#it ran away from me

[hedwig221b]

No pressure. NO PRESSURE WHATSOEVER. But when do you think you’ll be posting your newest fic. It’s been on my mind an unhealthy amount. I’m so so excited for it. If you don’t wanna say that’s totally fine tho. I love your work!!!!! 💙💙💙💙💙

Oh if only I knew...

Lmfao sorry 🥺 I am writing this fic nearly every day, it currently sits at 51k. I'm crawling towards the finale. My estimate is February if everything goes well.

I'M SO EXCITED AS WELL FOR YOU TO READ IT 💖 I hope it lives up to the expectation and the small amount of hype I created.

Also 💖💖💖💖 thank you darling!

[proffbon]

YOU HAVE BEEN WAYLAID BY ENEMIES AND MUST DEFEND YOURSELF!

The enemies: One (1) neutral polar bear

[stripedscribe]

2 for mattfoggy

2. things you say through your teeth. Under a readmore for content - please check tags

Lies weren’t necessarily a bad thing, if they protected the other person.

“Of course I didn’t forget our anniversary.” They could be small, and sweet, and good. Lies had to be allowed, where they didn’t harm.

“I’m fine.” It was only a small wound, it would be healed in a few days.

“Of course I’m happy to see them.” The truth would hurt.

“I wasn’t out out. Honestly, I tripped down the stairs.” He was supposed to be on bed rest. He was pretty sure Foggy could tell he was lying.

“I’m almost there. Keep running.”

The words burned. The lies burned, and he hoped Foggy couldn’t tell through the phone how his hands shook. How he’d begged Foggy to run from the danger when Matt didn’t plan on doing the same. “I’m right behind you, get through the doors. The cops are here, get to them.”

Brett was out there. Brett would be there for Foggy.

He was floors away. The shooter far too close for comfort, and innocents in the building still. But Foggy was almost out, and those in the building were hiding away. It was a fluke, that Foggy had excused himself to the bathroom as the same time shots rang out some levels above them. It was easy to phone him, to tell him to stay away, and get away.

There was fabric on the wall, some sort of flag, and Matt ripped it into a makeshift mask. “I’ll be there in a minute Foggy.”

“Matt? Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t. You’re safe, right? You got out?” He could hear the other escapees being ushered behind the police cars, shaking voices and worried words.

“Yes. And you’re supposed to be right behind me.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be there in- I can stop him Foggy. Before he hurts anyone else.”

“Matt.” Foggy spoke to someone else, the words almost muffled. “Matt’s still in there. Yes. Yes you know he is Brett. An idiot. Matt. What floor are you on, what floor is he on? Help this way. Just give us the information, you don’t have to be a martyr.”

“We’re both on the 18th still. I’m alone in the conference room. He’s in the hallway. I can stop him.”

He dropped the phone, hearing Foggy begging. Pleading with him. “I’ll be fine Foggy. I promise.” He wasn’t used to the way these lies burned, the way his teeth clenched around the words. The shooter wouldn’t be expecting an attack, was walking these halls like he owned the world. Overconfidence was a hell of a drug, and had been far too many wannabe villains downfalls. Would be this ones.

He hadn’t meant for the words he’s spoken to Foggy to have been a lie. Had been expecting the normal monologue a gun-wielding enemy seemed to love. Not someone quite so trigger-happy, not someone who actually knew how to handle a gun.

The bullet was never supposed to hit him. He should have dodged.

He always dodged.

Until he didn’t.

And the shooter was hurtling down the hallway, and Matt had to be thankful that no one else had been hurt, that this had spooked him.

But it hurt. It ached, and he was scared. He hadn’t meant to lie.

It wasn’t-

He could get to his phone. He could crawl, one arm useless and broken and bleeding.

He could hear it. Could hear Foggy still on the line, could hear his frantic pleas and the echoing noises of sirens through the speaker.

“Foh?” Every breath was forced, red heat throbbing around each bullet wound.

“Matt?! I heard gunshots, are you okay?”

There was a temptation to lie. To protect him and say it would all be okay.

“You were right.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the apology Foggy deserved, but words weren’t going to work for him here. He sat on the floor, leaning against the back of the chairs they’d all complained about.

“...What was I right about?”

“’m ‘n idiot.”

“Matt.” His voice was a low whisper. “Matt what happened? How are you hurt, can you get out?”

“No. I don’ - I can try. Don’ leave.” If he could get to the elevator, there might be hope. There might be help. He could rely on that to get out, or at least down.

Deep in his heart, he didn’t think he was making it. Thought this might be yet another lie. He’d try for Foggy though. He’d try. He owed that much to him.

“Brett?”

“Yeah he’s here. You moving Matty? You getting out of there?”

“’s good.” Foggy had someone. If- when- the worst happened. He wasn’t sure what colour the scratchy carpet had been before, but he was surely staining it red with blood as he crawled along the floor, useless arm cradled to his chest, phone resting on top of it where he could hear Foggy’s voice.

“’levator.” He took a deep breath before reaching to fumble for the down button. The seconds where it whirred to life were antagonising long, and he tried to shake the dust of unconsciousness from his hazy mind. “C’n you get me?”

“I got you. You’re going to be okay Matt, okay, stay with me. Save your energy, but stay with me.” The doors slid closed behind him, and he couldn’t remember dragging himself into the box but he was slumped in the corner. The blood on his usable hand made it difficult to read the buttons, and he hoped he was heading to the ground floor. Hoped he was heading to safety.

It was easy to lull himself into the sense of relief. That he was out.

“Foh?”

“Yeah Matty?”

“I’m sorry. If- if I-” His teeth chattered and he felt icy cold. This wasn’t good. “’m sorry I-”

“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologise, you’re going to be okay, okay? Listen to me, you’re going to be alright.” With a clunk, the elevator hit the ground floor, and the door opened. People rushed towards him, paramedics, and with it Foggy, caught up in the rush.

“We got you. You’re going to be okay Matty.”

He wasn’t used to hearing Foggy lie.

[fandomfloozy]

The disheartening part about entering a fandom so late is the copious amounts of deactivated accounts. Just so many pieces of art and works of fiction that only still exist through reblogs from those still active despite the lack of new content for the series in the past few years.

And part of me feels as if I have no room to complain about it. I have an endless trove of other active users who are willing and able to provide over a decade's worth of drawings, paintings, stories, thought pieces, and even emotions spanning countless days and months and years. I'm in a very unique post-discovery position where I don't feel immediately empty after finishing the story, I just have... fandom. I probably couldn't consume all of it if I tried.

Yet there's something so frustrating about finding a single part of an anthology of comic strips and not being able to find the rest because the account it came from doesn't exist anymore. There comes this intense rage that says, "Why couldn't you just leave these with us? Would it have been so hard to stay inactive without effectively destroying your little piece of the internet? Why would you deprive us of being able to enjoy what you left behind?" All over one account, despite the trove of other ones I have at my disposal. It's ridiculous but it's still so upsetting.

At the end of the day, though, I can understand it, even if it makes me mad. They say what you put out into the world, by the way of art at least, doesn't belong to you anymore once it's out there. If that were true, I wouldn't be sitting here, stewing in my own irritation. This artist had the power to take everything they put out into the world away from everyone. The whole thing feels like the biggest exemplification of autonomy. Freedom from external influence. The decision one can make to just erase themselves must be pretty freeing. And in a way, it's very poetic to exist only through the whispers of those who loved what you did. Immortalized through those who still remain.

[ishikawayukis]

wanted to do a simple eye look and yet................ why am i like this

[bibxrbie]

"Luke Skywalker isn’t like the old Jedi. He saves Vader with his attachments!”

Wrong!

Luke Skywalker, at the end of Return of the Jedi, after his confrontation with the Emperor drags Darth Vader through the destructing Death Star. He’s desperate, knuckles white under the heavy weight of his father’s body, a little boy dragging his dad to safety. He sets Vader down for a moment, to catch his breath or maybe to get a better grip. He goes to grab Vader again, but Vader, uncomfortable and in pain, asks Luke to take off the mask. He wants to see Luke through his eyes instead of the eyes Palpatine built for him. Luke refuses, says that removing the mask is a sure way for Vader to die. Luke doesn’t want Vader dead, he wants Vader alive. Not to hold him accountable for his many evil acts, but for the same reason why Luke Skywalker can’t kill Darth Vader; Vader is his father and Luke loves him.

And yet, after a moment, Luke removes Vader’s mask. He doesn’t want to, he hesitates, but he removes the mask with enough slowness to allow Vader to take it back. In that moment, Luke sets aside his desire for Vader in his life, sets aside his desire to see him live, and sets aside his entire mission, the reason he was even on the Death Star in the place. In his compassion for his father, Luke stays with Vader until he dies. It is this moment where we see him be the best damn Jedi he can be. I’d even argue that this moment is the greatest example of non-attached love we see. Because Luke lets Vader go! He lets his father die, and in some ways, by removing the mask, he too kills Vader, he stays with him until his last moment, gives him the kindness of granting his last wish and finally chooses Vader.

And Luke doesn’t have to do this. If Luke Skywalker’s love for his father was an attachment, he would ignore Vader and continue dragging him to the escape pod, put his desire for a father as his central focus and ignore Vader’s wants and discomfort. Maybe he would even save him. But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches as Vader dies.

He builds a Jedi burial for his father and watches it burn the remnants of Vader and Anakin Skywalker away. He mourns Vader, he mourns what they could’ve had as father and son, considers what ifs and maybe-if-I-did-this. Vader/ Anakin is released from his mortal body, from his ‘crude matter’ and Luke lets him go. He says one final goodbye to Anakin. Then, he joins Leia, Han, Chewie, Lando, and the rest of the Rebels and celebrates their victory. He lives in the present and celebrates what he has instead of what he lost.

Luke Skywalker is THE Jedi. Everything about Luke Skywalker serves as the foundational cornerstone of the Jedi, everything about the Jedi as a culture and philosophy is reflected in his character. Luke’s desire for the New Jedi Order isn’t to throw away the values of the old Order, but to vitalise them, breathe life back into dying lungs, and rebuild a path that people set out on their way to destroy. (Yes, his Order is different from the Old, but that’s because it has to be. He doesn’t have the resources or the safety of the Old Order.) The philosophies of the Jedi are difficult and they aren’t for everyone, and like the perfect Jedi that Luke is, he struggles and stumbles and sometimes he even rejects it. But, no matter how far he falls, it is a way of life he chooses again and again and again. It is a way of life that welcomes him back each time

[crunchchute]

My Sam & Max cosplay I debuted at a local con during the weekend!

[yuanology]

m!reader fingering afab!geto while being 100% aware gojo's watching through the crack of the door so he decides to show gojo how sensitive his friend is and geto ends up squirting?? (lowkey embarrassed i wrote this, but yknow ignore it if you want😅)

what the Fuck .

gojo satoru was not a virtuous man. far from it, in fact. as a self-made god, satoru existed on a plane far above morality and whatever other human concept was created to define right and wrong. within infinity and the insurmountable power residing in it, there was only the man who wielded it and the humanity confining it.

even so, satoru still knew deep within his heart—the trembling, still beating thing residing underneath the constricts of his ribs—that he should not be doing this; that he should not be staying.

but satoru was not a virtuous man, and so he stayed.

because there, past the thin crack of the door, was his best friend—the same one he had known from childhood, the same one who had walked with him through the ins and outs of darkness—with his clothes stripped clean, thrown messily around the room, both of his feet planted flat on the bed, and his back arching off the mattress in a pleasured arch. between his legs, slick and heavy with evidence of his own debauchery, stood you—fully dressed, only the first two buttons of your collar open.

satoru knew of you. it was impossible not to. you were older than the both of them. when they were freshly entering their first year, you'd already matured where you existed in your third one. satoru himself had barely spared you a glance but in retrospect, he did remember suguru mentioning once or twice that he was training with you on the side.

fuck, satoru thought, dazed. if he had known this was what 'training' involved, he would have listened a bit better on what suguru had to say about you.

because you were holding his thighs apart, well-practiced fingers relentlessly pushing past suguru's slick folds, producing the loudest squelching noises. satoru couldn't see very well from this angle, but he could hear the sounds his best friend was making; fucked up and high-pitched, whiney in a way satoru had never heard him speak before.

suguru cried out your name, breathless and panting. "please," he was begging you, sounding close to tears. "please, no more."

you leaned in, mouth brushing over suguru's chest as you whispered your response. satoru couldn't hear you, even as his ears strained to catch a wisp of your words. but whatever it was, it must not be good because suguru is letting out a loud whine, one the turned into the strangled beginnings of a scream when satoru noticed that you had begun to pick up pace.

oh my god.

just as satoru took the first hesitant half step backwards, swaying in place, he hears your drawled out voice—cutting, brave, unyielding.

"now, where do you think you're going, satoru?"

satoru stiffened, and he realised that he wasn't the only one. suguru did, too—his body locking up as a new flush crawled across his skin. satoru had half the mind to apologise to his best friend in his head, a chant of i'msorryi'msorryi'msorryi'msuchashittyfriend looping in his head as if it could forgive him for not only being a pervert, but also for intruding on his best friend's secret.

satoru cleared his throat. he wanted to make an excuse, to apologise, but all that could tumble out of his throat was a hoarse, "um."

suguru let out a high whine at the sound of satoru's voice, as if he was spurred on by his audience. his back arched, his mouth parting as a deep sound escaped him. satoru watched, mesmerised, as the muscle on suguru's body rippled at the motion, your hands never once faltering in its ministrations.

"come here for a minute, satoru." your voice was calm, collected and almost clinical. as if you didn't practically have your entire fist buried in between suguru's slick folds, your thumb nudging at where satoru guessed must be suguru's clit if suguru's high pitched whimpers were anything to go by. "i need your opinion on something."

satoru swallowed thickly as he was drawn into the room, his motions dumb as if he was a mere puppet on your string. as he moved closer, he realised that there was more to the scene that he couldn't earlier see from his post by the door.

suguru's cunt was fucking drooling, slick dripping all over the place as his hips canted in the air as if to escape and to move closer to the pleasure. his hole would no doubt he gaping if you pulled your hand out, hungry for more. your thumb covered his clit wholly, rubbing at it mercilessly.

satoru felt himself twitching in his pants, throat working around the words stuck in his lungs.

"what do you need?" satoru asked, his voice wrecked. he would be embarrassed by it if it wasn't promptly drowned out by the sound of suguru's choked out noises.

without thinking, satoru moved a hand to rest on suguru's thigh, at the sight of his best friend in distress. he didn't realise what a great mistake it was until suguru did a full body shudder, a ragged gasp leaving him. satoru couldn't fucking breathe.

clearly, you didn't share the same sentiment because you were speaking again. "suguru wants me to stop, but i personally think he can come one more time," you said casually, as if this was a common conversation to have with just about anyone.

suguru let out a weak whimper, pathetic and desperate in a way satoru never knew him to be, at the sound of your words. you must have been trying to convince him about this for a while then.

stiffly, satoru nodded, not quite knowing how to react. "okay," he said dumbly.

he wasn't looking at you, too entranced by the sight of suguru with his legs spread wide open and his messy cunt being on full display, but he could hear the smile in your voice when you said, "well, what do you think? can he come one more time?"

satoru opened his mouth, a half-baked answer on the tip of his tongue, when he was interrupted by the sound of suguru's babbling.

"no. no, please. no more." there were tears in his eyes, dripping down his cheeks prettily, satoru noticed. suguru looked a mess, his hair a halo around his head and his hips lifted in the air as if he was nothing more than a cheap whore. satoru thought he was beautiful. "please. i can't. don't make me. please, please, please, pl—"

his words promptly turned into a loud scream, half-pained and half-pleasured, and satoru's head whipped around to look at the source of it. he swallowed thickly when his eyes dropped from suguru's face to his engorged clit, where your thumb was no longer rubbing at but rather, your earlier free hand was now gently tugging at the hood over it.

holy shit, satoru thought, his head spinning. because he just watched you pinch suguru's clit. you pinched suguru's clit. judging from the nonchalance of your gesture and the way suguru didn't try to fight back, instead canting his hips higher, this was something that you did often.

satoru was going to die. holy shit.

"shh, suguru," you reprimanded, silencing suguru's desperate sobs with a gentle pat to his thigh. suguru sniffled, but he stopped letting out those depressing sounds. "it's not you i'm talking to."

suddenly reminded that he owed you the debt of an answer, he blurted out an answer before he could think twice. "he can," satoru replied. "he's an overachiever, the dumbass. he can come another time."

suguru let out a loud sob at his answer, one that sounded a lot like betrayal.

satoru couldn't properly apologise to him, though, because your lips were curling into a sharp grin, looking like a cat who caught the canary, and satoru couldn't help but think that maybe, he was just in as big of a trouble as suguru was. maybe, with his answer, satoru had condemned not just his best friend, but himself as well.

you pulled your hand out of suguru with a lewd squelch, one that made satoru flush all the way to the roots of his hair—and oh god, he hadn't even realised he could burn up even more—and the way that suguru whimpered, both devastated and relieved by the loss, wasn't helping.

you took a step backwards, letting suguru's body drop onto the mattress. you gestured towards the now empty space between suguru's thighs. "on your knees, satoru. hands behind your back."

satoru couldn't do anything but comply. he dropped to his knees, his hands behind his back and his eyes now at level with suguru's fucked out cunt. holy shit. suguru was twitching, his pretty clit engorged and swollen from the earlier abuse and fucking pierced apparently. satoru exhaled sharply at the sight, his breath fanning across suguru's folds, and earning himself a short, aborted whine from suguru. oh my god.

satoru almost flinched when he felt your hand card through his hair, tangling your fingers into the strands as he guided your face closer to suguru's gushing pussy. "go on," you ordered him, your voice gentled by the sound of melodious laughter. "eat him."

thank you for the meal, satoru thought dazedly as his face was guided closer and closer, until he was buried in suguru's cunt and lapping up the taste of his best friend.

the response was immediate—suguru's thighs started quivering on either side of satoru's head, moving to rest on satoru's shoulders and pulling him in as if to suffocate him. satoru didn't mind, taking that as an unspoken order to start eating his best friend out like his life depended on it.

he didn't bother with hesitating or testing the waters. he licked a broad strip up the length of suguru's cunt, dipping in between his folds to gather the slick there at the centre of his tongue. satoru moaned at the taste, and he was immediately greeted by the feeling of suguru's walls squeezing around him as suguru met him with his own weak whimper.

"suguru's already sensitive." that was you again. there was notable amusement in your voice. "want me to help you make him come faster?"

satoru should say no. he wanted to stay buried in suguru's cunt forever, eating his best friend out until he was shaking all over the place. he wanted to make his best friend feel so good that he stopped being satoru's suguru and instead started becoming your suguru with satoru instead.

but he could hear his best friend's pleas even above the sound of his pounding heartbeat, the sound of suguru's suffering, and he couldn't let this keep going for much longer.

he nodded, the bridge of his nose bumping over suguru's clit in the process. suguru's thighs squeezed around him, a whimper escaping, and satoru quickly drew circles on suguru's hips in apology.

you, on the other hand, didn't seem to have the same courtesy as you told him, "suck on his clit, then open your jaw wide."

satoru obeyed even though he didn't really understand why you were telling him to do that, knowing that you likely understood suguru's body more than he did in this matter.

he pursed his lips around suguru's clit, sucking on it firmly, before he let his jaw drop open.

oh.

oh, holy fuck.

because suguru was squirting directly into his mouth, making a mess out of the lower side of his face, and satoru could only kneel there, his mouth wide open as he swallowed all of his best friend's slick juices. his head was light, and he couldn't breathe—both from the suffocation and the fact that geto suguru, his best friend, his one and only, just fucking squirted into his mouth.

when suguru finally let him free, thighs unlocking from around his head and limply falling onto the edge of the bed. satoru leaned back, unable to process what just happened, when he heard you speak again.

"don't forget your manners, suguru."

it was quiet for a moment, then he heard the small, almost shy, voice of his best friend. "thank you, satoru," suguru mumbled.

"you're welcome," satoru replied, his voice sounding fucked over. he couldn't correct himself just yet, though, his head still reeling.

he was still on his knees as he watched you rearrange suguru on the bed, peppering soft kisses onto his face and his collarbone and his chest in stark contrast to the way you had treated him earlier. there was the lull of soft conversation passing between the both of you, one that satoru didn't try being a voyeur of.

he was content with just kneeling there, his head filled with cotton and static. he didn't even bother with touching himself, still too entranced by the feeling of this all happening.

finally, your footsteps drew close to him. he tilted his head as he watched you approach him. you cupped his chin, tilting his head back to meet your gaze.

"messy," you noted, but the corners of your mouth were quirked into a smile. "but suguru's always been messy." satoru didn't have any response to that, so he simply nodded stupidly. somehow, that must be the right answer because you laughed.

you took a step back, taking a seat onto the edge of the bed. satoru's eyes tracked your movement almost curiously. he frowned when you patted your lap, as if you were expecting something from him.

"over my knee," you said. "i think fifteen should do. usually, i'd give more, but i'm assuming you're new to the scene, hm? don't forget to count."

satoru blinked dumbly. he stayed rooted on his knees. "what?" he asked hoarsely.

you raised a brow at him. "oh, satoru," you said, your voice placating. "did you really think that i was going to let you go unpunished just like that? over my knee. fifteen spanks and i want you to count."

when he still did nothing, your gaze darkened and your voice grew firm. "now, satoru."

oh, satoru thought smartly.

swallowing thickly, he moved to comply.

[peachesofteal]

Lieutenant Riley and his favorite thing (physio!reader) 18+ mdni - series crossover, alcohol, rough blowjob.

You've decided the Lieutenant is certifiable.

After he takes you home and babies you through your period, he disappears. You don't see him for weeks. The 141 is still on base, but he's turned into a ghost. The Ghost, you guess, the whispers circling around and around, twisting and turning into gruesome stories, long drawn out tales told between pints in a bar.

You don't see him, but there is something else. A feeling, a creepy, crawly sixth sense that comes from the sensation of being watched.

It's beyond weird. Like him.

The worst of it all is you find yourself looking for him now. Wondering about him. Almost wanting to know where he is, the question of why he hasn't come to see you again flourishing from a small niggling thought in the back of your mind to a full blown distraction.

It's unnerving. He's unnerving.

Because you don't want him, right? And clearly, since he's MIA for weeks now, he doesn't want you.

Right.

Your thoughts do stray though, to the night he tucked you in with a heating pad, the way he sat at the edge of your bed until you fell asleep, stroking rough, calloused fingers down your cheek when he thought you were completely out. He was murmuring under his breath, grit and grain in his throat impossible to make out, the sandpaper strain of it finally pulling you under.

Weird.

The weather is finally starting to turn. No longer boiling, the breeze is now crisp, and cool, a welcome reprieve considering the standard issue pants that suffocate your thighs at every turn.

You bask in it. Enjoying it so much, you're lost in breathing it in as you trek back to your place, not paying attention to where you're going-

until you physically run into another girl.

"Oh my god-" She bounces away from you, bag spilling over her shoulder, stumbling to the side. "Oh my god I am so sorry!" You snatch her by the arm, trying to keep her steady, and once she rights herself, she gives you a half panicked, half flustered look, eyes focused past your ears.

"It's okay, I'm okay." You recognize her. She's the big deal analyst, the one apparently flew in by the station chief. What do they call her? Cypher? She gives you a weak smile.

"I'm sorry," you apologize again, and she shrugs. "Really, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"Oh," she looks down, "I do that all the time." Her fingers twist at the bottom of her jacket, gaze snapping back to your face after it leaves her feet. Something clicks in her eyes, some sort of recognition. "You're the physio." It's not a question. It's a statement, and the vowels turn downward, almost a hushed pitch. Weird.

"Um, yeah. My office is over there." You nod, and so does she. There's awkward silence for a beat, and you extend your hand, giving her your name.

"Right, Sorry." She smiles sheepishly. She is really cute, you realize, looking her up and down quickly. She returns the favor, giving you her name, but follows up just as fast. "- but most people call me Cypher."

"It's nice to meet you."

"You too!" She chirps, and then something catches her eye. Sergeant MacTavish of the 141. You blanche, trying to you school your face into a neutral expression. "Ah well, that's my... my uh..." she's flustered, words jumbled, before just giving up. "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise." You call to her retreating form, but she's already out of earshot.

Weird. Again.

"He's so fuckin' annoying!" Your friend half shouts over the raucous pub, and you giggle.

"You're the one who dated him." You spit back, jostling your shoulder against her where you're both crammed into a corner table, two others still at the bar, getting another round.

You're drunk. You haven't stumbled into unreasonable territory yet, but the blood in your veins is thinning, world starting to wobble at the edges. There's no caution in you now, common sense quickly slipping away, but you're not worried. With four of you here, there's safety in numbers, and you're just off base.

"Alright, four tequilas," shots filled to the rim with golden sweet liquor slosh across the table, small plate of salt and quartered limes following. "Bottoms up."

Some guy across the room by the pool table lifts his pint to you as you swallow down the citrus rich burn, and your cheeks warm. Your friend leans in. "He's checking you out."

"No he's not."

"Without a doubt. He's practically-" she burps, and you laugh. "practically undressing you with his eyes. You should go over there."

"And do what?" Your focus shifts, remembering the Lieutenant stroking your cheek in the dark, surprisingly gentle but still rough on the edges. You shove it away.

"Talk to him!" She nudges, shoves, you with her hip towards the edge of the booth, and you hiss.

"Knock it off."

"No. You need to get laid. It's been years." She makes it sound like you're an old maid. "I know for a fact you haven't slept with anyone since you moved here. Time to dip your toes in, or at least flirt a little." Drunk, you're having a hard time combatting her badgering, and the insistence is shifting the tide, convincing you it's a good idea.

A little flirting won't hurt, right?

The floor squeaks under your shoes, sticky already, and the guy lights up when he sees you coming his way.

"Hey." It's lame, but what else can you say?

"Hey, beautiful." Okay, a little thick there bud. "Haven't seen you around before." It's loud, but he manages to push his voice out over the noise.

"Oh I uh... I don't come here often." His mouth opens, but whatever he's going to say dies before it can break free, his eyes widening in panic. There's real fear in his expression, and he stumbles back a step.

You feel the Lieutenant before you see him. Instinctively, you take a step away, like he's going to materialize in front of you, tipping off balance to one side as an arm, a giant arm, an arm you know well, one you've studied while it's laid on your table, traced it's tattoos again and again, wraps around your waist and jerks.

Oh my god, ohmygodohmyg-

"Fuck off," he snarls, full of venom, and you've never seen someone scamper away so fast. Everything spins. "Let's go pet."

"Wh-what?" You protest, but he's steering you out of the bar with a hand on your shoulder, past your friends who watch with flabbergasted, stunned expressions dropping their mouths in perfect circles. "Lieutenant-" You dig your heels in, but you're no match for him, not even close. Where are we going?

You get your answer. Swiftly.

It's the bathroom.

The lock clicks at your back as he shepherds you inside, and twists you to face him by your hips.

Fear slithers through the air like a snake. The look on his face is starved. Feral as a wolf in a barren winter. It’s unbridled, raw.

And not rooted in any kind of sanity.

It only swells when he folds his paws over your shoulders and forces you to your knees on the dirty, disgusting bathroom floor.

"Lieutenant..." Your voice is wary, but he only shakes his head.

"Simon." You're not sure what you're expecting. You're frozen, watching a movie play out before you, trying to determine what the characters are going to do next, except the main character is you, and she's thoroughly confused-

Until the Lieutenant unzip his jeans and fishes the heaviest cock she's ever seen out from his pants.

Your mouth drops open, and because you're flailing in this moment, free falling through every emotion known to man, you bark out a laugh. It's obscene. Too long, too thick, swollen red tip drooling milky white spend. He's stroking it, jaw clenching when he squeezes the base.

He steps forward, you jerk back. His lips twist into a scowl.

"Not gon' hurt ya." You look up and down, trying to put the puzzle together, thought the answer is glaringly obvious and literally staring you in the face. You peer upward, and his gaze snaps to yours.

What you find in his eyes... steals your breath.

The foreboding, carnal hunger is still there, almost akin to rage, but beneath it, so far beneath you can hardly recognize it, lurks something else.

Vulnerability. There one moment, chased away the next, but it changes everything about this. He's hesitant, lost, studying you for something, a cue, an indication, like he's not sure how to proceed.

You wrap your fingers around his length and repeat his own motions, a stroke and a squeeze, his shoulders stiffening at first, and then slumping with relaxation. The peace last only so long before he steps forward, and you lean into it, into him, and as he smears the head of cock against your lips, you don't pull away. You just open your mouth like a good little girl. His.

You stretch your jaw wide, and you swear it clicks. He's in the back of your throat with still more to go, but you try as hard as you can to take him, take it all, sucking hard, encouraged by the warm palm at the back of your skull. He grunts.

"Hold still." He covers your ears with both hands, unintentionally, you think, palms on your cheeks, and flexes his hips, forcing himself as far as he can down your throat. You gag on it, holding onto to his thighs for dear life, and when he does it again, your throat tightening with the reflex, he groans. He likes it.

You're totally fucked. He's going to suffocate you.

"Gon' be fast," he pulls back, allowing you a gasp of air, before shoving back in, "breathe when y'can." You fist his pants, and cling to him. He's rough with it, shoving your nose into the curls of his pubic hair, thumbs rubbing through the tears streaming down your face.

It should feel wrong, to have someone take their pleasure from you so violently, but it doesn't. Your clit throbs, thighs pressing together instinctively, wet, desperate sounds echoing off the tile in the room. There's a rugged rush of words flowing from his mouth, things you're only catching bits and pieces of, but you've got the gist.

Needed this. Needed you.

Pretty thing. Takin’ it. Good girl.

You do. You take it through your tears, through the drool slipping over your chin to your neck, you take everything he gives you, even the rush of hot, salted come spilling down your throat.

He hauls you to your feet after, and you catch yourself in the mirror, horrified. Your makeup is everywhere but your eyes, mouth swollen, lips raw. "I should wash my-"

"No." He tucks you into his side. "Want you to stay like this 'til we get home." Home? We get home?

"Lieutenant, I'm not sure what's going on but-" He twists your shoulders back and tips your face up to his so fast your head spins.

"Simon. It's Simon, pet."

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

No time to play. You are being sent away.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[scoops-stevie-archive]

@steddieas-shegoes :)

the media and fans have a field day with it. steve and eddie have been public for years yet there's pictures all over twitter of steve cozied up in a booth in the corner of whatever bar, tucked tight into gareth's side under his arm with eddie nowhere in sight. a different fan posts a tiktok of them from a different angle and a little closer and you can clearly see that steve is drunk. his eyes shine unfocused in the camera flash and his cheeks are flushed. in the video he laughs loudly at something and just before one of cc's security guards blocks the view, steve leans in and buries his face in gareth's neck and gareth's fingers go to his hair.

the cheating allegations come out after that. article after article with the photo on the front page but it's nothing but radio silence from the band's twitter. no statement from eddie or gareth. fans think they're hashing it out behind the scenes and are preparing themselves for gareth's exit statement from the band or for the news to hit of steve and eddie breaking up.

none of that happens.

gareth stays in the band, steve and eddie go on like normal. they're papped in a starbucks in new york looking just as much in love as they were before the scandal. eddie and gareth don't behave any different in the videos they post of each other or on stage.

it kind of dies down after that- until a video goes up on the band's youtube one afternoon, shot that morning.

they try to keep themselves as authentic as they can, show the fans that not everything is sunshine and rainbows in the industry, and that they're real people who do real people things, too.

in the video, someone knocks on a hotel door and jeff answers. he says something that's purposefully scripted very badly and it gets a laugh out of the guys. the video shows them walking into jeff's room and it's revealed that it's a room tour. they pan around the corner into the main room and there's a lump in the bed.

there's no awkward silence between them, just a laugh from freak and a "jeeeff, it's almost ten a.m." and then eddie's pulling back the covers to reveal a slumbering steve.

people watching expect the footage to cut off abruptly or for eddie to angrily demand the situation, but again, it doesn't happen. he just laughs and squats down on the side of the bed and runs his hand through steve's hair until he wakes up.

"hey, sweetheart," he says, his voice dripping with fondness as he smiles a syrupy smile that hundreds of fans have dreampt of being on the receiving end of. "have a good sleep?"

they see steve reach out and pull eddie in by the head for a kiss. the video goes back to its scheduled programing after that, eddie following steve into the bathroom to get ready.

they don't do many interviews in the span of all this happening so fans and the media are left wondering what in the world is going on between the five of them. the boys act the same on stage every night without any signs of jealousy between them.

and then steve is photographed wearing a hoodie that fans can clearly see belongs to freak just from the size alone. neither steve or freak are small guys, but the garment is like a dress on steve. it almost goes down to his knees and the arms hang at least three inches passed his hands. it threatens to hang off of one shoulder but goddamn does steve look cozy and comfortable, burrowing into the hood pulled over his head like a little hamster.

the hoodie isn't what gets their attention, though.

it's the fact that the picture is from the band's soundcheck, to the band's twitter, and that steve is sitting on gareth's lap at his drum kit, while wearing the hoodie, and while eddie is leaning down and kissing him. gareth doesn't look put off by it. he's looking somewhere off camera and laughing but his hand is still on steve's waist and steve's is tangled in eddie's wild hair.

it answers all and none of everyone's questions.

[papanowo]

honestly getting to see spock go crazy go stupid saves this whole movie for me

[mangostarjam]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT I sent this to one other person and I feel like maybe you’d also vibe with this but PLEASE DONT FEEL LIKE YOU HAVE TO RESPOND OR WRITE ABOUT THIS I JUST LIKE SHARING THOUGHTS

So like Hoshina is lowkey possessive(not like scary kind but the kind where it’s like “hey that’s my gf wtf”) and lets say his s/o is a platoon leader and people have noticed that she has a bite scar where her neck and shoulder meet(maybe one of the rookies likes her oooooh 👀) and there’s rumors and NO ONE KNOWS HOSHINA HAS A MATCHING BITE SCAR ON HIS NAPE BECAUSE ITS ALWAYS COVERED BY HIS COMPRESSION SHIRT(and then Kafka notices in the bath ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE VICE CAPTAIN IS MARRIED) AND JOKES ON EVERYBODY BECAUSE HIS WIFE IS ALSO POSSESSIVE(or maybe she got fed up with his shit once and bit him back lol)

OKAY ANYWAYS I LOVE YOUR WRITING AND THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME PLEASE MAKE SURE TO REST AND DRINK WATER BYE

-🐌

bless you snail anon i was ignoring some hardcore writer's block and this jump started something in my brain

bathtime revelations — hoshina soshiro x f!reader, established (secret) relationship, reader is a platoon leader, some minor narumi slander (sorry buddy. love that loser but it had to be done), biting, marking, possessiveness, uhhhh hickeys, edging?? nothing descriptive though sorry not today, 1.7k words

"Did you get attacked by a kaiju there, platoon leader? That's a strange looking scar."

The remark is innocent enough. You've been a member of the Defense Force for ages, and it's only natural to have numerous scars and aching bones from all the missions and kaiju neutralizing. Especially since you're a platoon leader of the Third Division, and you've leapt into the thick of things time and again to help Captain Ashiro get the best possible angle for her killing shots.

It would be fine, except the scar in question is a neat ring of teeth marks at the juncture between your shoulder and neck, where you're sensitive.

"Oh... no, that's not. Um." Shit. You've taken some of the Vice Captain's newest officers for an afternoon training session, and they're all looking at you now as you fumble for an explanation that doesn't expose your relationship. "I didn't get attacked by a kaiju, don't worry."

"Eh?? But that looks like a bite mark, platoon leader!" Iharu's voice is loud. You frown at him.

"It wasn't a kaiju," you say firmly. That much, at least, is the truth. "Anyway, if you guys wanna stay alive with just as many battle scars as me, go run some laps!"

Whew. There's a murmuring grumble, but everyone obeys orders. The summer heat and humidity wears you out quickly, and in an effort to combat the drain, you've stripped down to a tank top and your uniform pants. The bite mark in question feels like a brand on your skin, a ring of slightly raised flesh that should blend in with your other scars except for the clear circle it makes. You watch the rookies run, but your mind drifts, thinking back to when you got that set of teeth marks on your skin. Your body warms at the memory. Stupid boyfriend with his stupidly sharp canines.

You snap back to attention as Kikoru and Reno jog past, their words floating towards you on the breeze —

"—looks like maybe human?"

"Definitely not kaiju. You think the platoon leader's still with the person who marked her?"

"Oh, we can't ask that. Hibino senpai will be devastated."

Oh, jeez. There's no way you can let your boyfriend hear anything about this —

"How's it goin', platoon leader?"

Shit. You turn to the Vice Captain of the Third Division and frown. "What're you doing here?"

Hoshina Soshiro smirks at you, taking the tiniest step closer into what most people would consider to be personal space. "Just checkin' on my lil' fledglings! They've still got breath to gossip, eh? Are ya lettin' 'em off easy today, platoon leader?"

"I was letting them run off some energy so they'd forget about this bite mark on my neck, you vampire," you mumble. Soshiro laughs, leaning just a bit towards you. The afternoon sun glints off his purple hair in sparkles that dazzle your eyes, though it's easy to get pulled into his orbit when he's so magnetizing. You catch yourself and bring your outstretched hand up to your face, rubbing at your nose instead of sinking your fingers into the fluffy strands like you intended.

"Sounds like someone's got a lil' crush on our fearsome platoon leader," Soshiro says quietly, shooting you a lopsided grin. "Not that I blame 'em since it's you we're talkin' about. Still, it'd be good to send a message, y'know? Should I refresh your marks tonight?"

Your face feels hot. "'Marks?' But only one of them is visible when I'm in uniform!"

"What about the bath? We should give Shinomiya somethin' to report, don'tcha think?" His low voice sends a shiver down your spine and you frown to hide how much it's affecting you. Your boyfriend tilts his head. "Fresh marks'll show 'em all you belong to me."

Something hot and sharp lances through you and you bite at your lip to hold in a whine at the words. "That won't work," your voice is breathier than you'd like, but Soshiro is watching you like he wants to eat you alive and it's thrilling and terrifying and not enough. "They won't know it's you unless we match."

He raises an eyebrow at that, but the corner of his lips twitch as he fights down a grin. "Good point, platoon leader. We should discuss this in my office later."

"You're a menace."

Soshiro's smile softens into something fond and he takes another tiny step closer, until the fabric of his jacket brushes against your bare shoulder. You inhale his scent — bright, woodsy, something intrinsically Hoshina Soshiro — and all of your muscles relax. "And you're too dang cute for your own good, my love. See ya later?"

You nod and salute as he walks away, biting down a silly grin as you watch him call out encouragements and teases to his rookies. They all respond with good cheer and an edge of fierce determination, and once Soshiro fully exits the training area you allow yourself to return to the task at hand. You know, possibly more than anyone else on base, how hard Soshiro works to take care of his officers. You aren't going to let him down.

... but maybe you'll die of embarrassment first.

"Platoon leader! Did you spar after our training session? I would've liked to join!" Kikoru says, coming closer eagerly as you begin washing up in the communal bath. Your hand slips along your leg as you jerk up in surprise and Kikoru visibly falters as she takes in your bruises.

"This was a... private session, Shinomiya. I'd be happy to spar with you another time, though." Your entire body is warm, and not from the steam wafting through the echoing room.

"Aah, yes, of course! Sorry to disturb you, platoon leader!"

You resume your scrubbing with a quiet snort, listening as her footsteps return to the corner where Akari and Hakua are clearly ready to pounce. The girls probably don't realize how much sound travels in the bath, but you can hear their hushed whispers and giggling as Kikoru reports back that you're covered in hickeys.

You press down on a few of the blossoming bruises between your thighs and snort again. There's no way these could pass as training bruises — they're too intentional, too close to your aching center where Soshiro paid special attention earlier in his office — without letting you reach your peak. Bastard.

He made sure to leave marks along your chest and neck and shoulders again, taking advantage of your tank top for its easy access to your skin. Only after begging and pleading did he finally remove his stupidly tight compression shirt for you to drag your nails down his back and shoulders, fingers fisting into his hair as he licked and sucked at your core. After he ripped away your orgasm, you made good on your promise and left your own marks on his skin, kissing and sucking along the strong column of his throat and shoulders and pumping him with your hand until he nearly came on your thighs. Two could play at that game, after all.

Your ears perk as you catch your boyfriend's name. "Vice Captain Hoshina says I'm improving rapidly," Kikoru says cheerfully, tossing her head back. She certainly has the right to boast — her combat power levels just keep rising. She's going to make both of you proud. "Someday I will beat him in a practice match!"

"I'd like him to spar with me," another officer giggles. "Have you seen his back? Defense Force men are really no joke."

You bristle automatically. You're used to it by now — Soshiro's hot — but it doesn't make it any easier to hear confirmation of the fact out loud. "What about Captain Narumi? He's got really nice arms!" another officer says.

"You mean Captain Ego?" The communal bath fills with laughter as the girls gossip. "He's good looking, too, but Vice Captain Hoshina in that shirt..."

You're done bathing and changing into your nighttime clothes when a loud commotion from the other communal bath erupts. You share a look with a few of the girls, but you take your time pulling on your clothes (Soshiro's shirt, your shorts, your panties mysteriously missing — though you're sure you'll find them safely tucked into Soshiro's own sleeping pants pocket later).

You come out of the changing room and blink. "Vice Captain, how could you?!" Kafka is wailing dramatically. "You've already beat me by taking my spot by Mina's side, but you're beating me in having a girlfriend, too?!"

"Hang on a sec, old timer! You've already got the 'childhood friend promise' with the Captain!" Iharu shouts. "Leave something for the rest of us!"

"My, my, what a fuss," Soshiro says, waving his fingers. You blink, but the vision before you doesn't change. Most of the men are shirtless, towels wrapped around their waists as they spill out into the hallway in their chaos, and Soshiro is no exception. You can clearly see the raised pink lines your nails left behind on his densely muscled back, even with the small clump of officers between you. "We're all gonna catch a cold standin' out here like this."

"Those bruises on his neck... they look... fresh..." Reno says, his bright gaze darting between his Vice Captain and your exposed neck. Belatedly, you swing a towel around your shoulders, but Reno's eyes widen and you groan inwardly. "The platoon leader has fresh bruises, too."

Soshiro turns and your eyes snag on the blossoming pink and purple along his neck and shoulders. A quiet satisfaction settles in your gut at the sight, and you can't help but grin. "Keep that up, Officer Ichikawa, and you'll end up getting snagged for the Investigations Unit."

"They look good on her, don't they?" Soshiro hums, raising an eyebrow as the officers put two and two together. He meets your eye from across the small group and smirks. "Ain't it nice, platoon leader? Matchin' with the Vice Captain?"

Your answering smile makes his face light up with a deep fondness. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

[warlenys]

we talk about wilson being awful and evil deep down and he is but importantly that doesn’t erase the sincerity of his kindness. he is truly kind. he needed to help that old woman in post mortem because he does care about people. what makes him interesting is that he doesn’t want to. he gets mad at himself for being kind and nice and selfless and enabling. he wants to be selfish and mean. he would be happier that way. meanwhile house hates himself for being selfish and mean. house wants to be kind. house would be happier if he was wilson and wilson would be happier if he was house. and both of them are only able to be those versions of themselves when they’re together. they not only want to be with each other, they want to be each other. but the fucking tragedy of it is that they actually need to be the versions of themselves that they don’t like to be together. because if wilson was mean he would’ve dumped house ages ago and if house was kind wilson wouldn’t find him interesting. house loves that wilson is secretly evil but needs him to be kind, and wilson loves that house is secretly kind but needs him to be evil. they can’t change. they have to suffer themselves to enjoy each other. they’re plagued with an inability to be who they want to be in anyone’s arms but each other’s, but they both have to be who they don’t want to be to be in each other’s arms. the immutable tragedy of the hilson paradox

[samwwise]

crowley & aziraphale + unreal unearth lyrics

[vanilla-extracter]

horses :)