#damn that shit must be nasty by now
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
cleverthylacine · 2 years ago
Photo
The can says “Sapporo Black Label”.  That’s an actual brand of beer. They printed the advert on the can but it’s...an actual can of beer.
I am presuming the same for the gum (the print on the side is too small and pixilated to read but it looks like an ingredients list so I cannot say what gum it is)
I almost left this in the tags but then I realised most of y’all can’t read any of this.
Damn that shit must be nasty by now.
Tumblr media
16K notes · View notes
buckyalpine · 1 year ago
Text
40s Sergeant Barnes with a nurse and a Sergeant kink (and breeding and house wife kink, virginity loss). This was supposed to be a pure smutty drabble but then I got in my feelings and added some fluff and angst but I promise Bucky is still a dirty, nasty little fuck in this. Just with a sweeter ending. The one he deserves.
Listen just imagine what a cute, sexy menace Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes would be just waking up from an injury when his eyes flutter open to the pretty nurse he’s been eyeing from the day he started. You’re not a shy, dainty little thing, nope. Not at all.
You bark out orders like a drill Sergeant and one glare from you is all it takes to get everyone in line and on task without a second thought. Even his superiors are scared of you, biting their tongue when you stitch them up and send them on their way before running off to your next patient.
Bucky was in love.
“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he rasps, throwing you a charming smirk while you roll your eyes in response, shaking your head. "How'd I get so lucky, got a my little angel tendin' to me"
“I see your injury hasn’t stopped hurt that mouth of yours Sergeant" You quirk an eyebrow while he playfully huffs as you change the dressing covering a gash on his abdomen. You swab the area clean and he doesn't flinch even though you know it must burn like hell, his muscles tensed while he continues to watch you with heart eyes. "Now you know I'm not your little angel, I got 20 other men to fix up, you better be out of this bed as soon as you're all healed up"
“C’mon sugar, you're breakin' my heart" Bucky gives you a little pout with those perfect lips and you catch the twinkle in his eye as he looks over your form with complete admiration. He loved your sassy, take no shit attitude and it's taking everything in him to calm himself down so he doesn't get a hard on right there in front of you.
"You'd tell that to a cat with three legs if it was in a nurses outfit" You try your best to not give into his flirty comments and puppy eyes, knowing damn well he's a heart breaker but he makes it so difficult when he continues to woo you with his boyish charm.
He can't help but chase after you; catching the way your eyes always dart around with anxiety when his group returns from an operation, relief flooding them when you finally spot him. He loves your indifferent attitude, patting him down to make sure he's uninjured but your furrowed brows and the tiny pout on your lips give away that you're worried.
How can he just let you go. Every time you check over him, he needs you closer.
So much closer.
-
"Ms. y/l/n, Sergeant Barnes is requesting you in his tent, he says it's urgent"
You shake your head looking over at the time, quietly making your way over to the tent he's stationed at, thankful that a number of troops were sleeping so you wouldn't be seen as you quickly slip inside.
“And what hurts now” you sass with your hands on your hips seeing the soldier in perfect health, doing your best to assess him without letting him know.
"Always checkin' over me" Bucky chuckles, seeing what you're doing; his words making your cheeks heat up, "Knew you cared about me sugar"
"Well what am I doin' here" You give him an unconvincing huff, struggling to keep your voice steady, refusing to meet his eyes, keeping your gaze on his silver dog tags instead. It doesn't help that he's handsome as hell with a light dusting of scruff covering his cheeks. Bucky's never seen you flustered before and it evokes something in him, all the blood in his body rushing south seeing your fingers twitch.
All he wanted to do was kiss you but now-
“Help your Sergeant out doll” He whispers, taking another step forward till his chest brushes against yours, his hand coming to tilt your chin up, "Will you?"
You gasp feeling his hardness press against your thigh, your heart fluttering wildly as his thumb traces your lips, any semblance of control you had slipping away feeling the warmth of his skin.
“Y-yes Sergeant Barnes”
His lips press against yours, soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the way his body was screaming for him to pick you up and toss you onto his cot.
"Sweet like sugar" He lets his hands fall to your waist, pulling you flush against his body while your arms drape on top of his shoulders. You stand on your toes chasing more of his lips and he chuckles at the needy whine you let out when he pulls away for air.
Now let's say your first night together was actually quite tame. He kisses you again and you swoon when he repeatedly checks in with you before going any further. His hand slips under your skirt, letting his fingers toy with places no on else has touched. With each night, he needs you more and more until he can't hold off any longer and neither can you.
-
You sneak into his tent and this time he doesn't hesitate to undress you completely, not when he needs you bare with nothing separating you both. You feel your heart race as he lies on top of you, draping a thin sheet over himself when you shiver at the chill night air. You feel his body heat instantly warm you up, his heavy cock resting between your soaked folds.
"Are you sure, sugar?" He asks, his hand cupping your cheek and stroking your skin.
"Please Sergeant" You whisper and the way you say his title makes his cock twitch. There's something so different about you when you're in his bed, a sweet little bunny giving herself to him completely. It drives him feral with a need to make you feel good, make you cry for his cock and his cock only, to keep you nice and full of him.
You don't look twice at anyone else and here you are completely naked in his tent with your tight little virgin cunt, your legs spread open so he can put his dick in you; there was no way he was ever going to let you go.
"You tell me if it's too much, alright?" His lips tickle your neck as kisses your skin while rubbing his heavy cock through your folds, coating it in your slick, "Breathe for me"
He slips his tags into your mouth as he starts to press in, the initial sting making you bite down hard onto the metal feeling a mix of pleasure and pain. You whine at the way he stretches you open, your thighs squeezing around his waist, nails digging into his shoulders.
"Shhh, that's it love, doin' so good for me so good for your Sergeant, look how you're takin' all of me baby" He looks down to where you're both connected as he continues to slowly push himself in till hes fully sheathed inside you. He gives you time to adjust, slipping his tags out of your lips and letting his tongue lace with yours instead, his balls already throbbing with how tightly you were squeezing his cock.
"Please-Sergeant" your heels press into his ass desperate for him to move, gasping when he starts to slowly roll his hips, barely pulling out.
"I got you love-don't worry" Bucky moves as slowly as he could not wanting to hurt you, taking just as much care of you as you had with him countless of times.
But he can only keep up at that pace for so long. Your muffled whines and moans don't help the way his mind is already spiraling. His pretty little nurse all spread out just for him, taking his raw, bare cock in her soaking pussy, squeezing him so tight, he was only a few strokes from cumming.
If it were up to him he would've proposed on the spot, thinking about making love to you on your wedding night, seeing you all shy and sweet wrapped up in soft white lace. If you were his wife, he'd take you apart every which way, not giving a fuck about traditions, taking you right on the dining room table.
You'd be the prettiest little thing for him to come home to, such a good wife all dirty just for her husband. Only he'd know the way your mouth would slobber all over his cock like your life depended on it. The way you'd moan at the taste of his cum. Bucky's eyes rolled back at the thought of you with nothing but some heels and a string of pearls he'd put around your neck while he stuffed you with cum and emptied his balls in you.
"S-Sergeant-I-oh god" You whimpered feeling his cock grow harder, your pussy pulling him right back in, feeling the coil low in your belly pull tighter and tighter as he hit that spot.
Meanwhile Bucky's jaw clenched as he felt his balls pull tight to his body, the tip leaking steadily in your pussy. His mind spiraled into places he didn't think would exist before he met you, rogue thoughts he only entertained when he had his dick in his hand. The harder he fucked you the more he thought about how gorgeous you'd look with a swollen belly.
Fuck, imagine if he got you pregnant right then and there. That nurses uniform would no longer fit you. Everyone would know he knocked you up, your perfectly round tummy carrying Sergeant James Barnes' baby, breasts heavy with milk, God, he wasn't going to last-
“Gonna let your Sergeant pump you full of cum?” He pants, letting his hands grip onto your hips like his life depends on it, the wiry hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit.
“Yes!!” You sob, biting down onto his shoulder to keep your cries down while he continues to fuck you into oblivion. You don't understand how such filth can spew from that pink, pouty little mouth of his. "Please-please-need-youI-I'm gonna-"
"M'yours sweet girl, m'all yours, go on, cum for me love, cum on my cock, it's all yours" He gazed into your eyes, cooing at your parted lips and sweat slicked skin. It didn't take long for you to shatter around him his lips smashing against yours to swallow your moans.
"Want your cum Sergeant" You beg , desperate to have him claim you from the inside.
"Oh fuck baby, y-you can't say that, m-gonna, oh fuckkk" Your words throw Bucky right off the edge as he lets out a deep groan stilling his hips and shooting endless ropes of his spend into you. You both lay in comfortable silence, your fingers playing with his hair; his usual kempt brown locks now disheveled .
“Y’know m’gonna marry you” his scruffy cheek nuzzles into your neck as he continues to stay deep inside you as his cock softens, “after all this is over. Gonna put a ring on that finger”
His words send a different wave of emotions over you, feeling more safe than ever, clinging onto him as tightly as possible. You let a whimper slip out and he pulls away from your neck with an expression of concern.
“What is it love” Bucky coos, wiping away the tears that slip you, stroking your cheek while you bite back a sniffle.
“Do you mean it? After this is all over?” You weren't sure what Bucky would want-there was still a war going on. Anything could happen. Perhaps this was just to keep his bed warm. Something to keep him calm, you were just someone to-
"Of course sugar" Bucky presses a firm kiss to your forehead, silencing the thoughts that tried to run wild. "You're mine"
-
And of course he gets his happy ending. Because when it's all over, he gets the ring for the girl he loves. He's on one knee, proposing to you with the sweetest words. He treats you like a princess on your wedding night, making love all night long until the sun is up.
There isn't a surface in the house he's left untouched. Nothing makes him more feral than moaning for his pretty wife, constantly taking her hand and wrapping it around his cock, watching that diamond glint with each stroke.
It doesn't take long for you to feel a little squeamish, knowing all the tell tale signs.
The day you tell him he's going to be a dad is one of the happiest days of his life. There isn't a single night that goes by where he isn't nuzzling his face into your tummy, talking to your little one.
Everything was perfecttt.
12K notes · View notes
cherryswisherz · 3 months ago
Text
neva end
Tumblr media
toxic!paige x fem!reader
warnings: smut, dom paige, overstimulation lowkey, choking, paige manipulative as hell, they both nasty as shit
"ou boy you make me so mad, but i just come right back, it's like i can't get over you."
neva end (future ft. kelly rowland, 2012)
-
this is not why i came here. i came to end this... whatever this is. i came here to return her ipad and go about my business.
and now, here i am, ipad in hand, her front pressed to my back, her hands braced on the desk in front of me.
"y/n?"
her fucking. voice. soft and deep in my ear.
i didn't say a fucking word. i didn't move an inch. i only stood there as paige's hands moved away from the desk, now tracing her fingertips down the front of my thighs.
"you can leave." she reminded me, running her hands along the hem of my leggings that i for sure no longer found necessary.
did paige give me full range to leave? yes. am i going to? fuck. no.
i nodded, my eyes still closed, "i know."
"so we both understand what's about to happen."
"i mean there's no alot to misunderstand in this situation.." i trailed off. who would i be without my smart ass mouth?"
paige only hummed in amusement but nothing was funny right now. not with her body pushed even closer against mine. not with her fucking hands slowly pushing my skirt up.
her actions were all slow and calculated as she pushed the material to pool at my waist, exposing the poor excuse for underwear i have on.
i blinked my eyes open and looked down, noticing paiges hand sliding around over my hand that held her ipad. which she slid out of my hand in a matter of seconds.
i silently gasped when sh grapped both my hands and pulled them behind my back and bent me over the fucking desk.
my body burned as the ache between my legs grew damn near impossible to handle. especially when paige drew my feet apart with one of hers.
"if you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask." she said, her voice was almost unrecognizable, all rasp and something else i couldn't describe.
as she drew one of her hands up the inside of my thigh, i knew she had the upper hand, which just couldn't stand. "i don't." and we both knew it was a bold faced lie, given that she quite literally had me bent over a desk. but i still couldn't let her think she won. she wins everything. she doesn't get to win this.
"oh?" she questioned, running her hands over my damp underwear. "this is for someone else? because we're the only ones here mama."
i drew in a deep breath, feeling that ache between my legs grow as she moved her fingers back and forth over my clothed pussy.
"literally anyone else. " i forced.
paige only hummed, painfully fucking slowly, sliding my panties to the side and exposing me to her. then she bent over so her lips were a centimeter from my ear and said "tell me it's for me, and i'll treat it like it's mine."
bro.
in that moment i was supposed to be thinking a bout every tear i had shed because of her. every time she made me wear someone elses jersey because she didn't want people to think we were together. i was supposed to be thinking about literally anything other than her fingers inside of me.
in that moment where i was supposed to be fed the fuck up. where i was supposed to be done with the toxicity of our situationship, she had to say some dumbass, stupid ass, sexy ass bullshit like that.
i was supposed to win this time.
but fuck a W.
i want an orgasm.
"it's for you." i mumbled, hating the fact that i was boosting her ever-so-large ego.
paige didnt move. "i didnt her you baby." she said, obviously trying to prove a point.
its always about points with her ass.
"it's for you." i said a little louder this time.
i felt her hand cup my pussy, applying as little pressure as possible. "who?" she asked?
she must be one of them deaf hoes.
"you paige da-" i was cut of my my own gasp when her fingers began to rub my clit in circles. it was enough for me to raise my head a little bit before she gripped the back of my neck putting be back where i was.
"how do you want it mama?" she asked, slowing down the pace of her fingers.
"yknow how i want it p." i moaned softly, trying to remember that she hadn't even really started yet and i was acting like this.
all she said was "i do." and that put a little fear in my chest because paige never shuts the fuck up.
but that fear quickly dissipated as she slid a slender finger in me, forcing a louder moan to tumble out of my lips.
"why you wanna leave me?" she asked, hand still moving slowly, sliding in and out of me as she angled almost perfectly into my spot.
"because you treat me like shit." i bit out, deciding that honesty was probably the best policy in this situation. but then she slid a second finger into me, pissing me off, because i was trying to be mad at her. "god. i fucking hate you." i cried into the desk.
she only curled her fingers perfectly into me, making a tremor run through me. "say it like you mean it." she said, releasing my neck and gripping my hips all to deepen her strokes.
and deepen them she did. with each stroke, she guided my hips deeper and rougher onto her fingers.
i was gripping the desk under me as curse words and some more shit fell from my mouth, practically vibrating as she hit that spot over and over again.
"you're dripping." paige said almost matter-of-factly. fucking me even rougher as she stopped the movement of my hips all together and just held them still, forcing me to take everything she was giving me.
and i knew she was right. i could feel the wetness she always caused, allpwing her fingers to move in and out of me with ease.
"fuck" i forced out, trying to take deep breaths as i tightened around her.
"you still leaving me ma?" she asked moving the hand on my hip to my clit, rubbing circle that maxed the speed of her fingers.
her voice was so annoyingly sexy but i couldn't fight the shivers it sent down my spine.
"answer me or you don't cum." she ordered, slowing her pace slightly.
"paige-" i cried out, begging her to let me have this one thing.
she only pinch my clit, which made me jolt forward. "FUCK!" i screamed. "no. no i'm not leaving you. never p, i wont ever- fuck!" i cried as she sped up her pace faster than before and the knot in my stomach unraveled and all i could feel was bliss.
my eyes rolled shut and my jaw dropped as she moved her hand to the front of my throat, pulling me so my back was to her chest, fucking me with her fingers in way that can only be described as villanous.
paige wouldn't stop. she kept going as i trembled against her whispering in my ear.
"you thought you were boutta leave me? huh? you thought i was gonna just give you up?" she asked pulling her fingers out of me, sliding them between my parted lips.
"you taste that baby?" she slid her fingers against my tongue making me moan at the taste of myself. "you wanted to take that away from me?"
she removed her fingers from my mouth and moved them to my clit this time, rubbing fast circles.
"sh-shit! paige wai-" i fell back against the desk reaching back to push her way.
"nah you wanna leave people and shit." she practically growled, gripping my arm so i couldnt push her. "take it." and she continued until i came again, leaving me as nothing but a pile of skin and bones on this godforsaken desk.
and as i tried to come back down to planet earth, all she did was put my panties and skirt back in place and pat my ass.
"i don't even know you tried me like that."
this. bitch.
niyah speaks i wrote this listening to one direction
taglist: @patscorner @theriyshow @mattslolita @thaatdigitaldiary @1onescu @mrsengstler @kmoneymartini
617 notes · View notes
shy-writer-999 · 3 months ago
Note
hey friend! can i request a capital F FILTHY zoro x f!reader where they two of them are rivals/borderline enemies who fight all the time but after they both get a lil tipsy they end up hate fucking in the roughest most desperate way possible…
Ohhhh yes yes yes. YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND, ANON. anything filthy and with zoro i’m down. brace yourself because this is nasty. you told me capital F FILTHY and i gave you FILTHIER. this turned into a ~2.9k word monstrosity. i read it through like twice so plz excuse any overused words or typos...
everyone say it with me, now: "hate sex! hate sex! hate sex!!!!"
---
You and Zoro butted heads since the day you got on the ship. Zoro thought his tiffs with Sanji were super fucking annoying—but Sanji had nothing on you. Not only did you have an annoying quip in response to everything he said, but he heard you actively shit talking him in front of his face multiple times. He despised you—everything about you. He hated how you mocked him, hated how cocky you were around him, hated the way you fought, your morals, the way you spoke to everyone BUT him; he couldn’t stand you.
The pair of you had almost gotten to blows multiple times, but he just couldn’t bring himself to hit you. He’d threaten you with his sword but never use it, even though he thought about it more than he would like to admit.
Your asinine remarks would replay in his head sometimes. “Zoro, the amount of effort you put into working out and being stoic is fucking pathetic. Lighten up for once. You’re fucking draining to be around.” Your tone was vile and pitiful. He saw red any time you said stuff like that.
“Zoro, another bottle of sake? Like you haven’t had enough to drink for a whole year? Fucking alcoholic.” You would smirk and condescend, and he’d try to send it back your way but he felt like the couldn’t twist the dagger the same way that you could.
“Shut up,” he would respond, agitated and cold. “Mind your fucking business and go nag someone else, woman. You’re insufferable.”
What was the most agitating thing about you being an asshole to him was that you did it while looking so good. He hated that. He would actively mull the fact over—you were gorgeous, but you had such a rotten personality, it couldn’t be helped. You fought like shit, treated him like a child, mocked him, derided him… And he did the same to you. But he felt his cock twinge any time you got close and nasty with him.
“Yeah, Zoro? Going to go sneak back to your hideout and drown yourself with sake before swinging your swords around? Fucking weirdo.”
Sometimes he would get really intense about it. He’d seethe with hatred and respond with such loathing that it was a wonder he didn’t do anything about it. “If you don’t leave me alone, I swear I’ll slit your throat.”
“Yeah, jackass? I’m sure you like to dream about that, but you’ll never be able to do it because you’re 1: a pussy and 2: I’m your crewmate, idiot.” Sometimes you’d tease him for having the hots for you (which you thought was false), and he’d get so flushed and angry that you thought he would light on fire.
One night, a group of the crew was drinking on deck. You, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Robin, and Usopp. Everyone was a few cups (or bottles) deep, and what started in raucous laughter ended with people splitting up into small groups or going inside for some snacks.
You and Zoro were unfortunately sitting next to each other, much to your mutual dislike. An offhand comment from Zoro (he was speaking to Usopp) vaguely alluded to you being bad at wielding a sword. It set you off. Your head whipped in his direction. He must have been sitting a few feet away.
“What the fuck did you just say, Zoro?”
He rolled his eyes and waved his hand. “What’s it to you? Can’t you mind your own damn business?”
You bit your lip and shoved the crude and despicable rebuttal back in your throat—it wasn’t worth fighting with him again. You already had a spat earlier that day, which left you both livid. Sometimes you’d goad him into it for fun and games. The added benefit was that he would get even hotter when he was angry. Sure, his personality was shit, but when he sneered and snarled at you he looked damn good. You were in denial about how much his scowls turned you on, but you ignored it because you couldn’t stand the man. He was just an atrocious person all around, and you let him know that every second that you could.
After you heard the comment, you huffed, snatched your bottle up and stormed inside. You were about to smack the shit out of him. When you stood up, the alcohol hit you—you were definitely tipsy, perhaps that was contributing to how enraged you were.
You went into the galley and you were about to grab another bottle when the door opened. Those familiar, maddeningly heavy, swaggering footsteps padded towards you. Presumably, Zoro was coming to grab another bottle of sake. Like he fucking needs one, you scoffed to yourself.
“Oh, great.” He was scornful and sarcastic. “You gettin’ more? Can’t wait to see how annoying you get after this bottle.”
“Zoro, you’re on my last fucking nerve.” You turned around and he was a couple feet away, arms crossed. Something in his eyes looked different.
“Is that so? When am I not on your last nerve? You’re so fuckin’ sensitive, get a grip.”
You bit your tongue, trying to not say something foul. You failed.
“Zoro, I’m so sick of you. Your presence is literally unbearable. I can’t stand you, seriously, not right now. And oh, by the way, you’re a shit swordsman.”
You knew that last part would infuriate him. You wanted to get him riled up. It was a sick form of entertainment for you. And anytime you told him he was a shit swordsman he went ballistic.
“Do you ever shut your damn mouth!?” He stepped forward, his voice angry. He was uncomfortably close. You were leaning back on the counter, trying to create any distance you could between your face and his, but he had you caged in. He put a hand on the counter behind you.
“Always looking to start a fight, huh?” His tone was contemptuous and belittling. “You’re about to bite off more than you can chew.”
The closer he got, the hotter he looked. You hated him, but fuck, he was a sight for sore eyes. When he was up this close, you felt even more intoxicated than you already were.
“And what would that mean?” You stared into his eyes, deadpan and annoyed. You placed it now, you could see what about his eyes looked different—his eyes were ravenous. He looked like he was starving for something. More liquor? You hoped he was hungry for something else.
“You’ve got such a big mouth and you never stop running it.” He was practically growling.
Your heartbeat grew faster, and heat started to bloom between your legs. He was so hot when he was angry. That was part of the fun. Especially when his voice got like that.
“And what are you going to do about it?” You raised an eyebrow at him, and your eyes were deadly.
“Might have to shut you up somehow. Maybe you’ll shut the fuck up if my cock is shoved down your throat.”
You actually laughed. “Oh, what is it? Like three inches?”
He drew his face closer to yours. The hand that wasn’t bracing himself on the counter came to squeeze one of your hips so hard that it hurt.
“I’m about to fuck you so hard I break you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Fucking slut.” He murmured, his voice deep and hushed.
Your eyes were locked, eye contact blistering. He was staring into you so hard you thought he’d leave a burn mark on your irises.
“You’re an idiot, Zoro. Are you being serious? You’d cum all over yourself before you even got close to fucking me.”
“Mmmm, we’ll see about that.” He purred. You were speechless, your brain trying and failing to come up with something to throw back at him. It was short circuiting because he just said he wanted to fuck you.
In the moment that you were searching for an answer, his lips crashed into yours. His grip on your hip tightened; it was going to leave a bruise. As your bodies pressed together, you noticed his hard on rutting into you slowly.
The kisses were haphazard and sloppy, teeth knocking. He bit your lip so hard you almost yelped. A hand snuck up to grab a fistful of your hair and he pulled it so tight it’s a wonder he didn’t rip out a huge clump of it.
“You’re fucking useless.” He pulled away from you, murmuring in a husky tone centimeters away from your lips. “You talk all that shit but I know you want me to fuck you. Probably wanted it the whole time.”
“Shut up, Zoro.” You would have enjoyed every second of this if he just shut his trap.
He pushed you up so you were sitting on the counter. Sucking harshly on your neck, he bit it so hard you thought it would bleed. You let out a muffled whine in surprise.
“Are you already getting worked up and I’ve barely touched you?” His voice was poisonous.
“Holy shit, shut up, Zoro.”
“Say that one more time and I’ll put my cock in you.”
You doubled down. You hoped he was serious. “I said, shut the fuck up, Zoro.”
He let go of your hair and hips and proceeded to rip your pants and panties off in one go. He almost shredded the seams. He took in the sight for a moment.
Your eyes were bathed in lust, your breaths shallow and quick already. Your shirt rode up and your nipples were hard.
His fingers wandered to your now bare cunt and he let out a chuckle.
“You’re so fucking wet already. I know you’re going to take it all for me because you’re fucking desperate. Is that right?”
Your mouth went dry and you did the most miniscule of nods. You didn’t want him to know how badly you needed him.
He slid two thick fingers into your entrance then started to finger fuck you. Your walls tightened and pulsed around him, getting adjusted. Pushing them apart, his fingers roamed and prodded. It felt so good that you had to bite your lip to keep the moans back. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“You’ve been craving my cock this whole time like a depraved, touch-starved slut, haven’t you?”
His other hand grabbed a painful fist of your ass and then crept up to squeeze your throat. You let out a barely audible whimper and he felt his cock twitch.
You tried to squeak out words and you were barely successful. “You’re—the one—who’s hard—right now, Zoro.”
It was a lame comeback, but it drove him crazy. “Use your fucking mouth one more time and I’m going to stuff you so full you can’t talk.”
His fingers found your g-spot and pressed on it forcefully. You choked out a breathy “fuck you, Zoro,” and he went still.
“What was that?” His hand around your throat tightened. “Did you not hear what I just said, or are you fucking stupid?”
His fingers started to move twice as fast, and you squirmed. When he could tell you were about to orgasm, he pulled them out.  
He freed his cock from his pants and fisted it lazily for a moment before lining it up with your entrance. “You want this, don’t you? You ran your fat mouth too much, now I’m going to fuck the attitude out of you. Say I’m a shit swordsman one more time and I’ll choke the air out of you until you see stars, then I’ll stuff you full of my cock. But you’d probably like that. Fucking slut.”
“You’re—a fucking—shit—swordsman” you tried to get the words out as his fist squeezed your throat. You couldn’t breathe and you were so aroused that it was hard to focus.
He pushed his cock into your folds and through your slit, entering you inches at a time. You started seeing stars, as promised, and you could only focus on his vice grip around your throat and the sensation of his huge girthy cock stretching you out. He let go of your throat for a moment before bottoming out, and when his tip kissed your cervix he groaned.
“Just look at you. Drooling for my cock, you’re worthless.”
He leaned in so your foreheads touched and pulled out of you agonizingly slow.
“You want more? You want me to fuck you?”
You just looked at him, pouting. You didn’t want to admit it. But you wanted it, and you wanted it BAD. You nodded again and he plunged back into you forcefully. A wet squelching noise sounded into the room when he bottomed out again.
Zoro grinded his hips just enough so he could fuck you deep inside.
“What, the back talk stops the second I put my cock in you?”
You hissed air in through your teeth. “Fuck you, Zoro.”
His jaw dropped for a second and he lost composure, but he kept moving his hips all the same. “What was that?”
“I said fuck you.” You were glaring up at him petulantly.
He pulled his cock out completely and you gasped at the feeling of emptiness.
“Okay, if you hate me so much then I’ll just stop. Is that what you want?”
You could only shit talk for so long before the pleasure started to take over your mind in a haze. All that you knew now was that Zoro was saying dirty things to you and he just took his cock out. That was unacceptable, at this point.
“Zoro.” You whined. “Put it back.”
“Awh, you want me to put it back in?” He feigned pity while you nodded eagerly, throwing all dignity out of the window.
“If you want it that bad, then you need to beg for it like the pathetic little slut you are.”
Your cheeks smarted with blush. You couldn’t believe that you were about to beg for his dick, but you needed it so fucking bad you couldn’t hold back.
“Fuck. Please Zoro. Please keep fucking me.”
Now that he was getting carried away, he wanted to be cruel. You did have a habit of running your mouth, and he wanted to punish you for it.
“Hmm. That’s not quite good enough. If you really want it, say my name. Say my name and I’ll fuck you.”
“Zoro.” You pleaded, your voice strained. He snuck a hand back in your hair and pulled your hair so hard it hurt.
“No. I said, say my name.”
“Roronoa Zoro. Please. I need it.”
“Louder.”
“Roronoa Zoro. P-please.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He pressed his cock into you again with a groan. One hand was gripping your hip, and he moved the other down to rub circles over your clit. Your hips bucked.
You started to let out moans with reckless abandon—you needed it harder, faster, deeper, anything that he could possibly do with his cock, you needed it. The noises melted in his ear, but he was worried that someone would hear, so he kissed you. It actually felt tender at times—if you weren’t lost in pleasure, you’d have been able to feel his thumb rubbing a circle on your cheek. What was up with that?
Between his kisses, he said something filthier with each thrust. “Tell me how good it feels.”
“Fuck, Zoro. Feels so good. Your cock—feels so fucking good.”
His shaft and tip dragged over your g-spot countless times. Each time your moans got louder and the mess you were making on Zoro’s cock got juicier.
“Zoro, ‘m gonna cum.” You were at your wits end.
“That’s it, baby, cum on my cock. Cum for me. Just for me.”
That was all you needed to hear before you started to squirm and writhe with pleasure. Your fingers dug into his shoulders and your eyes rolled back in your head—it was that good. He fucked you through your orgasm and then pulled out to cum on your stomach. He wanted to cum inside, but he figured he’d save that for next time (if you were nice enough to let him).
Moments later, while he got you cleaned up, he admired how flushed you were and how lidded your eyes were with satisfaction.
“Baby, huh?” You giggled.
“What?” Zoro was puzzled.
“You called me baby.”
He turned crimson. “You heard me wrong, blockhead.”
“Mmmhmmm, sure. Now help me put my pants on. There’s no way I can walk after that, baby.”
He was speechless. He knew you were teasing him, but he liked it. Enemies to lovers, much?
You found out later that no one walked into the kitchen while you were fucking because Sanji almost went inside and got quite the eyeful through the mini window on the door. He almost puked at the sight then promptly told everyone “no one go in the galley because the two boneheads are doing something disgusting.”
519 notes · View notes
frudoo · 5 months ago
Note
Slasher 141 again, sorry to bug, I'm chomping at the bit. She meets the others? I humbly ask for more pleaseeee
Can y'all tell I'm horny for slasher Johnny
Warnings: Smut throughout, so MDNI. Fingering, strange men, reader is just getting a taste of what she signed up for. Fem!Reader obvs.
     Simon doesn’t talk much. Maybe it’s because Johnny’s got his hand down your pants and he doesn’t want to interrupt, but even so, he just gives off that kind of vibe. Johnny’s trailing kisses down your neck and you’re whimpering, just trying to get the two of them to make small talk.
“S-Simon, are you… do you also- um… you know. Kill people?” You wince at your poor choice of words, but the kisses from your date don’t let up, so maybe you’re alright.
     Simon’s beady eyes meet yours through the rear-view mirror. Fuck, if he’s not a serial killer, he should be. Those dark brown eyes are deeply unsettling, making you nauseous. He nods in affirmation before turning his eyes back to the road.
"We all are."
Well, shit. Is there such a thing as a murderer-radar? Because if so, yours is in mint condition. 
     Johnny bites down on your neck harshly at the same time his middle finger slips inside of your pussy, and you squeal. Is this what they do? Seduce a vulnerable woman with deadly curiosity such as yourself, just to take her away and dice her up? God, you really should have paid more attention to the warnings in all those true crime documentaries. Now you’re going to end up in one. 
     “Are… are you going to kill me?” You sigh—rule number one: don’t question what the big serial killers are going to do to you while you’re in their truck.
     Johnny grins against your neck, his hot tongue soothing the bite he’d just left on you. He inserts another finger, and, well… maybe getting the best finger-fuck of your life before you die isn’t the worst way to go out. You mewl when he curls them right up against your g-spot and almost miss Simon’s low voice answering your question.
     “If we wanted y’dead, y’already would be,” he shrugs, pulling onto a long dirt road that leads to a large farmhouse, past herds of cattle and fat pigs who look like they’ve never missed a meal. 
     Simon’s answer does nothing to settle your nerves, although the orgasm that Johnny coaxes out of you works well to distract. There’s a black cat waiting by the front door when they guide you inside, and your head starts pounding. If that’s not an omen, you don’t know what is. Damn Johnny and his beautiful, charming self, and damn you for not being bothered enough by his career choice when you should have been. Now you’re not even sure what you’ve gotten yourself into.
     It’s warm inside. Inviting, despite everything, with cozy furniture littered across the den and taxidermied animals decorating the walls. Extravagant chandeliers hang from the ceiling, lighting up the area with a dim yellow aura that helps remind you to breathe. The walls are painted a dark green and the fireplace is going, and on the largest couch sits two more men—one with blue eyes nearly as piercing as Johnny’s, and another with the prettiest lips you’ve ever seen.
     Now that you can see him better, you realize that even Simon is ridiculously handsome, with short blonde hair and a scar across his lip that must have been the result of repairing a nasty split. More white marks are littered across his face, but the honey of his brown eyes don’t seem nearly as cold under this warm light. It almost makes you forget what they do for a living.
     “I’m guessin’ this is her, since she’s not hog-tied,” the one with blue eyes speaks gruffly, standing from his seated position and slowly stalking closer.
     He’s taller than Johnny, but not quite at Simon’s height, and his hand is rough against your skin as he cups your cheek in his palm. His thumb runs along your bottom lip, eyes taking in every inch of your person. The man hums thoughtfully before removing his hands from you, looking between the men who stand by your side.
     “Pretty thing, ain’t she? Nice and soft, too,” he concludes, calling the other man over to check you out as well.
     Your breath hitches in your throat as the new man smiles down at you, those luscious lips spread across a perfectly straight set of white teeth. He doesn’t touch you, just gives you a once-over before nodding.
     “She’s perfect,” he confirms to the previous man before looking to you again. “M’Kyle. Tha’s John, and m’sure y’know those two already.”
     You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. You still have no idea what the hell is going on, or what they mean by perfect. Perfect for what, exactly? More taxidermy? Pig food?
     “Glad ye approve, Cap’n, Gaz,” Johnny beams, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Knew ye’d love her.”
     Your eyes widen slightly when Simon leans down to press a lingering kiss to your lips, followed by Kyle, then John. You’re frozen in place, but Johnny just chuckles and scoops you up into his arms, strong legs striding down the hallway into one of the bedrooms.
     “Dinnae be afraid, hen. They like ye. Ah told ye, ye’ll ge’ along jus’ fine,” he presses his lips against your temple, then lays you on his bed. 
     “We’ll ge’ yer room set up in the mornin’, but ah need tae taste tha’ sweet cunt reit fookin’ now. Dinnae be quiet, lass, let ‘em hear yer bonnie moans."
543 notes · View notes
weltraum-vaquero · 3 days ago
Text
cariño (eres un amor)
Jayce Talis x GN Reader
Synopsis: Jayce wakes up with feverish, and with a sore throat.
Tags: SFW, established relationship, fluff, tenderness, Jayce being a big baby about being sick, comfort, Jayce being a human furnace
Word count: 2.3k
Notes: Just another little something to tide you guys over while I work on my bigger projects. I don’t usually do fluff, but I hope it’s not terribly obvious and that you’ll enjoy this little sickfic!
It’s about three AM when the heaping mountain of warmth beside you clears his throat, and shifts around sluggishly. The mattress creaks uncomfortably under his moving weight as he moves to the opposite side of your shared bed.
You can hear plastic soles sliding against the floor when he slips into his fuzzy pink slippers (an old Christmas gift from you — mainly a joke, but now an indispensable part of his cozy wardrobe), and, with a suppressed little huff, moves to stand.
“Uh oh.”
His voice is raspy when he mutters it, and you hear him stumbling, and vaguely see him bracing himself against the nearest wall when you turn to look.
You rush to flick on the bedside lamp.
“Jayce?”
He’s set a hand over his throat, breathing labored, and his loose T-shirt is soaked through with sweat — between his shoulder blades, under his arms, even at his collarbone.
“I don’t… feel so good.” He croaks.
You’re up on your feet before he can finish saying it, rushing to his side to offer your help. He watches you with dizzy, weary eyes, and by the time you reach his side, you realize he’s trembling a little.
“You don’t look good either,” you mutter, brushing your fingers to his clammy forehead. 
Hot. Too hot.
“Hey.” He fake pouts, cracking a tired smile at his own attempt at a joke a moment later.
“You’re burning up a nasty fever, Jayce,” you conclude. It must be getting to his muscles, too, because his thighs are shaking a little. “What do you need, hm?”
“Was gonna go pee,” he says. You cannot, for the life of you, get used to how worn his voice sounds — like he’s just chewed and swallowed a handful of gravel. “And, uh, probably chug water from the sink. I’m so thirsty.”
“Let’s get you to the bathroom, and I’ll get you a big glass of water and make you tea in the meantime. Chamomile?”
He nods. “And an aspirin?”
“And an aspirin.”
His smile turns sappy.
“I love you so much.”
He manages to get himself back to the bedroom without you. By the time you get there with a tray of everything you’ve promised and more, he’s pathetically crawling under the sheets like he’s just lost a physical fight, curling up like a kicked puppy once he reaches the pillow.
“Got you some toast, too.” You tell him, setting the small tray on the night stand and sitting next to his curled up form.
Even his hair’s damp with sweat, you realize when you brush a gentle hand through it.
“Not hungry,” Jayce mutters. 
“I know, but you shouldn’t take the aspirin on an empty stomach. Do you wanna sit up?”
“Uuughhhh… okay.” Jayce groans like he has been cursed with the world’s most terrible predicament. “I hate it when you’re right.”
“Which is often,” you tease, propping up his pillow against the headboard to help him sit up a little better. You give him his water first — he sounds like he needs it.
He grips the glass with two hands, unusual for Jayce, strength personified. Brings the glass to his lips with shaky hands before he exhales with bliss and starts chugging the damn thing.
He’s done with it in record time.
“Mmh. Thank you.” You take it from him, set it on the nightstand, before you take the tray and set it in his lap. Full, steaming teacup, a sad plate with an even sadder toast and an aspirin right next to it. “Breakfast of champions,” Jayce mutters, more to himself than to you, before he takes the toast.
At about three bites in, he looks at you with wide eyes.
“Shit, the gala. It’s—“ he stops to cough into his sleeve, “in two days…” Jayce looks down at himself, drenched in sweat, then at you. “And you have work tomorrow—“
“Viktor will have to take one for the team,” you counter. Another coughing fit takes him, you hold the tray steady for him as he does, and cradle the side of his face when he starts to calm. “And I’d rather have a shitty day at work than not be there when you need it most, Jayce.”
”I’m sorry,” he mutters anyway. 
“You didn’t ask for this,” you assure. Jayce closes his eyes and leans into the cup of your palm like a tired pup. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s just get you taken care of first.”
He nods weakly, before he pulls the blanket up a little higher over himself, settles into the pillows a little deeper and makes quick work of what remains of the toast. He takes his aspirin with the tea, which, judging by his sour expression when he sips some, is way too hot for his liking.
“Do you want me to blow on it for you?” you offer.
“ ‘m not a baby.”
“You are my baby.”
That makes him crack a wide, boyish grin — and it makes your heart soar. 
“Okay,” he mutters, before he lets you have it and sinks further into the sheets, until it reaches well above his lips, and it’s just his droopy, tired eyes peeking at you. 
You hold the cup with one hand, and the other comes to pet his sweat-damp scalp. He’s running hot, terribly so, but after a minute or so, you swear you can feel him starting to tremble under your palm.
It starts at just his neck first, but you can see the way it shakes him even under the thick blanket, can see the way it makes him nuzzle and hide further down. 
“C-can you get… another blanket?” He asks. “‘m starting to get really cold.”
And if there is one thing Jayce cannot stand, it’s being cold and damp. You know, because he’s always rushing to towel himself dry after his warm showers, you know, because he runs from any snowfall like it could make him melt. You know, because Ximena misses two fingers because of frostbite. You know Jayce was there when it happened. You know.
“That and a dry shirt,” you promise with a kiss to his clammy forehead. It leaves your lips a little sticky, but you don’t mind.
You’ve set the tea on the nightstand before he can finish asking, and you make your way to your shared closet fast. In one of the drawers, you find a thick fuzzy blanket, usually only reserved for the occasional power outage during winter. Which, granted, it is winter, Jayce’s least favorite season, but the heat is cranked up comfortably, as it always is. You can see his eyes smiling when he spots it in your arms, and smiling wider when you pick one of his loose, big shirts next. Whatever’s in reach first just so happens to be one with a drawing of his favorite cartoon dog and red hearts — a little V-day gift from last year.  
With both at your side, you sit down next to him and wait for him to finish his tea. Both hands cupped around it to soak up the warmth, Jayce sips on it in silence, as the both of you watch the street light outside your window, and the thick snowflakes visible in the flickering light below.
“At least I won’t have to wade through that to go to work tomorrow,” he muses.
“Well, I will.”
“Ha.” Jayce grins, curling up closer to his near empty mug in anticipated joy. He’s still watching the snow outside when he says it. “Sucker.”
If he weren’t in such a precarious state right now, you’d be blowing a raspberry on whatever’s closest til he begged for mercy. Right now, you settle for a smaller, gentler form of retaliation— peeling his blanket up and off of him when he least expects it.
“Okay. Let’s get your shirt changed.”
He frowns and makes a displeased little sound at that, but dutifully sits up regardless, and tiredly pulls the shirt up and above his head. To little avail, he also tries to dab himself dry using the damp shirt where he’s sweatiest — at the back of his neck and his underarms, before he tosses it near the laundry basket in your bedroom and turns to you.
“Arms up,” you tell him. “I’ve got you.”
It should be illegal to look this good while feverish and dazed. You can’t help the eyeful of him you get, not when his skin’s sweat slick and glistening, fuzz stuck to himself between his pecs and right below, the fuzz on the rolls of his tummy.
The second it’s on, Jayce wastes no time disappearing under the blanket once more, and you take the hint. The second, fluffy one is quickly unfolded and draped over him as well, before you climb atop him and begin to tuck him in nice and tight, the way he likes it when he gets like this.
Except — Jayce won’t stop staring.
He looks at you with pleading, puppy dog eyes and finally a pout when you don’t seem to take the hint.
“What is it?” You ask. You bring up one of your hands to cradle his soft, sleepy face, brushing through the scruff at his jaw. “D’you want a kiss?”
“Not just a kiss…”
He tilts his head and flashes you one of those sickeningly sweet, winning smiles of his. And he’s right to do it, because you know he’s about to ask something very difficult from you.
“Cuddle me?”
If he weren’t a living, breathing pile of hot coal right now, you might have said yes.
“I barely make it out alive and unscorched out of sharing a blanket with you on a normal day,” you remind.
“Please?”
It should be worrying how effective his tone is, worn and sore as it’s gotten. 
“You’re going to boil me alive under there.”
And that all seems pretty insignificant in spite of it all when he smiles drowsily and shrugs with a little hum.
“Mm. With love.” His raspy voice cracks on the second word.
It’s with much annoyance that you realize that if Jayce begged nicely enough, you would gladly do just about most things on this wretched earth. And that unfortunately includes this certain death sentence.
“Alright.”
From under the blankets, Jayce gives a tired, but victorious little yes.
You hardly make it far when you lift the blankets to join him. The heat is below overwhelming, even by his standards, envelops you suffocatingly, before warmth personified practically pounces on you. Jayce crawls to you the moment he can, nestling up against your side like he weighs nothing (except that he very much does, but it’s a familiar, comforting heaviness), before he drapes himself on top of you. Head on your chest, tired arm slung over your middle, the leg that’s closest to the mattress stays stretched out next to yours, and the other one he brings closer to himself, almost in a fetal position, his thigh atop your hips.
It’s already too much, but Jayce cuddles closer, rubs his face against you like an enamored little pet. If he had a tail it’d be wagging, or if he had the means for it, he’d be purring — either way, you can’t help a smile of your own, in spite of how smothered you are. You cradle the back of his head closer, until you can comfortably rest your cheek atop his hair.
Until… he shifts, and you can feel the tip of his nose nudging your jaw.
“And my kiss?” Jayce croaks.
He will be the death of you.
And yet, you’re very content with the notion as you pull back to look at him. You find him lazily lying on your chest, face tipped towards you in expectation, eyes lidded with sleepiness but still trained on you like you’re the only thing in the room.
“Where do you want it, baby?”
“Mmm…” Jayce lets his eyes drift shut and sniffles a little. “Dealer’s choice.”
You go for the space between his brows — messed up from sleep and how he’s been rubbing his face against you, instead of neatly tamed into place with his beloved brow wax.
You can hear his smile widen the second your lips brush his skin. And you don’t get to smooch him properly, before he’s already asking: “Another?”
You indulge. One more at his brow bone. One at his cheekbone. One on his closed eyelids, lashes tickling your lip, one at the strong bridge of his nose, one at the tip of it, a last one—
“Hey, no.” Jayce hides his face before you make it to his lips. “Don’t risk it.”
You can’t help a little laugh. This is where he draws the line?
“If there’s anything to catch, I’ve most likely caught it already,” you assure. “Unless you don’t want a kiss.”
That gets to him.
“Hmmm… I do want one,” he replies before you can hope to taunt him any further. He ponders it for just a moment, before he’s already tilting his face back up towards you in invitation, nose brushing under your cheek. “Okay. Please?”
You give him what he wants. A tender little nudge of your soft lips to his smiling ones, a swipe of your tongue at his bottom lip. Jayce purrs with delight at that, voice coming out in a low, gravelly hum, before he licks back, not ravenously, much more like a kitten. Basking in your comfort, in your presence.
When you pull back, Jayce inhales a fragile little breath before his eyes flutter open just barely. 
“Are you a little warmer now?” You ask. 
He nods. “And you?”
You chuckle. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find my bones in the morning. The rest of me will probably melt off and soak into the mattress.”
“So dramatic.”
“I learned from the best.”
393 notes · View notes
lxvvie · 5 months ago
Text
Throuples shit with Ghost and Mace:
An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. That is Mace and Ghost, respectively. As for you, well… you are the one keeps the peace. Usually. Depending. Other times, it’s you and Mace against Ghost. Well, it’s almost always you and Mace against Ghost because Mace is a professional shit-starter, and you tend to get roped in. You two keep him on his toes, though.
It was Mace’s idea, really, this thing you three got going on. He bided his time, went for the kill, got what he wanted, and damn. How’s it feel to have two big behemoth men crazy as shit over you? Must feel good, yeah?
And crazy for you they are. If you thought Ghost was down bad over you, Mace might have him beat. It’s a slim margin, though. It’s almost primal, their fascination with you, and they’re not ashamed of it. Oh, fuck no.
Simon’s love language is… a lot of things. Mace’s is trolling. Well, trolling and pissing Ghost off. Professionalism aside, Mace had a habit of trying to rile Simon up in the past. It was his way of flirting with the poor bloke. Turns out, “Wanna fuck?” yielded better results than his other pick-up lines did. Mace is like this with you, too, though it’s to a lesser extent. Simon got you hip to Mace and his Mace-isms. He’ll still flirt heavily with you, though.
Sharing a bed with two big behemoths is… interesting. It’s hilarious because Simon is in the bloody fucking middle now and will always be someone’s little spoon regardless. It’s also not uncommon to wake up to him having an arm around you both seeing as his chest seems to be a replacement for your pillows.
You thinking Simon was nasty with you, but the stories Mace has told you made you realize he’s downright disgusting and holy fucking shit—
Being sandwiched between these two men. Mace is smirking while Lil Mace is making his presence known against your stomach. Similarly, Ghost has arm around you so you can be pressed up against Lil Lieutenant Riley and, “Think you can handle us both, sweetheart?” God, yes.
You three not caring who fucks who so long as you all get yours and cum. Fuck, Simon doesn't give a fuck so long as he's sucking and fucking and having a bloody good day, and Mace... just wants to fuck, talk shit in general, and cum.
Mace kissing you and asking, “How’s he taste?” meaning Ghost and Jesus Christ. Simon makes Mace taste you by sticking his fingers in his mouth. Those same fingers that were fingerbanging the hell out of you not too long ago. Know that look that Simon gives? Y’know, the one where he wants to pounce on your and fuck your brains out? Yeah, that. Imagine being glued to the spot when both Simon and Mace look at you like that.
Mace absolutely enjoying being used when you and/or Ghost need to fuck your frustrations out. Oh, he remembers those moments, alright, when him and Simon would just… fuck for hours to get the adrenaline out. Or he had pissed Simon off again. Who fucking knows?
You stepping out for your run-of-the-mill errand and coming back to Simon and Mace naked in bed, the smell of sex hanging in the air, covered in cum and sweat, and they’re both nursing a post-coital ciggie. Or, rather, sharing one because Mace can’t be bothered to get his own, the bastard.
Similarly, coming home to Simon milking (read: riding) Mace for all he’s worth, since the bastard wouldn’t leave well enough alone and shut the fuck up. Ghost gruffly telling you “C’mere…” before shoving his tongue down your throat and telling you to sit on Mace’s face to “shut the bastard up.” Mace fucking loving it and absolutely refusing to let you move, no matter how many times you’ve came on his face.
223 notes · View notes
indie-ttrpg-of-the-week · 10 months ago
Text
Trans made TTRPGs
Due to… recent events that I would rather not talk about, today's post is a highlight of different tabletop games made by trans peeps! These games are fantastic in their own right, of course, but you can also know that they were made by incredibly cool and attractive people
(Also, these are flyover descs of the game, they'll get more in-depth singular posts later, this is because I am lazy)
Perfect Draw is a phenomenal card game TTRPG that was funded in less than a day on backerkit, it's incredibly fun and has simple to learn hard to master rules for creating custom cards, go check it out!
Songs for the dusk is fucking good, pardon my language, but it's a damn good post apocalyptic game about building community in a post-capitalist-post-apocalypse-post-whatever world. do yourself a favor and if you only check out one game in this list, check this one out, its a beautiful game.
Flying Circus is set in a WW1 inspired fantasy setting full of witches, weird eldritch fish people (who are chill as hell), cults, dead nobility, and other such things. It's inspired by Porco Rosso primarily but it has other touchstones.
Wanderhome is a game about being cute little guys going on a silly adventure and growing as the seasons change, its GMless and very fun
https://weregazelle.itch.io/armour-astir Armour Astir has been featured in here before but its so damn good I had to post it twice. AA demonstrates a fundamental knowledge of the themes of mech shows in a way that very few other games show, its awesome
Kitchen Knightmares is… more of a LARP but its still really dang cool, its about being a knight serving people in a restaurant, its played using discord so its incredibly accessible
https://grimogre.itch.io/michtim Michtim is a game about being small critters protecting their forest from nasty people who wish to harm it, not via brutal violence (sadly) but via friendship and understanding (which is a good substitute to violence)
ok this technically doesn't count but I'm putting it here anyways cuz its like one of my favorite ttrpgs of all time TSL is a game about baring your heart and dueling away with people who you'll probably kiss 10 minutes later, its very very fanfic-ey and inspired by queer narratives. I put it here because its made by a team, and the expansion has a setting specifically meant to be a trans "allegory", so I'll say it counts, honestly just go check it out its good shit
https://willuhl.itch.io/mystic-lilies
Mystic Lillies is a game inspired by ZUN's Touhou Project about witches dueling powerful foes, each other, and themselves. Mystic Lillies features rapid character creation and a unique diceless form of rolling which instead uses a standard playing card deck.
https://preview.drivethrurpg.com/en/product/141424/nobilis-the-game-of-sovereign-powers-2002-edition I… want to do a more general overview on Jenna K as an important figure in indie RPG design, but for now just know that Nobilis is good
https://temporalhiccup.itch.io/apocalypse-keys Apocalypse Keys is a game inspired by Doom Patrol, Hellboy, X-men, and other comics about monstrousness being an allegory for disenfranchisement. Apocalypse Keys is also here because its published by Evilhat so its very cleaned up and fancy but I love how the second you check out the dev's other stuff you can tell they are a lot more experimental with their stuff, this is not a critique, it is in fact a compliment
Fellowship! I've posted about this game before, but it is again here. Fellowship has a fun concept that it uses very well mostly, its a game about defining your character's culture, and I think that's really really cool
Voidheart Symphony is a really cool game about psychic rebellion in a city that really does not like you, the more you discover for yourself the better
Panic at the Dojo is a phenomenal ttrpg based on what the Brazilian would call "Pancadaria", which basically means, fucking other's people shit up. Character Creation is incredibly open and free, meaning that many character concepts are available
Legacy 2e is a game about controlling an entire faction's choices across time, its very fun
remember to be kind to a trans person today! oh also don't even try to be transphobic in the reblogs or replies, you will be blocked so fast your head will spin
637 notes · View notes
nemesyaaa · 4 months ago
Text
do revenge // mean!rafe cameron x camdoll!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
summary ; you were tired and sick of the hell life the well-known kook prince give you. so after being for so long his favorite victim, you decided to fight back.
warnings : dark content. insecurities. revenge plot. bully!rafe. poker face!rafe. sick behavior and toxic attitude. smut. oral(m. receiving). dollification. blackmailing. dubcon. shitty kooks behavior. bad thoughts. quickly mentions of some kinks. self-justice. pogue/kook hate/unfair dynamic. free hate. masked reader. threatening. power imbalance. baddie attitude. minors dni. please, be careful with the warnings.
author's note : the girl on the gifs is not a faceclaim, it's only to show what kinda mask she wear. it's the first time i think i do something like that so......and it's a one-shot, so it's maybe a little too long 💀
Tumblr media
you worked as a waitress in a small restaurant. you hated this job but you had to make money and today the place was a little empty so you thought you could relax but that was before Rafe showed up with his gang of kooks. you had started shaking as soon as you saw them. you felt so small and trapped, your breath sped up. there was like a lack of air in your lungs because you knew how rafe was with you, how much he hated you but above all, how much he loved to humiliate you. it was his favorite pleasure: being cruel to you. and damn, he knew how to hurt you better than anyone. he must have broken so many things in you, your ego, your heart, your self-esteem, your confidence, your joy of living that you wondered how you were still standing in his presence.
with a tense smile, you approached them because you also couldn't escape the group. you hugged your notepad to your chest, pressing tightly the page against your breasts. you were about to open your mouth when rafe cut you off.
“i understand better why this restaurant is so empty…” he commented, looking you up and down. “ but what i don’t get is why you haven’t been fired yet when you’re scaring customers away.”
“apparently not everyone since you're here...." that was what you wanted to answer but you preferred to kill yourself rather than make a remark to rafe that was going to cost you your life. and you wouldn't want to give him this pleasure.
“have you chosen what you want? ” you said, addressing everyone, preferring to ignore the leader of the kooks group.
“it’s so cheap here. ” he had commented. “ very cheap. ” from his insistent look, you understood that he was including you in his criticism. he was very childish.
you nervously tighten your grip on your pen. of all rafe's friends, topper seemed the most sensitive to what you were going through but he always stayed quiet. this idiot finally ordered cocktails. the words had to be ripped out of his mouth.
when you came back with the drinks, you delicately placed them on the table. you were embarrassed by the way rafe stared at you like you had something on your face, like he was planning another nasty remark. and it didn't take long, because the next minute, he had managed to make you cry and made everyone laugh.
when you handed him his glass, he purposely knocked it to the ground.
“what are you waiting for, pogue? clean it. it's not like it's new to you, you're used to cleaning up other people's shit. "
burning tears started to come out of your eyes, you bit your trembling lip. your throat was tight, and you hated everything you were feeling right now. the shame, the humiliation, the fear, it destroyed you.
you brought something to clean before bending down. he hadn't apologized. he never did it anyway. you kept all this grudge inside of you, even if it killed you.
he picked up your rag with a smirk. “you don't need that when you can use your tongue. ”
you looked at him with wide eyes, as if you had heard wrong. topper had intervened before you did. “hey dude, no need to go that far.”
“shut up, topper. i really need to show you that all women are fucking dirty and disgusting sluts. so stop protecting them, and watch the show i put on for you. and for free. ”
"rafe...listen..." you said softly.
“you better listen to me if you don't want to be fired. you know how good i am at making your life hell.” you started to kneel down, bringing your face closer to the ground. “yes, you understand very easily, maybe you can show your ass to the camera too. record it, kelce. lick it well, sweetheart. don't want to see your ugly face on the screen. “
this day was the last straw. it was worse than anything. it was completely degrading and nasty.
and it was surely at that precise moment, that night to be exact, that everything had changed in you. that you had decided that this couldn't last, that you had to play into the enemy's game to defeat him, that sometimes you had to be unfair when he cheated, that when someone was bad, you had to be tougher and stronger.
it had been several years that you had endured criticism from rafe and kooks about your physique, your pogue condition, that your face was the center of mockery and the worst jokes, that it lasted to the point that you had surely become the funniest joke or meme in the island.
but you had grown up. you had prepared your revenge over several months. because you couldn't pretend it didn't affect you. but all the hatred you had felt for yourself had started to turn towards rafe, to give you a reason to live, a purpose because he had given you a furious and crazy idea.
he had humiliated you. and he was going to taste his own medicine.
deep down, you weren't just doing this for yourself but for all the pogue girls who had suffered harassment from kook boys, for all the girls who had received bad treatment because they didn't look like princesses, for all the girls who were made to believe that they deserved nothing because they did not meet the physical standards. you had to put an end to this nonsense.
so after five months, you had become what rafe loved the most. you had become a very popular online camdoll for kooks. you wore a mask that hid your facial identity enough to not be recognized. you had a completely different style. you were surely prettier, more magnificent in his eyes. because he had fallen into the trap. he had this slightly superficial side. you knew you had succeeded from the moment you felt the difference. not only did he want you, but he wanted to possess you.
he was one of your loyal viewers. he didn't have his first name as a username but you knew it was him. his messages had the same tone as when he spoke to you.
he was pathetic, because he paid to see your content, to talk to you, to hear you touch yourself, to do dirty things to you. no matter how much you charged.
he even sent you a video of him jerking off on one of your lives. you couldn't lie, you had watched the entire video. his fist was wrapped around his painfully cock, moving up and down, the leaking tip disappearing and appearing with the speed of his thrusts, the way his boner grew bigger the more he thought of you. he was going so fast that his bulge was literally slapping against his hand with a loud, obscene noise, his sagging balls moving in rhythm. his hair was messy, there was a quiver in his lips every time he made a grunt. “ fuck...fuck...fuc'...gonna fuck that dollface one day...gonna get this dick all in your dumb pussy. ” his length was very feverish and at the same time hard, shaken with spasms. the veins pumped by his strokes. he had come in such a short time, loads of cum exploding all over his sweating chest. he had wiped everything with a pack of tissues. and just when you thought the video had come, he started again.
you never responded. only downloaded the video and stored in a confidential folder.
but one day, he spoiled you a little too much. however, you weren't doing anything really crazy. you fulfilled clients' requests — which involved masturbating with a vibrator, playing with your breasts while riding a dildo, putting as many fingers as your viewers wanted in your pussy, letting them dress you however they wanted, letting them make you crazy stupid and vulnerable, doing little shows and hauls until you end up naked, playing with the food on your body, recording your orgasms, filming you when you slept naked or took a shower.
you had decided to thank rafe for his expensive gifts by asking him to come to your house. you had a studio that you had decorated, enough to make him believe that you lived well, and that you could be a kook. obviously, he had accepted and of course, he was hoping for sex when you told him you had a surprise for him.
it was, he was going to have sex. and you a revenge.
rafe had always assumed that he hated you, the shitty, ugly pogue, that he would never sleep with you. and to quote his own words “even for a million, i could never fuck such a disgusting thing. ” and it was always in public, in front of people. then you were going to do the exact same thing. you were going to fuck with him, and if he loved show that much, he was not going to be disappointed.
on the day, you had prepared yourself for the occasion. while you were getting ready, there were tons of flashbacks in your head, scenes, words that kept coming back. all this cruelty that could make you vomit.
“i really thought alcohol would help me find you attractive but no, you're still just as ugly. i thought it was a pogue thing baby but actually it's just you. ” it was rafe.
“ i felt like i had hit you in the face ten thousand times with my golf ball. ” it was still rafe.
“the difference between you and the other pogues? is that you angel, you will never be able to hide the fact that you are one. all the misery shows on your face. ” always rafe.
and it was each time heavier, more hardcore. he reminded you of your condition, but also of how much he couldn't see you. you were too horrible. you never told anyone about this treatment, about all this hatred. but you had now learned, from the best, how to make noise.
you wiped away your tears, and brought the mask to your face. “i can do it. ” you muttered to yourself as you began to get slightly anxious. you were afraid of breaking down in the middle of the act, of finally not being sure you wanted all of this. you felt mixed feelings. was it really good to do that, was it really right? but on the one hand, what had justice done for you until now? absolutely nothing. like everyone else, she had watched you get humiliated. so it was just common sense?
the door to your studio rang. you opened it. you couldn’t lie that rafe was really handsome and smell good. but the first thing you noticed was his smile.
he was completely different. you could see in his eyes for the first time, something positive towards you.
" welcome. ” you said with a smile, inviting him inside.
oh he resisted the urge to kiss you, his hands were in his pockets but they were nervous and unsteady. they wanted to be on you.
“do you want to drink something? ” you added the name of the cocktail he always had at your restaurant. you had done it on purpose but he hadn't noticed. he nodded.
“are you going to take off your mask one day? ”
“without it, i am no longer what i am. so it's better that i keep it. isn’t that all you want me to be? a doll. ”
“no, you’re right. then at least i know you're not a fucking pogue. ”
“it would be bad for your reputation too. i already see the headlines and the taunts "rafe cameron fucks a pogue" and people will laugh at you, and you hate it being humiliated. no one likes it. ”
“you look really nice, doll. i mean, kind.” he replied.
“i am but i believe that some people. ” you pressed the word, and gave him an honest look. “have abused a lot of this part of me. that's why i'm a doll, i don't have to feel anything, just do what people want me for. you can fulfill your every desire with me. do you want to see me in a certain dress? let me change. do you want to release your anger in me? let me help you. do you just want to fuck me? i am literally made for this. ”
“you are made for me. ” you smiled through the mask because in a way, he was right. he had created your character.
“do you mind if i film? i really want to record this. you are the first customer I have met. it's special for me. ”
" no. at least people will know to who you belong. ”
“that’s exactly it. ” you lied when starting the live. “let’s get started. ”
you had removed his pants and his boxers, placing yourself between his thick tighs, he was so much bigger than you that you looked like a small caged thing.
you placed your outrageously manicured hands on his open legs, your mouth sinking and wrapping around his hard cock. your tongue had started rolling around the girth, you could feel the small drop of precum going down your throat. this part that he was soon going to get fucked strongly and hard.
you wanted to drive him crazy, see him sweat like a pig because you were so good, because you did it all too well. he had wrapped your hair in a grip to make it easier to pull on it. “yes...suck that cock...just like that...let me ruin that mouth...fuck…”
your dripping lips were stretched by the size of his length, and the way it was getting completely hard inside of you. you could feel the drool running down the sides of your mouth. you felt every inch of his penis fucking your throat. and through your mask, you saw his smirks. he pulled your hair, and you took all of him, until your face came into contact with his pelvis, every bit of him was in you. you almost gagged.
he had barely pulled out of you before he entered you again. his cock worked against your tongue, brushing it harshly, the tip tapping the back of your throat. your cheeks were sunken, and your lips drowned between spittles and saliva. “you're perfect, doll...you really know how to suck...i could really take advantage of the situation if you keep this up...” at his words, you sucked him faster, pumping efficiently while his hand stroked your hair. his fingers moved along with your head.
he was completely using you, doing whatever he wanted with you. and you let him do it, because you wanted him to be proud of himself and to be seen on camera. he had pushed his cock onto your mask, decorating it with saliva, your own currently drooling. “so pretty. ” he had commented. he pushed his cock back into your mouth without warning, taking it ever deeper. you felt fizzy. your lips were open and used for several minutes non-stop, your throat puckered and pummeled. your jaw was starting to hurt, but you didn’t show it. you had to be perfect, packaged the way he wanted. your tongue flickered around him, teasing his girth.
“ need to be inside you...so bad...you make me feel so good. it's your face, doll. you're divine.”
maybe he had a mask kink to say that, to also be turned on by a fucking plastic object. or maybe it was the face he imagined behind it all? you didn't know.
he had thrown you on the bed, opened your legs in two and pushed your body against his hips, pulling you by the waist. his cock had twitching, purring some pre-cum, at the contact with your soaked cunt.
“ i could never sleep with a pogue. but especially with you, just thinking about it makes me vomit. “ it was perfect that you remembered that in the moment, as he thrust into you, his hips moving slowly.
your pussy clenched around his cock, barely letting him move without hurting you. “ fuck, you're so fucking tight, doll....need me to stretch this pretty little cunt. i'm gonna make you so dumb. “
you couldn’t hide that you still got wet, and damn, he knew how to fuck and you couldn’t be his first time. he had started pounding into you once your pussy had started to ease around him.
it was really intense, his body slamming violently against yours, the strike echoing through the room. your weak moans but which he heard very clearly, and which encouraged him to go even further within your walls. he pushed himself even more to hear you scream. he had a goal and he wanted to make you so stupid that in the end you wouldn't be able to do anything.
he buried himself inside you, his powerful thrusts stretching your pussy, your body twitching beneath him. he was on top of you, staring into your eyes. you were a little fascinated. his shoulders were broad and muscular, his arms heavy and toned, and his abs were perfect arranged into six packs. his hair fell on his forehead.
he couldn’t see the emotions on your face, nor clearly define what you were feeling. he only had your voice and the reactions of your body.
your pussy hugged him with each strokes, he filled you completely, making his way to your spot. your puffy slit was spread, capturing his bulge. you squeezed him harder, he startly getting down, the wet and dirty sounds of his hips rocking your body. you could see the vein on his neck, his contracted muscles covered in sweat.
he had placed his lips on yours, his mouth kissing yours. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you, gently guiding the kiss with your tongue.
he continued to fuck you, while playing with his tongue in your mouth, kissing you without limits, until your lips and jaws were covered in drool. you waited for him to cum inside you. but he hadn't pulled out while you were flooded, loaded with his cum, and some orgasms you'd had. it dripped from your slit onto the sheets. he had placed the tip of his cock back in front of your entrance, picking up where his enjoyment had left you off.
this time it was a little gentler. it was like you had established a little intimacy even though you knew it wasn't true. after a few minutes, he stopped.
" are you always being that kind ?…”
“ you think i'm a mean person ? ”
“ you never hurt people ? never in your life ? ” you asked him, with a friendly tone.
“ what if ? ”
“ don't freak out. everyone has a mean side. now, you got me curious. can you tell me the worst thing you have done to someone ? ”
“ maybe it was to one of that trashy pogue…” it started, and you forced yourself to not react when you saw the smile on his face. even after years, it didn't regret anything. because obviously, he talked about you.
“ thank you for confessing this story to me. now, i have a gift for you…” you said with a fakely soft voice. “ it was not the sex part. i'm willing to let you see me without my mask. i really want you to see me because i trust you. ” was obviously a lie.
“are you sure? ” he was so surprised by your proposal. “ don't you want to tell me something worse you did to someone too ? ”
“ oh, it's part of the gift, rafe . ”
at this moment, he knew. he fucking knew.
he had removed your mask.
because of the shock, he took a step back.
his face was indescribable.
“oh no, you can't pretend to be disgusted, not after fucking me like you've wanted this your whole life. ” you smiled. “what did you say before? that you could throw up? liar. you came so hard in me. and, it is still dripping. come on, don't run away, give a closer look. maybe i should make you clean the mess you made with your tongue. like you did to me. maybe, this time you will vomit. but i'm not sure, you're such a pathetic hater. and i'm just not afraid of you anymore. ”
“what the fuck is wrong with you, pogue ?! did you have fun?”
“ pogue ? ” you mocked. “ was babydoll, sweetheart, a few minutes ago. now, it's pogue ? how it feels, rafe ? how does it feel to be humiliated ? i think, it's better for you to apologize for all these years. but not only for me, for every pogue. ”
a crazy laugh escaped his lips, as he came closer to you. “ really ? what make you feel that i will apologize ? especially to you. ”
“ because now, the game is over. it's a war and i'm gonna fight back. it means, i will drag you down. every secret, every weakness, every move that you want to hide from me will be from now my first concern. i'm glad that you hate me because it's only the beginning. ”
“ you really think that you have some power over me ? be serious. ”
“ it's not about power at all. it's about justice. ”
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
i also wanted to thanks @bunnyrafe @rafecameroninterlude and @bimbotrashcan who helped me a lot, and trusted me for this !! tysm, i'm very grateful <333
396 notes · View notes
justwinginglife · 5 months ago
Note
No because your writing keeps me going in this Soshiro Hoshina AO3 drought!!!!!!!
What do we think about our Vice Captain getting in some trouble during a battle with a nasty Kaiju and his long time friend/crush who is a platoon leader in another division just so happens to be on her way to visit the 3rd division when the attack happens so she swoops in to save the day (and stitches him up after the whole ordeal ;))???
So glad I could provide sustenance! I am also keeping myself afloat with my writing trying to stay sane until season two comes out. I need more Hoshina screentime fr fr.
Crushing Hard
Soshiro Hoshina had dinner plans and he was late.
He cursed the kaiju for its poor timing. It was one thing to have to fight a kaiju on a Saturday - how inconsiderate of it to attack on his day off- and another to have to fight it before a date. At least he thought it was a date. He never knew with you. He hoped it was a date. He'd been pining after you for so long, it made his whole week (his whole month, really) that you'd texted him asking if you could swing by and have dinner this weekend.
He had just fixed his hair for the tenth time (he didn't know why he felt the need to fix it so much, it looked the same every time he fixed it), when he got the call that there was a kaiju wreaking havoc. And only a couple blocks away from where you were supposed to meet him for dinner, no less. He would really beat the shit out of the kaiju if it destroyed the restaurant he had planned to take you to.
So he quickly threw his combat suit on over his date clothes, hoping it would be a quick and easy mission, and he'd be ready to greet you at the door in no time at all. Yeah, that had been wishful thinking. This Honju really had it out for him.
In fact, the damn Honju had even sliced through part of his combat suit, tearing through the top he was wearing underneath.
"This was my favorite fucking shirt, damnit!" He curses at the Kaiju and runs at it again, swords at the ready.
The thing about this Honju was that it wasn't very big but it was very quick. Hoshina was exhausting himself just keeping up with it. It was almost like it was made to fight Hoshina, with its strengths lying in speed and close combat. And to make matters worse, without meaning to, Hoshina's mind kept wandering to his dinner with you, causing him to be slower to react than normal. He took a cut to the cheek and swore again. If he took anymore hits, he didn't know if his pride would let him show up to dinner looking like this.
"You know, I really didn't think you'd be treating me to dinner and a show, but you always were the overachiever."
Before he even had time to process who was talking, a large blast went off and the Honju suddenly has a gaping hole in its abdomen.
"Huh. Sturdy thing, aren't you? Let's try that again." Another blast and now its chest is missing.
Hoshina blinks, watching as you continue blasting the kaiju until it's nothing more than roadkill on the pavement. He should be helping you, he should be bandaging himself up, he should be getting food in the both of your stomachs. So many things to do, but all he wants to do is stare. You look so gorgeous with a gun. The way you wipe blood from your cheek, the way your ponytail lifts in the wind, the way that you smirk at the corpse, smug about your win. He wants to take in everything about you.
"You look like you need a drink." Now you were turning around, grinning at him. He thinks to himself that he could watch you forever.
"Soshiro?"
He shakes his head quickly. "Sorry. Must be the blood loss."
You laugh. "Well let's take care of that and then you owe me some dinner, as I recall." You start cleaning him up and he continues to watch you as you handle him with such care.
You pull the combat suit off of him, revealing his torn shirt underneath. "Ah damn. That was your favorite shirt. And mine too. Love when you wear this thing, I'll have to buy you a new one." You continue bandaging him like you haven't just said something that gets his heart racing.
"Mmm, I know, I have one of your shirts in my bag. You can change into that and then we can hit up that restaurant if you're still up for it?"
He nods, a little too quickly you notice. It's adorable.
Then he cocks his head to the side. "Wait, why do you have one of my shirts?"
Then it's your turn to blush. "Ahh that... well it just looked so comfy, can you really blame me for stealing it?"
His eyes widen. "Wait just a minute, how many of my shirts do you have??"
You cough. "Just the one- why do you ask?"
He crosses his arms at you and raises an eyebrow. "Because I was wondering why my closet was looking a little sparse lately. And I thought maybe the washer just ate them all."
"Haha... funny... uh, about that..." You scratch your head sheepishly.
He roll his eyes in mock annoyance but then he smiles. "I'm sure you look better in them than I do anyway. I suppose you can keep them. But you owe me some new shirts!"
You laugh, holding your hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. Will do. After you buy me dinner, I did just save your sorry ass." You tease.
And the two of you continue on like that the rest of the night, just joking, laughing, drinking, and slowly the line between friends and more than friends starts to blur. Hoshina thinks to himself, maybe he does have a chance in hell with you.
After all, who the fuck steals half of someone's closet?
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Sure I can't convince you to ditch Narumi and join my division instead? I make a mean omurice."
217 notes · View notes
fckbatmanhiskidsareminenow · 6 months ago
Text
What’s for Breakfast?
(yes it’s the parsnip fic)
(tw mentioned nightmares and mildly dissociation)
disclaimer: this will probably be ooc, i’m still extremely new to the fandom so be nice please
description: jason decides to cook and is interrupted by the rest of the bat siblings.
word count: 1556
All he came here to do was drop off some intel for Bruce but now? Now Jason is standing in the middle of the Wayne manor kitchen, with his hands on his hips, wondering what he should cook. He’s hungry, alright, sue him.
It’s Sunday and Sunday is the day Alfred restocks the kitchen so the chances of Jason actually finding something other than premade pancake mix was not great.
The first ingredient item he finds is a few parsnips. He passes one between his hands trying to think of what he can make with them. After a few seconds he comes up with something, tossing the parsnips onto the counter and he collects some onions, a leek, flour, eggs and vegetable oil. He gets the grater out and it’s decided. He’s gonna make parsnip and onion fritters.
Jason starts with slicing the onion. Just get that shit over and done with. The familiar burn of the onion begins in his eyes and he is immediately reminded of the last time he cooked in here. He was 15, it was a few weeks before his death. He and Alfred were making home made burgers, requested by Jason himself, and they made caramelised onions to go with it.
He’s pulled out of the memory by the wet feeling of tears dripping down onto his hand. He glares down at the vegetable as if it had personally wronged him. And you know what? It did. He’s crying all because of a fucking onion.
He continues slicing only slightly more aggressively when he hears a soft patter of feet.
“Todd?” At the sound of his name he looks up and is met with a sleepy Damian staring back. The kid’s got on a set of cat pyjamas, that Jason can admit is kinda cute, and is wiping away what looks to be tears. Must have had a nightmare or something.
“Cooking.” Jason replied gruffly. Damian approaches the island he’s cooking on and stands on his toes to try and see what Jason is cooking. Once again he can admit the kid looked kinda cute with only just his head and little hands poking over the bench.
“Cooking what?” He asks softly and with genuine childlike curiosity, which is rare for Damian. Jason breathes out a sigh and walks over to the small table on the far side of the kitchen and pulls a chair up against the bench.
“Parsnip and onion fritters. Wash your hands and come grate the parsnips for me.” He usually would tell him to fuck off but the kid looks like he could use a distraction and he does love a mission.
Damian washes his hands, climbs up the chair and starts grating.
They slice and grate mostly in quiet, only breaking the silence to quietly giggle at each other's onion induced tears.
“Cooking?” The sound of a voice startles them both so badly Damian almost throws a parsnip and Jason damn near cuts his finger off. When they look up at the source, Cass is standing there with an eyebrow raised.
“Christ, Cassandra, you could have killed us.” Damian says as he lowers the parsnip. Jason huffs out a laugh.
“Again.” He mutters and doesn’t miss the nasty look Damian throws him. Cass only smirks and shrugs. She looks dishevelled but Jason chooses to ignore it. She wanders over to the island, inspects what they’re doing before sitting on one of the stools and pulling her phone out of her pocket. Jason and Damian share a look before continuing what they were doing.
They finally get through all the slicing and grating when Steph and Tim stumble in looking like they had not slept all week. Jason stops what he’s doing just to look at them judgingly.
“Where the fuck have you two been?” he asks like he doesn’t want to know. Steph groans and collapses into the stool next to Cass.
“We were out all night for a stake out that turned up nothing.” Jason makes a confused face at that and looks to Tim who is all but dragging himself to the coffee machine.
“I don’t even want to talk about it.” He says holding a hand up to block out Jason’s judgmental look. Stake outs like that happen, not often but they happen. But for Tim? It’s even less often, he gathers all the intel he can before going out. Make sense for his mood to be shit.
Jason can practically sense Damian is about to say something so he scoops him up by the armpits and places him onto the ground.
“Your jobs done now.” He tells him before the kid can protest. He only receives a slightly grumpy nod before Damian drags the chair back to its regular spot and sits down. Tim looks away from the coffee machine.
“Are you making breakfast?” He asks half judgy half genuine. Jason almost responds with some snarky sarcasm but just looking at Tim tells him the poor guy's exhausted brain would probably melt if he did.
“Yeah I am. Parsnip and onion fritters.”
Steph lifts her head from where it was laying against the kitchen island.
“What the fuck is a parsnip?” Jason chuckles and holds up one of the unused parsnips.
“It's like a white carrot thing. They taste good, trust me.” Steph eyes it suspiciously before shrugging and laying her head back down.
Duke runs in while Jason is mixing in the flour and eggs. He stops and looks at everyone surprised. To Duke’s credit it is rare for all of them to be in the same room for a non vigilante related reason. He looks at Jason and into the bowl.
“Hey, that looks great! I’m heading out to patrol but save me some for when I get back?” He says as he grabs an apple and speeds out of the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Jason files the information to save some away in his head before he continues mixing. He makes sure everything is evenly coated before heating up a pan and drizzling some vegetable oil onto it. He places as many scoops as he can evenly spread on the pan and waits until he can flip them.
The sizzly of the fritters and the oil almost covers up the sound of a new pair of feet entering the kitchen.
“Whatchya making, Jaybird?” This time he doesn’t jump at the sound of Dick’s voice coming from directly over his shoulder. Just by looking at Dick’s eyes tells Jason the eldest is floating in between a dissociation episode. He’s not really all there.
Jesus Christ, was he the only one who had a good night? Well, he doesn’t really know how Duke’s night went but with the way he was rushing to get on patrol, if Jason had to guess it would be probably not good.
“Parsnip and Onion fritters.” He replies while scanning the kitchen for what task he can give Dick to help him out.
“Hey, could you do the dishes for me? I wouldn’t want Alfred to wake up and find the kitchen a mess.” He asks softly. Jason doesn’t mention that Alfred is already up and upon seeing all of them in the kitchen, about ten minutes ago, gave Jason a soft smile and left to do whatever Alfred does when he’s not butlering.
Dick turns to where Jason points to the dishes and nods.
“Oh yeah, of course.” He says spacely. Jason fights the urge to fist pump. If he’s learnt anything it's if you wanna get Dick Grayson to help himself, you gotta guilt trip him a little bit. He does take the knife before Dick can add it to his washing pile. Yeah he’s got some less than moral helping tactics but he’s not gonna let the guy hurt himself.
Damian gets up to help Dick with the dishes and they make quiet conversation. With Damian occasionally yelling when Dick splashes him or tries to place bubbles on his head.
Jason hands the empty bowl to Dick before placing the last of the fritters onto one big plate. He quickly whips up a greek yogurt and herb dip sauce. He grabs out enough plates for everyone and places two on a plate for Duke before wrapping it with foil and placing them in the fridge. He then hands the remaining stack of plates to Dick.
“Alright losers follow if you want breakfast.” He calls out before heading into the proper dining room. Dick sets the table before taking one for himself.
Jason will never tell anyone but he did feel nervous waiting for everyone’s reaction.
“Wait, why is this good?”
“I can’t tell if these are good or if I’m just really fucking hungry.”
“These are really good Jaybird.”
He tried to hide the way the tension fell from his shoulders before digging into his own food. The atmosphere was good and it made Jason kinda miss moments like this. This sense of family and belonging. Just a family having breakfast together.
“Is there any left for me?” Bruce asks as he walks in. Jason looks up at him. He’s met with a proud look he hasn’t seen in what feels like a lifetime. He hides his face and gestures to an empty chair.
“Take a seat, old man.”
I hope the fic is a good as you guys imagined 🥰
here’s a special thanks to @kaycynyrs for sending in the ask that inspired me to look at this fic again and @yourlocal-edgelord for encouraging me to rewrite it and to @heavenssolitude for being there and supporting me 🥰
(i’ll totally untag you guys if you didn’t wanna be tagged. just wanted to say thanks)
196 notes · View notes
bitterkarella · 12 days ago
Text
Midnight Pals: The Passion of Jesse
[mysterious circle of robed figures] JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: what newsss, wormtongue? Rowling: how goes the infiltration of bluesssky? Jesse Singal: mommy mommy Singal: it was SO HARD Singal: the trans were SO MEAN Singal: they all blocked me! Singal: i was almost ignored to death!
Rowling: you poor child Singal: but i did it mommy Singal: every single person on the site told them to ban me Singal: but i'm way more important than any of them! Singal: so i can stay! Rowling: excellent! Rowling: door'sss open, boysss!
Singal: mommy i fought so hard for you Rowling: i know you did, jesssse Singal: i did it all for you mommy Rowling: yess you did great jessse Singal: i asked all those questions just for you mommy Rowling: yeah thats great Singal: i had all those reasonable concerns just for you mommy
Singal: mommy mommy the trans were so mean, they said mean things about me on the internet Singal: i don't know how they could do that! Singal: they just don't understand how much it hurts to have people say mean things about you on the internet! Singal: they just can't relate!
Singal: it hurts when people say mean things about me on the internet! Singal: the trans don't understand Singal: they have their hard reptilian hides to protect them Singal: but i'm not a monster like them, i'm a person! Singal: i have feelings!
Singal: mommy they were so mean Singal: my feelings are so hurt Singal: kiss it and make it better mommy Helen Joyce: do we Joyce: do we really need to keep this guy around? Rowling: patience, ssssisster, we must bide our time Joyce: you don't have ANYONE else who could do this? Singal: mommy mommy
Joyce: i mean, we don't have anyone else who could launder transphobia into respectable liberal discourse? Joyce: anyone at all Rowling: well i really thought tatsuya ishida was going to be ready for prime time by now Rowling: but we missed that window Rowling: now he's overripe
Rowling: oh helen you don't understand Rowling: sure, jessse might look like a sniveling worm, a nasty crawling slithering little shit, a spineless craven buffoon Rowling: but damn if he isn't the best reasonable concern haver in the business
Singal: mommy mommy they were so mean to me Singal: i was unfairly judged, just like a child molester is unfairly judged! Rowling: Rowling: Rowling: Rowling:
69 notes · View notes
love-toxin · 2 years ago
Note
re4remake leon got me acting like a WHORE. i want that man carnally.
(cws: the nasty, coming home sex, barely teetering on the edge of obsessive!leon, gn!pov)
Tumblr media
ok but re4make Leon gets me extra hard bc he's in that stage where if someone comes on to him/asks about his lovelife he just grins and tells them he's got the prettiest little thing waiting for him back home, he mentions you by name every so often and recounts a story or two now and again to Ashley or Luis while they're venturing around bc usually he's thinking of you when he's not occupied with the mission. so people get this image of you as this little angel that could do no wrong and is absolutely the purest thing alive, it's adorable even when one of them sneaks a look at his wallet to see his photo of you/it gets taken or falls out of his pocket, and how annoyed and possessive he gets as he fights to get it back--Leon's obviously whipped, so he must treat you like an absolute princess or prince or just plain royalty. even Ada's jealousy is a little palpable when he mentions your name bc you know he's dodging her advances like the plague out of pure respect and devotion to you.
but then he goes home to you and just absolutely goes feral on your poor body--I'm talking barely a hello on his way in, slamming the door shut, throwing you on the bed and moaning an "I missed you so damn much" into your mouth as he starts tearing off your clothes and his. he just totally takes you to the cleaners and doesn't let go of you long enough even to breathe; he's constantly losing air and having to pant to catch his breath in between kisses, but dives right back in because he just can't get close enough. you have no idea just how bad he missed you, how many times he wanted to just say fuck it to the mission and come right back home to you--but you'll get a picture of it once he's folding your legs back and straining to fit his cock as deep as he can go, his mumbling filthy and downright obsessive as he comments on how tight you are and how he knows you haven't been looking for someone else in his absence--"you're such a good partner, you know that? you're the most loyal and you deserve the world and I never want anyone else but you. how can you be so sweet and fuck me so good too? you're perfect. you're my perfect angel and you're mine for as long as you live."
and even when he's cumming and has his forehead pressed to yours, sweaty and chest heaving as he plants his hips firm and makes you take every warm, thick shot he has for you, Leon doesn't slow down as the afterglow sets in and pulls out only so he can spread you apart with his fingers and watch his cum leak out of you. he's strong, he knows he can give you more, more to the point of making you pass out where you lay. but to see you have no qualms about that and pull on his shoulders to tug him back up, for you to peck him on his kiss-swollen lips and ask him if he can remind you one more time of how dearly you were missed--Leon couldn't be more in love. the sex is always great and he always misses it when he's away, but nothing compares to how sincerely he adores you in the purest way, and how lost he knows he would be if he could never come back to you like this.
he meant what he said; you're his forever, and nothing short of hell swallowing up the world will ever break him apart from you. hell, even then, he'd find a way to get back to you--if he can survive RC, Plagas, and every other shit thing that's happened in his short life just to survive, then he can battle an apocalypse for the sake of someone he dreams every night of waking up next to.
2K notes · View notes
princesssmars · 1 month ago
Text
yet again vi stumbles onto your doorstep, and yet again you can't turn her away.
youd never seen her until she moved into the apartment next to yours a few weeks back, sloppily dyed hair and melancholy face drawing your attention faster than you'd like to admit.
Tumblr media
you'd heard her through the walls sometimes, the distinct clinking of bottles and thudding of relentless training on a punching bag.
the first time she'd interacted with you was when you were tiredly coming in after a long day at work, the woman drunkely stumbling up the stairs and letting out a rather loud wolf whistle. You decided to ignore it with a roll of your eyes until you heard the sounds of stumbling and cursing, turning around to see she'd fallen flat on her face as soon as the sound stopped coming out of her mouth.
obviously, being an extremely good person, you helped the wobbly woman into your apartment and forced her to dit down on your toilet seat while you got out some med supplies to patch up the scratch on her cheek. her eyes wer droopy as you wiped at the scar, barely flinching at the alcohol you put on the wound.
"janna, how much alcohol do you have in you?"
"hmmmmm just enough to have a good night."
"i wouldnt call immediately eating shit after catcalling someone a good night, vi."
"how'd'you know my name?"
"its written on your face, sweetheart."
maybe you shouldnt have been such a good person, because now this brute has stuck herself to you side. whenever she has a injury from wherever she gets them from, she bangs her fist on your door and blinks at your annoyed form until you begrudgingly let her in to fix her up.
she's not the worst, at least when shes not drunk out of her mind. you ask about why after tour first meeting she marked over the tattoo on her face, or the alcohol problem, something youre accustomed to in zaun but uncommon to see in someone still so young, but she just grumbles and shrugs off the questions. eventually you manage to worm out of her that someone close to her used to make really good drinks. you dont ask any more about it.
soon enough she finally decides to let you in on whats causing all these mysterious bumps and scrapes on her bidy, inviting you down to the fighting pits to watch her have a go. you figure if she's not dead yet she must be pretty good and damn is she good. you're slightly grateful that she does in fact have the brawn to back up that short tempered brain of hers, taunting her opponents before knocking them out in less than a minute.
maybe you can see why she was so conifent when catcalling you. just maybe.
shes still closed off but open to talking to you the more time you spend together, spending the night at yours more than once and finally seeming to calm in your presence, the neon flashing lights outside bring out the shapes and lines of her face as she stares at your ceiling above. being such a good neighbor you even sneak into her apartment one day and help clean up just a little bit. she didnt bring it up but the next time you needed to patch her up you opened your cabinet to see a bran new medkit.
but then like a switch is flicked she starts on a downward spiral, spending more and more time at the bar after her wins at the bar and having to get helped on her feet to get back into her apartment. seeing a nasty cut running down her arm during one of these trips you try to switch the woman from her friend over to you before she growls and rushes into her apartment, slamming the door in both of your faces.
you look to the man in silence. he only has a sad look on his face, shaking his head before heading back down the stairs.
you dont see her again for another ewweeks, until you hear the telltalesound of her falling on her ass outsie the door. you press you ear up against the door to hear what she does and start to get worried when she makes no noises. sneakily as you can, you undo your door locks and open your door to see what shes doing, only to see that sloppily dyed hair still laying on the ground, bottle clutched in one hand as her other forearm rests over her eyes.
you let out a full body sigh and internally reprimand yourself for starting to give a shit about someone before going into 'on' mode and hauling her into your apartment, which was definitely no small task. she doesnt fight you as you struggle to lift her up. you dont know ifits because shes familiar to the feel of your hands or too sloshed to worry about whos handling her. you can only stomp down the worry as you get to work.
you throw away the empty bottle, seatting at her hand that unconsciously reaches for it. when she glares at you you struggle the urge to throw her ass in the shower and turn on the chilled water, but decide thats bit the best route of action tonight. you manage to make her drink some water from the sink, take off her boots and jacket and plop down onto your bed. you rally wished youd saved up enough for a pull-out couch.
just when you turn away to put up her jacket and prepare something for you both to eat her hand locks into a grip on yours, large bruised and callused palm completely encircling your wrist as she weakly tugs you back towards her. you slowly sit back down and sit still as her head rubs into the side of your leg. the neon lights keep flashing as she visibly struggles with something before opening her eyes. the room flashes red, then purple, then blue and her hand grips yours tighter.
"'m sorry."
"its fine, vi. just fall asleep."
Tumblr media
133 notes · View notes
dinogoofymutated · 8 months ago
Note
So I'm warming up to the idea of Cable now with this new animation style. And now I can't help but imagine a mutant reader seeing him shirtless for the first time 👉🏽👈🏽. Maybe she's helping him treat a wound he cant reach on his back and he's too worn out to rely on his telekinesis for it. Sure she knows that he has a metal arm. Techno-organic viruses were nasty business. But she never imagined she'd get to see the stark contrast of metal and flesh up close. Just a tender moment where she gets to see him at his most vulnerable. Preferably sfw. Sorry if this is too long winded or specific. Really love your writing and enjoy what you share with us regardless if u choose this one or not 🫶🏽
Tumblr media Tumblr media
SFW!Cable/GN!Reader OOOOGHHHH when I tell you I have been thinking about this since you sent me the ask!! I've been dying to write this but forced myself to follow a schedule :( I've never really been a Cable girly but this scenario has been in my head non-stop! I just hope this fic does the same to others!!! Speaking of which, I hope this isn't too OOC for him! This also might get a pt 2 with some smooching 😘
Read pt. 2 Here :)
-Ps- Heads up, finals week is coming up for me and I have a lot of essays and work to do. my writing is sadly going to slow down a bit. I don't think I'm going to close requests for now but it's not out of the realm of possibility! TWs: Can't really think of any. Gross depictions of techno-organic shit. As always, Reader written while picturing fem! but no pronouns mentioned. The reader is short in this one, sorry to all my Amazonian friends.
Tumblr media
    Prime sentinels were like wasps. Squashing one could be relatively easy with the right tools, but it was difficult to handle multiples at once. It had been a rough day, and your ears were still ringing from the sounds of blaster fire when you got to the safe house. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, body exhausted from overusing your mutant powers. Bruises are forming all over you, and despite the pain and soreness, you know you got off easy compared to Cable. 
    He’s got an arm slung around your shoulder, using you as a crutch as you help him limp over to the table- although you’re sure you’re not a very good one, too short for him to properly lean on. His gun clanks on the floor as he sits, grunting as the movement sends shooting pains through his body. You can tell his left arm is aching, the techno-organic virus fighting to beat the telekinetic powers keeping them still. You weren’t the only one who overdid it today, but you also weren’t the one who had to keep a virus from eating you alive.
    Once Cable is settled, the routine starts. You cautiously make a round through the safe house, making sure blinds are drawn and entryways secured. Usually, the task was split between the two of you, being faster and safer than it would be alone- but he would take it over when you were badly hurt. It was only natural that you would do the same. You feel the sting of anxiety and worry in your heart. Cable had saved your ass today. He had done so many times, but normally the fighting wasn’t this extreme. You had been stupid, and he was suffering the consequences. 
    A series of pained grunts lead you back into the kitchen once you’ve finished, and you can tell Cable is pissed just by the tone of them. You’re facing his back when you walk in, noticing the large red stain that spans across the width of his shoulders. You try to hide the worry on your face as you approach him. He has the medkit sprawled out on the counter, sorting through the various items in it.
    “Can’t believe this thing doesn’t have a damn mirror.” He grunts. You hum in response, looking him over before examining the items on the table.
    “What do you need a mirror for?” You ask, voice coming out a little hoarse. You clear your throat, must be from the smoke earlier. Cable sends you a look, tossing his head towards his back. You mouth an “oh” before looking at him, unable to hide your worried expression. You’d seen him stitch his wounds up with his telekinesis before, when the fight was all guns and no powers. An action like that was child’s play for someone of his capabilities. For him to actively avoid it, and the way his arm seemed to be bothering him more than normal… It made you worried. It made you feel guilty. 
    You look down at the suture kit, open on the table from where Cable had unzipped it, and then look back at him, wordlessly asking. He gives you a cautious look for a moment, before it shifts into something much softer. He doesn’t bother nodding, choosing to simply take his shirt off instead.
    You blush a little but quickly get to work, grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling them on. They’re too big for you, meant to fit Cable’s sturdy hands instead of your own smaller ones. You try not to get distracted by the sight of him shirtless as you pick up what you need and get behind him. The air has shifted between the two of you, forming into something a little more intimate. Something that builds itself on words unspoken, truths that neither of you is quite ready to communicate yet.
    His back is broad and beautiful, dotted with scars and bruises. The gash on his shoulders is from a stray blast, starting at the top of his left shoulder and ending at the lower shoulder blade of his right. 
    You’re not sure if you had been ready to see the cut-off between flesh and metal.
    The cords of metal attach to the skin of his shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. They sprout from underneath the skin, winding against each other in a way that makes no clear sense to you. The top layers of skin are rough, keloid scarring having formed at the impasse of skin and metal. It's horrific, the way the virus has both eaten and forced its way under the skin. The top of the gash is somewhat deep, the deep inner cording revealed by the wound cutting through the top of his skin has you unable to look away despite the horror that has taken you.
   “I can feel you staring, you know.” Cable’s rumbling voice causes you to snap back to reality.
    “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” You trail off, not fully able to place the words. He sighs, and you mistake it for annoyance. You quickly get back on track and begin to disinfect the wound. Cable hardly flinches as you do so. You’re overly cautious as you stitch him up, focusing on each stitch being perfectly placed. You know they wouldn’t stay for long. Cable had a habit of tearing his stitches. You hope that maybe you’d be able to keep that from happening this time.
   You place both hands on his shoulder blades when you are done. The nerves have worn off as the pseudo-doctor in you took over. You’re trying to examine the stitches, but find that your attention keeps being drawn back to that stark contrast of his shoulder. If Cable notices, he doesn’t say anything. You glance at the back of his head, trying to gauge what he’s feeling. 
    Your left hand drifts a little. Cable shudders as your thumb gently traces that line of scarring, the metal of his arm feeling extra cold compared to the heat of his skin. You’re waiting for him to say something. To tell you to back off. To grumble and shake you off and avoid speaking to you like he used to when you first started to work together- when he was so determined not to get attached. 
   But he doesn’t say anything. Not at first, anyway. The tenseness of his shoulders slowly gives as the gentle touching morphed into more purposeful touches, working the stiff muscles- what was left of the organic ones, anyway. 
    It’s intimate. It’s quiet. It’s… nice. Part of you wishes it would last a little longer. Part of you wishes he would let you touch him like this more often. 
    Cable stiffens again as the thought crosses your mind, recoiling away from you. He stands suddenly, turning around to face you. His towering stature used to make you nervous out of fear. Now you’re nervous for a completely different reason. Part of you had forgotten about the glimpses he takes into your mind. A flicker of anxiety ignites when you realize how much he might have seen. The two of you just look at each other for a moment, his brown eyes hard compared to the softness from earlier. You hadn’t meant to think so much. You didn’t think he was horrific. It was the virus. What it was doing to him. The energy and effort it takes out of him. That was what scared you.
    Cable was used to the stares. The horror. Most recoiled at the sight of his flesh. It only made sense to him when you did too.
    But Nathan… Nathan wasn’t ready for the depth of your thoughts. The care in your eyes. He wasn’t ready for the depth of his own feelings. The ones that cause such a storm within him. The ones that cause him to be stupid. The ones that make him focus more on saving you than the goal of every mission.
    “Is this… Are we okay?” You ask. He didn’t need to be a telepath to sense the fear that has swelled within you. Most of your emotions were always written on your face. It made things easier for him when he didn’t have to search for your thoughts. That hardness in his eyes softens yet again, and he glances away for a moment. 
    “... Yeah.” Is all he says. His heart feels light when you finally smile at him, even though an underlying nervousness still resides behind that smile. You let out a relieved sigh, and he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Instead, he sits back down. He faces away from you, giving you the space to finish taking care of the wound on his back. 
    You don’t realize how late it is until you’re finished, and the mess on the counter has been cleaned and contained back in the medkit. The two of you sit together as you eat. The food isn’t great- consisting of an MRE that’s not exactly as advanced as the futuristic weapons and technology would lead you to believe. He doesn’t say anything when you lean on his shoulder, or when your breathing evens out, having fallen asleep on his side.
  The aches and pains don’t really bother Nathan as he carries you to bed, but the thoughts of you, your feelings, your thoughts… Those keep him awake longer than any wound would.
157 notes · View notes
orbitariums · 7 months ago
Text
rum punch | patrick zweig x black fem reader
writing this because patrick is definitely the type to text you like “if you wanna pull up just to get fucked here’s the addy”
obsessed with this song right now (rump punch by cash cobain) and listened to it over and over while writing this. i recommend listening to compliment your reading experience 🙏🏾 it’s sooo challengers especially patrick zweig coded. let’s review: “top five nasty, you ain’t even gotta ask me” and “soon as you leave i miss u too, like damn”; “don’t be asking questions like a interview cuz you really know what we finna do”...  “i just made her cum twice you ain’t make her cum once”?!!>!##? that’s patrick DOWN. sorry it must be said… 
so a little drabble-ish thing is ahead! contains: cheating (ooops), degradation, smut
it started when you started dating your current boyfriend, or at least that’s what you would tell yourselves to make you feel better about the whole ordeal — not that patrick cared much to begin with. but anybody who knew you and patrick knew that this had been going on for far longer than either of you would care to admit, or that either of you had enough introspective ability to even realize. every single playful shove, every time you squeezed his hand to deflect from parting at the end of a hangout, the way he’d stack his legs on top of yours while you were studying even though he knew you “hated” it, his thumb circling your hand, your head on his shoulder during a late night movie sesh with art and tashi, eyes fluttering closed until you found sleepy heaven in the perfect crevice of his neck. nearly every time you saw each other, which was frequent, you were touching without touching. art, who wasn’t one to make crass comments often, would always tell patrick: “it wouldn’t even make a difference, you should just go ahead and fuck each other. the shit you two do is more than just sex.”
it was 11:16 pm when you called him. your boyfriend had sped off in the middle of the night in a fit of anger after an intense argument about the same thing for the hundredth time. you were so tired. you’d been so close to texting or calling him before, but you refrained — you didn’t want things between the two of you to get messy when nothing in your life was going right in the first place. but now that you were nearly slumped against the wall with tears hot against your face, so tired beyond comprehension, you could blame it on the delirium brought on by exhaustion. you told yourself you just needed the comfort of your close friend, who always made you laugh.
“patrick, can i come over?” you’d asked, your voice trembling, your face buried in your sweater sleeve. 
patrick had never heard you sound so upset — he’d never even seen you cry. when you were around him, you were always so jovial and giggly. so when he heard your voice on the phone, so late at night, sounding so fragile and fractured, his eyebrows immediately knit together with concern, and he sat up on his couch. 
“yn, are you okay? is everything alright, you sound—”
“i’m fine,” you sniffled, breath catching on your voice multiple times. “just-just need a friend. please, can i come over?”
you couldn’t see it, but his features softened, and some wedge in his heart seemed to shift over,
“yeah. yeah, of course you can.”
he was so confused, but just glad to know that you were at least okay, taking pride in the fact that he was who you wanted to be around, whatever was going on. he made some rushed efforts to tidy up his bachelor apartment, sweeping crumbs under the rug, tucking in pillows on the couch, throwing yesterday’s takeout into the overflowing trashcan, and swiping the trash off his coffee table. 
he couldn’t believe how shrunken you looked when you appeared in front of his door that night, clad in an oversized stanford hoodie and sweatpants, slippers, tears still welling up in your eyes. this couldn’t be the same yn pushing him off of her with excessive force and maniacally cackling at his stupid jokes. 
“wh-”
before he could get a word out, you threw your arms around your waist, plopping your head down on his chest. he stilled for a moment out of shock, then relaxed into your touch, embracing you with his arms around your shoulders and down your back, holding you because he knew that’s what you needed right now. 
and then you were pulling away, sniffling and wiping away your tears, finally feeling some ounce of comfort now that you were with him. you knew, you knew, this was what you needed, as much as you had resisted this very thing. 
“it’s chris,” you said, moving past him and inside his apartment, groaning as you plunked down onto the couch. 
now, looking out the open door at the hallway ahead of him, patrick was nodding to himself silently, like he had come to some realization. he sat beside you, and you turned to him with a pout. and it was then that patrick knew he was not a good man for thinking about how pretty you looked with tears streaking your face and your lips pressed together in a girlish pout. 
“he’s like… intimidated by me or something. every single thing i tell him about my day, about work, about my friends, my wins… he’s always finding some thing to harp on like i’m some villain stopping him from achieving his finance bro dreams. he hates that i’m living my life because he isn’t living his yet. so every thing i earn, he just picks it apart and tears it down, questions my motives for everything.”
“he’s a dick, alright?” patrick said, in that ever so frank tone that you honestly missed, and wished you could hear during these arguments with your boyfriend. “yn, i’d never… we wouldn’t treat you like that, me and art and tashi. we’re your real friends, we celebrate you. that’s how a relationship’s supposed to go. he’s a stupid fuck.”
you grinned a bit at his correction, the corner of your lips turning up.
“i know you wouldn’t.”
“can i ask you something though, yn?”
“mhm?” you looked up at him with such innocent doe eyes that he didn’t want to call bullshit, but he was calling bullshit. 
“why… why’d you come over here? why not to tashi or your mom’s or… anyone else? why me?”
you sighed deeply, shaking your head,
“because, patrick, i… i just… want you right now.”
his face impossibly close to yours, intruding your senses and all your walls before you even realized they were up. 
“how do you want me?” he asked, his voice the softest it had ever been, his breath tickling your cheek. 
you were hoping you wouldn’t have to finish your sentence, and patrick knew it — his hands gripped the sides of your face with a stronghold, and then your lips were crashing against each other like a wave coming to the tide, foaming and sputtering and wetting the cracked sand at the shore. and it didn’t take long before you were climbing on top of him and straddling him, your clothes falling off one by one. his rough hand clutching your breast and squeezing, another in your panties navigating your clit like a fucking expert, making your back arch against the air. then your legs by your head as patrick drove himself into you, tender and slow and making you see stars instead of his face and the ceiling. fucking every tear out of you, turning your sobs of pain into sobs of pleasure. your moans were like a choir to him, licking flames against his earlobes each time you whimpered his name, leaving little half-circle imprints in his back with his nails. sweat dripping down his forehead as he clutched his eyes shut and tried not to come too fast, tried not to let the way you wrapped around him like a fucking snake— pussy squeezing his cock, legs trapping him inside you, hands roaming his back like new found land — make him lose focus. 
“fuck, your fucking moans. d’you have any idea how much i’ve thought about this? f- fuck, if you come to me crying again, i’m not gonna go so easy on you.”
if he had an ounce of self-respect, he’d have stopped you after the first time (he didn’t have the discipline to deny you completely), but something about him stirred at the unpredictable predictability of it all. he knew that at least once a week, you’d come crying to him over something your asshole boyfriend did to you, it was just a matter of what day of the week. 
he liked when you came over on friday nights most, because more often than not you’d stay the night, sometimes the weekend, making the excuse to your boyfriend that you were sleeping over at a girlfriend or your mother’s house. but really you were just spending the whole weekend getting fucked by your recovery boyfriend patrick, who would scrape up the little money he had to order food from your favorite thai restaurant every night and watch what were, in his opinion, the most insipid movies he’d ever seen — because he knew that less than halfway through you’d be split open on his cock, sobbing with pleasure into his shoulder as princess diaries became a distant echo in the background. his hand on the small of your back, his vision glazing over as he stares ahead at the tv, too enraptured by the sweet whimpers you make while you’re (attempting to) ride him, the sounds of your slick pussy swallowing him whole in slow intervals, panting and gasping as he speared you open because he was: “so big, patrick you’re so big.”
he’ll snap out of it then, find his hands wrapped around your waist and his lips buried in the crook of your neck,
“it’s okay, baby. you can take me.”
“i’m trying,” you wailed, the frustration so clear in your voice that it almost made him laugh. 
instead, he wrapped his hands around your waist firmly, leading you down onto his cock himself. 
“fuck!” you shouted out, practically collapsing forward onto him. “patrick, please—”
“if you can come to me crying just to get dick, you can take it.”
you gasped at the directness of his words, punching yourself for how much it turned you on. and he knew it too, by the way your pussy throbbed around his dick. you couldn’t see his face, but you could practically hear the shit-eating smirk in his voice as he grabbed your asscheek,
“yeah, your pussy loves it though. and you love being my little slut behind closed doors when your boyfriend isn’t acting right.”
you couldn’t control the moan that tumbled out of your lips when he said that, and definitely not the screech you let out when he started to thrust up, jackhammering into you so his cock reached the hilt. 
“that what you wanted?”
“yes, yes!” you wailed, nodding desperately, positively wrecked as your head practically hung over his shoulder, enveloped in a world of pleasure. 
“yeah… i know…”
and sometimes he won't be so nice. he'll be damn near using your pussy like a fleshlight, his body practically covering yours as he fucks you like an animal, hard and fast and rough, your pussy squelching around his cock each time he rams it into you. he'll use you like he's the one that needs comforting, like your pussy is the only safe haven he knows. and it's only fair, the way you hide out in his house and act like his dick is your life source. he fucks you like he's an athlete and this is his sport, tennis be damned. he'll degrade you anyway he knows how — because he knows you love it, knows it makes you finish two times as fast.
"he doesn't fuck you like this."
"you're such a fucking slut. come over here crying acting like you don't pull up just to get fucked." he'll laugh as he says this, and you want to smack his chest in indignation, but you can't manage anything but moans.
“you’re such a good girl. letting me use this pussy when i want.”
"there you go, squeeze my cock like it's yours."
"pussy's so greedy, getting fucked by the both of us. still so fucking tight."
"your boyfriend's probably wondering where you are." this has made you come twice now.
"whose pussy is it?" (and even though you have a man, you tell him it's his every time. sometimes he doesn't even need to ask, sometimes he fucks you so good that you just scream out: "it's your pussy — it's your pussy, daddy", and he'll chuckle and say: "i know.").
and you let him say these things and more, because he fucks you like no one ever has, like he knows something you told him in complete and total secrecy. like it's something so complex — but all it ever takes is one touch.
your friends have noticed something is different between you two, but it's honestly not a big jump from before — only this time, you guys sealed the deal and were actually fucking now. of course, patrick can't keep his mouth closed for long and ends up bragging to art, and you tell tashi because she's one of the girls, and now there's this unspoken understand between all of you. but no one feels the need to intervene, because honestly... it makes sense.
and you’ll have a conversation with him every other time, telling him “we have to stop doing this.” and one day he replies, 
“yn. not to be a dick or anything, but you’re the one who calls me. you act like you're coming over for comfort, but we both know it's my dick doing all the comforting."
and you know it’s true, you know patrick is right even if he is an asshole. but you won’t let that stop you from texting him: thai food and a movie? everytime your boyfriend fucks up. and patrick won't stop you either.
144 notes · View notes