#he’s literally not willing to look it in the eye!!!!

[mixingandmelting]

Heavy Blanket

Summary: You were cold and needed a blanket. He decides to be that blanket only to get too comfy and lay on top of you longer than needed

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You’re hot. Sweltering. Wheezing. Lungs close to collapsing. And no matter how many times you tell him, he won’t. Get. Off.

“Simon, please.” You gently nudge his shoulder, trying to get him to look at you. “I’m suffocating here.” 

He simply grunts, nuzzling his face into your chest as his arms tighten around your chest. You suppose it’s your fault, having told him that you were cold and not wanting to get off the couch to get a blanket. You just.. didn’t expect him to take it quite literally and provide you a heavy, weighted one (i.e., him). 

You sigh. Maybe you could push him off…? You glance down only to be reminded how massive he is, easily engulfing your being so that it looks like there’s simply a single person on the sofa. Hell, the only indication you’re even lying there is your head and arms poking out from underneath. No body, just ligaments. 

Yeah. It’s Not happening. As if sensing your disgruntlement, he lifts his head so his eyes would be looking into yours. For a moment the two of you stare, waging a wordless battle.

“…For a person called ghost, you’re so cheeky.”

He snorts, going back to comfortably resting his head on your chest.

“Only to you, love. Only to you.” 

Took the words right out of your mouth. 

Shaking your head in exasperation, you card your fingers through his hair. Welp. laundry is definitely not getting done today. 

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

“Johnny?”

“No.”

“Johnny.”

“No.”

“John Mactavish.”

That gets him to lift his head up. You try not to snort at the offended look he gives you, his eyes asking if you had seriously just used his full name over something like this. Instead, you take this chance to finally get some precious O2 in your lungs and enjoy weight being lifted off of you. Literally. 

You had forgot and now remembered his biceps are the size of your head when he props onto his elbows, bright blue eyes staring directly into yours. 

“Luvie, I’m not John Mactavish to you. Am I?” 

“No. But,” you shuffle to get around but he doesn’t budge. Dammit. “You are a furnace. Heavy, hard, and exuding only heat.” 

Instantly you regret saying that, recognizing the glint in his eyes. 

“Heavy and hard, aye?”  

One hand to cover your burning face, you use the other to smack his chest. You and your stupid mouth. Him and his stupid, smug, smirk. Chuckling, he moves and gets comfortable before snuggling you again. At least he’s being mindful this time, making sure you aren’t feeling as if you’re being flattened into a pancake. As for you, you nuzzle your face into the junction where his neck and shoulder meet. It’s going to take a while for you to function, the embarrassment still fresh and searing your soul. 

Kim Hong Jin "Horangi"

You swear you’re dating a giant cat, not a tiger. The ones that enjoy pushing a glass off the table while you’re looking and begging with your eyes not to. Smiling as some crying lady points at them over a salad. 

You’ve been shoving and pushing him by the shoulders, and so far you’ve successfully freed half of your upper body (more like that’s the only leeway he’s willing to give but you choose to ignore that).

“Hong Jin.” You pant between each word, exhausted and having much of your strength sapped out of you. “You need to let go.”

“싫은데?“ (Don’t want to?) 

…This man and his nerves. 

“No, seriously.” You nudge him, hoping it would get your message across. “I can’t even feel my legs.”

“Just five more minutes.” His groan coming out muffled from him burying his face into your tummy. 

Five minutes ago he said that. Which was also what he said five minutes before that. Now you’re uncomfortable, feeling the half of you he’s holding onto sweat while the other feels chilly from the sudden loss of heat. Worst is how effortless it is for him to keep you still, lazily lying on top of you being enough to stop you from worming yourself out. Like sure, you do enjoy how well-built he is but not like this! 

Sucking a breath in, you go back trying to pry yourself off as he stays where he is, eyes closed and a grin plastered on his face. 

König 

A king-size mattress. That’s what he is. And certainly feels that way too with how he easily engulfs both you and the bed. 

“Konig.” You gently shake him, only for him to turn his head. 

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry though, at the moment, it would hurt if you do either. Every time you try calling him out or getting his attention, he’d turn his head where he’d lie on one cheek then flip to the other. He doesn’t even make a sound. No harrumphs, grunts, or a sigh. All of you wanted to do was go get ready since the two of you are supposed to meet with his friends. Now? Not happening. 

“We need to get ready. It’s already quarter past five.” 

He squeezes your waist in response, snuggling himself into you. Just like a petulant kid, thinking if he doesn’t say anything and pretends to not hear you, you would stop. You try to slip from being underneath him, not enjoying being the filling in the mattress sandwich. Unfortunately for you, fortunately for him, you give up in less than ten seconds realizing how much you’d have to go through to just get a hand out. 

You raise your hand to place it on his shoulder until he stops you by grabbing at the wrist. He drags and presses it against his cheek, making you feel stubbles under your fingertips. Biting your lip, you close your eyes and mentally count from ten. 

“You better text them we’re not going.” You grumble, cupping his face in your hands. 

“Already did.”

You shake your head. This man. 

[phone4pills]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐆

you want Chris’ love. he wants your ass. are you really about to do this ?

“Back up for me.” He didn’t hesitate, fingers drawn to your hip the second your ass hovered over his thigh, getting closer and closer until it hit his lower stomach. Chris groaned, sliding one hand up your body, getting a feel for himself; grasping your throat as though you weren’t out of breath as it was.

He snickered, pulling your head back as far as he could. “What? Y’not gonna get these pants off, baby?” His words lingered with the sinister honey dripping in his voice, sweet but all the same smug. Your arms moved behind your back, hands trying to find his zipper. Chris guided your hand towards it, at a painfully slow pace. You pulled his zipper down, eventually getting his pants down far enough.

There was no hiding his arousal under the thin layer that was his skims boxers. You slowly rolled your hips back, ass moving along his tent with a comfortable ease. Chris’ pelvis pushed into you, urging you to please him already. The man was far from patient.

You blushed, taking the fabric of his boxers between his fingers and pulling them down. His cock spring out, leaving a messy line of precum on your lower back. He hissed, grabbing you swiftly by the waist and pulling you off his thighs, easing you down onto his dick only seconds later. The stretch was unexpected but fuck it felt good.

You began to shift back and forth, a moan tearing through the heat in the room. Chris watched in awe as you moved along him, wanting to feel the rub of every wall, the squeeze into every crevice. Your head fell back, to which Chris sat up slightly, grabbing as much of your hair as he could in one fist. “Fuckin’ harder. I know you can.” You choked a gasp, causing his brows to furrow in disgust.

“Quit being a fuckin’ baby. Cmon, neither of us are leaving before I turn your insides white.” You gradually pushed hard enough, bouncing up and down on his cock. Chris groaned into your ear, his hot breath lingering on your neck for a moment. His tongue made a red, glossy mess of the skin caught between his teeth. You gripped his thighs, trying to persevere.

So much was going on. The sound of your ass slapping his crotch, the jockeys all over your neck. Chris’ possessive but satisfying hold on your hips, giving you the most help he was willing to. His chest against your back, slowly parting ways as he made his head comfortable on the headboard again.

“Chris! I’m gonna~” Your sentence was interrupted by an orgasm coming on hard, completely overriding any kind of thought that you may or may not have harnessed prior. Eyes rolling back, legs shaking: it meant fuck all to Chris. He still needed more. He began you guide you over his dick, hitting him where he needed it.

“Shit, m’doin’ all the work here.” He grunted, forcing you to keep riding him, despite how burnt out you were. But you wanted to make him cum. That’s the most dominance you’d get over him, even though you were already literally on top of him.

Chris bucked his hips into you, head sinking into the pillow beneath him. “Fuck me. Yeah, yeah just like that. Look at her, fuckin’ bouncing all on my dick.” Though he wouldn’t admit it, you looked sexy. It was a divine sight, the fat on your ass taking up most of his view, the cum leaking out of you into the dip between his legs. His blunt fingertips embedded into your skin, deeper and deeper until they couldn’t physically get past your ribs.

“Keep- fuck- keep going.” His cock twitched inside of you, tip aching with desperation. Then it snapped. You whined at the new found heat in your pussy. But Chris’ hand came over your mouth quick, hoisting you down so you lay on top of him, chests rising and falling.

“Shut up, just- jus’ give me a minute.”

— just gonna leave this here … ! divider by @strnilolover

- ©phone4pills

[rin-eko]

Take Care of You - Caleb x Reader

Desc: Caleb taking care of you when you're feeling anxious and overwhelmed

Content/Warnings: light main story spoilers, non-sexual nudity, reader feels overwhelmed, comfort

WC: 2.4k

The silence was worrying.

Not a soul was in sight on the rumbling train speeding toward Linkon, the rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the track accompanied by the drizzling rain hitting the windows.

Caleb was the only one in this train cart this evening, and the dark grey sky seemed to match his mood just as the lack of the train’s usual noisy chatter from the public seemed to match the dead silence in his inbox.

He checked his phone again, where several messages still sat, bereft and unanswered.

4:05pm

Me: Pipsqueak, can I come to Linkon this weekend to visit ya?

4:15pm

Me: We can go to the old markets you love tomorrow and pick up some dinner ingredients on the way home. I’ll make your favourite :)

5:10pm

Me: Are you off work? Be safe on your way home. 

5:31pm

Me: Hellooo? 🤨 Earth to pipsqueak..

5:32pm

Me: There’s no way an addict like you has lost her phone. What’s up?

5:35pm

Me: Is something wrong? I tried calling you. Call me back, I’m starting to get worried.

The messages continued until 7pm, at which point Caleb had just decided to get on the bullet train and head straight to Linkon, continuing all the while to text and call you. With every missed call and message left unanswered, the suffocating feeling in his chest continued to grow, his fingers fiddling as he stared at his phone, willing a message of… literally anything. A full stop would do at this point.

Another minute changed on the time, mocking him.

7:46pm

Me: I’m on my way to Linkon now. Call me.  

His thumb scratched the furrow between his brows. Sure, your relationship had been… less than perfect since you the two of you reunited, but you always answered his messages, even when you were angry with him. This radio silence was agonizing. Flitters of panic seized his lungs as long minutes continued to tick by.

He forced himself to take a breath. You were most likely fine. He wouldn’t be surprised if you had just lost track of time while hanging out with your friends, or if you were currently collapsed in your bed after a hard work day, not bothering with either dinner or a shower. You were fine. You were fine.

He took another deep breath. He let it out. His hand flexed.

Should he just put a tracker on you?

…

Caleb’s strides sounded a lot more relaxed than he felt as he made his way to your apartment door, casually rapping on the door in his usual rhythm.

Silence.

His jaw tightened as he knocked again. And again.

Fuck, this shit isn’t funny.

He picked the lock and entered, greeted by more of that damned silence along with the dark living space. You were nowhere to be seen.

It wasn’t until he heard a small noise coming from the bedroom that his chest loosened slightly. He made his way there, pushing open the slightly ajar door.

You were in your room, dusting your shelves when you heard your name in that familiar, steady voice.

Your head snapped to the doorway, where he was leaning, arms folded across his chest. His hair appeared slightly messy, as if he had been running his hand through it, and his deep purple eyes held an intense glow you almost felt compelled to look away from.

You took out the one earbud you had playing classical music and frowned.

“Caleb, what are you doing here? You can’t just enter someone’s apartment like that.”

As soon as he had seen your face, the tightness in your jaw and your tired eyes, Caleb had recognised that something was wrong, but your harsh tone confirmed it.

That, and your death glare that would have anyone else shaking like a leaf.

But he only felt relief that you were okay, at least physically. He knew you well enough to know that glare was only a surface-level protection, like a cat arching its back with its hair standing on end in attempt to make itself look bigger.

But beneath that he knew something was wrong. Even when you tried to be strong, you always appeared so vulnerable to him.

“You weren’t answering my texts or calls, I was worried,” he kept his tone soft and soothing, but you were having none of it, your frown deepening fiercely.

“Do you seriously think that’s enough of a reason to just show up here and barge into my home without permission? What is wrong with you?” you were snapping at him, hissing at him, looking so, so pained and exhausted to him.

This was different to the petty fights you had occasionally been instigating with him since you reunited. At those times, he could tell you were just struggling to find a place for him in your life again. You wanted him close, but he had also hurt you. Perhaps your instincts were telling you he wasn’t what was good for you.

He didn’t mind when you snapped at him, recognising you were desperately trying to regain some semblance of foothold in your strange relationship neither of you could really put a label to anymore, so he rarely commented on it or argued back.

But this was different. You just looked exhausted, filled with a tension that didn’t allow you to rest.

Your head hurt.

It hurt, but it wasn’t a physical pain any amount of paracetamol could fix.

You didn’t understand. You rarely felt like this, so when you felt the lowness creeping in throughout the week, you figured it was manageable. Nothing a good meal and some rounds on the claw machines at your favourite arcade wouldn’t fix.

But now, you didn’t even feel like leaving the house.

Maybe it was harder for you to handle precisely because you rarely felt this this. You were at a loss. You didn’t want to feel this way, but you also didn’t know how to fix it.

And your head continued to throb, anxiety clouding your mind, only heightened when you started to worry that you would never be able to stop feeling this way.

Why had this happened? These pressures you couldn’t even name kept piling up. You were on the verge of tears from thinking and thinking and thinking some more, and yet unable to come to any solutions. You just wanted to stop thinking, for your mind to be quiet once more.

You wanted to scream into your pillow to drown out the noise in your mind. Scream until you faded into particles, peacefully floating around. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel this awful disquiet.

You cracked a half-smile. Were you reverting to your angsty teen years or what?

You sighed and dropped the cloth you were dusting with, muttering as you walked past Caleb toward the bathroom.

“Whatever, I’m having a shower. I don’t think I need to tell you to make yourself at home considering you’re already acting like this is your home.”

He stayed silent, watching you disappear into the bathroom and hearing the shower turn on.

Looking around, he decided to clean up a bit and make you dinner. Your apartment was as messy as ever, and after peering into the fridge and taking note of the minimal ingredients, he made a mental reminder to go out the next day to buy your groceries. You were always telling him not to worry and to stop treating you like a kid, but how could he when this is how you took care of yourself?

He sighed and grabbed some ingredients from your freezer to make you a simple hotpot, perfect for the rainy day.

However, when the hotpot was bubbling and ready, and you still had not emerged from the shower, his concern grew once more.

In your room again, he could hear the shower still running. He waited ten more minutes before deciding to knock on the door just in case you had… he didn’t know, drowned yourself in the shower, maybe?

His overprotective imagination knew no bounds when it came to your safety.

You didn’t respond so, despite your earlier scolding, he decided to enter the bathroom.

His heart dipped.

Through the condensation clouding the glass shower door, he could barely see your small figure, curled up in a ball in the middle of the shower. You held your head as the water pounded onto your back.

You didn’t see or hear him, focused on having the scalding water pummel you so you had no room to think. You didn’t want a relaxing, soothing shower, but one that would silence your mind because you couldn’t do it yourself.

He went to you, unable to do anything else. He couldn’t stand to see you like that. You looked so lonely and lost. He wanted to be your anchor. As many times as it took, even if it took forever.

You didn’t notice him even when walked further inside the bathroom, quietly grabbing a towel and opening the shower door.

You only looked up through wet, blurry eyes when he reached in to switch the shower off, wincing at the searing hot water.

“Staying in a hot shower for so long isn’t good for you,” he murmured, not an ounce of scolding in his voice. He stood tall above you, wearing a loose white tank tucked into faded jeans, white socks on his feet and his silver dog tag gleaming as if reminding you of something.

What? That he would always come home? That he would always be there?

You didn’t say anything, your wet hair sticking to you as he held out a hand to help you up before holding the towel open and looking to the side, considerate of your nudity.

You walked straight into the warm, fluffy towel, and he immediately wrapped it around you, holding you steady.

Still seeing you were dizzy from the hot shower and steam, Caleb picked you up, bridal carrying you into the cooler air of your bedroom.

There was no room for anger in you anymore, only pure exhaustion. Though you expected you wouldn’t be sleeping well tonight, just as you hadn’t been for the previous few nights.

You sighed and rested your head on Caleb’s shoulder, tucking your hands to your chest and quietly enjoying the little comforts such as the familiar rhythm of his confident yet relaxed stride. He gently deposited you on the bed before making his way to your closet to find sleepwear for you.

You remained lying down, head turned to the side as you blearily watched his figure.

He returned with an oversized shirt that could well have been his, and a pair of comfortable underwear, leaving to the bathroom while you dried and changed.

He returned with your hairbrush and dryer, gently helping you sit on the floor next to the bed so he could sit on the bed and dry your hair.

It was a routine the both of you were very familiar with, and for the first time in days you felt a tiny semblance of yourself returning.

Since you had reunited with Caleb, you had become reluctant to rely on him as had become second nature to you growing up. As for Caleb’s second nature, it was taking care of you as well as everything you yourself should be taking care of.

So having you finally rely on him for something again, even as small as drying your hair, sparked a new light of hope and affection within him.

The only sound in the room was the comforting whir and hum of the hairdryer, sending waves of warmth to your head and skin. His legs remained comfortingly on either side of you, and you rested against one, hands fidgeting in your lap.

After a while, he switched the hairdryer off and used the towel to gently dry the water in your ears. He smoothed your hair up into a loose bun before helping you up onto the bed once again.

You immediately burrowed into your pillows, kicking the blankets over yourself.

He sat beside you, stroking your hair.

“I made food, do you want to eat?”

You shook your head. “I just want to sleep.”

“Okay,” he whispered. You sensed he was about to get up and quickly grabbed his hand.

“Caleb,” you croaked. “Don’t go.”

What anyone else may have been annoyed with, or held against you, he never did, taking your quick-changing attitude in stride.

He smiled lightly and tightened his hold on your hand for a brief moment. “Don’t worry, pipsqueak, I’m just turning the lights off.”

He returned to the bed once the room had darkened, only the glittering city lights outside providing small light grids around the room.

You both lay under the covers, facing each other. His arm loosely wrapped around your waist, your hands tucked against your chest.

He stroked your waist soothingly and started, “I… know I am the reason for your stress and sadness and-”

You immediately shook your head and buried tighter to his chest, speaking muffled into his shirt.

“No. I mean, yes, but not this… usually I’m fine, but just the past few days I’ve been feeling… I don’t know… and I don’t know why, either. I just want my brain to be quiet.” You were so tired, and it reflected in your hoarse, forlorn voice. You were desperate for some peace, were helpless against this thing that had gripped and trapped you. You felt blocked from any good emotions, wanting to recover them but unable to feel them as you usually could.

You held your head. “It’s so noisy,” your voice cracked, broken. Tears stung your eyes, running down your temples as you peered up at him.

Hold me tighter, and his strong arms immediately squeezed you.

His chest tightened painfully. He wanted to protect you from everything, but how could he solve what you were feeling?

“Can you… stay the weekend?” you murmured.

His lips brushed your forehead. “Of course. I won’t go back to Skyhaven until you feel okay.”

He wanted you to need him, to rely on him, but not like this. He detested this invisible cause of your pain. Hated that he couldn’t see it and feel it in his hands as he rid you of it so you could return to your bouncy self. He would take any arguing over this, would rather be Caleb-the-Loathsome so long as you didn’t lose the spark in your eyes.

Your eyes were already dipping when he spoke again, with a quiet conviction you somehow caught between dreams and reality, his breaths comforting against your hair.

“I’ll take care of everything,” he murmured. “Relax and let go for as long as you need.” You felt the whisper of a light kiss press to your head.

“I have you, always.”

You drifted to sleep.

[mahalachives]

The Neglected Mate Tragedy

pairing: azriel x reader (brat, dramatic mate) summary: In which you resort to other ways in trying to get azriel's attention genre: humor, fluff word count: 570

Azriel knew you were up to something the moment his shadows alerted him to a disturbance outside the meeting room. He didn't even need to look—your energy alone could be felt from across Velaris, brewing something ridiculous.

Then, the doors slammed open.

A collective pause fell over the Inner Circle as you strode in, draped in a flowing black veil, your gown so dark it looked like you’d walked straight out of a Gothic mourning portrait. Your arms were crossed, your chin tilted in exquisite dramatics, and Azriel—poor, patient Azriel—only sighed as you swept into the room like a tragic widow.

Rhys was already biting back laughter, but it was Cassian—traitorous, useless Cassian—who immediately stood from his seat and clutched his chest.

“My lady,” Cassian gasped. “Why do you wear such sorrow?”

Azriel closed his eyes briefly, willing himself not to throw his dagger at his so-called brother.

You exhaled dramatically, clutching your own heart as you swayed.

"My husband," you lamented, voice thick with suffering, "the mighty Spymaster of this court, has abandoned me—left me to wither and perish in loneliness, forgotten, unloved—forsaken for nothing but endless, cold, unfeeling paperwork.”

Azriel, deadpan: “…I saw you ten minutes ago.”

You turned to him with theatrical devastation, as if his words had physically wounded you.

"Ten minutes," you sniffled, your veil fluttering, "is a lifetime in neglected mate years, Azriel."

Rhys choked on his wine.

Feyre, whispering to Mor. "Do you think she rehearsed this?"

Mor, whispering back. "One hundred percent."

Amren just stared, unimpressed.

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a slow, measured breath.

"What do you want?" he asked, already knowing this was your favorite game—annoying him until he snapped, only to bask in his attention.

"What I want?" you repeated, aghast, stepping closer as if the very question pained you. "What I want is for my husband to remember that he has a wife. A wife who suffers, alone and unattended—"

"You were literally in my lap this morning," Azriel reminded you.

"And look at me now!" you cried, gesturing to yourself in despair. "I had to take drastic measures!"

Cassian looked like he was about to fall off his chair laughing. Rhys was now openly grinning, and Feyre covered her smile behind her hand.

Azriel knew exactly how this was going to end. He had two options: humor you, or suffer further.

He sighed. Stood up.

And in a single, swift motion, shadow-stepped directly in front of you.

Before you could utter another over-the-top monologue, Azriel scooped you up, veil and all, into his arms.

"Oh!" you gasped, clutching his shoulders in faux shock. "Has the mighty Spymaster finally come to his senses?"

Azriel looked at his brothers and deadpanned, "You're all insufferable." Then, without another word, he vanished you both out of the room.

The last thing he heard before shadows carried you away was Cassian’s gleeful, “LONG LIVE THE NEGLECTED MATE!”

Epilogue: Five Minutes Later

When you landed in your bedroom, Azriel dropped you onto the bed unceremoniously.

You laughed delightedly, pushing back your veil.

"Did you miss me?" you teased, batting your lashes.

Azriel leaned over you, pinning your hands above your head, his voice low and lethal.

"No," he murmured, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss against your neck, "but you’re about to wish I had.”

Your smirk immediately vanished.

And for the first time that day, you had no comeback.

End.

[wlwnarusaru]

something kabuto said caught my attention when i was reading kabuto vs. the uchiha brothers' fight, and it was this panel right here.

"you can read other people's feelings"

this really struck me, especially after looking back at itachi and naruto's talk in chapter 366.

itachi asked naruto, why does he care so much about sasuke when he literally abandoned him. (in other translations, he asked naruto why was he so obsessed with sasuke). naruto got mad, basically saying that for him, sasuke was like his brother and told itachi he was a better brother than he ever were.

in the next panel, itachi has a speech bubble with dots, indicating he wanted to say something but chose not to. then, he smiled as if he knew something. interestingly, kishi only drew his mouth, not his eyes.

in chapter 403, naruto thought about his conversation with itachi which made me a bit more suspicious.

itachi asked naruto, what would he do if sasuke refused to come back to the village in which naruto replies that he'll do whatever it takes to bring him back.

"you just said sasuke is like a brother to you. im asking what you'd do if your 'brother' attacked konoha."

the first thing that caught my eye was the punctuation " " between the brother and the second thing i've noticed is that it almost sounded like itachi was mocking naruto and the emphasize on " " between the word, brother, only added to the fuel.

what we know so far is that itachi could read people's emotions with his eyes. he smiled and mocked naruto for calling sasuke his brother.

in these panels, to me it looks like itachi was playing a little with naruto's feelings, trying to get a reaction out of him by asking if he would be able to stop sasuke, even if it meant killing him.

just look at naruto's face, itachi definitely touched a nerve there. but what made me pause and think was itachi's next sentence.

"can you choose between sasuke and konoha?"

he read naruto's feelings for sasuke, smiled, mocked him, and then asked if he would be able to kill him and / or if he would be able to choose between sasuke and the village they both protected. this clearly indicates that for naruto sasuke was someone so precious that it made itachi doubt and ask that question.

the real question is:

could naruto really choose between sasuke and konoha?

yes, he could, and he admitted it himself in kage summit arc. naruto searched for the raikage and pleaded him to stop sasuke's execution.

mind you, a few chapters back, he told people, for example, nagato, that killing anyone for revenge was wrong and promised them that he'll change the world of hatred. yet here he was threatening the raikage that if he doesn't spare sasuke's life, there will be war between konoha and kumo.

it clearly shows here that he was speaking more for himself instead of the whole village, who also became wary about sasuke. he was willing to sacrifice konoha for sasuke.

naruto started pleading the raikage on his knees, begging him to spare sasuke's life, but at the same time threatening him and his village, trying to justify sasuke's actions and his desire for revenge and started crying in front of everyone.

the raikage mentioned how oddly naruto acted and basically called him out by saying that it is not normal for a shinobi to beg for a criminal's life.

in the end, naruto himself answers itachi's question.

he would choose sasuke over konoha in a heartbeat.

in that chapter, itachi also told naruto how he was still acting like a child and how he needed to realize that he would be forced to make impossible decisions like this. naruto confessed that there was someone else (jiraiya), who told him the same thing, but naruto has made his choice and he won't go back on his word because that's his ninja way. itachi smiled knowingly / warmly at naruto's response. he knew naruto would do anything in his power to save sasuke, and he knew how deeply he cared for him.

also, the right person that could paint sasuke's blank canvas in every color the person wanted was definitely naruto. naruto, who never gave up on sasuke, who sacrificed himself but also konoha for sasuke, who fought everyone who spoke ill of sasuke, who was willing to die with him, who saved sasuke from the dark, painting sasuke in every color, in a new light.

[btswit7]

Naked cuddles

JJK ONESHOT

Pairing: bf jk/ gf reader

Wc: 809

Warning: talks about the female character having big breasts, fluff.

A/n: so I am @gukksweets7 I had to delete that Tumblr for some personal reason but I just forgot to make all the posts private before deleting that account so I might post all those fics here or maybe not.

For now enjoy this small oneshot as I was really having trouble getting started after a month.

The apartment is cozy as always. Finally after dinner when you go to rest on the bed the only thing that goes on your head is when Jungkook will come into the room and you'll get to cuddle him.

It's hard for you to wait. Currently, you are lying on your side of the bed all alone, waiting for Jungkook to come in from his gym which is in the house.

The creaking sound of the door snaps your head towards it knowing who it can be.

“ You didn't sleep yet?” The voice comes as Jungkook walks a few steps closer allowing you to look at him as his body gets illuminated by the small table lamp which is on.

He is only wearing his sweatpants. His buffy, sweaty chest on full display but right now you want something else.

“ Kook, go quickly, take a shower and come” you say knowing well he won't sleep before showering.

“ Why?” He asks with mischief in his eyes as he bends down towards you on the bed. His face is so close to yours.

You place both your hands on either of his cheeks, later placing a peck on his lips, you say, “ please, can I get cuddles?”

“ Awhhh.. definitely, coming soon” he coos and then proceeds to go to the bathroom.

It's been 20 minutes since Jungkook has entered the bathroom. The sound of the shower keeps coming from the attached bathroom to the room. But, you are fast asleep. You were very tired after your office so of course you couldn't keep up for long when you were lying on the bed itself.

Suddenly a pair of arms wrap around you, who is lying on her stomach, you get pulled in a warm embrace.

The light smell of shampoo, shaving cream and body wash fills your senses and the press of his cold skin to our body is enough to get you up.

“ Sorry sweetheart, didn't mean to wake you up” Jungkook says from beside you as your back is attached to his front.

Some time passes by in silence, just you both lying there. You are not sure how to ask but you want to ask. The last thing he could do is… deny.

“ Jungkook..” you call out for him to which he replies with a hum, his face buried in your hair.

“I was thinking about cuddling upper naked for a while.. uh so what do you think about it?” no response comes from him for a while. It was when you started regretting asking him that you heard him giggle.

“ How long have you been willing to do this?” He asks while turning you towards him.

“ I was not sure.. it was in my mind for a few days now” you say while copying his smile.

“ It's you who needs to get upper naked, I already am upper naked” he says giggling again.

“ Uhh yeah..” you say before holding onto your shirt and opening them in a go later putting it somewhere on the bed.

You meet Jungkook’s eyes while he meets yours, the giggle on his face vanishing somewhere replaced by him gulping. Although Jungkook has many times seen you naked but it's his first time he is holding you while you are just in your shorts, in his bed beside him.

You feel a sudden boost of confidence in you when you see how frozen he has gotten. You sit straight on the bed. Putting both of your legs on either side of his body.

Each of your hands hold his and slowly you let your chest meet his chest.

“ Ahhh… fuck” suddenly Jungkook welps all this being too much for him and that too coming from you!? Where is his innocent y/n?

You giggle and then place your head on the nape of his neck taking in his scent. His cold body from the shower is connected to your warm body. Jungkook seems to be frozen, his heartbeat so fast as you can literally hear him because of your head being attached to his chest.

“ Do you like it, kook?” You ask when you feel his hand slowly pat your bare back.

Heaven

“ Like? Y/n I love it, I never thought this would feel so heavenly” Jungkook says.

“ I never thought your boobs would feel so good against my chest, this is the best cuddle position of ours” Jungkook further adds, making you giggle but you have something more in your mind.

You lips place them on his neck softly sucking in his necks and peppering his neck with soft light kisses as more moans leave past his lips.

“ Wait– I will get turned on if you continue” he says as if you didn't know.

“ Shut up idiot and go to sleep” you say as you press yourself more in his body.

[blushsturns]

I literally love all your aus and I need to know what perv Matt, bad boy Matt and mr wrong number are doing rn, please

thank you ml! ♡

*there is some mature content ahead. be aware!*

perv!matt is laying in bed, contemplating on calling you because he's...well, rock hard and all he can think about is your luscious lips wrapped around his cock and taking him as deep as you would be willing to take him down that warm, pretty mouth of yours.

"fuck" matt grunted to himself, his hand wrapped around his cock firmly as he began to stroke his cock at a steady pace, squeezing it each and every time he got to the top. his thumb circled along the shiny tip as it leaked with pre-cum.

he twitched in his hand as he stroked his own cock faster, grunting deeply as he threw his head back against the pillow behind him, his eyes closing, and visions of you in between his thighs and taking him down your pretty throat and swallowing his entire load is what sent him over the edge. he milked himself dry with a stream of his cum oozing from the tip and falling against his abdomen and hand.

his body shook with pleasure, your name falling from his lips, his heart racing rapidly in his chest as he tried to catch his labored breathing.

"fuck. i need to call her."

bad boy!matt sits in his garage on his stool with a perfectly rolled blunt between his lips as he takes a puff, inhaling the smoke in his lungs for a brief moment to let it sit, before exhaling it. the slight burn ached his throat, but was soon gone with a slight cough. next to him was his brother chris who would not shut up about a girl he thinks is hot.

"would you shut up for one god damn second about this bitch?"

chris looks at him with his eyebrow furrowed in a curious manner. "dude, all you do is yap about that librarian of yours, what's the damn difference? have you ever gotten any yet?"

matt shook his head immediately, a soft sigh emitting from his lips. "shut the fuck up before i cut off your dick and you won't be able to get any..ever."

mr. wrong number (player!chris) lays next to the girl he just had sex with, already forgetting her name.

all he remembers is that she was an easy fuck and had alcohol pumping through his bloodstream.

"will you call me?" she slurred as she sits up on his bed, looking over at him with a hopeful smile.

chris let out a laugh, shaking his head immediately. "you? fuck no. what do you even do?"

"excuse me? i just gave you my body and now you're treating me like shit?" she shook her head in disbelief, her face growing hot with anger boiling through her. "screw you, chris. or should i say, fuck boy? i hope the next girl you fuck ends up breaking your heart, you piece of shit."

he laid there, dumbfounded and unable to speak any more words. he immediately shook his head, rolling his eyes in absolute annoyance, practically shooing her out the door, and out of his sight.

damn, was he really that fucked up with attachment issues? if so, why did he think of naive!reader the entire night, wanting to call her to hear how pretty her voice probably sounded in his ear, like a heavenly tune in his ear that he couldn't get enough of?

i miss my favorite au babies. i'll be updating as soon as i can. i'm still going through it, but i'm hanging in there.

as always, if you have any ideas for me, please send them to my inbox or if you just wanna chat. :)

-nessa

[s4nniebe4r]

the roommate

part three: cold front

pairing: roommate! san x fem! reader

synopsis: a terrible storm comes, leaving you to fall incredibly ill

wc: 2.9k

tags: slow burn, roommates, enemies to lovers, angst, forced proximity, eventual romance, sicker reader, caregiver san (eventually)

etc: yes, i’m aware this is a little longer than the previous chapters, but this is where the story starts to go somewhere… i couldn’t help myself, these kinds of works are my kryptonite. the perspective changes a little to san, but still keeps that same style... i guess? as always, this isn’t proofread! 

previous part next part

It’s been a few months since you moved in with San, long enough that autumn had come and gone, and was replaced with the bitter grasp of winter. The warm hues of falling leaves feel like a blurred memory compared to the storm raging on outside. You hadn’t even noticed the season slipping away, too caught up in the mundane rhythm of life. Now, winter has made itself known with full force. 

The heater breaks in the middle of the night. You don’t notice right away, curled up under layers of blankets, but by the time your alarm blares in the morning, your nose is undoubtedly a bright shade of pink, and freezing. The kind of freezing that makes it hard to muscle yourself out of bed, let alone start the day. You burrow deeper into your comforter, squeezing your eyes shut, willing yourself to go back to sleep. But the air in your room is sharp and biting, making it near impossible to get comfortable.

So, with a groan, you sit up, shivering as your blankets pool around your waist. You grab your phone and immediately see the message from your landlord. Heat’s out. No repairs until the storm clears. Stay warm. This must be why the price was so affordable, you thought. 

A second notification then catches your eye—one from your university’s message board. Due to severe weather conditions, all classes have been canceled until further notice. Please reach out to your professors for individual questions. Stay safe. 

At least there’s a silver lining. 

“Great. Fantastic.” Your voice is hoarse from the night, and the second you speak, you feel the dryness in your throat. It’s easy to ignore, for now. 

Dragging yourself out of bed, you pull on the thickest pair of socks you own, adding another hoodie over your long sleeve, and wrap a throw blanket around your shoulders before stepping out of your room. 

The rest of the apartment is just as cold as your room—maybe colder, considering how the hardwood floors only amplify the chill. You tighten the throw blanket around you as you shuffle into the kitchen. Tea first. Then maybe you’ll figure out how to survive the rest of the day and the unbearable cold. 

San is already there, of course, leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone. Unlike you, he looks so completely unfazed by the temperature drop, like he’s dressed just as any other day. No extra layers, no sign of discomfort—just a hoodie and sweatpants, like the cold doesn’t even register for him. 

You frown as you start the kettle. “How are you not freezing?”

He barely glances up. “How are you this dramatic?”

You shoot him a small glare as you wait for the kettle to heat. “I’m literally dying.”

“You’re literally not.”

You only huff, crossing your arms over your chest. The silence between you is thick, heavy with the weight of mutual stubbornness. It’s not like you and San talk much anyway, but something about the heater breaking makes the space between you feel more present. More noticeable, something else you actually share in common, although it’s something so frustrating. 

As soon as the tea is done, you pour yourself a cup and immediately press it to your hands, savoring the fleeting warmth. The first sip burns your tongue, but you don’t really mind, you welcome it in all honesty, sighing as it spreads through you. Letting a smile form, even though it’s small, it’s there. 

San watches, unimpressed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re heartless.” You sniff, retreating to the couch. You cocoon yourself in a blanket, pressing the tea to your lips like it’s your lifeline. “I hope you freeze in your sleep.”

San scoffs, setting his phone down. “I won’t. Because I’m normal.”

You glare at him over the rim of your mug. “You’re a freak of nature.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you turn on the TV, searching for something mindless to distract you from the fact that you can feel the cold seeping into your bones, freezing you inside and out. The storm outside only gets worse as the day drags on, wind rattling against the windows, snow piling up on the ledges, practically taunting you. Every so often, you glance at the thermostat, hoping—so stupidly—that maybe it’ll magically fix itself. It never does. 

San lounges on the other end of the couch, completely at ease, while you curl into yourself trying to conserve warmth. The worst part? It’s only the first day, and the forecast calls for at least a few more days of this. 

And you already feel miserable.

You wake up to a room even colder than before. If the first day was miserable, today is unbearable. Your throat feels scratchy, your body is heavy from exhaustion, but you push the thoughts aside. It’s probably just from the dry air, nothing to worry about. Still, you hesitate before leaving your bed, knowing that the moment you step into the apartment, the chill will settle back into your bones all over again.

San of course, is fine. You find him in the same position as yesterday, sprawled out on the couch, a controller in his hands. He’s playing a video game, but barely—his movements are lazy, half-hearted, like he’s not even paying much attention. His hair is slightly messier, but he looks… comfortable. Perfectly content. The sight makes you irrationally upset.

“How,” you start, rubbing at your chilled over arms, “are you not cold?”

He barely looks up. “Mind over matter.”

You groan, stomping into the kitchen to make another cup of tea. At this rate, it might be your only source of warmth. And maybe, it would add some sort of soothing to your chapped lips, which already felt like they were cracking and so dry, it pained you.

San watches as you wrap yourself in yet another blanket, shaking his head. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“And you’re insufferable.” You drop onto the two-seater couch with a dramatic sigh, pressing your warm mug to your face, rubbing it against your cheek. “I hate this.”

He smirks. “You hate everything.”

You grumble something incoherent, pulling your blanket tighter around you as the snow continues to pike outside. The storm hasn’t let up, and of course, the heater is still broken.

And you have no idea how you’re going to get through these next few days.

The third day arrives, but you barely register it. 

The exhaustion at this point is crushing. It weighs on your body like a weighted blanket, pressing you deeper into the mattress, keeping you tethered to your bed. The cold that had once been a biting inconvenience now feels so overwhelming. Your head is heavy, your throat raw, your body aching in places you didn’t even know could hurt. Even under the layers of blankets and clothing, warmth is nowhere to be felt. 

So, you try to sleep through it. Maybe if you sleep long enough, you’ll wake up and feel normal again. But the fever doesn’t let you rest. Each time you drift off, you wake up sweating, shivering, tangled in your blankets like they’re trying to strangle you—at this point you wouldn’t mind it too much, if it meant not feeling like this. The pounding in your head never fades. Your stomach churns unpleasantly, but you don’t have the energy to get up and find something to eat. It’s easier to just stay curled up, hoping that if you keep your eyes shut long enough, time will fast-forward through the worst of it. 

At first, San doesn’t notice your absence.

It’s not unusual for you to keep to yourself. Most days, you both exist in the apartment without really acknowledging each other—passing by in the kitchen, sharing the couch in silence, or exchanging dry remarks about how much the winter has been draining this year. So when a full day passes without seeing you, he doesn’t think much of it. You’re probably just holed up in your room, avoiding the cold like usual.

But then, another day slips by. And it starts to feel… off.

He doesn’t realize what’s wrong until he’s sitting on the couch, half-heartedly playing a video game again, and his stomach growls. Automatically, his mind drifts to the last time he saw you. The first two days of the lock in, you’d make your way into the kitchen, bundled up in layers, grumbling silently to yourself about the cold while clutching a steaming cup of tea. But the apartment has been eerily quiet. Not complaints, no passive-aggressive shivering, no muffled TV sounds coming from your room. His fingers pause on the controller.

How long has it been since he’s actually seen you?

Something nags at the back of his mind, a small itch of concern he doesn’t want to even acknowledge. He tells himself he’s just curious, that it’s weird for you to go this long without irritating him with your presence. But the longer he sits there, the stronger the feeling gets. Finally, with a sigh, he sets the controller down and pushes himself off the couch.

The hallway is dim, and your door is shut as usual. He hesitates for a second before knocking lightly.

There’s no response.

Frowning, he knocks again, a little louder. “Hey.”

Still nothing.

There’s a strange, uneasy feeling that settles in the pit of his stomach. He debates leaving it alone—maybe you’re just sleeping—so he puts weight on the heel of his foot to turn away. But then he hears it: the faintest rustling, the sound of movement from inside, almost sluggish and strained.

Without thinking, he tries at the door. It’s unlocked.

The second he steps inside, the change of temperature from your room hits him like a wall. Despite the rest of the apartment being freezing, your room is a furnace, stuffy with the trapped warmth of your body heat and heavy blankets. It’s suffocating, the air is thick with that distinct feverish scent, the kind that clings to sickness. And then, he sees you.

You’re curled up in a pathetic heap, tangled in a mess of blankets, your face flushed and damp with sweat. Your hair is a disaster, sticking to your forehead from the beads of sweat, your lips are chapped and cracked. Dark circles stain the skin under your eyes, practically swallowing you whole, and even in the dim lighting, he can't see you’re pale—too pale.

San’s stomach twists. You don’t just look sick. You look fragile. Completely drained, like the fever has sapped every ounce of strength from you. Wrapped in layers of blankets, you seem impossibly small, as if they’re the only thing keeping you from fading away entirely.

“Jesus,” he mutters, stepping closer. “You look like you’re on your deathbed.”

You barely stir at the sound of his voice. That’s what worries him the most. You’re always quick with a comeback, always rolling your eyes at him, always finding something to be annoyed about. But now? You don’t even have the energy to react. Your eyes flutter open for maybe a second, hazy and unfocused, not even registering the figure in front of you, before slipping shut again.

San exhales sharply. “Okay. This isn’t great.” He shifts into autopilot, moving before he even realizes what he’s doing.

First, he grabs the half-empty water bottle on your nightstand, frowning at how light it is. Probably days old. He disappears into the kitchen and returns with a fresh bottle, kneeling beside your bed, your head facing him. “You need to drink this.”

You groan softly, barely comprehending his words.

San clicks his tongue in annoyance, but there’s something else in his expression—something bordering on the line of concern. He props you up slightly, your back flush against the headboard, pressing the bottle to your lips. He tries to be gentle, one hand cradling the back of your head as he angles the bottle just right, making sure you don’t accidentally choke or spill. His fingers brush against the damp strands of your hair, feeling the feverish heat radiating from your skin. “Come on. Just a little, that’s all.”

You manage a few sips before turning your head away with a weak grumble. Even that small effort seems to drain you, leaving you slumped against him. Your weight is warm but unsettling, too light, like you might just slip away if he lets go.

San shifts slightly, adjusting his grip on you. His arm tightens around your shoulder, supporting you so you don’t slide back down into a heap. He can feel the quick and unsteady rise and fall of your breathing, the occasional tremor that runs through you. He keeps his hold steady, firm but careful, as if he’s trying to anchor you in place. The thought unsettles him.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re hopeless.”

So, he stands up, letting you down ever so carefully against the pillows he propped up near the headboard before disappearing again for a while. This time, he doesn’t just grab the soup and medicine—he also snatches the thermostat off the bathroom counter, his gut telling him it’s even worse than it looks.

When he returns, you haven’t moved an inch. He can feel the heat radiating off your skin—too much heat. He presses the thermostat to your forehead, brows furrowing as he waits for the reader. You barely react, only a small shiver running through you as your fever-ridden body instinctively tries to curl in on itself. It takes what feels like forever, but when it beeps, he glances down, and something uneasy curls in his stomach. San frowns, rubbing a hand down his face before muttering a curse under his breath. Your fever is alarmingly high. Not quite emergency-room bad, but enough that it’s making him start to second-guess himself, enough that he debates calling Seonghwa. But you look so out of, that he knows you wouldn’t even handle a phone conversation.

“Great,” he mutters under his breath. He watches the way your fingers tremble when you try to adjust the blanket. The way your breathing hitches like even the slight move takes effort. And it pisses him off—not at you, but at the situation, at the fact that you’ve let yourself get this bad. He continues to let himself move on autopilot, pouring out the right amount of medicine, making sure you take it, then setting the soup on the nightstand. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, why he’s taking the extra time to sit beside you, to tuck the blanket more securely around your shoulders, to make sure you’re warm but not overheating, his hand lingering there.

He shifts his grip on you, adjusting his hold so you’re not slumped at an uncomfortable angle. One arm supports your back, the other steadying your shoulder as he slowly eases you down against the pillows. His touch is careful and firm, like he’s worried you’d break under too much pressure. His fingers stay put for a moment longer than necessary before he pulls away, scowling at himself.

For a moment, he debates leaving. But then his gaze flickers to the soup, still untouched on the nightstand. If you couldn’t even drink your water… With a sigh, he picks it up, scooting closer to your bedside. He dips the spoon into the broth, blowing on it slightly before bringing it to your lips. “You need to eat,” He pauses, before continuing. “If Seonghwa found out I let you starve, he’d kill me,” San mutters, mostly to himself. At first, he tells himself that’s the only reason he’s doing this—because Seonghwa would want him to, he wouldn’t hear the end of it if he left you like this. But as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open, something settles into his chest.

You make a weak sound of protest, barely turning your head away, but San isn’t having your nonsense. He nudges the spoon against your lips, watching as you hesitantly part them. You only take a tiny sip before exhaling heavily, like even that was too much effort. But he keeps at it, patient, spooning small amounts until you’ve had at least something.

You’re already drifting off again, half-asleep, fever-drunk and unaware of the way San’s gaze lingers. Your voice is soft, barely above a murmur, but it still makes him freeze.

“You’re not as bad as I thought,” you mumble, voice slurred. Then, even softer, “I don’t hate you, you know.”

San doesn’t move, barely even breathes as your fingers weakly reach out for his sleeve, gripping onto it with the last bit of your strength. You don’t let go.

He should pry your hand off, it wouldn’t be that difficult anyways. He should pull away, let you sleep, leave you be.

But he doesn’t he just stays, watching you, listening to the quiet feverish murmurs that make something in his chest shift, something he doesn’t want to answer to.

He finds himself once again tucking the blanket closer around you, making sure you have water within reach, lingering a little too long as he watches your breathing even out just a little.

And then he catches himself staring, when he realizes the weird, uncomfortable pull in his chest, he scowls once more. This isn’t his problem. You aren’t his problem.

“This is stupid,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. But he doesn’t leave.

Not yet. He can’t.

[multiheadcanons]

THE FUNNY SEX NUMBER

enjoy you nasty freaks. i SURE AS SHIT enjoyed writing it!

scout: scout is probably the most straight guy on the team. like 90% straight. there’s a couple of guys he’d be willing to suck off, but he really just doesn’t see a lot of dudes he absolutely HAS to have. sometimes he thinks about his team a little too much while he’s jerking himself off, but when he looks at them and he’s not sexually frustrated he doesn’t really feel anyway about them, at least not sexually. 5.5 inches, not impressively girthy. curves to the left. circumcised. casual masturbator. generally lazily stroking himself while his mind wanders. really only masturbates if he’s bored, or can’t sleep. this bostonian is a certified woman lover, he likes a lady with a looooot of curves. loves those women who look like the epitome of a woman. big tits, fat ass, soft belly, and you better have cellulite or don’t come talking to him. he likes his ladies all natural and unshaven. plastic surgery HATERR. truthfully, he doesn’t care what you do with your body. body positivity and all that shit. but he thinks that’s the biggest waste of money a lady could choose. if a woman tells him she’s had work done his libido immediately plummets into hell. he becomes the straight GBF. if he wanted to fuck plastic he’d get a pocket pussy. keep your liposuction to yourself, DOCTOR. he likes having a lot to hold. watching his hands sink into skin makes his dick twitch so bad. once got sucked off by someone with a tongue piercing and that was a religious experience for him; official piercing appreciator if you can do something with it. oral lover, though he’s not good at giving or receiving. he squirms, and his legs twitch. if you’re too good he’ll kick you off, sometimes he’ll literally kick you. at that point tie the man up. eyes roll to the back of his head once you get to the base. he can’t even make eye contact with you if you actively have his dick in your mouth. and he talks too much. he’s not very good at dirty talk, he’s just a stuttering fool. gets way too excited if you ask him to eat you out. if he doesn’t push you on the bed and drop to his knees he himself will fall on the bed and slap his cheeks. he’s prepping your seat. break his fucking nose. swipe his shit like a credit card. he gets so lost in the sauce. he’ll be focused for a moment, but it always devolves to him kissing and sucking on your clit. he’ll kiss your pussy more than he’ll actually kiss you. just so grateful for the opportunity to appreciate a woman every time he’s given one. busts quick by the time you’re done with foreplay and he actually slides into you. he really does his best to make sure you’re prepared, if he didn’t tongue fuck you to climax, but he cannot swing with the big boys. it’s okay, give him ten minutes and he’ll be ready to go. and if you don’t want to wait, his face is right there. take your seat! hates missionary, not because he doesn’t want to see your face, but because he just can’t get deep enough. wants to be able to reach between your bodies and spread you open further. likes you face down ass up so he can spread them cheeks and thrust. fucks like a rabbit. you could beg him to take it slow and you’ll get a solid three pumps before he just pistons into you. he likes it when his partners are vocal. it’s motivational. quiet cursing and low groans. breath hitches into a high pitched squeak as he cums. thick. coats your fingers and sticks them together. very acidic. not fun to swallow a whole load, but good to taste. spit it in his mouth though. see how that goes. falls asleep very quickly after sex, but is awake long enough to give you some aftercare, mainly cuddles. if he wakes up in the middle of the night y’all will have sex. sorry not sorry. he’ll either wake you up as he’s moving you into a preferred position, or you’ll wake up as he’s sliding into you. doesn’t like hickies. not enough meat on his bones to make a bite feel good, and he hates to say it but also not really: if he doesn’t like you his dick is perma-soft. it’s sucked back into his body. he can’t do casual sex because he has to know you a little bit to like you.

soldier: the second straightest guy on the team at like… 80% straight. he can’t help it if he’s looking his good friend demo the man in his eye and plants a fat one on him. and kissing your engineer friend— everyone should kiss their engineer friend, why would you not kiss your engineer friend? got the best damn lips since a bouquet of tulips, kiss your engineer friends, you’ll see. soldier is a stacked, jacked, and juiced man with an average libido. a large frame with some nice squish before you hit solid muscle, and he likes his sexual partners similar in stature. there’s nothing better to him than two people in peak physical condition getting it on. good seven inches. thick. circumcised. got a vein on the underside. masturbation is a tool he doesn’t use often. prefers a good old circlejerk with his teammates. a couple have said yes to him on that, we won’t say any names here. soldier is a man who likes to get to the point. there is not any foreplay unless you force foreplay. you get about a minute of making out and you better be ready to go. unless he really thinks you’re pretty. he can’t help but touch artwork. it’s not even that he doesn’t like it, he just doesn’t consider it because he himself doesn’t need it. he really doesn’t even want you to suck him off, he would like to put your ankles by your ears and go for it. but if you ask, he’ll oblige. don’t ask him if he needs it reciprocated, you will be harshly shut down. he hates receiving oral, he worries about teeth. he loves his penis very much, too much to let it be harmed. not the kind for gentle sex unless it’s a lazy morning and you wake him up with it. he is a quiet guy. he doesn’t go out of his way to dirty talk, per se, but as he makes what he thinks is casual conversation during sex, he’ll grunt out a remark here and there. how good you feel. how pretty you look. he’ll ask if it feels good or if you want another position. if he’s feeling particularly tender, he’ll slow down. pulling all the way out and then slowly pushing back in. he likes watching you squirm. he’s almost waiting for you to beg. will always cum inside of you unless you beg him to do it elsewhere. feels like a waste to him otherwise, but he will admit it does something to him to see you looking up, mouth open and tongue out to catch his load. it’s the only time he just wants to stick his dick in your mouth and start pumping. sometimes, if he’s feeling really nasty, he’ll slap you. not hard, but enough to make your cheeks pink. in the height of sex, he doesn’t really care about your reaction unless you start crying. another man with thick, sticky cum. doesn’t taste bad, actually. a little bitter. it almost leaves… a burn? like when you eat pineapples. you have to tell soldier what you want. if you want him to be gentle with you, let him know before he’s balls deep. if you want him to be rough and treat you like a sex doll, tell him before he’s hard. he will do what you like, he can do what you like, but if you don’t ask he’s not intuiting it from you. otherwise, as his sexual partner, you are there to spread your legs and invite him in. never minds giving a reacharound, but if you invite a vibrator to the party he gets hesitant. only while the things not on though. once he gets the thing on and located where you want it he’s enthralled by how much more lively you get. dick appreciator. he does believe in the school of thought of pretty penises and ugly penises. he will make fun of you if he thinks your dick is ugly. but will NEVER make fun of a lady. unintentionally a cruel master. does not bottom. will not bottom unless it’s your birthday or you’re terminally ill and it’s your dying wish. and don’t expect him to like… bleach his asshole. come fuck him like god intended you to. likes his partners unaltered. don’t shave. if you think he likes you enough don’t shower either. likes the smell of musk and sex together. post coitus is nice. he’ll wrap an arm around you, ask if you’re good. ask if you enjoyed it. then, and this is the important question, he’s gonna ask if you want more. say yes.

pyro: pyro doesn’t even think about sex. so anytime they have a sexual encounter with themselves they’re rediscovering how sex feels. it’s a confusing, exhausting process for them. sometimes their mind wanders. and they don’t really register why they feel the way they do. just that they’re angrier, twitchy, and the damn suit is so uncomfortable. and as they’re pulling their suit, trying to give themselves breathing room, they’ll brush their own hand against their hips and be filled with a heat. a very specific heat, that overtakes them from their stomach to their feet. and then they go “oh.” and they have to go take care of themselves and get their head back on straight. they do not last very long. they’re touched so rarely, they get a good couple of slow rotations of their hips and maybe a hesitant nipple rub in before they cum with a shudder, letting out surprised gasps before they lengthen into a satisfied groan. and they slump on their bed. they hate the mess it leaves. both on the bed and in their mind. in a way, they are absolutely snapped back to reality, because it’s like they can’t stop thinking about sex once they start. they’ll sit uncomfortably close to their teammates, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of them, and let their mind wander. sometimes they’ll just reach out and run their hands down their teammates bodies. there’s too much confusion and frankly, concern for the team to react in an aggressive or otherwise negative manner. they’ll lay on medic’s operating table and both of them can tell that the table is shaking from how badly pyro wants to be touched. and it’s so cold in there. they need that warmth. medic has never, and will never, interact with pyro sexually. it’s less of an ethics thing and more of a moral stance. he sees pyro as a friend, and can’t allow himself to be part of pyro stooping below the pits of hell for touch. he’s willing to commit crimes with pyro, and is that not a friend? refuses to ask about what’s under the mask on principle. if pyro was a little less desperate, and more sexually secure, and more mentally there, they would realize they want to hate fuck the enemy spy so bad it makes them look stupid. pyro goes out of their way, cornering the spy in dark, empty, small spaces. and stares. sometimes it gets them killed, yes. but if spy would wait, he would see that pyro just wants to look. get lost for a minute in his eyes. see the momentary fear before the plan begins to hatch in the frenchman’s head. maybe touch a little. maybe press against each other. maybe a little petting through their clothes. nobody can read spy better than pyro can. because pyro just hates him. pyro sees him everyday and cannot stop the distaste. they think so much about spy. it’s not enough to kill that man almost every day. they need that nasty frenchman carnally. lighting his cigarette is foreplay. switch royalty, relishes in being full and thoroughly enjoys filling others. doesn’t like being teased. whimpers, borderline sobs those first few thrusts, regardless of if they’re bottoming or topping. it just feels too good, it wipes their mind completely blank. pyro doesn’t last long. sex goes at their pace; if they say they’re done, get off. needs aftercare so bad. wants to be held and gently touched and told how well they did. told how good they are. sex opens the door for regret for pyro, and they don’t want to regret being open with people. they want to be open with people. dirty talk can’t even be dirty, you’ll freak them out and they’ll think what you’re saying is true. unless you’re spy, he can call them what he wants. only takes the mask off if they’re absolutely overheating. otherwise it stays on. will beg for you, if you ask. eager to please, eager to be pleased, and if you’re nice enough, everyone can have a good time. pyro just may not want the good times to end. eventually they will have to, so that pyro can focus on the field. but also, if you offer to meet them in a crawlspace, they won’t deny you. just give them a time so they can at least pretend to be an asset to the team.

demo: mmm, bisexual king i love you tavish finnegan degroot mwah mwah. will kiss, lick, suck and fuck anyone with a pulse. giant women, short kings, mediocre gender nonconformists, everyone can get in the ring with demo if they think they can handle it. hell, he’ll flirt with a hole in the ground if the crack is nice. no real type, be your version of sexy and he’ll eat it up, just pucker up and get close. he doesn’t bite... too hard. okay i lied, yes he does. loves biting, loves hickies. loves sucking on your bottom lip until it’s raw. foreplay is a full body experience. he’ll sweep you in his arms as he kisses you, he envelops your body with his own, he’ll swallow you whole if you let him. there is not a trace of skin he will leave untouched, and his body is hot, like fire. the cold air around you will shock you as he pulls away from your body. you can’t help but pull him back. the heat is intoxicating. it makes him laugh. he can’t help but poke at you. ask if you need him that badly. and if he really likes you, you’re his new favorite pastime. can and will spend hours holding you in his lap with one hand and fingering you with the other, watching where and how you twitch, what makes you sigh, what makes your breath catch in your throat. tells you how pretty you look as you squirm in his lap. very attentive lover. solid six and a half inches, uncut, no lean, clean shaven. big balls. has a prince albert. he likes the sound skin makes when it slaps together. his easy going attitude does lend itself to sex. when you’re ready for him, you just let him know how you want him and he will go until you ask for something else. one of the few men on earth who understands “just like that” means just like that and “right there” means right there. appreciative when you get on top, though. he’s got the energy to talk to you then, let you know how pretty you look, how grateful he is for you. he starts slurring his words when he’s close. eloquently stated compliments turn into brutish groans of how good you feel. how he can’t be deep enough inside you. how it’s just not enough for him. is kind enough to pull out and cum on himself. unless you ask otherwise. wipes it off with his fingers and puts them in your mouth. cum is watery, and tastes as such. maybe slightly salted water. decent aftercare. wipes you both off, makes sure you’re okay, and if it’s not nighttime, he’s going to continue about his day, in a notably less lax, more focused manner. he’ll see what he can get done today in his post nut clarity. willing to bottom if he’s feeling particularly pretty (spoiler alert tavish always feels particularly pretty), but he’s kind of a brat. snarky, almost scathing shit talker until you push inside of him. the yapping stops very fast as he opts for deep breaths and quiet curses, his breathing turning into pants as he clutches at the sheets. bossy. demands more. harder. deeper. fuck him like you’ve got some life in you. and he’s not riding so don’t ask. will tie you to the bed if you tell him to “do whatever”. probably likes feet. not enough to have a fetish but he likes a pretty, soft foot with a polish on the toes, he’ll kiss them. good at massages, if by massages you mean maybe five minutes of a truthfully nice massage before he can’t help but start palming himself through his pants. maybe not the smartest idea to ask him to give you a massage. unless that’s what you wanted. drunk sex is nasty. and rowdy. and wet. he can’t keep focus on anything other than how good you feel and how good he can make you feel, and he makes it known as he slurs in your ears about being his good little toy. he’ll push you to the limit when he’s drunk. heavy handler, digging his fingers into your sides to keep you in place so he can use you as he sees fit. it almost hurts but the man’s gifted where it matters, and that’s hitting your g spot. he’s got the motion of your ocean down. he’ll clean you up after. don’t worry. you might have fingerprint sized bruises after. he’ll ask if you want to shower off after the first few rounds. that is a trap. say yes.

heavy: i hope you’re a size queen. heavy is a guy with a lot of weight on his shoulders. he wants to lay back and let someone else take the reigns. ride him to your heart’s content. suck him off. do what you want. he’s just not doing any work to get you there. unless you beg for him. a satisfying eight inches. thick. circumcised. no notable veins. likes a good cockwarmer. enjoys just being inside someone. likes the heat. he’ll fall asleep like that. just pull you close to him and he’s done, he’s going beddy byes. he doesn’t really care if he cums or not, it takes him so long to get there that he gets bored before he gets close. frankly; he thought he didn’t care about sex because he has a lot of responsibilities. he thought that until he saw the medic. now he’s just pretty sure he’s kinda gay. because he does still appreciate a womanly figure, and he is aroused by women regularly, but he wants that german biblically and constantly. in the bed. on the floor. against the wall. on the battlefield. in the shower. in the car. on the operating table. behind the building. in the park. in the rain. missionary. doggy style. 69. butterfly. corkscrew. cowgirl. rocking horse. he wants that man wrapped in a bow. stuck in the washer. naked and asleep in his bed. in a nurse outfit. stockings included. cuffed bound and gagged. he wants to make him cry. he wants to overpower and overwhelm that man and die inside of him. he wants to fuck that man until he’s stupid. until all he can think of is how good he feels. he wants to make messes of their clothes and sheets and bodies. he wants to break those stupid fucking glasses. heavy’s killed medic before. he knows what it takes to crush him. he wants to know what it takes to break him. medic will talk to him and he’s gone. thinking of the best place he can go to take care of this poor man. the doctor asks if he’s still with him, he answers honestly: “no.” if he’s asked what he’s thinking about, it’s another simple answer: “you.” the doctor doesn’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. he’s touched nonetheless. heavy blinks and sees medic naked, writhing and panting underneath him in the fractions of the second his eyes are closed, and he opens them and the doctor is right there. clothed, if marginally concerned. he hears his name so clearly as the doctor pants it out to him, but as he turns to face him, it’s simply “heavy”. both the fantasy and the reality are comforting. they leave him satisfied. quiet during sex, if not actively asleep or feeling a little more domineering, and when he’s the latter he’s not… a particularly nice partner. he doesn’t yell, or hit you. but mercy is not given. he’ll go slow, if you beg for it. but if you’re just bitching he’ll say that. he’ll scoff as he presses into you, affirming that you can take it, you can be his good little doll and take it or you can be a disappointment and leave. frankly, getting heavy to do anything you want comes with a lot of begging and bargaining. he enjoys the psychological warfare, in a way. he is kind, but he doesn’t have to be. he doesn’t always want to be. he’ll eat you out, but you’re not allowed to cum. he’ll finger you, but only one finger. don’t get greedy. or do. see what he decides is a better compromise. he pulls hair. he can encompass an entire scalp in his hand, and he pulls back with careful control. significant eye contact. gentle biter. also a licker. he loves tasting the sweat off your skin, it’s addicting to him, and it’ll always lead into him biting down, running his tongue along the indentations his teeth make on your skin. if he’s more lax, gives ample warning when he’s close. if he’s feeling a little mean, you’ll just have to wait to hear his breathing change. cums with a long, warm sigh. doesn’t pull out. won’t pull out. pulls you closer and snuggles up. get comfortable. so warm. almost stiflingly so. with his arms draped over you and his breath on the back of your neck, there’s no escape from the heat he emanates. does not go for more than one round, but if he doesn’t cum then it’s all one round, right?

engineer: PUT THE HORSE IN THE STABLE, YOU DO NOT NEED IT FOR THIS RIDE. the ultimate fantasy he has, anytime he’s a little horny, is him walking into his workshop and seeing a siren on his workbench, or his bed, or on the floor, naked and natural, either reading a book or tinkering with something or watching tv, doesn’t matter, just that whoever it is is sexy and will invite him to come sit next to them, and won’t pull away when he gets handsy. likes belly piercings, he thinks they’re hot. is an ass man. loves squeezing hips and ass and thighs and watching his hands sink into the skin, he starts to drool. please ride him. please ride him on the bed, on the floor, in a chair. he does spank, and he will put you over his knee to do so. he’s aiming for bruises. a rough lover, but very kind with his words. knows how to use his accent to keep you engaged. likes to talk to you. almost doesn’t shut up. it would be worse if he didn’t sound so damn sexy. it’s almost condescending. like you’ve never had sex before. almost forces your hips to rock against his as he croons compliments about how well you’re doing; and asks whether he’s making you feel as good as you’re making him feel. kisses with tongue, and he will stick his entire tongue down your throat. he wants to taste you in your entirety. the man’s a maker, and that includes toys. did someone say sex machines? exhibitionist. ties you up, sets up a camera, turns the machine on, tells you to behave yourself and leaves. if he likes you he’ll give you a kiss before he goes to continue on his day. and if he really likes you he’ll tell someone else to check in on you. they don’t get to touch though. and don’t think you won’t get a say! if you make a very nice request on who comes to check in on you he’ll see if he can swing it. he’s not asking scout, and he thinks it would actually traumatize pyro, so pick one of the other six. it makes him feel better about himself having someone see you in such a vulnerable state. it’s a hard brag, he’s not gonna lie. you’re the treat he’s waiting for back in his workshop. loves coming back to you, ruined and exhausted. he’ll pull you off the machine, and clean you up, before you hear his overalls hit the floor. engie has a really nice dick. a filling 5.5 inches, circumcision done by an angel, thick. balls are picturesque. tip gets bright red. it just looks so good. you just want to suck it. it looks like it’ll explode if you don’t put it somewhere inside you in seconds of him getting hard. and he doesn’t say anything about it, but it almost looks painful. you’ll relieve him though. he loves teasing you with his dick too, he’s so mean. he makes you beg for it. taps it against your cheek; runs the tip, beading with precum, along your bottom lip. cum is very salty. almost not good. but are you gonna tell him that when he’s asking you to swallow? be his good baby and you’ll get rewarded. his major weakness is criers. he starts to feel so bad, it kills his mood. unless you’re crying because you want him that badly. then you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. you should beg for him to stay. he ultimately won’t, he really wants to, but he’ll allow himself to be a little late if it means you’ll stop crying. he won’t bully you as hard, even if he thinks you look cute with tears running down your cheeks and dick in your mouth. this man will tie you up in the basement and use you until he’s bored, and then he will leave you to die. as overwhelming as it all is, if you’re looking for longevity, sexual relationship wise, or you don’t want to get hooked only to wake up on a random tuesday and find he’s gone, permanently, force him to pump the brakes. or take charge yourself. he might be a freak but he’s not heartless, he might really like you! but if he just sees you as his sexual partner it’s harder to break through because he’s only focused with the mutual physical benefit, and not really thinking about forging a bond. and one more thing. get out before his post nut clarity hits or you’re not gonna get another opportunity to. he won’t be done with you.

medic: HERBERT LUDWIG!! medic sees sex with women like he sees recreational drugs. a very nice treat every once in a while, but he overdid it when he was young. it’s just not something he’s nearly as interested in anymore, unless the lady in question is one of a madly curious kind. he’s found more niche interests. harder drugs, so to say. reality shifting mind fucking eldritch edgelord looking for a well hung stag who can peer into the void and cum on its face, aftercare not wanted. literal edgelord, he won’t let you cum without punishment. favorite thing to say is “not yet.” he loves being overstimulated. he personally isn’t going to stop until he’s crying for you to give it a rest. but if you try to stop, he’s going to beg you to keep going. he’ll fall asleep on you if you last that long with him. he needs a safe word, desperately. yes, you may fuck him on the operating table. as long as you return the favor and let him operate. will stick his dick in a wound with a chuckle. unnecessarily loud. like a cat in heat. with all credit to the man, he tries to be quiet, but if you’re good… he can’t help it, okay. stick something in his mouth to shut him up or risk getting caught. be careful though, he bites. had a prince albert. an appreciable six inches. six and a quarter, if you ask him. thin. large veins on the underside. curves to the right. circumcised. he will choke you out on his cock. pushes you down until he can feel your throat spasming around the tip, and that gets him hot. don’t be scared to return the favor! choke him out! slap him! he likes it! you might give him a heart attack if you slap him out of the blue, maybe warn him first. or don’t! he won’t mind! too much! he has a fantasy of being collared and led around the field by a leash. it’s one of his favorite fantasies. it’s not even sexual, not in his mind anyway, but it always gets him off. the idea of heeling dutifully into open fire. without the choice to back out. not that he does anyway, but the idea that whoever’s leading him around has his life in their hands much more than he does theirs, and then they let him die makes his blood rush. he doesn’t even get to the part in his imagination where he gets actually hit with the bullets, he’s cum well before then. he’s going to wear his glasses and they’re going to fall off, learn to dodge them. picturesque back muscles and biceps. the bulk of the weight of the medigun is on his back and in his hands. he has got traps and delts for days, i just know it. the way they’d flex in dim lighting. i know he looks so good naked in a bed. asleep, awake and reading, half covered (or fully covered) by the comforter. he’s not laying in a bed naked and uncovered. get him a blanket. and put his cum in a brita. watery, and it tastes as such. slight tang. and i don’t care that he probably smells like bleach and blood and viscera. i just know the smell of the infirmary post sex is addicting, like sucking on a button battery. and the doctor will never deny a rimjob. he keeps clean. he’s a particularly boring top because topping bores him more often than it doesn’t, unless you’re suggesting something particularly intriguing. it’s not the worst thing in the world, it feels good, just not good enough to cum. it’s good foreplay, he’s engaged with it enough, he’s even notably nicer as a top! doting, playful, kind— if you could put it that way! but it’s because he’s getting bored. and he’s really hoping you’ll take note and return the favor, whatever that may mean to him. it’s hard to keep the doctor’s attention and interest, sexually. he’s a busy man, and he’s got a lot of things he can do that he has decided to put off to indulge himself. the second he thinks there’s something better to do he’s going to go do it, and he will be notably frustrated that he wasn’t satisfied on his end. so maybe don’t initiate unless you’re sure you can swing it with him in the way he needs it. he’s not the easiest man to be around when he’s frustrated. and if you’ve disappointed him once he’s not going to give you the opportunity to do so again.

sniper: depends on when you catch him, really. snipes is a man that can do it all if it’s asked of him. he will certainly try to give you everything you need. you want a night under the stars so good you’ll cry while he tells you about how the glow of the moon illuminates the tear stains on your face and makes you that much more beautiful that will leave you sore and emotionally depleted the next day while you look over and see he’s made you some coffee? he can do that. you want to get chased through the forest for thirty minutes up to nightfall (depending on how good you are at surviving) that he tossed you in until you get genuinely panicked that you’re lost and he gets bored watching you run around in circles (literally, you’re just making big circles and you’re not actually getting anywhere) and blows a tranq dart in your asscheek and you wake up bound and naked in the van? he can do that too. either way you get maybe one really good session a month with snipes. and it’s in that one session that lasts maybe 48-72 hours, that you need to take advantage of it and make him do everything you could ever want him to. otherwise, don’t bother him with anything too fancy during the day. suck him off, put your genitals in his face to lick on, call it a day. master of the quickie, talented with his hands. hard biter. gets him off faster. and the faster he can satisfy you both the faster he can get back to his own business that he’s got for the day. snipes is really busy for a guy who seemingly does nothing all day, but trust him, he’s got a full plate. do you think he actually pays attention to the no-compete clause? its amazing what an ad can do for business. i digress… tall guy, big hands, long dick. satisfying seven inches, but not girthy at all. left ball is bigger than the right, saggy and uncut. that man hasn’t worn underwear since he was ten. you know he’s freeballing it. whole thing gets real red and oozes precum. snipes does not take long to get going, to bust, nor recover for another round. he’s just not interested in the general messiness of sex. to him it is a thing done to procreate and if he’s not trying to procreate he shouldn’t be doing it. and most of the time, he’s not trying to procreate. does his best work irritated, but do not pester him too often. though, if you ask very nicely, he’ll let you suck him off in his nest. he cannot state enough how much he needs both hands to do his job. he can spare his dick. he can’t spare a hand or an eye to help you out. so get what you need then get off. but, when he’s feeling a little more tender and he can spare you a night, and he can tell you’re needing attention… he’ll show you a better time. will NEVER fuck in the base no matter how inclement the weather gets. he’d rather get frostbite. he’d rather get ticks. and you can theoretically be as loud as you want outside. at least if anyone hears you they won’t see you unless they’re creeping. speaking of which, he is also a creep. he’ll watch you through your bedroom window, hide under your bed, watch from a crack in your closet. if you let him, of course. he’s only vocal when he feels like he can be. which is not in a room. but when he’s in the van, or you’re out in the middle of nowhere, he’s begging for you. pleading for you. grabbing at whatever he can and burying his nose in the crook of your neck and using you as a personal inhaler, then he bites down. once he’s latched on, you’ve got a solid ten more thrusts out of him before he cums. and it’s pathetic. it shakes him, his voice will crack, and he will fall limp, holding you as close as he possibly can. even if he pulls out. he doesn’t care. you can both be dirty. and he lays there for a moment, taking you in in the darkness. if he doesn’t get lost in the post nut clarity, he’ll grab whatever fabric is closest and wipe you both off. then he’ll ask if he can grab you something to drink or anything to eat. but he’s not gone from the bed for more than a minute. he will come straight back with what you need and crawl back into the bed. he gets great sleep after sex.

spy: if spy knew that the only thing he had to do to get pyro off his back was fuck the thing until it got bored he would’ve done it years ago. sex is a tool that spy knows how to use, and thoroughly enjoys using on any and all sexes. a man who will not deny himself a good time, he has been an active member of many orgies, and found his stride in one on one, one on two, and one on three, and one on four settings. once you get to five he starts struggling to keep up alone. a lovely six inches, uncut and shaven with no notable veins. capable hands. talented tongue. that’s why he starts losing ground past four other sexual partners at a time. but for those lucky four, he’s a drug most are unwilling to quit on their own. king of gentle sex, god of a rough session; and the mask stays on either way. and he’ll admit— if there’s a glory hole he’s using it! almost physically unable to not stick his dick in random holes. spy does have a high libido, but he is never hurting for sex. almost like demo’s shit list, but for sex, spy has multiple pages of a roster of people’s full government name, pictures, current phone number, and preferred sexual acts included. he can comb through to find exactly what he’s looking for at any time, and it’s pretty obvious when he’s on the hunt for an addition to the list. he’s fun, he’s flirty, he’s smooth, obscenely smooth. smooth like the ice cream of a root beer float. sweet like one too. he’ll show you a great time before you’re even thinking of sex; then he springs it on you. he is not very… subtle, in that sense. it’s very quick from one of the best dates you’ve ever been on to “take off your clothes”. and you’ll do it too. loves a good ride, he will lay back and watch you, stifling groans and fighting his eyes closing just so he can watch himself enter and exit you. loves snowballing, he likes the taste of himself. he thinks if you don’t you have self esteem issues. he is just as pleased to be on top of a good ride. he’s willing to cut loose a little more if he bottoms, a little more open to making some noise. he’s an encouraging lover in that sense; he can be whatever you want as long as he’s in the mood for it. but he won’t contact you if he isn’t currently interested in your sexual style. and do not contact him, because he will contact you when he wants you. he is the only one in his life who is allowed to solicit others for sex. approaching him for sex first will get you laughed at, rejected, and you’ll probably be the topic over coffee for the next morning. he might still call you in a couple days, though. and adventurous as he may be, that does not make spy a cheater. but anything he does couldn’t be considered cheating because he’ll never get into a committed monogamous relationship again. he might try a polycule if the people in it are interesting and different enough. and he’s got an insane swinger radar. it’s a little funny, because he hates swingers. with a deep seeded vitriol. the second you approach him with the “my partner and i noticed you from across the bar and we really liked your vibe—” he will tell you to fuck off. aggressively. and he’s spot on, every time. he also will not cuckold, or be the bull in a cuckolding relationship. he is a big kinkshamer. both in and out of bed. even if he likes the kink you’re proposing, he’s gonna make you feel like a freak about it first. then he’s gonna do it. “you want to tie me up? that’s disgusting, that’s crass, here’s the rope, do it right.” “why would you be interested in my feet? i only just got a pedicure. don’t suck on my toes, i hate the sensation.” cum is thick but not sticky, with an after burn almost like liquor. fun to play with and to eat. he’ll even eat it out of you if he cums inside. sloppy eater. not because he’s bad, but because he loves oral. he gets a little lost in the sauce, and can and will be down there for a solid hour. deep, wet kisses, yes he does use tongue. it does something to him to be connected to you by a string of saliva. post coitus is nice. he’ll share a cigarette with you. then he has to go do his job.

[heartofpromethea]

ok heres director’s commentary :)

this is act 3 (mostly). xolakaal is represented by red, cinder by black, and the shots of cadaver and daksari are both white.

shots 1 and 2 are jack and walter, the hosts. jack looks away, hes unwilling to face the reality of his situation. walter looks head on.

shot 3 is focused on jack’s prosthetic. as his condition worsens he takes less care of it, leading to it malfunctioning. thru all these shots red roots grow across the scene, xola’s influence and grip on them is tightening

shot 4 is xola. cinder was killed in act 2, it has free reign over cassandra. shot 5 is walter again, hes more willing to accept his role as host, but it’s killing him too.

6-7 show a crowd of hands reaching towards xola. unlike the real gods, it doesnt have any followers. only its hosts and the people it infects and kills. 8 is back to walter watching as it happens.

9-10 cinder is back. xola is dead (and eaten, the same way it ate so many souls)

thats the first verse, and the second starts on red. jack is no longer there. he died a long time ago. moving onto walt, his hair is cut short from the albamuro incident.

verse 2 shot 3 is a reference to jack’s death, impaled by his own sword.

shot 4 is cinder, cassandra’s lord and angel. (though she wasnt sent from above)

in 5, sparrow (finally) appears. xolakaal was the only thing keeping walter alive, and now its dead. sparrow brought cinder back to life to kill xolakaal, but he didnt realize its death would kill walter as well. in 6 we see walter and cadaver. walt is nomadic, cadaver is his patron god. his whole life hes been terrified of cadaver, trying to reform and failing (in his eyes) in every attempt. hes been racking up and obsessing over reasons for cadaver to hate him. after xola’s death, when he finally meets cadaver, all he can think to do is cower and beg for mercy. cadaver of course blows this off and sends him back. the god of all death in the entire universe is not swayed to hate 1 man who made a couple shitty decisions and literally got possessed by a spirit who’s sole goal was to devour the entire universe.

(that got long but i dont talk about cad enough)

in 7-8 cinder sees sparrow and walter and realizes what happened. she has no control over the lives of others and can only watch.

9-10, cinder kills her mom :)

the line at the end, “now we really are alone” is a reference to the fact that every single god other than cinder is dead by the end of act 3. cadaver died in the prologue, the rainbow god (demiking’s godly parent) was killed by daksari before the story began, xolakaal was killed, and cinder killed daksari. cassandra is alone in the universe.

there was more i couldve done, but i am but one man using the world’s shittiest animation program and capcut and i have a job. i hope me being ill over my own art is entertaining tho :)

praise me i'm the lord!

[samgirl98]

Connecting a Family 2/3

Prev | Next

Okay, now that I think about it, this could've been a one-shot. Anyway, I wanted to write everyone's pov at one point, but it became too much, and this lackluster chapter was born. The next chapter will be the last; it will most likely be in Jason's POV only, and it will be the end of this series.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Mar’i enjoyed spending time with her new cousins. She and Danny somersaulted in the air while Ellie laughed beside them. It was nice to have family members who could fly with her. Uncle Jay watched them while he talked to daddy. Both their smiles were full of warmth. She waved at them, and they waved back.

“So, were you telling the truth? Can you take me to Tamaran?”

Mar’i smiled, “If your dad allows it, yes! I’ve been there before.”

Danny sighed, “I’m so jealous. I want to go to other planets.”

Mar’i giggled, “You really like space, huh?”

Danny’s eyes literally started glowing, and he went on to explain different facts about space. Mar’i listened intently, even if she didn’t understand many of the terms he used. Ellie floated beside them, disappearing and reappearing at random while giggling. Mar’i couldn’t help but smile at the little girl.

“Sorry, I’ve been talking about space for too long. I get excited. What about you? What do you like?”

“I like flying! I’m part of the Flying Graysons. Dad also likes to jump and fly in the air but doesn’t fly like I do. I love spending time with daddy and the rest of my aunts and uncles. I can’t wait to get to know Uncle Jay better!”

“That’s nice,” he said.

Mar’i didn’t know what she said, but Danny looked…sadder…maybe disappointed when she mentioned her dad and the rest of the family.

“Is there anything else you like to do?”

“I like to travel with momma. She takes me to Tamaran when she can; oh, we also visit her island a lot! And Titan’s Tower in San Francisco.”

“Your mom owns an island?”

“Yeah! Maybe we can go someday.”

Danny grinned, “Maybe, though I still prefer to go to space instead.”

“Guys, come down from there. We have visitors,” Grandpa Bruce said.

Danny pulled a face.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he mumbled. Mar’i was a bit confused. Did Danny not like Grandpa Bruce? Well, she’d have to find a way to make Grandpa more likable for Danny. She said nothing as she floated back down and went to daddy’s side.

“Danny, get down here,” Uncle Jay said. Danny crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue. Uncle Jay sighed and floated up to get Danny and Ellie down. Mar’i’s eyes got huge. Uncle Jay can fly, too? Wow! So awesome!

Uncle Jay got Danny and Ellie and floated down to the floor.

“Show off,” daddy said.

Uncle Jay grinned. Danny glared at daddy and then at Uncle Jay.

“I liked it up there.”

“The visitors are a surprise for you,” Uncle Jay said. Mar’i giggled. She knew who had shown up and couldn’t wait for Danny’s reaction.

“Don’t worry, Danny, you’ll love them!”

Danny sighed. “Fine, I’ll go.”

____

Bruce thinks he did well.

Danny was fluttering around J’onn and Clark, asking questions and gushing. Was he a little jealous? Yes, but Bruce could deal with it to make Danny happier and, by extension, Jason. Bruce smiled when Danny started playing with Kory’s hair. He couldn’t blame the boy; it was so big and seemed to have a mind of its own.

Danny turned to Mar’i and asked her something. Bruce was too far away to hear it, but Mar’i shook her head. Bruce loved having his whole family under one roof. Hopefully, with this surprise, Danny would be more willing to visit them more often.

“He’s happy,” Jason said. “Thanks. I know you don’t like having metas and aliens in Gotham. Thanks for having us here, too, even though we fall under the metahuman category.”

Bruce frowned.

“Jay lad, you don’t think I would stop you from coming to Gotham, especially because you have powers, do you?”

Jason said nothing and turned his head.

“Oh, Jay lad, you’re welcome back whenever you want. This is your home, too. I would never stop you from coming back.”

Jason looked at Bruce, his eyes glowing with emotions, searching for something.

“Thanks, dad,” he whispered before leaving Bruce with his thoughts.

Bruce had messed up if Jason thought he wasn’t welcome in Gotham because of his powers. Bruce sighed. He would have to do better for the sake of his family; he would do better.

____

Okay, maybe Bruce wasn’t so bad. After all, if J’onn and Clark could be friends with Bruce and vouch for him, maybe Danny had misjudged him too quickly. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be a little wary of the man and his family.

They had still hurt his dad.

But if his dad could forgive them, maybe Danny could, too, in the future.

____

They were avoiding her.

Well, the boys were, even Bruce. The girls were more than happy to talk to Jazz. She couldn’t help but feel amused at the boys’ avoidance. It told her just as much as if they had come up to her and yelled their insecurities to her.

It seemed Timmy must’ve warned them.

Well, she was more than happy to observe the family Jason had grown up in.

Bruce was, well, he was Bruce.

Jazz could tell he was trying to make amends, but the way he made amends seemed to be through bribes and presents—typical rich boy behavior. Why sit down and apologize and actually talk when he could use his money and connections to get what he wanted? She guessed it was his love language, but how he showed love wasn’t enough. He needed to sit down, process everything he’s been through, and talk with his children.

Tim, well, the boy was scared of her. Anytime she got close to him, he would use any excuse to disappear or get away from her. He was brilliant but had an inferiority complex and thought he had to be of use to be loved. Honestly, he could benefit from a hug and a few kind words from Bruce.

Dick had serious elder daughter syndrome, which honestly, mood. Jazz knew what it felt like to step up emotionally and physically as a parent. She wondered if Bruce noticed how much pressure Dick was under to be the second parent when he was unavailable. Should the man have had so many children if he couldn’t be there for one?

Oh well, it wasn’t her place to judge…well, it wasn’t her place to speak her judgment out loud.

She sipped on her juice.

Damian was a prickly child. He scowled at everyone under his sight and looked like a mini-Bruce. The only people he didn’t scowl at was Dick and Mar’i. Duke seemed the only boy who had a good handle on his feelings.

She wondered why but wouldn’t ask the young man. After all, she was here to get to know them, not psychoanalyze them.

But if any of them even thought about hurting Jason, it wouldn’t be hard to put them in their place.

[is-it-bussin-hannibal]

Hey! I love the way you portray the domestic life of Orlok and Ellen, now that you have made their child. Do you have any headcanons of what their life would be with their child? Would they have more?

Thanks for answering 💕

thank you!!! 🥺

so i’m just gonna be random here but

Danika has eerie gray eyes.

She has her mother’s hair color but her father’s whole face.

She’s not really a vampire!! she just,,, shares her father’s interests(?) (welcome back, Hannibal Lecter)

She is a powerful creature of darkness, though, just like her parents.

She likes to watch the sunset and the sunrise.

As a baby, when she’s awake during the day, Herr Knock will take her outside.

She does have her own bed/crib but you’ll always find her in her father’s sarcophagus.

She was not expected AT ALL by Ellen and Orlok. Since Ellen’s mother died when she was young and she’s only around men in the castle most of the time, there’s was no one for her to learn from about pregnancies, so she barely noticed she was pregnant until it was visible, and any discomfort, Ellen could just snap it away. (All she knew was of Anna’s, but even so, she was not physically around for her friend’s pregnancy.)

And what i mean by not expected is, nobody really considered it, since Orlok is literally a corpse.

Also, she’s born waaayy down the line, i was thinking the 70’s? but she matures very slowly.

She’s very curious, especially about humans, since they’re mostly isolated in the castle.

Orlok arranged for many people in Ellen’s life to die in the castle, so their spirits can visit.

So little Danika is playing with ghosts most of the time.

She’s a very morbid little girl, doesn’t have much facial expression, both her parents think is very normal, since they were just like that as children. (looking at autism in the eye)

Orlok had a lonely life, when his mother was alive, he had her of course, but the castle was always cold and empty and lifeless. But since Ellen’s arrival and all the chaos that came with, the pets, the people, the magic, he experienced life in the stone walls for the first time. And he makes sure Danika always have that.

You can imagine they’re unquestionably always invited for the Addams family function.

Just like her mother, as she gets older, she likes to wander in the forest. There’s no real danger for her, but if something does happen, one scream and her father will break time and space laws to be there.

I was thinking as well, at some point, before Danika, Ellen finds a boy, a tiny 9-10 years old in the forest, very sensitive to the supernatural, just like her. An orphan, his father is alive but like the rest of the village, he shunned him away, because of his powers. So Ellen takes him to the castle. Raising him, teaching him, opens her heart, i said this before but Ellen really desires a family, and our little boy here reminds her of Anna’s children, of Thomas (who can visit at any time btw) so unconsciously, she wills her body to bring forth a child (let’s go bene gesserit!!!!!) and that’s how Dani is possible. I haven’t really developed anything much for my little guy yet, but his name is Alexandru.

[storiesaplenty]

Orange

Simon "Ghost" Riley x f/Reader

Call of Duty Masterlist

Jelly Bracelets Masterlist - Simon "Ghost" Riley

This has not been proofread. Please enjoy, though.

Warnings: swearing. This story will eventually be smut.

WC: 856

©️ magicalbuttertarts 2025: do not repost or translate my work. Do not use AI on my work.This is the only place I post my work.

Orange - wearer is willing to kiss

You are old friend of Simon's, who he always visits when he is comes back home on leave. During one of your visits, he notices the new bracelets you won during a hen night. Knowing what the colours were always rumoured to mean, Simon snaps one, wondering what you will do. You decide the play along, due to your long-time crush you have on him.

I went back to my flat that night to do a bit of research.

I knew what most of the colours meant, but just had to double check the few I did not know.

When I could see what the colours blue, black and glittery blue meant, I could feel myself twitch in my boxers.

Hoping that she would be willing to do those with me.

I held up the yellow jelly bracelet in my hand, examining it, wondering what I should do with it.

I looked over at my keys, and before I knew what I really was doing, I tied it around the keyring, so I will have it with me wherever I go.

Yellow ♥︎ Glittery Purple - coming soon

I didn't see her the next few days as she had work, but she and I would randomly text, just like how we always did when I was back home, but I knew my time at home was almost up, and before just like I knew, I got the call from John.

"Got another one Simon. Tomorrow, 0500. You know where to meet." I sighed as I heard the dial tone.

I called her up and left a voicemail. "Gotta leave tomorrow love. You know the drill, Northern Soul, after you done work."

I knew she would be there. I never had to worry about her not being there.

When it was her break time, I looked at my phone and she gave me a thumbs up emoji.

I had a few hours to kill, so I took a nap and then got ready for my night with her.

◆

She called me to say she was running a bit late, and to order for her. I already knew her order, so I ordered it along side mine

"Sorry I am late Si. My boss was hounding me." I gave a grunt when she mentioned her boss. Who looks at her a bit to long.

Always complimenting her, but doesn't for his other employees.

The few times I picked her up for her job, I have seen the man literally close his eyes as she walks by and sniff the air.

I wanted nothing more than to grab him by his neck and squeeze until his head popped off, but I held myself back when I heard her say my name.

"It's alright love." I told her as she sat across from me.

"You always know what I like. I never have to worry about you ordering the wrong thing." She complimented as her food was placed in front of her.

I felt a bit of pride swell in my chest, but then again, I knew everything about her.

◆

"Lord, I am full. I shouldn't have had that milkshake." She playfully groaned as she rubbed her stomach as the two of us walked to my place, which we were not far from.

She takes the bus to and from work, seeing no need to take her car.

"You deserve that milkshake." I said to her, as the two of us walked in a leisurely pace.

"Do you know when you will be back?" She asked me, forcing me to stop mid-step, to turn and look at her.

"No, I don't know when I will be back." She knows this, but yet she asked, shocking me for a second, as this is the first time she is asking me.

"I just had a plus one to Nicole's wedding, and wanted you to come with me." I knew Nicole, and she is alright. So is her future husband, Joey.

I asked when the wedding was, and she told me. Still a few months away.

I grabbed her hands and held them between mine, running my thumb across her knuckles.

"I will try to be there." I promised her.

"That is all I ask." She smiled at me, and I gave her a soft smile back.

We didn't move as we looked at one another, forcing the people to walk around us.

I could hear them grumbling and muttering about the two of us being rude, but I wasn't moving.

"Simon, you didn't." She said as took a step back from me, holding up her arm to see which one I snapped.

I held up the orange one, making her rule her eyes as me.

"Come on love, this one isn't so bad."

It really isn't. It is one of the safer ones.

"I don't know what that one means, Si."

"Wearer is willing to kiss."

"Anywhere?" She quickly asked, and all I did was nod my head yes.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, gently pulling my face towards hers, and I wrapped my arms around her waist.

I was ready for what was about to happen, but then, she switched it up on me.

She moved her head just to the right and kissed the corner of my mouth, along a small scar I have there.

"Let's get going. You have an early morning tomorrow." She said to me as she stepped out of my arms.

"Drive me?" I asked her, knowing she has tomorrow off.

"Anything for you, Simon."

♥︎

Tag list: @skeletonsucker

[zukkacore]

Kinda realized that I don’t think I ever have Jace acknowledge directly one time that Porter killed him. He’s mentioned his death and being cornered with a choice. He refers to Porter putting the shatterstar in his chest. To Porter changing him. To being resurrected. He refers to Porter “fucking him over” multiple times (in fact that’s usually how I refer to it). I don’t think he ever says once that Porter killed him

[pulquedeguayaba]

Been crying regularly since June last year but these last couple of weeks damn, specially this one that just ended.

I dont think I've ever cried so much in my life

[ace-and-ranty]

(STARING AT CEILING)

It’s just, you would NOT believe how feral and unhinged I became when Nico was confirmed gay in HoO, and the follow up was so, so, so disappointing.