#boots by rampage

[hungry-hobbits]

everyone has their categories of little guys they gravitate towards but i kind of realized the one for me that has the most guys in it is probably "autistic-coded, well meaning, soft spoken christian guy" bonus points if they have a romantic (implied)/devoted relationship with another man who is more masculine than him

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Rampage 12/8/23

Julia wore the Shaker-52 Boot in Black Patent from Demonia ($92.95)

[gutwrenchflowerbomb]

Fuck this main event. I ain’t watching no goddamn Jake Hager vs Shitty Little Boots match. You got me messed up.

I’d rather watch whatever that mascot is wrestle.

[thor-is-trans-and-pan-he-told-me]

Puss:Hey hey hello hello I love you. I'm just going to sit here and say I love you and say hi and slay and yass.

[girlmythlegend]

Happy Santana vs Ortiz day

[jerek]

jumpscared on pinterest

[writersdrug]

Bartender Simon when a customer yells at reader for a mistake?

I love the way you guys think LOVE keep em comin!!

It starts when he's restocking his bar, carrying crates with fruit, bitters, coasters, and straws. He comes down from the pantry upstairs to a decently relaxed lunch crowd, when he hears the second half of the customer's tantrum.

"You expect me to eat this?! It's bloody raw!"

"I'm so sorry, I can take it back aga-"

"You already did that - went to the kitchen and stuck it under the warmer for a few seconds and thought I wouldn't notice, huh?"

"No sir, I gave it to the che-"

"I don't want to hear fucking excuses, just go fix my damn burger. I'm paying for this shit, aren't I? And you're working for my tip. So fucking work, cunt."

Humiliation isn't enough to describe what you feel - there isn't a strong enough word for it. Claiming you're a liar, saying you grovel for tips, yelling at you in front of your other tables, calling you a cunt - it makes your eyes sting with oncoming tears, staring at him and using every muscle in your jaw to keep from spitting insults back at him. You want to throw the food in his face, but instead, you grab his plate and storm off to the kitchen before he can see you cry.

The man scoffs, looking at his watch. "Fuckin' great..."

Simon's still standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding his crates and staring daggers at the man. He knows what it's like, being berated by customers. He says "that's customer service for ya" and moves on. But for this wanker to berate you - he sees red. He sees his next target.

He swiftly crosses the restaurant floor, boots thudding against the old wood as he drops his crate behind the bar. Soap's already yelling about the asshole when he pushes his way into the kitchen.

"Order it fuckin' rare and ye get fuckin' rare, bloody clipe- talkin' mince, bawface bastard-" he slams the burger back onto the grill with a tense arm, continuing to grumble as it sizzles. "Cookin' ye a nice strip o' shoe leather-"

You're sitting on an overturned crate, sobbing into your hands, pen and notepad on the ground beside you. Price is on one knee, one arm around your shoulder and the other on your leg - you'd never officially met the owner of the pub, but now was as good a time as any, you suppose.

"Wot happened?" Is all that Ghost could say without going off on a rampage. He's saving that for later.

"He fucking embarrassed me, that's what happened!!" You snap, looking up at Simon. Your eyes are red and puffy after only crying for a minute or two, cheeks wet from your tears. You hug your arms around your middle and choke on a sob. "Told me his fucking burger wasn't cooked, so I sent it back- then he tries to say I never even gave it to Soap?! Calls m-me a cunt in front of my tables?! Make me fucking work for his money - I don't want his goddamn money!!"

Price shushes you, worrying your anger might be leaking through the kitchen door - he doesn't want the same customer to hear you bad-mouthing him, although it's rightfully deserved. He rubs your back gently as you drop your head into your hands again, shoulders shaking as you cry.

Simon's seething - he's already moving before his brain can catch up, still stuck on the picture of your teary face. He marches behind the line and reaches across Soap, picking the burger right off the grill.

Soap makes a shocked sound. "Ye gone mad, LT?!"

"Table six?" Ghost asks, holding the sizzling burger patty in his hand, grease dripping onto his forearm.

You stare between his face and the patty - your crying stopped, your face now replaced with a stupefied expression. "Uh- yeah."

And like that, he's off; he shoves himself back out onto the floor and makes his way towards the customer who yelled at you. The burger burns his hand, but he doesn't even notice the pain. He drops it onto the table in front of the man, who yelps in disgust. "What the fuck-"

"Better?" Ghost says, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he looked down at the man, now stuttering and blubbering in shock. Specks of grease are freckling his white dress shirt.

"Are you- is this a fucking joke?"

"It's your fuckin' burger."

"I can't believe this-"

"Then get the fuck out my pub." Ghost growls; he grabs the man by his arm, ripping his blazer off the back of his chair, and drags him to the front door. The other customers look with wide eyes as he busts the door open with his shoulder and throws the man onto the sidewalk. He wheezes as he hits the ground, and Ghost throws his blazer at him next.

"If I ever see your face in 'ere after this, 'm throwin' you out again and keepin' your bullocks as a fuckin' souvenir."

The man stares at him, flabbergasted, as Ghost walks back inside. People are focused on their meals now, heads down and pretending they didn't see Simon body a man to the ground - the guy deserved it, after all.

Simon huffs, picking up the burger from the now-empty table. His hand stings a bit, but he has years of callouses built up to keep any real burns from settling in. He gently kicks the chair back into place and starts heading back to the kitchen, when he sees you.

You're staring at him with wide, wet eyes, standing in the entryway to the kitchen and mouth slightly ajar in awe. You've fully stopped crying, but there are still tears on your face from before. Eyeliner and mascara are smudged a bit, but it only makes Simon's fondness for you blossom.

He gently nudges your shoulder with his elbow as he pushes past you. "Take a fifteen. I'll watch your tables."

You stare after him as he throws the burger into the trash, grabbing a fresh towel and wrapping his hand. Wide back facing you as he looks at Soap, who stares at him with a frustrated sigh.

You're horny now. Horny for Simon - and you're definitely relaying this entire shebang to your friends tonight.

[delirious-donna]

tw: katsuki x female reader, pro-hero, early 30s katsuki, pure smut, pussy drunk katsuki, finishing untouched, implied multiple rounds, implied unprotected sex, seriously I was just on a filthy rampage 😌

It had happened so fast; so fast that you weren’t sure when your intent had been entirely disregarded in favour of your hot-headed husband’s desire to devour you whole. Not that you were really complaining.

Your phone slid onto the counter, anticipation thrumming through you knowing that another patrol had ended successfully with nothing but a few scrapes and scratches to deal with. Child’s play at this point for the number two pro hero and the love of your life.

Heavy boots stomped towards the apartment door; each step echoed in time with the second heartbeat between your legs and you clenched them shut for a hit of friction. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough, not without his body slotted against yours. Hard steel enveloped by your soft curves.

The overwhelming swell of lust was immediate when the door opened, a head of ashy blond spikes dipped low appeared and it felt as if his presence sucked the very oxygen from the room. His cumbersome gauntlets were missing—likely left behind at the agency—but his hero suit remained. It was covered in fine dust, thick black streaks of dirt darkened his biceps and sweat lingered on his brow and shoulders as if he had run here… had he run here?

It was hardly a new scenario, this man was your husband and the routine of his dangerous line of work was well accustomed to both of you, but there was always the adrenaline that came after the ‘fight’. It consumed you both, dragged you under raging, lust-fuelled waves until there was no rational thoughts left—only the need.

Katsuki was your air, your reason to draw breath; all you wanted was to see him happy, loved, content with the world he built for you both. Those were the desires you always harboured, right now, you were focused on your baser instincts.

You needed to swallow him down, have his fat tip punish the soft tissue at the back of your throat until you were slurping down his seed like the greedy beast you felt like. Dammit, you were already licking your lips in sweet anticipation. The phantom salty musk taste whet your mouth with runny saliva, and he smirked when he caught your eye.

Honestly, you had expected to settle low and spread on your haunches. You wanted to worship him whilst he towered overhead. His sheer size and frame were mammoth and imposing; broad shoulders and arms thick with golden-hued muscles, a barrelled chest heaving with every inhale and his nostrils flared as confidence beat against his conscious thought. Bakugou Katsuki was a pure powerhouse of a man, a man of action first and foremost, and never more was that true when you felt his deeply calloused palm grab at the back of your neck.

His mouth slanted atop yours, tongue bullying its way into your mewling mouth as you grabbed at his shoulders to stabilise yourself against the force of being hauled against his chest. His unique glycerin laced sweat mingled with the spice of his soap, filling your nose with only him whilst caramel burst over your tastebuds.

Katsuki overwhelmed your senses so easily that you had no idea you were being walked backwards towards the bedroom. He boots thudded as he kicked out of them, stalking forward with no sign of halting the dominance of his kisses, the grope of your hips, waist, breasts. He never stopped, refused to waver and you were simply swept up in the rip tide that he was his momentum.

Instead of falling to your knees in the hallway like you intended, you found your spine pressed against rich brushed cotton sheets, bare and vulnerable to his attentive gaze. It had you squirming, reacting to every simple brush of his fingers on your heated skin. It did not go unnoticed, nothing every did with Katsuki.

You whined, low and throaty when he pathed a wet trail of kisses down your front, stopping at your breasts and lapping at your peaked nipples in turn. He showed no sign of shucking out of his hero suit, and whilst you adored him decked out for business, right here and now, it simply wouldn’t stand.

“Kat—please...”

His crimson eyes rolled in feigned annoyance, but the smirk couldn’t hide exactly how pleased he was that you wanted to see more of him, like he didn’t already know… the menace.

“For a kiss,” he bartered with a smug smile.

“My fucking pleasure,” you replied, eliciting an amused huff of the hero hovering over you.

Grabbing at the front of his compression shirt, you pulled him down until your lips crashed against his. The kiss was a mixture of sweet and salty, the pace alternating between slow and steady to hurried and frantic. You knew every lick to make him groan, every nip at his bottom lip that would stir the beast within until it roared with the compulsion to take over.

“Cussing is my vice, get your own. Now stop complainin’ and let me eat you out.”

With those rough words, the top half of his clothes swiftly disappeared into a dark corner leaving him bare-chested and magnificent. A literal wall of muscle with a liberal smattering of scars, and it stole your breath to gaze upon him.

Your foot braced against his toned pec, taking in the sight of the ash blond God that moved to kneel between your thighs, drinking him down in intoxicated delight.

Katsuki kissed along your calf until his nose pressed against the fat of your thigh, a low moan issued from his throat sending sparks dancing in your veins. Sometimes you could hardly believe it; the big burly pro hero known for his surly, no-nonsense attitude was so easily affected by being buried in your pussy—pussy drunk if you will. It would make you chuckle if he wasn’t in the process of scattering your wits to the wind with his hungry mouth.

Time ceased all meaning as you gave into Katsuki’s every whim, giving up on the keening pleads for you to return the favour after your second orgasm broke onto his awaiting tongue, slick slurped down his swallowing throat. His fingers tightened into the fat of your backside, spreading you further apart with each massage of his warm calloused hands.

He took his time in licking a fat wet strip over your soaked cunt, tugging on the puffy flesh of your folds with insistent lips. Guttural groans vibrated against your throbbing clit, your bud tender from the array of orgasms the hulking male pulled from you without showing sign of stopping.

Your toes sank into the flexing muscles of his broad shoulders, sensing their every ripple as he prodded once more at your gushing entrance. Slick already coated his fingers, drenched up to the knuckles as he pressed against your velvet walls.

“So good—taste so fuckin’ delicious,” he grunted, lips dancing across your sweat dappled skin with every word.

“Oh, ‘suki—oh god. Please, one more.”

Eyes of brightest ruby snapped up to lock with your own, widening almost imperceptibly as his entire body jerked, once then twice. His digits pressed firmly against your front wall, massaging the engorged tissue of your pleasure spot in earnest until you broke apart at the seams once more.

So blissed out from the release of tension low in your belly, you barely realised when the weight on the bed dipped and moved, Katsuki rolled sideways on a panted breath to reveal a large damp stain on the front of his black combat trousers.

“Fuck—I… shit-I need a minute. Got me busting in my damn pants like I’m still a fuckin’ horny teenager, sweetheart.”

You chuckled but quickly schooled yourself into some semblance of a stern expression. “You’re saying it’s my fault, Bakugou?”

“Don’t you Bakugou me, Mrs Bakugou. Don’t think that cause I ruined my trousers I’m not going to ruin your insides. Just gotta give me five minutes,” he huffed, standing to peel away the sticky mess from his cum-covered groin.

You paid for that attitude… over and over until you were as ruined as he promised.

[cordycepspog]

Love love LOVE the focus on Joel’s boots during his rampage in the hospital. Because it’s not in a fit of rage, or desperation. Joel’s face is blank. He’s not thinking about consequences of his actions. He’s thinking “you took away my daughter and now I’m getting her back.” It’s a skill he picked up from Tess. He knows what’s coming. There’s no need to get emotional about it. It’s the simplest thing in the world to him: “You don’t get to take her away from me. Not again.” Hell, he doesn’t even look at the doctor when he shoots him! He’s looking right at Ellie, his entire focus and purpose laying in front of him! Mans is straight up on autopilot!

Joel is a unstoppable force in his grief. And Ellie is the immovable object that keeps him from walking straight over the ledge.

[carolmunson]

domestic relationship with eddie lovers come get y’all juice.

“I’m so sick of this,” he huffs when he comes through the door of your studio apartment. You jump in the corner of the couch, half a handful of pop corn in your mouth.

“Jesus H—I knew I shouldn’t’ve given you a key,” you breathe, leaning forward to put the bowl on the coffee table. You stand up, blanket around your shoulders like a cape, already snuggly in your after work PJs, “What’re you sick of?”

He unlaces his boots on your welcome mat, winter coat covered in flakes that melt on your wood tile floor. The swishy fabric gets laid haphazardly with his wet wool scarf over the chair by your tiny kitchen table. You kiss him before he can answer. His lips are cold like the tip of his nose.

“This weather,” he sighs into your mouth like you’re a hot shower, “This month.”

“Poor baby,” you whisper, stealing another kiss. He pulls his hair back, cracking his neck soon after. Eddie talks through his day, going to your dresser to rifle through ‘his drawer’. Extra pants, boxers, t-shirts.

“And like, the new floor manager for the guys in Clifton is such a fucking asshole. I can’t wait for his training to be over so he can get the fuck out of my garage,” he snaps.

“It’s not your garage, babe,” you shrug, back in your seat on the couch.

“Might as well be,” he grumbles. Eddie’s clothes always end up in the same corner near your bed and you always end up bringing them with you for wash day. Once he’s changed and washed his hands and had a sip of water you know he’s done with his after work rampage. His frame slides in close to yours, curling himself up so that he can lay his head somewhere between your chest and your thighs.

“Do the thing,” he murmurs while the TV catches his attention. You take the elastic out of his hair, running a hand through the top of his curls.

“Braids?”

“Braids and then take them out and redo them again,” he turns and looks at you, eyes soft, “Please.”

“Okay,” you nod back, another kiss that feels like the sun is out.

“I’ll rub your back after,” he whispers.

“You don’t have to bargain with me, I already said I would do it,” you giggle.

“I know, but you said your back was bothering you when you called me during lunch so,” he shrugs, eyes fluttering closed when you part his hair, “If I can stay awake, I’ll rub your back.”

[fear-is-truth]

RAMPAGE.

── tate langdon x f!reader | nsfw ‧ mdni | wc: 2k

cw: throat fucking. gunplay. boot humping. cnc. degradation. oral sex, m! receiving. vaginal fingering

a/n: an uncut version of my previous fic. pretty dark, but i can’t stop thinking about tate

his thumb pressed gently against your bottom lip, tracing its curve with deliberate slowness. the icy touch of his snake ring against your skin sent a jolt through you, causing you to involuntarily shudder. your lips parted slightly, and Tate seized the opportunity to press the tips of his pointer and middle fingers into your mouth, his thumb now tilting your face up by the chin.

“you know what you’re supposed to do.”

a muffled whine bubbled from your throat, and he smirked down at you, his dark eyes glittering with cruel mirth. desperately, you searched for any semblance of the boy you once—no, you corrected yourself, still loved. who loved you back. but there was nothing. no trace of the boy you knew remained; it was all gone.

without breaking eye contact, he pushed further, fingers grazing past your teeth, pressing down on your tongue gently. not stopping until he had sunk to the knuckles. tears began to blur your vision when he reached the back of your throat and you fought back the urge to gag. to your relief, Tate seemed to notice your discomfort as he pulled back slightly, tactfully avoiding your uvula. instinctively, you hollowed your cheeks and began to suckle on his digits.

“that’s it. attagirl.”

his other hand curled around the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair to hold you in place. encouraged, you slowly moved your tongue back and forth; slipping into the space between his fingers. he once more reached the back of your throat, but this time you were ready to accommodate him. saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, slowly dribbling down your chin as he steadily fucked your throat with his fingers.

your knees hurt from kneeling for so long, but there was more pressing matters to attend to. the warm ache pooling in the bottom of your gut was becoming harder and harder to ignore. you could feel the warm dampness seeping through your panties, adding to the discomfort.

your eyelids fluttered open when Tate suddenly tapped his foot against your knees, shoving them apart to wedge the toe of his combat boot under your skirt and against your clothed cunt. a gagged whimper escaped you, pathetically grateful for the friction. the corner of his lips slowly curved upwards in a smirk.

“someone’s needy, huh?”

he drawled, his heel remained planted firmly on the ground while the soles of his combat boots hovered just above the surface. he slowly began to rock his foot back and forth, providing just enough stimulation for your aching sex. pathetically grateful, you continued to suck on his digits, occasionally stifling a gag when he thrusted his fingers a little too fast or deep.

a wet pop as he extracted his fingers from your mouth. his boot pressed against you— grinding a little bit harder this time, before abruptly pulling away. your pussy clenched forlornly around nothing. your chest ached.

Tate’s eyes remained glued to yours the entire time, as if he was staring right into your soul. you tried to do the same, but his were glazed over; completely blank. they shut you out.

“that’s enough. now, for the fun part.”

without warning, he cocked the gun. the click of the mechanism echoed in the room, making you flinch. the blood in your veins ran cold. the fear was immediate, visceral, but something else flickered at the edges—confusion and disbelief. what was he thinking? why was he doing this? but the answers didn’t matter right now, not with the cold barrel resting against your head.

“oh my god please Tate, please–”

his eyes flickered, momentarily surprised, before a cruel smirk slowly spread across his lips. fingers brushed the side of your face, as he tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“please, what?” he taunted, his voice dripping with mock concern. you gulped, the muscles in your neck flexing. an image of a newspaper with a photo of your face, amongst many other faces, flashed across your mind.

“please, don’t...” you trailed off, completely incapable of finishing. he chuckled at your hesitance, his hand sliding down to your throat, the tips of his fingers pressing into your jugular.

“please don’t kill me.”

“i’m the one with the gun, babe. don’t tell me what to do.”

Tate reminded you. you could feel the cold metal against your temple he pressed the tip of his boot against your clothed slit again, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and squirm.

“so. what do you want? do you want me to touch you? to make you cum all over my boot like the needy little slut you are?”

those words made your stomach twist, but even as they made your cheeks burn with humiliation, god, you wanted it. desperately. tears rolled down your cheeks, mingling with the saliva drying on your skin. the pressure on your throat eased, but the warning lingered. you took a shaky breath, nodded shamefully. a slow, cruel smile spread across his face.

smiling deviously, he reached down and unzipped his jeans, pushing down his boxers. his cock sprang up, deliciously veiny and thick, the tip already glistening with precum. your mouth watered at the sight. wrapping a hand around himself, he gave a few, slow pump and let a stretched groan escape his lips, the sound making your pussy flutter in anticipation.

swiping the bead of precum, Tate dragged his thumb over your mouth, smearing the viscous fluid across your lips. eyes fluttering shut, you roved your tongue greedily over his digit, the salty taste of him invading your senses.

“open wide,” he commanded, fisting a hand in your hair to prevent you from moving.

“and if you do a good job, maybe i’ll even let you come.” you obeyed without hesitation, parting your lips and sticking out your tongue. Tate didn’t waste any time, slapping his heavy cock against your tongue.

“ughh–fuck…” he breathed, fingers tightening around your hair as he shoved inch by inch of his length further down your throat. eyes watering, your jaw ached at the stretch,and a string of saliva leaked from the corner of your mouth, dribbling down your chin and landing on your thigh.

“thaaaat’s it, take it all like a good girl,”

he huffed before pushing forward. instinctively, you gripped his ankles to steady yourself, gagging and choking as he hit the back of your throat. snapping his hips forward again, Tate fucked your face hard and fast, using your mouth like a fleshlight.

as you traced your tongue across the vein that was running along the underside, you could feel him twitch. close. wetness seeped through your panties. a strained groan escaped from above when you began to hump his boot. just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, Tate pulled out, leaving you gasping for air.

“beg for it,”

he looked down at you with a mixture of disgust and lust, his member slick with your spit.

“beg for mercy. or my dick. doesn’t really matter, anyway.”

god, if you weren’t on your knees, held at gunpoint executioner-style, you would’ve punched this guy in the face.

“please, Tate. please let me cum. i’ll do anything, i’ll be your little slut. just please—”

“you’re pathetic,” he sneered, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. he gripped your hair, guiding you back to his cock. you immediately resumed to sucking on the head while swirling your tongue around the slit. Tate groaned, thrusting into your mouth with renewed vigor.

encouraged, you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, stroking it in time with your mouth, trying to sync your movements to bring him to the brink. curling his hand around your neck, he stroked the bulge in your throat as he bottomed out.

“fuck, you’re so good at this,”

his hips bucked forward in a rhythm that was becoming increasingly sloppy.

“shiiiiit, ugh—fuck, m’ gonna cum.”

you perked up, feeling his cock twitch in your mouth. a moment later, he let out the prettiest moan, and the next thing you felt was his hot cum filling your throat. you gulped, taking as much as you could before it started to overflow.

when he’d made sure you’ve swallowed every single stop, he pulled out, stepping back to admire his handiwork. judging by the smug look on his face, you deduced that you probably looked wrecked and slutty.

“good girl, you do look pretty like this.”

he purred, almost approvingly. tucking his flaccid cock back into his jeans, Tate removed his foot from between your thighs, the loss of contact making you whine. then he knelt down in front of you, his face level with yours. reaching out, he grabbed your chin and forced you to hold his gaze.

“you want to cum, don’t you?”

you nodded frantically, too far gone to feel any shame. your entire body trembled, desperate for the release you’d been promised.

“yes please Tate. please i need to cum, please,”

he smirked, clearly enjoying your desperation. the blankness in his eyes was replaced by sadistic amusement.

“since you asked so nicely...” he reached down and yanked your panties aside, exposing your dripping slit. you gasped as his fingers brushed against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

“oh god— please Tate. touch me,”

you begged, grinding your mound against his palm. he chuckled darkly, his fingers moving down to tease your entrance. feeling him slowly pushing one finger inside you, then two. you moaned at the stretch, rocking your hips involuntarily. Tate began to pump his fingers in and out, scissoring and curling it to hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll to the back of your head.

“puh-please. ‘m so so close,”

you whimpered, fingernails digging into his shoulders. in response, he added another finger, stretching you out, and you cried out, your head falling back.

“go ahead.” he murmured, thumb pressing down on your clit.

“no one’s stopping you.”

that was all it took. pleasure came crashing over you, your body convulsing as your juices gushed out all over his hand. Tate continued to pump his fingers, drawing out your orgasm until you were a boneless, trembling mess.

he waited while you straightened your skirt, then extended his hand to you. you took it, and he gently pulled you to your feet.

“what the fuck, Tate?!” you snapped, yanking your hand away as soon as you were up.

“you didn’t tell me the gun was loaded!”

Tate dropped his gaze, his thumb idly tracing the strap of the gun.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice soft, almost regretful—but not enough. to you, at least.

“i just… wanted to see if you’d… if you’d be scared. i didn’t mean to take it this far.”

you opened your mouth to lash out, but the apology caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily at a loss. before you could gather your thoughts, Tate abruptly shifted gears, forcing a half-hearted smile.

“hey, do you think the skull makeup would be too much? might sound a bit stupid, but i really liked the idea.”

you blinked, thrown by the sudden change in topic. his question seemed almost innocent after everything that had just happened, making it hard to respond right away.

“guess not,” you said finally, voice a bit shaky.

Tate’s shoulders eased slightly, and a small smile tugged at his lips. as he smiled, you caught a fleeting glimpse of the boy you knew and loved, the one who wasn’t buried under the darkness that sometimes took over. you found yourself nodding to his weird request.

“i could help with the face paint, if you want.”

“that’d be cool, thanks.”

 fear-is-truth 2024 ��� all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[dangerousteen]

I hear him screaming like late-night white trash TV stations

Black combat boots pacing in through the school building

He's gonna fight the good fight, the noble war

He's gonna fight the good fight, the noble war

Yeah, my baby has a baby, but it's not me

It's an AK47 semi-automatic gun and

He loves her more than he loves me

"I don't care what you say; if you ever touch him again, I will freakin' kill you"

"I'm gonna pull out the goddamn shotgun and blow your damn head off"

"Do you understand? You little worthless piece of crap!"

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Rampage 9/15/23

Renee wore the Satin Effect Cropped Vest (n/a) and Oversized Blazer ($69.90) in Black from Zara, Babaton Agency 3” Short in Black from Aritzia ($98) and Rancher Knee High Boot in Black from Jeffery Campbell (n/a)

[astrowarr]

“How d’you care so little?” Joel fumes, eyes ablaze as he paces around the shattered glass and splintered wood of his car. It's pretty well decimated, and he's been growling and frothing about it in Gem's ear for an hour now. 

She prods testily at the soft, upturned earth carefully covering their pitfall. “It's not that I don't care,” she huffs, jumping back when the dirt crumbles a little under the toe of her boot. She glances up at Joel, who is practically shaking with rage. He can't keep his eyes off the dumb car. “You know, you really could've fixed it by now.”

Beat of silence. Then, pouting and everything, he grumbles feebly, “Shut up, Gem.” 

There's no heat behind it. If anything, her words seemed to have knocked the wind from his sails of war; he's slumped against the car now, arms crossed as he glares to the side dramatically. God, he sure does put on a show, she thinks with an overwhelming wave of affection. 

It's not that Gem doesn't care. But she can't get this feeling from the four mangrove walls of her stupid barn. She can't even get it from winning. So they can burn down everything she owns, take every last life she has to spare. In the end, none of that is tangible. None of that is what matters. This is a game, and games are meant to be played. That’s what counts for her. Why should she take issue if the universe works as it was so lovingly intended to? 

All she wants to leave behind is a trail of blood and ruin as she puts up a fight. She wants to leave her mark on this world and all the people it holds. She wants to make it hurt, once she's allowed to. She wants to play the game well, exactly how she was made to play it. She cares about that. 

Gem cares, too, about the love she dredges up along the way. She thinks of her hands set to the backdrop of a blood-caked cloak, of long brown hair curling over her fingers as they dig in tight. She thinks of the sharp edge of her sword pressed against pale skin, and the thud of knees hitting the ground. All of that meant something. It still does, she believes, in certain ways. 

“I care,” she says, feeling oddly self-conscious. Maybe it's because she knows Joel now: he can't stop caring. It explodes from every pore in his body, an inescapable curse. It's been his undoing, or so she's heard; he's easy to anger, but if you ask her, he's mostly just… easy to love.

It’s this fact that has her saying quietly, “Just… I gotta pick and choose, you know?”

She's not like Joel. There's only so much room in Gem's chest, and it's permanently occupied with a bleeding, open wound. It takes up a lot of her as she skirts around it, giving its raw, frayed edges a wide berth. Joel has an infected hole in his heart too, but his preferred method of dealing with it is tearing it wider with his bare hands.

“Yeah,” Joel drawls absently, scratching his cheek. “Never been quite good at that, I reckon.”

Gem gets that. It must be hard, holding everything so tight that it rips you apart. The thought of losing that much agency has a venomous, stinging feeling crawling down the center of her back. But… 

“You're doing it right now,” she points out, gesturing vaguely at his poor car. “You could've gone on a rampage, if you wanted.”

He scoffs. “Trust me, I wanted."

“You didn't though.”

Joel blinks. “Guess I didn't.” The answer is simple, but leaden with something that has branches so complex, it nearly consumes his words entirely. Gem can't name the something; she lacks the history she'd need to do so. Even so, his face is remarkably… light? That's a word for it. Maybe he's finally cut the infection from his own wound.

She hums in lieu of response, turning her gaze back to the trap. Whatever is draped over Joel's mind, she hopes it doesn't render him too docile. The game stops for nothing, and it deserves to be played to its fullest, Gem thinks, no matter what's left standing come judgement day. 

[thor-is-trans-and-pan-he-told-me]

Puss:Everyday,I eat a kitkat in the minibar. And then I come back and there's a new kitkat. I'm not giving this up!

[myfictionaldreams]

Day 30: Freeuse - Winter Soldier

Summary: He was your patient. You were in charge of making sure all of his needs were met, no matter what they were.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, non-consensual elements, dubious content, freeuse, discussion of injuries, violence, masturbation, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, stalking (kinda), possessive

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He was your priority. Hydra had recruited you with the hopes of creating an experiment to see if anyone could be trained to look after the assassin frozen in a Cyrogentic state. You were trained and kept underground to be the lead carer and doctor for the Winter Soldier. He was yours to look after, physically and mentally. After each mission you sent him on, he’d return and give you the reports. Most importantly, you were always the first face he’d see before and after being on the ice.

The Soldier would answer to you and Alexander Pierce, but even that was touchy sometimes as he would look to you before answering Pierces’ questions as if he was asking for permission to talk. 

What’s more, is that you knew who he was outside of his assassin's status. James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, born in 1917, was the best friend to the one and only Captain America, Steve Rogers, who was currently alive, having been found in the ice and unbeknown to him, his best friend was also alive with similar super solider serum pumping through his veins. Steve was Bucky’s potential saviour; one day, you hoped to be there when this could become a reality; however, currently, you were watched so closely by everyone in Hydra that you’d not even been able to contemplate a plan as to how to break him out. Until then, he was your priority, keeping him out of harm's way as much as possible.

Alexander Pierce had given you strict instructions to adhere to every single need that may affect or alter the soldier's performance as the ghostly assassin. At first, you just assumed it was to feed him, wash, cut his hair, make sure he was healthy and metal arm was working to its best ability. But the basic human need for the Winter Soldier ran deeper than that, causing your role as his doctor and carer to be blurred and something more developed.

The longer he was out of the ice, the more you would notice his increasing frustrations that couldn’t be erased with a simple afternoon in the gym or sparring with other guards. There were even days when no one could calm him down, his aggression so high that he had to be sedated if you were not available to talk to him.

For example, there was once a day when you were actually off of the unit, in your new flat, having just been granted the allowance to live there when Rumlow came knocking on your door. He only gave you the courtesy of putting on your shoes before gripping your upper arm and dragging you to the office.

When you arrived, the rooms were in disarray. Equipment smashed, blood and unconscious bodies trying to be aided too. It was a mess, and you were more nearly barging down the door to get to him, shouting for the guards to stand down and leave him to you. Yes, he was a highly trained assassin, but with the trust he held in you, there was no way he would intentionally harm you.

The underground room had no windows, which you were thankful for as they would have been destroyed in his rampage. You were only dressed in your joggers and a vest top, trainers already marked with red streaks from the puddles you’d walked through. It felt like your heart would escape your mouth with how erratic it was pounding in your chest as you tried to take in his appearance.

The shirt he had previously been wearing was now ripped to shreds on the floor. The tactical trousers had tears throughout but still seemed to be held together enough that he was indecent, and combat boots that gleamed with smudges where he’d been kicking objects and people. Each of his knuckles were busted in their own way. The flesh hand was cut, and the metal fist was red with other people's blood.

You’d not seen him become this erratic since he’d been out of his cryogenic state for too long, and his memories began to return to him as he questioned his entire existence. Whereas for this example, he’d only been defrosted for several days and shouldn’t have had any cognitive issues.

Stepping closer with your hands raised to show you meant no threat, you asked in a clear, concise voice, “Soldier? Where is the threat?”

His height seemed to tower over yours, more so than usual, as he turned his deathly glare towards you. The hulking muscles of his shoulders heaved with each breath he took as if he was out of breath, which was a rare occasion as he could run for miles and continue to breathe steadily, unaffected by the strenuous exercise. Your question was supposed to help identify what his issue was, hoping he’d find you being there to create a safe space for him, but the angry charge of his massive body had you flinching back in shock.

The warm hand of his wrapped around your throat, using the momentum of his steps to push you back up against the wall. Your hands remained up, even though you were itching to tear at his wrist to relieve some pressure. He wasn’t squeezing hard enough that you were struggling to breathe, but it was still uncomfortable and unnerving.

Your mind was working on overdrive, trying to think of a way to ease the stress he was going through. Your eyes searched over his body, starting with his head and face, but there were only minor scratches and grazes from the fights. Lower your eyes explore his arms and chest until they halted, seeing something that had never been through your consideration.

His tactical pants were tented, showing the outline of his hard-on, raging just as violently as the blue of his eyes. Was this the issue of his anger? The soldier shifted his stance, hand twitching towards his crotch like he was going to move himself to be more comfortable, but stopped as he watched you closely.

Alexander Pierce had once told you that whatever the Soldier wanted or needed, you were to give it to him to ensure that he was performing to his best abilities. You cursed to yourself quietly, unsure if this was even plausible or right to do. Of course, it wasn’t right to do. He was a prisoner in his own body, but you were his doctor, and you had a job to do.

“It’s okay. I know what will help you. I’ll show you how to get rid of the pain; I won’t touch you, I promise”.

From there, you were able to explain anatomy, the ache throbbing through his abdomen and how he could relieve himself. He did. Right there in front of you, his pants by his knees and cock in hand until he came on your shoes.

You didn’t so much as blink or flinch at the action. He didn’t understand that it wasn't appropriate to cum on someone's shoes or to masturbate in a somewhat public scenario. It calmed him down enough that you could push him back onto a chair and fix the injuries that were already mostly healed.

These situations only continued to escalate, which occurred more often than not. However, the Winter Soldier only touched himself when you were around, and you were unsure if it was because you made him feel safe or for other reasons that Rumlow liked to hiss in your ear, saying that the deadly assassin had a crush on his favourite doctor.

You blew it off as gossip and nasty rumours, unprofessional at most.

This only lasted for a few months before you noticed the changes in the Soldier, and it all came to a head one night as he turned up at your apartment after a mission. You hadn’t even told him your address, and he wasn’t due back from the mission for another 24 hours, but there he was, at the end of the bed, having snuck through the window as you were halfway through having some intimate time yourself.

Your fingers were between your legs, eyes closed, and your head tipped back, not covering your moans as you didn’t think you’d need to as you were living by yourself. The assassin watched, confusion causing his brows to furrow, head tilted to the side as his fists clenched. 

The look on your face was one he’d never seen before, and he noticed the anatomy was different to his. Of course, he was aware that not everyone had the same genitals as his, but it hadn’t crossed his mind that it could be touched like this.

The only time you were aware of his presence was when the bed dipped, your eyes snapping open and legs closing as you released an almighty scream that caused the Soldier to flinch.

“Mine”, he muttered under his breath, grabbing your ankle and dragging you closer.

“What? Soldier, what are you doing here? When did you- please stop” he paused his attempts to drag you closer as he was half crawling over your body. You were trying to remain calm, but he was acting so possessive, and why was he even here? How did he get in?

“Mine”, he repeated above you again, eyes trained between your legs.

You were at a loss for words, feeling both confused and safe simultaneously, even with someone as dangerous as this. The night was one that definitely crossed the line for professionalism.

The Winter Soldier was so interested in your masturbation and different genitals that he practically begged you to continue, shouting mine and gazing at your intimate area until you continued.

You came, and then the Soldier unbuckled his belt and ejaculated over your stomach, and this was the turning point of the relationship. Your job now seemed to be a half doctor, half a sexual release. Masturbation escalated into hands in underwear until there was no point holding back the restraint, and the two of you were fucking.

It was challenging to wrap your head around, especially when the two of you were in the work environment, but if it was what he wanted and needed that you were more than happy to be face pushed into the wall, trousers and underwear by your ankles and cock shoving so far into your cunt that you saw stars.

The most significant issue was that, even though none of the workers commented on it, they all knew the sex was occurring. Mainly because the Winter Soldier didn’t seem to understand that this was supposed to be something that was for ‘behind closed doors’ and out of view of the guards and other doctors. To him, if he was to push you over the table and whisper “mine”, then this was enough warning that he wanted to fuck, even if you were unfathomably embarrassed that your coworkers had to watch you coming undone to the man they were all looking after.

The worst time had to have been when Alexander Pierce came strolling into the ‘jail’ they kept the Soldier in during his downtime. Multiple guards were surrounding him, and three doctors in lab coats were working tirelessly around the room. You’d been in there for hours. Warm, tired and ready to eat whatever take-out you could encounter on the drive home later that night.

With Pierces’ presence, however, your posture straightened, and you tried to remain as professional as possible. This was a feat easier said than done as The Soldier eyed you from across the room, staring with his unblinking glare. Eventually, he pushed past Pierce, the guards all raising their guns expecting a fight, but there was none to have as the metal fingers of his specially made hand eased into the front of your work trousers, plain underwear and pushed into your cunt.

“What are you doing?! Now is not the time and place- Ah fuck!”. There was nothing other than a hand over your mouth that could have stopped the moan pitching from your lips as his thumb circled your clit. You’d not been at all aroused, but he had learned enough about your body to know the exact way to stimulate your bundle of nerves and curl his fingers inside of you to stroke that beautiful spot that had you whimpering without any restraint.

As he pleasured you in front of all your colleagues, there was nothing you could do but painfully grip on to his metal forearm. He didn’t even smile or mutter a single word as he made you orgasm with a knee-buckling euphoria. It seemed he was just in the mood to hear your whines as he turned around and sat back in front of Pierce, who was looking between the two of you.

“It seems things have changed through here. I’m glad you have been able to … satisfy the Asset by any means necessary”.

You tried not to visibly cringe with the way he had worded it as you tried to straighten your clothes and continue with the work you had been completing before. Nothing further was thankfully said as he was given his next mission, and you were left to continue working for a further three hours with underwear that was utterly soaked due to his wandering fingers.