#even before the brain scrambles

[inkyembers]

him hamsome

[most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer]

Good Omens: Lockdown and Crowley not mentioning his living situation in S2*

*till S2E6 when he asks if he can have his apartment back bc he's bored of living in his car but Aziraphale doesn’t hear bc mentally he’s in Alpha Centauri.

Having read the 'Crowley doesn't tell him' Neil Gaiman ask close to when I first listened to Lockdown (I lived under a rock until recently), my initial thought was HAS HE BEEN LIVING IN HIS CAR FOR YEARS?! but I think he was still in his apartment in 2020:

as far as Hell knows, Crowley just had a pool party in holy water (the holiest) so the higher-ups are probably willing to give him some space (plus Beelzebub is busy going on pub dates w Gabriel)

while there should be ~8 months between the end of Season 1 events (The Very First Day of the Rest of Their Lives on Sunday, Aug 25, 2019) and the Lockdown phonecall (on or near the 30 year anniversary on May 1, 2020), I can't imagine that's a very long time for Hell, especially if you're understaffed and busy dealing with fallout from Almostgeddon / going on pub dates

Shax dropping off mail and asking about the boiler seems like something one does in the first few months of living somewhere, not ~3 years in (if S2 is in 2023)

That said, I think the phone call underlines why Crowley never directly tells Aziraphale that he is living in the Bentley in S2, and it's just a great conversation (all hail Gaiman) sooo I wrote about it:

***Note: This post analyzes the Lockdown phonecall from Crowley's perspective only. Our heroine is feeling quite emotionally vulnerable at this point in time so things are going to hit him harder than they normally would.

I do not think Aziraphale meant to cause him pain (!!) but Crowley can't see that yet and I've written this post in a way that reflects that missing insight. (I explain in more detail in this reblog if you are interested) I am working on a companion post for Aziraphale's side of this conversation and how I think it affects his behavior in S2 because if we know anything about these two, it's that their exactlys are different exactlys.***

Crowley’s habit of sleeping to skip time like an RPG character by a campfire amuses me to no end, but in this context it feels heavy. Crowley already worries about losing time with what he loves and he probably hoped things would be different between him and Aziraphale after the events of S1. But things don’t change much. Then lockdowns start, and Crowley is trapped in his apartment alone, transcendentally bored, and unable to make his brain shut up. Sleeping a month away starts to sound less awful.

But Crowley hasn’t given up yet; he’s still awake when Aziraphale calls, and he’s even giving it two more days. Was he waiting for Aziraphale to call? Is it even possible not to at least kind of wait for someone’s call when you are cut off from everything and the caller has been your only friend and crush for millennia?

Aziraphale asks why Crowley isn't "out and about" tempting people or setting a bad example and he responds:

C: Everyone's so miserable and cooped up right now anyway, and I just… well… don't have the heart for it. A: *glowing audibly* I'm not miserable~ C: Really?

Crowley sounds genuinely surprised at Aziraphale's happiness and quickly assumes it's because the angel has been around people. He's so lonely/depressed/in his own head that he hadn't even considered someone enjoying being 'cooped up'. *sob*

Aziraphale goes No actually I put the closed sign up in the window and I'm having the Time of My Life, never had so few customers, not in 200 years!, etc. Although, he says:

A: …There were a few young lads a couple of nights ago who broke in through the back and tried to steal the cashbox! But they soon saw the error of their ways~ C: *clearly amused* Did you smite them with your wroth? A: Well I certainly gave them a good talking to, and I sent each of them home with cake~ C: *annoyed, swooning* Cake? A: Quite a lot of cake, actually. C: *physically ill from having such a giant crush on this dumbass baker/security guard* eeeekkkgghhh I'm gonna regret asking but.. ...rrgh.. *30 seconds of Aziraphale joyfully describing his baking while Crowley probably tries very hard not to imagine the angel eating each item in sensual slow motion* I stg you can hear him struggling in the background once or twice

A: …And once I've baked them, I have to eat them all myself, which was why I was so delighted— C: To send your burglars home laden with baked goods, yes, nnyeaayeah I follow…

Crowley interrupts, finishing Aziraphale's sentence in his nervous hurry to say the next bit:

C: *loud inhale* You know, I could.. hunker down at your place. … Slither over and watch you eat cake. I could bring a bottle--a case of… something… drinkable…?

He's trying to sound so casual about it but this is someone who was rejected/abandoned by actual literal God after asking what he thought were welcome, uncontroversial questions. Asking makes him vulnerable. He's supposed to be the rescuer, not a demon in distress. He does not feel casual about asking.

Crowley knows it's unlikely but he's so miserable and desperate for company that he can't help but ask, just in case. Even the smallest chance of spending time trapped indoors with Aziraphale—with nothing to do but drink, watch him eat, and talk about things they'd normally avoid—is too tempting.

A: *panicking* Oh I— I— I— I— I'm afraid that would be Breaking All The Rules! *nervous breathing* Out of the question! I'll see you… when this is over. C: Right. gnnehh. I'm setting the alarm clock for July. Good night, angel. *dial tone*

And just like that, Crowley doesn't need two days to decide. The depression nap doubles in length. He doesn't hear how badly Aziraphale wants to say yes behind the fear, or maybe he does and it hurts worse because why isn't Crowley enough for him? You can almost hear the spiralling:

SHOCKING, asking made it worse. It always does doesn’t it? Why even bother? you just embarrass yourself.. SLITHER over? why did I say that *grumble grumble* of COURSE His Holy Holiness, your only friend in the universe, would rather eat cake by himself while everything goes to shit than ~deign~ to have you in his presence. "AsK aND yE sHaLl ReCeIvE" bugger this for a lark im going to bed

(a bit dramatic but we've all been there)

I imagine sleep doesn't come right away. Maybe his thoughts drift to when he sat beside the angel at a dark Tadfield bus stop after a rather eventful Saturday. Crowley must've felt a tiny bit hopeful when he invited Aziraphale to stay with him: Heaven had withdrawn its favor and the bookshop was gone; Aziraphale was like him now. Didn't that mean things would change?

"I don't think my side would like that." Apparently not.

In the end, Aziraphale did ride the bus back to Crowley's apartment and stayed till the next morning when he caught a cab, but only to sell the illusion. Crowley understood that as far as sides went, the angel was still on Heaven's, even if Heaven wasn't on his.

And now this: the entire world is shut down; there is nothing for Aziraphale to do but stay in and read and bake in his magically reconstituted bookshop and he still won't invite Crowley in. Burglars and un-fallen angels only—nobody who asks questions.

So... of course Crowley doesn't tell Aziraphale when he loses his apartment. He already knows what answer he would get; the angel has told him so many times. Aziraphale is a company man first, a companion to one very sad owl when convenient.

If Crowley works up the courage to say 'please take me in, I have nowhere else to go' and Aziraphale goes 'sorry, no, far too political, but I WILL risk being erased from the Book of Life to protect this nude amnesiac former coworker who always hated me,' it's going to be too much. You can't sleep long enough for that type of hurt to go away. Better not to say anything.

"Then nothing has to change, does it?"

[chococookiez]

this has 2 saves already even though i haven't talked about it at all so ig there's an audience to throw it out to somewhere . fuck it we ball

WOE. INCOMPREHENSIBLE SLEEP TOKEN INFESTED GABV1EL PLAYLIST BE UPON YE.

[satans-knitwear]

Draft folder my beloved, what would i do without you?? 🥺

Treat me ~ Tip me ~ More of me

[pastafossa]

*heavy breathing* I decided to try to find a workaround for the long covid brain fog tonight.

Aka a new pot pot strain a friend recced to see if it would help me out with this.

It worked.

Do you know how well?

I just came up from a fucking five hour writing spree.

I'd planned to edit TRT's new chapter. And I did for a bit. But it wasn't enough. I had that itch, one that had been rattling around under my skin for months.

I needed to CREATE.

I NEEDED TO WRITE.

So I turned my eyes to the Raven fic's final chapter, where I'd been slowly working on adding the new scenes I wanted and redoing a few to match the new ones.

I didn't just enter the writing zone. I blew that fucking door off its hinges. I saw the scenes in my mind's eye, and I typed the words that came, and even when the words didn't show up, I waved it off, slapped in a placeholder, and blew past it. My hyperfocus latched on like a gator and did fifty thousand death rolls.

I wrote FOUR. POINT. EIGHT. THOUSAND. WORDS.

IN FIVE HOURS.

I may have forgotten to drink or eat anything so that's familiar too

This proves it. Getting TRT's new chapter written, if not edited, proved the words were still there in my head. And THIS proves I can still enter that miracle zone that makes everything worth it oh god i missed the zone. As best I can tell looking over it, this didn't fix my 'what word did I want here???' problem that I continue to struggle with. I still have a lot of placeholder words. But what it did do was remove my frustration, my anxiety, and my long pauses when I couldn't find a word I wanted. It was far easier to just continue on. It also gave me, for just a few hours, the ability to focus, enough that even as it slowly wore off I'd built enough momentum to keep going for a while.

Now I just gotta find a way to get there more regularly like I used to, without the herby nudge. Tomorrow I'll try the same thing though, only with editing instead, now that my itch has been thoroughly scratched.

And if anyone hears triumphant howling tomorrow evening, just know that it is I, Pasta, summoning the words again.

[honeybewrites]

honeyyyyy i can’t wait to come back to proper posting because i have heaps of fun stuff i’d love for you to see!! always love your input <33

take this ask as an open invitation to tell us a fun fact about a character, ramble about a story, share something creative your proud of, or anything!

LETTERS!!!! Always lovely to see you 😘 I can’t wait to see what you’ve been cooking up!!!

I, uh, have been in a little bit of a creative rut recently holiday/busy/depression season tends to do that to me so uh, I guess enjoy this?? *throws half edited scene at you and scurries away*

“Go away! We closed!” Frugel’s sharp, heavy Ketaawai accented voice called from the back.

“It’s me Frugel,” 703 sighed. The old woman was as cracky as they got. “I told you I would be stopping by for supplies.”

The crone poked her head out from the back. As always, her hair was a literal bird’s nest. 703 had grown accustomed to seeing one or two birds perching in her hair, nipping at stray strands, and tonight was no different. There was only one currently. The red Spardip. That one had always seemed overly attached to her. 

Frugel hobbled around to the front. Her humped back and gnarled stick of a cane made her look all the more crazed. The bobbles and half empty vials handing from the end of her stick clattered with each step. She wore  an overzealous amount of jewelry and a slightly oversized dress. Or robe. 703 wasn’t really sure. It could have just been a piece of fabric the woman had wrapped herself in for all 703 knew.

“Oh, it is the cockroach.” She glared at 703.

“Do you have what I requested?” She asked, ignoring the insult. If she could even call it that. She been called far worse things.

Frugel huffed, leaning on her cane. “Always asking me to slave. Torture on old joints. Give me no time. Expect miracles?”

703 unclipped the bag of dues from her belt, dropping it on the counter. It clinked on the wood. Another bag followed, this one was slightly lighter, but far more valuable.

Frugel gave her a gapped smile. “Lucky I like you.”

She snatched the pouches, hobbling into the back once more.

Her eyes wandered around the shop as she waited.

It was cluttered beyond belief with barely enough room to walk through. Somehow, 703 found that amusing. To own so many things you could barely contain them all. It fathomed her to no end.

Wind chimes hung from the ceiling. Right next to shrunken heads, feathers hazardously tied together, small cages with assorted creatures, bones, and assortments of bottles. The shelves were stacked so full of things they bowed and threatened to break. Vials and bottles of every size and shape filled with any kind of tonic or poison lined the shelves in no particular order. The spaces in-between were stuffed with books that spilled out onto the floor and created a tripping hazard. Decaying plants hung across the top of the shelves, some shoved in cracked pots on the floor. Unidentifiable oozing buckets sat next to piles of tree branches and several animal limbs with fur still on them. A [xz animal] wandered about, slinking between stacks of boxes and books with ease. The plants growing out of the wall moved of their own accord. Twisting vines stretching across the shelves before moving on in a different direction.

After a minute, Frugel shuffled back out. Now, with her second bird in her hair. This one a blue Spardip that 703 had learned was the male��s partner. She held a paper bag that clinked with bottles every time she took a step.

“There you have.” She handed the bag to 703.

“Did you have everything I requested?” 703 began shifting through the bag’s contents, noting which vials contained what. Frugel had long stopped labeling them once she realized 703 was more than qualified to make these same tonics herself. Keeping alchemy supplies wasn’t very feasible with her life. It was easier to have it outsourced. And Frugel was one of the few she trusted to do it.

“Pat! Since when I not?” Frugel attempted to hit 703 with her cane, but she easily avoided it without bothering to look up from the bag. “You always paranoid. Picky picky.”

703 rolled the bag closed, tucking it in her vest. “Thank you. Try to behave while I’m gone. We don’t need a repeat of last year.”

Frugel crackled. “Those boys asking to be cursed! They cross me!”

“Frugel,” 703 said wearily.

[nutcasewithaknife]

Li Xiangyi running away from the past while still living in it makes so much sense once it clicks that Li Lianhua's identity is inherently tied to being what Li Xiangyi was not/could not be. On one hand, it let Li Lianhua slow down, breathe, built a life where he could cook and garden and have a dog. But on the other hand! Li Xiangyi carried the burden of the whole world's expectations and strived to meet them till it all crumbled so awfully. Therefore, Li Lianhua must not do the same. And the only way to avoid such a burden of expectation, to avoid people wanting him to be something he isn't and never was, is to run from them. So if Li Xiangyi was the best hero of the world, of course Li Lianhua had to be the best at running away.

But all it ultimately means is that his life is still dictated by expectations; the only difference is he's running from them instead of fulfilling them. Li Lianhua, at the end of the day, is just as alone as Li Xiangyi felt. If he does live post-canon, I can't see him finding any sort of peace till he finds a place where he doesn't need to run from or bear the expectation of being someone he isn't. Till he realises that Li Xiangyi was worthy of love and forgiveness even if he was flawed. Till he can think about who he was without resenting it and wanting to leave it all behind. How can you build a future when the foundation is a past that your refuse to show any compassion to?

[uranium]

finished rewatching hannibal season 1 which i forgot is crazyyyyyyyyyy

[dutybcrne]

Kaeya is the type of person who'd take a sincere surprise 'I love you' from someone he never expected it from, especially if he'd thought his own feelings were unrequited, like a punch to the gut.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

🪶

[nerice]

all i wish is that one day i will feel as insane again as i did in 15/16 for. various reasons (t100/aos/black swan hell/summer songs.. + more) som/hv -> tge pit in 18 comes in close second though

[thetangibleghost]

Another fucking Sally face dream.... This time we were both kids and I met him at summer camp. He told me he was trans and I saved his name in my phone as t- something. Some sort of pun. He saw it later because he was embarrassed that he told me and I was like "you aren't even go only boy I know like that. I swim everyday at this summer camp I meet new kids like two or three times a week" the other one was also saved in my phone as t- something but a different pun. He seemed to like the pun I saved him as.

Later we met up to do piano lessons twice a week? When he told me he was trans he also told me about some sort of sexual trauma or something? It's all a bit scrambled. Both times we were texting and he was like 'this is great I'm getting a ride over there I'll see you!' then he arrived. the second time I gave him a shirt I had dyed bright blue. My grandma was watching us and was trying to dye her hair purple (both times).

We were like, laying in the hallway together or something andy mom came home. She immediately noticed the shirt and asked Sally Face 🤦🏻 about it. I hadn't told him I dyed it my self so he was like " yeah! She gave me a WHOLE shirt!!" And my mom looked at me like 😏

So uh. We had some more conversation That was apparently so embarrassing that I got a little more lucid and aged up??? Or something? Idk I remembered I had a car and I was like " next time I can just go over to your place. I have a car" and he looked really displeased with that. I guessed it was because it was hard to get over to my place.so I said (and this one is a real winner.) I said "we can tell your mom I just got it." Then the dream promptly ended.

[aaliyahtheawkward]

Okay, but listen. Canonically, my baby honest to God just isn't that creative. 15 year old Jason will 100% believe that he wrote an absolute masterpiece, then post-resurrection, 19 year old Jason will overcome his trials and tribulations, only to eventually discover that his masterpiece is actually the Batman/Bruce Wayne fandom's better written version of like, My Immortal or some shit.

Jason Todd spite writing a very well written, multi- chapter Batman/Bruce Wayne fanfic as petty revenge against Bruce for benching him during his Robin days is absolutely the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard. Also 1000000% in character for that theatre/literature nerd. I also know it would be at the top of the Batman/Bruce Wayne page if you sorted by kudos/comments/hits

[simonbrain]

love the idea of reader just trying to fuck all her stress out with a random at the bar before returning back to her mundane life, and simon deciding he's going to keep her instead 🙂‍↕️

the prick doesn't budge when you try to kick him out; instead, he drags you back into bed and works his mouth to loosen you up again, and now you've forgotten why you were trying to haul his ass out of your home.

(you attempted to sound stern while telling him to get out of your house, but he merely chuckled, the sound so raspy and condescending that it stroked a heat within you that you thought was sated last night.

"this is our home. now get your arse back in bed, i'm fuckin' hungry.")

you had to really fist at his hair to pull him off of you, and that only turned him on if the deep groan rumbling out of him was anything to go by—you swear his tongue sunk deeper inside you. he only relented so he could fuck you dumb in the shower after, leaving you with trembling legs and feeling more dirty than clean (atta girl, don't you waste any of tha'—keep it all in).

you blink, and now suddenly you're seated as he spoon-feeds you a nice, hearty breakfast, huffing something like messy girl when toast crumbs get all over your face and the wooden table.

words can't express how flustered you are; you're too stunned to even continue telling the big man who's now feeding you scrambled eggs that he needs to leave. all you feel like you're capable of doing is opening your mouth to accept another spoonful, ignoring the ache you feel between your thighs when you catch his heavy stare and hear a low hum of approval.

then he's leaving (and it's not because of your nagging), muttering something about having to work those mutts to the bone today, all while you're trying to make sense of what's happening. he gives you a sloppy kiss to silence your questions and exasperation, one that makes you feel hot all over and almost melt into a puddle had it not been for the firm grip he had on your ass.

he licks his lips when he pulls back, eyes darting to where your shirt just barely covers where he'd rather be all day than having to go and train recruits. he stares for an uncomfortably long time and before you can speak up, face growing a little hot from the tension, he's turning around to finally leave.

before the door shuts, he says, "be a good girl, ay? see you tonight, birdie."

you're left with your thoughts and feelings of dread and anxiety. there definitely isn't any underlying interest or anything; the freak has fucked your brain out of your head, that's all. you're sure he didn't even mean it anyway. maybe. hopefully.

a drop of his come rolls down your thigh, and arousal shame burns through you. since when did you let one-night stands finish in you?

(your so-called one-night stand came home hungry and pissed, so worked up that he dragged you over to the nearest surface and played with you for a good hour. by the time you had half the mind to tell him about the dinner in the oven—your eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets at how much money he had sent you for groceries earlier, nevermind how he got ahold of your account details—he grunted and finally gave your poor pussy a break, scarred mug all slick and flushed.)

good luck when he takes you to meet his mates at the bar a week later, the same bar you brought him home from; the comments from them make you wish a hole in the ground would just swallow you right up.

"pretty thing ye caught, lt," johnny grins, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. he's a bit over the top, ogles your chest too hard, but overall he's... alright. you'd probably notice how perverted he really was if you actually looked at him longer than a few fleeting glances, but his stare is kind of unnerving.

kyle—perfection personified—hums in agreement, a warm smile on his face that puts you at ease. somehow you don't pick up on the ulterior motive behind his gaze running over your body, eyes roaming over your chest more discreetly than johnny but just as appreciative. "pretty indeed. you don't mind sharing, do you ghost?" kyle teases, pretty eyes glancing over at simon, who only huffs at that and shakes his head (much to your confusion).

who the fuck is ghost? you only know big guy and simon.

there's a deep chuckle and your focus flits over to the man seated in front of you, captain john price. if you thought simon was scary, john's a man who demands respect and attention just by being in his presence. "you chose the wrong dog to bring home," john hums, voice deep and gravelly and making you shamefully squeeze your thighs together.

"but that's alright, sweetheart. you have three others now, yeah?" the purr that comes out of his mouth is sinful, and when you nod and stammer out a yes, sir as if you were one of his soldiers and not the sweet girl that simon has brought to his captain, looking for approval of his newest toy, he only smiles.

simon's hand squeezes your thigh underneath the table, trailing upwards, and you're slowly understanding what it is that you've gotten yourself into.

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ BABY MOMMA. featuring k. nanami.

↻ there’s nothing nanami wants more in the world than to make you a mommy, and give you his beautiful kids.

tags : breeding kink, creampie, mommy kink (if you squint), messy sex, pet names, feral nanami, marathon sex, lactation + pregnancy (fantasized), ovulation cycle // wc. 0.9k

author’s note : sorry this one’s a lil late, i’ve been busy with theme changes and real life is throwing a million and one hurdles at me and i just can’t keep up 😞 you can't tell me that nanami wouldn't be a massive family man, so here i have him completely desperate to start a family with you and give you his babies. notes and reblogs are always appreciated, and check out my masterlist for non-event based works <3 !!

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

it’s been hours. hours since nanami even proposed the idea of trying for kids, and now, it’s all he can fucking think about. 

it’s all you can think about too, given the fact that he’s fucked you out of your mind, legs numb from being in missionary for as long as you remember with nanami plunging in and out of you, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix with every single thrust. 

it’s repetitive. it’s addicting. 

“hah- kento, can’t take no more…” your voice is a sheepish babble, nails digging into his back as tears stream down your face. “ ‘s too much, ken, please–“

nanami grunts in your ear, hips never ceasing movement as he ruts into you. “g’na have to, sweetheart. this one’s gotta take.”

he said that about the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that… and fuck, you can’t keep up with how many times he’s said it because he’s been going at it for so long with only one goal in mind. 

he’s gonna give you kids. he’s gonna make you a mommy, and you’re gonna raise his kids with him as his wife. 

it’s all he’s ever wanted. it’s all he’s ever dreamed of, and when he watches you lounge around the house wearing nothing but a bra and his oversized dress shirt and a wedding ring fit snugly on your finger, he really can’t stop himself from imagining what you would look like with a swollen tummy, breasts spilling out of that same bra. 

“g’na give you my kids baby…” he’s rambling half out of his ass, his brain scrambled by pure need. “gonna make my girl a mommy. you’re gonna be a great mommy, aren't you?”

he’s brought up the topic before. it was never anything serious, just asking you what you would prefer and never really thinking of his own volition. you had always agreed with him wholeheartedly, and it would somehow lead to the two of you cooing over baby clothes and strollers but never anything more. 

nanami is fucking sick of it. he’s sick of fawning over the idea and not doing anything about it. sure, you’ve made love a couple of times, but it never held any true intent, focusing on the pure need to give each other pleasure. 

well, now, nanami needs more than pleasure. he needs to see you with that swollen tummy and those massive leaky tits, and there’s only one way to do that; fucking you within an inch of your life and cumming in your cunt until it finally takes. 

“kento–“ you seemingly haven’t gotten bored of it yet, despite having been at it for over two hours. your back still arches with every bump to your cervix, nails still raking down his back as his sweaty chest squashes your own. “this one’s gonna take, promise.”

“i can’t be sure of that,” he states matter-of-factly. “although your tracker says you’re ovulating, we can’t just trust that once or twice will be enough.” is he sure of this fact? no, but he is sure that you feel too damn good to stop, even though he’s already finished inside of you enough times to guarantee your pregnancy ten times over. 

you just look so beautiful beneath him. you wear the radiance of sex extremely well, eyes fogged over and mouth hanging open as your steamy pants echo in his ear. you’re borderline intoxicating, and that’s why nanami can’t stop, even though he knows you need him to before you pass out. 

“look at me, angel. i wanna see you.” you weakly turn your cheek away from the pillow and look up at him, lips stained a gorgeous red and swollen from his kisses. “you’re gonna be such a pretty momma.”

your eyelids flutter and your back arches weakly as you cum again for the final time, garbled moans of nanami’s name flooding from your throat. despite the longevity of your session, your cunt still manages to squeeze around him impossibly, and nanami groans deeply, arms sliding around your hips as you pulls you forward to meet his thrusts. 

“kentooo…”

“i know, baby, i know.” the sheets are soiled with your sweat and his, and the tight clampdown of your walls propels him to cum one final time, hips flush against your twitching clit as he pumps you full. 

you both stay like that for a beat, nanami folded over your twitching body before he finally pulls out slowly, and when he does, the sight he’s met with is so incredibly dirty that he can barely believe he was the one to reduce you to such a mess. “oh, angel…”

copious amounts of his release flood from your cunt, leaving a translucent pool on your sheets. whilst he absolutely loves the sight and wishes to brand it on the forefront of his brain, nanami’s goal is still clear as day. 

he leans down and kisses your overstimulated clit, fingers dancing around your twitchy hole and gathering up his release before pushing it back inside with a curl of his fingers that makes you want to scream. 

“can’t waste any, my dear, or it might not take, remember?” when he looks up at you from in between your trembling thighs, the look on his face is nothing short of depraved, blonde strands of hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks stained red with excitement. 

“can’t wait to see my girl become a mommy.”

PREVIOUS : THE COLOUR RED ft. yae miko NEXT : BLACKOUT ft. tartaglia

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© choslut 2024 — do not copy, repost or translate my works without permission.

[tojisun]

Okay, now I need something about bf!logan and his girl making a porno (bonus points if wade finds out after the show they put on for him and that man is willing to RISK IT ALL to see that sex tape😩🤣)

cw: porn link; f!reader; smut; consensual filming during sex; slight sexting at the end // divider by @/plutism!

this is definitely the porno they were making <3

logan has you on your knees, your ass dimpling with every one of his greedy caresses, his heavy hand kneading your flesh. you’re whining to be creampied—to be bred—and logan indulges you with a quiet chuckle because you’re so adorable like this, all needy and demanding, babbling nothing but nonsense because he’s fucked you to the point of incoherence.

you jut out your chin at his croon. he tells you to do it yourself if you really want his cum; says that you’ve got to show him how much you need it.

“an’ here i thought i was bein’ a gentleman,” logan says, sighing in that what-can-you-do? tone like he hadn’t been fucking you so hard, you were sure that the condom was on the brink of ripping.

you grumble, rolling your eyes even mid-tears, before reaching back to where he’s got his cock rutting along the cleft of your ass. you give it a stroke, giggling breathily to yourself at its sheer girth and weight, before sliding your hand down to the pinched tip and tugging.

logan moans, and it rumbles deep, sending tingles to rise from the tips of your toes to the base of your neck. he sounds just a little too excited, and you wonder how you must look as you reach for the rubber, tugging it off the expanse of his cock. do you look desperate, the camera capturing the way you’re shivering like you’re on cum-withdrawals? or do you look like the brat that you are, whining how sex is not enough until logan’s pumping you full of his sperm?

god, the thought that this moment is being immortalized makes you clench at nothing, your hole puckering as it waits to be filled.

the condom comes off with a pop, the rubber snapping off and into itself. it sounds so lewd and dirty, like the two of you are really starring in a corny porno, and it fills your cheeks with warmth as your need wanes in the face of your shyness.

you fling the condom to the side, before burrowing your face on the pillows, as though that alone can hide the palpable hunger rippling from you. logan laughs at your reaction like he’s not softly humping his cock between your thighs, rutting it along the wet mess he’s made out of your cunt.

“y’ready, bub?” logan asks, still giddy with his laugh. you grumble a reply, before jutting your head in a stilted nod.

he taps his weeping cock along your folds, testing, and you shuffle in your impatience. you feel the itch exploding, the need to be stuffed bloating, but logan continues to tease and god, pleasepleaseplease—

“i’ve got you, darl,” he grunts, then he’s pushing in, steady and filling, and, and—

the moan that’s ripped from your throat sounds foreign, like you’re a damn wounded animal. you don’t even get to adjust to his width—pussy lips going taut at his thickness—before logan’s drawing his cock out until all that’s left is the head. there’s a bated breath that you two share, leaving you suspended in anticipation, then he’s bullying it back in.

you flop on the bed, all useless now like you’ve got your strings cut loose. logan doesn’t seem to mind, not with the consistent ringing slaps of his pelvis meeting your ass echoing in your quaint room. god, your brain’s being scrambled right now, you’re sure, because you can’t even think of anything but logan—

loganloganlogan.

you’re already cross-eyed by the time he sprays his first load inside you.

.

wade gets a five second clip from logan’s number. the thumbnail is just a blur of colours and wade’s interest is piqued because logan rarely reaches out to him—a video is just unthinkable.

he was expecting many things—that the video is the one of deadpool being broadcasted on national television with the words “hero or criminal?” after he’s accidentally set the robber’s van on fire, or that the video is an accidental recording of logan’s butt because that wolverine suit was tight and wade can’t even think where logan must keep his phone with him.

but this—

wade wasn’t expecting this.

it was a video of you—wade’s not even embarrassed to admit that he’s memorized the way you look from all angles; what? one doesn’t get a show of wolverine fucking his girl without gaining a new hyperfixation—reaching for logan’s monster cock. wade breathes in sharply as he watches you reach for the condom before tugging it off with a filthy, filthy pop. the video cuts into a next scene of logan relentlessly fucking you hard; the audio is a mess of squeaks and slaps, but also the wet squelches of logan’s cock fucking in-and-out of your gaping cunt.

two things:

1. that’s fucking hot.

2. that video has clearly been tampered with; it was edited to show the barest of the highlights.

this was a conscious decision, with deliberate efforts. this was personal.

an invitation.

wade rubs one… okay, fine.

wade rubs three out before he’s running back to that apartment he’s daydreamed about. mid-parkour, another notifcation comes in. wade falls, because of course he does, but while he waits for his ankle to mend itself back into its socket, his eyes devour the new message.

> darl wants to know if you’re in.

wade sends a dick pic as a reply.

wade busting a fat nut behind tim hortons because he’s patriotic like that

(ext)