#get em while they're sharp!

[elegantobjecttriumph]

siam212 โค้ดเครดิตฟรี 100 ล่าสุด วันนี้

siam212 โค้ดเครดิตฟรี 100 ล่าสุด วันนี้ 💸โค้ดเครดิตฟรี 100 แจกโค้ดฟรีเครดิต 💸สมาชิกใหม่ กรอกโค้ดหน้าเว็บ ล่าสุด 💸เครดิตฟรี 100 ล่าสุดวันนี้ โค้ดเล่นสล็อต 💸เครดิตฟรี 100 ไม่ต้องฝาก ไม่ต้องแชร์

รับเครดิตฟรี จิ้มลิงค์ด้างล่างได้เลย

[automaticarbiternightmare]

siam212 โค้ดเครดิตฟรี 100 ล่าสุด วันนี้

siam212 โค้ดเครดิตฟรี 100 ล่าสุด วันนี้ 💸โค้ดเครดิตฟรี 100 แจกโค้ดฟรีเครดิต 💸สมาชิกใหม่ กรอกโค้ดหน้าเว็บ ล่าสุด 💸เครดิตฟรี 100 ล่าสุดวันนี้ โค้ดเล่นสล็อต 💸เครดิตฟรี 100 ไม่ต้องฝาก ไม่ต้องแชร์

รับเครดิตฟรี จิ้มลิงค์ด้างล่างได้เลย

[hisuianserperior]

Knives! Get your Knives here for no particular reason!

🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪

Get em while they're cold, get em while they're sharp!

Special discount if your name is Brutus for no reason in particular!

[shotmrmiller]

kinktober: cockwarming (john price x reader x simon in underground fighter au)

You're no fan of real-time violence.

Movies can never replicate its visceral reality— the sharp metallic tang that clings to the air, mingled with salt and the bitter stench of the swill these local colors call beer. Even worse is having to be the one to patch Simon up with trembling, blood-slick fingers and your molars sunk into the thick of your tongue to keep your lunch where it belongs.

So when Simon sends you Price's way with a firm palm on your arse and his spit still warm on your lips, you're grateful. He'll keep ya busy.

You're not counting his blood money, if that's what he was thinking.

"Course not, love," Price says, the rings on his thick fingers glinting under the dim light overhead as he opens the door to his office. It smells of worn leather, polished wood, and layered on top is the heady aroma of tobacco, rich, unmistakable. (You will not stay if he lights one of those puppies up. You like your lungs how they are.)

"Tha's wha' the bill counter is for." You can feel the warmth of his palm seeping through your clothes— a steady presence at the base of your spine, guiding you forward with a subtle push.

You'd expected him to let you pluck a book off the well-stocked shelf that's been beckoning you since you laid eyes on it and curl up on his couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders. Maybe even chat you up with small talk, ask about your week, school/job, and how you were adjusting to this new life.

Not with his broad front curling around your back, breath warming the shell of your ear, while you stare at the smooth, raised skin on his knuckles— which is less furry than the rest of him— in hopes that you don't fall apart around the thick of his cock. He's got a hand flat on the desk, small finger slanting to the side probably from where it healed wrong, and the other's signing off paperwork you couldn't even try to understand with a clear mind, much less one that's spinning from the sheer want for friction, relief.

Your arse pulses hot from where he'd reprimanded you earlier for squirming too much.

"Quite obedient. Simon's taught ya well." He hisses when you tighten up involuntarily, indignation cutting through the sluggish heat you've been burning in at his remark. Obedient. Taught. As if you're some kind of lap dog, yipping and rolling over for a treat. (Or in this case, a cock.)

"Easy, love. Jus' a joke." The hand he'd had on the desk comes to squeeze at the meat of your ribs, a small gesture, before weaving down to your cunt, fingers spreading, feeling how well split you are around his length, lips spread wide. "I'd hate f'you to turn my own guard dog against me, eh?" His apology comes in jerky little circles, smearing slick over your neglected clit, coarse hair of your mons coated milky white.

Each stroke of his fingers only bows your spine, winding it like one would a key on the back of a doll, your muscles coiling with tension, bodily response not your own after being denied release for god knows how long.

The sharp tap on the door goes completely unnoticed by you, but not Price. His pace remains steady, continuous, as Simon walks in through the door with crimson peppered on his cream wifebeater.

"John." Through bleary eyes, you see Simon settle in the chair across from you both, legs long, knuckles angry red and swollen as he palms himself over his denim. "Gaz may or may not 'ave goaded Soap into a fight."

Price's hand stops abruptly, desperation clogging your throat, the coil beneath your navel cranked so tight you might just scream. His voice rattles you from behind. "And?"

Simon's got his jeans bunched to his knees now, cock resting heavy atop his thighs, quads' ridges shifting as he gets comfortable. He might just be a tad bigger than what you've got sitting snugly against the plug of your womb.

"They're tumblin' outside, among civil folk. I doubt gettin' 'em out will be as painless this time 'round."

Price snarls and you find yourself empty, straddling Simon's hips, your inner thighs burning at the width. "Bloody fuckin'—," the sound of his belt buckle peters off soon after he walks out the door.

Your hands can feel Simon's shoulders flexing as he runs a fist up his length, eyes heavy lidded and focused on the creamy slick dampening your curls. His cock sits long on your stomach.

"'ave a seat, then." Amusement curls his lip, usual pink scar on his lip stretched silver. Your knees don't reach the cushion he's on properly, so you place your feet right above his own for leverage, legs folded tight.

His fingers dimple your waist as you lower yourself onto him, breath rushing out of your lungs as he fills you, aching, burning, a stretch you'll never really get used to, the pinch deep in your core causing discomfort to clump your lashes together until you're flush against him.

"Sit real pretty now. Gotta wait f'r Price t'give me my earnin's."

You're gonna rip his ear off with your teeth if you don't get to come soon.

"Claws in," he mutters, thumbing your pebbled nipple through your shirt. "Won't be too long."

(It was too long but worth every bloody second in the end.)

[nerdygirlramblings]

omega!soldier gets their call sign and shows the base what a badass they are

--

previous

The next two weeks are a blur of training. You feel like you're back in basic except instead of being with a class of rookies, it's you and one of the other members of the 141.

Ghost has you on the shooting range each morning working a number of different weapons. He starts you on the Glock 17, the SA80, and the L129A1, the three weapons you said you were proficient with. He grunts after each clip, pulling your targets before you get a good enough look at them. On the first morning your targets are set at 500 yards. By day three, he's pushed the targets past the end of the standard 1000 yard limit.

By the end of the week, Ghost has you on the L115A3 and the L7A2 GPMG. He offers a quick tutorial on how to shoot each new weapon before pointing you at the target down the range. Because they're new-to-you weapons, he gives you three days before pushing the distance. Day after day, the targets come off the line before you're allowed a good look at them.

Between the range and lunch, either Soap has you on the field or you're still with Ghost in the gym.

When Ghost has you in the gym, he starts you on the speed bag, counting hits until your arms shake, then he moves you to weights. You alternate between free weights and machines but hit every muscle group you knew and some you didn't. Just when you feel pushed to your limit, Ghost sets you up in the mat to grapple.

You begin with rookies, and Ghost comments on your form. "Y'll never take down a bigger target wi' tha' 'old," he says as you wrap your arms around your opponent's torso. Against another opponent, he barks a sharp, "No!" when you get low. "Ya start down there, y'll stay down there." When he pits you against a few alphas, he gives a similar warning to the one he'd heard you give all those weeks ago. "Wi' us, any 'and ta 'and is gonna be 'gainst a bigger target, a beta or an alpha, who's going to underestimate ya fer yer size and yer secondary gender." He teaches you new techniques for taking down bigger opponents. "Ya need ta get 'em flat on their back quick if ya wanna survive."

By the end of week two, you're up against Ghost himself, who warns you he won't go easy on you. He promises he won't hurt you too badly, but he makes sure there's a first aid kit nearby. You pull out everything he's taught you and everything you know and any dirty trick you can think of. It's several long minutes of defensive maneuvers and hits before you're able to, for the briefest moment, get Ghost on his back underneath you. You can tell from how his mask moves he's smiling. "Good. Now's when ya go fer the kill: kidneys, throat, groin." You don't hide the flicker of fear in your eyes quickly or mask the disgust in your scent fast enough because Ghost continues and tells you, "It doesn matter if ya've never taken a life before, ya have to be prepared to do it."

It's not cruel, but it is bluntly honest. Never before has it been so clear that your job is to serve Queen and country by honing yourself into a weapon.

If Soap has you on the training field, he's timing your runs. You know what the qualifying physical fitness is to join up, but the task force qualifications must be different because every time Soap clocks your 2K, he'll look at the stopwatch for a moment while you breathe and call out, "Again, but a might faster, yeah?" Or he'll start the beep test and see how many reps you get on pace. After the fifth round, you lose count of how you're doing.

When you're not running, you're putting the weight training to good use. Soap starts you with the 2kg ball on an unmarked field, at least from your perspective. You assume there's some sort of distance indicators where he stands, but he never tells you how far you've thrown anything. You watch divots of grass pop up farther and farther away before Soap switches you to the 3kg ball, then the requisite 4kg ball, then on to a 5kg ball. Each one pockmarks the field in front of you, Soap making notes each time.

He has you pull the fixed weight bar over and over, recording the force off a screen he won't let you see. He'll look at the force, then as you and say, "Brace more wi' your back. Let's have another go."

Sometimes he has you on the pull up bar, alternatively calling out either your time while you count or your counts as you watch the stopwatch he dangles from the end of his clipboard. Or he'll hang the stopwatch from his neck as he sits at your feet while you do situps, calling out each correctly formed situp and fixing you when your posture slips. He doesn't count them - or the pull ups where your chin doesn't clear the bar - as done.

You're grateful all the hard physical work happens before lunch. Ghost or Soap will give you just enough time to haul ass back to your bunk to get cleaned up for the meal. Like on the first official day, you usually sit quietly, listening, while clearing two or more servings of food.

After lunch, Gaz or Soap has you in a classroom. On day one, Gaz stands in front of you with a folder open in his hands. "Impressive A Levels," he says by way of greeting.

You pull up short. "How do you have my A Levels?"

Gaz smirks. "Ya signed Adam's forms, yeah? Gives us permission to pull all your data. And these scores are...somethin' else."

You look at the table in front of you. "I like to learn," you admit softly.

"That'll make our time together easier, then." He gestures to the table and its stacks of books. "Yer gonna get a crash course in as much as Soap an' I can cover."

They give you a crash course indeed. Nothing close to Phase 3 training, but you've been through 2A. They take that basic officer knowledge and increase the rigor of everything. Soap covers demolitions, infiltrations, and target elimination. Gaz tackles surveillance and covert ops. You can't match the 141's training in these crash courses, but you absorb more than you thought possible. By the second week, both Gaz and Soap are in the room with you, running simulations and recording your responses and decisions.

Two and a half weeks after officially joining the 141, you find yourself in front of Price's intimidating desk, made more imposing by his seat on the other side, ringed by the team. There's papers spread all over his desk. Clearly there's an order to it, there must be, but you can't fathom what it is. From your position, you see only a handful of familiar markings: targets from the shooting range, PT ranges dotted with dated peaks and valleys, the letterhead from your secondary school.

"Well," Price says, steepling his hands in front of him. He glances at his pack team behind him. "The lads have had quite a lot to say about you." The pause feels heavy, expectant, but you've learned to keep quiet when faced with such a conversational opening, especially from an alpha.

Price looks at the papers on his desk again. "Excellent weapons quals," he says, briefly pulling up one of your targets. "Apparently hit what Adam needed on day one."

You gape at Ghost. "But...I thought...you kept having me change weapons and moved the targets."

Ghost snickers. "Wan'ed ta see wha' ya could do."

Price continues, "Ghost also said you took him to the mat last week." Ghost nods, and you see the surprise cross Soap's face as Gaz cuts his eyes to the leftenant. "An' Soap says ya likely set some records with yer PT: beep test and 2k speed's impressive. Ya run?"

"Er, yessir. Between 5 and 10k a day, sir."

Price pauses in his perusal and looks at you directly. "S'tha so?" He waves a hand before you can respond. "Pull ups and push ups and the ball toss all well above quals."

You look at Soap over Price's shoulder. "You pushing me, too?" He grins sheepishly.

"Ye caught me."

"And the boys showed me how you reacted to the scenarios. Handled 'em like a seasoned operator," Price finishes, sitting forward, leaning his arms against the desk.

"Yer a real Renaissance soldier," he tells you. He chuckles to himself. "Maybe we should call ya Ren."

You don't know what to make of this. "Sir?" you ask.

"'m glad those other alphas were too pompous to see how amazin' ya are," Price says. *Ren, yer worth more 'en half the base. Them idiots didn' know wha' ya do wi' ya, but wi' us, yer gonna shine. If these reports are accurate," he looks at the team who are all nodding, "all ya need is a little more trainin' to be damn near perfect."

The gleam in his eye at the last statement borders on avaricious, but you write it off as his pride at getting you on his team.

next

series masterlist | main masterlist

[remlionheart]

NSFW Alphabet: Chuuya Nakahara Edition ♡

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ MDNI. really needed a fun lil drabble to break up my writer's block and this was perfect. silly but super fun to write. lemme know whatcha think. luv u ♡ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Chuuya definitely gives you aftercare, it's just not always the most well thought out when he’s gotten back from a long night at work. He doesn't remember to have dinner ready or pajamas laid out, but he still holds you as you collapse onto his chest. Laughs with you while the two of you place the 4th doordash order of the week to his apartment since you're both too spent to even think about cooking. He runs light fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead, teasing you for how hard you came while also reminding you of how fuckin' gorgeous you looked bent over for him. The thought of it alone promptly brings his lips back to yours, nearly earning you a round 2 before the food arrives.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

It takes Chuuya a long time to admit it, even if it's fairly obvious, but he's self-conscious about his body. About the way he thinks it should look versus the way it actually does. He’s always praising you. Always so good about making you love parts of yourself that you didn't know you could, though he rarely gives himself the same respect. Your thighs get a lot of his attention. He touches them constantly without meaning to. His hand resting on them while he drives. His fingers mindlessly gliding across them while you watch TV before bed. His face buried between them any chance he gets. He loves 'em. You decide to challenge him one day after a shower, using his own words against him: "Chuuya, tell me one thing you love about yourself -" you shoot him a pointed look, not giving him the chance to deflect with his usual sarcasm, "and be serious. You have to mean it." He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, apprehensively looking over his reflection before he lets out a sharp exhale. "Fine. My eyes." "What about them?" You press. "They're... nice."

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

One of Chuuya's favorite highs in life is being pussy-drunk. Being so completely enamored by your taste and scent that he can't physically think of anything else besides you. He loves the feeling of your cum dripping down his chin. The insanely beautiful fucked-out noises you make for him when you sit on his face and nearly drown him in your release. He gets a sick satisfaction in showing up to work, knowing that there are still remnants of the morning head he gave you clinging to the collar of his shirt. You're his girl and he takes making you cum very seriously.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Chuuya is a dominant people pleaser, which is a dangerous combination to begin with, but especially when it starts blending into his finances. Being a Port Mafia executive, he has more money than he knows what to do with and he fucking loves buying you stuff. Taking you on shopping trips and watching you fill bag after bag with frivolous, designer outfits that you’d never buy for yourself otherwise. Swiping his debit card for purses and necklaces and shoes that total out to nearly $10,000. There's something almost addicting about it, he revels in your reactions. The way you look so awestruck every time he drops a fat stack of cash on you, but also how good it makes him feel being able to spoil you as much as he does. Alexa, what does “findom” mean?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Chuuya’s experienced, but a lot of his past hookups were one nightstands or meaningless flings. Drunken mishaps that held little to no weight in his mind. You've both learned a lot from each other by being comfortable enough to explore things you wouldn't have with previous partners. Communication is so strong with him. He always wants to know what you like and if there’s anything you want to try but haven’t yet. He wants to know everything about your body - wants it to only respond to him. He'd had sex in the past, but he realized that he'd never really properly fucked someone until he met you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

As much as Chuuya loves bending you over, he’s such a slut for you being on top. Holding your hips to help guide you and thrusting up into you when you’re not expecting it, going as deep as he can while you sink back onto him with a pretty glazed over expression. The way your eyes widen every time he does it. The duality of being in control while also letting you use him. The view of your tits bouncing so perfectly for him while the sound of your ass smacking against his thighs echoes across the room. He loves watching you struggle to take the whole thing. You're usually holding onto him for support, hands clasped around his neck, your stare locked intently with his while your cunt throbs around him. The pouty fucking look that takes over your face when he plunges into you. You become a whimpering mess, trying to tell him how close you are with broken words as if he can’t feel your walls clenching around him. "Chuuya - 'm, I'm gonna -" "I know baby, keep going. Keep fuckin’ going. Doin’ so good f’me.”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Chuuya's form of flirting is witty banter. Sarcastic comments that the two of you volley back and forth between each other. He's generally more serious in the moment, but he will literally never pass up the chance to whisper a snarky little nothing in your ear to get you flustered, especially in public. He loves making you blush. Loves knowing that he's capable of getting you so worked up without even touching you. Loves seeing you squirm and swat him away with a feeble, "Chuuya! Not here!"

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Chuuya never really understood the question, "does the carpet match the drapes?" and why it was such a hot topic when it came to redheads. It was wildly irritating growing up and getting asked that so often by his asshole friends. Of course they matched. Why wouldn't they? As an adult, Chuuya fully embraces this though. He takes pride in making sure he's well-groomed. If it were up to him, your lips would always be wrapped around his cock, so he makes sure to keep things as trimmed and polished as he can for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Chuuya is the consent king, always making sure that you're just as into what's going on as he is. He finds subtle ways to check in on you while staying in the moment. "Tell me, baby. Tell me how it feels." He likes to make sure you're present, that you're not thinking about anything else besides the way he feels inside you. He would do anything to make you feel good. Anything. What he can't aways say with his words, he shows through his actions. He lets you know he loves you by stretching and filling you until you can’t see straight. He may act like he’s the one calling the shots, but you'll always cum before he does. He makes damn sure of it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

His work schedule is demanding and doesn't always grant him the amount of time he'd like to have with you, so when he's stuck in his office after hours, Chuuya can't fucking help himself. The urge has been there all. day. and he's certain he'll die if he doesn't take care of it right now. He reaches into his coat pocket, dialing your number while he unzips pants and removes his glove with his teeth. His cellphone is wedged between his shoulder and his cheek when your voice finally spills out of the receiver. Before you can even ask how his night's going, you hear it. That desperate, heady tone that he only gets when he hasn't seen you in a few days. "Baby..." he groans, stroking himself upppp and dowwnn. He closes his eyes, imagining what you must look like lying in his bed. "I need you so fuckin' bad right now." "Yeah?" You tease, quietly slipping two fingers under the hem of your panties. "How bad?" It was only a matter of minutes before he was cleaning off his desk from the mess you'd helped him make.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Chuuya is the softest dom. As much as he likes to be in control, he folds so easily when it comes to you. Even when he’s “punishing” you, he’s doing it with things he knows you like. He loves putting collars on you or wrapping his belt around your neck and pulling at both ends until your pretty little pupils blossom into hearts while you struggle to moan out his name. Hearing you beg does something deranged to him that he can't quite put into words. He stays in control for as long as he can, but you always have the upperhand with how bad he wants to taste you. With how bad he wants to be buried inside of you. He'll tease and nip at you and try to drag it out for as long as he can, but at the end of the day, he's just as addicted to you as you are to him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Chuuya will fuck you anywhere and when he says anywhere, he means it. His favorite guilty pleasure though is definitely bringing you into Port Mafia. Making everyone well-aware of your presence as he walks around with you on his arm like you're the shiniest, most expensive accessory he owns. Shoving all of his paperwork off of his desk and bending you over, pinning your hands behind your back and pressing your face against the handcrafted Mahogany. Hiking up your skirt and ramming himself into you, knowing damn well everyone can hear you crying out his name as you cum. His two favorite pastimes: pissing off Mori and fucking you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Chuuya secretly loves the attention you get when the two of you go out, even if it drives him a bit crazy at times. He can't deny the way his cock twitches when he notices the bartender size you up and then immediately avert his eyes when he feels Chuuya's stare on him. Chuuya knows you're gorgeous, it's an absolute fact for him, but to see the other people reel in how pretty you are too fills him with a feral sense of pride. He would fuck you in front of the entire world if he could just to show them what they'll never have.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There are very few things that Chuuya wouldn't do for you, but the one request he would struggle with if asked would be sharing. Even if it was a casual threesome with no strings attached, he’s a Taurus Sun, Scorpio moon - the man does not share and the thought of having to watch someone else touch you would most definitely send him into a murderous tailspin.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Chuuya loves both giving and receiving, for sure. But there's something about the way you taste that almost makes his brain short-circuit. He thinks about it while he's at work. Thinks about it while he's on missions. Thinks about it while he fucks himself when you're not around. He often finds himself daydreaming about his tongue swirling around your clit and the adorable, pitiful, fucked-out noises you make so easily for him. The way you whine and writhe against him. How he can always tell when you're close by the way your words start to break up. That cute little incoherent babble you let out as he plunges an extra finger into you and your eyes roll into the back of your head. He’s pretty sure that if he had to choose his own death, it would be drowning between your thighs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Pacing all depends on the mood and setting for Chuuya. It's 1 am and you guys just stumbled back home from the bar? You're wearing the shortest black slip dress he's ever seen in his life, and he's had to restrain himself all night from not dragging you into the club bathroom and having his way with you? He's fucking you into oblivion the second you step inside his apartment. Hands tangling into your hair as he pins you against the wall of the entry way, pulling you up so that your legs are wrapped around his waist. It's going to be fast, rough, deep. You'll both wake up with bruises and love bites and well-deserved hangovers. But - it's 1 pm on a rainy Tuesday and you guys just got back home from the bookstore? You're wearing an oversized cardigan with a comfy pair of shorts, and he's been quietly admiring you all day, watching you dig through countless bookshelves until you finally found the one you wanted? He's fucking you so thoroughly. Taking his time as he helps you out of your sweater, smiling at your body with each layer of clothing that get tossed to the floor. He's kissing the crook of your neck, telling you how beautiful you are. He's fucking you with slow, sensual, affection. You'll end up drifting off to the sound of the thunderstorm afterward, the two of you wrapped up under a blanket on the couch while the rain taps against the window next to you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Chuuya's a giver who loves a challenge so quickies are right up his alley, really. You'll stop by the apartment on your lunch break, warning him that you only have 15 minutes, but he’ll only roll his eyes in response before telling you to hop up on the counter. He locks in immediately, his concentration fully on you as he spreads you apart. Two fingers holding you open so that his tongue has complete access to your clit, the warmth of his mouth and the pressure of his strokes making your legs shake around his head already and he's just gotten started. He's precise. Calculated. Unrelenting. Even if he's only competing against the clock, he's still never lost.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As long as you're into it, so is Chuuya. He's very open when it comes to sex, especially when it comes to talking about it with you. You had a wet dream about him fucking you against the window in the sunroom so that the neighbors could see it? Lift that skirt up, angel, let's go give them a show. You read a book where the male lead lightly ran a blade across the main character’s throat while teasing her and you think you want to try it? His knife is already out of his pocket, his hand cradling your jawline. “Tell me how bad you want it, baby.” as he slices through the thin straps of your tank top, smirking at how hard your nipples are while it slips down to your waist. There a very few things he wouldn't be willing to at least try with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Chuuya can generally go a solid 2 rounds before he's completely spent, but if he's drunk, this number could be multiplied depending on his drink of choice that night. Chuuya's stamina is solid. He lasts awhile, but his entire objective while fucking is to make sure you're getting off. He's very in tune and aware of your body and tries to go with the flow of where you're at. If you can handle an hour or two, he'll gladly give it to you. He has no problem playing the long game, but if you're sleepy and only need twenty minutes to get there, he'll make sure he cums with you in that time. A truly adaptable king ˚₊‧ʚ♡ɞ‎‧₊˚

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

There's an armoire in Chuuya's bedroom that houses all of the obscenely expensive vibrators you'd asked him to buy you, not realizing he actually would at the time. He likes to keep them hidden for the most part - out of sight, out of mind. He'll be in the middle of fucking you. Stretching you out while your nails dig into his back. He'll feel your walls start to spasm around him. He'll watch your eyes flutter back. He'll feel how tight and snug your cunt is squeezing him. He'll know you're right there and that's when he'll pull out your favorite wand. Always when you're least expecting it. When you're already so cock-drunk and lost that you don't think you could possibly take anything more, he'll run it along your clit. Your body practically convulsing at the overstimulation. "Chuuya - ohmygod... I... I - can't. I can’t, I can’t -" "Look at me. You can take it, baby. I know you can. Gimme one more, okay? Just like that. There you go. Fuuuck, baby. Just - like... that."

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The amount of sheer pleasure Chuuya derives from making you beg for him should be illegal. He’s constantly teasing you. Constantly trying to coax out desperate little cries from you. You're splayed out beneath him, legs spread beautifully, your cunt nearly dripping onto his sheets and he's still ghosting your lips with his. Wearing the most infuriating grin as he continues to rattle off depraved things like, "Baby, I wish I could, y'know? I really wanna give it to you, but I just don't believe that you want it." all while he's stroking himself just inches above you, making you watch the whole thing in agony but still not letting you touch him yet. "C'mon princess, show me how bad you want it. Let me see how you play with that pussy when I'm not here. Make me fuckin’ believe it.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Chuuya will groan and talk during sex, but he's not necessarily loud. He's way more concerned with the noises you're making anyway. As mentioned, his bedroom love language is taunting. "No? You can't take it anymore? Ohh, your pussy's just so sensitive, huh? That's so sad. My poor sweet girl." before slapping your clit and smirking at you as you whine beneath him. "Oh, look at that. Seems like you can take it after all.” He'll groan against you whenever he goes down on you, reveling in how fucking wet you are for him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Chuuya is secretly sentimental. He might not always admit it, but he doesn't just remember your anniversary - he remembers the outfit you were wearing the first time he met you and what the weather was like that day. He saves ticket stubs from your dates. Takes pictures of you when you're not looking just so he can keep the moment forever. He plans gifts for your birthday weeks in advance. Any time you list off a restaurant that you want to try or a vacation spot you want to visit one day, he secretly jots it down in his notes app. He listens to you, really listens to you when you talk and keeps every gift you give him, no matter how small or insignificant.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Chuuya is 5'3, (though he'll most definitely try to convince you that the measurements are off no matter how many times your scale reaches the the same conclusion). Slender. Nice arms and a slutty fucking waist. Hands, hands, hands. Usually covered by gloves but so fucking pretty and veiny when they're not. Speaking of veiny? Chuuya Nakahara is packing. Giiiiirth, babydoll, and a lot of it. Short men are ALWAYS stacked, you can't argue with science.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Chuuya's anger and sex drive mirror each other in the sense that they're both always on no matter what. Even when they're calmed down, even when they're not as noticeable - all it takes is one wrong (or right) move and he's right there, fully up and ready to go. You touch his leg under the table during dinner one night and he immediately finds an excuse to dismiss the two of you for a few minutes, dragging you to a secluded corner of the bar where he pins you against the wall. His leg wedged between yours, leaving urgent kisses along your collarbone as he creates friction against your clit. “This what you want? For me to fuck you right here?” You try to keep your resolve but it’s hard for him to take you seriously when your objections are all coming out in the form of moans. “My needy fuckin’ girl.”

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He'll lay with you and talk about your day, but Chuuya is struggling to keep his eyes open after he cums. The minute you nestle into his shoulder, and he feels the warmth of your skin against his, he's fighting for his life to stay awake. Poor baby is just so tired, especially after dealing with Port Mafia all week. He feels safe in your arms. The thought of coming home to you is what gets him through most days anyway so once he's finally actually tangled up in you, he can't help but drift off into the comfort of your scent and the sound of your heartbeat.

⠀𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

‎♡‧₊˚ here’s dazai’s version ‎♡‧₊˚

[transformers-spike]

"Cybertronians reacting to getting kissed", in which kissing is not something cybertronians do as an act of affection, so they're completely new to the human concept of kissing to express romantic love. Talk me one Knock Out who is so versed in wooing but doesn't know two shits about human kissing, and finding himself kissed for the first time. Or Starscream who's gonna freak out. Or Megatron who doesn't even know why you're smashing your intake against his

This is such a good question, anon, I've been rotating it in my head for a while now

Knock Out is well-versed in the drag and frag technique. He’s probably one of the youngest members on the Nemesis, still old as balls by our standards, but some rebellious youngin’ by theirs. He’s all about sliding in with a smooth pickup line and buttering you up until he reaches the “let’s get down to business” level, where he starts flashing his biolights in a “come hither and frag me” display. When it comes to human kissing, he’s… improvising to say the least. He’s seen humans make out in a wide variety of drive-through horror movies (many with questionable acting), and while he doesn’t “get” why we do it, he does his best to lean into the act and find what makes it so pleasurable by our standards. When you do kiss him for the first time, he’s already been hyping himself up for months, and whatever smoothness he tries to apply immediately disintegrates because oh fuck, your lips are so small and he has so much to give. He’s absolutely suffering despite the confident front he’s putting up. After fumbling the bag, he’ll ask you how he did. “Mid,” you’re tempted to say. But the hopefulness behind those smug optics stops you in your tracks. Starscream must have had a very confusing interface life even by Cybertronian standards. But there’s no way he didn’t get frisky back when he was Air Commander of Vos, even if the workload was immense. Although that’s probably the most action he got in his entire life, and even then the closest equivalent to “kissing” by their standards is merging EM fields and hoping for the best, a careful manipulation of wavelengths to fall into perfect sync. We humans do not possess a hyper-developed EM field, which is enraging for Starscream because what do you mean you smash intakes??? Mass-displaced or not, the only fluids he accepts in his intake are energon and transfluid, thank you very much. Kissing is a bad idea, and you’ve learned it the hard way, so good job! Now you have to deal with his drama queen ass acting like you just spit in his mouth. Worst thing is, he is interested in trying it again, but with his stipulations (aka watching him fail to figure out how to kiss you). He doesn’t even fail in a funny way, he’s so bad it’s concerning, you’re half tempted to contact Knock Out and blackmail him into sending you Starscream’s medical file.

Megatron was… surprisingly abstinent back on Cybertron. Yes, he’s been around for a long time. Yes, he used to be a gladiator at some point. And yes, it had its perks, but he was always more of a “sensitive spark” than a typical casanova. He had more important things to focus on at the time (mainly surviving the pits of Kaon and, before that, not offlining in a freak mining accident). Honestly, who knows what he did as a politician, whatever freakiness he had going on while trying to depose the government is none of our business and I am totally not typing this with a fusion cannon to my head.

He’s been through so much; fought countless beasts and fellow gladiators, avoided assassination attempts and blood-thirsty mutinies while leading a millennia-long war. Nothing can surprise him anymore. Yes, you’re a weird little freak for smashing intakes with him, but you need not fear for your safety. He’s… intrigued by your display of affection. You can mumble excuses all you want, but you’ve smashed intakes with him and it can’t be undone. Watch out for those sharp teeth and prepare a tetanus shot just in case. You have to deal with the consequences of your actions whether you like it or not, especially when he’s got a claw under your shirt and another down your pants. Your lips are bleeding and you pray it’s an accident, if he gets a taste for human blood you’re done for.

[marstons-angel]

lucky bastard

john marston x fem!reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader, gendered language, established relationship, outdoor sex, lots of dirty talk, john being an idiot, mentions of sex work, all of this is very consensual reader is just shy. 18+

✧ wc : 1k

✧ a/n : this guy makes me insane against my will. everyday of my life.

✧ synopsis : john is full of bad ideas.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

"John Marston," Your voice is stern, harsh as you whisper. Both hands on his shoulders pushing yourself from the grasp he keeps you in so tightly. "Get the hell—"

"Don't be that way angel." His words are sweet but his voice is filled to the brim with snark. Edge to edge. "What? You too good for fuckin' in the woods now? Too much of a lady?"

You smack his shoulder. His response is to keep you exactly where you are - which is in his lap on an open trail, later at night. No blankets, bottoms discarded in a heap besides you since John insisted on getting you skin to skin.

You're not fucking in the woods, you're fucking just outside of them - a place to camp near the trees in the Grizzlies East - near Moonstone Pond.

You're right besides the trail, right where any down and out bastard could trot their horse through and get a clear shot of what's going on. There's better places to do this. Deeper in the trees where there's no chance of of somebody finding you both, for one.

But John seems excited at the idea of getting caught. And when John gets in one these moods, there's no reasoning with him. He gets caught up in his wants as always, foolhardy and crass. Though you mind it less than you're honest about.

His hands find your hips, blunt nails grasping at you for life as he moves you. Doesn't move himself, but rather - moves you, slides you up and down on the hard length of his cock with a smile just short of smug and just past mesmerized.

In the dead of night, it's easy to hear how he makes you feel. What he does to you. The wet lazy sound of thrusts of his dick in you drown all noise of the lonesome evening. You wrap yourself around him in a fit of desperation, hitting your fists weakly on his back. He laughs in the way he always does, presses a kiss to the parts of you he can reach while you throw a fit.

"You're such a rotten, no good, irritating bastard, Marston."

"And you just can't stay away from me, can you sweetheart?" He holds you in place while you bottom out and you can feel him swell when you say it. You almost want to sneer. "It ain't like you to play coy."

"I'm not playing anything. Someone's gonna come out here and see and—"

"And what? Some poor bastards gonna ride through here and see you split open on me and wish he was me? You feel sorry for him? I sure don't."

Your voice catches at the sudden change. The change in pace, the change in tone, the change in demeanor. His hands grip you tighter and he flips you until you're laying in the grass on your back. His dick kisses your cervix at the new angle, legs wrapped around his waist and blinking in surprise from where he looks down on you. More scar than man, all sharp lines and dark hair barely failing away from his face.

He leans down that time. You think to kiss you but instead he hikes you up until your spine arches so slightly and he thrusts that way. Fucks his cock so deep into you, it feels like all the airs been punched out of your lungs. It's more invasive than it's been all night, bigger and thicker - makes it feel like your cunt is being pulled open. The tip dragging on your insides, sticky and sensitive on each motion.

You gasp his name out, hands find his hair - tugging just to have something to hold. "John,"

"In fact, if anything - we're doing 'em a favor. Only time they see a woman at all is when they're paying for her. They could only be so lucky seeing a woman as beautiful as you feeling so good for me for free."

You make a whimpering noise and swallow it down. John laughs, scruff against your shoulder. His teeth tug at your ear lobe as he positions you - hand sliding between your bodies as his thumb finds your clit.

"I'd put a bullet clean between their eyes before they touch you, you know that? But I'm a decent man so," He laughs breathless. "A look is all they're gonna get. Charity, ain't it? In a way.''

You make a face at him, disarmed - weak, purely and plainly in a way that makes his laugh go from smug to charmed, affectionate. He kisses you on the lips that time. Corner of your mouth, your chin and cheek and shoulder. His arm cradling you easy in his grasp as you keep your legs up for him to fuck you.

Fire runs through your nerves as all the sensations settle in at once. The pleasure of having your clit rubbed even clumsily is enough to make you whine out in pleasure, especially in pace with being fucked so hard again and again. Something turns in your belly, honeyed - hot, like pouring sugar over a flame. You feel the warm iron of your own want be shaped by John with every consequential knock and thrust.

You breathe out as his attitude slows to merciful. He gets like this when you get close - gets all softhearted and gentle even as he's fucking you senseless.

You sniffle. "You're such a bastard, Marston."

"Don't I know it," He hums, easy and keeps going. "Getting close for me, angel? Gonna make me a nice little mess to clean up?"

"Shut up,"

He chuckles. "C'mon. You gonna let go for me?"

You swear. "Y-yeah."

"Good girl," He praises. You can't even pretend not to keen when he says it. "Go on then. Show me. Let me see,"

With another unceremonious thrust, you unravel in John's arms like the threaded frayed ends of a piece of twine. Pulled apart, you cum on his cock hard - a tingling sensation spreading through your whole body as your back curls up. Your legs force John to stay bottomed out as you shudder. The overwhelming pleasure doesn't seem to end.

You only breathe after a few minutes. John coaxes some comfort from you with a kiss to your collarbone.

"Still mad at me?"

You roll your eyes and smack his head lightly. "Shut up, Marston."

"Shut up ain't much of an answer." He says, pretending to sigh. "Guess I'll have to make you go one more to earn that forgiveness huh?"

Your lips quirk. Idiot. "Guess we'll just have to see."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[t-r99]

Bathtime II

Nagi Seishiro x reader

here's a fluffy version hehe

everyone calls him Sei, but I just think Shiro fits better lol

warning: smut (thigh fucking, lord help me)

wc: 540

Oh, but Nagi would absolutely be down for some steamy shower time, one of the few things in life that would get him all worked up and full of energy.

He's such a sucker for your thighs, too.

Be prepared to stand there and be frustrated and so turned on that your brain turns to mush because he will press you against the tiles and hold you from behind while fucking your thighs to his heart's content and ignoring your pleas for him to just put it in.

"Jus' a bit longer . . ." He mumbles by your ear, out of breath and all flushed a pretty pink. His hands are on your hips and he pushes them tighter together. "Squeeze 'em for me," Nagi takes a sharp breath. "I wanna cum all over you." He's so close now, just a bit more . . .

They're just so soft, he can't get enough of the feeling. A big bonus is that you always get needy as hell whenever he does this, all whiny and just so adorable with your pretty face a bright shade of red as you keep begging him to fuck you instead of just using your thighs. "I wan' it," You beg again, feeling an unbearable throb between your legs that makes you press your thighs even tighter together. Nagi gasps at that and grips you tighter, nails digging into your skin. "'nside, I wan' it inside." You turn to look at him.

"Oh, I will, baby, I will." He coos at you. "Just a bit more, just- mmh . . ." Fuck, he's close. "Just let me cum all over these pretty thighs," Nagi pushes you further until you're practically squished against the wall. "then I'll give you what you need. I'll give you everything, I promise. F- Fuck, I'm-"

It feel so good like this, he could fuck your thighs forever. They squeeze his cock perfectly and he never lasts long before painting your legs white.

"'m gonna cum." He pants against your flushed cheek and plants a kiss. "Can you squeeze 'em for me?" Nagi begs. "Make me cum, baby, I wanna cum for you."

You look down at where his cock is between your legs. It turns you on even more and you give one last squeeze that pushes Nagi over the edge and has him moaning by your ear and by god does it sound amazing. "Sh- Shiro, please . . .

"Don't worry, baby," He's still so hard that it's almost painful, aching to be inside you and fill you with his cum and make your insides match your outsides where your legs are covered. "Don't worry, I got you." He slips and it feels like sweet heaven.

Deep, deep, deep inside. "F- Feels so good . . ." You can hardly breathe like this.

Nagi nuzzles against your cheek and wraps his arms around your waist. "Want me t'fill you up, huh?" He gives a lazy thrust which only has you whining for more. "Here. C'mere." He kisses the corner of your mouth and gives a soft hum to beckon you to turn to him, slotting his lips against yours in a deep kiss. "Gonna fill you up," He murmurs against your lips. "all nice and full, just the way you like it . . ."

[ddejavvu]

just read the fancam fic and it was so good!!! now i’m just imagining tyler finding a fancam someone made of the reader using the like three grainy clips of her that are available,,, like just how flustered she’d be

part one / please send me tyler owens requests!

Tyler is typically very considerate about letting you sleep in- just because he was raised to wake with the sun doesn't mean you don't enjoy sleeping until ten. But today you're awoken by a sharp jostling of the bed that makes you reconsider whether your regional natural disaster is tornadoes and not earthquakes.

"Baby! Baby, look at this," Tyler's phone is shoved unceremoniously into your face, music and movement on the screen combining to send your sleep-addled brain into overdrive, "Someone made one of you!"

The song plays through three times before you realize what you're looking at.

They're clips of you, grainy and far away, but it's you set to the tune of a honey-sweet love song that Tyler's definitely serenaded you with before to bring heat to your cheeks. There's clips of Tyler as well, lifting you into his raised truck or pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek while he straps your seatbelt into its buckle.

"What-" You mumble, brows furrowed as you realize that this is posted, publicly, and it's already got a good amount of engagement, "Someone made that?"

"One of my fans. Or- your fans, I think. Caption says you don't get enough love from 'em." Tyler hums, bending down awkwardly and nestling his nose against your sleepy face.

You can't find the words to respond, but perhaps it's not because you're sleepy. You continue to watch the video loop, videos of yourself waving shyly at fans strung together with shots of you ducking behind Tyler interspersed between.

"Some of 'em are us together," Tyler settles in bed beside you, on top of your blankets which means that you're trapped beneath them due to his weight, "But that's just 'cause you're not on camera all that much, so they had to use what they could get. But still, look at that! That's you, darlin'." He croons, kissing at your flaming cheeks while equal parts mortification and delight roil in your belly, "The prettiest girl on the internet."

[sanguineterrain]

Sanne can we get a part 2 for reporter!reader?? Picking up where it first left off their first night in the same home - and there's only 1 bed! - and reader shares the bed with him with the promise of not looking at his unmasked face in the middle of the night? And like them realizing over the next few days that they have very similar habits like tendencies to work throughout the night once they've got a lead and not having a set sleep schedule/unconventional sleeping hours.

OKAY HERE WE GO! be fed my lovelies <3 didn't exactly do one bed but hopefully you like it anyway ;) pt 2 of this

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. nightmares, hurt/comfort, jason sexy mf todd being a domestic dreamboat. 2.4k. pls enjoy

****

The Red Hood's apartment is... not at all what you expected.

It looks lived in. It, as awful a thought as it is, looks like an actual person lives here.

And it's not that you didn't know that Hood has a life outside of shooting and scaring, but the giant ficus and the overstuffed bookshelf seem paradoxical to everything you know about Hood.

You're realizing that you don't know him at all.

"So, uh." Hood awkwardly gestures to the apartment. "This is it. Welcome."

"It's nice," you say, stepping over the threshold. "Really nice. I'm a little jealous, Red."

"What can I say? Being public enemy number one is surprisingly lucrative."

You wander to the kitchen. There's a picture of him and a red-headed masked man who looks vaguely familiar. The man is smiling, his arm around Hood. There's a city skyline behind them you don't recognize.

"Where's that?" you ask. You don't expect him to answer.

"Morocco."

"I didn't know you had friends," you say, studying the Welcome to Vegas! magnet that's holding up the picture.

"Ouch."

"No, I—" You turn, shaking your head. "Sorry, no. I meant, like, people you do fun things with."

"Mm, yeah, I know what a friend is."

"Red, you know what I mean. I didn't know you took selfies and kept plants and read."

"Thought I was friendless and illiterate, huh?" He leans against the kitchen table, fist tucked under his helmet. "Y'wouldn't be the first."

"Hood—"

He snorts, shoulders shaking. You stop.

"That's not funny," you say, rolling your eyes. "Jerk."

"It's a little funny. You're always so sharp with your words, smartypants. No, while I'm very literate, friends are admittedly far and few. Arsenal's my closest friend."

"Is he also a crime lord?"

"Nah. Way better guy than me."

You look back at the picture and wonder how often Hood gets to experience joy. And when was the last time he had a vacation?

You feel a gentle tug at the back of your jacket.

"C'mon. You can snoop more later, promise. Lemme show you your room."

Hood takes your suitcase before you can protest. You follow him down the hall. There's one door to the bathroom—the other is to a single bedroom.

The bedroom is nice, bigger than yours at home. It's sort of what you expected (i.e., the mounted katanas on the wall) but also not (a giant framed poster of the 2005 Pride and Prejudice film).

Holy hell. You're in the Red Hood's bedroom.

"Hood, I can't sleep here," you say, watching as he puts your suitcase in the corner.

The bed has been made, sheets tucked in without a single wrinkle. They're in various shades of red. You're sure Hood thinks he's hilarious.

"Why? If the swords are putting you off, I can move 'em."

"No, it's—I can't take your room, Hood. There's no way I'm doing that."

He shakes his head. "No, trust me, it's for the best. That couch is only comfortable to sleep on after a dose of painkillers."

"Dude, I am not making you sleep on the couch in your own house."

"Well, dude, I'm the host, and I'm the big and scary Red Hood, so what I say goes."

"Like either one of us actually believes that," you say, brushing past him to grab your suitcase. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed. It's–it's very sweet of you to offer. But you physically exert yourself every day. You need a comfortable bed more than I do. Besides, it's not like I'll be here for long."

Hood steps in front of you, casually blocking your exit.

"Well, try this on for size: my room is more secure than my living room," he says. "If someone were to break in, they'd have to get through me out there first."

That... is, unfortunately, a good point. You're still extremely paranoid after the assassination attempt two nights ago.

"You're so manipulative, y'know that?" you grumble, leaving your suitcase where it is.

"I know. I come from a real fucked up family." He doesn't sound too put out by it.

"But if you get injured on patrol, I'm sleeping on the couch."

He pats your shoulder. "'S cute you think you can bargain in my house, smarty."

****

Dinner goes well. Hood makes beef bolognese and it's delicious. You take an extra long time in the bathroom before bed so Hood has enough time to eat, considering his refusal to remove his helmet. You'd offered to blindfold yourself—he'd just laughed.

"Sure you don't want your room? It is, after all, yours," you say when you come out, fresh from your shower.

Hood glances at you briefly from where he's washing dishes. He's out of his jacket and suit, now only in jeans and a white t-shirt. Your face feels hot for some reason.

"I'm sure. Cute robe."

"Oh." You look down at the Wonder Woman robe your friend gave you. "Thanks. Got it for my birthday."

"I'll have to get myself one too," Hood says, drying a glass with a polka dot tea towel. "Big Wonder Woman fan."

"Yeah? We solve this case, and I'll get you all the robes you want, Red."

"Tempting."

You chew your lip as you watch him clean up. "Want any help?"

"Go to sleep, star reporter." He sounds amused.

"You try to be a polite guest only to get shot down..." you mumble.

On your way to Hood's room, you get distracted by a pile of documents on the coffee table. You stop, picking up the corner to read one. They're about the case, about all the labs that might be involved in the experiments.

Well... you can read just one. It seems like Hood's compiled a lot of information on his own.

You stand for a bit until your legs grow tired. Then you sit on the couch, making notes of what you do and don't know on a nearby writing pad.

"Did you get lost?"

Hood's watching you, leaning against the wall. It's weird to see his bare arms. His very sculpted, muscled arms. You think you peek a tattoo on his bicep.

"My attention was caught," you say, unrepentant. "Anyway, there's a lot of stuff I haven't seen. You've been holding out on me, Red."

"'S just theories, mostly. Didn't feel it was relevant to mention without hard proof."

"Ever hear of a work-life balance?" you ask.

Hood walks over and joins you on the couch, making the cushion dip. You bump shoulders briefly, before you move.

"Look who's talking, Pulitzer prize," he says.

"That's a very reasonable goal, and I'm not obsessed with it. You're just a workaholic. I have activities outside of wo—oh my God, work!"

You shoot up from the couch, panicked. "Fuck. Fuck! I haven't shown up in two days! I'm—"

"Hey, easy," Hood says, propping his socked feet up on the coffee table. "I called you out. Said you had the flu. No biggie."

"How did you call me out?"

He shrugs. "Pretended to be your boyfriend. Girl on the line was kinda rude about it. Didn't believe me at first."

"Red, I believe we've talked about these invasions of privacy."

"I'm just fulfilling my host duties. Is it true you haven't taken a day off in two years?"

You sigh. "Yes, okay? Fine. I'm a workaholic, too. That's why Jane, the secretary you spoke to, was so sassy about my having a boyfriend. It's pretty unbelievable."

"That's ridiculous. You could totally get a boyfriend. Some guys don't mind that."

"Like you?"

Hood tilts his head in acknowledgment. "Sure. Like me."

"Yeah, well, you're not exactly most men."

"And thank God for that."

You look at each other for another moment. Hood's tattoo is in clear view now: it's a bird surrounded by flowers. You can't tell the species of either one.

"Cool tattoo," you say, your tongue feeling too big for your mouth.

Hood turns his arm so the ink is hidden. "Thanks."

"Right." You start to walk backwards. "I think... I'm gonna go to bed."

"Sure," he says. "If y'need anything, holler."

"'Kay. Thank you for dinner. You're a great cook."

"You flatterer."

You smile. "Gotta stay in the Red Hood's good graces."

You start to walk away.

"Do you—waffles?"

You stop and turn. "Sorry?"

"I, uh... do you like waffles? For breakfast," he says. He rubs his thumb and forefinger together. Nervous habit.

"I love waffles for breakfast."

Hood nods. "Great. Good. Then I'll... we'll have those."

"Please don't wake up early just to make breakfast, Red."

"You're my guest. I'll do whatever I want."

You don't recall the prospect of waffles ever making your heart hammer in your chest. Weird.

"Right. Well, goodnight," you say.

"G'night, smarty."

****

You turn the case details in your mind over and over. It's better than thinking about beef bolognese and peeks of skin you shouldn't see and how Hood's sheets smell like lavender.

But you fall asleep thinking about robins. You don't know why. You can't recall ever seeing a robin in Gotham.

You're on a rooftop. It's the roof you met Hood on, all those months ago. There's a robin nesting with its babies on the crumbling bricks.

The sky is a sick shade of green. You see horrible faces in the shadows on the roof.

That face from the night of the attack returns. He's hideous. You remember the stench of his breath, the way his eyes bulged. He grins at you across the roof.

"He should've killed me when he had the chance," he says, voice distorted.

You look around. The robin is gone. Blood drips from your stomach.

You turn and your attacker is there, inches away. He plunges the knife into you again and again. You can't move. This is it. You will die.

You wake up to wet cheeks. You're hot, and you're screaming. You've died.

A cool, rough hand grabs your arm and you fight because you can't die, you won't die. Not today.

"Hey. Hey, hey! It's me, 's J—Hood. It's Hood."

The room is almost entirely dark, save for a sliver of light from the cracked curtains. You can't make out his face. His voice is different. Clearer. He's without his helmet.

You reach out and feel soft hair. The curve of a neck. A bicep. A warm, bare chest.

"Sure, honey. Cop a feel if that makes you feel better," he murmurs.

Your face screws up and you start to cry.

"Shit," Hood whispers. "Shit, shit. Can't get the comforting thing right, can I?"

The bed dips with his weight. Arms wrap around you. You launch yourself into those arms, that solid chest.

"He g-got me in the dream," you choke out. "He killed us, Red. I'm so scared."

"Nobody's getting me or you. I promise."

Hood's jaw is smooth. His hands are big on your back, rubbing circles. His bare knee bumps yours.

You clutch him tighter. He hums.

"'S okay," he says. "It's alright. I got ya. He can't hurt you. I'd tear apart anyone who tries."

He lets you cry for several minutes, petting you all the while. Hood's body is warm, almost unnaturally so, but his hands are cool. He engulfs you completely.

You wonder what color his hair is. His eyes. What shape his nose is. His... lips.

"God, I'm a terrible guest," you mumble after you've caught your breath. "Fuck. I'm so sorry to wake you."

He hums, the sound going through your chest. "Don't worry. I don't sleep much. And you're not the worst guest I've had. My brother stayed with me for a few days last month. That was hell."

"You have a brother?"

"Four, actually. And a sister."

"Wow. Do they know you're...?"

"Yeah. It was a whole thing. They're over it now."

"Cool family."

Hood grunts. "They're... something."

You smile and close your eyes. "You're not who I thought you were, Red."

"Yes, I know. Friendless and illiterate."

You pinch his side. He clucks his tongue in response.

"Cheeky," he says, the gravel in his voice shooting down your spine like lightning.

You pull back, suddenly aware of how long you've been touching him. Hood lets you have your space, scooting to the edge of the bed.

"You know what I mean," you say, glad it's dark and Hood can't see your wide eyes. "Not like that."

"I know. You thought I was a monster, ugly and alone, sleeping in a cave."

Blindly, you reach for his face, feel the shape of his jaw, his chin.

"Doesn't feel like an ugly face to me," you say quietly.

He exhales like you punched the air out of him.

"Trust me," he says. "The dark hides a lot."

You frown and pull away. "I didn't think any of those things, Red. I thought... I thought you were one-track minded. Now I realize that you're probably better adjusted than I am."

"Oh no, I got issues. Believe me. Definitely more than you. Not that it's a competition. 'Cept if it was, I'd win."

You smile. "Title is all yours, big guy. Gotta be a little crazy to do what we do."

"Sure. But you're the bravest soul I know. 'Cause you weren't forced into this. You hunted down the story yourself."

"Brave or stupid?" you ask.

"Brave. But it's a fine line."

Nope. It's definitely more stupid than not, clinging to the Red Hood in his own bed in the name of a case.

What are you doing?

"Ah, anyway." The bed shifts as Hood stands. You can just barely make out the shape of him. "You probably won't be going back to sleep any time soon, huh?"

You sigh. "No, probably not. Please feel free to take back your bed."

"Nice try. You, uh... like hot chocolate?"

"Oh. Yes, I do. But you don't have to do that."

"I've been awake," he says. "No trouble. C'mon."

Hood walks to the door and opens it. Light spills out and for a moment, you have a clear view of his back.

His hair is dark and wavy. His back is covered in silver scars and fresh bruises, broad and muscled. You can see the tendons shift as he walks out.

The Red Hood is a man. Made of flesh and blood. Carved, more like.

Your belly flutters. Fuck.

This is no longer just you working a case. And you're about as far from an informant as anyone can be.

[zorosangell]

First of all, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! Can't thank you enough for gracing us all with your fics. They've made me smile and gush over em many times. Heaven knows I'm too far gone to be simping some more on Zoro but THE FICS JUST MADE ME FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM SO MUCH MORE. You write and make me envision him so beautifully. The Inn Series are THE BEST and my FAVES so far. 💚

Lastly, an ask if you're still taking requests: Writing Zoro with a reader/OC with a dynamic where they're both equally strong parts of the Straw Hat crew and always draw inspiration from each other as they journey on together. Slow burn and idiots who don't know they have feelings for each other + a scene with tension while they're sparring/swordfighting? 🥺

⛥ﾟ・。 white lotus

synopsis: you and your squadron reprimand zoro and bring him back to the castle after he's found wandering around in your kingdom's forest. turns out, the crew is already there since, surprise surprise, luffy destroyed something he wasn't supposed to. now the crew has to plead their case... but while they're doing so, zoro can't seem to keep his eyes off a certain someone, nor understand the weird feeling in his chest at the sight of her strength.

cw: part 1/3 (possibly more), fluffy fluff, comfort, zoro is a bit of a simp, sanji is definitely a simp, reader has a facial scar (nothing crazy), reader is FIONE, i hate writing fighting scenes but with this series imma do my best

a/n: went a bit overboard with this one but i really enjoyed the concept (also plz forgive my upload schedule my life is chaos)

a/n 2: AND DON'T BE AFRAID TO SEND MULTIPLE ASKS I LITERALLY LOVE THEM IDK

With a soft sigh, Zoro rolled his shoulders, muscles melting into the rough bark of the olive tree he rested under as he shifted.

Smoothly, he tucked his hands behind his neck, letting out a faint yawn before tilting his head to glance up, a small smile rising to his lips at the clear sky and soft breeze.

A guy could really get used to this...

It was a known fact that Zoro was no stranger to hard work—he'd had the same, strict training regiment since the ripe age of ten—and was often very selective of the pleasures he allowed himself to indulge in.

But... if there was one secret satisfaction he found in everyday life, it was a good summer island.

Especially if there was nothing to be done.

No evil tyrants.

No endangered princesses.

No oppressed villages.

Don't get him wrong, he loved to fight more than anything—the rush of battle, the chance to test his strength against unbeatable foes, the ability to emerge victorious and land one step closer to his dream.

But everyone deserved a break every once in a while.

And now, after straying from the crew and getting lost in the sun-dappled glade bordering the southern ridge of the island, all the swordsman wanted to do was rest against a well-shaded tree, drink some sake, and take a solid nap.

That is... until you showed up.

The sound of a snapping twig quickly ripped Zoro from his slumber, his eye widening at the sight before him as he instantly drew one of his swords, managing to meet your spear with only a fraction of a second to spare.

The reverberations from your powerful clash tore through the tree he was leaning against as if it were butter, sharp cracks echoing through the empty clearing before it finally split in two, the pieces toppling on either side and exposing the splintered wood within.

Swiftly, you used your shield to push off, putting some space between you two before you launched another attack.

"State your name!" you barked, the iciness of your tone sending a cold shiver down the swordsman's spine. "What is your business on Nabis?"

The two of you collided once again, but rather than attempt another test of strength, you went straight for the head, Zoro managing to dodge by the skin of his teeth before pushing you off with a second sword.

'Goddammit, Usopp... told me this place was uninhabited.'

The man was shocked to say the least.

He had honestly never seen someone move so fast, nor get the jump on him so easily.

"I said state your name! What is your business here?!"

The words seemed to go in one ear and out the other as he finally got a good look at you, the will to listen leaving him.

You had smooth, silky chestnut skin that stood out among the polished, gold armor you donned, consisting of a breastplate, greaves, vambraces, and spaulders, along with a scarlet tunic that fell teasingly high, yet somehow still covered your ass.

Paired with that was your large, gold helmet, which only exposed your ears, nose, and mouth, and had a large, red mohawk running down its center.

But the statement piece of it all... was your eyes.

Although shaded slightly by the shadows of the helmet, they were still just as piercing and entrancing as they were in the sun, maybe even more so.

You stared him down with cold calculation, as if it would take nothing to cut him down where he stood.

And he found that hot.

He found that really hot.

"I will not ask you again, swordsman! State your name, and your business on Nabis!" you bared your teeth, your stance readying you for another attack.

"What's it to you?" he asked, having finally found his voice.

"We detained a pirate crew this morning. Their captain caused a scene in the middle of Leonidas Square," you raised your spear to point at him. "Are you an ally to a rubber man known as Luffy?"

At the name, Zoro groaned, fervently fighting off the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

'Of course...'

He leaves them alone for a few hours and everything goes to shit.

"What happens if I say yes?"

As your brows furrowed, your hand swirled your spear back into its upright position, a rather awe-inspiring feat seeing as it was about a few inches taller than you and made of solid gold.

"I bring you back to the royal castle where you will face the queen's judgement alongside your crew."

For a moment, Zoro paused, ruminating on the option.

It didn't sound too shabby, and if the whole crew was together, whatever forces were waiting didn't stand a chance.

"Fine, then," he sighed, sheathing his two swords before raising his arms in the air. "I surrender."

Still wary, you gave him a firm nod, slowly coming out of your rigid stance to stand fully erect.

Suddenly, a squad of a little over ten men emerged from the trees, grabbing hold of Zoro and cuffing his wrists with haki-imbued shackles, allowing you to step closer until you were standing right in front of him.

"Swordsman, in the name of Queen Calysta, you are hereby under arrest."

"Hey, Zoro! Ya made it!" Luffy cheered, grinning widely as the moss-haired swordsman was ushered into the throne room.

"That's not something to be happy about, Luffy!" Nami and Usopp exclaimed, both of them hitting him upside the head with their shackles.

"Ouchie!"

"I take it they found you wandering around in the woods, eh?" Franky asked, raising a brow as the man was moved to stand next to him.

"Was in the middle of a nap, actually," Zoro corrected with a sigh, eye slowly gliding to your form standing a few feet away. "A good one, too. 'Til someone had to come along and ruin it."

Now that he was really looking, he noticed that you were the only guard in the entire room with gold armor, the rest of the them donning some sort of bronze or worn silver.

His brows furrowed, slightly confused.

'Weird.'

Just then, a loud horn blew, every soldier standing at attention and turning toward the elevated throne.

"Now arriving! Her Majesty... Queen Calysta!"

A sharp flourish bounded off the walls, playing proudly as the woman entered the room, catching the awe of the entire crew.

She looked young enough to be in her forties, barely a wrinkle or vein in sight, but the locks of silver and deep grey cascading down her armored back proved that she was significantly older.

Though her walk still carried a certain aura, powerful and unwavering as she approached the steps, and eventually scaled them before sitting down on the menacing throne—it was decorated by the shattered fragments of enemy swords.

"And advising! High General of the Nabisian Army... Her Highness... Princess (y/n)!"

'Princess?'

To Zoro's thorough surprise, you were the one to step forward at the introduction, the man watching with a wide eye as you strode up to your mother's side, receiving an acknowledging nod from her before you turned to face the crew.

In one, smooth motion, you removed your helmet, your eyes finding the moss-haired swordsman as you finally revealed your face.

"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath, a faint tinge pink burning up his neck as his heart stuttered to a sudden stop, the skin of his chest tightening over itself and constricting his air supply.

You were hands-down the prettiest women he had ever seen; utterly gorgeous.

From your eyes to your lips to your hair to the rather prominent scar that spanned across the bridge of your nose, you were breath-taking, each feature only further accentuating your natural beauty.

"My dreams have come true! I'm in the presence of a real-life goddess!" Sanji squealed, eyes bulging out their sockets as his tongue lulled out his mouth, a singular trickle of blood rolling out his nose.

"My word! What a dazzling beauty!" Brook marveled, flailing his arms. "Miss, could you be so kind as to show me your panties?"

"Knock it off, you two!" Nami barked, kicking them both upside the head.

"Which of you is the one known as Luffy?" your mother asked, her powerful voice instantly shutting down all side conversations.

"That's me!" Luffy answered, proudly, his smile never wavering.

Though, the guards were quick to change that, roughly grabbing him by his shackles before pulling him forward and forcing him to his knees, their spears crossing above his neck to keep him from lifting his head.

"Hey! Watch it!" Zoro barked, brows furrowing at the treatment of his captain.

"The hell's all this for, anyway!" Franky exclaimed.

"We didn't do anything!" Sanji scoffed.

"Yeah, what's the big idea?" Usopp agreed.

"You destroyed the tribute to my father!" you bellowed, your eyes zeroing in on the crew's captain. "You besmirched his memory!"

"Hey, lady, I didn't de-birch anything!" Luffy fired back with a pout.

"What did you do this time?!" Nami groaned, utterly confused.

"I dunno! I have no idea what she's even talking about!"

"Luffy, remember when you rushed into the market and ate at every food stall?" Robin chimed, maintaining her smooth monotone.

"Yeah?"

"Well, after that you burped, and it was so powerful that it blew over and shattered the statue standing in the middle of the town square. I assume that's the one she's talking about."

"Oh! Now I remember! Yeah, I've never burped that hard before. That food was really yummy!"

"Apologize, you idiot!" Usopp exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah," Luffy nodded, bowing his head so low that his hat fell off his head, "I'm really sorry. I hope you can forgive me."

"Is there anything that can we do to make it up to you?" Nami asked, sincerely. "We can pay to get it fixed. Or rebuild it, if you like."

"My father was the hero of our people, and did not deserve to be burped on! What he has done is the ultimate disrespect!" you scoffed, sharply. "You cannot buy our good graces! The penalty for such contempt is death!"

"WHAT?!"

"Unless..." the queen piped up, calmly. "You can assist us with a problem of our own."

At that, your eyes widened, your head instantly snapping over to her.

"Mother, you can't—"

"Silence."

Pausing for a brief moment, you warred with her, eyes meeting in a silent, defiant clash before you finally gave in, taking a tentative step back as she turned to her personal guard, sharing a knowing look.

Without having to say a word, she summoned four servants to the throne room, each of them carrying a handle to a stretcher, which had a very sickly-looking boy sitting on top.

Looking closer, Zoro noticed that the kid looked an awful lot like you and the queen.

"Being pirates, you must have a doctor on your crew, yes?" Calysta asked, more as a statement than a question. "Step forward."

Timidly, Chopper presented himself, nervously fiddling with his hooves.

"The best healers this kingdom has to offer have tried and failed to cure this boy of his illness. If you can... then all will be forgiven."

With a silent nod, Chopper quickly ran forward, meeting the boy as the servants lowered the stretcher to the reindeer's level.

The doctor performed his tests with lightening speed and precision, completing all of which before finally coming to the conclusion that—

"I'm afraid he's infected with White Lotus disease," Chopper stated, removing his stethoscope. "It would explain his paleness, along with his labored breathing."

"White Lotus?" the queen raised a brow, stroking her chin.

"It's a rare disease caused by an invasive plant species known as White Lotus. They appear suddenly in bodies of fresh water, and release spores invisible to humans that are toxic to breathe in."

Rummaging through his bag, he finally managed to pull out a large vial of purple liquid, along with an empty syringe.

"Luckily, we've caught it before it could get any worse. If you'd waited any later, he would have certainly died."

"So you can save him?" you asked, hopefully.

"Mhmm," Chopper nodded with a smile, carefully injecting some of the liquid into the boy's arm, "Give him two shots of this a day, and he should be good as new in no time!"

A wide smile broke out onto your lips as you turned to your mother, the two of you sharing a look of relief.

The joy on your face sent Zoro's heart into a frenzy, flush burning all the way up to his ears now.

Damn, you had a nice smile.

"If you know what body of water he went to, you should definitely close it off to the people. Especially if they use it for drinking. And make sure your men remove the plant with masks so they don't get sick, too."

"Thank you, Dr. Chopper. We will do just that," Calysta grinned, standing from her throne. "As per our agreement, all is forgiven! And for saving my son, it would be my pleasure to make you and all your friends our honored guests at tonight's royal banquet!"

"All right! Party time!" Luffy cheered, the guards standing down at your command and allowing the captain to rise to his feet.

The throne room erupted with roars and whoops of joy, soldiers, servants, and Strawhats alike utterly elated to see that the young prince would be okay.

Among the chaos, your eyes managed to land on the green-haired swordsman once again, something warm thrumming through your stomach at the realization that he'd already been staring at you.

Although you were High General, and the crown princess at that, at your very core you were also a woman.

Hell, you were a person with eyes.

It was clear as day that the swordsman was incredibly, almost bafflingly handsome, and you'd be a liar if you said you weren't checking him out while your squadron perp-walked him through the woods.

Broad shoulders...

Strong chest...

Sexy voice...

Nabisian men were not small nor frail in the slightest, but even still, the man dwarfed most of them in both size and strength—if your clash told you anything.

And now that he and his crew were no longer enemies of the crown, it was no longer immoral to have more... unsavory thoughts about him.

Unable to resist, you flashed the man a smooth, coy smile, relishing in his obvious fluster as his back suddenly straightened, eyes seeming to flick toward everything but you.

Oh, yeah... you were gonna have a good time tonight.

[cevansbrat0007]

https://x.com/auxgod_/status/1854935706742706397?s=46

ari’s reaction if bird tried to walk out the house with this on 👀

Untitled Sweet Renegade Series Ask & Drabble

Please enjoy the Sweet Renegades Series Drabble found after the cut. Warnings include: Mature Themes, Implied Smut, Ari Being a Possessive Menace, Brat!Reader, Manhandling, Crude Language, and Cursing. Minors DNI.

Listen, Ari considers himself to be a rather progressive man. He has two sisters that he respects and adores. And a little niece that fills him with pride. He plans to teach his nephew about the importance of respecting women - of treating them with the utmost reverence and care.

However, the moment Ari laid eyes on his sweet, stubborn little Bird, it was if something in him snapped. It came from somewhere deep. Primal. And the beast in him demanded that he stake his claim. Before her, Ari had never really considered himself to be the possessive type. He just assumed that jealousy wasn't a part of his makeup.

But now? Her smile. Her laugh. Her light. Every delicate inch of her gorgeous curvy body. All of it belongs to him. In the most primal, feral sense.

And he does not like to share.

So, while he wants to encourage Bird as she continues down the path of consistent, healthy body positivity, he's also man enough to admit that that there's no way in hell he'd let her fine ass out of the house wearing a dress like that. And here's why:

"Baby..." He rasps, caging you in as he backs you against the door. "You look fucking stunning." Two thick fingers trail their way down your body, stopping once they reach the valley between your breasts. "But I'm afraid I can't let you leave. Not while you're wearin' that."

"What's wrong with it?" Your words come out as a gasp when you feel a hand wind its way into your curls, holding you still as he continues his assault. The seconds drag on as his head dips, his mouth finding yours.

"Because, sweet Bird." Ari presses, forcing you to take his delicious weight. Making your pulse spike as he grinds his increasingly hard cock against your abdomen.

"B-because?"

"Because..." He draws out the word as he wrenches your head back so that he can whisper maddening little love bites along the curve of your jaw. "This is the kinda dress you wear when you're out with your man." You have a hard time breathing as his free hand skims lower before coming to rest on the swell of your bottom.

"Oh yeah?" You continue to goad - against your better judgement.

To be honest, you'd known what you were risking when you saw the dress hanging on the rack. You had no business playing with fire. But that's part of what made all of this so fun.

"Absolutely." Ari's normally bright blue eyes darken with arousal as he watches your chest heave. Almost as if he's imagining what it might be like to slowly peel the garment off you, piece by piece. "Because these hips and that ass - they're enough to give a man ideas."

His soft lips find their way to your ear, his warm breath making you shiver.

"And when they start wantin' to entertain those ideas," he muses, more to himself than you. "I need to be there as your man to shut 'em down."

"I see." A sharp nip of teeth has you clenching your thighs together.

"Because I am the only man who's allowed to know what it's like to bury myself between those luscious thighs." Using two fingers, he tips up your chin, wordlessly demanding that he look you in the eyes. "And only I get to know what you taste like when you cum on my tongue. Which therefore makes me the only man with exclusive rights to your tight, little pussy."

"Okay Beast." You can't help the giggle that bubbles its way out of your throat. "I think you've made your point."

"Have I, little Bird?" He growls, releasing his grip on your chin to capture your wrists, trapping them above your head. "Or do I need to remind you that I'm not the sharing type?"

The steady tick in his jaw lets you know that you and your dress have once again pushed this man to the edge. But the real question was...

Just what did you plan to do about it?

Batting your lashes up at him, you decide it's time to let the brat in you win out once and for all. Go big or go home, you know?

"Eh, it's been awhile, big guy." You purr, catching your bottom lip between your teeth. "I'm thinkin' you might need to refresh my memory."

END

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[thegnomelord]

heyo!!! here for the prompt game!!!!

can i have 19 with monster au ghost and soap (make em trans if ya can).... reader is male and a top/dom and he's an older dragon hybrid so he has a bit of a dad bod and is a little insecure about his looks and also his age affecting his performance (two lizard pp) i want the boys to comfort their dilf

Ngl this took me so long to do as I just couldn't figure out how to write it 😅 Play the game HERE.

Prompt: Becoming self conscious after the clothes come off

CW:NSFW, monster 141 au, FTM wraith Ghost, FTM werewolf Soap, M!dragon reader, afab language, double dick, oral, double penetration, body worship,

Dragons only stop growing when something kills them and you're old enough to have shed blood on Jerusalem's walls; you know how you look — fat widening your frame and hiding the sharp musculature you possessed, old age muddling fogging the gemstone like shine of your scales until they look like low quality stones, wing membranes dotted with holes and broken horns capped with gold and iron again and again and again throughout the ages.

You watch Ghost and Soap disrobe after a long day of running drills, Simon periodically giving one word answers to Johnny's insistent but welcome chatter as he helps Soap take off his gear after he'd sprained his back. It's domestically calming, watching your boys—your hoard— take care of each other, Soap's eyes settling on yours as he licks his lips; dread stabs your ancient heart. It picks a new spear morning you wake to find them huddling next to you when you expected them to be long gone, sharpening it throughout the day until you find yourself back in your bedroom with them so dark dread can stab your heart once again.

How can you even call them yours?

You're not dumb. You know no partner deserves to doubt their own abilities when you fail to become hard immediately like they do, hairpin triggers that they are. Nor do they deserve to be left needy and wet, bodies rearing to go again quickly while exhaustion claws at your eyelids after just one orgasm; curse your draconic blood for turning more than just your body lazy as the years go by.

You're so deep in your head you don't notice them until four hands grip you and before you know it you're being flung onto the bed. You land with all the grace of a mountain, the bed's groaning under your weight not helping to stop the thoughts in your head. They're on you like wolves, straddling your thighs as if mortal men can pin a dragon down.

"Now whaet's gotten yer tail in'a twist?" Soap asks, greedy hands sliding beneath your shirt to trace the swell of your firm stomach. Your heart preens at his touch before your mind can remind you that in society's vain eyes-their eyes- you're less, just bragging rights, a notch on the bedpost.

"I'm fine." You growl, pulling Johnny's hands out beneath your shirt. He looks defeated like a child deprived of a toy, though your sharp senses pick up a spike of arousal.

"Sure," Ghost's sharp eyes track your every movement, blackened hand gripping your forearm, claws tracing the place were muddy scales melt into human skin. Even completely nude atop your thigh his form strikes a sharp image compared to you. "What, did you get a shite tatt while we weren't lookin'?"

"Is it a tramp stamp?" Johnny perks up at that, a low sound coming from him and his thighs clench around your own, slick dampening your skin. "No, no, a dick tatt." And suddenly his hand's at your groin, fondling the smooth surface of your pelvis over your boxers in an attempt to coax your cocks out of your genital slit. It doesn't work, like usual.

"Fuck's sake," You growl and grab his arm, trying to ignore the swell of your heart when your rough action makes Johnny's arousal spike. "I'm fine, really."

"Mhm, and I'm the Queen." Ghost snorts, using your temporary distraction to lean in and lick a long stripe up the side your neck, nibbling on your ear until a treacherous rumbling purr leaves your chest. Your body doesn't care of the shit going on in your head, only recognizes the sweet arousal of your hoard and the soft touch they leave on your body, rough hands sliding across your skin and feeling the hard muscles beneath the fat.

"More of a princess, sure 'r bossy like one." Johnny pipes up and ducks to escape a swat over the back of the head from Ghost, unperturbed by your grip of his arm Johnny slides his other hand down your front, sharp claws shredding your shirt before you can stop him. "What's wrong bonnie? Not 'nough that this handsome knight comes t' lay yea?"

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes closing to escape their gaze, "I just-" You breathe out, "-just don't know what you see in me."

Silence follows your words and you're sure the next moment they'll get off and this thing you had will just be over. Then a hand grips your hair, your eyes falling open just in time to catch Simon's before he roughly kisses you. Soap is close behind, tail wagging rapidly as he licks the side of your lip and taking Simon's place when you seperate.

"How about we show you, yeah?" Simon growls, briefly groping the firm swell of your abdomen then sliding his hand down to cut your boxers away with his claws, leaving you as bare as they are. Ghost's clever fingers sneak down further to slide across your genital slit, sharp claws tenderly scratching the smooth scales around it and fingers spreading it open, thumb rubbing the head of one cock as it's starting to peek out.

"Not going tae stop us will yae?" Johnny's hands wander over your exposed chest, roughly groping your fat pecs as you both groan into the kiss. "Cause ah been wantin' to do this for a while," Then he pulls his head back and pushes it between your pecs, a low sound escaping him as he shakes his head.

A surprised laugh leaves you as you realize Soap's fucking motorboarding you, nipping and kissing your fat chest. His touch makes fire burn in your stomach, the way both of their hands roam across the wide expanse of your body making goosebumps pop up on your skin.

"Way to ruin the mood mutt," Simon chuckles alongside you, then his eyes go down. "Oh, like us being sweet on you, huh?" He smirks, fingers wrapping around your cock as you only now realize you've gotten hard, "Want us to keep going?" The sharp scent of their arousal is impossible to miss, only making both of your cocks just that much harder.

"Yeah," You breathe out, letting them maneuver you however they want. You end up flat on your back with Ghost stradling your face, cunt leaking slick down on your face. Soap's between your legs with his plump lips already latched on your lower cock, sucking and licking your cock like it's a popsicle.

"Fuck-" Simon yelps when you follow Soap's lead and pull Ghost down firmly on your face, your obscenely long tongue sliding out to lick a fat stripe across his folds. "-just like that. Shit, you take such good care of us." Ghost groans, his voice stroking that draconic need to guard your hoard and making you worm your tongue inside him. The sudden intrusion of your tongue inside his fluttering walls makes him double over you, but soon after you feel him latch on to your second cock.

Even with all your senses consumed by them you still catch the slight whine in Johnny's chest, already imagining him roughly fingering himself as he sucks you off and watches Simon's eyes grow bleary every time you twist your tongue to hit that special spot inside him. Without thinking you slide your tail between Soap's legs, mind flooding with endorphins at Soap's pleased groan around your cock before he's roughly grinding against your tail, cunt wetly pulsing and drawing more sounds from him each time his clit scraps against your scales.

You don't know how long you float in a fog of pleasure, Simon's sweet slick flooding your mouth, skin feeling hot like magma from their hands wandering and groping your flesh like you're some god, mind buzzing from the sound of their collective pleasure and the sweet tight heat of their mouths on your cocks. At some point you become aware of the orgasm steadily encroaching towards you and you'll be damned if you cum before them.

Giving Simon's sweet cunt a final lewd 'slurp' you pull your tongue back, jaw and throat covered in his fluids. Ghost slumps against you, breathing hard while still continuing to suck you off, his eyes meeting Soap's while the Scott desperately humps your tail and whines because it's not enough.

"On the bed." You growl, low and possessive, your strength still surpassing them as you maneuver them. Simon ends up on his back with Johnny pressed up on top of him, both bodies flush with heat and sweaty.

"Fuck, bonnie-" Johnny sucks in a sharp breath and grinds his hips against Simon, biting his shoulder and groaning as the motion makes their cunts rub together, mingling their slick. "Come on, fuck me-us, just-"

"I know," You chuckle, wings subconsciously spreading out to show how big you are, how strong, how you can take care of them. "Need me to fuck you boys good and hard huh?" You let out a low rumbling growl, draping your body over theirs and not holding back so they can feel your weight. You don't miss how their scents sharpen with more arousal.

"Stop talking," Simon growls, brown eyes meeting yours and urging you to press your slick cockheads against their wet holes, each cock almost tailored just for them. Simon groans as you slide in, your first cock not as long as your second one but fat and Simon relishes the burn as you spread him to his limit.

"Shite," Johnny grinds his hips back to meet yours and whimpers when your cock head brushes his cervix, both of their bellies bulging from you being inside them. "God, fockin' love you for this,"

Another small laugh escapes you, "Love you too," making a few short pumps of your hips to get them acclimated to the stretch of you inside them you start making deeper thrusts. "Love you both so much," Your confession is honest from the deepest part of your heart, a deep draconic groan leaving your lips at the way they clench so wonderfully around you.

You see Ghost open his mouth but words escape him as your cock saws into him, all the bumps and ridges on your shaft scraping their soft walls until they're both shaking, soft little moans and deep growls leaving them. You pick up the pace, sharp had thrusts into their pliant bodies making the bed smack against the wall.

You fuck them hard and fast until they're shaking with an orgasm but you don't stop, teeth bared as if to scare off your own pleasure so you can fuck them over and over and over again.

[shotmrmiller]

response to this but it got so long and ig im in my throuple era rn

@xoxunhinged i listened to one (1) song on repeat while writing this on the phone

okay yeah wait or just

it's ghost x price first.

Big burly men taking up too much space in the little coffee shop you work at or something and they're there like clockwork too. Every wednesday and friday, 8 am, usually the first clients of the day and all they order is a regular cup of joe. Plain. You offer alternative sweeteners, powdered creamer, but no dice.

Plain black. Like the occasional smudge of eyeliner(?) around the bigger one's eyes.

They're cute, in their own way. John is a blend of rugged charm and seasoned wisdom. The other, Simon, is mysterious. Guarded. Speaks only to his companion.

The pet names start to get to your head. Of course, you reason that John's just not from around here. His calling you sweetheart from across the room to grab your attention must be English.

But logic cannot stop the heat from licking up your cheeks when he does. or when Simon calls you something different altogether eventually.

"Mornin', pet."

It's even more gut-twisting when you catch glimpses of the occasional PDA: A large hand curling around an even bigger jean-clad thigh. Faces so close they could kiss (Waterboarding couldn't get the fact that you've rubbed your thighs together at the thought of them actually kissing out of you) and the fact that Simon's usually sharp gaze softens around the edges, pale gold whispering against the puckered pink of a barely visible scar beneath his face mask.

A couple. They're a couple. It's bittersweet, that feeling settling in your chest. Like dark chocolate coating your tongue. Honeyed nectar of love, the bitter bite of it not being your own.

Maybe it's time to go out with your friends to the bar.

Things take a nasty turn when Simon, out of the both of them, had come in alone and propositioned you on crisp, saturday morning.

Oh, the acid in your stomach felt like it was corroding the walls of your esophagus as it rose. You don't remember much of what you said but it'd been loud, vitriolic. You'd been so furious. Hurt that they had something so sweet, something they could call their own, and here comes this big dumb oaf looking for a piece of warm meat to stick his cock into on the side.

Your manager sent you home for the day.

And home you were headed, well more like the bus stop, stomping away and across the street but the hand that wraps around your arm to keep you in place is John's. (You'd been actually fighting to get away and he hadn't even tightened his grip enough to hurt. embarrassing.)

He clears things up. Tells you to forgive Simon, he's not the most verbose or eloquent with the words he does choose to speak. "He's good at receivin' orders instead of givin' 'em. isn't tha' righ'?"

The "yes, sir" that comes out of Simon is immediate. Obedient. Submissive. (gagging, i actually slammed the desk with my fist rn) A man who knows his place because it is etched in stone. Your teeth grind like rusted gears to keep from turning into a pool of liquid in broad daylight.

"What he meant," he roughly clarifies, "is that we would like you to share our bed." your face burns hot enough to sting. "If you want," John continues, limpid blue eyes fixed on your own.

He looks rather handsome in his uncertainty.

They don't even let you go home to wash and clean up when you nod. (Or shave. Simon had very audibly scoffed at your complaint about that. Said something crass about eating lollipops off the carpet)

The dynamic had been exactly what you'd expected it to be in the bedroom. When authority spoke, Simon listened. Intently. Without hesitation. When John ordered Simon— who'd sat with his broad chest curling around your spine, cocooning you in warmth and the faint scent of smoke, mahogany, and leather— to hook his hands behind your knees and pull your legs up to your shoulders, he'd done so in an instant.

The subtle burn of your hamstrings stretching pulled a hiss from your kiss-swollen lips.

"Bit o' pain with pleasure never hurt anyone, eh, sweetheart?" The deepened rumble of John's voice vibrated in your chest and made your toes curl.

Simon's steady breaths are drowned out by your shuddering ones when John puts his mouth on you, the prickle of his facial hair tickling your sensitive, heated skin.

The burning stretch of your muscles is nothing compared to the sweet sting of two fingers sinking into your hot sex. Pleasure wells in the corner of your eyes when he curls and scissors them while his slick tongue swirls your clit languidly.

He sends you over the edge with practiced ease, shaky limbs, and unsteady mewls. The kiss he plants on your still pulsing cunt is tender, as are your now unrestrained legs.

And he slants his lips-- still dripping slick, dewy beads collecting on his beard-- over Simon's whose mask is now long gone, his erection coming to sit heavy on the fatty mound of your pussy. You can feel the heat of his cock even through his clothes.

A saliva strand connecting them two snaps as he pulls away, glancing down to look at you, sweaty and unkempt, glassy eyes shamelessly staring back.

"I'd let Simon get his turn but," hands weave up your shirt and inside your sports bra while John's grab your legs and wrap them around his thick waist, "gotta prep ya first."

(?)

That comes back to mind after your limbs feel like cold syrup, warmth dribbling from your puffy lips and falling onto the damp bedsheets beneath your arse cheeks.

The question answers itself when Simon slots himself between your aching legs, uncut cock fat and hefty.

(dis)Respectfully, you feel thoroughly used and even now, that doesn't look like it's going to go in easy.

"Easy, love," John's voice comes from above you, "He won't hurt ya. Isn't tha' righ', Simon?"

Simon, who's dark eyes hadn't moved from where John's spend still steadily flowed, cut to him instantly. "Yes, sir."

He hums, a low, raspy sound. "How 'bout you tell our bird tha'?"

A rough hand wraps around your neck, thumb pressed on your fluttering pulse. "I won't hurt ya." His grip tightens, and the swoosh of blood roaring in your ears is deafening.

Much.

The world around you fades, senses attuned only to what's currently wrenching your swollen walls apart, going in, in, and in, it feels never-ending, it's so much, too much, until--

Your stomach clenches, it feels like it's folding in on itself, and a sharp feeling radiates below your navel.

Lips kiss your sweaty temple. "That's all there is. Did so well, eh, sweetheart? Took 'im real good, like you were meant for it."

His cock drags along your over-sensitive, raw nerves in a way that has fire licking up your spine as he pulls back. "Easy, Simon. You'll get your fun from me," John assures.

Your cunt clenches unbidden at that, vise-like around Simon who quietly groans.

The first roll of his hips pushes the air from your lungs, the second blanks your jumbled mind, the third has your nails sinking into whoever's forearms are beside your head, and the fourth has you confusing John's glittering eyes with stars.

And then he places your feet flat on his chest, his weight folding you in half, pinning you in place. Nowhere to run.

Your teeth clack when he thrusts firmly, tip of his cock sitting firmly against the plug of your womb.

"Easy does it, love. Jus' be good 'n take it," John mutters into your ear.

As if you had any choice.

After, when you're completely spent, they tell you to lay back, head propped up by a mountain of pillows, but to keep your legs open, let them see that pretty pussy, they want to see their cum spill out of you.

You thought the fucking Simon gave you had been rough. What John gives him from behind is attempted murder. He grabs at Simon's hair like it's the scruff of a bellicose dog. Pins him in place with his words, growled, thunderous, then his grip. Simon doesn't bare his crooked teeth once.

When your tired hand slithers down to between your legs, tips of your fingers smearing cum around your swollen flesh, arousal surprisingly panging deep in your core, the sheer force of John's thrusts rocks the bed with enough force to crack the wall and Simon whines like a dog in heat.

[forsaken-headcanons]

Hiii ! Two Time guy here ! Just sending in some general funsies headcanons for our favorite idiot homicidal they them ^^ ( had to write this twice cuz my Tumblr crashed 💔💔💔 )

☆ Times has a habit of not eating or forgetting to , usually so busy reading they never really notice they're hungry . They'll also often make sure the other survivors have eaten before grabbing any food for themselves , since they know they're " less valuable to the team " . Due to this , they are very small .

☆ Their native language is Latin ! It's the language the Spawn's Scriptures were written in , so it was the language the cult spoke in ! This caused alot of problems when they were Forsaken , so they decided to try to learn English ! Unfortunately , since the other survivors wouldn't really talk to them they resorted to books ! And since the Specture hates joy and whimsy , most of them were novels , hence why Two Time talks the way they do ! Often they'll talk to themselves in their native language or shout things to the other survivors without thinking , so it still causes a bunch of confusion 💔💔

☆ When they were first Forsaken , they were VERY frightened . Anyone would be if they were surrounded by a bunch of people they didn't know or understand in a place they didn't recognize . Poor Shed almost got stabbed trying to calm them down .

☆ They have VERY sharp teeth , a common trait for their species of Robloxian , but it still unsettled the other survivors . One during a round with Jason they were getting chased and he managed to grab them , before they bit down full force on the guys arm . Safe to say Jason isn't the fondest of them now .

☆ Not rlly a headcanon but The Well by The Crane Wives is so themcore

☆ They're super agile ! Often jumping through gaps in walls while being chased or taking super sharp turns . They'll also climb around alot , sometimes climbing in the cabins rafters in between rounds , although this often results in them falling . Dumbass .

☆ They didn't really get that good of an education in the cult outside of reading and basic math , so they aren't quite thr smartest .

☆ Their blood is actually more like ichor , being a bit thicker and darker . This is mostly based off how ichor was referred to as " The Blood of the God's "

☆ They mistook Dussekar for some sort of manifestation of the Spawn when they first got there . It took a while for the admin to convince them that no , he wasn't a physical manifestation of a being ruling over life and rebirth and he is , in fact , just a normal ass guy ( well , as normal as one can get with a pumpkin head and magic )

☆ Their footsteps are really quiet . Often times they'll sneak up on the other survivors without even realizing it .

Anyways I think that's all of em :3 I've prob forgot some but . Whatever . Have a nice day ^^

Have a shitty two time doodle

Their native language being Latin is peak actually.