#are you cunts ready for a near death experience?!?

[krskrash]

this is so my book 😂

[charnelhouse]

I’m not saying soap would definitely eat ghosts cum out of red but …

A/N: Ghost x F!Reader (Red Fox) x Soap. Mentions of painful sex/dp.

It’s between the three of them. The moments are rare, but they happen. All those near-death experiences. All that bloodshed and adrenaline working through them like dry, rasping kindling ready for a fire. 

“Fuck, lass,” Soap mumbles against her throat, fingers knotting in her hair. “Yah make me feel like I'm burnin’.”

She’s trembling, her lashes wet and clumped together, and a terrible bruise creeping across her cheekbone, swelling something fierce. Ghost’s enormous hands latch onto her hips. He cocks his head, blue eyes breaking ground as they meet Soap’s. It took him a long time to realize that Simon even had blue eyes due to all the coal-dark​​ war paint hiding the truth of them.

Simon’s thumb sweeps over the bruise on Red’s cheek. He presses his naked lips to it, and she shudders. “I’d kill the bastard again,” he declares. “I’d kill him a thousand fuckin’ times, duchess.”

Soap seals his front to her back, touching her between her legs. He lives for how she gets wet and locks up tight like a monkey fist knot.

He calls her a calamity. He calls her a hurricane, banshee, and siren and says it with so much deference that you’d think he was the one in love, not Simon.

Fuck it. Maybe, he is. 

Maybe, he’s a foolish mad cunt. 

***

When he walks in on them, he isn’t sure if it’s an accident or another invitation. 

He assumes that nothing Red or Ghost do is ever unintentional. 

The hallway is full of shadows and gray-blue moonlight. 3 am. A safe house in Cork. The air here smells like yellow furze and cider, and Red demanded they take her to the butter museum. 

Ghost has her cheek shoved against the wall as he fucks her from behind. Her linen sleep shorts are around her ankles, her back arched, and her legs kicked apart. Ghost claims her in long, powerful strokes, and she’s nearly forced onto her toes each time he drives to the hilt. The flesh of her ass quivers, and her teeth flash white as she bites down on her lower lip. 

Their noises are low and quiet - everything wrapped in tissue paper and wool. 

He steps closer, and Ghost turns his head to look at him. His mask is on, his eyes glinting like bits of black glass as he coaxes her through it. Soap doesn’t know what Ghost calls her in the dark. He doesn’t know everything they discuss when they’re curled up together, when they communicate through expression alone. 

He watches as Ghost’s pace grows sloppy. He’s breathing hard, his hand on her waist visibly tightening as he braces his other hand on her shoulder. Soap continues forward. The team is sleeping below them. Just a floor away. 

He knows he won’t get instructions here. This is all just instinct. The three of them functioning as a single unit as they have done out on the field. The only wrinkle in the fabric is that he can’t wind himself into the golden net that holds them together. 

You must love her then.

Shut up, Johnny.

He knows he has a place with them, more so than the rest of the team, but sometimes he wishes he could have more. He wishes he could absorb the two of them to understand what scuttles through their heads day in and day out. 

“Fuckk,” Simon rasps, sinking to the root as he empties himself. “Good girl…bloody fuckin’ good for me….I want-”

The words dwindle to red-hot coals. He whispers them into her ear so that Soap misses the rest. 

It’s not an accident. 

When he eases himself out of Red, she flinches. Simon’s cock hangs heavy between his legs, shiny with Red’s cunt. Soap wonders if he’s branded her insides, if he’s left his mark by stretching her to her limit. Soap scrubs a hand over his jaw before pushing a lock of Red’s hair out of her eyes. “Too sore for me, bonnie?”

Foxy. Red. Red. Red. 

Sometimes all he can see is the color red: sunsets, blood, wine, and cough medicine. 

She leans into Soap’s touch. “No,” she returns - all sharp and sturdy. It would take a million sticks of dynamite to unmoor her. “I can take you, Johnny.”

Once, they’d fucked her at the same time. Simon worked his way into her ass as Soap kept her impaled on his cock. It was too much. Even though they’d prepped her, she was digging her nails so deeply into Soap’s shoulders he started bleeding. She didn’t say a word. She wouldn’t admit failure until Simon finally had to stop because he could sense it, smell it off her. It was like his special telepathy: knowing when Red was in pain. 

I want to be part of it - part of that. 

Soap had had various girlfriends throughout his life. First loves. Temporary affairs. 

Not like this. Nothing like this. 

She flips her hair over her shoulder as she casts Soap one of those Siren-stares that uproot him, shove him off his axis. He moves behind her, dragging a palm down her spine, catching in the wrinkles of her cotton shirt. Ghost is tucking himself back into his pants before leaning against the wall, massive arms crossing over an enormous chest. 

“Be good to her, Johnny,” he warns. 

“When is he not?” Red murmurs defensively, and oh, that rides his lungs, fills his chest with warmth and flickering wings. She trusts him. 

“I know,” Ghost mutters. “I know that.

Soap likes that too. 

“What’s he done to you, lass,” he husks as he crouches, his hands on her ass as he spreads her apart so he can see what Ghost has done to her pussy. It’s dark, all soaked and swollen as milky seed drips down the lips of her sex and the insides of her thighs. 

He wants to do something new. Imbibe both of them. He wants a piece of what they have, and they’ve already given him a key. His off-white invitation. 

Slowly, he leans forward and glides the flat of his tongue through her folds. She shivers and jerks a little, and Soap knows he’s caught her off guard. He presses harder, and buries his face into her from behind. It practically forces her up the wall, onto her toes, just as Ghost did as he fucked her. 

He laps indecently, flicks her clit, and teases her entrance. He savors the salt and the skin, and his face is so embedded into her ass and cunt that he might just meld with her flesh. He feels Ghost trace his hairline with a gloved finger before he fists his short hair. It encourages Soap to lick further and then pump his fingers into her already fucked-out pussy.  

The act of it is crude and filthy. It’s nothing he’s ever done before, and it makes him painfully aroused. He can’t imagine what the rest of 141 would see if they crept up the stairs and found them. Soap on his knees, spreading his teammate open as he devours L.T. 's come out of her.

Doesn’t matter. 

None of it does. 

It’s theirs. Just this. This interlude in a moonlit hallway miles from their next mission.

[dreamcubed]

end game | fred weasley x reader

song; end game [taylor swift, ed sheeran, future] pairing; fred weasley x prankster!gender neutral!reader genre; established relationship, angst with a happy ending, fluff word count; 1,8k timeline; battle of hogwarts (feat. a lot of flashbacks) warnings; graphic violence, swearing, severe injuries (not descriptive), near death experience summary; all the times you and fred joked around in ways that reflected your prankster reputations, and the one time you had to be serious

masterlist

"you and me, we got big reputations."

———————————————

"Where's Fred?" you yelled, the sounds of crumbling walls surrounding you.

"I don't know!" George screamed back, sending a shot of red light towards a death eater, "I haven't seen him!"

"Oh, fuck," you mumbled, running off through a barely intact archway with your wand in hand and ready.

You had to find him.

***

"Alright, why is my hair purple?" Fred asked, looking between you and George incredulously.

You shrugged, "I don't know how that could possibly have happened."

George struggled to hold in his laughter as Fred stared you down - although, he wasn't very threatening as he was struggling to suppress a smile (much like his brother).

"Love, what did you do?"

"Nothing," you said, your face stretched into a grin, "I'm completely innocent."

"Why don't I believe you, hm?" he said, stepping closer to you and leaning down so your faces were centimetres apart.

You shrugged, "I genuinely don't know. Why would I do such a thing to you?"

"Good question. You're supposed to love me."

"I do love you. I'd never ruin your ginger hair for two weeks."

His face fell, "Two weeks? I'm stuck like this for two weeks?!"

George stopped trying to hold in his laughter and quickly collapsed to the floor in fits, you following suit.

"Godric, I hate you both."

"No, you don't," you forced out breathlessly between laughs.

***

You ran past Molly and Ginny Weasley, but didn't have a chance to ask if they knew where Fred was. They were so busy in battle it would have been dangerous to distract them.

You would just have to seek him out alone.

Where was he?

***

"Looks like we have the house to ourselves, my love," Fred said, stepping into the living room from the kitchen.

You were at the Burrow for Christmas, like you were most years. Molly was always more than happy to invite you to stay at hers instead of your family's or Hogwarts. You couldn't say no to spending your second favourite time of the year with Fred (April Fool's being the ultimate favourite, of course).

"Don't tell me you have dirty thoughts in that head of yours, Weasley."

"For once, no," he said, and his genuine honesty surprised you.

"What are you thinking about, then?"

He moved towards you with a mischievous grin on his face, and just as his hands were near your exposed mid-riff, he whispered, "This."

Quicker than you could react, he picked you up and threw you on the sofa, beginning to tickle you relentlessly causing you to start scream-laughing. It was a good thing no one was there to hear, as the sound was probably concerning.

"Fred!" you gasped out, "Please! Have mercy!"

He paused for a second, "Hm, should I-?"

You cut him off by lurching yourself forward to tickle him as payback: you were never one to miss the opportunity of his hesitance.

"Okay! Okay! I'm sorry!" he begged when you continued to tickle him, even though you both knew full well he could have probably overpowered you and stopped you had he wanted to.

You stopped with your actions and collapsed on top of him, still letting out small giggles as you did so.

"Moments like this are my favourite," he said, combing his hand through your hair.

"Shut up, you cheesy cunt."

***

"Fred, you cunt, where are you?" you mumbled, rounding another corner as you felt your lungs begin to burn.

A death eater sent a likely fatal spell your way, and you wordlessly cast a shield before stupefying them. Merlin, they really were trying to make your task harder than it already was.

***

"Stop laughing!"

You clutched your belly, collapsing on to the ground: not even five minutes ago you had been sat securely on the sofa.

"You're not being very supportive right now," he mumbled, which only made you laugh harder.

"I'm- I'm sorry-" you genuinely couldn't stop yourself from cackling - every single time you laid your eyes on the secondhand robes that Molly had provided for the Yule Ball, a new fit of laughter overcame you.

Fred stopped pouting and stretched his lips into a grin. You had known all too well that he had never actually felt embarrassed about the robes: the Weasley twins didn't know the emotion of embarrassment.

"Bet you can't wait to show up to the ball with this fashionable and sexy snack by your side," he struck a pose.

"Oh, I'm melting in anticipation," you said monotonously, only to continue your giggles again afterwards.

"Melting? Where'd you get melting from?"

You shrugged as he approached you, leaning down with his face inches from yours. He stared into your eyes for a few moments.

"I love you, you know that?"

You nodded sheepishly, "I love you too."

"Rare I get that out of you," he flicked your forehead, "Now, come on, we have to make your Yule Ball attire as hideous as mine."

***

Finally, you caught sight of Fred across all the rubble: he was stood alongside Percy, the both of them working together like they never had before. Despite their differences, you had always known they did in fact have that brotherly love for each other.

"Fred!" you yelled out, strategically beginning to make your way over to them.

He hadn't heard you because the various duels around you were making too much noise. He hadn't spotted you either.

***

"Y/N! Please help me!" you heard the whines of Ron from across the Three Broomsticks. You looked in his direction to see that Fred was holding his wand out of reach as a means of brotherly torture.

You left your friend group to wander over to where they were, grinning at George in the process who was laughing.

"What's this about then?" you asked both Fred and Ron, your arms crossed.

"Nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart," your boyfriend beamed, holding up the wand even higher.

"Yes, it is! Stop him!" Ron groaned, "He'll listen to you!"

Fred scoffed, "Who said?"

"Me! I said," the younger brother replied, "You dote on Y/N's every single word."

"Not true."

A smirk had crept on to your face, because you knew that it was very much true. The look on George's face said that even he was sceptical of his twin brother's denying.

Feeling sympathetic towards the situation that the youngest Weasley brother was in, you gave a small chuckle and said, "Give him a rest, babe. He goes through enough as it is."

Fred gave you a half-hearted glare and reluctantly gave Ron his wand back, making the boy turn to you and thank you religiously before rejoining Harry and Hermione at their table in the corner.

"You're ruining my reputation," Fred grumbled, pulling you into his side and pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Mm, like you care."

The grin that his lips stretched into told you that your words rang true, and that you were more important to him than how he was perceived.

"I'm so sick of you two," George groaned.

***

Something didn't feel right.

Why did you feel such all-consuming dread?

***

It was the Weasley twins' grand escape from Hogwarts under the tyrannical reign of Dolores Umbridge, and while you were just as excited as they were, you were also sad because you wanted to finish your NEWTs before joining them at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes - meaning you would miss them both, especially Fred.

You were gathered with everyone gazing out of the large hole in the wall that they had created and you had helped plan for, watching them dart around on their brooms among fireworks.

Just as you thought they were going to leave, Fred swooped down close to where you were and grinned, "I'll miss you, love," he shouted, "You'll marry me, right?"

Shock coursed through your system as he dropped a small velvet box in your hand, the students all around you gasping at the impromptu proposal. You opened it to reveal a gorgeous ring that had to have cost more than anything the Weasleys' had ever owned.

"I'm gonna need an answer quick!" he yelled, "I have to get out of here!"

"Of course I'll marry you, you stupid fuck!"

He grinned at you and with one last shout of "I love you!" zoomed off into the horizon with George.

You stared after them longingly, clutching the box tightly to your chest.

***

A sinking feeling grew in your stomach as you got nearer to Fred and Percy whilst simultaneously surveying your surroundings. The shadowy figure of a death eater was looming close to them, evidently preparing to cast a spell - not directly at the two, it seemed.

You watched in pure horror as the death eater caused on explosion on a nearby piece of castle wall, right where the love of your life was. Your pace increased tenfold as you yelled out your fiancé's name, preparing yourself for what you knew you had to do.

The wall started crumbling and Fred, who was still oblivious due to not having heard you, was directly underneath where it would fall. You lurched yourself forward, throwing your body on to him and knocking you both over into rubble, barely missing the falling debris. The landing had hurt you, but it would have hurt Fred even more as he was the one underneath.

You scrambled up to check his face and make sure he was conscious and breathing.

He was: he was staring at you in shock.

"You- you saved me."

"Well, I wasn't gonna let you die!" you said, finding tears running down your face.

He hugged you tightly, wincing in the process as he was now undoubtedly injured, "Thank you, sweetheart. Thank you so fucking much."

You sobbed, pressing a kiss to his lips for the briefest of moments before getting up: you couldn't leave Percy to cover for the two of you any longer.

Fred was alive, thank Merlin, and he remained that way throughout the rest of the Battle of Hogwarts.

"We're having our wedding as soon as possible," he murmured as you were helping treat the badly injured in the aftermath, "I can't waste anymore time."

"Fred-"

"I can't believe I nearly left you alone," he was crying, you could see that, "You and Georgie."

"Please, Fred, let's not think about that," you said, grabbing his arm, "There's no use making ourselves upset about what could've happened when it didn't happen."

He sniffed, "You're right," he then gave a small chuckle, "You always are."

You gave a tiny smile.

"It's one of the reasons why I love you so much."

————————————————

masterlist

written; 13/11/2022 —> 11/12/2022 published; 11/12/2022 edited; —/—/——

taglist ; @workinatdapyramid @iluvweasleys

[monstersinthecosmos]

Marius will visit a therapist because he's the wisdom vampire. But he'll end up turning his therapist as a lesson because how dare they make assumptions about him without surving 2000 years themselves!

Dgjkadls STOP LOL

This is actually so on brand for like Old Canon Marius who like, yknow, tends to SAY STUFF but doesn’t actually mean it because it’s part of the character he’s crafted for himself. Like, of course he WANTS to be a wise patient mentor and he tells people like Pandora and Armand that he wants them to CHALLENGE HIM because he thinks that’s something a wise patient mentor would say, when in reality he actually doesn’t want to be challenged, and reacts very poorly to being challenged.

So that type of Marius would ONE HUNDRED PERCENT book some therapy to say “wow can you believe it, look at me, I am so enlightened I am so modern and open minded, I am such an example of non-toxic masculinity I cannot believe this, is everyone looking? Do you all see me doing it? Should I tell you about it? Can I announce to the entire Court that I can’t come tomorrow bc I have a 8pm with Steven? He makes a special night slot for me do you believe it.”

But then like. Is he gonna actually do the work? Does he allow Steven to challenge him? Does he go to therapy thinking that he’s going to be validated for all his petty bitching and does he think he’s paying somebody to have an outlet to complain about his life??????????????????? When Steven suggests “Marius I wonder if the common denominator here is you” does Marius FREAK THE FUCK OUT?? (Yes lol.)

((I’m laughing, if you’re into nerdy psychology shit and ever watched In Treatment on HBO, this is very much Colin & Brooke’s dynamic in Season 4 where he’s presenting himself as this enlightened guy who isn’t too masc for therapy but then it’s an act and he becomes a raging misogynist when she asserts herself with him D: ))

But anyway I cannot roast Old Canon Marius without also saying that in my mind, Post-Canon Marius has been humbled and is ready to do the work and stop being a cunt.

I’ve been tinkering with a vampire therapy fic (don’t tell anyone) and how it would look for them. Yknow in a way that isn’t cheesy LOL. But like how could they learn about psychology and how can they apply it to their unique lifestyles and brain structure. Who can they learn from, and is it possible to talk to someone or is it always going t be just reading self help books? But idk I just felt like the series ended on such a hopeful note. Marius is ready to stop hating himself for being a vampire, he’s ready to try to talk to Armand (honestly, I think?), they all just had a harrowing near death experience that might call their feelings about mortality into question. He’s going THROUGH IT with Pandora omfg. Ahjgklad.

Anyway. !!!!!!!! I believe in him lol he will be rehabilitated.

SORRY I FEEL LIKE YOU SEND THIS ASK AS A JOKE BUT IM JUST, FULL OF FEELINGS YOU CAN’T EXPECT ME TO NOT CRY ABOUT MARIUS WHENEVER SOMEONE GIVES ME THE OPPORTUNITY

[cockslutpadalecki]

Ok here’s one. Steve rescues some public figure’s daughter and she’s a total bratty cunt. Before delivering her home safe and sound steve decides to fuck some manners into her 😏

Sound of Silence

Pairing: Mean!Steve x F!Reader.

Words: 1.3K.

Warnings: non-con/dub-con, bratty!reader, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, a little humiliation, a pinch of degradation, female orgasm, 18+. MINORS DNI.

A/N: I don’t know if this is what you had in mind but... this is where mine went, heheh. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support our content creators by sharing our work.

Steve wishes he hadn’t bothered with a lot of things today. Getting out of bed, skipping the gym, saving the senator’s daughter. 

Entitled little princess has barely acknowledged his presence since he rescued her, too busy documenting her “near death” experience for social media. Steve doesn’t get it— the need to share every tiny detail about her life, the need to seek a stranger’s validation because her daddy is too busy paying attention to his mistresses than his own kin. 

Her voice grates on him as he drives her home, her slight nasally twang that causes his temples to throb in irritation. Like plucking a guitar string over and over until it snaps. He’s gonna need one hell of a drink and a couple of women or five to cleanse himself of this experience.

“Yeah, that frozen ice guy… Colonel America or something, I dunno,” she mutters into her cell phone as she mindlessly checks her manicure before tutting in disgust. “Shit, you ruined my nails,” she adds, aiming it at Steve.

Colonel America? Is the vapid little bitch for real?

“Sure, I’ll get Sonny to drive me over as soon as I’m home, if the old man decides to ever put his foot on the gas.” 

Steve violently swerves the car to the left and pulls up at the side of the road, his hands shaking as he puts the car into park.

“What the hell are you doing?” she moans, finally pulling her attention away from her cell and hangs up. 

“You can walk from here,” he tells her curtly.

She scoffs incredulously. “Walk? These are Louboutins!” She points down at her heeled feet in horror.

“You got hands, carry them.” Steve presses the button to unlock her door, the distinct click loud in the silence of the car. 

“You promised you’d take me home. What if someone attacks me?” 

Steve watches her eye the long winding road nervously, the old and gnarled trees bowing overhead, giving the road a tunnel-like appearance. 

“Sure they’ll change their mind real quick when you start talking.”

He enjoys the way her brow furrows at that— a mixture of confusion and hurt, and his crotch stirs a little. 

“Just wait ‘til I tell my Daddy about this,” she dramatically huffs again before slowly gathering up her purse and pushes open the door. Steve can tell she’s purposely taking her time, no doubt hoping he’ll have a change of heart and tell her to remain in the car, but he’s giddy at the thought of driving back to the compound in silence.

He chuckles. “I doubt he’ll care, in fact, he’ll probably thank me for leavin’ you out here.”

She opens her mouth to speak, and suddenly Steve is plagued with thoughts of stuffing his cock down her throat to shut her up, but he knows she’ll still find a way to piss him off while she’s gagging on his dick. 

She tuts as she hurries out of the car, hand on the door ready to push it closed when she changes her mind, glaring at him as she leaves it wide open and begins to walk off. 

Fucking brat.

Steve watches her through the windshield, enjoying the view of her ass wiggling from side to side a little more than he cares to admit when she changes trajectory and walks in front of the car, blocking his way. 

Crossing her arms over her chest, she stares him down in contempt. He feels his jaw tighten as he curls his hands into strained fists, itching to hit something. With trembling fingers, he manages to roll down his window with the press of a button.

“Move,” he calls out to her.

“Not until you agree to take me home, like you promised.”

“Your Daddy promised me you weren’t a stubborn little cunt, but I guess we’re all breaking them today, aren’t we?”

Her features twist at his words, clearly having never been spoken to this way before, but still she stands firm. Steve moves to turn on the ignition, the roar of the engine making her jump momentarily, and his cock twitches again at the sight of seeing her scared. 

“Move out of the fuckin’ way before I get out and move you myself,” he warns. “With force.”

She shakes her head in defiance, shuffling closer to the hood. 

Steve snaps. He shuts off the car and climbs out almost blind with rage, storming towards her in three large strides. Her arms drop to her sides when she realises he’s intent on seeing through his threat, and stumbles backwards a little in an attempt to create distance. 

He’s too fast for her, grabbing at the nape of her neck and yanks her hard against his chest. She slaps out at him, but her blows feel like kitten licks on his skin.

“Ow, let go!” 

“I warned you, didn’t I? Gave you the opportunity to do the right thing, but no, you just had to push me,” he grits out and with one swift move, he forces her over the hood.

She squirms against him, her ass brushing over his groin and he growls deeply under his breath. Steve quickly flips up her skirt, marvelling at her supple and delicate skin before his eyes drift lower, over the dark wet patch staining her panties. His cock swells at the sight and he inwardly groans, suddenly desperate to taste her.

“Did you piss your pants, little girl?” he mocks with a small laugh, using the fingers of his spare hand to run them across the saturated fabric. He shouldn’t be so aroused by the fact she might’ve, but it arouses him even more to think she’s turned on. She bucks against his hand when his fingertips slip over her folds, bunching the damp material between them. 

“N-no,” she stutters. 

“So you always get this wet when you’re scolded, huh?” Steve removes his hand from the nape of her neck to join the other, and she yells when he rips off her underwear in one sharp tug. “Bet Daddy’s little girl has never been told off in her privileged little life.”

She answers back, “F-fuck you asshole.” 

His blood boils, and he hurriedly rushes to open his belt and jeans to pull his hard cock free. She continues to struggle against the hood, but the moment he sinks into her silky heat, all fight in her ceases. She sags against the hot metal, but her pussy tightens harder, clamping down around Steve like her life depends on it. 

She whimpers pathetically, a complete juxtaposition to her incessant talking and he feels his gut stir, enjoyment hot in his veins.

“Now you forget how to speak?” he tuts as he snaps his hips hard, thrilled by the sad little whines she makes. “Couldn’t shut you up earlier, or is it the need for an audience that gets you off?”

“Huh?” She sounds fucked out already. Dumb cunt. 

“Don’t feel like broadcastin’ this to your fans, no? Show them what happens when you disrespect someone who’s just tryin’ to help you?” His words punctuate— harsh and fierce, perfectly in time with his thrusts. 

“I-oh g-god.”

Slippery warmth gushes over his flesh as she tenses beneath him, wave upon wave of rippling heat pulsing and contracting around his cock. 

“Are you coming?” he asks, curious even though the answer is evident. All that escapes her is a thick, swollen moan and Steve laughs, more amused than he thinks he’s ever been in his entire life. “Who would’ve guessed you just needed fucking into silence,” he adds, draping his weight over hers. Her skin is clammy when it ripples against his hips, and he doesn’t miss the way she discreetly pushes back against him, like she wants it.

“But I didn’t say you could come, did I?” he whispers into her ear. “Not until I’ve taught you some goddamn manners.”

***

ALL CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @jvstjewels @la-cey @ladybug05 @livstilinski @ladydmalfoy @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @straywords @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @xoxonotme

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[hskrealm]

disturbance. (pt. 2!)

request by @taekooklover301​

It is advised that you read part one first. Happy reading!

warnings:  humiliation, degradation, choking, hair pulling, spanking, liiiitle bit of spit play, NAME CALLING, possessive behaviors, cum play (maybe), assertion of dominance, mentions of death, namjoon fucking you quickly because you’re a fucking brat, etc.

word count: 1.9k

“How about we try some role play?” Namjoon offered as he opened the door to his infamous torture room.

He’s mentioned it multiple times to you before today. You were beginning to wonder if it was really what he cracked it up to be.

“That’d be fun.” You shrugged, taking a glance inside of the room when he stepped aside and gestured toward the doorway.

You turned your head to look at him and raised an eyebrow. You couldn’t see a single thing.

It was just... darkness.

Namjoon laughed and playfully rolled his eyes.

“Just take a few steps inside, won’t you? There’s nothing near the door that could hurt you.” You turned your head back toward the doorway. 

What the hell did he mean by that?

You tried squinting and jutting your head forward just a bit, but you still couldn’t make anything out.

“You’re wasting my time.” Joon murmured, while picking up his foot and using the sole of his boots to nudge you into the room.

You stumbled inside, nearly tripping over your feet as you attempted to balance yourself.

He shut the door gently behind himself as he entered. 

You stood awkwardly as you waited for him to direct you to do something, or at least turn a light on or two. The longer you were in the dark, the longer it would take for your eyes to adjust when he finally turned the lights on.

You registered the sound of a few soft footsteps against some sort of material. Your hearing was heightened due to your sight being (nearly) taken away from you.

You jumped as you felt Namjoon’s long fingers tugging away at the robe that sat over the top of your lingerie.

“Here’s what I’m thinking we do, sweetheart.” He pushed your head to the left, using his knuckles to gently caress the skin on the right side of your neck before continuing.

“Why don’t you play as my toy for a little bit?” He wrapped his arms around your waist and tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

“Shouldn’t be a difficult task for you, really. I wanted to give you a simple role for your first experience in this room.” He ran his fingertips over your hips and up to your nipples, relishing in every gasp and moan you let out as he twisted and tugged them.

“Believe it or not, you aren’t the first person to enter this room.” You hadn’t realized you had your eyes closed until you opened them.

Way to kill the mood.

“You will be the first person to make it out alive, though.” He spoke nonchalantly, as he tugged the straps of your bra off of your shoulders.

“What?” You asked immediately. Namjoon chuckled at your obvious confusion.

“I call it a torture room for a reason, honey.” You shivered at his response, as he removed all touch from you and walked toward the entrance of the room to turn on the lights.

“Fuck.” You cursed as you brought your hands up to your eyes to cover them. The light was just as bright as you expected it to be.

Once you grew comfortable, you removed your hands from your eyes and took a look around the room. It certainly wasn’t what you expected-- instead of something out of a Pornhub shoot, you were met with what resembled the setup of all of the other bedrooms in the house.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you walked further into the room.

“This is what you kept up all of that talk about?” You spoke in disbelief as you crossed your arms and turned over your shoulder to look at your boyfriend. He clenched his jaw angrily at your apparent defiance.

“Yes, it is. Is there a problem with that?” You shook your head, unable to contain the giggles that left your mouth as Namjoon approached you.

“I’m not sure what sort of torturing you could do in this room, Joon.” You turned around again to view the setup of the room, as your boyfriend took that as his opportunity to grab a fistful of your hair a drag you toward the bed.

“OW! JOONIE--”

“The scene starts now.” He growled, as he tossed you onto the bed like a rag doll.

“But I--”

“Toys don’t talk, slut.” You immediately retracted, settling into the sheets of the bed as your panties stuck to your core due to the anticipation of this exact moment.

With practiced ease, Namjoon grabbed some rope and a pair of scissors out of the bedside table in the room.

He grabbed you by your hair once more, a devious smirk on his face as he snipped your brand new bra into pieces.

He yanked you closer to him, and did the same with your panties before tossing the scissors onto the ground in the corner of the room.

Your mouth fell open in shock.

“Are you serious? That was a brand new set!” His eye twitched in frustration, Couldn’t you take the hint and just shut the hell up?

That was fine by him. He could show you what he could do to you better than he could tell you.

He kneeled onto the ground and placed his hand around the back of your neck, before yanking your head down to level with his.

“Speak one more time without being spoken to, and it’ll be your dead body that’ll be dragged out of this room next. Do I make myself clear?” You nodded hastily, although you knew his threat meant nothing.

Or at least you hoped it didn’t.

“Roll over.” He commanded. When you responded too slowly, he quite literally growled at you and forced you onto your back.

He stood up off of the ground and yanked you toward the edge of the bed by your legs.

“I’m going to use you to get myself off.” He spoke harshly, as he quickly undid his belt and pulled his leaking cock out of his boxers.

“Remember what I said? You’re expected to make that commitment.” You moaned at his words. You had gotten him angry, so you knew he about to give you one of the roughest fucks of your life.

You couldn’t wait.

“What a surprise to see that you’re already dripping for me. What a good little toy you are, huh?” Namjoon licked his index and middle fingers before bringing them down to your delicious cunt and spreading your pussy lips apart.

“Oh my God, fuck.” He moaned to himself at the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing. You were so desperate for him.

He licked his lips, ready to devour your cunt when his watched dinged on his wrist.

You whined out of frustration. Namjoon smirked as he read the alert.

“I’ve got a meeting in five minutes, babygirl. Do you know what that means?” You slowly shook your head.

“It means that you’ve got to use that cute little pussy of yours to make me cum within those five minutes. Sound good?” You whined once more, not registering the sound of his belt hitting the ground as you began to voice your annoyance.

“I-- FUCK!” You moaned, immediately gripping Namjoon’s arms for support as he slid into you with ease due to how wet you were.

“You’re always so fucking tight.” He grunted, pausing for a moment as he brought his hands up to your hips to grip them in order to stabilize himself.

“Four minutes and counting, Princess. Think you can take a rough pounding for me?” You nodded eagerly, wishing he’d shut up and get to it already.

At your agreeance, Namjoon quickly picked up the pace of his thrusts. He fell into a rapid rhythm, the sounds of his hip bones smacking against your ass only egging him on.

“God, this greedy hole is squeezing me so tight. You’re desperate to cum, aren’t you, whore?” He asked, not giving you the chance to respond as he knocked the air out of your lungs with a quick position change.

He lifted your leg over his shoulder and held it at the ankle, the new angle causing him to brush against your g-spot with every other thrust.

“Oh f-fuck, that feels so goo--” Namjoon snarled at you for speaking. He delivered a harsh slap to your right breast before wrapping his hand around your throat, and tugging you closer to him so you were forced to look into his eyes while he rearranged your guts.

“Shut the fuck up and take it, okay?” You nodded weakly, causing him to crack a smile.

“Good girl.” He praised, his eyes turning to slits as he began to pummel your pussy with his cock. He tightened his grasp around your neck to restrict your breathing, knowing that asphyxiation was the gateway to you spasming around him, which was exactly what he needed at the moment.

“You gonna cum?” He asked, nodding along with you as you struggled to form coherent words.

He laughed sadistically as a tear slipped down your cheek.

“Hold it.” Those two simple words sent you spiralling into madness. You wanted nothing more at the moment than to cum on his dick.

“I can feel you spasming around me. I’m almost there, baby. Almost there....” He cursed under his breath as the current position the two of you were in was struggling to stimulate him.

He stopped fucking you and took a look down at his watch.

“Two minutes.” He mumbled to himself, giving your body a quick once over before grabbing you around the waist with both hands and hoisting you up against the wall.

“Don’t you dare fucking cum.” He warned you, as he forced his cock back into your cunt and quickly regained his speed. He pulled your hips out a bit toward him so he could fuck you deeper.

“H-holy shit,” He barked, making eye contact with you for a moment.

“Pull my hair and spit in my mouth.”

“J-Joon--”

“Do it right fucking now.” Your hands flew to your boyfriend’s head as you submitted to his request. He always loved it when you pulled his hair when he was between your legs, but you were a bit too shy to spit in his mouth.

The two of you had never experimented with anything like that before.

You gathered up a bit of your saliva and let it trickle out of your mouth. Namjoon leaned into you and caught it quickly, sharing your saliva between the both of your mouths in a heated kiss without his hips faltering for a single moment.

“Now?” He asked, the question mumbled because of the kiss. You moaned in response, already knowing what he was referring to.

“Cum.” He ordered. You scraped your fingernails against his scalp as you begged for him to pull out, because you felt like you were going to explode.

He pulled out of you half a dozen thrusts later, using one hand to jerk himself off and the other to hold you up against the wall.

Thankfully for you, you squirted.

Much to Namjoon’s displeasure, though, you squirted all over his clothes that he  was supposed to wear during his meeting.

“FUCK!” He yelled, as he began to shoot rope after rope of his cum against your  face and tits. 

He smiled at the thought of his cum drying on your body, because he knew you weren’t stupid enough to wipe it away.

He dropped you, your legs going numb as you hit the ground.

Namjoon forcefully spread them apart with his knee as he slid his large hand in between your thighs and rubbed at your poor clit, urging every last drop of cum out of you.

“I C-CAN’T! I CAN’T, I CAN’T!” You squirmed around in his hold.

“You don’t get to tell me what you can and can’t do.” He was about to continue, when his watched dinged once more to alert him that he had thirty seconds before his meeting began.

He rolled his eyes and roughly grabbed a fistful of your hair as he began to drag you out of the room with him.

“I-I th-thought that you didn’t like it when I listened during your meetings?” You spoke, although you allowed him to drag you back to his office.

“I don’t. You ruined my clothes though, so to pay for it you’re going to cram your little ass under that desk and suck my dick until I tell you to get the hell up.”

[redheid]

S supposed to be the most dismal fucking place you can imagine spending the holidays: cooped up in a dingey little flat wi a band of fellow smackheads who had all, completely unplanned but completely expectedly, upped and left their own different little homes aftir conveniently wanting tae go oan a Christmas eve walk tae breathe in the crisp air in an act of good health at the same time, not tae come back till the middle of the night tae whoever they’d lied to in the first place tae get oot. Tryna pass off whitever smack induced quiver they’ve taken thit’s letting them knock everything down in their war path in a nefarious attempt to act as the notorious bearded fucker thit should be climbing in through the chimney later thit night. (God forbid the ones thit go home tae a place wi kids in the house actually staying up tae try n catch a glimpse of the guy in red only tae find their brother or uncle or cousin tae be sneaking in through the backdoor in a total fuckin daze n no even noticing them and their bright peeking kiddy eyes peering oot through their bedroom doors before the fail to be santa collapses as close tae the door as they can, once they’ve made sure they’ve absolutely made it through the threshold of the house.)

The dismal place they’ve come from is dreamy tae me, probably tae the smackheads alike. The aftermath is the grim boxing day of the visit.

Swanney’s place’s got smoke stains seeped so far intae the walls you can hardly tell the colour they were painted in the first place. The respect tae the physicalities of the place went swiftly down from there, once people realised a kick in the wall by an angry punter or whoever had come storming the place was either never noticed or never bothered tae get fixed, totally left fir the dust tae gather; the place became an incoherent art installation fast.

For instance, right now ah lay sprawled oot against a wall, right in the corner, the crevice of the flat where the spiders typically gather and ah squash when ah sit oan them, where if you look up tae the other wall holding you up, just tae the side, and if you squint hard enough, you can just aboot make oot a tree oan it formed from some cunt’s handprints. If you squint harder, muck a few artificial additives intae yir system thit lets you see the wonder in the simplest things, like in a grotty little flat thit stinks of piss and farts and burning, you can pretend the weary stains oan the painted greenery are colourful little specks purposely put there as decoration. They nearly look like ornaments and you can nearly act like Swanney’s taken note of a calendar or the weather outside and dressed the place up for the festivities.

Obviously some artsy fucker came in one time thinking high enough oaf themsels tae start the handy masterpiece but no enough to finish it, it was no work of our Mother Superior, but it’s a tantalising thought tae imagine him wi a bowl of paint and a green hand. The furthest his goodwill extends for the holiday season is not booting you oot immediately once you’ve got your stuff (dependent on how many freaks and geeks had made their way to his place to score likes), not until he runs ootay walls fir the lot tae fall down on does he point tae the door and tell us tae get tae fuck.

Ah was one of the first few tae arrive, see, and ah had the cognisant joy of watching the rest trickle intae the place through a very slow set of blinking eyelids while I masel was in and oot oaf a daze. Ah was well fuckin intae ma experience n well oan ma way down when ah saw Swanney pointing at the door and talking aboot wanting the place clear.

— Ah’m no having any sleepers, Swanney sais. The only reason ah hear thit one, come to consciousness enough tae even register it as a sound directed anywhere in the vicinity oaf me, was through Sick Boy’s stinging voice next tae us near enough fucking pleading tae the fucker.

— Where’s the spirit, Swanney?

— Santy can come kicking down the chimney if he likes, Simon, but he’s no invited either,

Unfortunately, ah’m in no state tae argue, though ah had planned accordingly: tae be a sleeper during the day. Naw a dozer, actually. There was no sleeping, but the dozing state was paramount tae ma festive experience. Ma Rudolph riding time in the sky.

Ah was there at the perfect time tae ride is oot and still have a happy aftermath tae deal wi when ah was tae head back home under suspicion not at all tae be compared tae the likes of those stumbling in ruining the night when they pulled the Christmas tree and bunting, should the household be so inclined tae put it up, down wi them when they came back home and made their bed on the floor. Under no fucking circumstances would Mark Renton be found drooling intae the carpet oan Christmas morning.

Ah stand up without fuss. Simon is still rattling tae the side of me and ah nearly crumble intae the wall which is not at all of my own accord (it is in my best interest tae stay as firmly upright as ah can). Ah nod a see ya tae Swanney n mibbe mumble a happy holidays.

…

– Disnae seem fair is awl ah’m saying, Rents.

Ah nod a simple nod ah’m not at all mentally tied intae.

– Not thit ah care anyways, the cunt.

Ah nod again.

– Ah’ve got a lovely supper awaiting me.

Another fucking nod.

– Baccalà.

Again, ah nod nod nod.

– Cod. A lovely, salted cod. Not thit you’d know anything about thit wi your plea for animal rights.

– Ah’m vegetarian, Si.

– Vege-fucking-whitever, it’s no good fir yir health. Examplo numero uno, he points a cuntish finger tae hissel. Ah don’t know how he has the energy. The strained finger runs from his face and over tae me. – And you.

– Ah just dinnae like the taste.

– S no very à la Christmas is awl ah’m saying. It’s the time tae feast, abbondanza, Rents. Whit, you forcing your poor madre tae cook you thit tofu shite?

Ah don’t know how he has the appetite. Physically for the feast he’s claiming or mentally for the bothering he’s doing tae me. Ah shudder. It’s fucking freezing.

– Ah just eat around the turkey. Potatoes and carrots.

He tsks all better than. – Potatoes and carrots, fucking waste.

He continues but ah keep my arms tucked nicely around ma shaking body as we get tae the bottom of the road and ease the sound of his voice ootay ma heid.

Ah look over ma shoulder and catch a few more people heading outay Swanney’s, ah bet they’re no looking tae dae half as much talking as my solid companion, but I also suspect they’re not exactly people ah’m looking for company from, thit even if they did want tae talk as much as Sick Boy they winnae have half as much tae say. Who the fuck does?

Ah watch as the cold hits them and their arms shoot up too to cocoon themselves in a solitary embrace. Fair few have jackets oan them, thick enough ones are few and far between. Ah have oan ma bomber jacket, far too short and far too fucking thin tae do any good but make it look like ah’ve been existing from my hand-me-downs aged ten. Not so much fabric thit it would make a difference if I had ten of them oan.

The buzzing breaking through the cold turns intae a sharp prod in my arm. Ah look away from Swanney’s wi a scowl back at Si, the proprietor of said prod. – Whit? ah snap belligerently.

– Knew you were no fucking listening, fucking waster.

– Fucking cunt, ah mutter.

It disnae persuade him tae stop, disnae deter the fucker at awl. Ah let him go oan and oan till we make it tae our ain separate crossroads and head our ain separate ways. Wave a merry Christmas and he says something about the meat feast thit is Christmas day, whit his sister’s are cooking, and ah listen politely fir the fact ah cannae be bothered tae tell him how much ah could no care less until he finished up and ah stumble back to Fort Renton.

…

Aftir we got the flat off the housing department oan behalf of our Wee Davie’s various fucking various illnesses, the weeks approaching the end of December were awl aboot making solid attempts tae make it look homely, tae really work wi the tree we’ve had since Billy was born n give Cathy Renton something to focus oan other than when we were getting Davie home and if his bed was ready fir him and who was going to spoon feed him whitever they were planning tae. It was aboot showing how much the place was cared for as if people were watching (which, actually, ah suppose a good few were – the Curran’s a few doors down were hawkeyed and insisting we only kept Wee Davie in our care, living wi us like, until we got the new place tae live free of charge and shipped him oot the second we got the keys as if we’d pawn him off like thit).

This is the first Christmas there’s no really any of thit, even if ah see Mr Curran’s radge fucking face peeping ootay his blinds at us.

The measly tree dinnae go up until the 21st despite attempts from ma faither tae encourage Ma intae it n even when it did go up, she dinnae even really care thit the tinsel was looking the scraggiest it ever had. No thought tae go and get replacements.

Ma faither took the ‘good’ side of the tree n put it facing the front windae, as if people like the Curran’s were actually coming up tae ours and press their faces up on the glass tae see how we were treating the place aftir Davie’s death. Whether we were packing up tae give it up fir someone else who needs it.

Well fuck thit. Finders keepers losers fucking weepers. Ma faither’s intense need tae show the outside world our supposed love and respect fir the holidays, however, left the sight for sore eyes side of the tree fir us tae look at in the living room. He’s been squinting past the plasticy brambles and the shedding metallic tinsel thit’s covering the floor so he can watch the telly in peace fir the past two days and pretending it disnae bother him thit he has tae do it.

The good old Cathy Renton has been sitting desolate as can be oan the settee oan the other side of the room, pretending tae watch the telly and not at awl pretending tae care aboot the tree and lack of quality decor.

S fucking depressing if you ask me. Ah immediately miss Swanney’s when ah step through the door.

– Where’ve you been? Fucking Billy, doss cunt, waiting fir me tae get back. He looks like he’s been sitting in thit chair at the dining table since the moment ah left waiting for a festive confrontation.

– Last minute shopping wus it, son? Ma mother sais from the settee. Ah didn’t see her when ah came in but now thit a look at her ah see the blinking colourful lights off the tree bouncing off her wrinkled face.

Ah weakly present a facsimile of a laugh n a smile. – Something like it, yeah.

– Where’s yir shoppin then? Billy snidely remarks. This gets ma mother’s attention and ah see her brows take tae work and fold inwards at the hapless confusion.

Ah dinnae have the brain power fir this.

– Leave it, ma faither sais contritely from his chair and squints further past the tree. He also looks like he’s been firmly planted there since ah left however many hours ago ah did, glued tae the telly like he has been fir days, avoiding the sincere lack of coughing and the sound of ma mother slapping wee Davie’s back in the next room this year. Doof doof doof doof nae more.

It’s Billy’s bedroom now. The worst noise we’ll get from thit room has already been heard when Sharon, his new burd, comes over.

Fuck if ah’d ever bring a burd round tae muh ma’s house. I eye the fucker, repulsive.

– What? he says, as if he’d been up in ma brain wi ma thinking, as if he had free scope over thit domain. Ah sneer back but pretend it’s a smile because ah know ma’s still watching us outay the corner of her eye. She’s especially sentimental this year. Her two boys, her two wee yins. We’ve been partly trying tae get oan fir the sake of her this year. Course the picky fucker waits till crimbo eve till his resentment towards me rears its ugly head aftir awl the arguments we’ve ignored wi our ma in the room the past few weeks. It’s been bubbling up inside of him just like it has me and ah know he’s looking for the free second tae set up his sniper oan ma forehead.

– Boys, ma faither speaks. Ah look ovir and see he dinnae even do us the grace of looking from the tv. Ah look back at Billy who’s rolling his eyes at us, ah ball up a fist and pretend it’s just me tightening ma grip oan the shopping back ah did no at awl come back wi.

– 10am, ma da sais, – sharp. Mass, back here, dinner oan n eaten then sat back down here round the tv for 3pm.

– Aye, Billy says. The fucking suck up. Wouldnae miss the queen’s talk and a seat right next tae ma faither nodding the fuck along taw whitever the old trout has tae say fir the world. Highlight of their fucking year those ten minutes of insincere spiel wi cases and cases of gold surrounding her are. – Cannae wait.

– Aye, ah say, – riveting stuff. Ah’m always hold ma breath when she pauses fir too long case she keels ovir once n for awl. Christmas day, like, drama of it.

– S pre-recorded, ye dippit. Billy scowls at me. Ah cheer masel on in ma heid. Point Mark Renton.

– Ah know, but…

– Why yis sayin it then?

Ah scowl back. Never fucking mind.

– Please, Ma sais. She’s settled intae the flow of keeping her eyes directly on the glowing screen. Ah cannae quite bring myself tae lean intae thit, Christmas eve wi the family or no.

Ah nod an awright. Billy gets his eyes off me but not at awl before giving me the condescending nod of the century. Ah smile back thit same sneering smile from before and say – Ah’ll be going tae ma room then.

Billy tsks before anyone else gets a word in, ah glower at the side of his head but realise both of the parental figures have decided tae take the goodbye in visually and are looking right at me.

– Bed so soon? ma Da sais. – You’ve just got back.

– Excited for santy, Ma says in faux delight. There’s a dead enjoyment tae her voice thit’s got me thinking she’s been stuck on the lack of a doof doof doof doof in the next room too. Ah go along wi it fir the sake of fragility of any sense of okayness in this household.

– Aye, wanna be up early. Try and catch the man in red in the act.

This seems to appease them, Ma and Da at least. She gives a half-hearted smile and ma faither gives no outward reaction which seems tae be the best case. Billy the fucking bully looks at me fir another second like he knows where the fuck ah’ve been and ah’m sure enough he does, but he lets it settle too so ah sulk off tae the privacy of a closed door.

The locks are long gone but as long as ah act the way ah’m supposed tae when ah’m oan the other side of it, the shorter the times the door gets busted down by Billy or ma faither or wi a tentative knock from muh Ma.

Ah collapse like a lump oan the bed. Thump fucking thump, ah land. Ah close ma eyes and melt intae the fucker.

It’s no long till ah hear the tv switch off. Not too much longer till ah hear Billy slam his new bedroom door shut. Believe me, ah’m glad tae have a box tae masel now, a singular bedroom, not have to listen to the snoring fucker fart himself awake every other night, but ah despise the speed in which he claimed Davie’s room. The soil was fresh on his grave and the air in the coffin was yet to turn stale before he’d started hanging up his clothes in the wardrobe.

Doof doof doof doof doof. Thit was the sound ah used tae drift off to, Davie’s chest being knocked aboot and cleared so he could make it tae the next day. Ah was always surprised he could take such a beating. He always looked so fragile.

Naw, fuck this. Ah’m sooner gonna hear the footsteps of the immortal creep from the north pole tiptoeing across the roof delivering good and peace tae the Renton’s than the doof doof doof again. Ah shut ma eyes tighter, consider moving fir a few minutes tae organise masel enough tae put oan a record, but ah unfortunately spent all ma energy oan behaving as acceptably as possible when ah had entered the home. The rest of it had been spent making a dig at the queen tae piss off Billy in his suck up time wi our Da, who the fuck’s acting like the queen’s speech is the best part of a Christmas day anyways? Fucking idiot.

Ah ball ma hands up and shove them intae ma sockets till ah see stars. Ah have a headache coming oan. Ah let the balled fists fall down ontae the duvet either side of me (thump thump) and ah squint at the far end of ma room and ma green tinny locker turned closet. Ah reckon if ah asked Billy nice enough and gave him the lock fir it, he’d wait fir me to climb in and lock me in there till the 24th turned to the 25th to the 26th. If he were feeling especially nice he’d let me stay in there till the new year passed and he’d simply slide me the odd plate of dinner tae sustain me; let me wither away, but give just enough tinned whatever tae stay alive till ah had some kind of clarity and stopped hearing the doof doof fucking doof reverberating through my skull thit’s no fucking there.

Dear the red man thit would be climbing through our chimney if we had one, may you bring me somewhere cosier and more isolated fir the holiday season. Mibbe tae an undiscovered island, nothing too fancy: a few rocks, a couple palm trees and a coconut fir me tae drink outay. This year may you give me a bit of peace and fucking quiet. Leave me a note tae say yir coming and ah’ll slip outay ma room and leave the windae open a crack fir you tae sneak in through. Kind regards, Mark Renton.

[highgaarden]

131 for Catherine and Peter?

peter/catherine + can we just stay in bed? // this accidentally turned into a whole oneshot, whoops?? wrote this entirely in the answer box so excuse mistakes, if there are any.

black out days;

Upon Chekhov’s orders, Catherine is confined to bed. Peter sets about cheering her. (2156 words) (read on ao3)

--

day one

Catherine is carried into the palace, screaming treason.

Lady Svenska is nowhere to be found.

That is all she remembers before Chekhov puts her under.

--

day two

It’s a mundane sort of day in Russia where hunting is cancelled because of the pounding rain and nothing exciting happens except for Velementov accidentally tripping face-first over Marial’s dog, right into the ridiculously cream-frothed cake Peter wanted to have for breakfast.

In bed.

Despite the fact that Velementov had been pestering him all week to look over some maritime reforms, and Orlo had been pestering him about - he can’t remember. It’s Orlo. Who the fuck listens to Orlo?

“I, for one, think you should lend a more attentive ear,” Catherine mutters as she turns a page in her book.

“That’s because lending you books is the closest he will ever come to grazing a woman’s hand,” Peter points out, mouth full of cream. “How’s your ankle?”

“I can twitch it to the right with only excruciating pain.”

Peter eyes her bandaged foot. “And the left?”

“It is as if I am paralysed.”

“Interesting.”

“Indeed.”

“Is it just me,” Peter asks as he feeds her some cake, “or do you sound terribly bored?”

Catherine swats the spoon away. “No, Peter, I am just tired. I cannot imagine anything more delightful than having to spend four bed-ridden days--”

“Five,” Chekhov, who they had managed to successfully ignore for the past hour, says from one corner.

“Five bed-ridden days in the embrace of your apartments. With you.” Catherine smiles sweetly. “In it.”

“It is very strange how there was a sudden, awful smell coming from your room.” Peter says, observing a crumb studiously.

“Hmm.”

“Your hmm sounds rather displeased.”

“Merely contemplative.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “Are you sure? I sense as if--”

“You sense nothing. Perhaps it’s the reading material.” Catherine lowers her book. “It’s getting quite confusing.”

“Do you have a headache?” His question sounds a bit garbled because he’s pulling a spoon out of his mouth. “Chekhov!”

Chekhov waltzes over to her, back of his hand ready to gauge her temperature, which Catherine deflects as quickly as she had Peter’s spoon. “I am fine. Please stop hovering.”

“I will not,” Chekhov says, and strolls back to his seat.

Peter stops licking cream off his thumb and focuses his entire attention on her. “What is wrong, Empress? Is it the book? I have told you that Orlo is as dull as wet rocks - I will lend you some of my erotica.”

“No, I…” Catherine bites her lip, deliberating, before rolling her eyes. “It’s this word. Here. It doesn’t make sense syntactically, and I know my Russian comprehension is advanced.”

Peter looks to where she’s pointing and says, “Oh, that’s because you’re probably reading it wrong. The /за/ changes it into the instrumental case.”

Catherine stares at him. “You know grammar.”

“Mother used to bite chunks out of me if I stuttered during my revisions. Do not ask for Aunt Lisbeth’s recount of it; she will only lie and say I am exaggerating but it was the unadulterated truth and I still have proof of it.” He shakes back his sleeve. “Look.”

Catherine ignores the rather vicious-looking scar to ask, a bit suspiciously, “You are not jesting. So this man here is not actually running?”

“No, he is chasing moonshine.”

“What does that even mean?”

“That, my pure little wife, means drinking vodka.” Peter lifts his glass and grins. “Bit like that poetry you like, isn’t it?”

“Not really…” Catherine says, looking at him from the corner of her eye before returning to her book. “But it comes close.”

--

day three

Catherine wakes to sunshine filtering in through the curtains a maid has already pulled open. She stares longingly at the sprawling green, the effervescent sky, the loll of bodies dotting the estate like wildflowers.

“It’s a perfect day for a picnic!” Peter announces as he’s getting dressed. He looks at her for agreement as a serf does his buttons.

“It is,” Catherine says. Miserably.

“Chin up, Catherine. Want me to eat your pussy?”

“I--” Catherine swallows. “Chekhov says I’m not to be moved.”

“That is true.”

“Fuck off,” Peter snaps at the omnipresent doctor. “That is a pity. What will cheer you then?”

“Growing wings and flying far, far away,” Catherine says wistfully, eyes glazing over. She snaps back to reality. “Only - only because I am starting to feel claustrophobic.”

“Hm.” Peter mulls this over. “Very well. If you cannot go outdoors for a picnic, I shall bring the picnic to you.”

--

Catherine barely has time to utter a bewildered What? before Peter is already marching out the door with one boot unlaced, serf stumbling after him, hollering orders.

“He’s acting strange,” Marial mutters as she spreads the blanket usually reserved for lounging on grass onto the bed, carefully tucking it under Catherine’s foot. “Strange-er. Did I jostle--sorry. But look at him.”

“He’s certainly… chipper.” Catherine winces when the bed dips as Marial starts artfully placing fruit, bread, and various cheeses and dried meat around her. She takes a deep breath through her nostrils, leveling herself through the pain, before saying, “He’s been like this since he’s been sick.”

“Figures a near death experience would shake him out of his arseholery.” Marial straightens the blanket. “Fucker.”

Catherine shushes her; Peter strides into the room. 

“Is it ready? Brilliant.” Peter clambers onto the bed with surprising care, not disturbing Catherine’s ankle one bit. Marial gives a stiff curtsey and makes for a quick exit, but she never quite makes it to the door, because Peter asks her to stay.

“What?” Catherine blinks.

“What?” Marial asks.

“Yes, stay. Catherine’s been cooped up too long with Orlo’s books which is a frightfully more effective sleeping draught than anything Chekhov can come up with. Come trade stories of the court with us.”

He motions at the bed.

“Us?” Catherine mouths.

“I, uh - sir,” Marial fidgets. “What makes you think - I am just--”

“Please,” Peter scoffs. “You had the sharpest ears and most vicious tongue when you were one of us.”

Marial’s cheeks flame red. Catherine disguises a laugh as a cough.

“Cheese tart?” Peter holds up in offer, before getting distracted by a particularly delectable piece of fig.

After a short bout of nonverbal exchange with Catherine, Marial finally, finally, gingerly sits a corner of herself onto the very foot of Peter’s bed. She wordlessly accepts the wine he passes her, and when he’s not looking shoots a confounded look at Catherine.

Catherine can only shrug, helplessly.

“How’s your father?” Peter asks, mouth full of bread and meat.

“Still shoveling shit,” Marial answers politely, holding her cheese tart.

“Brilliant. Glad he’s getting the hang of things. You are comfortable where we’ve placed you?”

Marial smiles thinly, still holding her cheese tart. “I can think of a few less comfortable places.”

“Nothing a new bed can’t change,” Peter dismisses. “Get Alexei to look into it for you. You know him? Warty fellow.”

“Are you going to eat your cheese tart?” Catherine asks, after getting over her own heart attack.

Marial puts it into her mouth but doesn’t chew it.

“Oh,” Peter says, before he forgets. “Chekhov, come have some of this cheese, you dusty cunt.”

--

Marial sneaks back into Peter’s bedroom when he’s taking his evening bath and hisses, “However it is you’re fucking him, keep doing it.”

“Well what the fuck is going on?”

Catherine drops her pamphlet in shock. “Marial, I am immobilised. A conveniently clumsy Lady Svenska smashed a ball right into my ankle. Do you really think I would be spreading my legs so easily?”

Catherine waves her hands inarticulately. “You tell me.”

“DOOR!”

Marial shoots Catherine one last look before scurrying out of there.

--

day four

The days go by in a flurry of activities.

One night Peter throws a party in his quarters, something of a pre-celebration to Catherine’s ankle healing soon. Catherine doesn’t see the point of it, but then again she doesn’t see the point of many things Peter does, and resolves to just smile through it.

It is surprisingly entertaining - Aunt Lisbeth brings aboard some acrobats at such short notice, and she is swathed in jewellery; draped in glittering, lush shawls, recent gifts from the Ottomans; perfumed and powdered; comfortable against gargantuan jewel-coloured cushions. She feels as if she sits upon a throne. Marial is there, predictably left out of the festivities, but Catherine notices Peter turning a blind eye when she accepts some pepper vodka from Archie.

Peter plays her a tune on his violin and with enough vodka (carefully monitored by Chekhov, who has been put in a ridiculous hat) she finds herself one of the most exuberant in applauding.

Leo regales the room with tales of rapture and romance and renegade Knights, his eyes careful not to linger on hers for too long. She feels every look like a blade. 

She doesn’t even mind when Peter sits by her as she is being bathed by two maids in a portable copper tub, jibbering excitedly about the highlights of the night.

“You enjoyed it?” he asks, a bit too earnestly.

“Yes,” she answers, surprising herself. “It was fun.”

Peter looks down at his shoes, grinning. “Huzzah.” 

He watches carefully as she is lowered into bed, and only then instructs for the candles to be put out.

“I do not know why you are complaining,” Peter says as he climbs in next to her. “I wouldn’t mind being in bed all day. It sounds fucking relaxing.”

“Some days aren’t so bad,” Catherine concedes, fluffing her pillow. “Good night, husband.”

“Good night, wife.”

--

day five

It is almost time.

Her imprisonment is almost at its end.

She slaps her just-finished book down onto the sizable stack next to her with a finality that seemed to echo through the room. 

Five days in Peter’s bed was not five days of discomfort; of course his bed would be more plush, more decadent than hers, but she missed the simple luxuries that reminded herself of who she was amidst this chaos of Russian court life. Her mother’s pearl-handled comb. Her favourite paintings. The detailed espionage hidden behind the large tapestry that she, Orlo and Marial had spent the better part of three days organising. 

She missed lounging around in the sunshine, watching birds flap across the sky. The feeling of wind in her hair.

Which is why she was up particularly early that morning, having read through the sunrise. Chekhov wasn’t even there yet. She was surprised - she almost thought he’d slept there, by the way his droll face greeted her everytime she awakened.

Peter is a wool-covered lump beside her. He’d gravitated closer towards her in the night, and she finds she doesn’t mind the warmth.

He stirs, blinking in the first rays of the morning light. “Catherine?”

“It looks to be a beautiful day,” she trills, turning her ankle in slow circles. A bit of residual pain, but she could limp at the very least. Bask in the garden, read poetry in the sunshine, and figure out a way to get Lady Svenska back during smash bottles. Maybe she’d lose her footing? No, that was a bit too obvio--

“S’it morning already?” Peter asks thickly. “That went by very fast.”

“Not fast enough for me,” Catherine says, turning wide eyes to the windows that she’d asked not to be shuttered that night. It had been colder than usual, and she was glad for Peter’s furnace-like feet, but she’d wanted to see evidence of her impending freedom with her own eyes.

Plus, some time away from Peter would be nice. He must be bored enough already--she certainly is quite ready to be done with the picnics and the teas and the parties and the reading sessions--

Wait.

Reading sessions.

Peter had scheduled reading sessions with Orlo, and had even ordered a new set of books she wanted when Orlo said he couldn’t find it in his library. They’d arrived that very afternoon, and she’d spent hours analysing footnotes with Orlo whilst Peter very badly hid how much he was snoozing.

Her eyes narrow. 

“Shame,” Peter says, and breaks out into a massive yawn. “But at least there’s your party to celebrate your healing. I’ve called for a bear.”

“Bears are still a sore spot for me,” she reminds him.

“Right.” Peter rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Two bears then?”

Catherine snorts quietly. Her husband was an idiot, but at least he was a somewhat… nice idiot. Sort of.

She shifts in bed, delighting at how much easier it is now. She will never again be complacent around Lady Svenska.

“Today’s the day. I know it. I dreamt of it last night,” she tells him. “I am finally ready for some strenuous activity!” She almost seems to vibrate in the bed sheets.

“Marvelous,” Peter cheers sleepily. “Shall I eat your pussy?”

“I--” Catherine stares at him for a beat, before saying: “Alright.”

fin

leave me prompts from here  + i’ll write something for you!

[zweiginator]

gwil asking you to ride his thighs mmm😪

we going….the professor!gwil route because…. why the fuck NOT ..??,,?...also i wrote a whole ass BOOK for this... strap in 

Professor Lee was a sort of enigma at university; he had just been hired as a new professor of British literature, and although he proved his competency with lecturing and complex analysis of difficult pieces of writing–nobody was quite sure why he was hired. They were convinced this had to be some sort of social experiment; never in your university’s long history had their ever been a professor as utterly perfect as Mr. Lee. The counselors and admissions staff had to know this; you couldn’t look at the man without leaving flustered or uneasy about your own attractiveness. But also, professor Lee would never do anything to make anybody feel lesser; he was exceptionally sweet and passionate about his job title. While many professors with seniority were more than happy to lecture in raggedy golf shirts and loose-fitting trousers, he arrived to work every day with a crisp button-up and nicely fitted dress pants, his hair flawlessly groomed and beautifully symmetrical like the smile on his face.

 Girls shuffled in the first row to ogle at his tall figure, the way his jaw tensed when he was a bit frustrated about the villainy of a Shakespearean character–as if he hadn’t read the play hundreds of times before. They bit their lips almost in unison when he pushed his round glasses up his strong nose; legs crossed as he pushed the sleeves of his shirt up and leaned over his desk to emphasize a point. You understood why girls lusted after him; you had found yourself pressing your thighs together at your seat whenever he would make eye contact with you, even if for a few bittersweet seconds. But you found yourself staying after class to ask questions–no underlying intentions flooded even the depths of your subconscious. You were frustrated, unable to understand the analytical points about Hamlet he had spent the last few lectures illustrating with animated gestures and eloquent wording. But he was too eloquent to ever glean an ounce of knowledge; his voice was impossibly soothing, smooth and silky and almost luxurious to listen to. You found yourself yawning into a closed fist as his lecture ended; his voice was so euphoric you found yourself dozing off quite a few times throughout the two hour class. You closed your laptop and walked to professor Lee’s desk, suddenly feeling small and insignificant in the presence of him. His eyebrows were furrowed, a red pen tucked between pillowy pink lips as he marked last week’s quizzes. The girl who sat next to you had done very poorly, probably hoping he would scribble a cliché “see me after class” at the top.

“Can I help you, miss Y/N?” He asked, capping his pen and averting his deep cobalt eyes to you. He took you in completely, looking at your exposed legs underneath a skirt, a soft cable knit sweater falling off the slope of your shoulders a bit as you pushed some hair behind your head. Even though he was sitting down, he was still quite imposing, and you found your legs trembling a bit. 

“Well–” You squeaked, thumbing your copy of Hamlet that you had set on his desk, flipping it to the act you had been assigned the week before. “I guess I just don’t understand–the allegory here,” You pointed to a specific line, nibbling on your lip as you tapped your fingers on the desk.

“Probably because you were half-asleep during the entirety of the lecture today.” He said this nonchalantly, skimming over the line your finger was trembling over. But a smile trickled over his features, and you knew he was just teasing you.

“Oh–I’m sorry sir.” You mumbled, scratching your forearm nervously. “I’m just a bit sleepy today.” 

“What’s keeping you up at night, sweetheart?” He asked, his pinky brushing against the back of your hand as he began to annotate your copy with his vibrant pen. 

The affectionate name made you flush in the cheeks and you had to stifle a whimper as you felt his breath fanning over your shoulder. 

“It’s all representative of the inevitability of death. The shared fate of every being on earth that, in a way,” He brushed some hair over your shoulder, his eyes flitting upwards from behind the lenses of his glasses. “--show that we’re the same; not much different from even the most--high-class people. That it doesn’t really matter.” His eyes were focused on your lips now; he loved how the soft mauve lipstick on your mouth had feathered out a bit, making your lips look unbelievably pink and kissable. Gwilym’s eyes trailed to your cleavage unintentionally, and he reverted his focus back on your face quickly after. 

“That what doesn’t matter?” You almost whimpered, your lips parting as you looked at his own do the same. 

“Differences. Between people.” His hand found your waist. It was large and warm, heavy even. “Differences between us.” 

You tilted your head and felt gravitated towards him--which explained why your hands found his hair as his fell over your ass, squeezing slightly as you shared desperate, messy kisses. His tongue swiped over your bottom lip and he pushed it into your mouth, pulling your body into his as he sat down in his desk chair, pushing your legs apart so you straddled him. 

“Sir--we shouldn’t.” You whined, feeling obligated to say that since it was such a taboo situation--but your grabbing of his hair said something entirely antithetical. 

“You don’t want this, sweetheart?” He sucked an open-mouthed kiss upon your sternum, his cock hardening underneath you. “You make me so--” He gasped, grabbing your hip with one hand as his other pulled your hair back to expose your neck to him. “so fuckin’ hard. such a pretty girl in these cute little outfits.” His fingers rubbed at the hem of your skirt as he kissed up the column of your throat, pushing your lips onto his own. 

“More--I need more, sir.” You moaned and whimpered, clawing at his scalp as his tongue massaged yours, his hands now kneading the soft skin of your ass. 

“Oh, fuck--” He hissed as your pussy ground against his cock deliciously. “God you’re so fuckin’ cute. Thought you were such a little goody-two-shoes, and here you are rubbing your little clit on your professor’s cock.” He slapped your ass harshly and softly pried your mouth open with his tongue. “Keep it open.” He gazed into your eyes and rutted his hips against your core as he spit into your mouth, watching his saliva pool on your tongue. 

You whimpered, your eyes becoming hooded as you swallowed everything he gave you. 

“Good girl.” He praised, pushing your panties to the side to rub at your throbbing clit with the pad of his thumb. 

You gasped and pulled on his hair, grinding into his touches.

“That feels good, doesn’t it baby?” So good.” He delved his middle finger inside you easily, groaning at the wet sounds your slick cunt was making around his digit. “So tight. Such a delicate little pussy; don’t think you’re ready to be fucked yet.” He marveled, pressing harder on your clit, watching intently as your eyes rolled back. 

You whined, feeling defeated. “I--I need to cum, please.” You pleaded, pulling on his collar as you kissed his neck hungrily. 

“Needy little thing.” He commented, pulling you closer to him by your waist. “How about you cum all over my thighs? Wanna ride my thighs until you’re a trembling, cute little mess?” Running a thumb over your cheekbone, he admired your doe-eyes, looking so desperate, accentuated by deeply flushed cheeks. “Precious girl.” 

You nodded at his offer, unbuttoning a few buttons of his shirt and running your hands down his chest, feeling the soft patch of hair extending down the slightly tanned, soft skin. It was so intimate, so wrong to feel down your professor’s body--but that was the thing that made you keen for more. “Please,” You scratched his scalp and he rolls his head to the side, completely overwhelmed by how much fucking lust he had for you--his student.

“Fuck yourself on my thigh, angel.” He held your hips down against his thick, muscular thigh, rocking you against him experimentally. He felt your wetness soak through the black fabric and he moaned, relishing in how you were trembling in his arms. “Yeah--rub that little clit right along my thigh--” He pulled you along his leg and you gasp loudly, so loudly that he clasps a hand over your mouth. “That’s the spot, isn’t it sweetie?” His tone was almost patronizing, but you love it. 

“It feels so good--I’m gonna cum,” You announced, grasping onto his collar so tightly you were sure a simple ironing job wouldn’t smooth the creases you were folding into the expensive material. “Oh--fuck. I love it so much,” 

“Good girl--cum for me. I’ve got you. Doing so well for me.” He cooed, squeezing your breasts through your sweater and peppering kisses along your collarbones. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He yanked your sweater over your head and pulled the cups of your bra down as you rocked your hips faster. His lips attached to your hardened nipples, pebbled from arousal and the whirring air conditioner near Gwilym’s desk. 

You came as soon as he swirled his tongue around your nipple, his eyes staring up at you while you fucked yourself against his thigh--just like he asked. He praised you like a personal mantra of his, feeling his own premature release spurt over the front of his pants as you palmed him eagerly, his head rolling back as he let out a pornographic, drawn-out groan. 

Gwilym shoved a hand through his hair and panted, assessing the wet spot on his trousers. “Fuck--” 

“You should be able to get that out; I could give you some tips,” You offered, playing with some hair at the nape of his neck. 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “God, you’re so fucking cute.” He smiled. “It’s not that,” He glanced at the analog clock on the wall. “My three o’clock lecture was supposed to begin eleven minutes ago.” 

[tfwhynoy]

Hmmm, could we get some not poly Chromedome being naughty with a reader human *wink* *wink*

Sorry, I tried really hard to make this gender-neutral but I’m not good at gender-neutral smut. I mean since when I read “pussy” or “cunt” it ruins the mood so it could kinda be read as gender-neutral but probably not since it has heavily implied vagina. I’m fine with writing one or the other but when trying to write with both in mind words don’t fit very well.

Back on Earth, you had never thought yourself as someone with a robot kink. But back on Earth, you had also never seen all but about three of the Lost Light crew members and even then it was just on Tv.

You also didn’t know that cybertronians could even fuck each other let alone humans. You had definitely given a passing thought or two and even some digging for their equivalent of porn but only found weird rule 34 stuff back home. On the Lost Light, you could easily search and find what you were looking for on the Cybertronian internet and it was violent and had far fewer issues than the porn industry back on Earth. The idea of a dick larger than you made the idea of actually fucking a cybertronian a little terrifying though. The last thing you needed was “crushed by spike” or “drowned in a valve” as your cause of death on your death certificate.

It’s when you were more than a little buzzed at Swerve’s while hanging out with Chromedome that he reminded you that mass displacement and holo forms were both probable solutions to this problem. He had been flirty about it the whole time and while you would have certainly loved to get fucked at the moment you were both still rather drunk. You two agreed it’d be better to wait till the day after and, provided neither of you had bad hangovers and both were still interested, experiment as much as you two wanted.

In the morning after you showered and ate you decided to text him to see if Chromedome was still good with the arrangement. A quick message back saying he was getting Brainstorm’s displacement gun and that he was on his way and you were left waiting in your own room.

You had seen enough in your own research that you knew what to expect but seeing videos still isn’t the same thing as a first-hand experience. Plus who knows what Chromedome knows of the human body. Would he be disappointed that you only had one set instead of both?

The sound of the door sliding open broke through your thoughts. You naturally looked up expecting someone of the usual height around the ship only to realize it was Chromedome.

With a chuckle, you looked down and was met with Chromedome who was much shorter than normal but still big by human standards.

“Damn, even when you shrink yourself you still tower over me.” Chromedome was still a good three head taller and even excluding the tires he still had one of the broadest silhouettes you’ve seen.

“What, am I still too much for you to handle? I’d go back to get smaller but I think Brainstorm would ask to join in too.” You could damn near hear the smirk in his voice as he leaned down towards you. “Unless you’d be interested in that sort of thing?”

With Chromedome so much smaller than usual and so damn close you could properly look at him all at once. It sent a heat between your thighs as you spoke. “Na, I think inviting one cybertronian into my bed is plenty today.”

You pulled him by the servo towards your bed. You’d rather not experience the closest you’ve been to being literally between a rock and a hard place by avoiding fucking on the floor. The bed had already been prepared with a disposable pair of sheets and all other bedding removed just in case. 

To your surprise, it appeared that Chromedome was, in fact, a bottom as he took the opportunity to lay so he was slouching against the headboard and spread his legs wide apart.

You removed your shirt and pants quickly since Cybertronian didn’t have a sense of clothing you figured a striptease wouldn’t be as fun as just getting down to business. As you removed the last of your clothes you heard Chromedome give a soft hum as his interface panel shifted away.

You looked at his fully pressurized spike a soaking wet valve with a small chuckle. “Oh, have you been thinking about me all day?” You placed yourself between his legs, arousal dripping from yourself at such a beautiful display.

“Couldn’t stop thinking since I left Swerve’s. Doesn’t help we don’t sleep as much as humans.” 

You ran your thumb from valve to his exterior node and began to rub in slow circles as you spoke back. “So much time to fantasize. Mind sharing?” 

Chromedome vented sharply as you gave an experimental lick to the head of his spike. He tasted metallic and left a slight tingling of electricity on your tongue for a moment.

“I don’t know how accurate I was with how human work or look. I know for sure I didn’t know you were so fuzzy between your legs and yet it just adds to your strange alien charm.” He began to pull at the bedsheets as you wrapped your lips around the head of his spike. Lazy you dragged your tongue across what was in your mouth and sucked slightly. you placed a hand on his hip as you remove your thumb from his node pressed two fingers into his already dripping valve with the same hand. You pushed in and out in time with your tongue for a moment before adjusting yourself to take more of his spike into your mouth. You pressed another finger into his valve and began to move faster. Chromedome gripped harder at the sheet as he tried not to buck back into your mouth. You could hear a slight static noise seep into his vocalizer with each new moan you got from his.

Watching Chromedome shudder and moan at your actions you come to remember your own unattended needs. 

Chromedome lets out a frustrated whine at the loss of contact when you remove your hands and pull away from his spike. You ignore him as you begin to position yourself over his spike. He quiets down as you slowly sink down on his spike and lets out a small succession of shaky gasps. He’s definitely large and you have to pause occasionally to adjust. It probably would have been a good idea to properly stretch yourself but it’s a bit late for this. 

As Chromedome’s spike is fully hilted into you he moves his servos to your hips for support. You move up slowly at first but begin to pick up the pace. Not a moment later and Chromedome’s servos begin to actively push you up and pull you down as he thrusts into you. You gasp as he rubs up against a spot within you and you have press your face into the crevice of his neck to muffle your moans. Chromedome places his faceplate and hums softly as he hums into your neck; the equivalent of a kiss for someone who didn’t have a mouth.

Chromedome lets out a low moan as he quickened his pace. You cried and held on as tight as you could to his shoulders. He tightened his grip on your hips as his movement became more erratic. 

You came with a struggled cry as you clenched around his spike. He came with one final thrust. You had already been so full and it became uncomfortable as his trans fluid gushed into you. You squirmed slightly and Chromedome pulled out before you could ask. His transfluid dribbled from your entrance and pooled onto the sheets beneath you.

Your voice was soft as your breathing returned to normal. “Give me like ten minutes and I’ll be ready to experiment again.”

Chromedome chuckled. “I’d enjoy that.”

[optimizche]

The Sex Tape (Kim Junmyeon/Reader/Oh Sehun)

the morning after your first threesome with your boyfriend Sehun and his hyung, Junmyeon, things go a little further than you had anticipated...

pairing: kim junmyeon/reader/oh sehun

word count: 3k+

genre: smut

sequel to: the brat trilogy

Awakening the next morning felt like a dream. Despite the unseasonable chill accompanying the early morning light, you felt positively toasty beneath the comforter.

It was a pleasant entanglement of bodies, naked flesh upon naked flesh, the shared heat keeping you so warm.

Junmyeon was behind you, his chest pressing into the expanse of your bare back, an arm slung over your waist and his legs tangled with yours. Despite last night being the very first time you had had him, you couldn't believe how intimately he had come to know your body. Just the vision of his face burrowing between your widely spread thighs made you moan softly.

For certain, you were going to request him to have one such session with you, where he just spent hours between your legs. Eating you out.

These decidedly less than innocent thoughts caused liquid heat to pool between your legs. You clenched your walls and shifted, trying not to get any of it onto Junmyeon's thigh, which was wedged between your legs.

Your movement caused Sehun to stir. He was in front of you, his arms enveloping you, his face buried into your neck. The warmth of his breaths fanned your skin with every exhalation from him, his slightly parted lips pressing into your skin.

The three of you, entangled as one like this, so close to each other, it felt new. And at the same time, it felt like this is exactly how you were meant to be.

Together.

Your slight movement had stirred Sehun, but he didn't wake up. Instead, he nuzzled into your neck even more and you smiled sleepily at his needy behaviour.

Closing your eyes once again, you were about to fall asleep once again, but you felt Junmyeon's lips at your ear.

"Barely awake and already wet, babygirl?" he whispered and your eyes shot open.

It was then that you realized that despite your best attempts at trying otherwise, some of your arousal had indeed dribbled out onto Junmyeon's thigh.

You began to shift again, to face the older man. But his hand came to clutch your hip, stilling your movements. He pulled you back into him, flush against his body.

"Its okay," he whispered soothingly. "Its okay."

His hand ghosted over your hip, gently slipping in between your legs.

You sighed, when his fingertips slipped past your folds and sought out the moisture that had pooled there.

"Not a sound, princess," came his whispered command. "Don't wake Sehun."

He sank his fingers into you and immediately your inner walls closed in around them hungrily. You bit down on a moan, the intrusion of his digits within your already achingly sensitive walls driving you to madness.

You pressed back against Junmyeon, opening your legs just a little bit more to allow him the access he needed to touch you that much more intimately.

He didn't disappoint. Fingers sinking even deeper into you, he began to plunge them into you at an almost snail-like pace. Like he wanted to palpate every inch of your swollen, succulent walls.

You bit down on your moan, pressing your face into the pillow, all in your attempts to remain mute.

As sweetly as he was touching you, Junmyeon was just as ruthless with his mouth, sucking love-bites into the juncture of your neck. Into your shoulder. Beneath your ear. Every bit of you he could reach.

It was maddening, being forced to remain quiet. But at the same time, it was so thrilling. Staying mum so as not to awaken your boyfriend, while his hyung was having you. Your head fell back into Junmyeon's shoulder, body leaning into his, while you rolled your hips into his hand.

Both of you were panting softly, and you could feel that he was as gone as you by how hard he was against your ass-cheeks. And how he pressed forward into you with every roll of your hips.

"Shit, babygirl..." he moaned into your ear. "You're gonna make me come just like that..."

Whimpering, you chanced a peek at Sehun, who was still sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware.

Usually, you were one to cry out, everytime you came, but here, in this case, you wanted to be on your best behaviour for Junmyeon.

His fingertips zoned in on that small, elusive and extremely sensitive patch located high up within your walls. He found it with ease and suddenly stilled his fingers in their plunges. And still, buried knuckle-deep in you, he began to curl his digits against that spot.

A violent shudder overcame you, your hand coming to clutch at his and you bit into your pillow, cunt spasming around his fingers as you came.

Not a sound left you as your body quaked with a rush of pleasure, your legs closing in around Junmyeon's hand. Wanting him to remain right where he was. Inside you.

He leaned in and nipped at your neck, marvelling at how you constricted around his fingers.

He murmured something that sounded like 'so tight', just as you relaxed with a sigh, your high slowly evaporating.

Grinning against your neck, Junmyeon withdrew from you. Turning around to face him, you pulled him to your lips, kissing him with no restraint. Hands hefting and tugging at his hair, you kissed him deeply.

You kissed him like a crazed woman, possessed with an intense desire that you couldn't exactly vocalize, since Sehun was sleeping beside you. And you were going to be Junmyeon's little babygirl and obey his instruction to stay quiet and the only way to communicate with him was through this kiss.

Fuck me, Junmyeon, you were saying, with every press and glide of your lips with his. With every flick and pass of your tongue against his. Fuck me until I'm unable to stand.

You kissed him, until your lungs screamed for oxygen. Until you were sure that he had understood your request.

And when you finally parted from him, you could see it in his eyes, that he had understood.

Clasping your hand, he made you rise up from the bed and led you out of his master bedroom.

You both wanted to let Sehun sleep.

And also, you both wanted to be loud freely.

He took you to the guest bedroom, a room you couldn't exactly admire much for its decor because the moment you stepped in, Junmyeon was kissing you again.

"You promised me something last night," he breathed into your lips longingly.

And you remembered.

Breaking away from him yet again, you went to lie down on the queen sized bed. Feet toward the headboard, head at the foot of the bed.

Grinning, Junmyeon stepped forward, his length erect and ready for you to devour. Wrapping your fingers around him, you gave him a few pumps, watching in amazement as pearly drops of his arousal pooled at the reddened, swollen tip of him. Craning your neck, you ran your tongue over his tip, gathering the precious droplets, before guiding him into your mouth.

He let out a loud groan as he sank into the warm, inviting depth of your mouth. You hummed encouragingly around him, stroking the remaining inches of his shaft, while he gave a few experimental thrusts to let the two of you get used to the feeling of each other.

You used your free hand to caress his thigh, letting him know that you were okay. And ready to take more of him.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he began to go deeper, into your throat now. Your gag reflex began to hinder you, because he was so thick that your eyes began to water. But you refused to disappoint him. Breathing through your nose, you suppressed the reflex, letting him in all the way. Until your nose was brushing against his balls.

Once he had completely bottomed out, Junmyeon released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. He couldn't believe how gorgeous you looked with your swollen lips around him, while he was lodged deep within your throat.

Just the sight of you and the feel of your warm mouth around his cock made him want to come right then and there.

"You'll be the death of me, babygirl..." he grunted, slowly pulling out of your mouth before sinking back in. "Fucking hell..."

You whimpered at his praise, relishing how wrecked he sounded. It felt so good to have him like this: throbbing and pulsing deep inside your mouth.

He wrapped your hair around his fingers, using the grip to fuck your throat. You were determined to please him in any and every way possible. Tongue running along him, lips sucking at his girth, hand squeezing and massaging his balls. You wanted to make sure that he remembered this experience.

Junmyeon was losing himself into the feel of your mouth, his own eyes closing, head tipping backwards while he kept fucking you, his previously measured and slow pace growing faster.

You could feel the very familiar heat pool between your own legs and you reached out a hand to touch yourself. But your hand was swatted aside and you heard Sehun's awed voice.

"You've grown so wet, baby."

The brat was awake.

Junmyeon paused in his thrusts and opened his eyes to see Sehun standing near the bed, naked, camera poised and recording in his hand.

"How how long have you been here?" he asked.

The younger male's lips curled into a smirk. "Long enough. Now go back to fucking my girl's mouth, hyung," he said, one of his fingers tapping the camera.

You were almost certain that Junmyeon was going to pull out and give his maknae an earful, but when his hold on your hair tightened and he began to fuck into your mouth once again, you were almost certain that he also had a sex tape kink.

"You like watching me fuck your girlfriend, Sehunnie?" Junmyeon asked in a strained voice. "Come here and see how well she takes my cock."

You smirked as you felt Sehun move to come closer to your face, camera lens surely focussed on the spectacle of Junmyeon's cock sliding in and out of your mouth.

By the way Junmyeon was gasping and groaning, you knew that he was close. His rhythm was slowly unravelling. Your eyes were streaming with tears and your jaw was aching, but you wanted to make him feel good. And you had one surefire trick to finish him off.

Baring your teeth, you gave Junmyeon's length just the slightest graze as he plunged into your mouth. That was what did it for him, the slightest twinge of pain.

Letting out a cry, he came, releasing his load in hot spurts down your throat. You swallowed him down eagerly, using the rhythmic suction of your lips to milk every last drop of him. And you kept going, until you could feel him begin to soften in your mouth.

Eventually, he pulled away from your mouth, his hand in your hair coming up to cradle your cheek.

"You swallowed it all?" he asked you.

You nodded. "You taste so sweet, Myeonnie."

He chuckled and kissed you, until you felt the bed dip and a hand encircle your ankle.

"Come on, princess," Sehun whined almost impatiently. "Let me have you."

You broke away from Junmyeon to see that Sehun had abandoned his camera, choosing to place it on the dresser, lens facing the bed. He approached you with a hungry look in his eyes.

Sitting down against the headboard of the bed, he slapped his own thigh. Beckoning you.

Ever obedient, you rose to you knees, crawling over to climb into your boyfriend's lap.

"Sucking my hyung's cock first thing in the morning, little slut," he growled, taking his rigid length into his hand and running it through your folds, slicking himself. "Ride me now."

He guided himself into you as you sank down upon him. Your walls, which were still swollen and aching from last night, clamped down on him, sending jolts of pleasure through you. You moaned as you lowered yourself onto him, eyes rolling back into your head.

You began to ride him slowly, arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. When he slid all the way in, you felt heat burst all over your body, the sensitivity of your walls bordering on just the other side of unbearable.

A high pitched whine left your throat when Sehun grasped your hips and thrust up into you, causing him to still immediately. "What's wrong, princess?" he asked, but it was Junmyeon who replied.

"She's too sensitive, aren't you, babygirl?" he asked you, running a gentle hand through your hair.

You nodded.

Sehun's face softened and he cupped your cheek, pressing a kiss to your lips. "Then you should've said so, baby. Come here."

He switched positions, lying down on his back on the bed and making you lie on top of him. Your back against his chest.

And when he pushed back into you again in this position, it felt so much better. So much more comfortable.

He sank into you with a practiced ease, slowly pushing in and out of you. Trying to make it better, more pleasurable for you.

And it was better, he could fell, by the way you were arching your back against him, pressing your head to his shoulder.

"Does this feel better, sweetheart?" Sehun asked you, between soft kisses along your neck, one of his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

"Yes," you moaned, eyes falling shut, your body moving in time with his. "Yes, yes, yes..."

It was then that you felt Junmyeon's hands on your thighs, spreading them far apart. "Let me make it even better for you, babygirl," he husked, brushing his lips to your hipbone almost reverently.

And when the heat of his mouth descended upon you, right where you had been craving him the most ever since he ate you out last night, you felt yourself lose all touch with reality.

All that mattered was this. This moment, that you were sharing with these two gorgeous men. All you could focus on was them. Everything else ceased to exist for you.

With every plunge of Sehun's cock, with every flick of Junmyeon's tongue and with every pass of their hands greedily roaming your body, you were edging closer and closer to a climax so intense that you were almost terrified.

Your eyes opened and you looked down between your legs to see Junmyeon's eyes fixed upon your face, encouraging you to let go. Sehun pressed his lips to your cheek, before whispering into your ear.

"Its okay, princess. Let it go. Give it all to us. We've got you," he said, his hands kneading the soft mounds of your breasts with every thrust he made. "We've got you..."

Junmyeon parted your folds with his fingers and went straight for your clit, flicking against the swollen bud rapidly with a flattened tongue.

And that, along with the state of sensory overload that your body was in, was enough to finish you off.

White hot light overcame your vision and you felt yourself soaring upon the waves of ecstasy that came crashing down upon you. In their arms, you shuddered and spasmed, almost violently, letting go completely.

The cry that left your lips was something raw and guttural. A sound that you had never considered yourself as being able to make.

Clenching around Sehun, you urged him into his own release, feeling him release deep inside your walls.

With every pleasurable heave of your body, you felt a gush of warmth flow from you and you realized that you were squirting.

"S-shit," you gasped, watching with glazed eyes as Junmyeon licked it all eagerly. Greedily.

You slumped against Sehun, letting him thrust lazily into you, riding out his orgasm and your own, your hands weakly clutching at Junmyeon's hair.

It was the older man who pulled away from you first, placing a kiss to the soft skin of your inner thigh before giving you a playful wink and walking to the bathroom, presumably to get a washcloth to clean you up.

Your legs felt like jelly and you were mindless with pleasure and exhaustion. When Sehun slipped from you, you whined quietly at the loss of contact, rolling off of him to lie down on his side.

He got up and went to fetch the camera, eager to record the sight of his release oozing out of your pink and raw cunt.

"I can't believe we just made a sex tape," you said, chuckling weakly while spreading your legs for him to focus the lens of his camera between them.

"You and me both, babygirl," Junmyeon said, walking out of the bathroon with a washcloth in hand. "But our little Sehunnie has a thing for capturing 'memorable moments,'" he said, making finger quotes around the last two words.

"Will you both shut it and let me do my job?" Sehun snapped sassily.

Junmyeon swatted his arm and rolled his eyes exasperatedly at you. "This boy thinks he's the Scorsese of sex tapes."

You laughed, feeling light-headed from the exertions and giddy with happiness.

Junmyeon cleaned you up and then went downstairs to arrange for some breakfast for the three of you.

Sehun switched off his camera and kept it aside before coming to lie down beside you.

You curled up into his arms.

"Tired?" he asked you.

You hummed in agreement.

A beat of silence passed while he brushed your sweat-dampened hair away from your face.

"So..." you ventured. "Is this... arrangement going to be just a one time thing?"

Sehun's lips twitched into a grin. "My naughty girl. I thought you'd never ask," he said, smiling. "I rather enjoy watching hyung fuck you. But it all depends on whether you want it or not."

"I...I want it. The three of us," you answered, a little too quickly, because truth be told, no matter how much you'd try to outwardly pretend to be all prim and proper, you had loved getting down and dirty with both Junmyeon and Sehun. And life was short and unpredictable. Might as well take what you want now and worry about the consequences later on. "I don't know if Junmyeon will agree..."

Sehun laughed at this. "Oh baby, considering how much he was enjoying it while you were blowing him, he'll definitely agree. Just you see."

[christophe-delorne]

Good Dog

Chapter 8

Warnings: Excessive swearing

Pairings: Gregory x Christophe

AU: Adulthood

The bar was noises and crowded, far more than Christophe would ever feel comfortable in but his paranoia was drowned in alcohol. It wasn't unusual for him to get drunk but to do so in a public place was out of the ordinary and only because he had been coerced into it by one Kenny McCormick. The guy was convincing as hell and likely the only other person Christophe moderately tolerated. Other than Gregory. Though right now Gregory had been the deciding factor in why Christophe had ever agreed to go out and drink with Kenny in the first place, he needed to do something that he would consider a bit reckless for him to do. Kenny though, seemed all too entertained by Christophe's crass nature, maybe because the Frenchman was bluntly honest, unlike the blond's childhood friends. Both had shared the experience of death, Kenny seemed more used to that kind of thing that Christophe, not that Christophe was frightened of death by any means but or was heyo willing to dive right into it either.

"Glad to finally run off and have some fun, huh?" Kenny's voice broke through Christophe's haze, making the Frenchman turn to glare sourly at him. Kenny looked different from earlier today, looking less like a bum and more like a nine to five business man. It was not surprise, Kenny was a man who could easily blend in and that was something he used to his advantage.

"Fuck off, you just caught me at a bad time. Or a good one considering how you are." Christophe tapped the bar counter to gain the bar tender's attention and give him a refill on his drink. "And since you invited me, you're paying the bill."

Kenny placed a hand over his chest as if wounded by Christophe's words. "You expect poor lil' ol' me to pay? You're the hot shot merc with loads of cash you probably store under your mattress."

"That would require me to have a mattress in the first place."

"Right, right, I bet Gregory doesn't let his favorite lil' pet up on the furniture now does he?"

"Shut up." Christophe downed the shot, needed that burn to make him forget everything else that bothered him in his life. Like how right Kenny actually was.

Kenny laughed and clapped Christophe on the shoulder, obviously being able to read the mood the statement had put the Frenchman in, that was enough of an answer for him. "You know, you could always ditch the pompous dick and work for me. You know I treat my friends right even if they're idiots."

Christophe knew that Kenny was an honest man, far more generous and kind than he lead others to believe. A man of justice, even since he was a kid he hadn't hesitated to give his own life to bring peace to a world that didn't deserve it. Christophe couldn't share that sentiment, if anything, he needed Gregory to keep him going. No matter how much he hated the man, Christophe needed Gregory and while Gregory would never admit it, he needed Christophe as well. They were fit for each other, no matter how many girlfriends Gregory had, they were replaceable, Christophe was the one thing in Gregory's life that the seemingly impenetrable Brit that was ever stable in his life. Christophe stared down at the worn wood of the bar table, knowing that he would eventually need to go find where Gregory was staying which would likely lead to some sort of bitchfest.

"You already know that I can't fuckin' do that." Christophe pushed the tumbler away from himself, done drinking for the night. He was buzzed enough and didn't want to be completely impaired, even if he did trust Kenny, he didn't trust anyone else in this bar, or so he thought.

Just as he was about to stand up off the barstool, a hand fell on his shoulder. Instinctively he grabbed it and yanked, planning to throw the perpetrator over the bar for making the mistake of touching him, especially from behind. However, the owner of the hand seemed to have expected the motion and grabbed at the back of Christophe's hair with his free hand and giving a violent yank back, causing a hoarse cry of anger and foreign swear words to come spilling out of his mouth. His head was forced to tip back, green eyes locking onto smug, pale blue ones. It appeared Gregory had lost his patience in waiting for Christophe to return to him.

"You kept me waiting long enough, Christophe." The polite tone was deceptive as Gregory turned his head to look over at Kenny who was doing his damnedest to innocently drink the beer he ordered, pretending he wasn't there and failing. "I should have known you'd be the cause, Mr. McCormick. Though I should have guessed you'd come snooping around, I was hoping you would but not so soon." Gregory pulled upwards on Christophe's hair, making the Frenchmen swear as he was pulled to his feet.

"Well, you know me, I always do enjoy getting into the center of mischief." Kenny downed the rest of his beer before standing up, giving Christophe a look, not out of pity but almost out of understanding. "Anyways, just thought I'd show the old dirt dog some fun while he was off the leash."

"While I am thankful that he hasn't gone off and done something regrettable, I still prefer that Christophe not go off while we are in the middle of work."

"Ohoho, work you say? And what interesting things could possibly require the insistence of British upper crust and a mysterious Frenchman in Denver?"

"Likely the same reason why you're here, Mr. McCormick."

"Jeeze, Mr. McCormick, really? You make me sound like a honest, hard working man. Work is hard, but definitely not honest." He pulled out his wallet, placing down money for the bill, paying for Christophe's as well.

"I do enjoy formalities. However, I must excuse myself and Christophe, we have things to attend to and this little adventure has put us behind schedule. If we need your assistance, I will be certain to contact you." Gregory nodded briskly as if his words were the final say in the conversation. Kenny took the hint and waved them off with a sigh.

"Yeah, whatever, but just so you know, my services ain't free."

"Duly noted."

Gregory turned, still holding Christophe by his hair as he dragged the stumbling, disoriented Frenchman out of the bar. Already there was a taxi there waiting, not one of the public transports either. It appeared Gregory had hired a chauffeur to drive them around during their stay in Denver. Figures, Gregory wasn't the type to bother with a vehicle that wasn't exactly the cleanest or the nicest. That and having one or two designated drivers were preferable in this sort of mission, dedicated to serving them without being distracted by other customers. Gregory opened the back door, shoving Christophe into the backseat. It was unusual for Gregory to enter after Christophe, a sign of how upset the man was.

"You simply cannot leave like that in the middle of a mission."

"Shove it up your ass, prick." That got him a brisk slap upside his head, making Christophe turn his challenging glare at Gregory. He wasn't going to regret his decision and if anyone should apologize, it should be Gregory.

"You were rude to our host and you didn't answer my texts."

"First of all, fuck you and that cunt. Secondly... Fuck you." Maybe he had drank more than he thought, trying to remember his line of thinking was difficult, especially when he felt so pissed off with the man beside him.

"Wendyl had inside information on our target, so we need them to carry this mission out."

"What the hell even is this mission, you've told me fuck all and it's starting to get on my fuckin' nerves. Tell me what the shit is goin' on, Greg." He was used to just doing as he's told, but this, being back here so close to the worst time in his life. He wanted answers, he deserved some sort of explanation that would give him a good enough reason to stay near that he'll hole of a place. Not to mention deal with the people who were a part of it. A part of a war that he had no real stake in. A war that had changed both him and Gregory for the worst. He couldn't care less about what had happened to him, but...

Gregory sighed, running a gloved hand over his jaw, a sign of him thinking, choosing his words carefully. Which meant the blond wasn't ready to give Christophe the full details on this mission, which made him listen to Gregory's words with a grain of salt. "There have been reports of a new addictive drug on the market, one that is spreading far too quickly to be created by just some small timers." Gregory looked out the window, mulling over his thoughts and seemingly his anger had lessened. "It started showing up in Europe recently, the supply is thin, so people have begun killing each other over it. I managed to trace it back to Hall as the supplier, but I know a man like that wouldn't dirty his hands too much in drug trade, so someone must have offered him something too irresistible to pass up."

Christophe rubbed the back of his head, his scalp still sore from where Gregory had yanked on it. "So you were pulling all the information he had on the one who bought him?"

"Correct. I found out that he'd been promised a good deal of power and control in Europe in the coming years once whatever plan this organization was brewing up came to fruition. Such a promise means that the current powers would have to be cleaned out and replaced. Something that can only be done if something drastic happens. Something I intend to stop."

"Fuckin' hell. You know I hate missions that force me to do heroic things. I'm not doing it, not again."

"You don't have much of a choice in the matter, or have you forgotten you place once again?"

Christophe turned his head, avoiding Gregory's dangerous look, instead preferring to look out the window at the buildings moving past at a slow rate, it appeared they'd managed to get into afternoon rush hour. He hated being in the car, much less in traffic with a man who oozed anger while having the damnedest calm expression on his face. Even with the distraction of the conversation, Gregory hadn't forgotten Christophe's transgressions as expected. However, Christophe didn't know what to expect from the Brit, while everyone around Gregory thought of him as harmless, Gregory didn't hold back when it came to the Frenchman.

"I won't sacrifice my life again, Greg." Christophe stated firmly. "Never again. Nothing about this shitty world is worth my life for."

"Oh? Not even me?"

It was a trap question, one Christophe wouldn't fall for. He would never admit how much he cared for Gregory, though at this point he wondered if it wasn't even out of care for the man. Did he truly care about Gregory? Or was he just following routine, following the only thing he ever knew because it was familiar and safe. His entire life was chaotic and dangerous, ever changing except for one person. Once upon a time, when they were kids, he might've fancied such a notion, he had envied Gregory then. He had wanted to gain Gregory's attention, to cur favor in order to gain a reward. Eventually, that had stopped, there were no rewards, no more kindness left between them. Whatever youth that they had left had been ruined I that little mountain town in Colorado. They were adults, able to see the reality of their situation and yet unable to fix it, some wounds never did heal, on,y festered and grew into something more dangerous.

Christophe didn't respond, knowing he was only tempting Gregory's anger later. He wanted it, craved it almost, it had been so long that he wanted any kind of attention Gregory could give him. He knew it was wrong, he hated, loathed that part about him and yet he didn't want to change it. What sort of better world would be out there for him anyways? Did he even deserve anything better than this? He had done terrible things, had cursed God himself more times than he could count. So no, he deserved Gregory, deserved that sort of punishment. Christophe glanced back over to Gregory, the temptation was there, could he piss Gregory off enough to make the man forget everything else and focus on him? He would likely regret it, but the alcohol in his system had loosened his caution around the Brit.

"What makes you different from all the rest of the pieces of shit?"

Gregory seemed slightly taken aback by Christophe's statement, staring at the Frenchman as if hurt by it. Christophe hoped so, sure it was petty of him but he wasn't really in the right mindset to be reasonable and rational. It took a moment for Gregory to recover, but when he did, he moved closer, pressing close to Christophe's side. Instantly, he became aware of the touch, the subtle but elegant cologne wafting up, bringing back memories that made him feel mixed emotions. His eyelids lowered, regretting drinking, lowering his guard around Gregory was the worst mistake he could make. However he wanted to finally let his guard down, wanted to feel something that he scorned and locked away to keep himself safe. He felt warm breath on his ear, damning him to lifetime of torture that he'd reluctantly savor as his eyes closed. Words, soft softly whispered, sounding almost deceptively affection teased him for the rest of his days.

"Because I'm the only one you care about."

[medea10]

Medea Rambles - The HATE on...

You’d think I would have other shit to talk about. In fact, I was planning on making a ramble on Jussie Smollett or finally post that review of Angels of Death. But then something came out on Friday.

Ohhhhhh, Jussie Smollett and Angels of Death can wait.

*cracks knuckles*

The second I saw that thumbnail, I knew I was going to be shattered. I knew that this list was going to upset me more than you could ever know. And me being the curious little idiot, I had to click on this clickbait and watch it.

I innocently thought that maybe, just maybe...HE would be spared and not mentioned.

Or if HE was mentioned, it would be in the higher numbers or an honorable mention.

And don’t get me wrong, a lot of these were characters that deserved every hatred in the world. Especially this bitch!

But I knew, I knew HE was further up.

Press on.

OH COME ON!

HE is better than this annoying little twat!

Come on WatchMojo, just hurry up and get this over with. My heart can’t take no more of this pain.

OH FUCK ME GUY!

You guys can’t still, after twenty years, be heartbroken over you-know-who leaving the show and having him be replaced for like 30+ episodes.

Please let it be some other poor sap be at #1.

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON’T DO THIS TO...

AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

THERE IT IS! AHHHHHH! AHHHHH!

A;AJKDJ;K;JKLAF;;IEAWEHIAEF;HAF;HKLD

A;JKLDF;JKLDFAHEHWE;HIO;HA;HDH;A

AIEJG[EAIIERHIEJAIJHIEHIEHIAJ

FUCKING FUCK YOU WATCHMOJO! JUST FUCK YOU! FUCK THE PEOPLE WHO VOTED FOR THIS! FUCK YOU ALL WITH A RUSTY, WOODEN SPOON! AND WHEN YOU’RE DONE WITH THAT...

AKLE;JKRJKTRJSIGJIAJRJA;J

*inhales and exhales*

Okay, now that I got that out...

First of all, sorry for that outburst. I mean no ill-will towards the good folks at WatchMojo or the folks who vote for the entries. It’s just that when my favorite character gets attacked, I kinda turn into a monster ready to rip your head off.

If you do not know me, know this. I am a fan of Tracey on Pokemon. I am one of the big and notorious ones at that. I also am aware that I am in the severe, severe, severe, SEVERE minority in this. And divide that into a different digit because I was a fan of Tracey from second fucking one!

That’s right. I’m not one of those Johnny Come-Lately or Born Agains that gave him a second chance years later and came out to say, “You know what, Tracey wasn’t so bad. I actually like him.”

Yeah, where the fuck were you all those years he was getting shit on? NO, I’M NOT SORRY FOR THAT! For years he’s been given the reputation of him being less than nothing. Because he replaced Brock after 80 something episodes. Saying that Tracey has NO CHARACTER AT ALL outside of a sketchbook compared to Brock’s rainbow of charisma. 

Why? Because he doesn’t hit on every piece of ass that walks his way?

Why? Because Brock’s backstory was touching and this guy has nothing?

Why? Because Brock looks SO FUCKING STYLISH while this guy looks generic’s watered down idiot cousin?

Why? Because Brock makes insightful comments to help Ash he’s seen as the second coming of the Buddha, while when Tracey does it, he’s seen as a wannabe to Brock’s greatness?

Well excuse me while I bow down to your all-mighty God of Brock. I didn’t realize I was in the presence of Jesus “Tap Dancing” Christ. I thought I was watching a show about a 10 year old catching monsters in a ball. I didn’t realize Brock was that big a deal. Excuse me while I wipe his ass with the world’s most delicate toilet paper!

WOW, I’m really shoving sarcasm down every orifice.

It’s true that Tracey was not the most developed character. In fact, he was only created because Japan thought western audiences would find Brock offensive due to his appearance. So they created an “Anglo-Saxon” character meant to look less-offending because the 1990s were weird. But once they realized the audience didn’t care about Brock’s appearance and that there was no controversy, they pulled Tracey faster than you can say, “They kicked me in the pokeballs.”

I mean, the Orange Islands were only 36 episodes long (give or take). They could have given us a little more with Tracey’s character to get the attention of wayward audience members. But what we got wasn’t all bad. We got a pretty decent episode with him and another Pokemon Watcher. And even the episode where he catches Scyther. And of course I was enthralled at the fact that he was an artist. But that wasn’t enough to get kids to like him and was sent to Oak’s lab to stay there.

Well, you crybabies got Brock back! They made sure of that! We wound up with like 300 more episodes of the same old song and dance. You happy now? You satisfied that your precious, little Brock is back? HUH? YOU HAPPY? ARE YOU FUCKING HAPPY NOW? HUH?! YOU HAPPY THAT HE CAN HIT ON EVERY WOMAN EVERY WEEK FOR THE NEXT 10 YEARS?!

Yeah, I think you can tell how “happy” I was that Brock returned in time for Ash and Misty going to Johto. Because I got not only Johto, but all of Hoenn, the Battle Frontier in Kanto, and the entire region of Sinnoh to watch Brock be his “Brocky” self. And trust me, we didn’t get much character development with him until he was close to leaving the show.

Seriously, Tracey gets hate for giving us a break from the running gag of Brock hitting on women? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate Brock. I just got tired of his antics...really fast. In some ways, I am happy Tracey didn’t wear out his welcome (with me). Other people say he wore out his welcome the second he was shown. But I’m glad we were given some time with him (even if it was a small amount) so that we don’t get tired of him.

I’ve spent 19 years trying to defend Tracey’s existence. He doesn’t deserve the hate just because he replaced Brock for a short amount of time. He doesn’t have to be like Brock. Tracey is his own person and I thought he was a breath of fresh air. And let’s face it, the Orange Islands was a fun arc. Plus it gave Ash an actual victory. Yeah, you probably forgot that too!

And even when Brock wore out his welcome and left, fans still had to find fault with the other secondary male leads. Cilan seen as annoying as a Nickelback song, Clemont was seen as a reject from The Big Bang Theory if that ever got an animated series, and Kiawe...well...no, Kiawe is awesome. And on the contrary, I found all three of these boys better than Brock. But that’s my opinion.

Sometimes a little change doesn’t hurt. Tracey’s change didn’t hurt the Pokemon anime. Fuck no, it didn’t! It gave us some pretty interesting gym leaders and battles (which were later “improved upon” with Alola), an astonishing six-on-six match for Ash, and even introduced us to double battles. That’s right, we got double battles here first! Screw you! We got a whole new experience in the pokemon world with this new travel companion. Which is more than what I can say about most of the other entries on that top 10 list. Characters like Shimotsuki, Pan, and Near were introduced and the anime took a turn for the weird or the worst. Seriously, how could Pan be better than Tracey? Dragon Ball GT happened!

I’ll never understand this world.

But yeah, this is just me unleashing a load of pint-up rage that’s been building. I know Tracey will continue to get hate on lists such as this because the people who vote on this stopped watching Pokemon mid-Johto and can’t count past the number 10. There are worse characters to hate on. Lay off Tracey!

This has been Medea, calling every Tracey-hater a cunt since 2000.

[wickednerdery]

Title: Death Comes to Visit Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: The Night Manager Pairing/character: Jonathan Pine/Female Assassin Rating: FRM Summary: “What are you doing here?” Notes: I confess, I went through easily four different versions of this piece before writing it this way. You can read the assassin as yourself or an OFC if you like, just know Death is not her name nor is she meant to be Death literally, LOL!! It’s kinda long, has some violence, lots of smut, and is a bit dub-con (though not likely how you think) so it gets a “Read More”.

“What are you doing here?” Pine moves slow, cautiously. He’s run across Her before, fleeting brushes, just enough to know the danger. To know a visit was akin to meeting Death.

“Curiosity?” Death offers with a smile and shrug, looking around. “I think I’ve killed someone in here before...maybe it was a floor up, these rooms all start to look alike.” Smile spreads to grin, laugh. He scowls; she laughs all the more. “I’m sorry...your face!”

His hand knocks her windpipe, her head knocks the door. “Why are you in my room?” He demands.

“You worried?” One leg slips between two, body arches into his. “Don’t worry...” Her look, body, softens. “You’re not the target.”

There’s a gentle shake, like he’s vibrating against her, causing Death to sigh in a rush of pleasure. He could snap her neck, but he’s still afraid. “Who is?”

“Now what sort of professional would I be if I told you that?” She pouts playfully. “A very bad one.” His hand relaxes a touch and, finally, there’s enough room to counter and knock his hand away.

Pine comes back with a gun, she jams her foot down on his instep causing him to curse and lose balance. Death shoves hard; he and the weapon go flying in opposite directions. Before he can recover she pounces, legs on either side of his, knife over carotid.

“Hands.” Pelvis grinds down, hand presses blade in, until his hands show. “Above.”

Hands go above his head, though eyes remain blazing. Death is not a creature to show weakness to. Weakness is boring, weakness pathetic. Strength is respected. A willingness to fight, but knowledge enough to know when to placate, is delightful.

On strength alone he can take her, but once started it won’t end until one of them is dead...and in Death’s experience and mad determination his win is not guaranteed.

"Be nice or I’ll change my mind.” She truly does not wish to kill Pine, he fascinates too much. Soldier to hotelier to spy able to take down a man like Richard Roeper? That was impressive. That was...hot. “Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

She can almost believe him; if she ever believed anyone, she’d believe him now. Blade steady she leans down, lets his breath heat her lips, inhales his scent. Man and the ocean; it’s a nice combination. Only when Death catches a hand moving does she reassert with a press of the knife.

“Shhh...” It’s the sound of a man trying to sooth the beast, to gain its trust so it won’t tear him apart. Perhaps, if he can placate, he’ll get information or, at least, peace. Fingers spread - no weapon, no harm - caress the side of a porcelain face, cheek...brush across cherry lips.

It’s not intentional, but Death will always pounce on an opportunity. Lips part, teeth delicately pinch flesh before she pulls two digits into her mouth. He’s too unsure to pull back so merely watches, stunned. Tongue swirls, flicks and presses against fingertips. Death watches his eyes widen more as pupils dilate.

Unbidden, between clenched teeth, the moan escapes. It’s raw, rumbles his whole chest, vibrates against the woman’s thighs. Pine shifts in attempt to hide, distract, the sudden blood rush to his groin. He tries not to think how hard she sucks, the greediness with which her mouth goes down over his flesh, and how amazing that tongue would feel teasing the tip of his cock. He tries not to notice that Death beautiful.

The jab of his erection is unmistakable and she rolls hips to encourage. Pine’s eyes close, his moan grows louder...she copies the sound over his fingers. Pulls off with a wet suck, takes a third finger before starting again. Hips rock, ride, as his hard-on swells.

He arches, his other hand fights the urge to reach out and she releases the one she’s doting on. With a reminder press of the knife she leans body, mouth, lips, against his. Death kisses hard; demands not just a reply, but a submission. He’s not in charge, she is.

But she allows his hand to find her ass. To grip, pull towards him, against him, as she shifts his cock-bulge to hit her clit. Her tongue finds his, parries and thrusts, as growling moans counter hers. Death doesn’t wear undergarments, she leaks right onto his designer suit, juices soaking through until he can feel the wetness against his cock.

Trousers and boxers stick, give near delirious levels of friction, as she rides like he’s already inside of her. The blade is finally set aside - though still in reach - as Death takes fingers once coated in her spit and slips them inside of her. Pine’s eyes roll back; she’s wet, warm, and oh so tight.

Death’s lips curl into a smile, she turns attention and teeth to his neck. He grunts when she draws blood, groans as she laps it up. Fingers pump, curl, inside of her as Pine’s heart pounds against her marking mouth. She moves faster, curling her entire body up over him as hand grips her ass hard enough she’ll be marked. Death starts to let out high-pitched sounds of pleasure.

He’ll have to button up his shirt later and even that won’t be enough; he’ll need a story to tell. Not right now though, right now his mind’s blank as his cock twitches against the woman riding his fingers. She shakes against him as hard as he shakes against her. His other hand comes around, finds her clit, and shivers against it almost brutally.

“FUCK!!!” One hand on his chest, nails digging in, and the other going for the knife, she explodes. With every muscle curled, ready to strike, cunt clamps on his fingers as screams and juices flood out. Death forces herself against him, rides out the orgasm with grinds that trigger his own.

Pine arches into her, curses come through gritted teeth, as his release coats the inside of his trousers nearly as much as hers does the outside. His eyes flutter close, he works to catch his breath, before he feels the weight of Death leave him. His eyes reopen to see her, white sundress now clinging-damp to reveal sex and thighs.

She puts finger to her lips, walks backwards to the door, and slips out with blade in hand.

Later that evening Pine gets the call. His target - head of a terrorist syndicate - has been found dead in his penthouse of the same hotel. When he arrives Pine sees Death’s blade buried deep in the center of the man’s head. He lifts the small note off the body:

Sorry Baby, He knew anyway. X X X

When asked if he knows what it means Jonathan breathes in the lingering scent of her and smiles in gratitude. “I’ve no idea.” He lies.

I initially had this in 2nd person as Jonathan with Reader, but it never felt quite right so switched it to 3rd with a vaguer Reader/OFC line. Mostly I just wanted to play with the idea of a dub-con where it’s the guy doing the questionable/ reluctant consenting. Also, to be clear, “Death” totally saved Pine’s ass; his target had discovered who he really was. (PS: This all started with an idea from @creedslove that, sadly, I can no longer find the link for thanks to Tumblr lol!!)

(Gif found from Google!)

Tagging Who Might Care/Asked to be tagged in ALL the Tom fics: @welcome-to-fangirl-hell, @chibiyanai, @world-of-multi-imagines @lokilvrr @rizzo87 @tarithenurse ...If I forgot anyone, I’m sorry, I really need to make a tags masterlist or something, lol!

[mzminola]

[image: the cover of an antique style book, with an ink drawing of a waving 1920′s flapper walking down a country road carrying a large satchel, with a speech bubble that reads “Are you cunts ready for a near-death experience?!?” The book is titled “BUCKLE the FUCK up BITCHES I’m COMING”, subtitled, “With a Bag of LIQUOR, DRUGS, & WEAPONS”.]

[slightlyconcerned1]

My Heaven and my Hell- James x Alyssa

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS

Authors note: I didn’t really know were to set this because the story has a very tight time line, they met at the beginning and it ends with a character Getting shot. So I wrote this as if James survived getting shot down and he’s at hospital.

Plot: James has been taken to the hospital and he is remising on his time on Earth. He realises that he can’t bare to be apart from Alyssa, and death can not part them.

Warnings: swearing (obviously), mentions of violence, slight smut.

Dead, everyone thought I was dead. Alyssa thought that, I know that for sure. It’s odd, I went through the stages of dying that the people who have near death experiences talk about. I saw my life flash before my eyes, it was mostly just Alyssa, oh and also my dad being a cock.

After that happened I didn’t see a light, I didn’t see some children eating Devil ready to throw fire at me…I saw nothing. That’s when it hit me, I couldn’t experience some perfect or horrific after life, because Alyssa had given me everything. She was my heaven and my hell, she was the best experience of my emotionless life and the worst. I couldn’t just leave her on this Earth to rot, likely in jail. We need to protect each other forever.

That’s when I woke up, I was in hospital. It turns that I had been out for a long time. My whole body hurt, I just had an operation apparently, ‘thank God I’m not American, this looks expensive.’ I thought to myself.

“Y-You look like shit.” I heard a girl tell me, I felt my heart rate go up. She was here and not in jail, and she didn’t hate me for hitting her in the face with a gun. I slowly turned my head to face her, for someone who just got shot in the shoulder.

“Fuck off.” I said smiling, tears came to her eyes as she hugged me tightly, it hurt but I wasn’t about to tell her to stop.

“You’re a fucking wanker, don’t ever scare me like that again you cunt!” She said, I could feel her tearing up more on my stomach.

“Trust me, I wasn’t planning on getting shot again.” I said quietly, I ran my fingers through her hair. She pulled away slowly and stared at me, she leaned in slowly and kissed my chapped lips.

“Maybe I was wrong, we don’t have are whole lives to be together, live seems pretty short now that I think about it.” Alyssa said, she was clearly think out loud.

“What?” I said feeling slightly confused, since I hadn’t heard her saying anything about us having our whole lives to be together.

“Nothing!” She said and leaned into kiss me again, this time I kissed back. I was still quite weak, so it was hard to move. Alyssa ran her fingers through my hair as she kissed me. It was relaxing, being with her made me forget that we were still in deep shit.

Alyssa pulled away and smirked “nice hospital gown.” She said sarcastically.

“Shut up.” I said in a fairly monotone voice. She pulled her dress over her head, it was funny, she hadn’t changed her clothes or showered in days, yet somehow she still looked perfect. Her underwear looked different, but I didn’t say anything. I looked her up and down then smiled. She got on top of me and began to kiss me again. I just closed my eyes, this was one of the first times I wanted to do something sexual and I wasn’t just going along with things. Alyssa started to slowly move down, I moved my head slightly to look at her.

Just as we were about to finally do it my dad walked in.

“Woah, woah, that’s an odd birthday present.” He said chuckling, he didn’t seem mad at me, he almost looked relieved and he was just showing it in an odd way.

”I spoke to the police and they said because your psychical state is too weak for prison and you were minors when the crime was committed, they are just going to put you under house arrest for six months, you two can still visit each other though.” He said smiling.

I didn’t know what to think, I just knew that if I could see Alyssa then I was the luckiest man on Earth.

Requested by: @april-baby-99