#honestly this poor man. hes going to have to have done the most fucked up thing possible to have deserved this.

[corvidcas]

regularly instilling the darkest most fucked up gory ass images in my head every night 👍

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

(Don't You) Steal My Thunder

my tyler owens playlist 🤝 inspiring fic titles

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's set on getting you on his good side. And the more you get to know him, the less you can resist.

a/n: i had to research sm car stuff for this it's not funny. i now know exactly how to describe a truck bed though, so. that's fun.

again, my inbox is wide open <33 i don't guarantee anything, but you can always come talk to me or request smth

masterlist | twisters masterlist

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met.

He prints his face on t-shirts, writes his autograph on mugs, comes up with ridiculous sayings ("Not My First Tornadeo" and "If you feel it, chase it" are really just the tip of the ice berg) and most importantly, he costs you the best shots of tornadoes every goddamn time.

Tyler Owens is a problem.

And Tyler Owens seems to have actively decided to make himself a problem too.

Which would be fine, if he flipped you the bird or told you to fuck off or threw his paper towels at you. Unluckily, those are rather examples of what you have done to him. Because it's not fine, not at all - no, Tyler Owens has decided that it's not enough to be in your way all the time, he has to seek you out and rub your nose in it.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's arrogant and he's entirely too full of himself. He brags too much and calls you "weather girl" too often. He gets under your skin more than you would ever admit.

And, as if all of that isn't enough - Tyler Owens is the very epitome of handsomeness.

It's like god didn't just have a good day when he created Tyler Owens, no, god must have still been in the post-haze of the best head he'd gotten in his whole immortal life when he'd created Tyler Owens.

Because Tyler Owens has the body of a greek god and the face of a Hollywood actor. He's not a pornstar, he's who pornstars worship. He's the Prince Charming little girls dream of and the Christian Grey grown women lust for.

Tyler Owens looks like everything you've ever wanted.

But he's just such a fucking asshole.

You wish you could say you didn't care. You'd love to be the kind of woman who didn't even acknowledge him. But you're not. You're not. You watch his videos when you can't sleep, you chuckle when you happen to overhear his jokes, you ogle his back when he's turned away from you. Sometimes, you get so lost in staring at him that you realise too late when he turns back around, and then you have to act unbothered when he grins his fucking grin at you. That's mostly when you flip him off, desperately fighting to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

Not like it stops him. You honestly feel like it only spurs him on.

Something has to seriously be wrong with him. It's not his face. But something is seriously wrong with him, you're sure of that.

Something has to be wrong with him. No sane person would ever go tornado wrangling. No hate to the rest of his crew - they're nice, you've managed to hold a few pretty normal conversations with them here and there - but none of them are sane either.

Storm chasing is different. You keep your distance. All you need are a few well-placed photographs - and those you can get from a rather safe number of miles away. The weather channel doesn't care about close-ups (not really, anyway). They want something to show the people on their comfortable couches, up in New Hampshire or Maine, so that all of them can say to each other "What poor folks, wouldn't wanna live there" and nod in pity as they switch the channel to watch another blockbuster.

You're just doing your job.

The only problem is that it's hard to do your job properly when there's always that fucking red truck in the way, driving down empty roads right into the heart of the tornado. And because no one on the news wants people to see that and go "Well, can't be too bad if there's still cars on the streets!", in the last few months - ever since you'd volunteered to move back to Oklahoma 'So that we've got someone right in Tornado Alley and don't have to fly people out there every time' - the weather channel has only shown the first few minutes of tornadoes forming. The rest of your pictures and videos lie abandoned in the trash file on your laptop. Except for a few - a very, very few, very, very good pictures of Tyler Owens and his Tornado Wranglers. But those won't ever see the light of day either.

You'd be damned if you let anyone know that while Tyler Owens is busy disturbing your actual work, you're busy taking pictures of him shooting fireworks into tornadoes. Pictures that would make for some damn good headers (if you hadn't buried them far, far down your gallery).

This time is no different. You get a few amazing shots of the tornado forming – surely an EF2, maybe even an EF3 - before you settle in the driver's seat again, your window rolled down and your camera hung around your neck as you push down on the gas. Then, a few miles further, you get even better shots of the full tornado, of the first few minutes of destruction, right there, in the middle of an empty field.

And as always, of course, just as the tornado takes on full form, you spot that familiar red truck through the lens of your camera. It speeds down the pavement right in front of where you’ve swerved onto the side of the road and you snap a few pictures, just because you’ve got the trigger right underneath your finger. Honestly, something about that dirty red paint against the grey skies just looks too good not to capture. But then the truck comes closer and closer and starts to slow down and you let your camera sink.

Tyler has his window rolled down already when he stops the car. There’s that annoyingly handsome grin on his lips, the one that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“You’re too far away, weather girl”, he calls out above the rumble of distant wind and thunder. “The good pictures are down that way.”

“The good pictures are right here.” You lift your camera at him. “Maybe you just need to update your equipment.”

Tyler’s grin widens, but before he can throw another of those obnoxious retorts your way, Lilly’s voice rings out through the car.

“Hey, T, looks like it’s changing course. You should hurry.”

His eyes are still glued to yours, still glued so firmly to yours that it makes your skin crawl. You can’t look away, couldn’t possibly look away. Tyler Owens might just be a cocky asshole, but you’re only human. And the weight of his gaze on yours is enough to keep you stuck in place, clutching at your camera.

“We’re on our way, Lilly”, he drawls without looking away from you. “See you around, weather girl.”

The rest of the pictures you take land in your trash file with all the other pictures of the last few weeks. You’re laying in bed, your laptop propped up against a pillow, the empty plate from dinner on the mattress next to you as you sort through today’s work. That’s the good thing about the time difference – you’ve got until seven to send the channel the day's results.

By nine, you’ve showered, put on a dress you feel confident in and settled on one of the chairs at the local bar. You’ve been telling yourself you need to get out a little bit more – you’ve been living here three months now and you haven’t really made any friends so far. To be fair, your job has kept you out and about most of the time. You’ve spent more hours at gas stations to fill up your tank than you have in your own home. But now you’ve decided to put an end to that. You're a young woman in a new town, you can meet more people than just the cashier at the local supermarket.

So for the past twenty minutes, you’ve been nursing a mojito at the counter and talking to the bartender. She’s nice, she’s your age, she’s extroverted enough to keep sidling up to you after every time she has to excuse herself to do her job. That, and she tells you she’s grown up here, so she knows most of the people around. She’s just serving another customer – a long-haired, brown-eyed, hat-wearing country guy who’s already shared a smile or two with you – when someone rests their arm on the countertop next to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here”, he drawls, all low, deep Southern accent and you recognise his voice before you’ve even tilted your head up and looked at him. His grin drips down onto his words and wraps itself around your mind.

Tyler Owens isn’t just annoying – he’s unbelievable. He's unbelievable and he’s here.

“So you’re stalking me now”, you say, as drily as you can possibly manage. You've been doing that a lot around him. Dead-panning everything. Schooling your expression into fake neutrality.

"I'm here all the time, weather girl", he grins. "If anything, you're stalking me."

You snort, but it's rather unfunny when you think of all the videos you've watched, hours after they'd been livestreamed, cuddled up in your bed until midnight just to stare at his face. He's not that far from the truth.

"In your dreams, Owens", you say anyway, dragging your eyes back towards your almost empty cocktail glass. You wrap your lips around your straw and drain your drink entirely. What you say and what you do, none of that matters in the end. All of this is just show. Every conversation you've had with Tyler Owens in the last three months has been nothing but a performance. Other than your name, you don't think a single sentence out of your mouth has been honest. Not when it comes to him.

"Let me buy you a beer" is the only answer you get.

His grin widens when you look back up again - so cocky, so unbelievably cocky.

"I don't drink."

You push your glass an inch further down the bar top. Tyler raises his eyebrows. Fuck, someone really needs to kick him in the face. You can't keep having all these little heart attacks whenever he's close enough that you could touch him if you wanted.

Not that you want to.

"You're drinking right now", he says. You rest your palms against the bar top and blink at him.

"I don't drink with you."

He lets out a chuckle, one of those deep ones that settle right in your chest and make it hard to swallow.

"Just this once?", he asks and in all honesty, for just a second there, you actually consider giving in. He's too handsome for his own good. You really need to get it together. He's an ass (what an ass, goddamn). And he's insane. He's an insane ass. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of that - those times like now, when his piercing eyes and his kissable lips and his rugged stubble and his broad, broad shoulders and his drawled voice overshadow everything else.

"Don't you have some livestreaming to do?", you ask, hoping it still comes across just as sarcastic when you're the slightest bit distracted by how gloriously tight the sleeves of his flannel are. "Go chasing tornadoes, not me."

His grin widens inexplicably further. You're sure that if you were in a comic, there'd be a lightbulb flashing above his head right about now.

"Well", he drawls, "if you feel it..."

"Don't you do that shit to me, Owens."

He's raising his eyebrows again, raising his eyebrows as you clasp your hand around your empty glass so hard your knuckles turn white. But you're serious. Just as you'd lost yourself in the view of him, that angelic, sinful view of him, he'd gone and reminded you why you were so adamant to keep your distance. If you feel it, chase it. Ridiculous. Obnoxious. He's an arrogant, know-it-all, suicidal job-wrecker. He's the guy with cameras pointed at him everywhere he goes. He signs mugs and selfies and hats and shirts and bras. He's the reason you haven't gotten a single un-edited shot of a fully formed tornado in the last three months.

"You're not a fan of my catchphrase, weather girl?"

He can't even pretend to look wounded (even though he tries) with how big the grin on his lips still is. You stare right at him, dead-eyed and unflinching.

"I'm not a fan of you."

Lies slip off your tongue so easily by now that you wonder when you'd become morally compromised enough to not even care anymore. It must've happened somewhere along the way, sometime between the first conversation you'd had with him and the one you're having with him right now.

"You wound me", he grins, his palm pressed to his chest.

For the first time tonight, you allow yourself to grin back at him.

"I try."

With that, you slip off your chair and wave the bartender goodbye. You're already two steps away when Tyler calls after you.

"I'd still buy you a beer."

"I'm still not drinking with you", you call back. You don't turn around again. You just make your way back to your car and mark the evening as a half-successful night of socialising on your to-do list.

...

You see him again first thing the next day. Of course. Because there's no tornadoes without the Tornado Wranglers on their tail. By now, you're used to it. You wave at Dani as they come back out of the store at the gas station you're waiting at. They've got both arms full of coffees and for a second, you consider offering your help, but then you hear Tyler shout something out of his car and you suddenly don't feel any desire whatsoever to get up. You've sat yourself down in your truck bed, your camera slung around your neck and the radar on your lap. If all goes right, you're hoping for a tornado to form a little to the east from here. And as much as you dislike Tyler Owens, the fact that he's here soothes your nerves. Where he goes, there's sure to be tornadoes close by.

The few times you hadn't seen him had never ended well for you. You'd missed an EF3 your second week here just because you'd followed the wrong hunch. Meanwhile Tyler, of course, had been in the middle of it.

This might just be the one singular situation that you welcome seeing his red truck around. As long as you can manage to overtake him on the road after.

It's not that you need to be faster. You don't need to reach the tornado first. You don't even take the same way as him most of the time. He wants in there, you just want a sensible picture. Still, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment every time you hit the brakes and jump out of your car, miles away from the actual cell as Tyler speeds down towards it. You've been telling yourself that it's because he ruins your pictures. It kind of is.

"Hey, weather girl!"

You let out a resigned breath as you tilt your head up and squint against the sun. He's still in his truck, his window rolled down, his elbow propped up against the car door.

"What do you want, Owens?"

Your fingers itch to reach for your camera. It's a visual, him in that fucking car, leaning out of his window with the sun peaking out behind him. But you can't, you can't take a picture of him this openly. Even if you were to argue that it's just the light you'd wanted to capture.

"To give you some advice", he calls out, his lips pulling into a grin. You raise your eyebrows at him. "East isn't gonna work out. Wind's changing. Go south."

He throws you a mock salute and hits the gas before you can say anything else.

Not that you'd been about to.

Instead you just curse to yourself, jump off the truck bed and throw your treacherous technology into the passenger seat with a little too much vigor. Fuck this. You sit at the steering wheel and stare out at the sky for exactly two seconds before you make your decision. Then you start your car and drive south.

You may not be a fan of Tyler Owens, but you've long since admitted to yourself that this man has got a gift. He has an unbeatable instinct when it comes to storms. And sure, you have your fair share of knowledge, but in the end, you're a photographer, not a meteorologist. You won't miss a day's work just because you're too proud to listen to Tyler.

You're a little further behind, but you can spot his truck and guess that he's driving straight on into the cell today, so you take a right and decide to try your luck with the side of the tornado. Not being right in its path doesn't sound too bad anyway.

You actually manage to snap a few well-placed pictures. You don't know what Tyler's doing, but it seems like he's not shooting random shit up the cell today. You'll watch the stream later - you're just the slightest bit curious now what's happening with them. Maybe they're doing some old-school chasing? Or maybe they're doing a challenge. Maybe Tyler is driving blindfolded. At this point, who knows.

It's good for you though. It's a considerable tornado today, an EF2 at least, and you only spot Tyler's red truck again when the cell moves further down the fields, away from him. It doesn't look like it's gonna disappear anytime soon. Maybe today's your lucky day.

Half an hour later, you're sure you've got at least a dozen pictures of the fully formed tornado, long touched down and without the red truck in the way.

You're just packing up your things, already sifting through the photos on your camera, squinting against the sunlight, trying to both tug the zipper of your bag closed and hit the right buttons at the same time when Tyler pulls up next to you.

"You look busy, weather girl", he says, already grinning that damn grin again.

"I am", you say - truthfully, for once. You let go of your bag and lower your camera. You're hesitant, but... "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime", he grins. "Just do me one favour."

You already know this can't be good. Not with that cheeky look on his face. But he'd just saved you from chasing hot air (quite literally), so he deserves a little treat. And you don't want unsettled scores with Tyler Owens.

"I want to know what favour that's supposed to be before I agree", you say anyway, because with him, you can never be too careful. And in the end, you're only willing to do so much. (Though for him, you'd already do a lot more than you'd admit. A lot more than you hope he's aware of.)

"Let me buy you a beer", he says, and for once, he sounds serious.

The memory of yesterday night flashes before your eyes, of those same words at the bar. With him so close, way too close - with that grin and that stubble and that voice and those shoulders. You cross your arms and stare at him.

"If you're livestreaming this, I'm gonna sue your ass so hard."

He just lets out a chuckle and raises his hands in surrender.

"Cameras are off, I swear."

You stare at him for another silent ten or so seconds. At him in that fucking truck that looks just a little too good in your pictures. At him and his fucking face. That fucking face that you certainly wouldn't mind sitting on, if just to shut him up.

God, he's asking you to drink something with him. He's asking to buy you something to drink with him. You're stupid.

You're so, so stupid.

"Alright, cowboy", you say, uncrossing your arms and reaching for the handle of your car door. "I'll humour you."

...

You're in the bar again by nine that night, the same way you had been the day before. You're wearing a different dress and there's a different bartender, but you've ordered the same mojito and chosen the same place to sit.

Only this time, you're actively watching the door. And when Tyler strolls in, you've got to shift around in your seat and cross your legs. You don't even pretend you're not staring. You just ogle him openly. Not for the first time ever - you'd checked him out very obviously when he'd strutted towards you to introduce himself three months ago - but definitely for the first time in a while. And god yeah, he's a hunk of a man, alright. If you had your camera here right now...

But you don't. So instead, you drop your eyes to his feet (brown leather boots), drag them up his legs (blue jeans), over his chest (red checkered flannel), over his face (god, what you wouldn't give-) and finally rest them on the cowboy hat on top of his head.

When he's close enough to hear you, already grinning, of course, probably at how you're actually sitting there in the same spot as yesterday and hadn't just lied to his face about coming here, you raise your eyebrows at him.

"A cowboy hat?", you ask, your voice as unbothered as you can possibly manage (even though you're very, very, very much bothered right now). His grin only widens.

"Ladies love country boys", he drawls with a shrug.

"Now that's straight out of a song", you say. "You're getting lazy, Owens."

"A song?", he asks. "No, that's an Owens Original."

You pull your eyebrows even further up.

"Ladies love country boys? Trace Adkins?"

"Nope. Not familiar."

But his grin tells you that he's lying. He's a liar. He knows very well where he got that line from. And he knows just how easily he got under your skin with his simple trick. As if his face isn't enough already.

You just shake your head and turn away from him.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Owens. Buy me a beer."

...

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also a great conversationalist.

The hours fly by as you're talking. One beer turns into two, then into an uncountable number of soft drinks. You both agree that you need to drive home, neither of you is willing to risk a run-in with the police. You need your drivers license for your jobs.

Tyler talks to you about the pictures you've taken today, then about the pictures from last week. He laughs when you blame him for ruining half of them and almost spits out his coke when you slap his arm for laughing at you. He tells you about his crew, about the people they've helped with the money from their dumb t-shirt sales. You think you hate him less by the minute. You're not sure if you're okay with that. But he gets you talking about your childhood and your parents, about school and college and about how you've wound back up here in Oklahoma. That effectively distracts you.

That, and how his cocky grin morphs into a genuine smile the more you open up.

Not that you didn't love the cocky grin. You did, just a bit. As obnoxious as it was. But the way he smiles at you all sweet has you melting right in your spot.

It's not the first time you realise that beneath all that rough exterior, there beats a heart of gold. You've known what those t-shirt sales are for, that he offers food and water after a tornado hits a town, that he carries the injured out of the ruins of their houses and helps find lost dogs. The more you've been around him in the past weeks, the more you've seen of his soft side. Of the way he cares and supports. But in the end, it always is easier to go back to the status quo - to fall back onto mindless snark and fleeting first impressions.

You'd clung so desperately to the image of him as this arrogant, smug, holier-than-thou influencer god for the sole purpose of keeping your own sanity. Because you'd known that without despising him, you would fall head over heels for Tyler Owens, and you just couldn't have that.

But now, with his arm brushing against yours and his hat discarded on the bar top and his smile, that beautiful, beautiful smile on his lips...

"Five bucks", he drawls, already reaching for his wallet.

"What?"

"Five bucks says there won't be a tornado tomorrow."

You raise your eyebrows at him, your glass hovering in mid-air between the two of you. You'd meant to take a sip, but now you're setting it right back down on the bar top.

"You're shitting me."

Tyler just shakes his head. He's grinning again, but it's much softer this time around.

"The winds are looking great. The forecast says it's gonna be the best conditions for tornadoes we've seen in the last six weeks. I've heard Dexter talk about how we're probably gonna see an EF4 tomorrow", you tell him, even though you're sure he's well aware of all of it. This is Tyler Owens, for god's sake. He knows about the winds and the forecasts. He knows that his crew is making preparations already.

His grin only grows. And it's smug now. It's cocky now. It's everything you thought you'd left behind during this conversation. He looks like the Tornado Wrangler again, like the guy who fucks up your pictures and makes your job harder than it already is.

It takes you a second too long to realise why.

"Dexter said that on our live", he grins, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. You physically recoil from him. "Do you watch our streams, weather girl?"

"No", you breathe, rigid and frozen, shocked to your very core. No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. You'd... You hadn't made that mistake. He hadn't got you to make that mistake.

"Dexter talked about tomorrow on our live", Tyler says again, straightening his back and grinning down at you like he's just uncovered the lost grave of Cleopatra. "Only on the live. You watched our stream."

"No", you mutter, your eyes wide and your mouth dry, so dry. You need to drink. You need to drink so badly. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You watched our stream, honey."

The petname runs down your spine and clogs your senses. Honey. Oh, he's an ass, he's an asshole! But you're on the spot, you're on the spot and he's calling you honey, honey, honey. You can't do anything but watch as he leans closer to you, grinning down at you like it's his one true purpose on this earth, like he wants to eat you alive.

"I'd say you watch our streams pretty regularly, weather girl."

You swallow hard and clasp your hand around your glass.

"Yeah?", you breathe, hoping against all hope that your voice sounds somewhat innocent. You're sure it doesn't. You know it doesn't. You probably sound as guilty as you are, but... Hope dies last. Hope always dies last. "Why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch." He shows off those pearly fucking whites for you. "Call it an instinct. I'm usually right."

He is.

He's right now. He's right usually.

Him and his fucking instinct. His goddamn gut feeling about tornadoes, always right all the fucking time. He's like an Oklahoma Jesus. The first coming of Tornado Christ.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

"I'll take your bet." You drain your glass at once. "Give me your five bucks, Owens."

You don't think it'll work. You don't think he'll let you distract him. You don't think it'll be this easy to stop his vile teasing. He's not the type of guy to let something go. He's not the type of guy to let anything go ever. But he looks at you and he grins at you and he trails his eyes over your face and then he opens up his wallet and pulls out five dollars without another word.

He puts the bill flat on the bar top.

But when you go to reach for it, he pushes his fingers down.

"The price just went up", he says.

You raise your eyebrows and let your hand sink again. Tyler is absolutely unpredictable. You should've known.

"The price just went up?", you repeat. He nods. "What more do you want to bet?"

He's closer now, closer all of a sudden. He's too close, close enough to make your breath hitch. He's looking down at you with that cocky, cheeky grin, with his weirdly green eyes, with his three day stubble and his generally much too symmetrical face. You can't do anything but look back up at him.

"A kiss", he says. Simple as that.

A kiss.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He is. Truly. He's annoying and way too full of himself and much too presumptuous. Tyler Owens is the only man who would ever do something like this. The only man who'd bet a kiss on whether or not there will be tornadoes tomorrow.

Especially with that forecast.

The one that says a tornado is basically inevitable.

"Alright", you say. He may be Tyler Owens, the guy with an infallible instinct - but he is also Tyler Owens, the guy who's been doing his hardest to get under your skin. This time might not be any different. For all you know, he's bluffing to rile you up. "I'm in."

...

At eleven the next day, you're standing next to Dexter in resigned silence.

"I really thought today was gonna pan out", you mutter.

"It should have", Dexter frowns, tapping against the screen in his hands. "It should have worked out. The conditions should have been perfect. Everything's been building the last few days."

"But it collapsed this morning."

You turn your head and watch as Tyler comes to a stand next to you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the clear sky up above. He tilts his head to you and grins. Fuck, he's wearing his goddamn hat again. It's like he doesn't even try to be normal.

"Hey, weather girl", he greets. "Ready to cash out your bet?"

You shake your head at him. No, you're not giving up this easily. You never give up this easily.

"The day's not over yet, Owens. You haven't won 'til midnight."

...

You spend most of the next hours sitting in your truck bed, reading a book you'd thrown into your backseat weeks ago and had so far neglected. Lilly hands you lunch around two, Dani offers you a coffee around five and Boone pipes up here and there to joke about the wasted day. Around six, Dexter comes by to let you know they're calling it.

You still have another hour to go. By seven, it'll be too late to send your pictures anyway. But you want the hour. You need the hour.

You still haven't decided what to do about Tyler. About Tyler and his fucking bet.

He's been loitering the whole day, walking by, joking around with his crew, livestreaming a spontaneous q&a just because.

And the more minutes tick by, the harder it is to keep ignoring that you've most definitely lost the bet. Even though you do your best. You read, you check your phone. You stare at your radar. You stare at the weather forecast. You talk to Dexter and Dani and Lilly and Boone. You take a few pictures of the sky. Then you take a few pictures of Tyler, standing some feet away from his truck and looking out at the clouds.

It's only when two of three Tornado Wranglers cars are disappearing down the road, when Tyler Owens suddenly stands in front of your truck bed, that you put down your book and face reality.

"No tornadoes in sight", he says, instead of 'Hello' or 'How are you' like any other person would.

"There's still six hours left", you reason. Even if only one of those is relevant for your job today.

"You really want to wait out six hours to prove I'm right?"

"You're not right", you argue. It's fruitless, it's stupid, it's unreasonable. But... "Not yet, anyway."

Tyler raises his eyebrows at you, lets out an amused chuckle and leans against the side of your truck bed.

"Alright, so we wait."

You eye him from the side. He's fucking leaning against your truck, staring out at the sky, talking about six hours. Goddamn. He can't be serious, can he? His crew is already gone. They've disappeared into the descending sun and he's talking about waiting another six hours. Leaned against your car.

"Fuck's sake, Owens", you sigh, scooching over to the right. "At least sit down then."

You don't talk much at first. You just open your book back up again and try your hardest to ignore that he's even here at all, barely two feet away from you on the other side of your truck bed. If you stretched your leg, you'd hit him right in the hip.

It makes reading close to impossible.

Even though he's not doing anything at all. He's just sitting there, one arm propped up on the side board, that goddamn cowboy hat on his head and his feet hanging off the opened tailgate. It's almost worse that he's not doing anything.

That he's just sitting there and watching the sky change.

You give up on reading entirely when you realise that you've finished exactly five pages in half an hour. Instead, you put your book back in the car, pull out your bluetooth speaker and two water bottles and offer Tyler one of them.

You don't even ask him what music he wants to listen to. You just put on your country playlist and roll with it. By the twitch of his lips, you know he certainly doesn't mind.

Another half hour later, it's starting to get chilly and you're beginning to grow bored of the music. Tyler sitting next to you makes you fidgety, somehow, and you can't really enjoy the songs you usually love so much. So you switch to a podcast. You don't ask Tyler if he minds. He's free to go anytime.

Around eight, the sun starts to set, and the chill turns into an unpleasant cool. You hadn't really expected to be sitting out here so long. You're not prepared for the temperature to drop. You're wearing shorts, for god's sake, shorts and a top. It's summer in Oklahoma - you don't know how Tyler even manages to survive in his long jeans. You certainly wouldn't.

But now you're a little jealous, to be honest. He doesn't look cold in the slightest while you're fighting off shivers. You can feel your hands trembling already.

You really should've brought a jacket. But who brings jackets in 30 degree summer weather?

So instead, you just resign yourself to your fate and rub your hands along your arms. Anything to get some warmth into your body.

For the first time since you've sat back down, Tyler turns his head and looks at you.

"You're cold", he says, eyes raking over your arms and the goosebumps you'd gotten.

"Great observational skills, Sherlock Holmes", you deadpan, even though he doesn't really deserve that. He had so far left you pretty much alone. "A+ on that assignment."

Well, it's hard to break bad habits.

Tyler just chuckles, shakes his head and pushes off of the truck bed. You watch, eyes narrowed, as he walks back to his own car, opens up the trunk and- pulls out a blanket?

Your hands have sunken down to your lap all by themselves by the time he's standing in front of you again, holding out the blanket.

"For you, Watson", he grins as you slowly, carefully take the blanket from him. You mutter something along the lines of a soft 'Thank you' before you wrap the blanket around your arms.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also the very definition of "Tough on the outside, soft on the inside". Sometimes, you think the word 'angelic' works for more than just his divine looks.

Your eyes are glued to him as he sits back down next to you and looks out at the darkening sky with that signature grin on his lips, like he knows that you're watching him and enjoys it more than he should. That doesn't deter you though. For the very first time. You don't even stop staring when he turns his head back to you. You don't even stop staring then.

You just look at him until his grin crumbles. Until he's smiling that smile from yesterday night, the one that has your heart squeezing together and then exploding in your chest. You think you could stare at that smile for the rest of eternity and never feel sated.

"What?", he asks, his voice so soft it makes you swallow. Your lips part, but there's no words on your tongue, none in your throat. They're stuck in your chest somewhere, wrapped around your heart so tightly that you can't let them go even now. So you just press your lips together, wrap your blanket tighter around yourself and say:

"So I'm Watson, yeah?"

Your podcast is long forgotten by the time the sky turns dark. So dark that you make Tyler climb into your car and turn on the lights. You're comfortable in your blanket, you don't feel the need to move.

It's around ten when the blanket isn't enough anymore.

You tuck your hands underneath your top, but that only helps for so long. A few minutes later, you're trembling again, trembling even though you're pulling the blanket as tightly around you as you possibly can. Tyler raises his eyebrows when a particularly heavy shiver runs down your spine, one of those that come and go within three seconds.

"Come here", he says, shuffling in his spot and motioning for you to move over to him. You don't really think about it. It's more of a reflex as you fumble the blanket off of your body, scooch over to him, settle yourself against his side and sneak your feet under his thigh. He tugs the blanket back up to your chin, tucks it in behind your back and wraps his arms around you.

Tyler Owens wraps his arms around you.

And he's so fucking warm you literally almost moan. God, you hadn't actually realised just how cold you'd been.

"Damn, you're freezing", he notes as well, just as you nestle further into him and hum in agreement. He's like a living heater right now. You'd like to just crawl inside of him and suck up all his warmth. "You should've told me sooner."

"I didn't tell you at all", you mutter, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He smells good. He smells so good. Earthy, musky somehow. You're tempted to turn your head and bury your nose in his shoulder.

Instead, you just satisfy yourself with what you can get. Fuck, he smells so good. He smells just like you'd thought he would, like country and rodeo and thunderstorms. He smells like falling into bed at the end of a successful chase. He smells like more. You want more.

You want more of Tyler Owens.

"Are you sniffing me?", he asks suddenly, but he sounds so amused you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed. You just open your eyes and grin at him, tilting your head so you can look up at him.

"What if I am?", you ask, if only to hear that breathless chuckle fall from his lips. Oh, those lips. You're in trouble. "Are you gonna call the cops on me?"

"I could never."

"Yeah, you better not, cowboy", you mutter, eyes dropping to his lips when he grins. He's so close. He's way too close. "There's like thirty things I could call the cops about on your channel."

His grin grows until he's showing off his teeth, glinting against the low light of the leds in your car. He's closer now.

"So you do watch our streams, weather girl."

His voice is so low and he's so close, so close. Your lips part all on their own. You haven't looked back up at his eyes in too long. Far too long. But he's so close, and he's so warm, and he smells so good.

"Alright", you whisper. His mouth is barely an inch from yours. You can feel every breath he takes. "I watch your streams."

And then your lips are on his.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's smug. He makes your job harder than it has to be. He does everything and anything to get under your skin. But Tyler Ownes is the best goddamn kisser this side of the globe.

He trails his hands, his big, big hands, down your sides, pushes the blanket out of the way and grabs at your waist with just enough firmness. He pulls you onto his lap and rests his thumbs over the hem of your top. He breathes into your mouth and takes it slow. He doesn't care that you almost knock his hat out of the way when you try to wrap your arms around his neck. He just holds you tightly to him and lets you tug on his lip.

You honestly don't know how much time has passed when he pulls back, grinning an entirely new grin at you, hazy and euphoric.

"It's not midnight yet", he mutters, the slightest bit out of breath.

"I don't care", you mumble, drawing him right back in for another kiss. You think you might be addicted. You simply can't get enough of him. You can't get enough of Tyler Owens.

But then a thought strikes you, and you pull away with a grin that makes him raise his eyebrows.

You chuckle against his lips.

"If you feel it, chase it, right?"

[phas3d]

Slytherin boys as gamer bfs and what games they would play with their significant other?

Gamers >:) | Slytherin Boys

type :: fluff

tw/cw :: cock fighting, animal cruelty, gambling, threats (these are all for fucking tom bc ofc it is...) - suicide joke (mattheo)

contains :: draco, tom. mattheo, theodore, lorenzo

notes :: im ngl idk half of these games in depth - i just heard and seen the sterotypes of these games - fps = first person shooter, dbh = detroit become human, abg = asian baby girl, bow = breathe of the wild ||

DRACO MALFOY sims 4 / roblox

This man sucks ass at gaming, he literally can't do it

His aim is shit, he screams when he's in a fight, and he rage quits the second he loses

So he has to stick to girly games

He has so many mods and cc for sims that it's insane

His pc runs like it's on life support because of this, pls save that poor computer

And he likes playing roblox too sometimes

But he doesn't even play the normal games

Bro plays Dress To Impress and Maple Hospital...

Like what the fuck are you doing there??? Go on BloxFruits or smth man

What's even worse is he eats EVERYONEEE up in Dress to Impress, he literally always top 3

And when he isn't top 3, he curses and swears but it doesn't go through cause tags

He literally cannot do obbys either oh my fucking god

You know that one meme of Sadness from Inside Out dropping her popcorn and someone quote-tweets it saying, "Damn she can't do anything"

That's exactly who Draco is when it comes to gaming

TOM RIDDLE dark web gambling / elden ring

Oh my fucking God this guy can't have a normal hobby ever

He doesn't game at all,,, literally just gambling bruh

He hosts illegal gambling rings online and even host some in the school basement

One time he even hosted an illegal cock ring fight...

Yes,,, he stole the chickens from Hagrid and made them fight....

He even used magic to give them powers like pokemon....

He made a fucking WATER chicken and FIRE chicken fight

Thank god he didn't actually let them kill each other, he just did it until one was near death

But back to gambling - he also manipulates people in so many ways

He casts a spell that silently chants "go all in, go all in" so it subconsciously makes people bet more

Bro even gets some students in DEBT!?!?! Like how tf did you do that and WHYYY would you do that

If someone doesn't come down to the basement in a while to gamble,,, then Tom will fix that

Besides illegal gamlbing...

He plays Elden Ring, which is pretty normal

Besides the fact that he BEAT THAT SHIT IN LIKE 2 DAYS?!!??!!?

Normally streamers, pro gamers, they all take weeks and sometimes even months just to make progress

But Tom is just,,, just better ig?

So yeah... He sticks to gambling cause every other game is just too easy for him

MATTHEO RIDDLE gta V / fortnite / rocket league / nba 2k24

God this guy is the worst sterotypical middle school boy ever

He even had the ugly ass big blue headset with the shit mic on it

Plays GTA V every now and then, only when he's angry

That's when he goes around town and just beats the shit out of everyone

Likes playing Fortnite for hours on end with his friends, mostly Theo and Lorenzo cause they can actually keep up with him (Draco is ass at FPS and

Plays rocket league and NBA 2k24 because of fucking course he does - look at him....

He's just a boy....

A really toxic one.....

Definitely screams "KILL YOURSELFFFFF!!!!!!" if he loses and honestly he's kinda real for that

THEODORE NOTT god of war / detroit become human

Loves games that have a long story

It's a good mix of story and fighting, he can't really get into pure FPS games

Have done most routes in DBH and even found easter eggs and hacks

Tries to get you into the lore as well but sometimes it goes so deep you get confused

"NO!!! Connor in route 8 is actually a pretty neutral guy and he's-"

Like bro what??? Why do you know everything about this "Connor" guy??? smh

He dabbles in some FPS sometimes, like playing Fortnite with Matt and Enzo

And he actually REALLY good

Has great aim and precision

But he just can't get into it for some reason, it's not his type

LORENZO BERKSHIRE valorant / zelda breath of the wild

I feel like Enzo playing Valorant makes so so sooo much sense

He's not AS toxic as the other guys, but he's still weird and fuck-boy-ish in his own way

Definitely plays with e-girls and tries to bag an ABG

But he gets catfished....

He's pretty good at Valorant, surprisingly

His mic stays on for every single game... Even if no one else is talking

This man will talk to a fucking wall and still be yapping

"Okay guys way I need to pee" ...

There's only bots in his server.........

He also loves RPG games and stuff like that

So BOW is perfect for him to shut off his mind and just roam and do useless tasks

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Dom!Simon "Ghost" Riley x sub!reader, John "Soap" Mactavish x reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" Mactavish, reader

Summary: When a one time sexual encounter leaves you wanting more, but the rules were set the moment he entered you and now he does his best to avoid you, what is a girl to do to get what she wants? That's right, make him jealous. And if it works a little too well maybe he will give you the night of your life. Good thing you have a flirty Scotsman to mess with, perhaps if you can't get your way, you can still have fun. Only time and a bit of effort on your part will tell what goes down.

Word Count: 12.7 k

Warnings:

Part 2: What's Mine You'll Never Have

You knew what you were getting yourself into before it even started. The rule was simple enough: this was a one time thing, a no strings attached fuck that would end and never be spoken of again because it just so happened to be with a man in a higher rank than you who had a reputation to uphold. Agreeing was the easy part; honestly, you would have done whatever was asked of you in that moment for a ride  as the heat between you both rose, his touch sending shocks down your limbs, and if one and done was all you got you were going to jump on it with complete pun intended. It wasn’t as if you care for him; really you could barely stand him on a good day, though you would have been a liar to deny there wasn’t something erotically toxic about him.

Your superior office was a fucking beastly specimen of masculinity: broad, full chest, arms big enough that they looked like they could bend steel, thighs so fucking thick and juicy you could comfortably ride his massive cock for hours. Though you had never fully seen the face of this quiet and serious man nor knew more than the most basic information about him it did not matter, you knew before you ever saw it that what was rubbing against your thigh as he pinned you to that wall was mouth-filling enough that you needed to get your hands on it and by god you loved when were absolutely right.

That one random night had found you at the right place and the right time, when tensions were high along with his aggression and a good screwing would help take the edge off of an otherwise frustrating and fruitless mission. Things went fairly quick from when he had grabbed you by the waist and before you knew it you found yourself naked in his bed, filling the room with your whimpers as muscles pumped, bodies writhed and bucked, and sweat stained the sheets along with the rest of your combined fluids. You were made to come several times as your lieutenant unleashed himself upon you with a voracious appetite for your body that didn’t let up until your poor little cunt couldn’t take another orgasm. Exhausted and satisfied, you left him in bed with a cigarette pressed to his smirking lips set free from his mask and that was that; you’d go about your merry way a little more satisfied than usual, but otherwise not putting up a fight about the arrangement.

…Or so you thought.

It was only a couple of weeks later that the ache really set in, that one deep inside you that no matter how many times you touched yourself with those sore fingers stroking away for what felt like hours, you simply could not satisfy. Shit, you were feral with desperation for Ghost's fat fucking cock and thick tongue to make your pussy their property once more and you needed to rectify the situation fast before you developed carpal tunnel. Since your lieutenant was avoiding you like the plague ever since that night, only being near when absolutely necessary and nothing more, you would have to take matters into your own hands. 

There was so much you did not know about Ghost when it came to more personal matters, but he was a man after all and though they came in different flavors, they all could be manipulated in the same ways. You owned all you needed to bring them to their knees and with your devious little mind always working overtime you were easily able to concoct your plan to make that hulking man jealous enough to hopefully break the terms of his agreement. These were indeed desperate times and that is when desperate measures are called for. Nothing is more desperate than using jealousy as a weapon and that meant pitting two men against each other to get what you wanted, but you would deal with the moral ramifications of your actions later.

You first needed someone to use in your quest of jealousy and it was completely obvious from the moment the thought entered your mind the exact person you wanted to use to get Ghost’s attention, one that the sting of seeing you with him would hopefully cause him to act  irrationally and that person was none other than Sargent MacTavish. The two officers were close, well as close as anyone could get to Ghost, at least you were certain it would be enough that if you pulled out all the stops and put all your effort into flirting with the Scotsman, it would surely light a fire in your target. And if not, maybe if you started to give him the extra attention he seemed to want, Soap would be down to help you alleviate your little ‘problem.’ It wouldn’t be exactly what you wanted, but if you couldn’t have your first choice, then you wouldn’t be picky.

It wasn’t a huge secret around the base that the mohawked pretty boy had a bit of flirtatious nature when it came to you and so it would be nearly effortless to play into that to get the effect you wanted. Briefly you had the thought to actually tell Soap what it was you were up to, but you concluded that that left too much up to chance; what if he didn’t agree to helping you or what if knowing that you were intentionally flirting with him to get to Ghost made his reactions not as sincere or worse yet he actually tried to sabotage you? No, this had to seem spontaneous and so you kept everything tight lipped. Settling on your victim, now all you needed was a place for this little show to happen. It had to be public, preferably somewhere that alcohol was involved; liquor always heightened emotions and made for bad decisions to magically come true. If that’s what it took for Ghost to give in to you, then that was absolutely fine. 

There were times when the entire task force would venture out into the night for a bit of fun, usually after a successful mission when the mood seemed just right to let loose, so all you had to do was wait for something to happen that would be a cause for a trip to the local bar and that was the part in all of this that nearly broke you. Nothing you had done up to this point had ever been harder; your poor vibrator was begging you for a damned break and you were sure the thing would fall apart before you got the chance to implement your plan.

Finally though, you had your sinful prayers answered and you seized the opportunity with both of your devious hands. The mission you had just returned from had not been easy in the slightest, but in the end it was a success and after all the preparation and execution that had happened over the course of a few weeks, the whole team was ready to let off a little steam. The minute you heard Soap suggest the usual group outing, your filthy heart skipped a beat.

Soap was the one to ask you himself if you were going to be joining on this little rendezvous as he caught up to you right after debriefing. The way he made sure to specifically invite you stuck out as odd, as he had not done anything like this before now, but you let the thought slip to the back of your mind as the timing was just too perfect not to take full advantage of as a certain someone just so happened to be within range when he asked. 

“C'moan, lassie,” he picked, giving you a playful shove and plastering that sad puppy dog look over his face. “Please. Wilnae be na fun witoot ye.”

Just out of the very corner of your vision, you could see that brooding tower of man watching this conversation like a hawk stalking a mouse through the grass. You wondered if he could hear everything being said as well as he could see what was happening and just in case you laid it on thick; can’t waste him being around to see you getting a bit more friendly with the Sargent, given how you usually interact. 

“And what’s in it for me?” you picked back.

“Th' chance tae git wit a charmer who’s guid at chattin,” he was quick to shoot back as if the response had been rehearsed. 

You smirked. “Oh, and when will I meet this good conversationalist? Will he be joining us there?” God you were laying it on with a paint roller.

Soap shook his head with a chuckle. “Ye know as well as ah that a nicht oot wi' me is yin tae rememer,” he met you with the same energy. “ 'sides, it’ll be lonely 'ere a' by yersel' sin a' body is goin'.”

“Everyone?” you repeated, pretending to give the idea some serious thought. Waiting a few more seconds you finally gave Soap your brightest smile with a firm nod of your head as if you had just decided right then and there and hadn’t been plotting all this time like the devil you were. “Alright, I’m in. A night off base sounds like just what I need anyway. It’s about time we go out.”

“That’s whit ah lik' tae hear,” he beamed, glad you had accepted the personal invitation. 

You gave him a playful nudge from your elbow. “I just can’t say no to you, ya know? Not when you look at me like that. Just makes me fold every time.”

He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. Try as he might to hide it, there was no stopping the physical signs that triggered whenever you were around to give away the thoughts inside. “I’ll come grab ye at 8 'n' we kin head ower th'gither, if that’s a'right. Don’t want ye aff goin' after dark a' by yer lonesome.”

“My protector,” you gave his bulking bicep a short hug. “I’ll be waiting for you.” With a nod you parted ways and headed back to your barracks to get ready as a certain skulking member of 141 went stomping off back in the opposite direction to his own quarters in a rush.

And just as promised, right on the dot Soap was there knocking, ready to escort you off into the night. The moment you opened the door to your barracks he was stopped dead in his tracks at your appearance; it wasn’t often you got the chance to wear something other than the tactical gear that covered you from head to toe and you definitely put in the effort tonight to look your best. Your light blue crop top hugged your tits just right and matched the way your jeans clung to the curves of your hips and down the lines of your toned legs. You opted to wear your hair down with a loose curl to it and you had put on just the hint of makeup to play up your eyes and make them sparkle. It wasn’t over-the-top, but it was enough to make Soap pause and that meant you had done a good job.

“What?” you asked with a light-hearted laugh at his reaction, even though you knew exactly what it was that had left him speechless.

“Nothing,” he said while diverting his gaze. “Ye just look nice is all.”

“Don’t I always?” you sassily replied.

 Nodding his head with a raise of his eyebrows, he agreed. “Weel, can’t argie wit' that. Ye could mak' a garbage bag look guid.” 

“That’s what I thought,” you shot him a playful smile, making his temperature rise. 

Soap had to clear his throat before he could respond, already getting flustered before anything had actually happened. “Ready a' go?” he asked.

“Let’s do this,” you said as you both went off, ready to let the liquor take your cares away.

There was already a gathering at the bar when you both arrived, others getting there, grabbing a table large enough for the entire group, and diving in to the drink to get the night started. Luck, or a very well timed conversation, was on your side tonight as surprise, surprise, you found Ghost himself in tow with the gang. What made him break his streak of isolation was of no consequence, all you cared about was that this had the best potential to work and you were confident that what transpired here would make your tight hole soon be filled to the brim with him.

He sat at the opposite end of the table from you, though opting to sit on the side that gave him the best vantage point to keep his eyes on you if he wanted. His usual over-the-top skull mask had been exchanged tonight for a simple black balaclava with a white painted jaw bone structure on the bottom of it. It was interesting to actually see more of those autumn-colored iris’, though he still had his customary eye black rimming them to keep them dark and mysterious. He had also opted for jeans and a black shirt with matching jacket, something that showed off more of his body and especially that spectacular ass; fuck, you had to remember not to salivate.

The moment you and Soap walked in Ghost’s sight was drawn to you, making him freeze with his glass half raised to his lips as he took in what exactly it was you were wearing. It had been a hot fucking minute since he had the pleasure of seeing more of your curves being accentuated by something other than bulky tactical gear that hid away all this delicious full figure from his gaze. It wasn’t very hot inside the bar, but a cold sweat began to spread out across Ghost’s body as you joined the group with a playful smile on your lips, effortlessly falling into the light-hearted conversation happening around him.

It had stayed pretty innocent through the first part of the evening until you began enjoying a rousing game of Never Have I Ever that included Captain Price nearly having an aneurysm and Ghost choking on his drink when you gleefully lifted your glass to your lips for the statement “never have I ever masturbated while on night patrol”, but you weren’t bothered. There was no room to be shy when your teammates were mostly comprised of men and especially when you needed to make one squirm.

“Are you serious?!” Gaz asked astonished that you had been bold enough to admit such a thing.

You nodded your head and you downed the last of your beer. “Look, you gotta do what you gotta do when you’re bored,” you smirked and you were sure Soap was going to pass out from all the blood gathering in one particular area from the image being conjured in his imagination. The night really got fun after that with mini raucous arguments exploding over who was the better at accents, with contest to match, and which song was the best to get you pumped for a raid and soon you realized you had downed another couple drinks as the laughter flowed as good as the liquor.

“Anither round boys?” Soap joyfully asked around at all present as the night had continued on. This was about round three or four, you couldn’t rightly remember at this point. He turned his attention to you sitting at his side, wanting to ask you personally with an inebriated smile spread across his lips. “How aboot it, ye up fur annur? Don’t tell me you’re gonnae tap oot noo, th' nicht is aye young.”

His eagerness to be in your close company all evening was indeed charming and if you didn’t have your eyes focused on the man who could use you like a rag doll and not even break a sweat, you might have liked to see where this would lead, but the heart wants what it wants. Or rather you should say the cunt, as that was the organ calling all the shots now. 

Shaking your head, you shot him a smile back. “Never,” you stated firmly. “I’m still in it as long as you are, pretty boy.”

“Atta lassie,” he praised enthusiastically as he got to his feet to go order another round with the bartender, hoping you wouldn’t notice how strong he was coming on; the liquor was hitting a bit harder than he realized and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he was struggling to hold it together, but you didn’t mind; in fact, you kind of liked the way it sounded. If Ghost didn’t do anything by the end of the night then you were sure you could easily get Soap to take you back to his private quarters.

You watched him go, letting your eyes linger on his objectively fine looking taut ass, before you managed a sideways glance over towards the other end of the table where he sat. Your eyes hadn’t even fully clocked Ghost yet and you could already feel that grumpy, silent, mask-clad man’s eyes boring holes into you as if he were trying to set you ablaze. There was no seeing any of his features other than his eyes through the mask, but his agitated body posture alone was evident enough that he had taken notice of your closeness with his colleague.   

Time to turn up the heat and really stick it to him; Ghost was going to regret ever taking away the pleasure of his body from your immediate access by being forced to watch you give away your own to someone else. The night was still young and you had ample opportunity to make sure he knew just how far you were willing to go to get his attention. 

Soap returned moments later with a slew of beers in hand, distributing them around those still partaking, but saving the last for you specifically just to give you that bit of extra attention. You gratefully accepted it from him, your fingers lingering over the backside of his hand as you took the glass into your grip. 

Across the way you noticed one of the two pool tables had suddenly become free as the two older gentlemen playing had called it a night. Now that’s one game that can get two people close real quick, especially if one of them pretended they didn’t know how to play at all and would need a lot of help. Soap had tried to get you to join a game with him and Gaz or Price on several occasions, but you had always said you enjoyed being a spectator more than a player, so you never took him up on it… until now.

Soap’s attention was still on you as he took a swig off his glass and you used that opportunity to nod over towards the now empty table. “Seems we’re in luck,” you pointed out and he followed your eyeline over. “Maybe it’s a full moon or some shit, but I’m in the mood to try something new and I know how many times you’ve tried to get me to have a go. Feel up to finally giving me a free lesson?”

“Ye don’t hae tae ask me twice, lassie,” he smiled. There wasn’t a chance in hell he wasn’t going to jump at the opportunity and jump he did, setting down his drink with a slosh and pushing out of his chair quick before grabbing your hand to drag you over so that another group couldn’t claim it for themselves first.

Back across the room your eyes locked on to Ghost’s and you raised a seductive eyebrow menacingly at him. It was obvious the way his upper body bristled as Soap came back with your cues and stood close beside you; it was about to get even more intimate when he showed you how to hit the billiard balls and both of you currently eye-locked knew it. Don’t like it, do something about it bitch, the look in your eyes challenged, but sadly he still sat there nursing his whiskey, though with more aggression than he had previously.

You were handed the wooden stick and you held it uncertain in your grip. “You are gonna have to start at the very beginning with me,” you chuckled, “I have no idea what I’m doing and the liquor isn’t helping.”

Soap chuckled and gave you a look. “I’ve git ye, don’t ye worry.” 

And got you he indeed did. After quickly explaining the scant amount of rules in excited and quick fashion, he demonstrated the stance you would need to take as he broke up the balls to start. Now it was your turn and you would have to be convincing. 

“Like this?” you questioned as you leaned over the table; you left plenty of room for improvement by not fully getting it right.

“Almost,” Soap said as he walked back over to where you stood in front of the shot you wanted to take. “'ere, let me hulp.”

Leaning against you to marionette your body where he wanted it to go, he maneuvered you around until you were in better form. Your back was pressed to his chest and you could feel the muscles brace against you through his t-shirt. He fit perfectly against the curve of your spine as you both tilted your bodies lower over the table and the warmth that hit your back half felt nice. Those bulked out arms covering your own definitely didn’t feel bad either. 

Not too shabby, Sargent, you silently praised. 

“Lik' this,” he said. “Ye juist pull back 'n'…”

Just as he was about make your cue strike the ball, you pretended to accidentally step back so that your ass got firmly pressed up against his crotch, making him twitch and completely butcher the hit. The stick made contact with the cue ball and sent it flying just off the edge of the table to roll across the floor away from you both. 

“Sorry,” you feigned innocence. “I fucked that up royally.”

“Nah,” he laughed with a wink as he went to grab the ball and return it to the table, “just git a unique technique is a'. We kin wirk oan that, bit ah think yu''ll need tae let me hulp ye a bit mair.” 

You both devolved into flirty laughter before continuing on with the game, Soap taking every available opportunity to correct your form just to be close to you as much as possible. And you didn’t shy away from ‘accidentally’ grinding against him from time to time just to watch him get flustered all over again. For a moment it felt nice for someone just to enjoy the pleasure of your company along with your body. 

It wasn’t until nature called that you said that you had enough for one night with a promise that you’d pick this up another time before you headed off to the bathroom to relieve yourself. It gave you a good chance to check and make sure you looked as good as you did when you got here. Although the rose had bloomed in your cheeks from the heat and the drink, you still looked just as you hoped and giving yourself a satisfied smile in the mirror, you left.

Stepping out of the bathroom, you began to head back to the table when you noticed that all the seats seemed to be filled suddenly. You counted heads, but there was one that you hadn’t seen before. Some tart had decided to take the moment to chat up Gaz and so you had no place to sit… or did you? Honestly this could not have gone better if you had written it out because now you had an excuse to do what you did next, not that you needed one, but damn was it too perfect not to take advantage of.

Ghost’s eyes were already on you again as you made your way across the bar floor and for the second time tonight you pointedly locked eyes with him, raising your eyebrow cockily, before stepping up next to Soap. As soon as he looked up to see who it was, you swung a leg over him and then the other until you were sitting in his empty lap. You could feel him freeze beneath your ass as he was surprised by this sudden change of events, but he didn’t protest this new development. Instead, one of his strong arms scooped itself around your back to your hip, making sure that you were secure on his lap so you wouldn’t think about leaving it too soon. 

“Hi,” you mischievously flashed him a smile, your faces close together.

He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself from your contact and the perky breasts near his face he was currently trying not to stare at. “Hi back,” he stammered out.

In a smooth motion, you laced one of your arms around his shoulders. “I hope this seat wasn’t taken, seems mine was though. Can’t expect me to stand the rest of the night, right?” 

“I’m nae complaining,” he admitted, giving the exposed small of your back a rub with his thumb; he felt weak at how soft your skin was beneath his touch.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear,” you gave him a subtle wink as you situated yourself better on his lap. “It’s a pretty good seat anyway, very comfortable. Plus it doesn’t hurt to being this close to you, get a better look at the scruffy mug.”

“Och is it?” he smirked, watching you struggle to grab your now half-empty glass and reaching across, handed it back. “Well, it's aye open tae ye, bonnie, as lang as ye lik'.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you said, taking a sip. 

You swallowed fast as you felt him risk more of a touch as he slipped his fingers just inside the back waistband of your jeans. “Nah, that’s reserved juist fur ye.”

That was it; without warning, Ghost slammed down his drink so that it splashes liquid onto the surface of the table and he quickly stood from his chair. He didn’t address anyone that had turned towards him at the outburst or even give some bullshit excuse for his departure, instead just storming out into the night without a sound. You weren’t entirely sure, but you could swear his fists were clinched tight down at his sides and nothing made you more ecstatic; that was exactly the sign you had been looking for that gave you hope that all this had not been in vain.

After another lengthy round you feigned exhaustion and made your excuses to the group to leave, commenting about how your bed was calling your name as you could barely keep your eyes open. Soap was definitely the most visibly saddened by your decision to call it a night already; he wanted to ask you to stay with him longer, but ultimately decided to keep quiet about it. Perhaps he didn’t want to rock the boat and ruin an otherwise spectacular evening spent in your company by complicating things or maybe he had gotten the vibe that there was something more to Ghost’s sudden outburst and exit, but whatever it was he gave you a smile and a wish that you get back to base safely and sent you on your merry way.

All the way back to your barracks you had a smirk plaster across your inebriated face, certain that your little ruse had achieved the outcome you had been plotting for and now all you would have to do was wait for your lieutenant to get riled up enough to come crawling back to you. Your wicked little mind wondered if his hand was already down his pants, frantically stroking his cock in an attempt to rid his mind of you or if he had already taken several ice cold showers to stop his body from burning for your own.

It filled you with a malicious glee to have this effect on such a stoic and impassible man and as you reentered your quarters, inebriated and full of yourself, you found your bed and fell back against the surface with a slew of delightful images concerning your lieutenant’s neediness floating around your head to keep you company as the alcohol wore off. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been daydreaming for when you heard the door to your barracks open. That wasn’t uncommon as it was a shared room, but what happened next absolutely was. 

*SLAM*

The force with which the door was shut rang through the room loud enough to shake the walls. The noise startled you, though you could probably take one single guess as to what the reason for such an intrusion could be and you’d be correct. Turning your head you could see all 6’4” of your superior standing there, taking up the entire doorway with his impressive form. Seems that your little ruse had worked to perfection and you could not help feeling smug about making him crack.

Ghost clocked you in your bed and could plainly see you had noticed his entry and yet you had not moved from your spot, even though decorum dictated you get to attention since he was a superior officer. Fine, you weren’t going to do as you should then you were going to be given orders and be forced to.

“Come here,” he demanded shortly, those intense brown eyes staring back at you unblinking from behind his balaclava. 

That devilish grin spread out all across your entire face as you sat up and crossed your arms over your chest. “Or what?” you pushed back to your masked superior. “It’s late, after hours in fact. Right now we are off the clock and I believe that means I don’t have to.”

One low, gravely chuckle was released from him. “Keep this up, luv, and you will find out what it means to disobey,” he threatened, his voice metered and firm. “I’ll give you one more chance before the consequences of your actions get you in fucking deep water. Come here, that’s an order.”

Doe-eyed and playing dumb you stared back before rotating your body until your legs were hanging off the side, but still you stayed seated. “What did I do, hmm?” you asked with a tilt of your head, playing pretend, but not exactly trying hard to hide the fact that you knew what it was you were being accused of. 

“Don’t you sit there and act like you don’t know, you little bitch,” he snapped, his scolding tone harsh and biting. “Everyone there tonight could see what you were doing clear as day, so there is no use in denying it. Making a spectacle of yourself and disrespecting your place on this task force.”

Shaking your head, you glared him down. “And why, sir, do you care? Didn’t like the show?” again you boldly fought back. “There is nothing saying that I can’t have a bit of extracurricular excitement with those on this team. Did Price send you to reprimand me? Cause if not I don’t see what problem you have. Or is there more to it than that that I’m just not getting? Wanna come clean about anything, sir? Was it really about what I was doing or was it more who I was doing it with. You jealous of MacTavish getting a little action?”

What had gotten in you today? You hadn’t had this much fight in you in quite a while and though he secretly enjoyed your fire as it was what drew him to you in the first place, you had disrespected him and that came with consequences. The way you used ol’ Johnny boy for your sick fucking attempt at clearly making him jealous had worked and he was not pleased with the amount of control you seemed to hold over him because of it. His cock had been hard as a rock since he left the bar and he could do nothing to ease the ache; you were going to pay for that by the end of the night.  

“Get. Up.” he growled with enough power behind it to send a shiver down your spine. “Now.”

The authority in his voice boomed through the room, intimidating enough to make you follow orders as you knew he had reached his limit and you could do nothing except genuinely fold and comply out of sheer intimidation alone. He meant business.

“You want to act a brat and sass me, then you get punished as one. Or did you forget I am still your superior?” he seethed as he gripped your wrist and yanked you towards him once you were within range. His grip around your arm was strong; there was no way you were getting out of his grasp even if you fought it. “You’re coming with me and I don’t want to hear any arguing, so don’t try it. Fight me and you will regret it.”

“And just where are we going?” you asked. If this was really a reprimand for your behavior, wouldn't your barracks be just fine? No, this was something more.

He whetted his lips under his mask, but ultimately kept quiet. Talk could come later once you had gotten to the destination, right now he had to focus on not loosing his mind before he had a chance to let you have it for what you did. You watched wide eyed and silent as he dragged you out of your barracks and through the facility back to his own private quarters, not caring who saw what, and once there he was pulling you inside and bolting the door behind the both of you. No one would be hindering his disciplining now, nor what he planned to do to you afterward. 

Satisfied that the entrance to his room was secured, he threw your back against the door, the sound from the hit ringing through the silence. Another bang sounded from his tattooed forearm also hitting the door just above your head as he rested it there so that he could lean down enough to get into your face. His chest was almost pressed to you and you could feel the heat radiating off of him along with a strong scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke on his breath and gunpowder on his fingers that all mixed together to drive you mad. 

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, hmm?” he spat angrily in your face, the outline of his lips just visible through the fabric of his skull-painted balaclava. “Throwing yourself at Johnny like a fucking trashy whore. The whole bar could see you being a pathetic mess and for what? I knew I was right in going tonight to keep an eye on you because you just can’t help yourself, can you? How fucking dare you pull that shit in front of everyone.”

You kept your eyes on his, never letting his gaze drift from your own. “So what if I did? Like I already said, it shouldn’t matter because you don’t own me. I didn’t make you come keep an eye on me, you did it all on your own and now you have to suffer the consequences.”

Being this close to you again was agony, your body within his reach that all he had to do was take what he wanted, and the ache in his cock that started in the bar was too much to ignore anymore; goddamn the pressure was enough that he felt himself about to explode. There was no more waiting if he wanted this interaction to last longer than a few minutes, and he definitely wasn’t going to be letting you go anytime soon, so reaching down the front of him he undid his pants with his free hand. 

Buckle jingling and the audible zip of a fly lowering hit your ears and he was able to release that thick, fat cock of his. He looked back up into your eyes with a predator’s gaze and groaned low and guttural as he gave his phallus several drawn out strokes, wetting his length with the bit of precum that had dripped out of the uncut tip.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he snapped as he seethed at your audacity. “You are on thin ice so I suggest you stop while you are ahead.”

His anger only confirmed it for you that you had gotten under his skin. A short, quick breath was pushed out of your nose as you shook your head. “With full disrespect sir,” you breathed, “why don’t you make me.”

Oh you had done it now. “You wanna tease me like the dirty slag you are, deliberately misbehaving clearly just to get my attention, then you have to accept the consequences when you get it the way that you did,” his words were sharp and firm, punctuated with grunts as he worked himself. 

“Let me guess, sir, I’m gonna have to suck it to make up for my act,” you balked with a sassy roll of your eyes, still a bit of fire in you that he had yet to quell. “How creative.”

Ghost shook his head with a low, malicious laugh. “You that greedy for me, princess? Gonna take whatever you can get your lips around? You are pathetic.” 

He knew just how to take care of a bratty little bitch like yourself; he was a true master at knowing exactly how to make bad girls fold and come to heel for him. “Don’t stand there and act like I don’t know how much you would enjoy that, choking on this fat dick until your eyes are watering. I remember how your makeup ran down your cheeks that night and how it felt like you’d rather suck me off then breathe. If you think I’m about to give you exactly what you want, you’re fucking mistaken baby. No, I have something worse in store for you.”

Tucking his throbbing cock back into his pants, he grabbed both of your bare wrists in one of his large hands while the other went to his belt. With a sharp tug, he wrenched it free from the belt loops and quickly wrapped it around your wrists to bind your hands together before opening the door just enough to place the tail end in between the top of the door and the door frame, shutting and locking it again once he had it secure. A sharp jerk as he pulled it tighter around your wrists made the leather dig into your flesh and you gasped at the feeling.

Once he was sure you weren’t going anywhere, Ghost slid himself off of you so that he would have full unbridled access. Nothing could stop him now from taking the hem of your jeans and yanking them down without undoing the button and off your legs, leaving you exposed to him in nothing but your delicate panties, the same ones he remembered from that damned night that sealed his fate now. 

“You want to come clean about what you were doing at the bar or will I be forced to fuck the confession out of you?” he asked. “Say that you did all that just to make me jealous and I may go easier on you.”

Slowly you opened your eyelids to him, tilting your head upward with a devious smirk. “I don’t have to admit to shit,” you returned with bite to your tone, “not when whatever the answer could be is irrelevant; all that is important is that it worked.”

He shook his head side to side; he should have known you were still too spicy to come to heel yet, but you would. By God you would bend to him. “ Suit yourself, sweetheart. You are about to be taught a good, hard lesson; brats like you need to be disciplined well or else they get too full of themselves. You should have never made me watch that disgusting display of you throwing yourself at another man,” he growled angrily. 

He wasted no time in collecting the crotch of your delicate panties with his fingertips and wrenching them to the side. He didn’t stop until he had ripped them from your body and tossed the delicate shreds away behind him. “I could smell the desire leaking off Soap like goddamn cologne, just as much as I smell the scent of your arousal for me now. I was so close to caving his skull in to see him put his hands you on like that and you just fucking let him. Baby girl, you need to learn who it is you belong to right here and fucking now.”

Shit, you may have just bratted yourself too close to the sun on this one, but there was no turning back now. You knew the consequences were going to be dire as that primal side of your lieutenant took over and you would simply have to accept every single delicious bit of his wrath that he gave you. Oh no, how horrible it would be to get exactly what you wanted. 

There was no warning about what he was plotting until you felt his hand slip down between your thighs, parting them easily as a knife in warm butter, and one of those thick fingers sliding between the petals of your sex towards your entrance, gathering as much of your slick as he could on his digit before inserting it fully into your core up to the knuckle. “Greedy bitch, I can feel you taking in my finger like it’s nothing,” the backhanded praise sent shivers down your spine as he began to work feverishly at your G spot, with rough and intense movements; there would be no easing into this, you did not deserve that luxury. 

Rhythmically he pumped that finger in and out of you as his opposite hand held your pelvis in place while you writhed and arched your back against the door. Instinctively, your hips bucked against his hand, trying to make as much contact with him as possible as you struggled with your hands above your head; you needed more, you needed it all. You had waited too long for this.

“Does my greedy girl need another?” he asked slyly, though not waiting long enough for your reply before slipping in another digit into your already dripping cunt.

“God,” you groaned, head back and mouth open as you were deliciously stretched out even further.

Ghost chuckled at how easy you were breaking for him. “God isn’t here sweetheart. You’ll have to deal with me right now.”

His pace was relentless and even with those tough, calloused fingers he knew how to use them better than any toy. It was too much to handle and your body responded in kind, your back arching wildly each time he struck that lovely little bean over and over again, the sweat clinging to your forehead as your body took every bit of his relentless assault on your sanity while your toes curled against the hard floor. Minute after minute, his full attention focused solely on you, each stroke along that incredibly sensitive bundle of nerve endings drawing you increasingly closer to that razors edge and threatening to violently throw you off. 

There was no need for you to speak it aloud first, Ghost knew you were close just by the way your body spoke to him: your head falling back against the surface of the door with eyes fluttering closed and your breathing quickening as that pressure built to the peak. It was in that moment where your orgasm was in sight that you whispered its arrival was near and he made his move; you were going to regret confirming it for him. Suddenly his fingers were ripped completely out of you, leaving you mewling for the feeling of him again as the sensation dissipated. 

“Goddammit, I was so close,” you snipped at him, shooting daggers through your irate glare.“I thought you liked me and then you pull this shit.”

The absurdity of your statement made him scoff. “And what would ever give you that idea? I don’t have to like you to fucking own you sweetheart.”

“Fuck you.” Your body shook as you squeezed your bare thighs together tightly, hoping that the friction would be enough to finish it, but the moment was gone and you were just left frustrated. 

Ghost’s knee found your thighs and slipped between them to kept them separated as your wetness soaked into his pants leg; you weren’t going to come yet until he was ready for you to and that would be some time as your penance had not been paid in full quite yet. “That is the goal, isn’t it babe? Why you went to all this fucking trouble? That’s why you’ll stand there and take what I give you like the good little whore you are and maybe when I’m finished I’ll give you what you crave most and stuff you completely full.”

From the moment you left him that night weeks ago, his cock still slathered in your cum as he sucked down cigarette after cigarette to calm himself from the intensity of that first encounter, he instantly regretted making you agree to this being a one time ordeal. No one had ever made his body come alive like that, nor had anyone been able to keep up with his incredible stamina like you could. The moment he buried himself in you he was addicted and desperately needed more and try as he might to keep himself sane by jacking off at a rate that would rival that of a teenage boy, it would never come close to the way your silky, tight walls felt clamped down around him. 

“And what if I don’t?” you shot back. “What if I continue to push you for making me go to all this trouble to get you to fuck me again? You were the one who set that fucking ridiculous rule about it being one time and yet the moment I try and get my fix somewhere else, here you come again.”

“I can bloody well change my mind,” he stated firmly, laying down his ruling to supersede everything else that had come before. “The way that watching Soap touch you made my blood boil, watching him take something away from me that I alone had, I cannot let that slide not even with him. I want to be the only one that knows that you feel like, what you taste like, what you fuck like. No one can have you, no one can touch you, ever again. I don’t give a fuck what I have to do, I will make sure that you belong to me and only me, little girl.”  

Pulling up his balaclava just above the tip of his nose as leaned over your body, his raw, yearning mouth latched on to the thick of your hip as he sucked and bit down at the place he had seen Soap’s hand touch, removing any trace of him from your body and replacing it with visible marks that belonged to him. There was no stopping there, though; he wanted markings across all parts of your body so that everyone could see where he had been, where you had been claimed by him, and he wanted you to be reminded each time you looked in the mirror. 

“This is mine and this and this,” he whispered desperately as he released your skin from his mouth intermittently to breathe as his handiwork continued along up and down your burning flesh. “No one can touch you like this ‘cept me.”

Already being stimulated and denied release, every single embrace of his mouth left you reeling in pleasure and the way those soft lips caressed your body mixed with the sharp pain from his bites left you a puddle in his hands. “Please,” the plea fell from your lips before you could clamp your mouth shut to keep it from escaping.

That whimper sent a trail of goosebumps across his skin, making Ghost moan deep in the back of his throat. Hearing you beg was the most beautiful music that had ever graced his ears and it only added fuel to the fire raging inside of him. All at once his shirt felt ungodly hot clinging to his body and so releasing you from his mouth he stood up and wrenched it off quickly over the top of his head to throw it away haphazardly to the floor. 

There it was, that fucking gorgeous broad chest lightly covered with a sparse amount of blonde hair amassed in the center of his pectorals that thinned out as it spread and continued in a line down his wide torso and into his pants, leading directly to that glorious appendage. His line of work made sure to keep him in top physical condition so that he exuded a virile energy that made your fucking knees buckle out from under you and even though his chest was a mix of scars and marks like a road map of the type of life he had lived, it did not matter; he was a god amongst men and you would do anything for even a single glimpse of that mouth-watering happy trail. You could not take your hungry eyes off of it. If your hands weren’t bound you would have already been running your fingers along it before your lips could follow.

“Turn around,” he order roughly, breaking you out of your stupor at his bare chest, “face the door and arch your back. Now, princess.”

It was a struggle to rotate yourself around with your hands locked above your head, but with the promise that he was about to fuck you senseless you got into position before him, rotating your body around and putting enough curve in your back that he could enter you easily. You waited not so patiently to have that feeling of his hands digging into your hips so that he could thrust into you, but what you found instead was the sharp sting of his palm connecting with your bare ass, making it vibrate. 

“Fuck, so beautiful the way it bounces like that,” he groaned as another smack was placed directly on top of the first. “You body was made for punishment. Isn’t that right, baby? Let’s get in a few more for good measure.”

Another smack, but the sting did nothing other than make you whine for more as that large mitt of his cupped the entirety of your backside. His intensity was obviously best when he was given free reign to do what he deemed necessary, even his discipline felt like ecstasy as the sting of it mixed with the pleasure coursing through your veins to make you delirious and ride that razors edge between pain and desire. A few more swift smacks and his handprint was a bright red sign upon your cheek; he couldn’t help but smile at his handiwork and knowing you’d have a glaring reminder tomorrow of him when you couldn’t sit down properly without wincing. 

You were ready to take as much as he was willing to give when you felt him pulling your hips forward a little more so your were on the balls of your feet before he  dropped down onto his knees. His face was now perfectly aligned with your as and  with a firm grip he spread your legs open as far as he could comfortably get them before he was leaning his face in; he needed a fucking taste. Those full lips placed a few quick kisses to your silky, bare petals before his wide tongue opened you up slowly and deliberately as he dragged it the length of your sex to collect as much of your juices as he could on his tongue. Goddamn you were so fucking sweet. 

“Mmm,” he hummed, his vocal chords vibrating against your entrance as the taste of you filled his mouth and tingled on his taste buds. The pad of his tongue hit your clit and your jolted into the door, the over-stimulation sending shock waves through your needy body. The lieutenant became no better than a dog lapping at you with reckless abandon, a man possessed and intoxicated by how the heat from your thighs felt against his face as he absolutely worshiped that sweet little pussy. Those fingertips digging into the meat of your hips tingled as his hunger for you consumed him; he would have been content to lap at your juices for hours until his face was smothered, until he couldn’t breathe and his mask had your scent fused into the fibers.

Even faster than before, the feeling of that beefy tongue playing around your clit with his nose nudging eagerly against your entrance brought you back to the edge of your orgasm. Tears streamed out from the corner of your eyes and onto your chest as your overstimulated sex yearned for completion, hoping that at least this time you would be allowed to come all over his mysterious face. You gripped your finger tighter in your bound hands to hold on for dear life.

“That tongue is gonna kill me,” you cried out, your legs shaking as they did their best to keep you upright. “Fuck, yes baby, make me come.”

That was the one thing that Ghost did not want to hear yet, as it meant that his feast would have to end even though he wasn’t done with his teasing yet. He meant every single word of the promise he made to discipline you for your disrespect and he intended to keep it; you weren’t going to leave his bed this time without being completely and utterly obsessed with him and all he could do for you. With a frustrated but ultimately satisfied sigh, he pulled his tongue away and locked your hips into place with his hands to keep you from backing up against him until he was clear of your cunt. 

You whimpered and whined so pathetically you did not even care about sounding tough anymore. This was too much for anyone to handle and all you wanted was for him to give you your deserved release. Burying your face against the hard surface of the door, you continued your barrage of annoyed and desperate sounds until a gentle touch helped you to turn over to face him once again.

As he came into view, you could see just how much damage had been done to the beast of a man before you. That mask of his was soaked from your juices and his saliva had rolled down to his chin making him look feral. The fabric was so stuck to the center of his face that it was gonna be a bitch to remove, but that twisted grin plastered on his face let you know that he had enjoyed every last second of being buried between your legs. 

“Are you going to behave for me from now on?” he growled as he wiped his exposed mouth with the back of his hand. Silently you nodded, but that wasn’t enough. “Use your words, baby girl,” he demanded. “Say ‘I will be a good girl for you’, say ‘I’ll never stray again’.”

You licked your parched lips. “I will be a good girl for you,” you whined. “So good, I’ll never stray again.”

“Say ‘I belong to you and only you’. Moan it, loud. I want them to hear it outside that fucking door.”

“I belong to you and only you, I promise baby,” you reassured as loudly as you could, not giving a fuck who heard it and secretly wanting someone to. “I don’t want anyone, but you.”

“You’re fucking right, luv. You are my property. Mine,” he growled and just like that it was over; you had served your time and now you both had earned that little death that would drown you in ecstasy.

Those lips that had touched everywhere except your own finally connected as Ghost leaned into your trembling naked body. You could taste yourself on his mouth as his lips danced aggressively with your own, pressing so hard you could feel a swelling from the pressure; another part for him to needlessly claim as it was already his. Reaching above your head he undid the restraints to let your wrists fall free, returning your arms back to you. Immediately you made your way to the waistband of his pants still loosely hanging on about his waist and hungrily tried to push them down off his hips; that cock was yours and you weren’t taking no for an answer anymore. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded as he held your hand against his hip, “you want me to fuck you good and proper, you know what I’m going to want.”

Fuck, your clit was so swollen you thought you would pass out, your body sweaty and aching something fierce. All you wanted was to relieve the pressure, have him to throw you onto his bed and open your legs so that he could rut into you like the absolute cum slut you were. You whimpered when you realized he still had enough sense to continued to torture you. 

Simon leaned in closer, his chest firm against your scant top so that your breasts were pressed to him. “Just start moving those beautiful lips for me,” he purred in that gravely tone that he played up for the effect of making you throb harder for him, “and beg. If you want me to get that fucking ache deep inside, I’m going to need a bit more from you.”

There was no more fight left in you to disobey him; whatever he wanted you would give in without question just to have him let you come. “P-please,” you said with agitation that you had been broken. 

His strong, rough grip found your jawline to hold still as he ran his large thumb across your lips before he leaned in forward. His warm breath hit your earlobe as he rested at the side of your head. “Please, what?” he pushed, his voice lowering into that register that made you wild. “Use your words and say my name; I need you to get used to using it. You’ll be screaming it often after tonight. Say: Fuck me Simon, please.”

Through gritted teeth you tried to remain sane. “Please, fuck me Simon,” you repeated the phrase he had given you to parrot. This was the first time you had ever used his real name and fuck did it feel perfect tumbling off your tongue. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, “that wasn’t good enough.”

He scooped you up in his arms and quickly moved you both over to his bed where to shoved you down onto the surface while pulling your crop top and bra up over your head in one move. Those pants that had somehow stayed put around his hips all this time were finally shoved off the curve of his ass and onto the ground, leaving him exposed in all his beautiful glory as he took his seat next to you on the mattress. 

Roughly you were pulled directly over his lap, his throbbing phallus waiting impatiently between your dripping thighs. He took one leg into each of his large hands to spread you wide and tilted you both back so that he could better position himself under your entrance and when he was aligned he situated his cock between your petals and rocked you back and forth to coat him as he teased your core. You squirmed in his grasp, trying to move your hips so that he would enter you, but it was no use; he had you in his grasp and at his mercy.

“Now,” he cleared his throat, breathing deeply to slow his rapid heartbeat as he stroked himself through you. “Repeat it again or you will have to wait longer, luv.”

Goddamn him for having so much fucking control. How could anyone be expected to be anything less than a fucking mess when a giant of a man is encompassing your entire body with his massive one as his cock was teasing your aching hole by being so close and yet so far from hitting the back of your cervix? Under those circumstances you were doing quite fucking well. 

“P-please, Simon, fuck me,” you said louder and more enthusiastically this time. “Fuck me until I can’t take it anymore. Until the walls know the sound of my moans, until the entire unit knows how well I scream your name. Fuck, please baby I need it.”

Those hands holding up your thighs dug in further to the supple flesh with strong fingertips enough to make you gasp. “Good girl,” he praised. “You’re such a fucking whore for me, aren’t you? And now I am going to ruin you for anyone else.”

He rocked you both back and then forward quickly to where you were pushed down over top of his cock as he thrust upward with his pelvis. The action made you take him in down to the hilt all at once and filled you completely until you could not take another centimeter. 

“Fuck,” he groaned forcefully as you took him all in… so tight, so wet, he could feel his muscles strain as he bottomed out inside you.

You mewled at the feeling of him stretching you out so quickly, his girth almost more than the walls of your pussy could handle. Fuck, you were so full of him that when he finally pulled out of you it would feel so goddamn empty it would physically hurt. A twitch of that ungodly thick appendage inside you made you whine. 

“That’s right,” he praised, “take it all, I know you can, you little bitch. Uuugh…goddamn.”

Those powerful arms locked themselves around your waist as he used your body as his own personal fleshlight, making you bounce with force up and down on him at his unyielding pace; you may have been the one to be punished, but making him wait was just as much torture and he had to reclaim every last second of time he was not inside of you by fucking you with a ferocity that left you completely destroyed. You could only sit and take every last delectable inch that he gave you as his massive girth stretched your walls with every thrust of his pelvis upward. The room was filled with the wet, sticky music of your bodies slapping against each other as he worked your hole as if this was the last chance he would get to fuck you and he needed to make it count. This wasn’t love, not something tender, but only pure animalistic lust and the more he stroked in and out of you the more he needed. Simon’s mind was consumed with only you and how you made him feel in that moment: powerful.

“I should call Soap in here and make him watch you get fucked like this by me,” the gravel in his thickly accented voice getting even deeper with the ungodly feeling of you wrapped so tight around him as he pounded slow and hard into you over and over again. “Would you like that, hmm? Making your little boy toy watch you get fucked by a real man, letting him know that what he got tonight is all he is ever going to get from you? You want him to hear you screaming my name while I fill this sweet pussy with all I got?”

Fucking hell he was voracious in his need to claim you and it made your body shiver from being overwhelmed with animalistic prowess. No one had ever wanted you this much, especially a man at the peak of his masculine power, and the exhilaration of being so completely desired beyond reason was overwhelmingly euphoric. 

“Yes,” your slack-jawed mouth breathed out. “I want everyone to know I’m yours. That they can’t touch me or else. I want to show everyone what a good girl I am for you and only you.” 

“Oh, fuck baby,” he whimpered as your words made your body respond by contracting around him as you bore down with the conviction of your statement, “I can feel you clenching around me. My little whore loves to think about everyone knowing our secret, doesn’t she?”

Goddammit, that was such an erotic thought, making Johnny or anyone really watch as he owned you. It was like the type of domination a dog feels when marking its territory; Simon would have loved for the whole damn team to see your tits bounce as you rode his cock, your cries of pleasure being the soundtrack to the show.  

Harder and faster, his frenzied pace drilled his cock into you relentlessly as those thoughts  filled his mind and made him ravenous for the sensation of your body. He had waited so long for this, dreampt of this, pleaded for this, and it felt just as exhilarating as that first time if not more because now he knew he could have this whenever the fuck he wanted. If he could have kicked his own ass for trying to deny you both from this bliss, he would have in an instant, but never again would he let this go.

Those strong arms wrapped around your middle to keep you steady as he held on so tightly you felt your torso being crushed, but it did not matter as the angle of his penetration hit its mark consistently each and every time. You leaned fully back into him, your arms wrapping backward around his shoulders so that you could rest your head on them while your ear was filled with the sound of his primal grunting. 

His view was instantly filled with your perky chest jiggling as each of his thrusts sent shock waves through you to make them dance and goddamn was it a delicious sight. Since your arms secured you more to him, he was able to release one of his from around your waist and it slithered up so that his hand could find it’s place around your neck; such a perfect necklace for his special girl, one befitting of your unique tastes. 

“Do you even know what I would do for you? Do you know how deep my lust for you goes? How much I want to possess you?” he growled as his hand tightened around your slender throat. 

Without warning he had pulled out of you only briefly so that he could aggressively flip you over onto your back, getting into position by kneeling in front of you as he threw your legs onto his broad, sculpted shoulders before he gripped your hips and instantly reentered you. The new position helped him to reach even deeper and you mewled loudly, your head flying back as your hands clenched his sheets in your fists at the sensation. You pulled your head up to look into his eyes as he again picked up his desperate pace, his abs glistening with sweat as they contracted and released after each thrust. Those brown eyes sparkled with a fire you had never seen before and you loved it. 

“I would burn this place to the fucking ground just to bury myself in that perfect cunt as much as I please,” he growled deep and primal. “Fucking hell baby, I won’t be able to ever get enough.” 

Those words were the catalyst for the warmth now spreading out from within your belly to making your limbs tingle as everything was focused on your orgasm. It was so close you could taste it and you felt confident that this was the time he would let you finally release; there was no way he could stop himself, not with the way his hips were pounding into you. 

“I am yours to use whenever you please,” you groaned as your body writhed wildly. “Use me, fucking use me.”

You keep talking like that and you wouldn’t be able to perform your duties for the 141 because you’d be kept far too exhausted to function by him making sure you stayed plastered around his dick constantly. That wasn’t a bad idea at all, having you at his beck and call whenever he needed it: after a stressful mission, during the middle of an uneventful one, at all hours whenever he needed a quick fix where he could simply pull you into any secluded space. This was the start of something destructive, but screw it this is what he wanted and god did that put him on the very edge of his own orgasm.

“Oh God, oh fucking God, Simon,” your husky breath carried the words upon it for the third and hopefully final time, breaking him from his thoughts as your cries to the heavens could only mean one this.  

And shit did that make Simon smile; after all the time he had edged you this night there was no chance in hell you wouldn’t come with fury. “That’s it, luv,” he praised as he kept the pace steady, “you going come for me? Your orgasm belongs to me and I demand it.”

“Fuck, Simon, just don’t stop,” you whined.

That is exactly what he did, not changing a single thing that would disrupt the gathering sensation of ecstasy inside your core. No, this train was barreling down the tracks faster by the minute and he craved above all else to be brought to his own end by your climax alone. To feel those silky walls flutter around him before you clamped down hard, squeezing him just right so that he would be forced to come; he wouldn’t settle for anything less.

“Come for me,” he demanded as he tried desperately to hold off from bursting, “let me feel that pussy clench.”

A few more pumps of him deep in your core and that was it, like a hot flash of white light you cried out in shaky whimpers as your orgasm tore through with such force you nearly shot off the bed as your back arched and your hips bucked harshly into him. “Goddammit Simon, fuck.”

Through your cries he picked up the pace and finally the warmth that had been building shot through his body, coursing like a burning river of fire through his veins as he ripped his cock out of you and through your thighs from your legs still perched on his shoulders to cover your stomach in his steaming hot semen. The roar he released as his body shook while he drained his cock dry over top of you until he had no more left in him to give sounded like a wild animal and you could not have enjoyed it more than you did; you were the one to make him come with such force he was reduced to his more basic instincts.

Simon’s head hung slack against your calves as his unsteady breath slowly returned to a more tolerable rhythm and only then did he remove your legs from his shoulders and rolled over to sit beside you, an exhausted sack of flesh completely sated for the moment. Leaning over he reached under the edge of the bed, producing an old t-shirt out from under it which he handed to you so that you could wipe his milky fluids off your torso.

He was already sitting back propped against his pillows with a cigarette in his mouth by the time you finished up and you moved back in the bed to join him. Holding out his fingers with the lit stick of tobacco between them, he offered you a hit and you graciously took it; this was an intense night worthy of a bit of nicotine to take the edge off. 

With a more relaxed gaze he looked upon  you, admiring the bright flush of your cheeks that was also spread across your chest and the contented glisten in your eyes, all evidence that he had done his job. Bringing his hand up he combed his fingers through your hair until he reached the back of your head where he held them wrapped in the strands a moment. “You did so well for me baby,” his stern praise soothed. “And are you going to continue to be my perfectly little slut?”

You nodded your head, just gazing back into those amber eyes that looked on your wrecked state as if you were a masterpiece. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the corners of his mouth upturned slightly as he took back his cig from you to take another lazy drag. “I suggest you rest up now sweetheart because once I can get it back up we are going to go at least one more round before I’m finished. We still got plenty of night left and we are going to take full fucking advantage of it.”

A main course and dessert? That was more  than agreeable, considering how long you had waited for this to happen in the first place. “Fine,” you said as you rolled onto your side, resting your arm on your hip with a sudden renewed sense of entitlement quickly coming back on, “but this time I will be the one on top. Otherwise you can kiss this sweet ass goodbye as I walk right out that door.”

Simon chuckled. “Oh you are a tough one to crack, sweetheart. Best be glad that precious little cunt you have resting between those legs is more than worth the trouble. And that I am a man that loves a challenge. This whole thing is just getting started and I am more than confident that by the end I will have broken this feral kitten into a perfectly docile house cat.”

You hoped he would fucking try cause what a ride that would be, but if anyone could break you it would be him. He handed the cig back to you one more time and you again accepted it. “We shall see, sir,” you breathed out the smoke from the side of your mouth. “We shall see.”

Challenge accepted. 

*** 

On the other side of the door, a set of unaware prying ears had caught wind of noise as they passed by. They had not meant to, but curiosity is a bitch of a temptress and soon they were within range enough to clearly hear the moans and whimpers, the groans and growls, currently reverberating off the walls of the room. The person had not realized where it was they found themselves as they had simply been taking a walk to clear their head, but soon it became apparent that this was the private quarters of that misanthrope of a lieutenant. 

At first they couldn’t help but snicker under their breath, congratulating the quiet man at getting some action because why not? It wasn’t until the voice of the female had actually began to speak instead of moan that their blood pressure rose and they could feel their heartbeat in their ears. It was you that Ghost was currently making come and that did not sit right with them, not at all. 

Who said he got to lay claims when they were the one putting in all the effort, when there had clearly been chemistry between you both? No, this wasn’t how it was going to be. He would not take this lying down, rolling over and showing his belly in intimidation by the much bigger officer as he stole you away all to himself. The eavesdropper had as much stake in you as him and if Ghost thought he could simply take you as easily as that, then he had another thing coming.

A mohawked head quickly turned about face and headed back to his own quarters, drunkenly promising himself that it did not matter what Ghost had made you promise or what you had just declared through your sated ecstasy, he would show you that he could be just as every bit as good as the old lieutenant himself.    

[changisworld]

GURL i found out today that pierce called vertical clitoral hood piercing is real thing😭🙏🏻 (found out about it on chai) soooo

Can you please please please write skz reaction to reader getting that piercing:3 LOVE YAAA ❤❤❤

-🦇

i have it done so i can indeed confirm it is real>:3 BUT THIS IS MELTING MY BRAIN OH MY GID

BANGCHAN

he would definitely be SO surprised the first time he sees it because he honestly just thought it existed in the world of porn & he never saw much of an appeal UNTIL YOU GOT ONE, now he is obsessed. He definitely loves flicking it with his tongue & purposely bashing his nose against it, just to see you flinch at the weird sensation heheh.

Definitely loves putting ice on it, trying to have it just touch the metal but your clit tenses up at the sensation & you can feel the middle part of the bar going cold too & this is when you found out you were into temperature play!

LEE KNOW

oh my god. saying he loves this piercing is an UNDERSTATEMENT. he didn’t expect you to have one but the second he seen it he was having to hold back his own drool behind his lips. He definitely uses the excuse of “i just wanna make sure there’s nothing wrong with it!” or “it’s just cool” as an excuse to have you naked on your bottom half for him to ‘examine’ it

definitely looovesss spanking your pussy even more now, feeling the metal sting his finger the tiniest bit as he does so & loves seeing your cunt get all puffy & the piercing sitting so pretty & snug>:3

CHANGBIN

would maybe the tiniest bit intimidated by it at first?? not by the look of it but just in case he hurts it on accident, but once you completely throw that idea of his out the window, he is ALLLLLLL FOR IT!! looves to suckle on it as he buries his chubby fingers into you, swirling his tongue over your clit before moving the other fingers of his that are holding your cunt in a ‘V’ shape to let it ever so slightly go deeper into his mouth, giving it even more attention as he does so hehehehe

loves spitting onto it while he fucks you too!! watching you slowly get used to how much he is spitting onto your pussy, the coldness of his spit warming up slowly as it drips down to where his cock is pistoning in & out of you

HYUNJIN

this man is obsessed with it to the bottom of his heart & not even fully in just a sexual way!! he always begs you so nicely to let him draw your pussy, telling you how beautiful it is & how the piercing adds an extra flare & who would you be to say no to such a handsome face?? It starts off innocently & he draws the same pussy he has memorised down to every last detail but by the end of it, he is for sure sucking the soul out of you!

this man will never not be obsessed with the piercing ever since you got it, he finds it so hot infact, that he can easily jerk off & cum to the drawings he does of your pussy, sometimes purposely cumming onto the paper, just to fold it up & give it to you.

HAN JISUNG

obviously the most obsessed with the bit of metal more than anyone else could ever be.. x100. he will put his hand down your pants & just cup your pussy, feeling around your piercing & dragging his finger across it, just for fun & for honestly no real reason, it doesn’t even always lead to sex! he is just a perv who luvs it & is way better & more attractive than any of the porn he watches.

loves using a vibrator on you, watching the metal vibrate along with the item he’s holding, it giving you the tiniest bit of extra feeling, he doesn’t stop until you squirt all over the vibrator & over him, the small barbell getting even wetter.

FELIX

i think the poor boy would be a tiny bit nervous about it at first, mainly because he doesn’t know if you having it would change how your clit feels when aroused & he doesn’t know if he has to touch you differently & he’s scared on messing up, but once you teach him how to do it, he finds out he barely has to change anything, much to his luck!! he would be lying if he didn’t mentally admit that he has a bit of gender envy, because he wishes he could have one!

his favourite part about it is definitely watching you play with your clit, your fingers grazing over it every time you do so & he almost (he has a few times) cums in his pants when he watches you fully expose your clit, the jewellery getting tighter on the thin piece of skin, all shiny & pretty.

SEUNGMIN

this is one of his biggest fantasies COME TRUE!! he’s always liked piercings, nipple piercings, belly button piercings, pussy piercings>:3 his favourite thing to do with this knowledge of him knowing you have the piercing is using pussy pumps!! he loves watching your cunt get swollen & red through the tinted, pink clear plastic suction cup around your mound & watching you hiss & squirm!

Once he unsuctions it after he’s pushed you within a centimetre of your limit, he is landing harsh spanks on your pussy & even going as far as to twiddle the jewellery in his fingers as he drags his other fingers up & down your folds, teasing you even more.

JEONGIN

i truly think he would be the most excited to see it out of all the members! to him, it’s slightly ‘taboo’ to him since he knows how uncommon it is, so when he saw yours for the first time, he almost fully melted into the bed. his favourite thing to do is definitely eat you through your panties, to the point the fabric is uncomfortably stuck to your soaked core & seeing the jewellery sticking through the panties, the imprint visible.

LOVESSS to rub his cock up & down your clothed core, your panties & his spit along with his own precum soaking his own cock too, his tip bashing against your clit & he is so obsessed with the whimpers you let out as you beg him to stop teasing.

->requests/asks are open!

->taglist & anon list is open!

->A/N: SORRRY 🦇 hunny for not replying to all your requests, i’ve been super super busy🥲 you can keep spamming me(along with all my anons!!) & i will get back to them eventually I PINKY PROMISE

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Need A Ride? (Doctor Who One-Shot)

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: You’d fucked him many times, of course, but never like this. Never on top. 

CW: sub!Ten, dom!Reader, smut (gn)

Doctor Who Tag List: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine @blueberry-sunshines (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

If there was one thing you loved about the Doctors cock, it was how long it was. He wasn’t the thickest, but he was longer than the other guys you’d been with. His cock sort of leaned to the side when it was hard. It was cute, honestly.

“F-fuck, Doctor-” you breathed, eyes clenched shut as you slowly started to sink on top of him. You could feel the Doctor’s fingers flexing on your hips, trying not to drag you down onto him faster than you were ready for it. You’d fucked him many times, of course, but never like this. Never on top. 

“Oh-hoh,” the Doctor all but whimpered, nails digging crescent moons into the flesh of your hips. “Oh, love, you feel- you feel amazing.” 

You grinned, rocking your hips and sinking down a little further. Then a little more, and then finally, finally, you were seated fully on top of him. Your mouth sat ajar as you acclimated to the feeling of his dick so far inside you it was already rubbing at one of those spots that made your core tighten. 

You experimentally rolled your hips, one hand pressed on the Doctor’s tummy for balance and support. You moaned loudly, and the Doctor’s cock twitched at the obscene sound. 

“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” You giggled, rolling your hips again. The Doctor’s brows pulled inwards as the pleasure built. You may have spent a good half hour teasing him until he was begging you to fuck him. Poor thing was desperate. He wouldn’t last long, but that was fine.

“Aw, poor baby wants to cum, huh?” You asked, leaning back and propping yourself up on his thighs. The Doctor whimpered, head tilting back and exposing that pretty neck for you. God, you wanted to take a bite out of that throat. Maybe you would later. You’re pretty sure the Doctor would go nuts for that.

“Y-yeah,” he gasped out, trying to fuck up into you but failing miserably. You chuckled and began to rock against him, angling yourself so that every thrust had him rubbing the best spots inside you. There was nothing quite like a good fuck to calm the nerves, was there?

You used the Doctor, fucking yourself on him over and over, chasing your pleasure. He gripped at your hips and whined for the most part. Poor thing wanted to cum, but wouldn’t until you let him. He was good like that, always doing whatever he could to please you. So good for you. 

At some point, the Doctor worked his fingers across your hips and lower tummy, fingers reaching their destination there. He worked at you to bring you closer and closer to the edge, and when you finally came, clenching tight around him and moaning yourself hoarse, he worked you through that, too, though he found his hand jerking as he tried not to cum himself.

You fucked yourself on him further, moving to lean forward again and put your all into it, clenching down with every rock of your hips. The Doctor yelped when you tweaked one of his nipples, and his jerking leg told you that he was very, very close. 

“Cum for me, darling,” you said lowly, eyes lidded with exertion. “Cum for me, right now.” 

The Doctor whined, lips parting as he panted beneath you.

 

“Y-yes, fuck,” he whined as he finally let go, ropes of pearly cum coating your insides. His hands wrapped around your hips once again and gripped you tight enough to bruise as he thrusted up inside you jerkily and desperately, working his high out from you like a man possessed. 

You moaned at the overstimulation. 

“Oh, there you go. That’s it. Fuck me, darling. Use me.” 

The Doctor’s eyes screwed shut tighter as he fought to keep fucking you. He was desperate for the friction, desperate for more, but the overstimulation was starting to become too much for him. He whimpered loudly, and you shushed him gently, pressing your hips down onto him so he couldn’t jerk into you anymore. 

His cock twitched madly inside you, the last beads of cum painting themselves inside. 

“It’s alright, we can go again later, yeah?” You said, cupping his cheek. The Doctor nodded. 

“P-please,” he whined. This was the least you’d ever seen him speak. You must have fucked the rambling out of him. 

“Of course, honey.”

[sofiaruelle]

Oh wow, I was not expecting a whole drawing of them trying the dance and falling around. It's very beautifully done, I rmmbr just staring in awe for a while at first 🩵

I have another odd question about the she trio/ass gang, which u don't have to draw

Cause I saw a little video of Harvey going hard; dancing to MiseryxCPR(xReese's Puffs) and it had me laughing for a long while, and I wondered who would be the ones singing the song if say the stardrop saloon had some kind of karaoke night

My head tells me both Sam and Abagail would end up doing Reeses's puffs, but that would leave one of the other songs without a host :/

Harvey would probably end up saying stuff about how cpr doesn't require mouth-to-mouth anymore or smthn, and Shane probably worried Marnie would walk in-or just, too drunk off his ass having fun to care 🤔

nah man i just have to draw them. and oh look I even have another essay under readmore! 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂

✨Also my commissions are open! ✨ if anyone is interested! :D< please reblog/share the og comm sheet ,if you can! it would help me a lot thank you!!!

Honestly i can imagine them all just being pissed drunk before attempting to sing the song😂. i know fersure the SHE trio would require more liquid courage for it (heck even to join/start a kareoke sesh!)

Shane gives of major Kareoke Tito (uncle) vibes~. Yknow that one tito who specifically sings “My Way” by Frank Sinatra and has a bunch of classic rock songs under his belt. He’s not good at singing perse but he can at least carry a tune. He and Sebastian would totally connect with singing Misery. but like Shane vaguely knows the song (he’s heard it on radio a bajillion times but he doesnt know the name of the song so its not quite on his playlists) so he when he’s super sloshed and can barely read the screen, he tries to sing it from memory and misses a couple of the words. but hey! at least he knows the chorus and is in tune.

Meanwhile Sebastian has Misery “secretly” on his go to playlist. He doesnt admit it (the songs is too main stream and overplayed but he stumbled upon a vocaloid cover and rest is history.) He definitely always chooses the song every kareoke sesh (although not his first choice) and he’s passionate about it even has a little performance too(lots of head bangs, fist pumps and that classic 2000s disney knees bent together, feet wide apart moment)! For his duet with shane he’s the first to shed a lil tear and that gets shane going and they cry through most of the song in their own lil misery world ignoring the chaos around them.

Sam is a fucking menace for singing CPR and I do agree He and Abigail would go off on Reese’s Puff BUT i can definitely imagine being commited to singing CPR (we all know he’d awkwardly twerk). Especially if it was to troll on Harvey who probably thought it was a wholesome song about doing CPR at a specific BPM. 😂

Harvey good lird poor harvey! He’s probably the most sober out of everyone. It doesnt help that he’s no light weight + lowkey becomes designated baby sitter everytime (he’s soooooooo going charge them extra in the morning if they come stumbling into his clinic asking for some hangover cure). He was so excited about adding a new song to CPR tempo list he was gonna teach at the nex first aid classes!! Who would have thought that a singer with a cute wholesome name like Cupcakke was just so… sooooo SCANDALOUS!!! He should have known Sam was up to something the moment he grabbed him by the shoulder!!! “This is medical malpractice, Samson!!!” He spends the whole trying to sush Sam who’s having so much fun laughing at Harvey’s reaction 😂

Abigal. F e r a l.

Help! Elliot has fallen over! He honestly just has a mild peanut allergy but he has been drinking and hooo boi. thats not good. thank goodness Harvey is sobered up (with the help of Sam ofc) and has an epipen on hand! Catch Leah cackling from her seat by the bar before assisting Harvey.

[just-a-creep-babe]

X-Virus NSFW Headcanons

Commissioned by @lil-degen -- thank you so very much luv, I hope you enjoy ❣️❤️❣️

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

Man’s a switch—and a proud one at that

He has absolutely no problem being submissive or dominant, on the giving or receiving end of things

Really, as long as his partner’s enjoying themselves, he can’t complain

Whether he’s on top or on bottom, there are two things he basically can’t go without; pain and dirty talk

In fact, he almost never submits spontaneously because he much prefers being forced into submission—he wants his partner to be rough and dirty with him

He’ll often act like a major fucking brat just so that they have an excuse to be as cruel with him as they could possibly want to be

They can smack him around, spit on him, humiliate and degrade him, make that pretty boy beg until he’s on the verge of tears

It’s what he enjoys, it’s what he deserves

He will, however, also be returning the favor when it’s his partner’s turn~

If they’re comfortable with it, he’ll push them to the limits, just to test them, just to see how much punishment they can really take

And there’s something really intimate, really sensual about the way he experiments on his partner’s body

He’ll tease and toy with them to his heart’s content, only ever stopping if they use the safe word

He likes seeing how they react to various mixes of different sensations, so things like temperature play, wax play, breath play and bondage are usually involved

There’s almost nothing he isn’t down to try—he’s an experimentalist at heart~

He enjoys overstimulating his partner, but he’d personally rather be teased and denied for himself

Not that he has anything against overstimulation, either~

In terms of size, he’s quite proud of what he’s packing

He’s a tad thicker than average, but his length is enough to merit him being the cocky lil shit he usually is

He also has Jacob’s ladder piercings up the underside of his shaft which, combined with the slight angle of his cock, is enough to make anyone utterly weak

He’s also so damn good with his mouth, it’s actually unfair

It's like he always knows just what to do and where to put that tongue piercing to absolutely wreck his poor little partner

And honestly, one of his absolute favorite things is face-sitting

Doesn’t matter if he’s in a dominant or submissive mood—he’ll either want his partner to absolutely suffocate him between their thighs to shut his bratty mouth, or he’ll tongue-fuck them until they’re shaking and crying in his bruising grasp

His libido is slightly higher than average, but it skyrockets when he’s with a partner he really likes

Like, if he’s on his own, he’ll jerk off a few times a week—sometimes because he’s horny, but sometimes just because he’s bored or stressed from work

But if he’s with his partner, he’ll almost always be down to fuck

It's easy to tell he's in the mood because he gets extra touchy, extra flirty

He likes seeing his s/o get all flustered, all hot and bothered from his suggestive looks and lingering touches

In terms of session length, he prefers taking his time

He wants the luxury of driving his partner to their absolute limit, and while he could get that done fairly quickly and easily, especially with that damn tongue, he just loves making it last hours on end

But because he’s so consistently busy, he knows that’s not always an option, so he definitely has nothing against quickies, either

And he absolutely adores being risky, so pinning his partner against a tree, out in the open, is most certainly a recurring experience~

Only if his partner’s down though, of course

Because despite everything, despite his sadistic side and his extremely ambiguous morals, he’s not a shitbag and will respect every limit his s/o establishes

And because he does a lot of experimental kinky shit, he’ll have a bunch of safewords to practice that ✨safe sex✨

Overall, the guy’s hot and he knows it—and he will use that to his advantage

He always knows just how to make his s/o swoon, and then he can and will fully satiate them in bed afterward ;)

[dairy-farmer]

Aaw D:> tumbr ate my first draft of this. But I persist!

Because? Consider! Ra's being a GENUINELY charismatic, manipulative Threat! Oh shit!

He can read you at a glance. Offer you your hearts desires. Money, power, vengeance, purpose. Don't you YEARN? Haven't they WRONGED you? The world is... so very UNFAIR, isn't it?

Don't you want to feel safe again?

Be strong?

Poisoned honey, spoken in a pleasing voice. Any mask for any job. Mentorly, seductive, fatherly, concern, whatever breaks your walls. Makes you TRUST him. He's been doing this for years. Centuries.

Bruce calls it a cult for a reason.

Never let him get into your head. Let him talk. Give no quarter or it's DONE. Bruce drilled it in to all of them. If you give even a sliver of the smallest scrap... he will take you for all you are worth and destroy you. Mould what remains however he pleases. Bruce himself, BARELY had the mental and emotional strength to escape.

And he's the most stubborn bastard alive.

But... but Bruce is GONE. Lost to the time stream. And no one believe Tim. Will listen. Yeah, he's not explaining himself that great. But he's upset, his brain has always moved faster then his mouth, it's... it's kinda a terrible combination. But that doesn't mean he's CRAZY!

Of all the shit they've seen! THIS is where you think things become impossible!? THIS is when you won't even check?! Fine. He'll go on his own.

Except he's not on his own.

Because Ra's either believes him... or has spotted his chance to strike.

Murmurs and drawling and croons in his ears. Like the devil whispering temptation as it leads him farther and farther from home. Tim's TRYING. Remembers what Bruce told him. Give him nothing. But... but every snapped reply, every short answer, is met with such... predatory amusement.

He's making a mistake.

He KNOWS he's making a mistake.

But Bruce is out there. He... he has to get him home. He can do this.

Then Tamara Fox is sent after him by her dad. He gets stabbed and loses an organ, nearly dies in the desert. Now there's a hostage and fucking spider assassins hunting Ra's cult of killers.

Ra's, who no longer seems amused.

He can't-... he HAS to do this. For Bruce. For Tam. For the people they've killed.

He manages. They invade. The stuff of nightmares. Honestly, fffffuck Ra's, he can handle himself. He's getting Tam and Pru out of here and blowing everything to kingdom come. Except... except... shit, the leader. Touch of death. He's so tired. Reflexes not what the should be, torso still too stiff from being TORN OPEN.

Weeks of jet lag, poor sleep, worse diet, and just generally spotty meal times, have taken their toll. His reaction time is off. Not by much. But enough to die by. And... and this is it. He IS going too...

THWUMP!

Staff. With the sort of deadly precision even weapon master's would consider unachievable. The sort that take lifetimes to achieve. So close, if he blinked, his eyelashes would sweep the weapon that just saved his life. The force behind that strike would shatter bone. The follow up, clearly meant to kill.

Ra's Al Ghul.

Tim is already jerking back and toward Tam. No time to observe. But... oh. Oh. He must look so... so CLUNKY with a staff in his hands, in Ra's eyes. The man moves like a rolling storm. All dark untouchable mist and deadly flashing light. Dances have been less elegant.

But that doesn't matter. It CAN'T.

He has to get out of here.

Tim leaves Ra's to either win or die. Flees with Tam and Pru. Pulls up his "fuck you, Ra's" program. And tries to get it going...

Shit.

Only half the bases blew.

A blow, yes. But not the "get fucked, now and forever" like he intended. At least the alarms behind him are sounding. So THIS one is gonna go. Rip in burning peices, ya spider fucks! (No one tell Bruce. It's been a long year okay?)

Except when has life EVER been kind or fair to Tim? Even once? ESPECIALLY this year? Ra's. Barely sweaty from his death match and ready for round two, just kicked open the hanger door behind them. Still in full armor. Still fully armed.

Tim doesn't even bother to calculate in his head.

They're fucked.

He slaps the evidence Bruce NEEDS to be rescued into Tam's arms. Tells her to get it to her father. Begs Pru to get her there. Tells them... to run.

Stands his ground.

He gets his ass beat like a drum. It's not even CLOSE. He's wounded, exhausted, and down to one weapon. Less trained then Ra's. And Ra's? Already warmed up, well rested, armed to the teeth and IN ARMOUR. Also probably pretty mad, what with Tim blowing up his bases.

He... he doesn't expect to wake up.

But he does.

Fancy guest room. The sort of guest not allowed to LEAVE, but still. Rich woods, fine fabrics, tasteful design. Ra's in an ornate, silken, open robe and loose low hanging lounge pants, sprawled out like a tiger as he casually sharpens a sword.

Subtle.

Captured then. He would have expected a dungeon after, you know, the whole "fuck you" base exploding. And Ra's? Doesn't even pause in his weapon maintenance as he calmly, in an almost musing voice, informs him that there's no NEED for THAT.

"Bases can be rebuilt. Rabble recollected."

"But you, Detective?"

What a glorious last stand~. Why, Tamara was it? He's quite sure Tamara is TEARFULLY recounting "your valiant final moments, even as we speak. You've done all the work to kill yourself, FOR me, Detective. I would be a fool not to take advantage of that."

He finally pauses, testing the edge of the blade. Pleased with it's sharpness.

Tim let's himself flop back down on the bed, refusing to wait for eye contact with those gemstone green eyes. So... what now? Torture? Brainwashing? Lectures on how awesome you are and how Tim should totally join you?

Of course not. Why would Ra's do THAT, when he has Tim right where he wants him? Tired, hurting, isolated. Mentally and emotionally exhausted. In other words... broken down. The world has done his job FOR him. Not, of course, that he'd ever SAY that. Why show your hand, after all?

So, no, no~

Now? You rest. Ra's brings you food. And if you want something? You'll have to trade for it.

Theeeere it is! Time called it. And WHAT, you creep, EXACTLY will he be expected to "trade"?

So suspicious! But, of course, he understands. Their's has hardly been a pleasant relationship, so far. Riddled with conflict. He simply wishes for conversation. For Tim to take care of himself. Allow RA'S to take care of him. After all, Ra's knows he would never allow him to help, otherwise.

.....right. "help".

Tim knows that's bullshit. He is trapped and this is a trap. Some form of conditioning. A fostering of dependence, maybe. He refuses to fall for it. Ignores Ra's, turns over, and pretends to go back to bed.

Ra's just hums, amused.

Because... sure enough? For all that Ra's oh so helpfully furnished "his" room with books and art supplies? Non-technological amusements? He can only ignore the only other person in the room for some many days. Can only stew in his "what ifs" and not knows for so long.

Damn it.

So he trades. Cagey and suspicious, looking for traps in every bit of wording and every action. Just as Ra's knew he would. Slowly exhausting himself. Just as Ra's knew he would. Hyper-vigilance taking it's brutal, chipping toll.

Just as Ra's knew it would~.

He asks only you eat this lovely snack you will enjoy. Take a nap, as look so tired. Allow him to massage those worn, long abused muscles. Wash the unmanageable curls of your hair. A conversation, perhaps, on that topic you love so much. You are quite knowledgeable.

And... and damn it. The body? Straight out refuses to stay vigilante forever. Especially when there appears to be no threat. When things are soft and soothing. It starts to slip through his fingers like sand. He keeps catching himself. Forgetting. Catching himself again.

Ra's has such... such a soothing voice, when he wishes too. Like rich cologne on a winter's coat, wrapping you in a masculine warmth against the cold. Strong, deadly hands. Unfairly good as they gently cradle his head, run fancy soaps and scented oils through his hair. Untwist the mess his muscles have become.

Like... like he's on some sort of high end vacation.

Or some pampered pet.

He's actually back to a healthy weight. He doesn't look like a disaster survivor.. and he just... just...

He has to get out of here. Soon. I-It's so comfortable. Soothing. Like sinking into warm honey, it clings. He just... there's this growing part of him that wants... because... because, yeah. Yeah, maybe he IS tired. Maybe it WOULD be nice. To stay. To be taken care off. Pampered.

But he CAN'T.

He has to get out.

So he confronts Ra's. What's it gonna take? Hopefully. This will blow up. A fight maybe. Something to give him some ANGER. Anything but this damn comfort and softness. It's sapping his will to fight. But of course not. Ra's has got him read like a learning letters pamphlet.

Of COURSE Ra's will let him go~!

...if Tim does... one little thing for him...

Those fucking TRADES. And this is it, he can feel it. Trap already sprung and now comes the moment to either gnaw off his own leg or be captured. Ra's looks so unbearably pleased. Victorious in his machinations and now reaping his reward. Tim wants to break his stupid smug face. But that will get him nowhere.

What.

What is the God damned trade.

Oh~ Just a moment of your time. Allow Ra's a taste of the feast you so vigilantly gaurd against him. He spreads his arms, elegant, white teeth flashing like a damn shark. The very picture of a wealthy, powerful, scoundrel. Promises in a low purr to behave.

The part of his brain that lights up when he's about to do something stupid, practically explodes from his head just to beat him to death. Sings the song of ten thousand klaxons. Oh... oh this is so PROFOUNDLY stupid there are are no words. Is possibly THE WORST idea.

He still... agrees.

Watchs Ra's not so much stand, as rise to his feet. Fluid and controlled. Letting his robe slide from his shoulders in an easy roll, to fall into a pool on the ground. The sword is set aside. Ra's focus on him. Undivided. It... it should not be MORE terrifying, unarmed and in just pants, then armed and in full armor. And yet...

Tim's mouth feels bone dry. Mistake. Mistaaaake....

He feels hunted. There aren't even that many steps, to cross the room. Yet he's shifted, distinctly, from a stride to a prowl. Tim feels absolutely no shame in backing up. Trying to gather his thoughts.

Ra's doesn't give him the chance.

Before Tim can even full register more then "too close!", a powerful hand is sliding through his hair to cradle is head, an arm like steel wrapping around his waist. He's pulled into an overwhelming kiss.

He brain stops.

The taste of Chai and a commanding mouth, overwhelm him. Steal his air. Tease and focus his attention. He's manhandled back onto the bed. A hand trails down Tim's body, another reaching up to wrench one of the pillows free of the pile. A possessive mouth slowly meanders down his body.

Kisses, sucked marks, teeth lined tastes of skin.

His hands grip like they want to imprint themselves. Leave permanent marks. Are trying, very, very hard not too. Not yet at least.

Not even divine intervention could save his shorts, Ra's rips them. Guides a pillow under his lower back. Tim has all of a second to be confused before everything Iights up. He chokes on a squeak.

The rumbling laugh Ra's makes does NOT help. Powerful hands holding him in place, keeping him from escaping the... the hot and wet! Tim writhes. It not the first time someone's eaten him out. But... but! It didn't feel like this! Was teammates and just fooling around. Not practiced seduction and centuries of skill.

His legs are already shaking. He's gasping for air. Trying to buck his hips closer to that magnificent feeling, trying to get away from how overwhelming it feels. Clenching his fists in the sheets. Whining like he's wounded.

It's PERFECT. Ra's KNEW he'd be weak to pleasure.

Knew his Detective was worth the wait.

Rolls and teases his tounge down, just a bit. Brings calloused fingers into play. To drive his Detective mad. Tease his sensitive little gem, while he plunders deep and cruelly with his tounge.

It's delightful. Watching him come apart. Again and again. First on his tounge alone, then joined by his fingers. Finding the places he KNOWS his Detective his most sensitive, and rubbing, stroking, teasing without mercy or relent.

Until even that magnificently stubborn boy, is a teary, drooling, red faced mess. Thighs painted with his pleasure. Limbs weak and trembling. So BEAUTIFULLY compliant and needy. Reliant on Ra's for everything. Craving his warmth. His care.

Head empty of those ever rushing thoughts.

He, of course, keeps his word. Let's Tim go. Back to the real world. Too the cruelties man does to man. Too being unappreciated. Tired and overworked. Too an empty, uncomfortable bed. A poor diet. The judgments of so called friends.

Hmmm~ Ra's wonders~ how long will it take?

Before the world does his job for him? Again. Before his Detective is tired. Sore. Lonely. Worn down and in need of care. Of a little... pleasure. A warm body to hold him in the night. Companionship IS vital to a healthy human mind and body, after all. Ra's can be a "friend". A lover. Whatever works, really.

He has time.

And Tim? Tim made the mistake of letting him in.

-🐼🐼🐼

ra's being MASSIVELY charismatic, having an effect that just lulls people into wanting to follow and obey him makes a lot of sense honestly! especially since for the most part the situtation given is that people follow ra's more out of admiration for his power/control of the lazarus pits and that's really it. ra's being incredibly charismatic and inspriring the fanatical loyalty that cults exhibit is soo good!

[iamfuckingsorry]

i'm sorry but like. i played the game for the first time like a month ago (and it absolutely wrecked me, it was beautiful), and i just can't stop thinking about this and i need to get it out. but like, kim, what the fuck is the deal with kim?

like, he's just such a weird little man with such a weird little collection of character traits, but also he's just so fucking perfect.

like, kim. he spent 15 years being a cop in a department he fucking hated but he just stuck it out. he is so done with teens he basically refuses to speak to them unless he absolutely has to, but he still spent 15 fucking years in that section, refusing to give up. he's proud to be a revacholian and to protect the city now, but did he feel this way when he joined the RCM? or did he join to prove to everyone that even a monkey fucker like him could be revacholian? or did he join because he got kicked out of the orphanage he grew up at and didn't have anywhere else to go? or was there a different reason altogether?

and look at him now. he's presumably one of the best cops in his precint (i'm sure he mentions something about this early on in the game but i honestly can't remember), and one that seems to mostly play fair and genuinely care, which doesn't seem to be that common at all. and he's proud of this and strives to always be professional and calm and collected even if he doesn't always fully manage. he keeps himself in check first and foremost, and seems to try to keep everyone at an arm's length and not engage in personal discussions, even though he will often indulge harry if directly asked.

and so far it all makes sense, right? he's been treated like shit all throughout his life, dealt a fairly shitty hand, an orphan, an immigrant, a homo, possibly visually impaired (has he always needed glasses? was he able to get them as a broke-ass kid with no one to speak on his behalf? or did he grow up never able to see properly, struggling in school because he could never read the board or react in time when people threw shit at him, made fun of by both teachers and classmates?), mocked and ridiculed, and he's had to fight hard to get to where he is now. and he desperately needs to keep it this way, so he works hard and sticks to the rules and keeps his distance from people, and he puts a stop to everyone and everything that people could make fun of (no, harry, you will /not/ call me kimball, you will call me Lt kitsuragi, no, harry, you will /not/ tell anyone about the ice bear fridge, i will /not/ be known as the ice bear cop). but he's also mostly a genuinely nice and compassionate person and he really cares, as long as people are at least trying to do good.

but also…

he basically wears period cosplay to work. like. for real, he clearly wears his fucking pilot jacket so often that having the RCM insignia sewn onto it was the most logical choice. he is so obviously into planes and cars (but he's too blind to be a pilot :), do you think he used to hate himself as a kid not only because he was poor and abandoned by everyone and "an immigrant" but also because not even his own fucking body would let him be what he wanted to be), he has an extremely expensive vehicle that's his, his only, and not even really needed for the stuff he does at work the majority of the time. he clearly had to have a chat with his boss at some point in time and justify this purchase and why the car should be permanently assigned to him and him only, and even if i'm sure he had a bunch of actual reasons you can't convince me that his boss and all of his colleagues weren't all aware that really, he just wanted a fast fucking car and had an excuse to get it. and clearly the higher ups like him enough to indulge him, because surely no one would be actually fooled? why would a crime investigator get it and not, like, the fucking traffic guys chasing drunk drivers and illegal racers every night?

and like, in some ways he fucking owns it, doesn't seem to give a fuck, he's who he is and if people don't like it that's not his problem. but he's also embarassed about listening to that fucking radio station. but he also drives a sports car and wears driving gloves and a pilot jacket, of course he's listen to that fucking radio station. but then he also does newspaper crosswords. like, he seems to put a into maintaining this facade of professionality, but he also really doesn't fucking care when it comes to a lot of the stuff, it's great. except for the extremely random stuff that he does care about and can get extremely flustered about momentarily.

and it feels really out of character in a way. he works so hard on keeping himself in check at all times, representing the RCM in a good light and making sure both him and others get treated with the respect they deserve. he smokes one cigarette a day to keep proving to himself he can keep his vices in check, for fuck's sake. but then it's like he just picked one (1) part of his personality where he just went like, fuck it. Fuck it, I work hard for this shit and I deserve to do what I want sometimes too, and this one fucking thing is innocent enough and safe enough, and I don't give a fuck, I deserve /one fucking thing/ and I'm gonna get it. I'm getting the goddamn jacket and the Kineema and if people have a problem with that, they can go fuck themselves. I /need/ this one thing and I. Am. Getting. It.

(it's clearly a big part of his personality, but do you think there were other massive interests in the past, or maybe there still are others he isn't as open about with? Things he thinks would undermine his career and reputation? Past hobbies he abandoned because if anyone found out, that would be the end of his career at the RCM, even though for anyone else who wasn't a stupid fucking immigrant who can't even see right it would be a funny little detail?)

anyway.

i'm just like. stay the way you are, my weird little man. you're great.

[shadow4-1]

Sweet n' Silly Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Headcanons (SFW & NSFW)

Ghost is a character who has so many different facets of his personality that he represses for one reason or another. Sometimes, though, he can't hide things well enough. Here are a few headcanons (NSFW Under The Cut):

Ghost is very picky about the masks he wears. If he buys them pre-made (which is rare - he likes to make his own, he can sew), they have to be a very specific type of fabric. Of course, it has to have all the tactical advantages, but it has to be SOFT most of all. All of his clothing is soft for that matter. This man will NEVER, I repeat NEVER, be caught dead in anything starchy or itchy or scratchy. Even his bed sheets are that crazy 1000 thread count cotton. He likes soft things.

Speaking of soft things, Simon carries around a very small square of quilted fabric in whatever extra pocket he might have. It's actually a piece of a handkerchief his mother sewed for him as a child to keep him from taking his baby blanket with him to school. It's old and tattered and stained, but he carries it with him anyway. It's been with him through thick and thin (and the grave). He doesn't need to sleep with it, but if he's severely stressed, he'll hold onto it and examine it for a little bit. Sometimes, that fabric feels like it's the only thing tethering him to earth.

Would absolutely love to get his nails professionally done, but because of his appearance, he doesn't want to intimidate some poor nail lady. Instead, he opts to give himself mani-pedis. Sometimes, if he's feeling rebellious, he'll bust out his trusty bottle of black nail polish and go for it. It's not like anyone'll see it under his gloves. And God forbid if you walk in on him painting his toenails. He WILL kill you.

Ghost has some interesting food habits. He'll honestly eat whatever if he has to, but he would much prefer to eat simple, almost childish foods. He likes things like pasta, sandwiches, juice, and pudding. God, he loves pudding. A giant bowl of hot mac n' cheese and an entire 6-pack of prepackaged pudding is his favorite meal. He KNOWS its bad for him and it totally fucks up his very specific diet he uses to upkeep his frame, but he can't help it.

Has an intense skin care and oral care regimen despite the fact that almost no one will ever see it. His smile would make you go blind because he practically bleaches his fucking teeth - and also because he chose to smile with teeth.

He's quiet for a multitude of reasons. Yes, it's because he's observant and wants to be in control of his surroundings. But it's also because deep down he's still a shy boy. He can stand up for himself and others if he has to, he's grown into that part of himself. But as for meeting new people, he's shy. He doesn't know you, and he doesn't know if he WANTS to know you. He'd rather just eye you up and let your actions speak for themselves. And that's why Johnny is one of his favorites. Something about a person who can outwardly show their genuineness is his kryptonite (although of course they don't have to be as much of a puppy as Johnny - take for instance Price or Gaz)

Absolutely detests physical touch unless he initiates it or it's fleeting. Handsy people piss him off. But a light punch to the shoulder, a tap or two? It makes him feel normal. Normal people aren't afraid to touch each other in that casual sort of way. Ghost is kind of normal. At least he tries to be.

Fucking sucks at flirting. He comes across as dry and uninterested even if it's the opposite. He just hopes the person he's interested in can pick that up so they don't run off thinking he's a prick. If they do then fuck 'em. Ghost is happy being by himself. He's been alone for so long, what's another few years.

Has a very silent praise kink. If his lover tells him anything good about him, goes straight to his ego. He won't show it, but that "I like being with you" went straight to his cock and made him puff out his chest. Of course you do. He's great. He's always been great. Now he's really going to show you how great he is.

Ghost is a huge scent guy. He's very picky about what scents he enjoys, and if he has a lover, he can and will throw out all of their expensive fragrances (and soaps and lotions, etc). His lover HAS to smell a certain way to him, and he'll supply them with whatever he deems appropriate. By the time he's done, his lover will have to adopt a whole new skincare routine. Smelling like sex is obviously one of his top picks, although once again, he'd never say that aloud.

He's a very, VERY visual creature. He knows it makes him come across as a creep, but he loves just watching his lover. He loves picking up on their mannerisms and their quirks. He loves watching their body move when walking or showering. He loves seeing wet stains in his lover's underwear and indentations of his teeth in their skin. He truly devours EVERYTHING with his eyes.

Gets aroused by the weirdest of things. Bare hands on metal, that section of skin in between the collar of a shirt and a throat mic, blowing bubbles in gum. Sometimes, he's hard for nearly an entire mission because someone's voice is too raspy in the comms. (And yes, he's an avid ASMR lover. Those tingles he gets goes straight to his dick and he's ashamed about it. He would absolutely die if his lover sees his search history. They can't know he wants their tongue in his eardrums - no one can.)

Rarely jerks off. He represses all of his sexual energy until he physically can't anymore. He knows it's because deep down he's traumatized. Pleasure is something he doesn't feel like he's allowed to have. His lover should be allowed to have it. But him? No. Jerking off feels like such hedonistic behavior. He feels like a degenerate after. No jerking off. Besides, the more pent-up he is, the sexier his dreams get.

He's always been afflicted by crazy dreams - mainly nightmares. Sometimes, though, especially if he's pent up his dreams get sexual. For the most part they're pretty tame, par for the course sex dreams but when he really gets pent up? When he feels like he's going to burst? His dreams get so realistic they might as be reality. He gets rough and possesive and fucks his lover into his mattress only wo wake up and have to come to grips with the things he's WILLING to do to them. He's so used to being disciplined that the moment that mask drops he can't look at himself in the mirror.

[heartssatoru]

ignoring jjk men? I hardly see any of this request. Any characters just please have megumi in it🙏

Ignoring jjk men

Characters: Yuji, Megumi, Gojo, and Sukuna.

Warnings: nsfw for sukuna and gojo!! Afab

(My friend requested this <3)

yuji

Ignoring him is pure evil. This man will get so sad. Poor baby 🙁

He'll try to put on the act that he doesn't care and stuff but is crying the moment you keep ignoring him

No but actually, if you ignore him at class then he'll spam your phone with messages.

If you don't respond thats when he makes megumi text you for him.

Will get offended if you only respond to megumi, but he'll also get sad if you don't respond

He'll literally beg for you to respond just once.

Honestly even if its just for a little he'll just start whining and begging for your attention.

He would go through ALL your guys messages just to see if he did anything wrong

'Hey! Heyyy..! Stop ignoring me!! Hellooo? Last time I remembered I wasn't a ghost! Stop ignoring me..! What did I doo?'

Megumi

Will be confused for the most part. But he probably wouldn't even realize your ignoring him

And when he does realize he's still confused. Like why are you ignoring him?

okay yeah he didnt let you pet his divine dogs but so what?

He thinks your being dramatic. So he will put up with it.

Unless he can't stand it then yes he will let you pet them.

One touch.He doesn't see why you want to be cuddling with them. I mean he's right there is he not?

'Are you seriously ignoring me just because I didn't let you pet- okay. Fine. One small pet. Thats all your getting. Don't complain im being generous.'

Gojo

Oh ignoring him? Yeah right? He doesn't care! He'll still bug you!

Not to mention he will tease you. Especially if the cause is because he upset you.

Yeah he'll act hurt. But he takes it as a challage too. If thats how you want to play so be it.

If him surprising you with kisses and hugs then alright. He'll move onto something more extreme

But how far should he take it? If you do really ignore him for a whole day or more than do be prepared.

And don't be surprised if your laying on your back on his bed with your thighs being held apart by his tight grip.

He will eat you out no hesitation. Oh you wanted ignore him? He will overstimulate you.

Oh you came? Cute, but he's not stopping. Not until he's satisfied.

By the time he's done with you, you will be a mess. Legs shaky n everything

'Hmm? Is this too much? Oh but we just started!~ I'm not done with you. Stop trying to close your legs. We both know thats not happening.'

Sukuna

Oh ignoring this man? Goodluck too you! And I mean this quite seriously.

Haha your brave if you have the guts to do that

Ignoring him for fun to see what he does too? Yeah alright we'll see..

He'll clearly be offended. Because who are you to ignore the king of curses?

If he really wanted too, he could easily destroy you. So you should be thankful he hasn't! His mindset

Your just being childish. Thats what he's telling himself.

Keep going if you want this man to fuck you and not let you cum.

Seriously. He will fuck your brains out. And he will not let you cum, not until your there's tears in your pretty eyes, and your begging him to let you cum.

If you don't apologize to him then alright. I guess your not cumming, not until you apologize of course.

'Why don't you be a good girl and apologize for ignoring me hm? Maybe then ill let you cum. No? Thats too bad.'

[galvanizedfriend]

KC Wip Wednesday

This is my humble contribution to WIP Wednesday! It's a scene from the rewriting of TVD S5 - Yokan's version. In it, The Originals never happens, most of the Mikaelsons remain in Mystic Falls and Klaus and Caroline are kind of a thing, but nobody knows (for sure). Remember that moment where Katherine locks herself up in a safe with Stefan to "cure" his PTSD? It's that, except it's Klaus, not Katherine. This alludes to a very Klefan past, btw. Be warned if you're not a fan.

Also, this is for @definedareasofuncertainty, who wanted me to write her Easter Klefan. 🤧 There you go, friend! And you know, not beta'ed and all that.

--

Klaus lies on his back, takes a calm breath as the heavy door is closed with a thud, engulfing them in absolute darkness. All in all, he'd say a metal box is hardly the most uncomfortable setting he's found himself in. He prefers the comfort of first-class accommodations, but he's traveled in worse. The grown man beating about beside him does make things rather unpleasant, though.

"Stop! Caroline! Get me out of here!" Stefan screams, smashing his fists against the iron safe's indestructible structure. The more desperate he gets, the more uncoordinated and weaker his movements become, thus making the effort completely useless, however accomplished in making the experience all the more miserable for him.

It's embarrassing how incapable Klaus is of saying no to Caroline whenever she asks for a favor. Locking himself up in a box with a traumatized Stefan has to be an all-time low. The things he won't do when she bats her eyelashes and says please.

"Oh, stop it," he remarks in a bored tone as he shoves Stefan aside. The old safe is rather spacious, but definitely not enough to comport two men, particularly if one of them won't stop bloody writhing like a worm in hot sand. "The more you scream, the more breathless you become." The more I want to tear your vocal cords to shreds.

"Get me out of here, Klaus, get me the fuck out of here!"

"Relax, Stefan. I'm here to help," he says. "I'm what you would call a greater agony to alleviate the smaller pain you feel being trapped inside the box. It's reverse psychology, or so Caroline read in a book. What do you think of a little werewolf venom high to speed up the process?"

"You're psychotic. You're fucking insane!" Stefan starts pounding on the box again. "Caroline! Caroline, open up! Open it now!"

"I'm sorry, Stefan!" comes her muffled apology. Even through the metal barrier she sounds thick with guilt. It was her idea, but already she's cracking. That bleeding heart of hers… "I'm sorry, I will -"

"Do not touch that box, Caroline," he commands with his full authority. "Leave it."

There's a long pause, the sound of Stefan's heart hammering away inside his chest in the box as they wait to see what she'll do. A beat goes by before she mumbles a final sorry and scurries away, likely to avoid the temptation of putting poor Stefan out of his misery.

Klaus' lips pull into a grin. "Good girl."

Stefan starts shaking beside him, his breath becoming even more labored. "I can't breathe," he gasps. "I can't - I can't -"

"You don't need to breathe, Stefan. It's all in your head," Klaus reminds him pointedly. "A vampire having a panic attack, honestly. When you think you've seen everything…"

"You're not fucking helping!"

"Pardon me. My bedside manners have gone a little rusty since the last time you've experienced them." Klaus casts Stefan a glance, sees the way his eyes widen in horror, his body growing stiff as a rod, and he can't contain the self-satisfied smile that draws across his lips. "We did once find comfort in each other's company, didn't we?" Stefan makes another panicked sound, smoothing his hands across the cold metal door above them, trying to find a way out. Klaus chuckles. "Don't worry, mate. Caroline can't hear us. Your sordid little secret is safe with me. It's just us here, alone under the cover of darkness. Nothing we haven't done a dozen times in the past. Ahh, the 20s…" he speaks around a dramatic sigh. "It was the roaring years, indeed."

"What are you doing?"

"Making conversation."

"I don't want to talk to you, I especially don't want to talk about that." Stefan nearly chokes on the last word, inching as far away from Klaus as the confined space will allow, as though the mere idea of touching him fills him with utter revulsion. Klaus knows better; it's the way he remembers exactly how it didn't what terrifies him.

Anybody who's met this watered down, colorless version of Stefan would never be able to tell how much of a free spirit he used to be. He was fun. A far cry from the shivering man beside him now. Tragic, really.

"I know you like to pretend it never happened. Frankly, you've become quite an embarrassment of your former self, so I wouldn't proudly advertise it either. This bunny-eating, crying in the dark skin you're wearing these days is someone is wouldn't be caught fraternizing with if you were the last human being on earth."

"Then leave me the fuck alone already."

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm not here for you," he snaps back. And then, putting a leash on his rising temper, he continues, "But since I have to be… I can recognize that there was something about that time we had together that suited us both, more than just for the obvious reasons."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. I was a tool for you."

"A tool for self-destruction."

Klaus huffs out a disdainful breath. "I was a balm to your tortured soul, Stefan, even at a time when you embraced your true self. I indulged you because you amused me, but at the end of the day, when we were together, it was all rather transactional. It wasn't about sentimentality or a shared appreciation for extravagance. It was about the hollow inside us. The fact we were always desperately seeking to fill it with… Anything, really. Whatever we could find. Passions. Pleasure. Violence. Cravings. But it never lasted, did it? Those things lack a purpose. They're all flitting in their essence, an immense explosion of satisfaction followed by… Nothing. We were both hungry, and we kept trying to find the thing that would sate us. You had lost your mind; I had lost my home. Like drawn to like." Klaus turns his face to Stefan, finds him staring back, eyes glinting with an emotion he can't quite read in the gloom. He always did fancy Stefan's eyes, though. There is something raw about them, something honest for a change. A little opening to the truth in his soul he tries so hard to hide from the outside world. "That's what the darkness is, Stefan," he continues. "Loneliness. It's what restrains us. The monster we cannot outrun. When it all stops - the laughter, the liquor, the hunger - and everything goes quiet around us, that's when we feel it. The curse of eternity. The weight of our years, deep in our bones. And the inevitable loneliness that comes with it. You had your names on the wall, I had my letters, but when all was said and done… We were both stuck in infinite darkness. Except for a few glorious stolen moments, in that repulsive room of yours." The corner of his mouth pulls up into a lopsided smile. "I was the bigger monster you needed in order to humanize yourself. Whatever you were, I was worse, and so I assuaged your guilt. Much like me being here right now. But then of course you found religion!" He laughs, closing his eyes and facing forward once more. "Your spiritual path towards the light. Elena Gilbert." He enunciates the name like it's coated in something toxic. His general distaste for Elena goes further than the fact she has thwarted so many of his plans. It's the boring saint act he cannot get over.

"Yes," Stefan says, his voice rough. "And then I lost her."

"Right. Because she chose your brother." Klaus chuckles. Stefan shifts uncomfortably beside him, the urge to hit him palpable in the air. It only spurs Klaus on. "How so very tacky. No taste, that one. Personally, I think there's no amount of blue eyes or good sex that can make Damon tolerable. What a wanker. I just want to bash his face against a wall whenever he opens his mouth."

Stefan scoffs. "Get in line."

"It's ironic, isn't it? You were at your absolute best behavior, weeding out all of your instincts, everything that made you fun and interesting in order to fashion yourself into a fairy tale prince for her, and what does she do? She chooses the dullard bad boy. Typical." Klaus shakes his head. "Ungrateful little -"

"Shut up."

"Martyr," he finishes with a smirk. "She probably thinks she's going to fix him, doesn't she? I bet he encourages it. But that's the difference between you and Damon, isn't it? Even with all your valiant efforts, you know creatures like us cannot be fixed. We're beyond salvation."

He gets a sudden twinge in his chest, an image flashing in his mind. A smile as bright as the sun. Hair the color of wheat. He sees her shifting under his sheets, feels the warmth of her touch, the brush of her rosy lips against his skin. It ignites a sense of joy inside him unlike anything else, a sense of possession, of belonging, of having found something that is far more precious or rare than any of the hundreds of treasures he's collected over the course of his life. But along with it comes the ever-present fear. Of loss. How long before he ruins her, like he's ruined everything else he's ever cherished? How long before he hurts her, even if he doesn't mean to? Before his darkness tarnishes her and kills that smile? Before she decides he's not worth it?

"How do you make yourself worthy?" he asks, the question tumbling out of his as though of their own accord. "How do you earn the affections of someone so…"

"Good?" Stefan finishes for him, reading his thoughts. "With sunshine and rainbows shining out of their eyes? Someone like, say… Caroline?" Klaus goes quiet, all his humor bleeding out of him in a second. "You don't," Stefan answers his own question. "You'll never be good enough for her, Klaus. Just like I was never good enough for Elena. Not really. The truth is they deserve much better than the two of us." He sighs, deflating with resignation next to Klaus. "I guess we did make quite a pair, you and I."

"Then perhaps we should die together," he says with an edge of aggression, his mood taking a sudden downturn. He's suddenly irritated. With Stefan, with this ridiculous situation, with himself for agreeing to that. "You and I, in a box, at the bottom of a quarry. Over and over again, drowning in suffering for all our sins and the women we don't deserve. How about that?" Silence stretches out between them, absolute. There's no response from Stefan, but there's also no pounding pulse, no disgruntled breaths. "Oh, look," he says dispassionately. "Someone's not having a panic attack anymore. Congratulations. You've conquered your fears. All you had to do was remember there are worse things than dying."

Klaus gives one violent kick on the door, sending it flying off its hinges. He pushes himself up, stepping out of the safe.

Caroline comes whooshing in, eyes wide as she takes in the state of the safe, the way Stefan is still down, cowering from the sudden burst of luminosity.

"What did you do to him?" she demands.

Klaus' mouth inches upward into the barest hint of a grin, no mirth whatsoever. "I fixed him."

[fatherphilia]

How about some of that Uchiha breeding kink for your bestie?

i love how the uchiha breeding kink is just a staple in naruto smut. it’s honestly so iconic lol

tw. dubcon and of course, breeding kink under cut

madara can hardly control himself, if there’s any man that desires an heir deeply, it is him. he’s believes that he’s the strongest in his clan and that it’s his duty to provide strong successors for the uchiha.

his poor poor wife, anytime she’s not pregnant is time spent with her legs wrapped around her husband as he thrusts up into her. he can’t help the swell of desire he feels thinking how claiming his girl and knocking her up so the whole clan can see her stomach swell with his child.

at first, he justifies it by saying that he needs to have a male heir but even after you bore a son, he had no intention of stopping. the man just can’t contain himself.

honestly, sasuke never thought that he would have desires like these. he always pictured himself having children eventually but it didn’t occur to him how much the idea of impregnating or rather “breeding” his wife would turn him off.

he doesn’t admit it but it’s easy to tell with the way he’s sliding in and out of you, muttering how he can’t wait to see your his kid. pulling out simply isn’t an option for him and he can’t stand to see any of cum dripping out of you. when you point out his behavior as he’s collecting the semen dripping from your cunt so he can stuff it back in, he merely shrugs as if it was the most normal thing.

if he’s feeling more bold, he’ll tell you to make sure not to waste a single drop.

itachi was the most embarrassed about his intense desires, he considered himself a man who had impeccable control but that control is always slipping when he finds himself in bed with you.

the idea of domesticity and a family is always lingering in the back of his mind, a lingering desire that begins to dominate his thoughts when he’s got you on your back with your legs spread in front of him. he’s gripping thighs, murmuring to you about how he can’t wait to see you become a mother, that he’ll know you’ll do great all while his thoughts drift to way you’ll look while carrying his kid.

he truly does try to contain himself but his usual tenderness is slipping as his cock head teases your aching pussy after he’s already came inside and his spend is dripping down your inner thighs.

not all men merely desire to impregnate their wife. rather, obito just wants to get his hands on any fertile woman he can. it’s the thought of impregnating a stranger and fucking them senseless that really gets him going.

it’s easy for him to coax a kunoichi into his bed for a one night stand, sweet lies leaving his lips as he promises that he’ll pull out; swears that he’d never leave the girl alone. but, it’s all a lie of course because he simply can’t help himself from pouring his load inside the poor girl while she squirms and tries to push him off, reminding him that he promised to pull out.

truly, he just wants to leave some sweet girl out there carrying his spawn inside of her. it’s this irresistible temptation to carry on his genes but he’s such a busy man, he doesn’t have time to settle down with a woman. in any case, obito feels like maybe the girl should feel honored that he picked her even if she’s sobbing when he’s done.

[chaifootsteps]

What drives me most insane about all the discourse (or lack of discourse) around Hazbin is people trying to act like Angel Dust is the first ever sex worker character portrayed in media as an actual *character.* To say nothing of the fact that he's an utterly HORRIBLE representation. If anything it reinforces the idea of sex work as some bottom of the barrel hail mary for the desperate and horny. Which...no.

You want to know what most sex workers are like??? People. They're like *people.* People with interests and identities outside of their profession. They also have a lot in common with Therapists in that people go to them for comfort and sometimes literally a shoulder to cry on. The old cliche of a guy hiring a hooker only to cry about his problems isnt just for laughs. Listening to people and comforting them is a HUGE part of sex work. SO many sex workers are incredibly kind and emotionally intelligent people and not all of them only resorted to sex work out of desperation.

Angel? He's basically just a sassy, mean, gay twink stereotype rolled together with a ceaselessly horny, drug addled, asshole. Just because we're meant to feel bad for him doesnt make him a good representation.

You know some shows/movies that DO have positive rep? Bobs Burgers, Bless The Harts , GLOW, Firefly, Moulin Rouge, fucking Independence Day and yes I mean the one from 1996, and Sweet Charity which is from the goddamn 60s.

And these are just a fraction of the examples out there.

As a rule (and this is for everyone, not just the dickriders) just because YOU haven't seen/heard of something before doesnt mean it hasn't been done. Stop making all these broad judgements based on your own very narrow experience and do some research, good lord...

Dont even get me started on people trying to applaud the show for queer rep when it's literally just a Yaoi Hentai with musical numbers and twice the exploitation.

I pray to god John Waters never finds out about Hazbin because I don't need the poor man finding out all the work he did for queer culture and media has been set back decades by one spoiled rich white bitch.

And yes, Vivienne is white. Having South /Central American heritage does not automatically mean you aren't white. White is complexion, not a goddamn nationality. If you look and act white enough, you'll get treated like a white person, and Viv is about as white as they come. She grew up in goddamn bourgie-ass Frederick, Maryland. We see you, Viv.

Honestly, at the moment, I think my favorite fictional depiction of a sex worker is Tuca from Tuca & Bertie in that brief window of time she dabbled in it. Did it because she liked it and was good at it, no stereotypical Valentino-esque pimp in the picture, her clients were all regular people too, and she did it online which is something you don't often see in media. Viv could never have written something that grounded and adult.

[cocogrrrl]

bandages

when you find out that the sudden thumping by your fire exit is a masked vigilante in serious pain, you have no other choice than to help him.

mysterion!kenny mccormick x gn!reader cw: severe injuries wc: 2001

AN: I NEED TO PROOFREAD THIS HELP an part two: have not proofread this, but this fic now has a part two!

Tonight was a quiet night. You had nothing going on, to be honest. No friends over, no work to be done, nothing. For once, it left you relieved. For weeks, you’ve been wondering when would you actually have time for yourself. At the same time, the feeling of not being insanely occupied was new. Honestly, it was a little boring.

First, you were trying to relax in your living room, flicking through the movies and shows on the screen. None of them seemed appealing. After that, you decide you’d do a little art, bringing out some yarn as you tried to make something out of it. You were so out of it currently, though, so you didn’t have the energy to commit to a project.

Perhaps all you needed was sleep, though. I mean, it is 10:30 PM already, but this isn’t how you wanted to spend your free Friday night. You wanted to make the most of it. Be productive or entertain yourself.

Maybe it’s for the better, anyways. You got out o the sofa and tucked away your craft materials somewhere. You’ll probably revisit them in another two months.

All of a sudden, you hear several thumps by the fire exit.

Could it have been a criminal trying to sneak in? Honestly, trying to rob a person in a cheap studio complex was kinda low if it was indeed a robber. Could it have been a cat, though? It seems likely. Whatever it was, you decided to check it.

You entered the fire exit through your window. What greeted you was the sight of some dressed-up hero, all bloody and beaten up, lying on the concrete asphalt ground. To be honest, he looked kind of ridiculous—mostly because of the costume.

You wondered if anyone had spotted him yet. No time to think, though you had to help this poor guy. Thank god you lived on the second floor, you quickly shuffled down the footsteps of the fire escape and headed straight to the man.

“Are you okay?” You asked as you knelt beside him. He was breathing, which was good—obviously. Though his costume consisted of greys and blacks, you could see that there was blood seeping into his clothes. Definitely not good.

“Just leave me…” He choked out.

“What? No. You clearly look like you’ve broken a bone or two, and I’d be fucking insane to leave you in a state like this.” You replied, pulling your phone out of your pocket to dial an ambulance.

He was quick to pull the phone out of your hand with what little strength he had. “Don’t call for help… I’ll be caught.” Oh, so probably this guy’s an actual vigilante—not just some guy dressing up.

“You need help, though.”

“You can leave me here. It’s fine.”

“Are you insane? It’s not fine. I’m not leaving you out here to possibly die!” You sighed. “Here. I’ll bring you to my place. It’s just there on the second floor. Do you need help getting up?”

“I…” You could feel the hesitance in the man’s voice. It’s almost as if he didn’t want your help. “I can go there. I just need some help getting up.” He sighed.

A few minutes later, with some struggle, you found him lying on your couch. His wounds weren’t getting any better. They just kept on bleeding through his clothes. It was even more obvious now with the lights turned on.

You emerged out of your bathroom with a first aid kit in hand. The guy had cracked a few ribs and had cuts and bruises all over his body. He looked like hell. While you were grabbing your things, he was stripping down to his underwear and mask as you requested. You would’ve noted how hot he looked if it weren’t for the fact that he was dying right now. 

You started to wrap a bandage around his chest to support the ribs. You made it as tight as you can without trying to hurt the guy as well. Right after, you headed to your freezer, where you pulled out an ice pack and handed it to him.

“Hold it against where it hurts. I’m gonna clean your wounds up, okay?” You looked up at him as you got on your knees and brought out the wet cloth soaked in a bowl of water closer to you. He nodded and held it in place. “It’s gonna sting a little bit, if you didn’t already know.”

As you worked on what you could, you could feel him tense up and even hiss sometimes. In the corner of your eye, you could see his eyes tight shut as his jaw was clenched. You felt really bad for the guy.

After a bit, you set his costume aside as you searched through your wardrobe for cleaner clothes that fit him. You pulled out an old shirt and some basketball shorts you had lying around. “Do you need help putting clothes on?” 

He shook his head. “Alright. I’m gonna turn around—just tell me when you’re done, okay?” You said. Once more, he nodded his head. You turned on your heel, hearing some awkward shuffling and grunts as you waited.

“I’m okay now.” Those were the first actual words he said after entering your apartment. 

“You can stay the night here,” you sighed, turning back as you leaned on the wall looking at him. “God knows you need it.”

“Thank you…” He smiled at you for the first time tonight. It was now around 11 PM at this point, and you were a lot more groggier than you were earlier. Your brain was fried with the distress from earlier.

“You’re staying in my bed, by the way. You’re way too big for the couch. It could be uncomfortable for you.” You said, heading to your kitchen to grab some Diclofenac and water.

“You don’t have to. You’ve been a huge help to me already. I don’t think I could accept your hospitality.” You sat beside him, handing the pill and water to him.

“I insist. I don’t think I could handle seeing you in any more pain.” Your eyes scanned him up and down. He seemed much better compared to earlier, although he had bandages wrapped around him everywhere.

“I don’t want to cause you any discomfort, dear.” He immediately jumped at himself with that little name at the end, as you did as well. You two were clearly not expecting it. It’s not that you minded it, though.

“Come on. It’s just one night… guy.” You said, not knowing what else to call him.

“Mysterion.”

“Mysterion,” you continued. “Your health is a lot more important than wherever the hell I sleep right now. Besides, it’s not like I don’t already fall asleep on the couch on the regular.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed. “I’m just not sure if I’m able to sleep tonight.”

“Why? Drank coffee before you fell off the rooftop?”

“Funny, but no.” However, when he said that, there was little to no reaction on his face whatsoever. “I just can’t sleep. I don’t feel tired.”

“I’ll accompany you, then.” You smiled, leaning back on the couch. It’s not like you didn’t have anything better to do.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to, okay? Besides, I got nowhere to go to tomorrow.” You said, giving him a reassuring look. You’d squeeze his shoulder to further your intentions, but you might just end up crushing him to a pulp even further.

“I can’t thank you enough…” He trailed off, not knowing your name.

“YN.” You nodded.

“Thank you, YN.”

“Mhm,” you nodded, heading for your kitchen once more to pour yourself a drink as a reward and a pat on the back for tonight. “So, who were you fighting earlier, Mysterion?” You said mindlessly, trying to make conversation with the guy.

“Uh, the Coon,” he muttered. You hummed in reply, hearing him in the quiet of your apartment perfectly well. “I’m usually the one who beats him, but I guess today’s just an off-day for me. I’m gonna beat his ass when I see him tomorrow.”

“Who’s the Coon anyway?” You asked, plopping yourself beside him again as you swirled your drink around before taking a sip.

“Some guy. I’ve been fighting him for years now. Ever since we were kids, actually.”

“So he’s your arch nemesis?”

“No, ew. No way. I don’t have an ‘arch nemesis’ per se. I have too many people I’m fighting with to actually have a designated enemy.” He said, a prideful smirk on his face as he said that.

“I don’t think that’s something you’re supposed to be proud of.”

“It isn’t, but I find joy in it whenever I’m on the streets nowadays.” He sighed, lying on the couch.

“Really? Fighting your multitude of enemies is what brings you joy?” You raised a brow.

“And seeing cuties like you as well, but whatever.” He quickly mumbled.

“Hmm? You think I’m cute?” You smiled, bringing your face closer to his—even though he was so obviously dodging eye contact with you.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Oh, but yes you did.” You chuckled, gently pinching his cheek as pulled it to have him look at you. “I heard exactly what you said.”

“So what did I say, then?” He mused your playfulness, raising his eyebrows.

“You said, and I quote, ‘And seeing cuties like you as well.’”

“Completely wrong,” he said with a pout, the visible skin because of his mask reddening faintly. “I said, ‘And California brew as well.’ Clearly, you’re just hearing things.”

“Uhuh,” you sarcastically replied, nodding. “And what exactly is a California brew? I’m assuming you meant the state drink of California, by the way.”

He paused, thinking to himself. “...Kombucha?”

“It’s wine, genius.” You rolled your eyes with a grin on your face, letting your hand go from his face.

“Well, it sounds like it could be their state drink!” 

“Mhm, keep trying to save yourself. We all know what you said, Mystie-boo.” You clicked your tongue, shaking your head.

“What’s a Mystie-boo?” He looked at you full of negative judgment, although it was definitely lightheartedly.

“Like, Pookie-pie!” His gaze which was full of judgment just became one of concern. “It’s what you call your friends! Like boo boo bear!”

“I don’t think anyone calls their friends that, YN.”

“That’s because you don’t get it!” You pouted, crossing your arms as you took another sip from your drink.

The whole night you two chatted on your couch. Your teasing was relentless. You didn’t hold back one bit. Mysterion continued with his slip-of-the-tongue flirting, and you always took note of it. You didn’t mind, not one bit. You enjoyed yourself thoroughly with it. 

The early morning approached, and it was around 1 AM. You were surprised that you were still awake, considering how exhausted you were. Mysterion, however, was knocked out on the couch. You dragged his body over to your bed as efficiently as you could—which wasn’t much, but it’s the thought that counts! You draped your blanket over him, and you head out of your room, taking your sleep on the couch like you promised yourself.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You find yourself waking up at 10 AM. Honestly, for how tired out you were, that wasn’t too bad. You noticed you were back in your bed, though. Was the whole thing all a dream? You wouldn’t blame yourself if it was. I mean, maybe you were just desperate for a love life.

You sighed, rising from your bed as you reached over to your nightstand to grab your phone. To your dismay, it wasn’t there. Actually, a scribbled piece of paper was instead lying there. You shook your head, reaching to grab it.

Thanks for last night, cutie pookie pie. Is that right??

- Kenny, aka “Mysterion”

PS: youre the first person im running to if i get hurt badly again :]

You smiled, tucking the letter in your drawer. See you soon, Mysterion.