with authority a decade older.

Fuck.

Well now he had no excuse. He had to make you his.

Meanwhile…

“Ugh, Damian. Can’t you tell your brother to like, fuck off or something? I can feel my social standing totally plummet every second he’s around. How do you handle being related to him?” You groaned. You weren’t fucking stupid. You knew Tim was stalking and drooling all over you lately. You hated it. He was ruining your chances with your new victims.

“Jeez [Y/N]. And here I thought you were like, into him.” Jessica, your actual crush and best friend, commented as she filed her nails.

You being the emotional stunted adult you were only replied with an (admittedly softer) “Eat a sandpaper cock and die bitch.”

Damian stared at you, the words die before they crawl out of his mouth. His hands clenched underneath the lunch tables.

Guess he had another thing to steal from his brother this time.

[bahablastplz]

All in | Chapter 17

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: You made a decision that you seriously hope you won't regret. That, or that it won't kill you first.

chapter warnings: self-harm (in a non-suicidal way), major character death, graphic descriptions of violence, angst

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

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There are many things that have led to this very moment and you can’t say that you are very pleased with the turn of events, but sometimes you need to take on responsibilities that you don’t really want to. 

Like leaving Felix without saying goodbye. 

You genuinely cry in the car the entire car ride. You think a couple of selfish, self-pitying thoughts. Why did it have to be me? Why do I have to be the responsible one? Why couldn’t I have just gone along with this new, picture perfect life, and let Felix carry me away into the sunset? Of course, of course you want to escape and be happy. But you hold yourself to a higher standard and sense of morality than that, and you just can't let everybody else suffer while you get away scot free. 

You realize the sense of danger that you’re in. The hardest part of it all, however, is not being able to say goodbye to Felix before you leave. Deep down, you think that he would have let you go but he would have wanted to come with you, and even scarier is the thought of something happening to him because of your own reckless decision making. You’re glad that you were able to have one night with him without the looming anxiety of getting caught. 

You just hope that Felix is able to forgive you no matter how this plays out. 

Before you get to your destination, you decide to make a pitstop. You’ve been thinking about what story you want to tell and how you can use your words to your advantage. You stop at the gas station to pull over into the restroom to look at yourself in the mirror. Although you look a little frail, mostly all of your wounds and bruises from all of your past endeavors have completely healed up. That’s a little bit unfortunate for what you plan to do, however. 

The first thing you do is completely mess up your hair. Rustling and tustling it almost to an unrecognizable degree, you make sure that there’s at least a million knots in it before trying to make it look presentable again (the task is impossible). Next, you tear at your clothes, putting rips in your sleeves and your leggings. Thinking for a moment, you laugh at the ridiculousness of what you’re about to do before letting yourself fall to the bathroom floor, the tiles scraping against your hands and knees and making them bleed. 

You re-examine yourself, and while it’s a lot better than what you came in with, you still felt like it wasn’t quite enough. Taking a deep breath, you punched the grimy mirror in the gas station bathroom, watching as it shattered into big shards and fell to the floor. You cringed, knowing you were making quite a ruckus but at the same time it wasn’t likely that anybody would come check on you as there was nobody around for miles. There was just one more thing that would finish the look; taking one small shard of glass, you used it to split your bottom lip. Perfect. 

As you left the gas station and got back into the car, you rubbed some dirt on your face and arms just to make sure you looked as rough as you felt. You were probably only twenty or thirty minutes away at this point, so you needed to make sure that you finished your plan down to a T. 

You pull the car over, taking one last grounding breath and pulling the gun into the waistband of your leggings. On shaky legs, you walk to the door, hoping that the execution of the first part of this plan goes well. 

“I’m here to see Lee Heeseung, please tell him that Y/N L/N is here for him.” 

You don’t have to wait very long. Immediately you’re brought upstairs to see Heeseung and you request a private audience with him. You suppose that he grants your wish because of the waterworks that start flowing the second that he starts speaking to you. The tears come easy to you, you suppose, when you tell yourself to think of Felix instead, but it’s all just a ruse. 

“I made it out,” you manage to tell him. “I don’t really know what’s happened to me, but they took me from him, from J-Jung–” you can’t even manage to say his name. Not after everything that has happened, but this happens to work well in your favor. “They killed him. They’ve taken everything from me. They’ve been using me for months, and then finally, at the gala, I thought Jungwon was going to take me back, but we were still in a fight. He told me that if I could lure SKZ there that he would take me back and we would get back together, but I wasn’t expecting for them to kill him, Hee… please, don’t make me go back there,” you sob. 

Heeseung looks nothing less than confused. It’s clear that he’s been given just about ten different sides of the story, but now that Jungwon is dead there’s no way he can confirm it. There’s only one thorn in the side here… Woojin. But Woojin worked for SKZ first before he betrayed them, and in the technicalities of it all, you’ve known Heeseung for longer and you were the property of ENHA first. 

“They told me that you wanted to kill me after Jungwon died,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry. It feels like it’s my fault. Please don’t kill me, Heeseung, you have to believe me when I say I’ve been through so much. It’s not my fault. Bang Chan is such an evil man… I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Heeseung sat for a moment and thought about that. He passed a box of tissues across the table which you gratefully accepted, making a big show of dramatically blowing your nose. 

“I just can’t believe he’s really dead, you know? I just feel like none of this would have even happened if we hadn’t gotten into that fight in the first place. SKZ, they found me outside of the bar and I was unconscious and they took me, Hee. I had no choice.” The tears started up again. “And I tried to leave the first night, and they found me, but Bang Chan, he beat me and he locked me in my room…” 

Heeseung stood suddenly and you froze. You felt a wave of anxiety pass over you and you suddenly wondered if maybe things wouldn’t go the way that you had planned. 

“It seems like I’ve severely misunderstood how things have gone on your part. If you’re truly willing to offer up information, I think we might be willing to work something out between us. Can I offer you a glass of water?” 

You nod your head. As Heeseung leaves the room, you wipe your face and discard the tissue. You’ve made it work. You have really been able to play into the distressed and beaten girl card, and with your previous (though brief) encounter with Heeseung through ENHA, you have been able to tune into what little empathetic side he has. Now, this is truly the important part. Standing behind the door, you pull out the gun and turn off the safety. You’re truly thankful at this moment for the opportunity you had to train with Jisung, though your heart is beginning to thump wildly in your chest. You will your hands to stop trembling, as you know you only have one shot. 

The door cracks open and you see a glimpse of Heeseung’s face before you take aim and fire, watching as Heeseung slumps to the ground. The water spills ungracefully. You hit him square in the face so it only took one shot, so there is no doubt about the fact that he is dead. With a shaky breath you apologize, because it only feels right to calm the aching guilt that overwhelms your chest, before you leave his office. Nobody comes in to check on him. With the loud noise from the bar and the business that takes place around here, you’re sure it’s not an abnormal ambiance. Plus, he might have given his guards a warning since you were on his kill list. That was exactly what you were counting on. 

As you hurry down the hallway overhead the bar, you spot a window that gives you the perfect opportunity to hop down to the first floor and give you the escape you need. You see something out of the corner of your eye however, or someone that hasn’t seemed to notice you yet. In a split second, you have made a decision. Though this strays from your plan, there’s no doubt about it that in making a decision now, you’re tying up a lot of loose ends in the long run. 

Quietly, you sneak up behind him, grabbing the man from behind and pulling him into an empty room. When he feels the cool metal of the gun pressed up against his head, he does not struggle. 

“What the hell, man, take it easy!” Woojin cries. 

“I will not be taking it easy,” you hiss from behind him, your elbow coming around his throat to secure him into a headlock. It is at that moment that it clicks into place for Woojin who it is that is threatening him and his body goes slack, as if relieved. 

“Y/N,” he laughs. “It looks like our little mouse has finally left her cage! How fun.” 

“I wouldn’t feel so at ease if I were you,” you tell him. “I quite literally have a gun to your head right now.” 

“Right,” he practically coos. “Why should I think that you would actually kill me?” 

With a large swing, you bash the side of the gun into his head. He nearly crumbles in your arms but you hold him up by his throat. He whines in pain. 

“I am sick of people underestimating me,” you spit. “And while I might feel a little bit of remorse for killing Lee Heeseung, I will look back on killing you fondly.” 

He sucks in a breath at that. 

“You didn’t,” he says. 

“I did,” you reply, saccharine sweet. You throw him to the ground so you can have a chance to look down on him one last time. “I do have one thing to thank you for, Woojin. Thanks for helping me to realize how weak I was. If it weren’t for you, there’s no way I would be able to do this.” 

You shoot him. 

The feeling is different. You don’t want to call it satisfying, because that just seems wrong. But you are proud of yourself, in a sick and twisted sense. You have successfully carried out stage 1 of your operation. 

You grab a few things from the bar before you leave. Some supplies, some water. Security is surprisingly lax. It’s almost laughable that ENHA was the sworn enemy of SKZ; maybe things have seriously gone downhill since Jungwon died. Maybe nobody expects someone who looks like you, ‘beaten’ and frail to come in so easily and derail their organization from the inside, but then again, you have been training with SKZ for the past couple of months. 

When you get back to your car, you let out a sigh of relief. What a big weight that has been lifted off of your shoulders. If stage 2 of your operation goes according to plan, then you have just made things very easy for yourself in the future. Lee Heeseung no longer wants to kill you, and ENHA is basically out of the picture, along with Woojin. Unfortunately, that was the easier side of the coin to deal with. 

You’re not exactly sure how to deal with Chan, because you’re just unsure of how a conversation is going to settle things. On the other hand you could stage a coup with the other members but it just doesn’t seem feasible enough to get in contact with all of them without his knowledge.

You also have no idea how to get into the house without alerting him of your presence. 

You end up parking about a mile away. You have plenty of time to think on the walk over but mostly you try to calm your nerves. You find that to be a trend a lot lately. As you approach the house, dawn is starting to encroach, a rude red color plaguing the sky that makes you feel a little uneasy. Moreso, you recognize that something is amiss when you see a motorcycle right in front of the house, tire tracks skidding down the path that leads to the main road. Whoever was on the motorcycle didn’t bother to use the bike stand, instead opting to shove it on its side as if they were in a hurry. 

The front door of the SKZ house is wide open. You’re left with a pit in your stomach that something is horribly, horribly wrong. 

You don’t walk through the front door, instead choosing to walk to the side of the house. You find one of the many windows that allow you to look into Chan’s room, choosing to peek into one of them that is slightly open. Using your strength, you push it open inch by inch so that nobody will hear or notice the difference. When you finally look inside, you realize that you are now listening to a conversation that you shouldn’t be. 

“You don’t understand what you’re talking about. I never took advantage of you,” Chan reasons to someone. “I was simply helping you all along. You never realized what you needed and I helped you. I was there for you and I took care of you. Do you not remember? You were able to accomplish your mission and I was there for you, I stood by your side. I was there for you when your parents died, I gave you a purpose in life and took care of you, and now you are to stand by me and be there for me. It’s what you owe me, and instead you go behind my back and take advantage of me. To me, that seems like absolute betrayal of the highest end, do you not understand?” 

“I am not going behind your back,” says a deep voice that you recognize right away. Felix. He’s here right now. Immediately your heart squeezes, knowing that he must have left right away to go looking for you. He put himself in danger and he could’ve gotten himself killed while you were dealing with Heeseung–you didn’t even think of that possibility. Even moreso, you’re overhearing a conversation that’s insanely vulnerable and personal, and while you want to turn away, you know that you need to give yourself this opportunity to interject if needed and protect him. You stay. “Y/N is not an object, she is not either of ours to fight over, Chris. It’s not fair of you to use our past as a way to manipulate me about this.”

“Do you not understand and appreciate everything that I’ve done for you?” Chan asks. “Everything that I’ve done for everyone here?”

“Of course I do, Chris, but for how long? How long are you going to keep holding that over me? The person who killed my parents is dead. I’ve been over it for a long time. How long are you going to keep stringing me along? Will there ever be an end?” 

You climb in through the window, gun in hands. You think you’re being quiet enough. You close an eye, taking aim, continuing to listen to the conversation. 

“Felix, there was never going to be an end. You know that, right? Surely you were never that dumb.” 

“What?” Felix blinks at him, dumbfounded. 

“Y/N!” Chan calls your name and you nearly trip. You take a step forward, aim unwavering. That’s when you realize that Felix is sitting on the floor, slumped over. He seems to be injured, his hand grasping his side and his breathing unsteady. 

“There has to be an end,” you tell him. Chan looks at you, big eyes blinking and mouth parted in a little ‘o; shape. 

“And you think that will end right now? You’re going to shoot me right here?” 

“Yes,” you tell him. 

Chan looks at you, then at Felix, then at you. “I’m surprised,” he says. “And a little hurt.” 

This makes you falter for just a second, which is all the time he needs to cross the room. He disarms you in a second flat. His arms are around your body, his breath is in your ear. 

“I’ve realized something,” he whispers. “Do you know that I love you?”

Of course, you knew this. Woojin clocked it since the gala, the way he had been acting towards you. And of course, there was the fact that he had asked to take you on a date, the possessive behavior, the fact that he locked you up so that you would fall in love with him eventually instead of Felix. You had predicted this from a mile away, but you didn’t expect for him to admit it so bluntly. Not like this, not as a manipulation tactic when you came here with one goal in mind. 

“You can’t say that, Chan,” you tell him. 

“I do,” he admits. “I love you. I think I’ve loved you since day 1.”

“Is that supposed to make everything right?” you tell him. “You’ve fucked up, Chan. There is absolutely nothing you can do to make things right now. You have hurt me, you have hurt the people that I care about, and you are a violent and manipulative person.” 

“What are you trying to say?” he asks, lowering his voice. 

“I don’t love you back,” you tell him, finality in your voice. “I’m sorry, but I never can.” 

“Is it because you love him instead?” he asks, pointing at Felix. 

“That’s not the only reason,” you say, frustrated. “I don’t know how else to make you understand.”

“But you do,” he points out. “Love him.” 

“I do, but–” 

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Chan sighs. He pulls out the very same gun that you were going to use against him, putting it in your hands. His own hands clasp over yours, holding on tight. He aims the gun at Felix. 

“Chan, what are you doing? Please, stop!” you cry out, panicked. You squirm against his grasp but his hold on the gun is firm. 

“Felix, do you know why there was never going to be an end to all of this?” Chan asks. Felix shakes his head limply. “Because you never actually killed the man who put the order out against your parents all those years ago. In any sense, neither of our missions are done.” 

“Chris, what are you talking about?” Felix asks with gritted teeth. 

“Do I have to spell it out for you, mate? I put out the order. I killed your parents. I found you, I recruited you, and I helped you to find your purpose here. So your noble mission to avenge your parents that ended years ago never really happened,” Chan explains. Though you don’t really know the full story, you feel sick to your stomach. “I was never going to tell you, but I might as well since I’m going to kill you now myself anyways. It’s a little bittersweet after having you as my right-hand man for all these years, but you do crazy things in the name of love.” 

You feel his hands tighten around the trigger. You jerk slightly at the last moment, screaming as the trigger goes off. You just hope that it was enough to not do any serious damage. You can’t help the sob that escapes your lips. All you wanted was for Felix to stay safe, and after everything his downfall might be your fault. The gun drops to the floor and skids across the floor and you drop to your knees, scurrying to pick it up before you feel a tight grasp around your waist, hoisting you up to your feet. The grasp settles around your throat, holding you tightly from behind. 

“You still want to shoot me that bad, huh?” Chan asks. “Do you think you have it in you?” 

“I don’t know,” you tell him. 

“Have you ever shot someone before?” he asks. 

“No,” you lie. You have nothing to prove to him at the moment. You want to focus on getting out of this chokehold, so you think back to your self-defense training with Changbin and Felix and focus on what your next steps should be. 

You lean your head forward, hoping to get as much momentum as you can for when you swing it backwards to catch it against Chan’s face, hard. You know that your head has connected right with Chan’s nose by the loud cracking sound it makes, and so you waste no time in turning around to knee him right in the groin. 

He seems very caught off guard by your sudden actions. 

Next, you push him backwards as hard as you can, knocking him off of his balance. You’re surprised that you were actually able to do this, given that it was more of a risky move. He doesn’t fall, but he takes a few steps backwards in order to right himself. In the meantime, you pull a long knife out of your hoodie pocket. Specifically, you made sure to grab this as a backup option before you left the ENHA bar. 

With a running start, you lodge the knife into his chest. He grabs your wrist, but you’re quick to remove his hand with your other hand. With both hands, you remove the knife and shove it back in again and again. 

“You can’t half-ass shoving a knife into someone–you have to do it with as much force as you can and into a vital spot. If you’re using a knife to protect yourself, you need to do it with the intent to kill. Best case-scenario, you’ll need to stab them multiple times in order to really do some damage,” Changbin had said. You could really thank him just about now. You had no idea just how much that piece of advice would come in handy.

When you look down at Chan, you’re not expecting him to laugh. Pale in the cheeks and hair already sticking to his face, you know that you’ve won. Still, you’re completely thrown off by his actions. 

“What?” you ask. 

“I really did love you, you know,” he tells you. “Maybe things would have worked out under different circumstances.” 

You really weren’t expecting him to say that. “Oh,” you say. 

“I would’ve just hurt you,” he says. “I’ve only ever hurt people. It’s the only thing I’ve been good at. I just wasn’t expecting for you to be the one to hurt me,” he chuckles. 

“Don’t make me feel worse about this,” you say, looking away. “This was your own doing–the only option you gave us. I don't want to sit here and have you make me feel like maybe all along you were this good person, or that maybe you deserved something better, because you don't. I hope you know that none of us wanted this. It had to end like this.” 

And with one last sputtering cough, Bang Chan closes his eyes and doesn’t open them again. You somehow feel like you have both won and lost at the same time, and you can’t help but feel that that is exactly as he had intended. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

a/n: aasdhj here it is! i hope nobody was expecting this!! <3 let me know your thoughts and the finale should be out within the next few days.

taglist: @shuporanporang ; @purp13st4r ; @eurydiceofterabithia ; @heartsbyandra ; @thicccurls ;

@rylea08 ; @the-sweetest-rose ; @oddracha ; @kapelover ; @goldenmellow ;

@zerefdragn33l ; @uhh-awkward-rightt ; @astudyoftimeywimeystuff ; @kaleigh-2002 ; @thatonexcgirl ;

@mindfreecreator ; @linoalwaysknows ; @velvetmoonlght ; @minahaeyo ; @crystalchuuu ;

@hash2013 ; @skzswife ; @b0bbl3s ; @thecutiepieme ; @bear8585 ;

@moss-the-man ; @softkisshyunjin ; @sylveonitesworld ; @m00njinnie ; @nicoleparadas ;

@starsofasteria ; @klopez01 ; @luvlinos ; @hyunjinnnnnnnnnnnnnn ; @skz-akira ;

@boi-bi-ahaha ; @l33bang24 ; @hermione640 ; @gal82 ; @b-chansbbygirl ;

@kayleefriedchicken ; @notsojourni ; @hogwartslife64 ; @stilltrynafuckingtumble ; @ellelabelle ;

@melleus ; @hyun-bun ; @luminouskalopsia ; @leftovercigarettes ; @sabrina-gal-kpop

@ghostedgameplays ; @wealwayskeepfighting ; @meloncremesoda ; @Lovelino23 ; @honeyybbuubblleess ;

@blossominghunnie ; @sunlitangel777 ; @kkamismom12 ; @slaykanejvetsi ; @eastleighsblog ;

@skzskzskzskzskzskzskzzzz ; @k-keya ; @moonlight-sunrise-channie ; @estella-novella ;

@mbioooo0000 ; @lovemepie67 ; @lemonn015 ; @jaeminie-cricket ; @cookiesandcreammy ;

@jchotch726 ; @cookielixie ; @xxeiraxx ; @chuuyaobsessed ; @anime-addictot8 ;

@raspberrii ; @holdontoitwhileitlasts ; @korthbum ; @nxtt2-u ; @drinkingrumandcocacola ;

@changbokkii ; @1810cl ; @sillyhal ; @abcdefgiwsmctyeliaitaiglykoh ; @justastraymoa

[drama-glob]

Yeeeeaaah, you just know this immunity biz had to have been done by Andrealphus alone without even talking to any of the other Sins because there is no way Ozzie would have let Striker get off scot-free after what he did to Fizz! >:( The fact that Striker was allowed to speak "His side" of the story and get immunity for it but not allow Blitz the accused to really speak just hammers in the unfairness of it all, doesn't it? -_-

*There's a decent chance all a royal has to do is just go to Satan with an accusation for a lower class demon and bam, trial without even letting the other royals know what's happening/what it's about to further streamline the process in addition to not really letting the accused actually get a defense. :(

Also:

What's really unfortunate (and likely done so the plot can go into season 3) is that Stolas only saw the end of the trial, so he only has the assumption that the trial was just about Blitz using his grimoire, not that Blitz was also accused of hiring Striker to murder him. O_O There was no mentioning of his assassination in his song and had he known, he likely would have let the whole courtroom know that Stella was behind the assassination, which would then have to leave Andrealphus reeling to distance himself from Stella to avoid being implicated despite his knowledge of the truth. -_- It's sad that even if Stella got found guilty, we've seen that punishment for royals isn't as permanent or severe as those for the lower class, but it'd still be interesting to find out. Hopefully one day. :(

[romanticintheory]

Okay but could u write something fluffy with soap. Tbh I feel like he'd be the best friend to lovers kinda thing.

AND YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT i love friends to lovers so much guys u don't understand :(

also, i realize now that this isn't super fluff-heavy!! apologies </3 i got carried away.

johnny "soap" mactavish x gn!reader

warnings: horrid scottish slang from a non-scot (i am sincerely sorry), my writing from 2 am on three hours of sleep (also sincerely sorry)

-

-best friend to lovers with soap except there wasn't really a specific moment you two become each other's. it just... kind of happened.

-growing up with him and supporting his dreams to be a soldier while he supported yours. the first time he came back from a mission, you were the first person he wanted to see once he was allowed back home.

-you used to fuss over any injuries he got from being himself as a little kid, and the worry only heightened when he'd come back from missions with real wounds.

-his mom would always have a cheeky smile seeing you two together. she never said it, but it was always hinted in the way she acted. she was always talking to johnny about how you were such an impressive and loyal young person, often doting on you and insisting you stay for dinner (which, of course, you couldn't refuse).

-the first time johnny started dating someone, it was hard for you to deal with, but it got easier the more it happened.

-what you didn't know was johnny would take it even worse whenever you told him you started dating someone. he'd act all proud and protective in a brotherly fashion, but behind closed doors he was scowling to himself without knowing why.

-one day, you're visiting him in his apartment after he had been away for a few months. you're strangely more subdued than usual, and of course he notices.

-"hey," he calls to you softly, a strange contrast to his usual loud self. "what's wrong?"

-"nothing, don't worry about it," you reassure him, fiddling with the little plushie he got you from his travels--one of the many trinkets he's gotten for you. he always says it's to make up for the fact that he won't be there to bother you in person, but it's actually because every precious little thing he sees reminds him of you.

-"ah ken you're lying," he tells you in a warning tone.

-"i got broken up with, is all," you admit, turning your head away from him.

-"what?" he booms incredulously. how could anyone leave you? "is he insane? after getting an apartment together?"

-"there was this girl from his work and, well, i don't know," you shrugged, fighting back the tears you thought had dried days ago. "he wants the apartment. i mean, he did pay for more of it so-"

-"come live with me."

-it was your turn to be in disbelief, turning your head to face him with a confused look on your face.

-"what?"

-"th' place is empty with me at work. no rent, 's away from yer stupid ex, and ye get to be around me," he added jokingly. you rolled your eyes, but how could you not take him up on his offer?

-from then on, you're living with your best friend and taking care of the place while he's away. if you're staying rent-free, the least you could do was try and be as neat as possible (he insisted it was okay with the place looked like it was lived in, but you refused).

-when he'd come back from his missions, he'd still shower you in little gifts he'd get along the way when possible. you always tried to have some kind of meal ready for him, too.

-"you're always cooking for us, a'm feeling like i should do it sometime," he says, already knowing the answer to that proposal.

-"absolutely not." (the one time you let him cook was when you were both in college. he caught a pan on fire, somehow.)

-"you hurt me!"

-"oh, please."

-eventually, the routine becomes more and more domestic to the two of you. soap's mother always calls out how you two are living like a married couple, but the both of you just laugh it off like neither of you have noticed.

-you eventually notice changes in johnny's gifts. it went from gag gifts and plushies to little pieces of jewelry or intricate pens. sometimes you even think you catch him staring at you, but maybe it was just wishful thinking. he hasn't mentioned being interested in anyone in a while, either.

-it all comes to a head when johnny doesn't come home the day he said he would. sure, it happened at times, but this was the longest amount of time he's been late.

-eventually, he finally walks through the door with too many injuries, a bruise on his lip, and walking with a rough limp.

-you tend to him immediately, of course, interrogating him on what his doctor told him he should do to take care of his healing wounds. the rest of the night goes just like how the others have gone, with you making sure he's fed, warm, and resting.

-by the time you're closing his window for him, you're absolutely exhausted. you had barely gotten any sleep because of johnny's delayed return. normally, you would've let him do more for himself, but the extent of his injuries was worrying you.

-"ye ken am alright, aye?" he asks you in that low, rich voice, searching your eyes for something other than worry and sleepiness. he's sitting up in his bed by the time you walk back to him (despite the fact that you told him to lay down).

-"you're injured. you came home late."

-"what? ye have no faith in me?" he mocks hurt, trying to put a smile on your face or at least get an exhale of amusement out of you, but you weren't in the mood. he could tell by the way you didn't respond and the permanent but subtle frown on your face.

-"i know you're good at your job, johnny," you finally say, ready to call it a night.

-"good. then ye know i'll always come back home to ye, aye?"

-you swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, too tired to overthink about what he just said.

-"come here," he orders quietly, reaching out to you.

-gently, he coaxes you into laying next to him. the last time you ever slept in the same bed as johnny was when you two were kids. you were having a sleepover at his house with you in his bed and him on a spare mattress. you had a nightmare so bad it woke johnny up, but instead of brushing it off and making a joke of it, he jumped into bed with you and hugged you protectively. he said it was a good way to train for becoming a soldier, and you couldn't help but snort with laughter.

-just like back then, you had an easy time falling asleep in his arms, now.

-you woke up that morning well-rested and still encased in johnny's arms, which was impressive considering the fact that most times he sleeps in a position that looks like he flung himself across the bed.

-when he wakes up, you sit up with the intention getting breakfast up and running, but johnny doesn't like that idea.

-"johnny, it's almost eleven. we have to eat something," you chide, trying to get out of his impossibly strong grasp.

-"ye get all sad when am gone but yer trying to leave, now?"

-"well, i suppose if you're well enough to joke, you're well enough to clean the rest of the house and cook, yeah?"

-he lets go of you immediately in a comical fashion, and you have to catch yourself as you hurl out of bed from the built momentum of your escape. you look back at him with a seriously? look on your face as he laughs at your near fall.

-"doesn't that hurt?" you question him, remembering the bruise and cut near his lips and throat.

-"maybe a little," he admits. "kiss it better?"

-the grin on his face makes you think he was setting you up for that one. how could he be so confident?

-just like the times when his mother called you two a married couple, you laughed it off and headed to the kitchen to start breakfast.

-that wasn't the only time johnny's behavior changed noticeably. now, his longing stares at you were more blatant than ever. he'd hold you by the waist if he was moving past you and even told someone flirting with him "oh, i've got someone at home," while he was on call with you on the other end.

-what more could you do than accept it? it wasn't like you didn't like it, anyway.

-one night, you're both in the dining room with you standing and him sitting down on a chair. his hands are on your waist with his legs on either side of you as you reapply a band-aid to his temple (something he could very well do on his own, but any excuse to be close to you, right?).

-as you finish putting it on, your attention draws itself to his lip nearly healed. gently ghosting your finger across the barely visible bruise, you murmur, "good to see this one's basically healed."

-"awe, but it isn't," he corrects you, a slight pout on his face.

-"it isn't?"

-"no, still hurts like hell." you should've seen this one coming. "kiss it better?"

-"that's the second time you've asked me," you were rolling your eyes as you withdrew your hand from his face, but he caught your hand in his.

-"am being serious, (n/n), only a kiss'll make it better," he insists, that damn smile back on his face.

-you couldn't help but wonder if he was actually being serious or just pulling your leg.

-"how could you be so sure?" you challenged him.

-"seen it in ma dreams." oh, that was a funny one.

-"you dream about kissing people to heal your wounds?" you ask through the remnants of your laughter, but he's still looking at you with that same far-off smile on his face.

-"no, just of you."

-there's a pause between the two of you as you process what he said.

-"oh."

-he squeezes your hand with an expectant look in his eyes, like he knew you were head over heels just as much as he was for you.

-you cleared your throat and tried to ignore the searing burning in your cheeks. "well, i guess if you dreamt it, it must be true," you tell him.

-he places his unoccupied hand under your chin and guides your face to his, but he doesn't close the gap. it was like he was waiting--making sure you really wanted to go through with this.

-but you do, so you press your lips to his and he lets go of your face to put his palm on the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer toward him.

-later that night, when you're back in his arms watching your guys' favorite show and he's calling his mother to tell her the news, you can hear her shrieks of excitement coming through the phone.

-the only thing you don't hear is when she asks, "when's th' wedding?"

-"soon, hopefully," he looks at you leaning against him, head pressed against his shoulder and arm clinging to his like it was meant to be. "but there's no rush. a've waited this long, aye?"

[eccentricallygothic]

Depraved Old Men! Simon Riley | John Soap MacTavish | König

To help you keep track of the pairs; | Simon & Angel | Johnny & Petal | König & Darling |

Find Part I here.

Warning(s): Noncon/Dubcon, orgy, spanking, unprotected p-in-v, dick riding, anal, missionary, dacryphilia, dark behavior, licking, pinching, biting, age gap, Stockholm syndrome vibes, toxic forced relationships, hair pulling, Sir kink, Daddy kink, size kink, praise kink-ish. MDNI.

A few long months after the first time, when Johnny had forced it into being cut short after only the girls playing amongst themselves on account of not being in favor of the men touching each other's lovers, the ‘meetup’ is at Simon's house today.

It was only recently that the men got into discussing this proposition, as Johnny had been extremely hostile to the idea until König had ‘innocently’ shared his living room's CCTV footage of that night in the group chat. And just as intended, the action had eventually started a conversation about the possibility of such an activity once more. Since the Scot had straight up refused to participate, the other men had carefully reeled him in by dismissing him with, ‘a little humoring yourself never hurts anybody’ until they eventually succeeded in bringing him to an agreement through a very elaborate, slow and cautious process.

And now…

“It's okay, love. You're doing so well for me” Simon cooes, rather uncharacteristically if you ask Angel, as he wipes away Darling's thick tears that keep bubbling out of the corners of her eyes, shaking sideways down her face and hitting the glass table with light pats. “I've got you, Sir's got you~” her smaller body slides up and down the surface with small squeaks from how Simon is gently fucking into her since she's too small and sensitive for a rougher pace, the monstrousness of his girth causing her tiny pussy to clench with each deep thrust. “Tell me” Simon kisses away the salty nectar of her grief. “Do you like what you see?” He is holding her throat in his hand that is nearly twice its size, the rough pad of his thumb grazing against the crevice that has formed between her jaw and neck from how her head is angled upwards to look at Petal clamped around her husband's dick. 

“Ah! You're so big, Daddy! Oh, my God!” Even though Johnny had agreed to this out of his own supposed free will, the way his little girl is moaning and praising König is doing a good job at stirring his ire. “Oh, oh! I am gonna cum again!” Petal shakes as her limbs spasm upon König's mountainous legs that are built like stone, the disks of his muscles shifting under her legs with each thrust he gives her to help her keep bouncing because his cock is too much for her to ride all by herself. 

“Give it to me then, pretty girl” the humongous man rasps in his strong accent, muttering out a thread of incoherent foreign curses before he latches his balmy mouth on one of Petal's hardened nubs, the harsh sucking of his mouth causing his cheeks to hollow as his fingers connect to her sensitive clit. “Mmm… I swear you get sweeter by the second” her back arches at that and she throws her head back, letting out blood curdling moans as her body goes through another nerve shattering orgasm.

As if that is not bad enough for Johnny who has always been a possessive man especially with Petal, the fact that König now demands her to tell him that he's the best cock and orgasm she's ever had in her vulnerable state where Johnny knows her small mind will say whatever she is being told, the stoic way in which Angel treats him with almost an indifference to his cock pumping in and out of her tight pucker fills him with a kind of rage he is not sure he has felt ever before. 

Johnny's hands roughly fish under Angel's body to hoist her up and more pliant to his hold by her tits from where he has her bent over the couch to face Simon fucking Darling deep and intimate with König making a fleshlight of Petal on the side so the pairs form a sort of a triangle, ironically. 

Angel's breaths are heavy and her skin is shiny with sweat, she wouldn't be breathing through a gaping mouth and her skin wouldn't be clammy to his touch if she wasn't. But the stubborn way in which she feigns a disregard for his painful defiling of her perfect ass while holding up a defiant chin to Simon to deny the men their depraved satisfaction unlike the younger girls riles Johnny up to do worse.

And so he crushes Angel's nipples between his fingers before thrusting into her so hard that she nearly doubles over from how his tip hits her guts. “Think you can get away with this shit, can ya?” His accent is so rough in her ear that she can barely comprehend it. “You think I can't break through this tough bitch shit of yours, eh?” Emotion breaks onto Angel's face for the first time ever since she had been ordered to relieve herself of her clothes before being told to bend over.

She cries out from how Johnny snatches her earlobe between his teeth and sinks them down into the tender skin before he grinds it back and forth between them. Her arms helplessly flail at her sides and she blindly claws behind her to try and pull him off. But all she can do is bounce in the air while her ass cheeks clap against Johnny's cock, his fingers cruelly stretching her nipples past the limits of their flexibility and his teeth torturing her into pleading for mercy.

Simon glances up at her from Darling's devastated form. Their eyes lock and though he isn't one to show much emotion, a hint of a smirk plays at his lips. Good. Johnny is finally figuring it out. Angel is not one to back down easily. She has a thing for making it hard for herself and who are they to deny the thrill that she throws their way herself? Despite her rigorous training with Simon ever since he decided her for himself, she has managed to retain her pride. 

And that cannot do.

She must be taught her place. And if Simon is not the one doing it, then who better than his best mate?

Darling turns her head away from her unfaithful husband when he forces yet another orgasm out of Petal. And Simon is right there to swoop in like a knight in shining armor. 

“Oh, you poor little babe” the baritone of his low voice mixed with his accent is like the finest cool malt sliding down a parched tongue. “So cruel to a sweet little thing such as yourself, isn't he?” Darling's bottom lip wobbles in what just may be the most innocent way Simon has ever seen. A fresh batch of tears wells up in her eyes as she struggles to keep her arms folded above her head in the way she had been initially ordered to do. 

Simon lets his warm hands take hold of her sides before he rubs them back and forth to comfort her, his lips capturing hers in a soft kiss and he squeezes her tense hips. The action causes the younger girl to whimper into his mouth, the man's collecting of her legs around his waist making his dick slide in so deep that it hits her deep in her cervix and she cries out.

“S- Sir!” Darling whispers, her face contorted from the painful pleasure. 

“What do you say we show him what he's missing out on,” he catches one of her tears in a delicate kiss on her cheekbone, hot tongue darting out to collect its remainder from her lash line in an elegant swipe next. “Hm?” The vibration of his hum drums into her quivering chest as she pants for breath. There is such a difference in their sizes that whilst she lays on the table, Simon kneels on the floor and still it is her who hangs upwards where his thick cock pumps in and out of her sopping pussy. 

Simon loves it. Because he knows she doesn't mean to, he is aware that this is more devastating to her little mind than it will ever be pleasurable enough, it is clear that she only takes the deep, intimate fucking with the pliance that she does because she doesn't have a choice; he can feel her fear of him. And yet, she milks him with each thrust, whimpers with each pinch and squeeze, moans into every kiss. 

Unaware, unwilling, but still wanton. 

Darling does not have Angel's unwavering will and challenge, nor does she have Petal's stubborn and brattiness, no. In fact, she is the sweet naive wife who accepts what hubby says as the supreme truth. To question or speculate is not in her nature; holding her own against authority a sin to her small mind. 

There is not much that surprises Simon, but when she slowly nods after examining his face with a vacant gaze and her parted mouth closes so she can let out a meek little, “Y- Yes, sir…” The older man nearly bursts into her right then and there.

“Very well, then” he traps her mouth in his in a deep kiss before letting his tongue invade her warm oral cavern at last, his bigger hands lifting her arms from above her head to wrap around his mountainous shoulders before he coils the hair at the back of her head around his fingers and pulls. The action elicits the expected whine out of her and she finally cums, indicating to Simon that he is in since she had been too out of it to let herself loose to his touch and cock before now.

Only one dilemma remains now.

She has come without his permission.

And being out of control, Simon does not appreciate.

. . .

I appreciate and humbly request your feedback as it keeps me motivated. And reblogs help circulate my work <3

[leathfaic]

Ghost thinks he's cracked the code when he gifts Johnny an ultra complicated lego set for Christmas. Something to keep his hands and mind busy for a while.

He's watching, with terror and awe as Soap burns through a 1000+ pieces in an hour, with half a bottle of whiskey in him - drinking more while he's at it. He smiles the whole way through, though - and Ghost gets a tipsy peck on his cheek. Which might or might not have made the whole endeavour worth it.

"Thought that might keep you busy a while longer." he admits later, when he's deep into his own cups.

"Ach, dinnae sound so disappointed Ghostie, not'ing in there tha' can explode. Can work fast and sloppy."

Ghost just spent an hour staring at Johnny's hands and the concentration painted on his face. He knows there was nothing sloppy about that assembly. But he has to admit that compared to Soap's usual jobs, this is bound to be rather calming.

His eyes meet Price's over in another corner of the room. And the message, conveyed by a single raised eyebrow is clear. Ghost is not to add explosives to any gifts, even if it would make Soap very happy.

So naturally the next time - at Johnny's birthday - he slaps down a timer and a fully assembled lego set.

"Better get it done in time Johnny. And no cheating."

The way Soap's face lights up at the implication that there might be a bomb in his birthday gift should be concerning. But all it does is make Ghost wish there actually were some.

Johnny is a good sport about properly disassembling the marzipan compromise inside though. And just to prove he can immediately rebuilds the legos into the other figure they can form - taking a shot every time he has to look at the manual.

And when he carries his way too drunk partner to bed, Ghost vows to apply for Christmas leave. Which is something he hasn't done since...well for a long, long time.

Johnny, being the man that he is, never questions why they are going to spend Christmas in the countryside. A small cottage barely worth the name, as far away from other people as you can get on the Isles.

He just takes the chance to kiss Ghost every chance he gets, enjoying the fact that their isolation means he's getting an unprecedented amount of mask-free Simon.

"Got a surprise for you out in the shed, sweetheart." Ghost whispers when he catches Soap from behind while the man is about to open a bottle.

"Sounds like what a serial killer would say to lure ye into the open."

Ghost decides not to ponder that. With the reality of their jobs that answer... more than he's willing to argue right now.

"Should wait with that until you've had the surprise." he says instead, gently taking the bottle from Soap. Who for the first time frowns.

Ghost relents and they bring the scotch to the shed.

When Soap sees what he cooked up, he whistles low, no need to confirm that what he's seeing is the real deal.

It has taken all of Ghost's knowledge about explosives to craft the abomination. The two lego sets combined with a new third one, 6 sets of cables - all the same colour, and of course a live charge inside.

Johnny goes all still. Stalks closer like he's trying to get the drop on the inanimate object.

Watches it from all sides before turning to Ghost, "Do Ah need to follow protocol?"

His voice clearly tells him he hopes he does not have to. Ghost once again feels vindicated in his choice to move them out here, just pressing the bottle back into Soap's hand with a smile.

If this is what takes them both out then it's already worth it for the unhinged grin it gets him. Johnny's feral joy is infectious, and when he finally steps away raising his hands like he's expecting a crowd to cheer, Ghost honestly couldn't tell you how much time had passed.

He doesn't get a chance to ponder it either because the next second he's tackled by a full grown Scot with a half empty bottle of scotch in his hand and taken clean of his feet.

And if he hadn't already convinced this had been worth it, then the way Johnny makes sure to say thank you certainly is.

They do not make it back to the cottage for a good long while.

(This whole thing was inspired by my dear beloved @dismightyman who's singlehandedly holding it down in the Ghoap trenches with me)

[supercap2319]

Kraven catches you and has his way with you.

You had tried to get away from him, but let's be honest. The dude's name was Kraven The Hunter. There was no way you were getting out of this one and escaping scot-free, but that was probably the point of it all. Kraven was probably somewhere nearby, laughing and smiling at the thought of you escaping from him.

You headed towards a clearing next to a stone platform and before you could even pass it, a trap was triggered. A bunch of ropes ensared you in their grasp as it tied up your hands and feet and bent you forward towards the platform.

After a few tries, You realized that you weren't going anywhere. That's when you heard clapping behind you and you immediately knew that it was Kraven. The sound of his boots crunched underneath leaves as he got closer to you. "Lookie what I caught. A scared little rabbit all nice and wrapped up just for me." His voice was low and husky.

"Kraven, wait! We can talk about this, right? I'm sure we can talk about this." You squirmed harder than before.

Kraven laughed. "Oh, I'm afraid the time for talking is over my friend. The only reason why you're not dead like everyone else on my list is because I have other methods of punishment...." He let that sink in as he brushed a hand over your ass. "I think you can guess what that entails."

"No! You can't." You cried.

"Oh, but I can. And you're going to love every minute of it." Kraven took out a knife and pretty soon there was a hole between your pants and your bare ass as Kraven gave your butt a firm smack and laughed when you yelped.

"K-Kraven? Please?"

"Hush now. Anymore back talk and I won't be as gentle. But I suspect you like it rough." Kraven said. He licked a stride of your entrance, and when you moaned, he buried his face in your tight virgin hole as you were soon begging and crying for more.

[bamdelune]

tears of the condemned .𖥔 ݁ ˖ neuvillette x reader

summary ➜ The Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale rarely ever made errors in its judgement, suitable persecution befalling those on the other side of the law. The Iudex of Fontaine was well-aware and familiar with that fact but the Oratrice's final verdict cause his judgement to go sideways, because it involved you.

warnings/tags/notes ➜ the summary is a warning in itself, angst [i never payed much attention to neuvillette but seeing a few fics about him got me to write this heheuehe + info and events might be canon-divergent because i haven't unlocked fontaine yet but hey, i tried my best 🤓☝️]

Neuvillette truly did not understand why so many people sought out Fontanian hearings, as if watching the accused and the persecution go back and forth was an amusing routine incorporated in their daily lives. To the citizens, it seemed like hearings were an elaborate play that they could watch for entertainment instead of a catalyst to serve righteousness. The Chief Justice certainly did not have a taste for it, especially when the audience was filled with hushed chatter about the case today: your case; surprise, you do not play the part of the persecution but you are the accused.

Murder, both you and Neuvillette found it impossible to believe you could committ such an act but as the Iudex, he must learn not to let this cloud his judgement; Neuvillette must not his doubts pass the verdict instead of rationality.

"The evidence presented by the plaintiff shows us that there is no concrete reason to convict the defendant," His eyes catch your form relax, even by just a bit from his statement. "However, as practice, the final verdict will be determined by the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale." Silence fills the Opera Epiclese as the mechanism moves between the scales.

Neuvillette's skin goes cold when the Oratrice has decided your fate.

Guilty.

Gasps erupt inside the opera and your expression is filled with dumbfoundedness. This was not the first time this happened but he's learned to trust the Oratrice's judgement over his own.

But can he truly put aside his bias if it meant getting you out of this predicament? Can he truly cross the law, the one aspect that founded everything that he has done so far.

Your voice rips out from the silence, riddled with desperation as you plead out to him.

"That's—that's not true at all! Monsieur Neuvillette, there must be some kind of mistake!"

Neuvillette clenches his fists, head straining from the thoughts that ran through his mind. He knew there was a mistake, he knew that the Oratrice can go against his own verdict but he's conflicted. Should he let you off scot-free or send you to the depths of Fortress of Merop—

"The judgement of the Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale is the final verdict of the court. We have no choice but to follow through with it. Please take the suspect into custody," his mouth opens before he could even think about anything else. Neuvillette swallows thickly, seeing the defeated look on your face—as if the stale silence of the courthouse gave way to the sounds of your heart shattering into tiny pieces; the heart that he had promised to take care of so sincerely every day and the heart he swore to never toss away.

The Fortress is a place meant for solitude, for the convicted to reflect on their actions but all you could think of was how dark and scary it was in your cell. It was clean for the most part, that you were thankful for but other than that, all sense of time seemed to blur. It was lonely, but being falsely arrested like this by your beloved helped you feel lonelier. You felt empty, almost numb like a hollow glass that threatened to break with a push that was enough to break and Neuvillette crossing your trust like that was the trigger.

Footsteps resound through the corridor outside your place, your head lifts to see him.

"Why are you here?" Neuvillette seems to almost wince at how your voice sounded so... colorless, deprived of the life he's grown to love. You never intended it to come out that way but being in here rarely gave you the privilege of human interactions, "Are you going to set me free, monsieur?"

The Chief Justice opens and closes his mouth, clearly conflicted on what he was going to say next, because what could you say to your (assumingly former) lover whom you just convicted of a murder in front of the public?

"No," he replies, like he's still in court. You dryly chuckle at his response. "Have you come to reprimand me then? That must be it right? The lover of the Iudex of Fontaine, condemned to a life behind bars at the hands of her own beloved, thst must sound terrible to you, yes? Does a number to your honorable image to the people," Your tone gradually turned more bitter at each word knowing the fact that he could've saved you, or at the very least kept you anywhere but here until the evidence and verdict lined up in agreement.

"I care less about my own image, mon chéri—"

Another gasp of a laugh falls from your lips, "Don't. Don't you dare call me that if you will spit such lies in the same breath."

"Would you rather me threaten the sanctity of my title as Iudex?" Neuvillete responds right after, his tone stern and almost to a level of a scream. You would've flinched if you weren't so agitated.

"I wish you would," you mutter under your breath. You were so desperate for authentic justice to be served. Knowing the citizens of Fontaine, this incident would leave a stain on your image. No matter where you'll go, you aren't free from the scrutinizing eyes of the people. Your life will never be the same.

Neuvillette scoffs, "Do you hear yourself? Do you know what you are asking of me?" He was angry now. See, when he gets irritated, Neuvillette is never the type to aggressively express such a feeling but rather, he emits a silent aura that just unsettles you to an extent. But you have to stand your ground.

"Such a selfish request for your circumstances."

Now it's your turn to huff an exhale, hurt gnawing at your chest at every word he spoke.

"Selfish? I'm selfish for asking for justice for a horrendous act of violence both you and I know I never committed?"

Your voice almost gave out under the weight of the sting of your chest, nearly cracking as you raise your voice at him, "You know the Oratrice can make mistakes, Neuvillette—"

"The Oratrice's judgement is absolute, it does not make errors," the man interjects. A beat of silence stays.

"You never believed my words, even for a moment, didn't you?"

Neuvillette swallows, eyes somehow on your face but never on your eyes. He's hyper-aware of the fact that he's hurt you more than enough times he promised not to, never. He always promised that he wouldn't be the one to shatter your heart into tiny pieces and crush them under the soles of his feet. He was the one that vowed to stay by your side amidst the intimidating whispers that talk, talk, and talk about how you would murder an innocent citizen in cold blood. And now he knew.

He had gone back on his word.

It doesn't take him a reply before you started again. "You lied to me," you muttered.

"You're correct, I never believed you for one second," Neuvillette responds, voice low. His mouth opens before he could even think about it.

No. He always would. Over anyone and anything else.

He cringes slightly at this. The Iudex of Fontaine behind closed doors was a complex man. He is built of layers upon layers of emotional concealing, it was never a good thing for him to blatantly open up to someone—but of course, that changed because of you.

"You're foolish to think you could've slipped past the Oratrice's verdict,"

You didn't. He knew that, you did nothing wrong.

"The time has come for you to pay your dues." Neuvillette fronts.

Let me get you out of here. Neuvillette pleads

You fall silent by the tail of his words, barely getting enough courage to look him in the eye. Too much, it was all too much.

"Just—just leave, I don't want to see you," you mumble, defeated. Your eyes catch the way salty tears softly drip onto your clenched fists, wiping your face with the back of your hand. If you were alone in a lonely cell, so be it.

You hear his footsteps hesitate for a moment before they clack away, getting softer and farther with each step.

Heavy rain littered the streets of Fontaine that day.

Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, wipe the tears from your face. Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry.

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