#he’s such a fucking tease

[copiasslut]

It’s a good job we all satanic up in here bc I would do ungodly things to u copia

[t0ypupevergreen]

Not him saying he wants me to sit on their face and then immediately saying goodnight. 😭🥺

[iboopedyournose]

Ahhh the conclusion to possibly one of my favorite series of all time!!! 🥲

Innocence Pt VI

Innocence Masterpost

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict teaches his new wife how to ask for what she wants.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, sex education, dirty talk, bathing together, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f) from behind, vaginal sex doggy style, tiny smidge of anal play, discussion of anal sex and kink (bondage, discipline, power switching).

Word Count: 3.6 k

Author’s Note: Here is the final chapter of Innocence! I hope you enjoyed this little series! <3 Thank you to @makaylan for the read-through.

On the third day of your honeymoon, you are sharing a leisurely bath. A large copper tub full of warm water is quite the most delightful place to be, especially as you recline on your husband’s chest. Enjoying the feel of his fingertips grazing leisurely patterns over your stomach and ribs, almost unseen under the water, milky with forest-scented soap. 

“I'm not sure this is getting me very clean,” you jest quietly.

“Mmmm, maybe not, but it is just so delightful,” his voice rumbles through his ribcage and into your spine, settling into your bones like warm honey.

You smile and lean your head back on his shoulder, twisting slightly to land a kiss on his jaw.

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” you giggle.

He turns to capture your lips with his, the fingers of his hand curling into your belly as his tongue tangles with yours. The intimate shorthand you now share makes your movements together like a balletic dance, at once both familiar and exhilarating. Just one passionate kiss can have your stomach in knots and your core clenching, so desperate for him.

“Benedict…,” his name a pleading exhale as you part.

He nuzzles your cheek. “What, my darling wife?” his voice dripping with relaxed bemusement.

You look at him beseechingly, hoping he can intuit that you want his hand to slip lower, to touch between your legs as he can so expertly.

“If you want something, y/n, all you have to do is ask,” he chuckles, his eyes dancing with that beguiling mischief you know so well now.

“You know what I want, husband,” you murmur, writhing ever so slightly, the ropey muscle of his inner thighs framing your hips under the water.

“It is perhaps obvious,” he agrees, his lips warm on your cheekbone, “but I still need you to tell me. Use your words,” he teases, his other hand moving to cup your jaw, droplets of water running down his knuckles and onto your throat as he cradles your face and his eyes roam your expression, taking in your flushed cheeks from the heated water, dilated eyes and damp lips from his kisses.

“I want you to touch me,” you say softly.

“I am touching you,” he whispers back, fingertips swirling around your belly button in lazy circles under the translucent surface.

“No, I want you to touch me… lower,” you demure.

The hand moves and grasps your thigh gently. “Here?” he teases.

“No,” you twist your mouth into a slight pout, “you know where.”

“Tell me,” he urges, “you are a woman of sound, intelligent mind,” the flattery just falling from his lips without thought. “I know you know precisely what you want; you just have to say it, wife. I’m sure you remember a few days ago that I promised to do whatever you want. You just have to tell me in precise, exacting detail,” he baits. “I promise I will make it worth your while,” he adds, that rich, velvety tone making every cell in your body feel alive.

You take a deep breath. He wants you to talk in the beautiful filthy poetic prose he does. The air is thick with humidity as you feel your cheeks heat, but you are determined to rise to the challenge he throws down.

“I want your fingers between my legs, husband,” you rush out, and your breath hitches as the hand on your thigh slips onto your inner thigh, halfway to your knee, and stays there. He is being deliberately obtuse. “Benedict,” you whine.

“What?” he feigns ignorance, “my fingers are between your legs, my darling; isn't this what you wanted?” You watch the crooked smile spread over his face. 

“I want you to touch my little nub,” you exhale, a little embarrassed, using the term he taught you on that first night together.

“Mmmm, now we are getting somewhere,” he rumbles, and the hand slides lower in the water. You inhale sharply as his fingers come to rest on your clit, and instantly you feel the throb grow more insistent.

But he holds them still, just touching, not giving what you need most, friction, movement. You go to whine his name again, but he raises an eyebrow in challenge, goading you.

“I want you to move your fingers, husband,” you explain “please rub in little circles, just like you taught me to do before we married.”

“Oh, that’s better,” he compliments, and instantly, his hand starts to move. Swirling those artistic fingers delicately over your clit, the sensation making you moan lightly. “How is that, my love?” he asks indulgently.

“It's wonderful,” you sigh, your knees pulling up and falling open against the sides of the tub to allow him better access.

“Why did you move your legs?” he queries.

“So I am more available to you, to your touch,” you answer, getting bolder with your words.

“Mmm, tell me more,” he encourages, his other hand curling around your jaw more insistently, his eyes becoming just a ring of hazy colour around inky black pupils.

“If I open my legs, you can touch me much easier, perhaps press a little harder,” you hint, and he emits a soft laugh, obeying your request, making you keen. Without prompting, you continue. “Also, my cunt is open to you now, husband,” his inhale is sharp at your use of the base term he taught you. “Your wonderful long fingers can sink inside me, find that spot only you can, allow your talented thumb to rest where your fingers now are. Thrill me with those strong strokes you do so well.”

His chest is heaving a fraction under your back, and he does as you ask once you stop talking. His hand twisting, so his middle and pointer finger slip inside your body, his thumb swiping up and down over your clit, the thumbnail catching your clitoral hood so tantalisingly. He feels so wonderful inside you, warm and just wide and long enough for you to feel invaded, under his thrall, an appetiser of what will come later when he drives his cock into you. 

“Yes, that’s it,” you sigh, closing your eyes and settling back into him, pushing down on his touch.

His fingers hook forward and massage the spot inside that makes your hands shoot out and grip the edges of the tub, groaning his name as his teeth find your earlobe and bite down just a little.

“Yes, yes, Benedict, yes,” you chant, closing your eyes, moving against him in a more pronounced wave, your nipples peaking out of the top of the water, puckering in the cooler air of the room, just a delightful addition to the heady mix of sensation.

“Look at you,” he buzzes, his voice dusky, “look at how much like a goddess you are. My Aphrodite.” 

“Oh god, yes, please talk to me,” you entreat.

“What is it with you and my voice, darling?” he pitches almost an octave lower, and goosebumps erupt over your limbs. “Can you really be so aroused just by my voice?”

“Yes, husband, yes I can,” you assert, biting your lip and moving more.

“Well, today, it's your turn to arouse me with your words, my love.” he counters.

“I'm not sure I can do it,” you confess sotto voce. “Not the way you can, so wonderful and debauched.”

“Yes, you can; look what you have done to me already,” he surges his rigid cock onto your back, catching your breath, “keep talking, darling. Maybe you can make me come with your words alone,” he offers.

“But I do not want that,” you protest.

“What do you want then?”

“I want you to come inside me. Put your cock inside my cunt until we both come,” you state plainly as you can.

“Right away?” he breathes raggedly.

“No,” you simper, growing in confidence. “I want you to put your head between my legs first and use your tongue on me.”

“Do you now? Where do you want me to do that? I'm not sure I can do that here in the tub, my darling; I sadly cannot breathe underwater,” he huffs, amused.

“You can help me from the bath, dry my body, then you may do so,” you offer.

“Be explicit, my dear. How do you want my mouth between your legs? Do you want it here in the bathroom? Standing? Sitting? On the floor? In our bed?” he suggests.

“I liked what you did on our wedding night,” you answer quietly, “when you kneeled behind me and pleasured me that way. Perhaps, dear husband, you could pick me up and carry me to the fur rug in front of the fireplace in our bedroom—you can place me on my hands and knees and kiss my cunt from behind.”

“Oh, my darling,” his words raggedly. “You are so very, very full of wonderful ideas. That sounds utterly delightful; it would be my pleasure to do so.”

“Then perhaps you can fuck me like that, too? Kneeling behind me? Is that possible? I believe I may enjoy that very much,” you voice plainly.

“Most definitely. I am such a fortunate man,” Benedict asserts, the hand around your jaw slipping heavily over your chest to seize your breast, a splash of water painting your arm as he does so.

“Husband, I do not believe I asked you to grab my breast,” you cluck, revelling in the look of surprise that rolls across his handsome features.

“Oh wife, are you going to tell me what do to?” he breathes.

“I thought that was the whole point,” you smirk.

“Indeed,” he concedes, “but I didn't think that included rules on what I am not allowed to do.”

“Well, maybe I would like exactly what I would like,” you respond.

“So I should not do this? Do you wish me to stop?” he banters, expertly teasing your nipple, pinching it lightly between his fingertips.

“I didn't say that, now did I?” you argue impishly. “As you are there, you may continue,” you allow, and he chuckles richly.

“Do you want to come right now, darling, or do you just want the tease?” he asks, his fingers languidly moving within you.

“Mmm, just the tease, I think, husband, you do this so very well,” you compliment, letting out a groan against the dewy skin of his neck, burying your nose and revelling in the scent there, so very him despite the bath soap. No matter if he is freshly bathed or even wearing cologne, there is still an unmistakable undercurrent that is all him that you simply cannot get enough of.

There are no more words for a while as he just keeps up the slow tease of your body. Sensations simmering but never boiling over, keeping his caresses intentionally slow and deliberate, your body alive and crackling with anticipation. Enjoying the way he kisses your jaw and neck as his fingers pulse gently inside you.

“Now, husband,” is all you have to say when you are ready to take things further. 

He instantly withdraws his fingers and, with graceful athleticism, steps out of the tub behind you, wrapping himself in a bath sheet, then picks you up bridal style, carrying you to the rug in front of your fireplace, roaring pleasantly.

“Benedict, I am not dry; I am dripping bathwater everywhere,” you admonish mildly, twisting to see an extensive trail of water all across the pristine wood floors.

“I care not a jot,” he states firmly, dropping a bath sheet onto the thick sheepskin rug and delicately laying you out upon it. 

The dry heat from the fireplace helps wick the moisture quickly as he removes the towel around his body and softly runs it over yours, drying your skin just as you want. You giggle as he pays particular attention to your breasts and between your legs.

“I must be thorough, wife,” he says with a playful tone as you shake your head lightheartedly.

“Make sure I am not too dry between my legs, husband,” you riposte with a raised eyebrow, and he pauses while rubbing your calves, tosses aside the bath sheet and crawls over you; his bath-warm, still damp skin feels delightful sliding over yours.

“My love, do not fear; you are a veritable fountain there,” he assures with a rich tone, pressing his rigid cock against the junction of your thighs, “especially if I do this.” He moves to capture your nipple between his teeth, your body rising off the floor at the sudden sensation, calling his name. “See?” his tone oozing confidence as fingers spider down your belly and slip between your folds, met by hot, slick desire as he treats your other breast the same. “Now turn over, wife, so I may do as you bade me,” he adds.

You flip over under him, and he whips the other bath sheet from under you; the rug, warmed by the fire, is ticklish on your tummy, and you moan as he covers your naked body with his. So much heated skin as he worries your earlobe with his teeth before slipping down your body. Running his tongue down your spine, a hot slide of kisses as he travels lower, his hands banding around your hips and pulling you upright onto all-fours as his teeth graze the globe of your bottom.

“Hang on to the rug, darling,” he advises, tinged with smugness.

And without preamble, he pulls your cheeks apart and buries the tip of his nose into your cunt, his tongue whiplashing your clit. You almost squeal at the sudden pleasurable assault, your fingers scrunching into the thick pile of the sheepskin rug, scrambling for purchase as he pushes you at an almost break-neck speed somewhere primal. The stubble on his chin abraids your folds, an almost painful tickle as his jaw moves, drinking from your body. You curse and pant, twisting to look back. All you can see is a shock of chestnut hair between your cheeks, him kneeling behind you, pleasuring you almost harshly, just as you had asked.

“More,” you call greedily through gritted teeth, wanting everything he is willing to give, craving an intense experience, chasing the completion he had been teasing you with since you got into the bathtub.

And he obeys. A biting intensity as he sucks on your swollen, pulsing nub. Solid and fast swipes of his tongue until your arms collapse and you bury your face in the plush rug chanting his name, reaching back with one hand to grab his forearm, holding your cheeks open, keeping your hips high in the air as the fibres tickle your nostrils and expletives fall from your lips. 

“Don't stop,” you bark, catching your breath harshly on each syllable. “I need you to make me come hard, Benedict,” you specify, remembering he asked you to be explicit.

There is a muffled response into your cunt that sounds more like a growl than actual words, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, leaving marks as he feasts on your body. Wringing noises from your lungs that barely sound human as he spirals you higher, his tongue lapping rough on your clitoral hood and swirling right onto your nub.

“Come on, my love, give it to me,” he pants as he bites your inner thigh and a flick of a fingernail as he does so tumbles you over the precipice. Screaming and convulsing, fighting in his hold as your whole body spasms as every muscle contracts, his grasp the only thing keeping your hips upright as you flood onto his face and every cell in your being floods hot and pulsing. You hear encouraging praise, but it's muffled by the heartbeat galloping in your ears.

Your insides are still fluttering when he straightens and lines himself up, plunging his cock into your body. The stretching invasion makes you cry out and prolongs your orgasm, shifting it into something more profound, shuddering in all your bones.

“Tell me how that feels,” he demands as you struggle to form words, your face flushed with sated arousal, your lips tingling.

“So good,” you manage to croak, but he holds still buried deep inside you, and you realise he is waiting for you. To find your voice and say more, say how it feels and what you want from him. “It feels so good to have your cock inside me. Please fuck me,” you request.

A chuckle escapes his lips as he begins an unhurried rhythm, withdrawing then surging in, so you feel every inch of his cock drag along your walls. 

“Go harder, Benedict,” you implore, rocking back, hoping he will intuit precisely what you crave.

“As my lady commands,” he says coyly, something in the submissive pitch of his voice lighting a fire inside, as his grip on your hips tightens and he spears into you, making you grunt and your knees sink deep into the thick rug as your whole body rocks with the force.

The thought of a dynamic where he must obey your every word is thrilling. Perhaps just like when you rode him the morning after your wedding, but he is not permitted to touch you unless you allow it. Something about the heady tumble of mental images hurtles you fast towards a climax—the idea of him playing the ardent innocent pupil under your expert guidance.

“I want to give you orders, husband,” the words tumbling from you uncensored before you can stop them, your word staccato from the rhythm he is boring into you, “I want you to be the one receiving instruction from me in pleasure, the way you have to me.”

“Oh, wife, do you wish for me to obey you?” his eyes glittering as you twist to look at him over your shoulder, something wild in his expression.

“Yes,” you admit breathily, “I want you to do exactly as you are told, and I want to see you pleading for more.” You are unsure where all this comes from, especially as he holds and takes you in such a vulnerable position right now.

“My, how the student becomes the master,” he gusts, sounding impressed. “I will happily obey and submit to you, my wife, on one condition….”

“Name it,” you answer boldly, holding his molten gaze.

“You submit to my every wish, too; I have only just started to show you what we can do together.” he lectures and spanks your left cheek with an open hand as he bucks into you.

You groan and let your head fall to the rug, hips still high. “But you have taught me so much,” you gulp.

“I have indeed,” his tone carrying more than just a hint of swagger, “but there is so much more. We can tie each other up and tease until the other begs for mercy; we can discipline each other when wicked. The beauty is that power can be exchanged.” 

All the while he talks in those dulcet tones, he is setting an almost punishing pace, ploughing into your body over and over as you listen to his words intently. Your clit burns, the idea that you could switch roles, and play parts, much like at the theatrical, but in an intimate session. Just the two of you together.

“I look forward to it,” you reply honestly, “please, husband, I need to come again.”

“My greedy wife,” he huffs an approving laugh and spanks your other cheek for good measure. You moan and push back against him, unashamed to telegraph your need, grabbing one of his hands and sliding it through your pubic hair and onto your clit. “So very greedy,” he restates, but the gravelly tone tells you exactly how much he approves.

Closing your eyes as his fingers slide expertly over your sensitive bud, becoming pliant in his arms as he takes you forcefully. He is unforgiving in his mounting of you, his grasp strong enough to leave marks on your delicate flesh. Relentlessly pursue your joint completion, your bodies dewy again from the efforts, his fingers a frenzy between your legs. Amidst the carnality, he reaches for your hand, fingers laced together in a sweet gesture that contrasts so poignantly.

It's him who breaks first, stilling with his last thrust, taking you over with him as he spills deep inside you, shuddering and collapsing onto your back, panting. You call out his name and bury your face into the rug, revelling in the feel of it rasping your skin as pleasure erupts behind your eyelids. You both slump down, your limbs shaky, every inch of your being burning.  

He rolls you onto your side, and you lay curled into a little spoon, his breath warm on your neck as you both recover. You twist your head back to him and kiss lazily for what seems like ages, exchanging sweet words and basking in the afterglow. Gradually his hand insinuates its way between your bodies.

“Do you know, dear wife, there are also other things we have not yet explored about each other's bodies,” he offers casually, fingers sliding between the cheeks of your bottom. Embers of the fire in your veins flare again as he lightly circles your other hole. “You would be surprised how much pleasure I can give you back here.” Your breath is uneven as the tip of his thumb presses insistent, a pleasurable sensation blooming there as he teases your little ring. 

“When Benedict?” your question, an eager exhale.

“Soon, my darling, very soon,” he promises with a laden, dusky tone. “I love you,” he whispers tenderly.

“I love you too.”

You truly cannot wait for all the marital adventures yet to come.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Archery Nemesis.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[rayveneyed]

bakugou katsuki proclaims, quite often, that he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body. he snarls it — cheeks flushed an angry red — when you teasingly ask him for homemade chocolates, or to change your name in his phone to something cheesy. you’ve had him down as pumpkin from the moment you started dating, after all, and he’s long grown used to hearing baby and sweetheart and darling in place of his given name, even though he swears he hates it. you often tug at his wrist and point to bouquets of red roses, whining why don’t you ever get me those? just annoying enough to have him pulling your head under his elbow and roughly ruffling your hair, cursing the way he’s spoiled you.

kirishima got mina a heartbeat bracelet, you say pointedly, tucked under his arm on the couch and peering up at him with those eyes — those eyes that say you’re looking to push his buttons a little. (internally, he scoffs — as if he didn’t know. as if he wasn’t the one that gave shitty hair the idea in the first place. it’s just — it’s different, isn’t it, when he’s getting it for himself? for you?) shouldn’t we get something like that, baby ?

he grunts something unintelligible — something about how they’re gimmicky, how they probably don’t work, how it’d distract him when he’s kicking ass, how it’d probably melt with the use of a single howitzer impact, blah blah blah. you shrug. it’s not that big of a deal, anyway. you mostly brought it up to pull his leg a little — you know he’s not one for grand gestures like that, preferring his acts of service above all else — but for all the fight he’d put up, two heartbeat bracelets arrive at your apartment not even a week later. amazon prime expedited shipping, no less. 

he ignores you when you bring it up — lets you fasten it onto his wrist with little fanfare, the tips of his ears turning red, muttering something about he’d probably never use it, anyway, and he only got it so that you’d shut up about it all — never say i don’t do shit for you, woman!

but when he’s halfway across the world, tangled up in schemes larger than you have the capacity to think about — when you’re watching the news with teary eyes and bated breath, hands clutched to your chest, it always comes without fail: a small buzz on your wrist, gentle and thudding and rhythmic. ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump.

[tofixtheshadows]

No offense to Mithrun but he really was dumber than a 14 year old. Thistle had that shit locked down for ONE THOUSAND YEARS. Sure he wasn't having a great time for most of it but in terms of duration that Minecraft kid was the most successful Dungeon Lord in history. Mithrun's fake little tea party collapsed and got him eaten within 5 years. The hubris of snake pussy. Meanwhile the Winged Lion had to orchestrate Delgal's escape to the surface and a whole fake hero prophecy just to get out from under Thistle's littlest jester boot.

[hysterotic]

Please make more of those twitter threads of the Toman characters 😭 my ass was HOLLERING at all of them ☠️

meowww here’s how it feels to have tkrv guys in ur tl

[justaz]

lol arthur realizes with the other knights after watching merlin flirt and being hit with a wave of deja vu: holy shit you asked me out

merlin and the rest of the knights around a campfire after leaving a village bc lancelot and leon somehow started a brawl in the tavern: ???

arthur points at merlin: after valiant! you asked me to buy you a drink! you were asking me out!

merlin is busy cooking dinner and confused out of his fucking mind: what???…..valiant….oh the knight with the snakes.

gwaine who was slightly tipsy now stone cold sober and sitting up straight against a tree: wait. explain. what do you mean merlin asked you out??

arthur snaps his fingers as he recalls the memory: i apologized for sacking you and you said that if i bought you a drink we’d be even.

merlin now remembering how he had stumbled into camelot, picked a fight with a pigheaded bully which quickly turned homoerotic and flirtatious, and continued their teasing-flirting for days before merlin shot his shot and asked the prince out only to be rejected: oh yeah, i forgot i did that…..wait, you mean you didnt realize what i was asking?

arthur: no?? we argued everyday, how was i supposed to realize you were asking me out??

merlin now abandoning the dinner and staring across the camp at arthur while the rest of the knights watch their back and forth like a game of tennis: to you we were arguing, to me that was very much flirting. i thought you were flirting back so i decided to ask you. then you rejected me

arthur, mentally beating his past self up for fucking up their chance: i didn’t reject you!!! i just didn’t realize what you were asking me. how was i meant to? we fought every chance we got

leon, nudging elyan, glee and excitement riling through him: its happening!!! its finally happening!!! seven long, grueling years is finally paying off!!!

merlin, realizing the misunderstanding and acknowledging the fact that he wasn’t rejected, his flirtations just weren’t noticed - realizing he still has a chance: oh…oh i see. arthur, my dear, our fights were extremely flirtatious. need i remind you of what you said? “do you know how to walk on your knees? would you like me to teach you?” or “i could take you apart with one blow”

arthur, mental capabilities at an all time low: m…my dear….?????????

merlin grinning devilishly as he realizes that his flirtatious persona he had hidden away after falling head over heels for arthur can make a come back: that is what i called you. should i call you something else? say…mine?

percival gags in elyan’s ear: cheesy

elyan hides a laugh: at least they’re finally getting somewhere. better than the hopeless pining

arthur, flushed from head to toe: ah uh no um im uh

merlin thoroughly enjoying himself: oh come now, your majesty. use your words.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Logan forgetting that he IS infact gay sometimes. This man was born in the 1800s and has been in toxic masculine places for a very long time. Is the army pretty gay? Yes. But you aren't allowed to admit it or say it.

Logan: Why the fuck am I on the pride months staff member list? *shakes around paper*

Jubilee: *Blinks* ..... ??

Logan: *Crosses arms* Does it look like I'm gay!?

Jubilee: *slowly reaches for phone* Mr. Howlett Please come to the events organizer office

Logan: ?? Im right here.

Wade: *shows up* You called, Firefly? Oh hi pumpkin!

Jubilee: *Gestures to Wade* Is this not your husband?

Logan: And?

Wade: Ohhh is this about the thing in the closet? Look I swear I locked it!!

Jubilee: Im going to have Jean erase my memory of you ever saying that. Logan.... Is that your husband?

Logan: Yes??

Jubilee: Then you're gay.

Logan: No, im not!

Wade: YEAH!! He's bisexual.

Jubilee: Logan... Do you like men?

Logan: No! What do I look like a southern pansy?

Wade: YEA- wait.... what??

Wade and Jubilee: Should... should we tell him?

[sluttery-withoutshame]

I’m PMSL over the replies in this. I’m so glad I have a posse of slutty Eric enablers on here.

And did I IMMEDIATELY zoom in on that inner thigh?

I guess I did…

[vypridae]

silly thing i doodled of @sleepykittties fic 'Clerical Error' (link here) because i cannot get enough

don't ask how val found out what vox looked like in heaven (vox doesn't wanna talk about it)

[torchstelechos]

I think Binghe deserves to know about SQQ's past life as SY, not because I think he deserves to know why he got shoved into the abyss but because I think he deserve to know SQQ's fucking weird ass little mind. Wife plots and all. I think this would give Binghe some enrichment for his Shizun enclosure, cause nothing would make his little bingpup hamster wheel of a brain spin faster than realizing that SQQ is thinking about him 24/7 and is as obsessed with him as he is with SQQ

[icepip]

satoru's big cock bouncing uselessly against his tummy, leaving a pool of precum... his face and chest flushed so pretty.. strings of incoherent words leaving his lips.. wrists bound together above him... taking your cock so well.... oh how he'd love it when you coo at him, telling him he's such a good boy for knowing his place.... when your hand reaches for the base of his dick, it jumps in your hold, spilling his load on himself as you tell him that he never has to use it again... all he needs is your cock in his pretty little hole...

[s0fter-sin]

soap's whole deal being sniper and demolitions gets me going bc on the surface they sound so different but when you get into it, you realise it's bc soap's smart

sniping is all math; calculating distances and wind interference and bullet drop. something i think people overlook is he was listed as a sniper first so it can be implied that he's better at it than demolitions. he does more sniping in both campaigns than demolitions work; in capture or kill, ghost specifically calls on him to take down the aq snipers

and demolitions is math with a hit of chemistry; knowing what mixes with what, knowing how much to use, recognising environmental factors and adjusting accordingly. it's not just about the boom; so much work goes into contained/ planned explosions. especially when having enough power for a breacher charge and not bringing down the whole building is the difference between mission success and failure

the chemical bombs he makes in alone can't just be any old cleaners, they have to have the correct reaction to each other; he just knew off the top of his head what would mix with what to create what reaction. he would also potentially have to recognise them by sight/smell bc they would’ve been written in spanish

soap would also have to know architecture; recognising structural integrity and weak points so he knows exactly where to plant a charge to bring it down and how it'll come down

he has an incredible soldier's mind people just forget that bc he's sociable which itself is a skill

we know he tends to buck against orders he doesn't agree with like when he pushes back against ghost in capture or kill and shepherd when he tells them to release hassan

he gets closer to people and sees if he can trust them and that's when he follows them without question. really think about how he talks to alejandro and rudy; he asks about their home and alejandro's family and rudy's relationship with him. those aren't questions you ask a stranger after a few hours of knowing them. that's not even touching on his relationship with ghost

he also deliberately brings people of higher ranks down to his level; talking informally with ghost and giving him a shoulder punch, addressing alejandro (a colonel!!) by his first name and rudy by his nickname despite literally just meeting them. he personalises all of them and it’s in direct opposition to the reason most characters do that; it’s not due to insubordination or lack of respect, the more he respects and trusts someone, the more casual he is with them

he digs into people; he wants to know what makes them tick and that determines if he can one, trust them and two, follow their orders. once he decides that, he's the ultimate soldier; he bleeds loyalty which makes him vicious when that loyalty is taken for granted

he isn't naive or bubbly or insecure; he's an incredibly smart and aware soldier. he's aggressive and bloodthirsty and loyal and intuitive and i love him so much

[buwheal]

[musubiki]

danmarch 🐉💎