#it sounds like saying “wet shit” in standard

[nashvillehotchicken]

wordreference my best friend wordreference

[alchemistc]

The voice echoes. He's coming in and out of it, desperate to open his eyes, desperate to make sure he can actually feel all his fingers and toes, but it's hard.

He knows that voice though. He knows he does.

The building hadn't been as stable as they thought it was. Probably in the investigation later on they'll discover building codes not up to standard, faulty evacuation plans. He got the kid out, though. He knows he got the kid out.

Eddie too, he's pretty sure.

".. uck!" The voice yells. It's kind of funny, he thinks to himself, as he can feel the strings of consciousness slipping, how much his name sounds like a curse when you're having a hard time keeping things straight. And then everything fades to black.

---

---

"Buck, please. Just wake up."

He wants to, is the thing. It's not like he's not trying, he wants to tell the voice, wants to be a little petulant about it too. That feels like the right attitude to have, for some reason.

It's hard to breathe. Might be something has him pinned. He'd seen beams falling, he's pretty sure.

"Goddamnit!" the voice yells, and Buck strains to remember. "I can't move this fucking thing unless you're able to get out from under it on your own, so wake the hell up. C'mon. Give me something to work with."

Buck wiggles a toe. Fucking ow.

Fingers, next, and that - that's a whole new ballgame of pain, but holy shit he can feel it all. Jesus Christ it hurts.

"For fucks sake, Evan, I'll take anything, at this point. Please."

Buck's lips suddenly feel a lot less numb. He does know that voice.

Hasn't heard it in three weeks, except for on the voicemail he'd left three months ago complaining about downtown parking for the hundredth time and letting Buck know he was gonna circle the block again, but -

"T- Tommy?"

Buck blinks his eyes open just in time to see Tommy drop to his knees near Buck's head, a relief filled sob echoing around the space. Buck takes the opportunity to stare.

"Hey," Tommy says, breathless, the corners of his eyes wet, his turnouts fully covered in dusty debris. It's an achingly familiar sight, even if he's significantly less sooty than the last time.

"You swear a lot more on the job," Buck notes, and Tommy bites out a desperate laugh, slipping a hand from a glove to reach for Buck's cheek.

"How are you feeling?" Tommy asks, and Buck crinkles his nose, widens his eyes. He laughs again, and Buck - God Buck has missed this but he's still having trouble taking in a full breath and - Tommy pulls a hand away from Buck's neck. "Your pulse is steady. Elevated, but you should be - can you wiggle fingers and toes?'

"Hurts like hell, but yeah."

"Well. A building just fell on you. So that tracks."

Buck takes stock of himself, even though he feels goddamn miserable taking his eyes away from Tommy.

Sure enough, there's a beam barred low across his chest. Definitely at least bruised ribs, if not broken ones. He can't see much over it, but it feels like he's got full, painful movement in his legs. "Tommy, I think my halligan's pinned with me."

He snorts. There's nothing funny about this, but Buck finds himself snorting back, the two of them bouncing off each other until Buck eventually winces at the pressure and Tommy gets himself under control. He's fully crying now, wet fat tears streaked through the dust on his face. "Thank fuck I am also a firefighter," Tommy says, and Buck prepares himself for the moment Tommy gets the tool under the beam at the right angle to lift. "How's your pain?" Tommy asks, when he's situated.

"On a scale from ladder pinning my ankle to lightning strike?"

Tommy scowls.

"I'll be able to move if you make room. If that's what you're asking."

Tommy eyes the space. The beam. The settling dust and the only real angle he's got with enough leverage to make space for Buck to slide himself free. He won't be able to help Buck pull himself out. "The moment you have an inch you move backward as fast as you can. There's at least two yards of clearance behind you, and I'm not dropping this thing on your fucking head by accident."

Buck nods.

Tommy grabs his chin. "Verbal confirmation, Evan," he demands, suddenly so serious Buck has to swallow back a bratty retort.

"One inch, pull myself backwards."

Tommy nods. Situates his hands. "Good." And then before Buck can brace for the pain he's lifting the beam.

It's fast. So fast Buck doesn't have time to scream, or listen to the signals from his brain telling him he's fucking dying. Tommy lifts, Buck scrambles, and he has just enough room to clear his legs before rubble shifts to their left and Tommy's dropping the halligan to roll his entire body over Buck's.

A few broken pieces of concrete roll to a stop before they reach the two of them, and Buck beams up at Tommy. "Little bit of an overreaction, don't you think?"

Tommy settles his weight. Tips his chin so that he can see Buck beyond his visor. "I feel like maybe you aren't taking this as seriously as you should."

Buck shoves a shoulder against Tommy's weight, and he rolls right off, lays side to side with Buck while they both catch their breath. It's such a fucking familiar position that Buck fails to stifle a laugh.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, when he's calmed down enough that Tommy has stopped asking him concussion protocol questions.

Tommy sighs. Turns to his side, and Buck knows this position, too. They never did it in turnouts, though. "They grounded us an hour before the collapse."

"I heard," Buck presses. "I also heard the 217 was working fire suppression on the perimeter."

Tommy looks guilty. He rolls his neck, reaches out under the guise of checking Buck's pulse again.

Buck doesn't stop him.

"Yeah I might be fired," he says, and then shrugs a shoulder. "They called for full evac and when Eddie came out with that kid but you didn't -."

Buck feels a little breathless again. He almost asks Tommy how much he's got in his tank - Bucks's ran out a while ago. But they seem - pretty firmly trapped. Buck can't see an exit point, and he's almost positive there's not enough room for both of them to stand at the same time. They'll need that oxygen. "You came after me?"

Tommy sighs. Seems satisfied that Buck's heart is still doing what it's supposed to, and that he's not leaking internally. When he shifts his hand, it's not away - callused hands catch the underside of Buck's chin, fingers curl over his cheek. "I'd tell you not to read into it, but..."

Buck's breath catches. He holds it. There's - he has no idea how much air they have. They don't have time (or enough air, maybe) for Buck to lean up and kiss him. "Tommy."

"We'll talk about it when we're both safely out of here and bundled in our shiny blankets. If the 118 doesn't kill me first."

"What...?" Buck doesn't know what that means. They did everything they could to convince him not to reach out but they also weren't, like, calling for his head. He wants to know what it means. Tommy's brow goes up.

He shifts to his knees, holds out a hand. "Help me look around. See if we can find an air pocket."

He helps Buck to a kneel of his own like it's nothing, and despite the creaks and groans and the sting of sore muscles, Buck doesn't think there's anything permanently damaged. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It'll keep, Evan."

More than anything, Buck wants to call him out on that. The implication that Tommy knows more about the 118's current feelings on Tommy than Buck does. His name, suddenly back in play like Tommy hadn't used the lack of it to dig the knife in.

Buck shifts his weight and checks for his flashlight. Aims up, first, as high as the beam of light will go. There's really not much room in this little pocket of space.

He can hear Tommy shifting on his knees behind him. They need to be smart. Conserve air, conserve energy. Buck had been near a sidewall when the building came down, but who knows how long it'll take for the building to be stable enough to attempt a rescue. Maybe they're still gonna die in here, after all.

God, he doesn't want Tommy to die.

"Back to Evan, I noticed," Buck comments, doing a terrible job of not sounding eager, and he can hear the heaving breath Tommy takes, the way the shift of his body just pauses.

"The thing is, the moment I realized I might not have any more time, all I wanted was another five minutes. Just to hear you breathe. See your face. You wouldn't even have to know I'd done it, just -." He sucks a breath in through his nose. "I just realized the pain is still worth it."

That spurs Buck into action, because - because they're not gonna die - not here, not now, not for as many years as Buck can squeeze out of this life. He shifts. He pokes. He checks for light beyond the pockets between rubble. He takes even, measured breaths around the rapidly tightening muscles around his ribs and the moment he feels a draft he almost cries.

"Tommy!"

He turns to catch his eye, thrilled, ready to drag him over and -

"Tommy?"

He's slumped on his side. And - and god damnit, Buck is so fucking stupid, he should have checked Tommy too, should have known if he was hurt he'd hide it like the massive asshole he is.

There's nothing obvious until Buck pulls at his turnouts, and then he has to hold in a scream so he doesn't bring the rest of the place down on them.

---

---

The paramedics don't fight him when he shoves his way into the ambulance behind them. No one does, not as he's shoving Hen and Chim away from him while they desperately try to check his vitals, not when Eddie takes one look at the rebar sticking through Tommy's side and his face goes fucking white.

He crashes twice on the way to the hospital.

---

---

Buck comes to slowly, and is immediately pissed, because he's in a fucking hospital bed.

Eddie leans over him when he sits up. "Take a second, man."

"Did you drug me?"

The eyebrow raise is a little condescending. "You passed the fuck out in the middle of the waiting room when they told us Tommy's surgery went well."

Well that's - that's - oh God, Tommy's okay. He remembers now. Tommy pulled through. Tommy was out of surgery and they were setting him up in a room and it'd be a while before he woke up but he was -

"I wanna see him."

Eddie chuckles, and Buck seriously considers throwing something at him, but before he can find something to toss Eddie's leaning sideways in his seat to pull the curtain divider away. "Even the nurses were taking bets that you'd kill a man if they put you in separate rooms."

He'll have to thank Gina later.

Tommy's still asleep. In repose, he breathes deep and even, eyes fluttering behind his lids, and Buck remembers what an active fucking sleeper he is, how much it had infuriated him that Tommy could never remember his dreams. God.

He's bruised around the eyes, there's a clean shave on the side of his head where he'd taken falling rubble in his mad dash past the kid Buck had sent ahead of him. The hospital gown looks so stupid on him.

Buck glares when Eddie tries to wrangle him back under his thin blanket - swings his legs over the side and tries not to wince when he puts his weight down and feels exactly how fucked up his ribs are. The bindings are tight. He's gonna need help rewrapping them.

"Tommy said something about you guys wanting to kill him. Know anything about that?"

It's a little accusatory. A lot, actually. Eddie sighs. "He tried to bring your shit by the station a week later when he knew you were off shift. Chim and Hen weren't, uh ... particularly nice about it."

Buck blinks. He still hasn't gotten any of that back.

"So he just ...took it back? Didn't leave it behind?"

"Oh he took about fifteen minutes of having his head bit off and then grabbed the box and shoved it back in his bed before he left."

Despite how absolutely ridiculous that all sounds, it makes something sizzle under his skin. If it was all just adrenaline, all just heat of the moment panic, Tommy would have left that box anyway.

They know so much and still so little about each other.

He's pretty sure he might actually get the chance to know more now. Even if he has to pry it from Tommy piece by piece for another decade or five.

Buck shoves that thought right down and gives himself the next two days to think about.

"And what'd you do, while they were berating him?"

"Oh, I threw like three loaves of bread in there with your stuff while he wasn't looking."

"You gave him my moping bread?"

"Two of the sourdoughs and an Irish soda bread."

"What if he didn't open the box back up?"

Eddie shrugs. "I hedged my bets. Either he opened that box back up to do his own moping or eventually there'd be some moldy ass bread in there."

"I hate raisins, by the way," comes the croaky voice to Buck's left, and Buck doesn't hesitate to wheel his saline bag the extra foot to reach the bedside. Buck knows that already. He'd made the soda bread out of spite, at three in the morning when he realized the second pillow still smelled like Tommy's shampoo and he'd remembered the almost-argument they'd had about wet hair on the pillows.

Tommy's hand meets Buck's halfway, and his smile is tired and magnificent.

Eddie smirks. "So you opened the box, then."

Tommy doesn't look away from Buck. His fingers squeeze. "I opened the box."

"Eddie, I need you to go distract Gina for like, three and a half minutes."

"...I know I'm going to regret asking," Eddie says.

"Tommy's hooked up to a bunch of monitors that are gonna make some extra noise in a second here, and they've already seen us making out in this hospital, they don't need to be alerted to another free show."

Eddie's out of his seat immediately, and halfway out the door when he turns back. "Just so we're all on the same page, this is not me encouraging this. You two are just walking talking piles of trauma and you can't just kiss about it and suddenly everything is fine."

Buck can taste the bitchy comment on the tip of Tommy's tongue. He squeezes Tommy's fingers and counts himself lucky when all Tommy does is make a dismissive noise in the back of his throat.

It's not like Eddie's wrong.

The door clicks shut behind him.

---

---

Tommy sets aside a third jello cup and stares at the cards in his hand. He glances through his lashes as he sets two cards down on the pile. "Two sevens."

"Bullshit."

His eyes gleam with challenge as he flips them both over and Buck has to take another loss. He doesn't care, is the thing. He'll happily lose at cards to Tommy for the next -

Six months is a reasonable length of time, probably. They've hit that mark once before.

Tommy shifts his weight, grimaces, and Buck is on his feet in a heartbeat. "You need another pillow? Change the angle of the bed?"

He laughs, soft and warm, rolls his eyes. "That joke I made about you guys needing your own ward? You may not have it named after you, but it's practically the Ritz around here. All the nurses have come by like six times just to see if I needed my pillow fluffed. I'm good, Evan." Buck settles back into his seat. "I just have a hole the size of a boba straw in my side."

"It was significantly wider than a boba straw."

"Could still suck a tapioca pearl through it," Tommy reminds him, almost petulantly. It's been a treat discovering that Tommy can throw it back almost as well as Buck when he's ornery about being bedridden for a full two days.

Buck finishes rearranging his cards. Grabs three random ones and sets them atop the pile. "Three eights."

Tommy stares at his cards. Glances up at Buck. Turns his gaze to his cards one more time.

"One nine," he declares, and Buck doesn't even complain that he'd fully let him off the hook there.

---

---

Tommy is actually the worst patient in the world. They have to have Eddie over to wrap Buck's ribs for at least a week, and Tommy refused to take any pain meds home with him, and every morning when Buck fusses with the dressings on Tommy's side Tommy stares in the mirror and complains that the scar isn't even symmetrical to the one on his ribs. Buck spends twenty minutes reminding him he'd have a punctured lung, if that was the case, and that seems to shut him up for a little while, at least.

"Hey," Tommy says, on day eleven, when Buck leans over him on the sofa to say goodbye and head back to the loft. Tommy's fine, really. He needs rest and leaving for the night isn't going to kill either one of them. Still, he tugs at Buck's belt loops until Buck allows a knee to bend and press into the cushion beside him. "This is not me asking you to move in with me."

"What -?"

Tommy presses something into his hand. It's warm, like Tommy's been smoothing it in his palm for a while, grooved along the edge facing Buck's fingers. "Yet," he says, softer than before, watching Buck palm it with a smile that Buck is beginning to fully understand the implications of.

It's a key.

Buck blinks. The years stretch ahead of him. Grumpy grizzled Tommy bitching about the towel rack having too many wet towels on it. Silver fox Tommy grinning over some flirty kids head at Buck as he tries to make it back to the booth they got to the bar early to camp at. Tommy, tomorrow, fondly annoyed when Buck confesses he can't watch another true crime documentary or it'll actually kill him.

"I love you," Buck blurts, and feels like crying when Tommy tugs him close for a kiss.

[lilyarchived]

too late [john price]

a/n: I wasn't originally gonna write anything yet because I still feel absolute dogshit, but this post by @gloomyyangel was too yummy to ignore.  I don’t really like this but what else can I do? Write some more? (gunshots)

warnings: smut after keep reading! (go away minors), swearing, hurt NO comfort, fem reader, mean!price at the start, 1.7k words oops, Lowkey abrupt ending.

summary: you let price imagine you as his ex wife because it will hurt even more to let him go, but what happens if he finally tries to make it up to you?

“F-fuuuck..” your husband groans. “Feels,, sso good, angie..” The sound of another woman’s name should be enough to make you feel bad, be enraged, scream at him, go apeshit crazy, right? Your whimpers of pleasure say so otherwise. It has been like this for years, you’ve come to terms that your husband, Captain John Price, will always see you as his ex wife. At some point you feel bad for yourself, you wouldn’t have let this shit slide. Hell, you wouldn’t even settle for a rich, handsome man all because he told you women should just stay quiet. The bitch slap you gave that man before storming out the restaurant stays engraved in the back of your mind, good days. 

But now? Now you’re settling for a man to imagine as if you’re his ex? Since when did your standards fall down to the deepest pit in the ocean? “ ‘m close, fuck, so tight for me.” You didn’t know whether to feel flustered or disgusted at the praise, knowing damn well he’s talking to angie in his mind. You gasp as your orgasm suddenly takes over your whole body, basking in that sweet, sweet pleasure. Hey, he can be a dick husband and still make you cum, nothing wrong with that. He follows suit after a few more thrusts, his hands beside your head grasping at the satin sheets. His moans ring through your ear until he finally plops down beside you.

You don’t expect him to clean up. At Least not like he used to. You get up to clean yourself before going back in the room with a warm and wet washcloth. You clean your husband up before noticing he’s already fast asleep. How did you ever get here? From your handsome Captain flattering you, taking you out on dates, treating you as if you are the sun keeping him warm, putting your pleasure first, and actually caring about you; to this man, ever so distant, calling you his ex wife’s name, never talking to you unless it’s work related or if he needs to let out some energy. And why the hell are you letting this happen? A man? Taking advantage of you? Making you some sort of sex doll?

You wish you could just be mad about it, scream and punch and cry, do anything to avenge your poor self. Yet you can’t. You love him too much, you love him like he painted the morning orange sky above, you love him like he hung up the moon and stars. You love him. Only Simon knows about his behaviour, you were a bit sceptical telling him everything since he always thought so highly of the captain, you feared he would take his side and tell you to get over yourself. You hadn’t expected him to pull you in a tight hug and whisper to you that you should leave him. You cried for the first time in a long time that night.

Snapping back to reality, you get dressed in your sleeping clothes and settle next to your sleeping husband. Staring into his shut eyes, wondering where you went wrong. You let your eyes droop to sleep, preparing your mind for another unbearable day tomorrow.

--

As months passed, you and John were still together, happy, no, but still married. You start to grow numb, never once batting an eyelash when he cums again after moaning “angie”. What an annoying sound in your ears it was. Don’t get me wrong, you still felt good whenever he decided to initiate something sexual with you. Your moans and whines fill the air alongside the sound of slapping skin. Simon gives you the usual disappointed look, but you honestly can’t tell if that’s his resting face or not. Then, everything changes.

“Darling, d’you wanna get food with me?” You freeze on the empty couch in the equally empty rec room. The sound of John’s voice making your heart skip a beat. He has never asked you to eat out with him, well ever since he normalised moaning a different name in bed. It’s like all his intimacy and chivalry left with your dignity. “Umm, I just had dinner Sergeant Garrick, Captain. I’m set for the night..” you reply after you peeked behind you, making sure he was talking to you. “At ease, I’m talking to you as my wife, [Y/N]” You let out a forced chuckle before going back to the book you were reading. “Why were you out with Kyle?” you hear him mutter. He can’t be serious. “..We were both free and hungry?” you reply in a meek voice. “I was free. Couldn’t even be bothered to ask your husband first?” 

The way your blood was boiling the moment that stupid sentence left his mouth. Why does he care? Does he think that he can moan a different woman’s name in bed and get away with it but you going out for dinner with a friend is all of a sudden, adultery? “You told me you’d be busy the whole day. Why is it a big deal I went out with Gaz? It’s not like I’ve been saying his name during sex.” You quickly shut your eyes, you didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. You prepared for his anger, instead you were met with a deep sigh. “I’ll let you be.” He says defeatedly, walking away from the scene. You see a confused Simon in the corner before squealing out of surprise. “How long have you been there, freak?” Simon only chuckles, “Tha’ don’t matter, Cap’n looks devastated. Ya think he’s been feeling guilty?” He sips on his black tea, you remove the hand clutching your shirt near the beat of your heart. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” You fall face down on the couch to scream, ignoring Simon’s deep voice laughing at your pain.

What you both didn’t know is that John has been feeling bad for how he’s been treating you. He would notice your soft giggles echoing the hallways as Johnny picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, at how pretty you look in casual clothes, how your hair flows during bar hopping nights with the team, how your face shines in the city lights. How your nose scrunches when you get teased by Simon for liking your coffee too sweet. How beautiful you sound when he’s feeling you up and down, your surprised gasps as he rubs your clit in circles, how sinfully angelic you look when you come undone. Fuck, he really messed up.

So he makes it up to you, he cuddles after ruining your guts, he cleans you up, he wakes up before you to cook you breakfast. He makes your coffee the way you like it, gets you flowers every now and then, kisses you more passionately rather than his usual rushed ones. He loves you tenderly but it all seems foreign, even though he used to do it for the first few years of your relationship, you had already forgotten how it feels like to be loved by this man.

You feel nauseated. How could he go back to the way things were, like he hasn’t been giving you the cold shoulder for months now? Why now? WHY now? Why NOW? You stay cautious, every sweet move he’s doing puts you on edge. You knock on your Lieutenant’s door before he tells you to “come in” with that same ol’ gruff voice. As the night rolls in, you’ve already told him everything Price was doing, how he kept acting lovingly without addressing the past few months. He tells you you have two options: to confront him, or to go along with it. Neither of it seems appealing to you but deep down, you know he’s right. 

You thank Simon for the advice leaving his room to confront your husband tonight. The minute you walk into John’s room, his face lights up and asks you if you’ve eaten.  You scoff as you tell him you need to talk. “Why are you doing this to me, John?” you finally speak up after staring into the same eyes you fell for. His face drops, eyebrows furrowing, “What do you mean by that, dove?” A sigh escapes your soft lips, “Don’t call me that, John. Don’t act as if you weren’t just calling me, imagining me as your ex wife during our most intimate times. Don’t act like you haven’t been ignoring me, acting as if I didn't exist ‘til you needed work done or if you needed to have a shag.” You let out, tears staining your cheeks. John reaches out to wipe them but you move his hand away. “I mean, was it all a joke to you? Did I mean nothing but a body for you to imagine as if you were still together with her?” John finally talks, “You know it’s not like that, [Y/N]-” 

“Then what, John? What is it like? God, you- you” hyperventilating now, you search for the right words to come out. “You changed me. Acting like nothing’s wrong and being all sweet won’t work on me. I gave up on whatever our relationship was a long time ago.” His breath hitches, “Baby, please-” “I should go.” you cut him off. “Please, I’ll do better, we can start over?” he pleads, grabbing your arm. “It’s not that easy, John.” “Loving you is easy. I love you like it’s breathing. Please. You mean the world to me. I can’t let you go knowing i fucked up everything.” He sounds desperate now.

“I love you, John. But I don’t think I can ever love you like I used to.” He looks up to you, bloodshot eyes as tears pour over his face. You reach over to wipe them away. He leans into your touch. “Don’t give up on me, please?” You give him one last broken smile, “We’re way past not giving up, my love.” 

---

taglist for the people in the original post's comments LMAO (lmk if u want me to untag muheheh): @blackhawkfanatic@tf141gloryhole@montenegroisr@princesslikesfanfics@hoelesss

[gremlinmodetweeker]

König of the Icks

I’m sorry y’all, König is an ick magnet. He’s such an awful human being. Not because he’s genuinely vile or awful or morally fucked (okay a bit morally fucked), but simply because he does so many things that give the ick. He’s King of the Icks. He really is. He’s awful. So, with me breaking your bubble, let’s go over a few of the icks that I think are most prevalent. More posts of König icks to come.

König wears socks and sandals. Or socks and crocs. He’s awful. He only does it when he’s wading in the water, meaning he’ll walk around in wet socks for about an hour afterwards until they dry out. It’s so disgusting I cannot stress how awful it is. He tries to tell people that it’s safer and more comfortable, but he looks awful. It’s a fashion nightmare. No human should be wearing socks and sandals while wading in the water. In all fairness, he’s right, it does keep his feet safe, but does he really need the socks???

He wears clothes in the wrong size almost all the time. You tried to get him clothes in the right size, but he rarely wears them. He wears clothes too large because he says it’s ‘comfy’ but he looks like a slob. He’s so disgusting it hurts. He doesn’t even treat his clothes well because they collect spills and stains as he wears them for multiple days in a row. He’s had someone ask if he needs money for a bus ticket before. It was the one time in his life he realized how other people saw him. He’s since started to try to wear nicer clothing when going out. Around the house though? He looks terrible.

This wouldn’t be so much of an issue if he weren’t such a messy eater. He may look like a slob, but normally he’s very clean and neat in his habits. He cleans dishes immediately after using them, he sweeps and mops regularly, he has good personal hygiene and takes care of himself. He’s a generally clean person. That is until he sits down to eat. It’s awful because he takes bites that are too big and then it’ll fall out of his mouth and onto his shirt. He’ll then suck the stain to ‘get it out’ but it just makes things worse. He also uses his shirt as a napkin or towel, depending on the situation. He’ll also make pretty loud sounds when he eats, especially when he’s eating noodles or slurping a smoothie. If you think you’re lucky and these will be rare instances, he has a protein shake every morning and will have a bowl of buttered noodles at least once every other day (usually more).

Along this line, König got in deep shit for not having a white shirt when he was a new recruit. They asked him why he wasn’t wearing a white shirt, and he told them that it was, in fact, the standard issue white shirt. The sergeant pointed at all the other recruits in bleach white shirts, and then back at König’s grey shirt. They got into a huge argument, only for the drill sergeant to pale when he spun König around and read the tag because this grey piece of shit was a white t-shirt all along

König is an excellent cook. Why is this an ick? Because he doesn’t cook. He could, if he tried, but he’s too lazy so he just throws a day-old grilled cheese in the microwave and calls it done. He then has the nerve to complain that he’s hungry when all he’s eaten are old chips and candy bars. The only time he’ll consider cooking is if you ask him to cook or if he’s having company. Otherwise he will eat trash and you cannot stop him. He will, however, once a week or so lay out a full meal. It's beautiful and delicious, but you know he'll be eating leftovers for days, and then go back to a day of only junk food, then he'll finally force himself to cook again.

On the topic of food, König refuses to accept that food can expire. Just straight up. He doesn’t believe in expiry dates. ‘It’s a best by date, not an expiry date’ is his motto and he pays for it. At this point, he has a designated sick bucket because he gives himself food poisoning so often. All the others soldiers can’t believe that he’s fine with the MREs, but you know that when he comes home, he’ll be chowing down on stale bread he found in his fridge with moldy cheese. It’s disgusting and you have to regularly clean his fridge, lest he get sick eating things. He will also fish things out of the trash, so you have to be tactical in how you remove things. It’s a dangerous game.

This is just the tip of the iceberg of my König ick list. I’m telling you all that this man is a gremlin, and we love him for it. Part of the joy of dating König is dealing with his icks and suffering.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

study sesh

words: 900

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex

“rafey, i don’t know how you expect to help me study considering you’ve never even taken an anthropology class before.” you say into your cell phone.

“i can help you concentrate! keep you focused, bring you snacks, hand feed them to you.”

“you know you’re only going to be a distraction.” you say, genuinely needing to study.

“okay, okay.” rafe says with a chuckle. he had no intention of actually helping you study. “how about a deal? you have an hour of solo study time before i come over.”

you look at the clock, figuring you could cover most of the chapters that would be on the exam tomorrow. “alright. bring snacks though.”

you can practically hear rafes smile over the phone when he responds, “i wouldn’t dream of not.”

--

“hey baby, you gotta be quiet.” rafe shushes you as you bounce on his cock again, textbooks long forgotten, decorating the floor along with your pens and flashcards.

“can’t.” you whine, knowing that your dorm walls are thin and the girl across the hallway is a tattletale who has reported rafe for sneaking into your room multiple times before.

“gotta, princess.” rafe says, bringing you down into a kiss to hopefully smother your whimpers and moans.

“trying, i swear.” you tell rafe, hands gripping his shoulders, nails sure to leave little crescent marks on his skin.

“i know, and you’re doing so good for me, huh?” rafe brings one hand down to your clit, massaging it and spreading your wetness around. “always my good girl.”

you nod your head quickly, loving the praise. rafe flips you over quickly so you are laying on the bed, keeping his cock lodged deep inside of you as he does so.

“ahh…” you let out a quiet moan, rafe’s cock reaching deep inside of you. 

“cum for me.” rafe demands, pinching your clit. upon release, you let out a shudder as your orgasm racks through your body. rafe closes his eyes as your cunt pulsates around his cock. he takes deep breaths as he waits for you to come down from your high, wanting to force another orgasm from you before he came inside of you.

“so good.” you place your hands on rafe’s cheeks, bringing him down to kiss you.

“i know, you got another in you?” rafe asks as he picks up the pace again. it’s already your third orgasm of the night, being given one by his fingers and one by his tongue.

“can’t.” you whine, pushing his hand away from your clit.

“oh, but you can, my love.” your boyfriend teases you, but takes his hand away from your pussy, gripping your hips as he uses your body to meet his with every thrust, a slapping sound no doubt able to be heard by your neighbors.

rafe suddenly pulls out, silencing your complaints with a kiss as he gets off the bed, grabbing a stack of flashcards from the floor.

“what is primatology?”

“wh- what?” you ask, pussy throbbing, missing the sensation.

“you said i would just be a distraction while you studied. i’m proving you wrong. let’s study. want me to fuck you? tell me what primatology is.”

“study of primates, like apes and shit.”

“language, but good job.” rafe says after he flips over and reads the back of the card. he lines his cock up with your entrance, giving you one quick thrust.

“what is ethnography?” 

“study of…” you let out a gasp as rafe thrusts into you, “cultures.”

“you’re so smart.” rafe praises, giving you a couple more thrusts as he reads the next card, “who was franz boas?”

“he developed a theory of… something.” you can’t think of anything as rafe’s cock pulses inside of you.

“cultural relativism.” rafe explains, tossing the card onto the floor, pulling out of you.

“nooo, rafe, please. fuck me and then you can quiz me.” you beg.

“then you won’t have any motivation, sweetheart.” rafe smiles gently, “besides, your test is in the morning, you need your sleep, and we are multitasking to save time.”

“what is cultural relativism?” 

you rush to answer, needing to feel rafe inside of you again, "that we judge cultures based on the standards of our own."

“good.” he coos, tossing the card as his cock re-enters you.

“what is stimulus diffusion?” 

“the spread of ideas from one group to the next.”

“aaand…” rafe prompts you, giving you a hard thrust.

“and the… the idea being changed by the adaptors.”

“good.” rafe smiles, “answer the next two right and i’ll give you a break… and let you cum.”

you nod quickly.

“what is acculturation?” 

“adapting... assimilation to a dominant culture.” rafe reads over the card and then nods, you summed it up well enough, and his need to also cum lets him give you a pass.

“what is the result of acculturation?”

“abandoning of original culture and um… uh…”

“good enough.” rafe tosses the rest of the cards on the floor, smashing your lips together in a kiss.

he thrusts up into you, hitting just the right spot inside of you that makes you see stars.

“can’t last.” you whimper out, bringing a hand down to rub your clit.

“cum for me, smart girl.” 

you immediately follow his demand, tumbling over the edge as your legs lock around rafe’s hips, forcing him to cum inside of you.

“there you go.” rafe hushes you as your body slowly stops shaking. “good girl.” he kisses along your shoulders and collar.

“now…” he sits up, letting his cum slide out of you. “what is biculturism?”

[shalomniscient]

HI! i’ve been noticing a LACK of deren content so….can i request filmed sex with dom! deren??

anon i must preface this by saying i started playing after deren's event so i know roughly nothing about her but i did my best to research how she's like through info on s1ns so if this is ooc i'm so so sorry (i know i could watch recordings of the event. but my attention span... is sadly not robust enough 😔😔😔)

video star || deren x reader [NSFT][MDNI]

cw. strap-ons, overstimulation, squirting, filming (consensual)

notes. it's kind of.......... generic. sorry anon 😔😔😔

"C'mon baby, look at the camera, yeah?"

Deren's voice is floaty, barely able to be registered by you as she fucks into you, thick strap bullying into your tight, clenching cunt. One of your ankles rests on her shoulder, your entire leg braced against her body, while the other lies limp on the edge of the bed. The position allows the camera to clearly see the way your pretty pussy stretches to accommodate the thick toy. Your hands are bound above your head, tied in delicate knots to the headboard.

Deren herself stands between your thighs, and the only thing on her skin is the harness of the strap-on she has buried balls-deep inside of you. She holds onto your leg with one hand, while the other holds the camera she's using to film all your sweet little reactions as she fucks you silly.

Blearily, you open your eyes, and look into the camera lens. Deren's grip on your leg tightens by a fraction when she notices the tears in your lash line, and the way you bite your lip. She zooms in on your fucked-out expression, eyeliner runny and smudged, and snaps her hips harder against you, for once not feeling lazy like she normally is. Instead, her blood runs hot in her veins—a frenzy like Mania bubbling in her core.

"Shit, baby—so pretty like this, hm?" Deren breathes, leaning forward to get a close up on your face as you throw your head back, mouth opening wide as pleasure jolts your body. She thrusts deep with each roll of her hips, and you squirm on the bed, near delirious with pleasure. "My little video star."

"'s too much," you whimper, hands scratching at the ropes binding your wrists, "'s too much, can't cum anymore—"

"Shh," Deren soothes, releasing your leg to cup your face and wipe the tears from your eyes. "You can give me one more, right? I know you can. Be my good girl and give me just one more, baby, for the camera."

You sob as Deren speeds up her thrusts, the wet sounds of her fucking into you ruthlessly echoing throughout the room. She shifts back to her original position, moving the camera away from your face and down to your sopping pussy, zooming in on the way her strap appears and disappears, slick and shining when it catches the light. Her free hand goes to further part your folds, exposing your stiff clit, which she starts to rub roughly with her thumb.

You squeal and your hips buck at the sensation, your leg kicking out. Deren remains unfazed, playing your body like a god damn instrument as she directs it to what's undoubtedly about to be a mind-shattering orgasm for you. The camera shakes with her movement, and the footage is going to be barely usable by her standards, but Deren can hardly care right now, not with the way you writhe on the bed and cry her name like that.

When you finally topple off that knife's edge of pleasure, you do so with a scream, your legs locking around Deren's waist. Your cunt flutters and squeezes around her, as if sucking her in, and with a few more harsh flicks to your clit you squirt streams of clear slick all over the director's abdomen. She sucks in a breath, slowing her hips as you ride it out. Some of your squirt lands on the camera lens, creating a glossy sheen on the footage.

It's absolute fucking cinema.

You babble and sob incoherently, and Deren finally starts to slow down, before stopping completely. She sets the camera down, still recording, and leans down to kiss you softly, her large hands wiping the tears from your eyes. "Such a good performance, baby," she praises, and she means it.

Oh, she's definitely doing this with you again.

[tacroyy]

losing my shit about the two times vimes gets slapped by a woman in the guards books (night watch and snuff; spoilers for both below). terry pratchett is completely goddamn brilliant.

both times, it's near enough to the beginning of the plot that vimes is partially convinced he doesn't know what's going on and is still information gathering (so, working a little on autopilot, although thoughts are starting to coalesce). the women he encounters show up after a watershed moment—major transformative plot points on both occasions—and both help him and help move the narrative along with the information they provide. and this is my favorite detail—he's tired both times, too, and just needs to think, because of the amount of new information he's processing.

from night watch:

"I think perhaps I lost my memory when I was attacked," he said. That sounded good, he thought. What he really needed now was somewhere quiet, to think.

"Really? Perhaps I'm the Queen of Hersheba," said Rosie [Palm]. "Just remember, kind sir. I'm not doing this because I'm interested in you, although I'd admit to a macabre fascination about how long you're going to survive. If it hadn't been a cold wet night I'd have left you in the road. I'm a working girl, and I don't need trouble. But you look like a man who can lay his hands on a few dollars, and there will be a bill."

"I'll leave the money on the dressing table," said Vimes.

The slap in the face knocked him against the wall. /end quote

and from snuff:

She [Felicity Beedle] turned to Vimes. "It would seem, commander, that providence has brought you here in time to solve the murder of the goblin girl, who was an excellent pupil. I came up here as soon as I heard, but the goblins are used to undeserved and casual death. I"ll walk with you to the entrance, and then I've got a class to teach."

Vimes tugged at Feeny to make him keep up as they followed Miss Beedle and her charge toward the surface and blessed fresh air. He wondered what had become of the corpse. What did they do with their dead? Bury them, eat them, throw them on the midden? Or was he just not thinking right, a thought which itself had been knocking at his brain for some time. Without thinking, he said, "What else do you teach them, Miss Beedle? To be better citizens?"

The slap caught him on the chin, probably because even in her anger Miss Beedle realized that he still had his steel helmet on. /end quote

vimes makes mistakes. he makes mistakes all the time, and he knows this, and pays attention to them. vimes spends a lot of time thinking about thinking (engaging in productive, internally motivated metacognition well within his zone of proximal development, my master's in teaching insists i say). he thinks about his thinking, and he thinks about other people's thinking through the lens of his own.

in both instances, vimes is coming to realizations about the true nature of things.

in night watch, this would initially seem to be more surface than deep: he's getting to physical grips with exactly when and where (and who) in the past he is; he's learning the ground, mapping, figuring things out—but vimes is also trying to settle himself back in to what he knows, and what society is in these different times, to see if that fits. plotwise, in vimes's present, the seamstresses have a guild, rights, safety, standards, rules, regulations, and even societal respect—although certainly not close to what they deserve, it's much more than what they had before vetinari made their guild a reality. but in the past, where vimes is now, the seamstresses don't have this level of security, and are subject to violence (although it is shown to be societal and legal violence [being arrested for working during their profession's peak, etc] rather than interpersonal or sexual violence [the agony aunts exist and, it is clearly stated, dispense the same justice that they do in the future, specifically to individual clients rather than to larger institutional structures]).

so, when vimes puts down rosie by making a disparaging joke about her profession—oh, you're actually not important to me or to men or to society at all; your labor is not to be respected; i got what i needed from you and will of course pay you, but in the most insulting way possible—he's not only communicating what society thinks, but a moral issue of the novel as well. night watch, after all, is about revolution: who gets to be in power, and who gets to control who gets to be in power? it's frankly revolutionary for pratchett, a mainstream english author, to treat sex workers and sex work as positively as he does (of course, his depictions are not without flaws). he makes it clear that, after all, shouldn't we view sex work as physical labor? isn't it true that anyone who is employed is engaging in physical labor? how is a seamstress really different from a "seamstress"? (it's the power dynamics and misogyny standard to western/european/american/christian society: women and sex must be controlled by the patriarchial majority, kept small and afraid and in chains.) pratchett legitimizes the seamstresses in vimes's present. in vetinari's ankh-morpork, the seamstresses have just as much power as the merchants, the armorers, the assassins—and vimes knows this, but he did grow up in the past he's in now.

in snuff, vimes's approaching anagnorisis is more obviously manifested. brilliantly, pratchett begins vimes's encounter with the goblins by talking about vimes's childhood teacher, mistress slightly, who "taught [him] how not to be afraid" and made him blackboard monitor, "the first time anyone had entrusted him with anything;" vimes thinks he'll put a bag of peppermints on her grave if he gets out of this alive. all positive, and in fact clearly transformative, praise from our hero. but vimes is in a goblin cave, and pratchett has brought up mistress slightly because vimes is remembering his first (educational, not physical) encounter with goblins. this paragraph is worth quoting in full:

"[Mistress Slightly] had one book in her tiny sitting room, and the first time she had given it to young Sam Vimes to read he had got as far as page seven when he froze. The page showed a goblin: the jolly goblin, according to the text. Was it laughing, was it scowling, was it hungry, was it about to bite your head off? Young Sam Vimes hadn't waited to find out and had spent the rest of the morning under a chair. These days he excused himself by remembering that most of the other kids felt the same way. When it came to the innocence of childhood, adults often got it wrong. In any case, she had sat him on her always slightly damp knee after class and made him really look at the goblin. It was made of lots of dots! Tiny dots, if you looked closely. The closer you looked at the goblin the more it wasn't there. Stare it down and it lost all its power to frighten. 'I hear that they are wretched, badly made mortals,' the dame had said sadly. 'Half-finished folk, or so I hear. It's only a blessing this one had something to be jolly about.'"

a near-perfect depiction, unfortunately, of the educational experience. encounter something that scares you and makes you uncomfortable, examine it with the help of a pedagogist, examine it on your own, take it apart so that you are not afraid anymore, and instead understand what it is and how it is made: that's the experience from the first word of the quote all the way until "Stare it down and lost all its power to frighten." and then, a heel-turn: your teacher shows that they completely misunderstood the lesson they were teaching—and that you, the child, understood both parts of the lesson perfectly: you absorbed the critical thinking skills and that this existing societal prejudice is, in fact, totally correct and should not be examined using the skills you just learned.

thus, pratchett has vimes, our hero, our moral center, spout the violent, ingrained, dehumanizing, incitement-to-genocide nonsense of the society in which he has been formed. vimes does this tiredly, without thinking, without making the connection between how things are and how they ought to be, missing the direct relationship of that required moral reevaluation to the case and situation at hand. and pratchett throws that directly back in vimes's face, physically. both times, pratchett says: even if you're tired, even if there's shit going down, even if your worldview is being turned upside down, even if you're in the dead middle of processing everything you've so recently learned, you cannot make the mistake of dehumanization/depersonalization. and you, of all people, have to know that, vimes. not one drop of alcohol passes your lips, not one minute after six goes by without you reading to your son, not one arrestee is subjected to even small or casual police brutality. and not one person—seamstress or goblin—is to be insulted and discriminated against and excluded from deserving to live. to do so, to make that mistake even once, is to face the immediate physical consequences of it from someone deeply and fundamentally in the know. you need the sense smacked into you.

from night watch:

"Consider that a sign of my complete lack of a sense of humor, will you?" said Rosie, shaking some life back into her hand.

"I'm... sorry," said Vimes. "I didn't mean to... I mean... look, thak you for everything. I mean it. But this is not being a good night."

"Yes, I can see that."

"It's worse than you think. Believe me."

"We all have our troubles. Believe me," said Rosie. /end quote.

from snuff:

It was a corker, nonetheless, and out of the corner of his stinging gaze he saw Feeny take a step back. At least the boy had some sense.

"You are the gods' own fool, Commander Vimes! No, I'm not teaching them to be fake humans, I'm teaching them how to be goblins, clever goblins! Do you know that they have only five names for colors? Even trolls have around sixty, and a lot more than that if they find a paint salesman! Does this mean goblins are stupid? No, they have a vast number of names for things that even poets haven't come up with, for things like the colors shift and change, the melting of one hue into another. They have single words for the most complicated of feelings; I know about two hundred of them, I think, and I'm sure there are a lot more! What you may think are grunts and growls and snarls are in fact carrying vast amounts of information! They're like an iceberg, commander: most of them is where you can't see or understand, and I'm teaching Tears of the Mushroom and some of her friends so that they may be able to speak to people like you, who think they are dumb. And do you know what, commander? There isn't much time! They're being slaughtered! It's not called that, of course, but slaughter is how it ends, because they're just dumb nuisances, you see. Why don't you ask Mr. Upshot what happened to the rest of the goblins three years ago, Commander Vimes?"

And with that, Miss Beedle turned on her heel and disappeared down into the darkness of the cave with Tears of the Mushroom bobbing along behind her, leaving Vimes to walk the last few yards out into the glorious light. /end quote.

[byunpum]

Hiiiiiiiiii! Can I make a funny T'su'tey request?

Im sure you know the lilo and stitch meme?

the idea is after neytiri and jake mate and become the Tashik and Olo'eyktan, tsu'tey has the freedom to pick a mate, but struggles to find genuine love. So he pleads to ewya for a mate who is "calm, sweet, kind, gentle, soft". But instead ewya gives him the exact opposite XD.

Pair: Tsu'tey x Human reader (why not <3)

Warning: None, tsu'tey being cute. Reader being a brat.

AVATAR MASTERLIST 

"Eywa…it is me again" says tsu'tey as he sits in the spirit tree. Sitting praying with all his heart. "I know I have asked this many times…but could you send me a being who loves me, someone who is kind. The best person you have…someone who will stay with me and not run away from me" says tsu'tey. After all this time, he was pretty sure he was ready to find his ideal partner. When he was younger, he used to be more relaxed about it, even falling in love with sylwanin. After that terrible event at grace's school, tsu'tey's whole life changed. He had now lost the love of his life and had to marry the younger sister of his now deceased beloved.

When jake came to the clan, it was also a big change for him. His whole world changed, and many bad things happened, but also some good things happened in that period. He no longer had to be with neytiri, not that he didn't like her…but they were like siblings. He felt more comfortable now that he knew she had her mate, and he was free. A year had passed since the confrontations with the people in the sky, and he felt it was time to start again. But everything seems to be going against him. No na'vi woman is fulfilling her standards…they're all wonderful. Amazing to be honest…but with none of them he feels that connection that he is supposed to feel when he sees her and knows that she is the one. He used to go pray to eywa to help him and light the way. He knew he was fooling himself, because she didn't work that way…but he had to try. Jake Sully had told him that Eywa had helped him and listened to him that time, why wouldn't she help a member of pure sage like him?

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes in surrender, he felt stupid. Very stupid… sitting down for the fourth time this week. "this is useless" tsu'tey thinks to himself, as he gets up from the ground. And disconnects himself from one of the tree's tentacles. Wiping his knees a little with his hands, he suppers and grunts with disapproval. Maybe he had to resign himself to the fact that he would never find his ideal mate…he would be alone for eternity. Tsu'tey didn't usually show his sensitive side with anyone, but this was affecting him a lot. Seeing the couples together….damn it, was mating season and he was alone. He starts to leave the tree and begin his walk home, again he was going alone to his hut. Walking slowly, lost in his thoughts. He was so immersed in his own being, that he barely heard the strange noises coming from above him.

It wasn't until he heard a loud noise that he stopped in his tracks and looked up. Out of nowhere and as if it was something sent from the sky. He saw a girl fall from a branch. How the hell did she get there? He doesn't know. And why is she here? He was going to find out. The girl fell very hard to the ground, and started moaning. "Shit…that!!! That hurt!!!" you speak, as you get up from the ground sitting on the wet jungle floor. You hadn't noticed tsu'tey's presence, so you were no stranger to being surrounded by tall blue men. So you are still very distracted by your punch, while the man is looking at you with wide eyes. This had taken him by surprise, he just stayed still watching you settle in and moan. You look up, making eye contact with him. "And you don't plan to help?" you speak, sounding rather haughty, how could you be so spoiled if you didn't even know each other. Tsu'tey says nothing and continues to stare at you quietly. "Aren't you going to talk? Ashhh hey YOU BLUE MONKEY HELP ME GET UP, I CAN'T FEEL MY BUTT" You yell, making gestures with your hands. Tsu'tey was in a state of shock, he knew humans were nasty, but you were on another level. No one in his entire life had ever spoken to him like that.

"Did you just call me blue monkey?" tsu'tey repeats what you just said, making sure he heard right. "Yes…blue monkey, are you deaf? With those big ears I doubt it" you speak, as you get up from the ground. You looked sore, your legs were shaking, the fall had been very hard and high. So your body wobbles a little, just as you were about to fall back to the ground. You feel a big hand holding you by your forearm. Tsu'tey holds you in place, observing you and analyzing the figure in front of him. You were a woman, you seemed to be almost his age. But you did not look like the other women he had seen in the human camp. Your hair was messy, your clothes were light, revealing more skin. And you had a few scratches across your face and arms. Where had you gone? "My name is Tsu'tey…nice to meet you" speaks tsu'tey, he had manners..so he was going to introduce himself properly. You feel him slowly let go of you as you regain your balance. "mmm your name is ugly" you speak, looking at him again as you had a cheeky grin on your face.

"Have you no manners or what?" tsu'tey sounds annoyed, moving a little away from you. You laugh, you knew you were teasing him and you really didn't care. "Yes…yes I do. But it's boring" you speak, as you start looking for something on the floor. "My name is Y/N" you speak, ignoring as tsu'tey approaches you again. I was analyzing you carefully, I had never seen you before, and if you were one of those bad humans? They were all supposed to be gone, so who were you. Tsu'tey kneels down to get closer, while he sees you still looking for whatever it is on the ground. He was getting so close, he's barely 1 foot away from you. "could you give me space… you strange thing" you speak, nudging him by his shoulder causing tsu'tey to come down from the clouds. And he will be back to his senses. "Who are you? I have never seen you before?" he speaks, you turn to look at him. He had his face to one side and his ears twitched with curiosity.

"You're not one of the bad guys, are you?" you look at tsu'tey, and laugh out loud. This one looks somewhat confused, and waits for you to respond. "No silly…" you speak up, ignoring him again. "But I've never seen you in that thing that calls it a lab" tsu'tey had to know who you were.

"I am the systems manager…I am not a scientist" you speak. Tsu'tey only understands half of what you just said, so she waits for you to explain more clearly. "Systems?" tsu'tey asks.

"Yeah…systems, these things (you touch the oxygen mask) and computers. Nothing special, I'm just trapped on this planet" you speak, now looking at the man in front of you. "Trapped? You wanted to go back to your homeland?" tsu'tey looked like a little boy, he didn't know why he was so curious about you. You were a damn home destroying human, why did he have to ask you all these things.

You sit on the floor, exhausted. You couldn't find your monitor, your back hurt and you were tired. "I can't go back…so I stayed here" you say, while trying to give yourself a self-massage on your back. "You are bad…and that's why you can't go back?" tsu'tey now copies your previous movements and sits on the floor. A few feet away from you. " Well if stealing 3 Walmart gift cards is being bad..well yes" you speak up. … … … "What is Walm?" tsu'tey was about to start talking, but you make a signal for silence. "Forgotten… I don't say anything. I have no one to wait for me back on earth. So I decided to stay here to help the team" you speak. "But you don't like the na'vi?" speaks tsu'tey.

"My area is technology…not wildlife" you speak, tsu'tey stands up straight. Aouch that had hurt him. He can see that you are still in some discomfort, because you begin to make a few pained noises." And what were you doing up there?" asks tsu'tey, as he sees your eyes move upwards. "I wanted to look for a signal…I wanted to see some videos of me…of my brothers" you speak, he can notice the sadness in your voice. He had no idea what the 'videos' were but he guessed it was something important. "I'm sorry" tsu'tey says, causing you to look up and look into his eyes. You had very pretty eyes, he sees you chuckle a little. And you look down again, now looking at the ground.

There was something about you that attracted his attention, if he felt lost. You looked, and he could sense that you were lost. Like you weren't quite right, for some reason he was worrying about you. And only 15 minutes ago he had met you. The silence was noticeable, you both just lay there…keeping each other company. It wasn't until a seed from the spirit tree slowly approached your body. Tsu'tey noticed their presence and followed the seed with his eyes. Watching as the creature moved from side to side, slowly falling towards your bare knee. It stares at you as you look at it, somewhat surprised but calm. He was about to speak until …..

slaps

"Are you crazy?" shouts tsu'tey lifting your hand from the seed. You had crushed it, you almost broke it. "that was going to sting me!!!" you shout too, watching as he takes your hand and lifts it carefully. Watching as the seed floats back up and flies towards your nose. Tapping it, you bring your free hand to your nose to touch it. "What is that?" you are still surprised. You've never seen anything like this before…you never used to leave the areas you were allowed to. "It is a seed from the spirit tree…they are part of eywa" says tsu'tey seriously. You had heard something about this tree and this eywa. "And it was going to sting me? Those things itch" you begin to speak, tsu'tey still holding your hand. "It won't sting you…eywa doesn't hurt. She wants to communicate" says tsu'tey.

"Well I don't want anything from her…besides I think I was going to get itched" you speak, crossing your arms. Tsu'tey snorts a little, ahhh you were unbearable. "Well…help me get back to the human zone. I have no idea where I am" you speak. Tsu'tey takes a deep breath and gets up from the ground. "Come…I will guide you" he speaks. Watching as you quickly get up jumping up and down in happiness. But you stop, and hold your back. You seemed to be in pain. You both set off to where the village was, the human area was not far from the village. So the direction was the same. Tsu'tey couldn't help but notice how your posture changed every 2 minutes the more you kept walking. "Are you in pain?" speaks tsu'tey. "A little…well a lot" you speak while touching your back.

"I know someone who might be able to help with that. Sure, if you want?" tsu'tey gives you a look, hoping for an answer. He hears you sigh. "It's okay" you speak, you had no choice…in the lab there wasn't much equipment to soothe the pain you were feeling. And you had heard that Navi medicine was very good, so you accepted the help. It wasn't long before you arrived at the navi village, and as you entered you noticed how everyone started to look at you. You were not a familiar face, to be honest it was the first time you were in the village. You had never been there before.

You had come to pandora 2 years before the altercations, and you were from grace's technical support team. You were basically grace's baby, and she loved you so much. You became close friends with Jake and supported your team's cause. You had stayed at the base with max, providing support from the inside. When the humans were returned to earth, you stayed. You had no one to wait for you at home…you were alone. And now you only had your team left, because you had also lost grace. You were never interested in what the Navi were doing, you knew some things. But you weren't aware of everything, like max, norm and jake. But now…everything was new to you. You see how several Navi kids come up to you and touch your clothes. And they laugh. "Hello" you speak, in a low voice. As you followed the annoying navi man who was going to help you. "There it is" says tsu'tey. Pointing to a hut, you could see it was quite crowded.

You both approach the hut, and enter. It was dark, but cozy. And it had a great aroma of medicinal herbs. It wasn't annoying, it was calming. Mo'at looks up as she sees tsu'tey enter, she was going to greet him but is surprised to see who accompanied him. A human with tsu'tey? Something was going on. "Mo'at…we need your help" tsu'tey speaks. Making a sign to you to come closer, you had been standing in the door frame waiting. You were a little scared, everything was new to you. You approach, and feel tsu'tey's hand holding your head. "She fell out of a tree, now her back hurts a lot" says the man, moving you a little to get closer to the woman. You laugh widely, while mo'at grabs your arm to get closer to her. "And what were you doing in a tree….girl what's wrong with you" says mo'at turning you over to examine what you had, pulling up your shirt. "My whole back hurts" you speak, but let out a groan. When mo'at touches the large bruise on your back. "Here it is…look" mo'at says, as you watch tsu'tey reach over to look at your back.

You move and pull down your shirt. "You pervert!!!" you yell a little, mo'at had pulled your shirt way up. You were dying of embarrassment and now he was going to see you up close. Or not…not that. "What's wrong with you…come HERE" mo'at says, grabbing your arm making you sit up. You were small, so it was easy to handle you. Tsu'tey sits in one of the corners of the hut, watching mo'at heal you and take care of you. He laughs a little, watching you fidget and complain about everything. He even watches as mo'at taps you on the head. You were chaos, but chaos that captivated him. After a while, mo'at ordered you to lie down, on one of the mats she had. You had to wait for the paste to dry, plus it wouldn't hurt to relax a little. So she lays you on your stomach, and you close your eyes.

Mo'at approaches tsu'tey, who is still staring at everything with fascination. "That girl…that's a mess" says mo'at in a mocking tone. "eywa…she touched that girl" says tsu'tey while still looking at your figure. Mo'at falls down for a moment, and turns to talk to the boy. "I know…I could feel it. And it has to do with you" says the woman, tsu'tey looks at mo'at in surprise. "With me?" asks tsu'tey, what did he have to do with you, he was just helping you. "mmmm yes….eywa gave you what you were asking for, that's what I could interpret" says mo'at, as he sees tsu'tey's eyes widen. "What's wrong with you?" mo'at is getting worried, tsu'tey was in a state of shock. What did mo'at just say? Eywa sent him…no no no no.

"Mo'at…I asked for a mate" says tsu'tey. Mo'at is surprised and gives him a look at the lying figure of Y/N. "I don't know what to tell you son…I don't know" mo'at doesn't know what to tell him or do, this is very strange. Even for her.

Night came quickly, and tsu'tey decided to stay and watch over you. He could not ignore what mo'at had told him. How could it be possible? Was it possible? He sees you start to get up, sitting up a little on the mat. You were going to touch your eyes, but you bump into the oxygen mask. "shit" you speak softly, as you listen and watch as tsu'tey sits down next to you. "That word I've heard so much these past few years" tsu'tey says in a mocking tone of voice. You roll your eyes, and decide to ignore him. "Feeling better?" asks the man, you turn so you can answer. And you can see how he was sitting. His feet were crossed, his hands were holding his feet nervously, and his tail was wagging from side to side. He looked adorable. "Yes…thank you" you speak, shifting your gaze quickly.

There was a small silence, until he began to speak. "Mo'at… she told me that the seeds of the spititus tree had chosen you" Tsutey says.

"To sting me? Yes" you speak, Tsu'tey sighs, laughs a little. "No…she chose you to" tsu'tey pauses, waiting for you to make a move. He can see, as you look at him slowly. "For what?" you ask. He takes your hand, and gives it a squeeze. You stiffen slightly, and look straight into his eyes. They were bright yellow. "For me." You move your hand, so that tsu'tey releases it. And you move away a little, moving hurts your back a little. So you stop, and tsu'tey tries to help me. "Easy…I" tsu'tey starts to speak, but he feels you push him away. "Don't touch me…you weird blue monkey" you yell a little.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you" tsu'tey says, moving a little away from you. Leaving you more room. He wasn't going to give up. Tsu'tey knew that eywa had chosen you for a reason, maybe you were the one who was going to help him find your ideal mate. "Yes…well you did, you idiot. And if you touch me again I'm going to poke your eye out with my own teeth" you threaten him a little, lying on your side with your back to him. He laughs a little, maybe it was you he had to find.

[lonelystarrs]

Divide The Love.

Toji Fushiguro x FemReader x Satoru Gojo

You were supposed to be a one night stand, nothing more, nothing important. So how the hell did the three of you end up in this dynamic? Who knows, who cares.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI • 3some f/m only • smutsmutsmut • drabbles • AU toji/Suguru/gojo were house mates • crack • 🌶️ • poly relationship • healthy relationships • Fluff on both more so Gojo • a bit of everything really • gojo’s scene tho <3 🥹

Word count: 7.1k (I am unwell)

Taxing.

That was what it was to be around you and Satoru.

Amusing.

But oh so taxing.

Toji had all but mastered hiding any hint of amusement when around you both afraid if he ever showed the fact he found you funny he’d never live it down. Your behaviour would be deemed acceptable, Satoru was limitless to his goofiness and the kind of influence you really shouldn’t be around.

Then again you egged Satoru on just as much. Ah who was he kidding. You were as bad as each other.

You were supposed to be a simple one night stand, nothing more and nothing less. You weren’t supposed to be anything special, anything different. Pussy was pussy. Wet was wet.

Yet here you were sitting comfortably between the two men like you’d belonged there from the start. It was coming up to a year since Toji brought you back here. a.fucking.year.

Hell, was he even with his ex wife this long?

He hadn’t had another woman in a year either and truthfully, the thought of it now was kinda a turn off. Maybe it was age, maybe it was boredom of same routines in fucking around. He didn’t look at women like he used to -like an opportunity. Instead they walked by him like everyone else on the street because you plagued his damn mind like a disease.

And quiet frankly he didn’t want the cure.

It was 4 months since Satoru wormed his way in as well, and surprisingly he hadn’t seen anyone else in that time. Toji thought it was a mere one off him joining in one night -a simple threesome to make Satoru stop harping on about his crush on you. Toji thought once he got his fill he’d move on like he always did, he’d get bored and instead he carved a seat for himself and became as invested as Toji.

Unbelievable right?

Suguru used to live in this penthouse with the two men but his passing had brought some changes to Gojo. The dynamic was odd and most people laughed off the idea when they heard you were with the two men. It was impossible, ridiculous and foolish.

“Haha! Right, such a woman doesn’t exists. Putting up with one of you? Let alone both? She a witch or something?”

Maybe you were.

You certainly rivalled most beauty standards without all this crap in your face, make up was only really worn if you done something fancy — you did have a strict skin care routine though.

Speaking of which.

“Can you take this shit off my face now?”

You hummed and looked over your shoulder at Toji who was sat on the couch looking less than fucking amused about the face mask you’d put on him.

Gojo was sat before you with his legs crossed — if he were a dog his tail would be wagging. He was fucking beaming at you whilst you applied the face mask on him, his hair clipped up with some kind of clip Toji had no idea how to even explain —he really didn’t care for girly shit. All he could say was Satoru looked like a cockatoo with his fringe up like that.

“You got another 10 minutes yet, you’re so impatient.”

“I’d use every one of those minutes, you need it old man,”

“Off ya fuck manchild.”

“Don’t be jealous of my baby like skin and good looks, youth is with me!”

You flicked Gojo’s forehead with the mask applicator, a wet slap sounding through the room.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Oh please that didn’t hurt you,”

“It did! Terribly so,”

“Manchild,” Toji repeated whilst he leaned back into the couch again.

What the fuck were they doing? Him, Toji Fushiguro an assassin and Gojo Satoru a leader for a world dominating, family owned corporation sat here wearing face masks because their bratty girlfriend won at some damn video game.

Toji looked down, keeping the back of his head cradled by the sofa. He watched you laughing and Satoru’s blue eyes absolutely beaming at you, watching your every expression as you applied the mask evenly on his face. Even with that disgusting looking shitty green mask on your face, hair tied up into a messy bun, some comfy clothes on —matching coloured baggy lounge trousers with a tight little crop top. You still looked so pretty, you held an air of youth and something refreshing about you, yet you carried yourself like a grown ass woman.

He was older than you by 7 years, you were the same age as Satoru at 30 but you made him feel young again. You gave him that stupid rush he’d missed out on as a teen.

His eyes scanned over your body as you sat crossed legged in front of the other man and even with you hardly at your best right now, even with that ugly mask on your face he’d still absolutely fuck you utterly stupid like this.

There was something about the comfort, the familiarity -the trust and calmness here. That was the point you’d both reached with each other, it brought back fondness from his deceased wife and it made him wonder if he got a second chance at this with you.

Watching you like this, the stupidest, simplest of things stirred something ridiculous in his chest that shot straight to his lower stomach, rushing blood to his cock and he felt it twitch in his baggy sweats.

Toji scowled again before glaring back at the ceiling. God you pissed him off. He didn’t want to feel it. He zoned out from you and Satoru, deciding to block out whatever was around him to concentrate on beating down this horridly pleasant feeling in his chest.

He didn’t hear the whispering.

“Does he know you put a pink mask on him?”

“Nah, I took a photo as well when he wasn’t looking.”

“Even with this hair tied up?”

“Yup, his lil top knot n’all.”

“Heheh. Smart move, you gonna bribe him with it?”

“Absolutely,”

“You’re the girl of my dreams,” Gojo sighed dreamily and you snorted a laugh at him, prodding the end of the applicator against his forehead.

“You’ll be saying that to someone else in a few months with your short attention span.”

“Nuh-uh! Told ya, I’m serious about this.”

You rolled your eyes and put the lid back on your face mask pot, going to stand he stopped you half way, his fingers wrapping around your wrist stopping you from fully standing.

“Hey-“ you hummed in response and looked down to Satoru, the amusement dropped from his face, that usual playful tone replaced with a rare softness. “-m’serious, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

You seen his jaw clench and his blue eyes glanced over you to Toji, who remained glaring at the ceiling tuning out from your conversation, before shifting off else were awkwardly looking at something across the room.

“Nothin’ don’t worry.”

You had been roped into baking for Satoru because of his endless consumption for sweet things and today you’d agreed to make brownies.

Satoru sat on the island, chin resting into his hands whilst his elbows rested on it. Leaning forward in the high bar stool watching you work with some doe assed expression.

“You gonna put that chocolate stuff in again?”

“The Nutella?”

“Yeah! That stuff,”

“You’re gonna be fat.”

“Nah, besides I know a good way to burn it off,” he winked at you whilst giving a small smirk.

“Y’ever stop thinking with your dick?”

Toji strode by, chiming in his input after returning from the gym and opening the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

You could see he was still sweaty, his biceps looked fucking huge as he still carried his pump from the gym. The veins popping up his arms was enough to make you slow the stirring the spoon in the bowl until you stopped completely.

He was a tall glass of water and you were drinking him.

Well, clearly it was arms day at the gym. You gawked at the man who stood in all his glory, fuck was he always this huge? Had he gotten bigger? That wasn’t just the pump was it? Those tiddies of his… ugh. He’d let you motor boat him, right?

“See something you like, sweetheart?”

Your jaw closed so fast they heard your teeth clack together and you returned to stirring the spoon in the mix of brownies furiously.

“Don’t be jealous cause I can fill her more than you now old man, shootin’ blanks now aren’t you?”

You snorted a laugh and turned back around to the boys,

“More like baby powder,” you chimed in.

Satoru snickered a laugh behind you, Toji’s eyes darkened as they looked down at you whilst drinking, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped down the water.

“Fuck, fuck y/n, I’m gonna cum,” you mimicked him, probably sounding more desperate than he actually came off.

The golden part though, was you lifting your hand and you blew into it, flour clouding across the kitchen and hitting Toji’s chest. Little lumps falling down his body gathering at the band of his joggers.

Satoru was howling behind you his hands slapped down on the islands marble countertop, Toji looking less than amused, despite the glint in his eye giving away that it was funny his ego was simply not letting you get away with it.

The bottle hit the counter and he strode forwards. The amusement dropped from your face and jaw fell slack, Gojo watched with glinting eyes as he drank in the scene unfolding before him.

Uh oh, you were in trouble~!

Toji swiped the bowl from your hands, throwing it to the countertop behind you as he towered before you, one hand grabbing your neck and forcing you up into your tip toes.

“Oh? That funny shit left you pretty fast princess.”

He felt you gulp under his palm, the hand squeezed your neck with the pressure you liked, he felt the vibration of the moan that crawled up your throat. His green eyes glanced down to watch your body, your hands gripping the counter behind you and your thighs rubbed together.

“Tch, look at you-“ he kicked at your feet to separate them, pressing his huge thigh against your pussy and angled it up, he felt you buckle and it let him knew he pressed against your clit just right “-least you know to submit,” he husked out, lowering his mouth to brush against your lips before pulling away.

His hand around your throat left to gather your hair painfully, you winced as he gripped it in his large hand, pushing you down to your knees. His other hand pulling down his joggers enough to release his semi hard dick.

Even soft this guy was huge, thick and long, it silently stood at least 9 inches at least. He was physically daunting in every aspect, Toji was older and his physical form dominated the two of you overall. Everything about him screamed pure man.

Satoru wasn’t far behind at all, a god in his own league and he only bulked out more as he got older. But Toji had something Satoru didn’t have -that rough and ready thing that made you fucking melt. Gojo made you want to challenge him, even though you’d never win but Toji purely made you want to submit.

Toji was filth, mean, cold and reserved. He’d spit in your mouth, he’d eat you out after cumming in you, he’d verbally abuse you in only a way he could.

Gojo taunted and teased, his method was far from clean, but he took a more playful approach. Toji just took.

“Get it hard then-“ Toji pushed your face forwards towards his cock and you seen it flex giving away his excitement, “-I’m gonna paint that pretty face of yours with cum, see if your crap jokes are funny then.”

Your tongue pressed against the tip before licking a line up to the hilt, feeling it hardening under you. Toji looked over his shoulder to Gojo who had remained in his seat, blue eyes watching everything with his mouth formed into a straight line. Amusement had also left him it seems, favouring watching the scene unfold.

“Y’watching kid?” The smirk that spread over Toji’s mouth was nasty, “-maybe I’ll put a kid in her, really take her as mine.”

Toji’s thumb ran over your cheek as he groaned out at the feeling of your warm mouth taking in his head, tongue swirling around it.

“Have you look at her everyday knowing she’s got my kid in her -fuck- tits all swollen and stomach all round-“ his head tilted back as you took him down your throat, his dick now solid as he felt you gag around him “-it’ll drive your cocky ass mad.”

Gojo’s smirk twitched on his lips, refusing to show Toji’s taunting was actually striking a cord in the blue eyes. Instead he opted to tilting his head to lock eyes with you -doe eyed, all glassy looking pretty at him and a mouth stuffed full of thick cock, drool already spilling down your chin.

Satoru almost groaned at the sight of you like that, feeling his own dick hardening as Toji started to rock his hips to gain more friction down your throat, that would swell up as he pushed his cock further down it before retracting.

“Heh, you really hit a nerve with scarface~!”

Being left alone with you seemed like a rarity these days, even though that wasn’t the case it felt more valuable when he was alone with you.

You were laying on Toji, his thick legs either side of you both flat on the sofa. You were currently asleep on his chest, arms lazily wrapped around his, as you call it, slutty waist.

His arms were folded behind his head, the light from the massive tv danced in patterns a crossed the dark room as the film ran.

He knew you wouldn’t stay awake for it, now he was stuck like this on the sofa fighting his own sleep.

Your face nuzzled into his chest, a satisfying hum leaving you with a dreamy smile.

“Such good tiddies,” you slurred in your sleep, shuffling your body a bit against his.

He snorted a laugh, eyes returning back to watch you nuzzle your face between his pecs.

A smirk appeared on his lips, green eyes scanning over that pretty face looking so content buried in his.. tiddies.

“You’re an idiot,” he mumbled, lifting a hand to brush over your cheek, pushing the fallen strands of hair back.

“Insulting me even when I sleep?” You mumbled, pulling your body into a stretch before settling back on him.

Toji grunted and used the opportunity to shift himself under you.

You lifted your head and rested your chin on his chest, opening one eye to look at him sleepily.

“S’the time?”

“Midnight,”

You gasped dramatically and rose up,

“Old man! You shouldn’t be up so late, your poor back tomorrow, I’ll be buying you a summer frame.”

“If your fat ass wasn’t sleeping on me-“

“-I’m getting heavy for you? Truly, age is weakening you.”

Toji deadpanned at you before grabbing the back of your head and planting your face against his chest, smothering you. He felt you laughing, muffled by his muscle he smirked, keeping your face from lifting to see it.

You managed to twist your head to the side and dramatically inhaled.

“Death by tiddies won’t look glamorous on my death certificate.”

“Stop being so dramatic, you’re exhausting.” He released your head and let you lift yourself again a pouted now visible in your face and you moved to straddle him. He was shirtless under you because you were wearing his massive black t-shirt, some panties underneath and he wore his usual grey lounge joggers.

Your hands planted on his stomach, the muscle tensing under you and your fingers dented in to the six pack, gently moving them across the deep lines.

He rose an eyebrow as you wiggled your hips against his, he knew what you were looking for and it only made him smirk at you.

“Gotta work harder than that, princess.”

“Oh?”

Your hands gripped the bottom of the shirt, pulling it over your head, tits bouncing from the movement.

His hands folded behind his head and he shrugged.

“Meh,”

You pouted, frowning at him childishly, he could see the cogs turning in your head but he wasn’t expecting you to reach down, sliding your fingers down that smooth stomach before disappearing into your pathetic excuse of panties. Lacey and perfectly see through.

He watched your index finger press into your folds and run to your hole, gathering slick before moving back to your clit and rolling a circle over it. Hips twitching, an airy moan leaving you and he watched the pink dust over your cheeks, eyes half hooded as you dropped your gaze to his chest.

Strands of hair fell from your shoulders, framing your face as he watched your body reacting to your finger working against your clit. Your breathing picked up, your hips began moving in time with your finger.

Toji’s hands flexed behind his head, jaw tensing as he fought himself to reach out for you. Your other hand tugged at his sweats and he lifted his hips, it was a skill in itself on how you managed to shimmy them down just enough to release his dick with one hand whilst straddling him.

That finger on your clit never stopping as he watched it between your folds.

Your next move however did draw a grunt from him, pushing your panties aside you pressed your wet slit to his hardening length and dragged yourself along it. The airy, whiny moan that left you made his cock flex against your pussy.

“You dreamin’ about dick or somethin’? She’s fucking drooling, fuck.”

Green eyes fixed to watching the length of his dick gliding between your folds, quickly drenching it in slick he could see it glinting from the light of the tv.

Dick flexing again under you, completely acting on its own as you rolled yourself fucking stunningly against his cock, sandwiched between your cunt and his stomach.

Your soft pants in the room, the tv dulling out as he focused on you.

He snorted a laugh when you reached down, lifting yourself up to press the head of his cock against that tight hole.

“You ain’t gonna manage that sweetheart.”

Your hand braced against his stomach and despite his taunt you lowered yourself, his thick head pushing through that tight ring and he felt it actually fucking pop as it pushed through.

He exhaled heavily, hands balling into fists behind his head and he glared at you, your cocky stubbornness was always fun to watch but it always bugged him how you thought you’d manage without him.

Toji was a dom through and through, he’d let you have fun for his own amusement until he had enough.

“Not gonna beg for my help huh?”

“Fuck you, Toji.”

“Feel free, I hope you can fuck that dick,”

He watched you struggle, you sank down slowly and you made it half way before you huffed. Hand against his stomach curling into a fist.

“Fuck, you’re so thick.”

Surprise was shown from both you and Toji as a hand wrapped around your neck from behind, the other gripping your hair and pulling your head back. Lips crashing into yours in an upside down kiss.

Gojo hummed into the kiss, greedily shoving his tongue into your mouth and squeezing your throat lightly.

“You look like you need some help,” his lips moved against yours, shifting his leg he bent it and pushed between Toji’s and the back of the sofa to give himself even balance and position to be directly behind you, his other foot braced on the floor. Satoru’s hands slid down your body, one moved to the front to press against your clit, causing you to moan against his mouth. The other gripped your hip and started to push you down, finger on your clit rolling to distract you.

Blue eyes stared at green, Toji’s mouth formed into a sneer, eyes hardening on at Gojo interfering with his little lesson.

But fuck wasn’t it hot watching Satoru push you down to take him, feeling your pussy stretch to his girthy dick. Gojo’s mouth working against yours in a wet, messy kiss, your hands moving to grip his hair behind you and hold onto him.

The distraction was working, Toji felt you loosen up to swallow his cock to the hilt and he groaned when your warm walls hugged him. He could feel your slick running down his balls and ass, he could see Satoru’s finger running fast but light circles on your clit.

“You gonna ride him? You want my help right?” You nodded dumbly against his mouth, he chuckled against yours.

“You’re such a good girl,” his other hand left your clit so both were resting on your hips, Satoru guided you up Toji’s cock before slamming you back down. Both men heard the breath hitch in your throat, his previous gentle, caring actions and words led you into a false sense of security.

“C’mon then, ride him don’t let us down now,”

The lack of attention to your clit was short lived, Toji finally moved an arm so his thumb could press against the hardened bundle of nerves. He watched your body jolt, your hips rolling and the dips from Satoru’s fingers as he gripped your hips tighter.

“Suggest you hold onto something,” Your head finally tilted back to Toji, his deep voice filtering through but it’s his words that catch your attention.

The pink now intense across your cheeks and nose, eyes all glassy and looking at him like he was the centre of your universe.

Satoru pushed you forward so he could look down with a perfect view of Toji stretching and filling your pussy.

Your hands gripped Toji’s huge biceps, tensed under you as his hands now both gripped your thighs to hold you still.

Green eyes looked over your shoulder to meet Satoru’s.

“Hold her,”

“What?” You questioned, the trace of worry in your eyes at you looked at Toji like a doe in the headlights.

Satoru squeezed your hips, green eyes met yours and Toji smirked at you.

He withdrew before slamming back into you, the wet slap echoed around the room, his warning thrust made your breath hitch before he started to fucking rut into you.

Your nails dug into his muscle, Satoru’s grip stopping you from moving in any way and Toji’s hands on your thighs restricting you further.

“Wanna get fucked dumb huh?”

You nodded dumbly, Toji giving a hard, sharp thrust.

“Use your words,”

“Y-Yeah, fucked dumb-“ you slurred, voice jolting with each thrust and his dick kissing your cervix. You felt too full, Satoru keeping your hips pinned, Toji holding your legs left no room for him to fully slide from you. The constant short, hard fast thrusts of his dick punching into you, keeping you full quickly stirred the heat pooling in your stomach. He was pounding your g spot, hitting it within seconds of filling you.

Toji could feel you clenching around him, his breathing becoming laboured.

“Gonna cum already? Can feel that pussy suckin’ me in,”

“Hell, you’re taking his dick so well.” Satoru chimed in, confirming his words as blue eyes literally watched your pussy sucking Toji’s dick back in. Hearing that wet squelch of your cunt, the slapping of skin as Toji fucked you until you went crossed eyed, slurring words they could barely understand.

“Keep slurring n talkin’ all dumb like that princess, fuck this cunts so fucking good.” Toji growled out, he sounded feral, slamming harder into you and he watched as he took you to seen stars.

“That’s it, fuckin’ let go, give it up.”

“T-T I’m gonna -you’re gonna make me-“

The noise that left you as you came made Satoru groan behind you, you sunk forward into Toji, burying your face into his neck. In return he turned his head, one hand rising to run through your hair and grip it, twisting your head to press his lips to yours, mashing them together messily and desperately as he groaned into your mouth swallowing your noises.

Satoru pouted behind you, briefly taking his eyes from your cum forming around Toji’s cock as he used it to fuck you.

Toji was mumbling against your lips, something Satoru couldn’t hear from his place above the the loud skin slapping and cum drooling cunt being fucked just under him.

His green eyes focused on you your forehead against his, his hand in your hair keeping you close and in place, talking you through something and Satoru watched as you melted for him.

“Breath,”

“I can’t- it’s too much, you’re-“

“You can, you’re fuckin’ gonna take it. You wanted this so finish what you started so stop whinin’”

“Toji-“

“Breath. Gotta let me cum princess, this pretty pussy too fucking good to stop, you gonna help me cum yeah? Fill you up?”

You nodded dumbly.

His eyes scanned your face, Satoru’s hands left you and Toji moved in quickly, his arms hooking under yours, crossing over your shoulders, on hand remained in your hair then other cradled the back of your neck. Your hands ran through his hair. His feet planted against the sofa, keeping your forehead against his he locked eyes with you as he started to fuck upwards.

Satoru pulled at his boxers, releasing his cock as it slapped loudly against his stomach. A hand reaching out to collect the slick and cum from your inner thigh using it to rub his head, a hiss leaving him as he mixed his pre with it before fisting himself, blue eyes focused on your pussy being stretched and fucked before him.

He did notice the position Toji had put you in, ignoring the jealousy of how fucking intimate it looked.

You didn’t fuck just anyone like that. It was close, messy and focused. Fushiguro was watching you like you were feeding his soul, those green eyes glassy with something he’d never really seen in Toji. That usual hardness broke, despite his brutal fucking and harsh words it broke under that stupid fucking look in his eyes.

The thought hit Gojo at the wrong time.

This really was more than sex between you both? Why did he suddenly feel so out of place, like he shouldn’t have stepped into something like this?

“I’m cummin’ Toji -again- fuck that’s it, fuck-yeah, there! There!”

His huge arms tightened around you, biceps bulging as they hugged you so tight like he was trying to merge your souls together. His hand cradling the back of your neck tightened as he moaned out to you as you cum around his cock for a second time —this time though you brought him with you.

“Shit- m’cummin’-“

His hips pinned up to yours, he lifted from the sofa as his toes curling against it, his stomach spasmed as he coated your insides. His hips fell back against the sofa, a heavy exhale leaving him as you panted above him, light tremors starting through your body.

“Oi,” a cooler hand skimmed over your ass, up your spine and grabbing your hair to pull you back from Toji, Satoru met his eyes “-suggest you pull out, else she’s getting double stuffed.”

Satoru’s spare hand gripped your hip and encouraged you to lift from Toji, his cock slipping out with a wet, cum soaked slap to his stomach.

“Shit, what a sloppy girl you are~”

Gojo eyed your dripping, swollen hole clenching around nothing, quickly guiding the head of his dick to your entrance to stop anything coming out.

“I’ll just use his cum to fuck you huh? Thanks for warming her up-“ Gojo taunted, that cocky grin on his face as he slapped his hand across your ass watching it jiggle.

Toji seen you wince despite the moany breath that left you as Satoru bullied his cock to the hilt without any adjustment, filling you again. Your hands curled against Toji’s chest and he felt you tremble above him.

“Yeah use it-“ Toji folded his hands behind his head again, sitting back to watch. Green eyes drinking you in as you jolted forward with every wet slap and thrust, tits bouncing against his as Satoru started his round of fucking you, “-not like y’have a choice, you’ll never know her pussy without it, Gojo.”

Satoru Gojo being quiet was unheard of, if anything the man only got more hyper and put his deflection tactics up to god tier when he had something troubling him.

It was fast approaching February and a specific date in particular was causing the eccentric blue eyes some dread.

Suguru’s Birthday.

It was 1am to be exact and you’d rolled over to find the bed belonging to Satoru empty. Toji was away on a job for the next few weeks and that was your allowance to stay in Saturo’s domain.

Toji was first after all, he made that point almost weekly with some kind of remark or holding some kind of action to solidify it.

Such a weird dynamic.

You sighed as you lay flat on the large mattress looking up to the ceiling with a frown listening in the silence to see if you could guess what he was doing.

“I swear to god if he’s sleep walking again,” you mumbled, flinging the thick, warm sheets off you dramatically you swung your feet from the bed and set on mission to find the man.

Grabbing his white shirt thrown over a chair in his room you slipped it on.

Bare feet pattered through the house and you actually felt annoyed by the fact your feet were getting cold —it was the middle of winter after all.

With how silent the house was you thought Gojo had left the penthouse but a sad sigh left you when you seen a low, dull light glowing under the door to the room Suguru once occupied.

“Oh, Toru.” You whispered sadly in the empty hallway.

Your hand hovered over the door, chewing the inside of your cheek, with an inner battle as to whether you should get involved. Gojo shut down and away, he was terrible with processing emotions.

Where Toji was more than comfortable with his, being the black and white guy he was, he was surprisingly easier to deal with in that regard —you knew where you stood with him even if he wasn’t verbal with affection. If he wanted something he had it, if he didn’t he didn’t have it around him. The difficulty with Toji wasn’t his lack of ability to process, Toji was a difficult character in the ways Gojo was easy. Gojo had more morals, he wasn’t as selfish, he didn’t spit venom. Socially Toji was horrendous as well, he was rough around the edges. He was cold and distant. Gojo was more polished, a social butterfly with the charm of a prince.

If this were Toji you’d leave him alone until he came to you.

Emotions and Gojo though? Different kettle of fish.

Entirely.

He needed a hug but he didn’t want anyone close enough to allow himself to accept it.

His facade and deflection was humour, a goofball —being the kid he never could be growing up. But he dwelled in a domain of loneliness that was cured by Suguru and him alone. You always thought Gojo handled his death a little too well, avoiding the grief process.

The blue eyes knew what he wanted deep down but he was scared of having it —of losing it, again.

Plus his enormous god complex only aided his fussiness on things.

You were surprised he lasted the last 6 months in this dynamic, you were convinced he’d get bored and go back to multiple girls on the go to aid his insecurities.

But he hadn’t.

So you needed to help him.

The door opened quietly and Gojo was sat on the end of Suguru’s bed, his elbows resting on his knees, legs man spread as usual. Hands hanging loosely down and his head bowed, hair covering his eyes but through the strands you could see his eyes fixed on the floor.

He looked numb.

“Hey, Sato.”

He didn’t move when your hand ran across his bare back, “-just gonna sit next to you, s’alright yeah?”

He gave some short hum as a response but stayed fixed on his position. You sat behind him, legs sitting either side of him and wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your cheek against his huge back. It looked comical, spooning a 190cm man who was built like a god, your smaller frame behind him.

He didn’t move, even when you gave him a reassuring squeeze with your arms.

“So, I was watching this video today on these kikufuku’s with cream and edamame, they’re your favourite right? Looks easy enough to make.”

You pressed a few kisses to his back, continuing to blabber to him quietly, filling the silence you knew he was wallowing in, in this room once occupied by his best friend.

“Also, I seen this really awesome photo of that bamboo forest in Kyoto, there’s loads of snow there at the moment it looked so pretty. I haven’t been there since I was a kid! Never seen it covered in snow though, ah, I miss Kyoto it’s so pretty there.”

You shifted your legs, placing them over his thighs and he reacted, his hands moved to grip your feet and rub his thumbs over the soles in a lazy attempt of a massage.

“I ordered you a shirt too, it’s really funny. It’s got metalgreymon on it saying digimon is better than Pokémon.”

A smile twitched at his lips.

“Yeah, it is.”

“I liked that horse one, not that weird ugly ass one. The golden one.”

“Pegasusmon-“

“Yeahyeah! That one,”

Gojo chuckled at your excitement, his hands giving a firmer grip on your feet as he started to come around, crawling his way out of that numb void with a rope you’d thrown down to him.

“You’re not alone anymore, Toru, not if you don’t wanna be anyway.” You mumbled, pressing your forehead against his back.

Gojo looked over his shoulder at you, before turning in your embrace.

“Is that right?”

You gave him a goofy smile and nodded.

“Yup! But you gotta work on it as well, you gotta meet half way.”

He hummed again, eyes drifting to look at his shirt draped over you, one shoulder hanging off and the buttons undone enough to show cleavage. Nipples perking through the material, small goosebumps on your skin. Your long, smooth legs either side of him and he knew you had nothing on underneath.

His eyes drifted to your neckline, following up to your plump, pink lips.

He leaned forward causing you to lean back onto your elbows, his hand skimming up your legs, pushing the shirt up as he placed it against your hip.

He knew it was over for him the minute he finally met your eyes, those beautiful fucking eyes looking at him all glassy, yet filled with something that made his heart warm.

And for once he didn’t wanna run.

“I’m here, Satoru,”

His mouth pressed against yours the moment the words left you, the kiss was hot, messy and desperate. He moaned into you as his tongue filled your mouth, his spare hand moving to pull down his joggers clumsily, freeing his hard cock as it slapped against his stomach.

He felt needy, desperate to be in you. He pressed you into the mattress, both moaning with breathy pants as he pulled your hips towards him, dragging you down the bed. Your legs wrapping around his waist and arms around his neck, burying a hand into his hair and tugging at it.

He rolled his hips forward, running the length of his dick between your folds.

“You’re still wet from earlier huh?”

You nodded against his mouth, not letting him pull away when he went to speak. He chuckled against you, smirking against your mouth.

“Says you, look how fast you got hard.”

Satoru shrugged, his large hands holding the globes of your ass, pulling his hips back he angled the head of his dick at your entrance, pushing forward and moaning into your mouth as he entered you, feeling you stretching around his cock swallowing him to the hilt.

“Fuck, m’never gonna get over how good that feels sliding in first time.”

Your hips rolled up into his and he set a feral pace, he was sloppy, stuttering and kissed you just the same. His hands gripping and smoothing over your skin like he was trying to feel everything.

“You feel s’good Toru-hah- god you’re fucking me so well.”

“Yeah? Gonna let me fuck you like this forever? You know I can’t be without this pussy now right? She’s so sloppy for me, she’s drooling everywhere for my dick.”

You moaned and nodded desperately against him, your heart starting to race as you felt that heat pooling in your stomach, he was so close he was rubbing your clit at the same time. His hips rolling into you as he fucked his dick against your warm walls.

Slurring affection for him, your body rolling to meet his as he fucked you with an intimacy you’d never seen in him.

“You can’t leave me-“ your blurred vision started to focus, hos words bringing clarity. He face burying into your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist making you arch your back, shift your hips down at an angle so he could fuck up into you hitting that spot he was looking for.

“—you can’t leave me.” He repeated it again, slurring into your neck as his pace turned sloppy.

It was too much for him, he felt like he was going to burst, he’d never felt love but he was pretty sure this was fucking it. This unbearable warmth that spread through his chest made the feeling rushing through his dick more intense. He felt so close to cumming as well, struggling to hold on and not fill you up. He could smell you mixed in with Geto, whose scent still filled the room faintly.

But it was enough.

“M’gonna cum,” he slurred, his thrusts becoming frantic but uncoordinated as he bullied his dick into your pussy, clenching around him,

“Yeah? Gonna be a good boy for me Toru?”

“Y-Yeah m’a good boy,” he replied dumbly, chasing that high he was about to throw himself over for you —because of you.

“M’cummin’ fuck- fuck, fuck fuckkk.” He lifted his head and smashed his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss, he exhaled heavily, a whiny moan crawled at the back of his throat. Hips pinning to yours he spasmed against you as he blew his load into you until he felt it dripping past the plug of his dick.

He was breathless when he pulled from you, holding himself up now by his elbows either side of your head. His arms shaking lightly as he collected himself, his dick softening but warming in your cum filled pussy.

“Y’know-“ his voice was a little shaky and he refused to look at you, instead he was looking down at the small gap between you now, your stomach heaving and his cock still buried in you. “-I’ll settle for this, if it means I get you. But I wish it was with Suguru, cause I know he’d have taken care of you better than Fushiguro or me.”

“Gojo-“

He shook his head, you could see his jaw clenching but your eyes widened when you see the drops fall onto your stomach.

“I don’t deserve you, s’fact. But I’ll try if you don’t leave me.”

Your hands cupped his face, thumbs wiping under his eyes gently, pushing away whatever tears fell from those beautiful blue eyes.

“Can you look at me?”

You didn’t force his head up, but gave him the choice and he did, your breath hitched in your throat.

He never looked so fucking handsome. His hair was a bit messy, his eyes glistening with tears that only made them look more beautiful. His huge built towering over you as he left his cock buried in you.

Vulnerable.

This was Satoru Gojo.

And you weren’t sure if you’d finally just fallen in love with him at that exact moment.

“You deserve love, just as much as anyone else.”

Gojo slid down your body and down the bed, hands pressing to the backs of your thighs he pushed your knees up to your chest. He didn’t waste a beat, burying his head between your legs, sucking on your clit and rolling his tongue in a circle around it.

“Fuck- Satoru- holy shi-“ you hissed, hands flying into his hair and thighs trying to tighten around his head.

He could feel his cum down his own chin as it leaked from you, your hips rolled and he leaned onto you more to pin you.

He was ruthless on your clit, slurring against your pussy as he spoke.

“Gotta have you cummin’ said I gotta meet ya half way right? Fuck- tastes like us. This why Toji eat you after after he’s cum in you huh?”

Gojo > I’m taking her to Kyoto, she mentioned wanting to see the bamboo forest. So if you’re back and she’s not there, don’t worry your fat head ‘bout it . She’s only being whisked away for a romantic trip by her most handsome boyfriend <;3

Received 230am

Toji sneered as he read the message that was sent this morning, before moving into the ridiculous amount of messages you’d sent. He swore to god if you were spamming him with fucking sloth photos again, that only you thought were hilarious, he was going to block you.

Brat > Hey, so I might have accidentally knocked your gun off the side whilst house cleaning and it went off. There’s a hole in your cupboard and it went through one of your shirts. Miss your grumpy ass, can’t wait until your back, miss lil T too.

Received 1030am

Brat > well, it’s not lil is it.

Received 1031am

Brat > think I just made that all worse.

Received 1031am

Brat > okay, I lied. Satoru keeps bribing me with stupid shit else he’s gonna tell you. I didn’t knock the gun off, I was pretending to shoot at an enemy, I rolled across your bed, my feet missed the floor and pressed the trigger when I landed. I’m really sorry :( I didn’t know it was loaded. don’t be mad!

Received. 1305pm

Brat > Do you want a pic of my boobies? They’re a good distraction and you’ll magically forget all about it.

Received 1615pm

Brat > actually can I have a tiddies photo? I miss them.

Received. 1630pm

Brat > Satoru is useless at DIY, I bought a new door for your walk in cupboard, he put the handle on the inside and I can’t open it.

Received 1945pm

Toji sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, elbows resting on his knees, sat on the bed of his rented apartment for the mission.

As annoying as your nervous spamming of texts was it was never enough to actually block you, in fact he kinda enjoyed it. After all he might as well use his phone for something other than calls for jobs, and get his moneys worth for buying a more modern phone after you verbally slaughtered him for having a, in your words, a flip phone with buttons that cavemen used and would only be able to send dick pics on in the form of symbols and numbers.

Despite it all, he enjoyed your bullshit you were more tolerable than Gojo in that way, mainly because he could fuck the brat out of you when you went too far.

Not like he’d ever tell your ass that.

You two were fucking chaos.

T > shame he didn’t lock you in it.

Sent 2100pm

Brat > YOU'RE ALIVE! Thank god, I actually called a funeral director to book an arrangement for you tomorrow.

Received 2115pm

T > you mean you’re still gonna bother me when I’m dead?

Sent 2116pm

Brat > Duh, you have no friends who else is gonna arrange it? Megumi is only 18 and he’s got the emotional range of a goldfish thanks to your mean ass. He’d just set you alight in the nearest bonfire.

Received 2117pm

T > why am I with you.

Sent 2118pm

Brat > idk I ask the same thing, then I see that dreamy look when I’m sucking your dick and I have my answer <;3

Received 2119pm

T > that’s my happy face cause you’re not fucking talking. It’s a state of bliss.

Sent 2120pm

He smirked at his phone, watching the little typing bubble appear as you started your reply.

Yeah, you were his little state of bliss alright.

Gojo > enjoy another night alone, I’ll keep her happy and keep her company… with ma duuu’hickkkk. <;3

Sent 2130pm

Satoru could get fucked though, he wasn’t even sure why he tolerated him. Perhaps due to Toji’s line of work he knew you’d be protected by Satoru, after all the guy was far more powerful that him.

© pharix 2023 permission is not given to repost, translate or post anywhere else.

[glennjaminhow]

My newest hyperfixation ship finally manifests as a sick fic because of course it does.

~

You Know Me Best

Tim wakes up disoriented.

While that’s not unusual for most, it is unusual for him. He’s alert before he’s even aware of his surroundings. That was drilled into him by the time he was four.

He rubs his eyes and groans as he pulls himself up, out of breath from the simplest task. He blinks through the darkness of his bedroom and sags against the headboard, careful not to get too comfortable. Dizziness brews in his skull, thick and foggy. He feels like he’s on a raft in the middle of the ocean, the waves relentless, violent, treacherous. It’s ridiculous. He’s in his bed, at home in Los Angeles. The idea that he’d be anywhere else is as absurd as it is impossible.

Okay. No big deal. He’s a little out of it, and that’s fine.

Kojo whines at his feet.

Tim runs a hand through his hair as he peels himself off the mattress. A wet cough rattles through his chest, but he ignores it in favor of letting Kojo out. The wooden floor is icy beneath his thermal socks. He usually goes outside with Kojo – sometimes even plays fetch with him depending on how late he got in – but not today. He feels strange… distant. Kind of like he isn’t really here. Instead, he stands at the door and stares out the frosted window, eyes heavy.

He jumps when Kojo barks.

“Sorry, pal,” Tim says as he lets him back inside.

The dog huffs and scampers away. His automatic feeder goes off, and then Kojo’s gone.

Tim should be eating too. He isn’t a big breakfast guy, so he typically just has overnight oats or a smoothie, but the idea of eating right not makes his stomach squirm. He has about half an hour before he has to shower. He could lie down on the couch – or better yet in his bed – and bundle himself in blankets, but the here-but-not-here feeling is so strong he’s afraid he won’t be able to get back up. He resorts to sitting at the kitchen table, too exhausted to make coffee even though maybe it’d help fix whatever is wrong with him.

Time passes in a glazed blur, too fast and too slow all at once. He autopilots his way through his morning routine. He brushes his teeth, combs his hair, puts in his contacts, throws on jeans and a hoodie, and is out of the house five minutes ahead of schedule. It doesn’t make any sense. Sometimes, he wakes up wrong, guilty or angry or upset or exhausted, but it never lasts this long. He’s great at snapping out of any funk before he enters the station.

“You okay?” is the first thing he hears when he opens the side door. Chen. Great.

He rolls his eyes. He just wants to get into uniform and on the road. Maybe focusing on the job will help.

“Fine,” he says. He heads to the locker room without looking back, even though the urge to read her facial expression is strong. Lucy always wants to know everything, even if it’s irrelevant things like his favorite ice cream flavor or that he’s allergic to strawberries. She’s like this way with other people too, but it’s more annoying because she was his boot and now she’s his gopher. It’s like he just can’t get away from her.

Tim changes. Grabs his thick police-issued coat. Coughs into his elbow a few times. Stands in front of the mirror to make sure his sure is tucked in properly and his hair is up to standards. Heads to morning roll call.

Lucy stops him before he can head inside. She places her hand on his chest; Tim shrinks back from the touch.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Tim nods. “I’m good.”

“You’re wearing your coat,” she points out. “You never wear your coat.”

“It’s December.” His voice is hushed and scratchy. Shit. He clears his throat, but it sounds weird.

Fantastic.

Lucy’s eyebrows furrow. “And?”

“Aaand I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Tim says as he pushes past her. “It’s just a coat.”

“It’s never ‘just’ anything with you,” Lucy mutters as she trails behind him.

Tim ignores her.

Somehow, by the grace of whatever, Tim doesn’t have to say a word during the briefing. Grey does all the talking, even down to announcing their jurisdictions and duties for the day. Tim stands off to the side, arms crossed over his chest and giving his best thousand-yard stare. He doesn’t focus on anything because focusing means feeling, and feeling means acknowledging that he’s shivering. Hard. So hard he swears his teeth are chattering.

No one seems to notice. Good.

Grey releases them. They disperse.

By the time he makes it to the shop, Lucy’s in the driver’s seat.

The urge to be in control is strong, but not as strong as the urge to sit down.

He’s thankful the shop is already warm, heat cranked to the max.

Lucy immediately passes him a thermos.

“Tea with honey,” she says.

Tim buckles his seatbelt and nods once. “Thanks.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m fine,” he tells her again.

Is it really that obvious?

He has to get better at hiding these things.

“Do you want an applesauce pouch? It could help your throat.”

Tim frowns. “Like the things that little kids eat?”

“Adults can eat them too,” Lucy says adamantly. He doesn’t know why he believes her. “I have apple, cinnamon, and peach mango.”

“Pass,” Tim says. “And my throat is fine.”

Lucy rolls her eyes. She hands Tim his sunglasses, which were tucked away in her breast pocket for some reason, and puts the shop in drive.

Tim puts them on without a second thought, pulls the sleeves of his coat over his hands, and crosses his arms. He stares out the window as they drive through the busy streets of LA. The morning is drizzling and overcast, but that doesn’t stop the Christmas festivities. He should be BOLOing and patrolling even from the shop, but the road ahead of him is fuzzy. There’s a tightness in his chest that builds with each passing second. He gulps and shifts in his seat, biting his bottom lip. He should be able to handle this. Whatever it is, whatever is going on with him, isn’t bad enough to cause all this drama.

He can handle it. He can handle it.

And he tries to breathe through it. He really does. But now he’s nauseous, and his mouth is salivating, and each blink hurts. His dad would kill him. His military brothers and leaders would laugh in his face and tell him to suck it up. Because that’s what he should do. That’s what he has to do. He needs to suck it up. He doesn’t know why he can’t. But the fact that he can’t means that he’s out of control and being out of control means chaos and chaos means –

“Tim?”

He swallows thickly.

“Pull over.”

She does, and Tim is barely able to open the door before he spills out onto the concrete below, coughing up nothing but bile. His stomach heaves. Everything is raw and exposed and open, and he doesn’t like this. He shouldn’t behave like this. He should be able to hold it in like he always does. But he doesn’t hold it in. Of course he doesn’t. That would take a level of discipline that he clearly doesn’t possess.

“It’s okay,” he hears. The voice is soft, kind.

Lucy’s hand is on his lower back, rubbing it in soothing circles.

He shakes his head. “’s not okay,” he mumbles, swiping at his messy chin with his hand. He hiccups, and more bile splatters on the ground below.

None of this is okay.

Tim screws his eyes shut when Lucy’s hand leaves his back.

He coughs and hunches in on himself. Maybe if he curls into the smallest, tightest ball imaginable, he can disappear. His heart hammers in his chest, skipping beats and double-timing. The rest of his body feels like it’s been stored away in a deep freezer for months on end. He tries to hide his face in his knees, but moving is a herculean effort. His limbs don’t feel like they belong to him anyway, so it’s pointless.

“Tim, hey,” he hears. The hand on his back returns and then moves to his shoulder and then to palm his forehead.

His instinct is to flinch away, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t.

“I’m gonna clean you up a little, and then we’re gonna get you home.”

Tim shakes his head. He doesn’t know why there are tears streaming down his cheeks. He can’t remember the last time he cried, but he’s sure it wasn’t because of something as dumb or idiotic as not feeling in control.

Lucy unclenches his hands for him. Cleans them with something cold and wet. Does the same thing to his chin and the front of his coat. Tim shivers. Coughs again. Blinks rapidly. He doesn’t – maybe can’t – fully understand all of what’s happening. Delirium settles in, nestling and burrowing. He just knows one second he’s on the ground and the next he’s sagging against Lucy’s side as she helps him into the shop. She wipes his cheeks with her thumb and buckles him in, safe and sound. Tim leans on the door, pressing his cheek to the cool window, hoping that it’s enough to ground him, to help him stay in reality, to let him get back to himself in one piece.

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe through it, but things – everything – just feels wrong.

Tim isn’t sure how or when it happens, but somehow he’s in his bed. His gray comforter is soft against his skin, pulled up over his chin. He tries to roll onto his back, but he can’t seem to muster the strength. Instead, he coughs wetly and attempts to place how he got here. He’s home, so it isn’t anything sinister, and he knows Lucy was with him the whole time. His former boot wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him. It’s weird to acknowledge that, to understand that someone has his back, but he knows it’s the truth.

Something wet drips from his forehead and down his cheek.

Tim blinks. His arms feel like they’re glued to his side.

“Any better?” he hears.

Lucy comes into his line of vision, kneeling down in front of him. She replaces the wet thing on his forehead – a washcloth apparently – with an icepack. Tim bites his bottom lip and winces.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “But you’re gonna hate this even more.”

Lucy invades his cocoon, exposing him to the air outside. Tim lets out a groan that’s dangerously close to a cry and shrivels in on himself. Lucy places an icepack under each armpit, and this time tears swell in his eyes. The cold is immediate and fucking hurts. Like needles. He hates needles, but she’s right: he hates this even more.

“It’s just for a few minutes. Your fever is through the roof, and you need to cool down before you fry your brain,” Lucy says.

She pulls the comforter back over him. Tim wraps his arms around himself and coughs, body shaking harshly. He chews the inside of his cheek with chattering teeth. His dad would absolutely annihilate him for this… this…

“Tim,” Lucy whispers. She’s still kneeling down in front of him. “You’re okay. This is only temporary.

He gulps. “You sure?” His voice is weak.

Everything about him is weak.

“I’m sure. Just breathe. You’ll get through this.”

Tim nods. He looks at Lucy, whose brown eyes are shining with tears, yet also full of reassurance. She’s trying to make him feel better. He ignores the desperate ache for her to hold him close, to run her fingers through his hair, for her to whisper comforts in his ear.

He breathes. Closes his eyes. Lets sleep tug him under.

[breedingreading19]

TW: Gunshot wounds and blood

It was late, probably around 1 am, as Emma danced around in her kitchen blaring some random playlist off her phone, wiping off bits of flour and cinnamon into her trash can that she pinned up against the cabinets. Off in her own little world till she heard a knock on her window, after a year and a half of knowing Jason Todd, most would stop jumping at the sound but Emma still jumped dropping the small trash, making puffs of flour coat the bottom of her black yoga pants and a light dusting on the floor.

"Thanks, Jay. Can't text or call first no, you always have to scare the shit out of me" She mumbles under her breath walking up to her bedroom, hearing her dog barking at him but quickly hurrying to the window not seeing him in eyesight. Looking out, seeing Jason all dressed up in his Red Hood get up but sitting stiffly on her fire escape, clutching his shoulder. Unlocking the window, she steps out loudly.

"Jay!" She quietly exclaims, kneeling down to look more closely at him.

"Hey, you’re a sight, mmhm, for sore eyes. Can I get a hand?" He mumbles tensed up in pain.

"Yeah..." She says bending down putting her arm under his attempting to support him up but it takes a moment as they both hear some slight creaking coming up the lower end of the stairs. "C'mon, someone’s coming" She whispers into his ear, before heaving him up onto her body essentially and him nodding his head against her shoulder as he reaches for his pistol on his right hip. Pulling it out and reaching past her shoulder, using it to steady his aim, it failing pretty quickly as her heart rate speeds up and her body begins to shake hearing people being thrown up against the bricks and over the rails, Jason taking a deep breath before pulling the trigger. Emma holds her breath trying to not move.

"Get inside. Em. I’ll be in a minute" He whispers weakly

"No, you need to get that looked at" She replies harshly, "Let’s just go inside if they don't see us they won't know you’re in my apartment"

"Blood trace, babe. I gotta take em out now" He says take a few more blind shots before hearing a masculine voice echoing up the stairs.

"It’s me asshole, stop shooting. They’re taken care of" It yells up. Jason visibly relaxes.

"You followed me?" He called back as the man finally got close enough Emma could turn her head a bit and see a well-built man in a black spandex suit with blue lines running up the arms and legs with a giant bird in the middle of his chest.

"Um.. Hood, you need to get patched up c’mon, your... friend can come in" Emma breaks in feeling more warm blood oozing onto her skin. Jason nods him grunting as he climbs into the window quickly getting licked by the familiar dog. Emma and the new man followed through, Jason flops down onto the bed before ripping his glove off and stuffing his finger into the bullet wound. Biting his lip watching the man look around the room, as Emma ushered the dog into the bathroom before closing the door as she quickly grabbed the first aide kit she put together months ago, It was more or less a gunshot wound kit stuffed into an old first aide box. Running out of the room, closing the door in her poor puppies’ face, seeing Jason already taken his helmet off and it laying beside him on the bed and his shirt and cracked plating being thrown on the floor.

“I told you not to follow me” He says obviously annoyed at the man as Emma sat down beside him and sat out all her items. Pouring anti septic onto some gauze.

“Yeah, how would that have turned out for you?” He replies equally annoyed

“Before the two of you start fussing” Emma exclaims pulling out gloves and tweezers looking at the both of them. “How many bullets and what kind?”

“1, standard 9mm, my chest piece just got shattered by…. OH fuck! No warning?!” He yells as she begins patting the outside wound with the wet gauze as it burns away the bacteria already trying to set in.

“You saw me bring the gauze to your chest don’t act like you didn’t” She throws back at him both looking at the man as he starts laughing.

“You must be the nurse? Emma, right?” He asks as Jason winces as Emma brings the tweezers into the hole and pulling out the bullet

“Um yeah, how…?” She asks not looking at him focused on the job in front of her, propped up on her knees beside of him trying to be level with his shoulders her spare hand placed on his chest stabilizing herself.  

“He’s my brother. Alfred told him” Jason explains quickly closing his eyes

“Oh, um Hi. Theres drinks and snacks in the kitchen, uh make yourself at home.” She says unsure quickly turning her eyes to him and then back.

“Thanks, but I won’t stick around long just wanted to make sure he was okay, and also make sure he wasn’t coming back out. Bats said to take the night off, rest”

“No way, fuck you and him! I took this case because of…” Jasons yells but stops and chews on his words looking at Emma now stitching up the hole. “Because of the people involved and the two of you want to kick me off of it because I got shot, I’m finishing it, tonight!”

“No, you’re off the case because it’s done, Bats called the cops to arrest them” He says pointing out the window as loud sirens can be heard around the building and voices echoing inside through the window. Jason lets out a humph before rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, just get out of here Boy wonder”

“I think you mean thank you, but Emma it was nice meeting you. Thank you as well for helping my asshole of a brother.” He says walking to the window again, as she nods her head and waves, wrapping Jason’s shoulder up. “Oh, by the way, Nightwing or Dick Grayson if I ever see you around” He adds before jumping out of window disappearing into the night. Emma’s face contorts for just a moment realizing who this was, Nightwing. While never seeing him in person she knew the name, the connection between him and Batman and all the robins. Emma had known about what had happened in Ethiopia all those years ago, Jokers heinous beatings, Jason’s bitch of a mother, if you could even call her that, but Jason didn’t just have a connection to Bruce Wayne and Wayne Intercorps as a whole but also Batman. She blinked her eyes for a few moments as she turned to close up her supplies, but the thoughts didn’t leave her mind. It had only been a few weeks since she met Pennyworth, and she decided to let most of it go. Jay’s life was complicated from the endless nights of patrol to save the city to the odd amounts of money he seemed to have flowing at the seams to the elephant in the room since the first time they met, as she struggled to take off his several layers of chest protection only to find the autopsy scar littered down his chest. He was nearly passed out from blood loss from a laced bullet wound. Nothing had ever made her think about Jason and the Red Hood being connected though, not on a personal level, not on the level that made Nightwing his brother. ‘Nightwing his brother’, she repeated in her head. Nightwing is Dick Grayson also Bruce Waynes’s son, Nightwing was also rumored to be Batman’s son as well, but that would make Bruce Wayne, Batman. Her eyes blinked once more as her hands betrayed her as she went to put the cap on the peroxide but instead the bottle tipped spilling onto her pants. Taking a deep breath as the cold seeped, finally hitting her pants and hearing Jason’s obvious annoyance as he mumbled something under his breath. She took a deep breath before turning to look back at him.

“I’m glad you’re okay” She mumbles just above a whisper he stops his annoyed commentary as she spoke and a smile barely crossed his face with a hint of the crinkles as the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah… me too… and he’s right, thank you for always being here for me.” He adds in before focusing on her face for a moment and reaching his hand out to cup her cheek. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, um nothing just spilled some peroxide but let me worry about that” she said shifting around to face him, twisting the cap once more before laying it down behind her

“That’s not it” He replies his eyes giving off his disbelief as she shakes her head

“I’m fine really” She replied before leaning in and kissing his cheek and moving her lips over his. Their lips moving against each other, her other hand moving to his good shoulder before moving it down to the little bit of fat the man kept at all right around his midriff, but the second her hand applied any pressure she could feel the hard muscles underneath. Groaning slightly into her mouth his hands made their way to her hips, grasping onto the plush before moving her into his lap, never once breaking the kiss. Hands moving across each other’s bodies as Jason lays back bringing her down with him as his hands begin to slither up her shirt feeling the soft satin bra she bore underneath. A few moments later a muffled husky howl and scratching can be heard from the bathroom as Emma pulls away laughing to herself.

“Cock blocker” Jason fake fusses turning his head to the door. Emma once again shakes her head before getting out of Jason’s lap as he groans a bit, putting his head on the bed.

“Oh, stop being a baby. You need to rest anyway.” She says walking over to the door not bothering to put her shirt back on. Letting the ball of pure fluff and crack energy out of the bathroom as she begins to jump up on Emma.  

“I would have been resting, and sides when did you graduate from medical school?” He chimes in standing up from the bed and walking over to grab some clothes that he had left here over many times patch ups or just nights spent in this bed.

“Haha, remember that the next time you want to know what medicine to take when you have a stuffy nose” She replies with fake laughter watching the dog run over to him and barking at him as she sat patiently beside him. He pulls his fresh shirt onto his body with a few grimaces of pain before turning and rubbing her head as a dog smile spreads across her face. “And you say I spoil her” Emma adds in as she grabs her t-shirt and unclasps her bra before sliding her shirt back on.

“You do but I can’t make it any worse”

“Whatever, if you give them another hour you can have some homemade cinnamon rolls”             

“Yeah, how about some cinnamon rolls and a conversation about my family since you met Dickwad already” Jason says running his arm through his hair. “And Bruce has been bugging me about bringing you around”

“Oh?” She says grabbing the first aide container and walking it back to the bathroom. “So do I pretend I do or don’t know your odd playboy billionaire father is also the terrifying batman or are those card out on the table these days?”

“So that’s why you looked like that? You figured it out from Dick” he says as she walks back into the bedroom.

“Yeah, yeah… I also kind of was kicking myself for not realizing it a week ago” she adds putting her hand on her hip.

“It’s alright, you’re not supposed too. Bruce told me I should tell you but I was waiting for the better time, but Dick ruined that, as he does most things.”

“So cinnamon rolls, more family secrets and eventually I meet your family? Which I know from the news is not small” she says walking over to him and pulling on his shirt a bit as he wraps his arms around her waist pulling her into his chest.

“Not even a bit, but you tell me when your ready and then I’ll talk to everyone about when” She nods her head looking up at him

“Well come on I gotta put them into the oven hot stuff” She pulls away a bit pulling him to the kitchen as he playfully rolls his eyes as they both walk out of the bedroom with the husky in close trails behind.

[theluckywizard]

Kiss Me Moonstruck, Ch. 9: Mistakes are Made

Hawke x Trevelyan | Dragon Age 2 | Matchmaking Mischief | Fluff and Smut | Fish out of Water | Romantic Comedy

Gif by dearest-and-nearest

Chapter Summary:

Rose stews in the delights of The Hanged Man. Garrett enjoys himself a little too much.

Fic Summary:

Smashed together in a matchmaking scheme cooked up by their enterprising mothers, Garrett Hawke and Rose Trevelyan are forced to endure one another for a whole week over Satinalia at the Hawke Estate. Rose hears he’s a swashbuckling treasure hunter, as wild as he is handsome and as ill-bred as he is rich. Garrett suspects she’s a brat of an ingenue by the string of rejected marriage proposals behind her. Determined to prove to the other that they could not be less compatible, they quickly find their mothers’ plot might be working better than they thought.

Excerpt under the cut 👇

Garrett’s friends seem to be kidnapping her.

“Just bring her back in one piece,” calls Garrett, watching her go with his arms crossed. Rose peeks at him over her shoulder, watching as Garrett is promptly solicited for another dance by a woman squeezed perilously into a bodice with her shoulders out. Rose wonders what it is about the partial outfits in these parts. It’s Firstfall. When Garrett declines, the most absurd sense of relief crashes through her.

“Something tells me you’re thirsty,” says Isabela, sweeping Rose along to the bar, her jewelry clinking as she slinks along. Elbow on the bar, the woman studies Rose with an incisive smirk that leaves her sure she’s about to be dissected five ways.

“So you’ve come to stake a claim, have you?” says Isabela, catching a bottle that comes sliding down the wet bar. She stands and leans into the barkeep’s space to claim three tiny tin cups for herself. Isabela lifts her chin in the direction of Garrett. “Ladies have been queuing up for him since he struck it rich. Even before.”

Rose searches for the right retort as the woman pours three fuming cups of whatever is in that bottle.

“There’s no need for blushes,” says Isabela. “I’m a fortune hunter myself.”

Merrill looks dazzled. “Are you a pirate, too?” She glances between Rose and Isabela. “Oh— you meant something different.”

Rose levels a frosty look at Isabela. “This isn’t my scheme. I’m just trying to make it through the week without collapsing under the weight of my boredom.”

Beneath a trenchant stare, Isabela nudges a brimming cup toward Rose. “I’ll toast to that. A drink for the stout-hearted.”

Well she won’t let a little liquor cow her. Rose throws back the booze. A pathetic croak pops out of her before she coughs once, her eyes stinging and watering. Rose glances between Merrill and Isabela who watch her with equal interest though Merrill only peeks over the top of delicate sips of the same stuff while a feline smile spreads across the pirate’s face.

“You claim you aren’t here for Hawke, but that doesn’t explain the dancing. The smiles. The utter unwillingness to partner with anyone else.”

“I think he likes her,” offers Merrill. But the pirate is playing a deeper game, one beyond the elf’s callow suppositions.

Rose huffs. “Can’t a woman flirt without it becoming an entire romantic plot?”

“Of course. Flirt. Frolic. Fuck,” says Isabela. She lingers over that last word with such suggestion that she practically tills the idea into Rose’s mind.

“A romantic plot sounds lovely, though, doesn’t it?” says Merrill, becoming the second person to pick up Rose’s braid, stroking it in curious admiration.

Isabela appraises her again, the bottle tinging beneath her fingernails. She refills Rose’s cup.

“Still. By my standards you’ve entered shit-or-get-off-the-pot territory.”

“What does shit have to do with anything?” Merrill whispers to Rose. But Rose is busy searching for Garrett’s head towering over everyone else’s, lifting her chin to peer over other guests that press toward the bar, squeezing into spaces on either side of her and the other two. Something small inside her crumbles when she doesn’t find him.

“He’s just there,” says Merrill helpfully, pointing to a table. Garrett sits flanked by other revelers in affable conversation, gesturing with their cups. Transfixed by the way he drops his head when he laughs, by his waggish slouch in his chair, by all the ways he’s scrappy round the edges, Rose flushes. He looks up, spearing her with a dashing smile across the mayhem and then raises his tankard to her. She answers with her tiny cup.

“Just look at that mushy face,” says Merrill, her affection for him plain.

Read the rest here | Start the fic here

DAFF Tag List

@about2dance | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @blarrghe | @bluewren | @breninarthur

@crackinglamb | @delicatefade | @dreadfutures | @effelants | @exalted-dawn-drabbles 

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 @plisuu | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @queenaeducan | @warpedlegacy

[visceravalentines]

threw this little blurb together based on a conversation with @curlytemple about the possibility that Benson meant to kill everyone at Burgersx3 including himself and uh......read at your own fucking risk, man.

tw graphic depiction of homicide, suicide, and animal death. reference to past child abuse. dead dove, do not eat.

in his dreams, they all die.

it plays out pretty much the same at first. he hits Chris in the gut, again, on purpose, again. he can still hear his old man saying "a gut shot's a helluva way to go, kid." sometimes, in the dream, he pulls the trigger again for the mercy kill. sometimes he doesn't.

Hardy's faster in his mind. makes it a little closer to the phone every time, but he gets him. he always gets him, and he always takes half the office down with him, papers and cups and pens and shit all over the floor.

it's funny, when it happened for real, he didn't hear Jess screaming until he was looking right at her, and then it was all he could fucking hear, all he could fucking think about, and she wouldn't fucking stop, and he tried to get her to stop, but what're you gonna do? what's he supposed to do? it's the same in the dream. she isn't screaming until he turns around and then she is and she always was.

he never sees it hit her. the camera of his mind always shifts angles. there's probably something to that but he can't think what and he doesn't really care. all he knows is, the sound her body makes when it hits the ground makes him think of when Ma would sit up late at the table and he'd know it meant the fucker was back in town, and he'd excuse himself to his room and out the window for the evening. easier for everyone that way.

that's all pretty much standard. it's the next part that's weird.

he feels the gun in his hand, hears the break and the hollow plastic clatter of spent shells on the linoleum. he just fucking mopped. he reaches in his pocket for the last two rounds.

once, he looked down and saw something written on one of them in permanent marker or some shit. a B or an R or something. but everybody knows you can't read in dreams, and it only happened the once as far as he can remember.

he walks slow, real slow, dream slow, around the tables until he's facing him head-on. and he's high-def every time. wet cheeks, trembling lips, and those fucking eyes, blue in a way that can't be real. lashes long like a girl's. looking at him with the blind fear of a baby animal too fresh-born to understand but with enough sense to know it's fucking over. enough instinct screaming in the blood to stay still, stay still, don't breathe, stay still.

stay still and let it happen.

stay still until it's over.

don't breathe or you'll never get the fucking smell out of your nostrils.

he tastes bile in his mouth when he pulls the trigger.

he never runs. never even tries. he hits him in the chest, dead center, every time. and he crumples like a beer can under a boot. goes to the ground with this soft, feathery gasp that echoes in his brain. it makes him sick.

he steps forward, stands over him. it takes him way too long to die, way too fucking long. the mess of his chest is seven shades of red. sometimes he can see his heartbeat in the swell and collapse of gore, and that's how he knows he's dreaming. because no man on earth takes a blast of buckshot to the ticker and keeps ticking.

it reminds of the time he hit a rabbit doing 95 on the canal road, vision so blurred he could barely see past the hood of the car. how he slammed on the brakes, skidded to the shoulder, and through the cloud of dust he watched the thing heave and die in the scarlet of his taillights, and he gripped the wheel so hard his fingers hurt the next day and sobbed until his voice went hoarse.

he never cries, in the dreams. never feels regret. never feels much of anything.

he stands and waits. watches the blood bubble helplessly on his lips, the tears coming down in sheets from those eyes. those fucking eyes. looking back at him glazed-over and heavy with an apology. more remorse in those eyes than he's ever felt for anything in his life. and it hollows him out. cleans him right out like a carcass strung up in the yard. empty in the ribs. blood all over the ground.

some of it oughta be his, right?

so he flips the gun, and from the floor he watches him do it, and the funny thing about dreams is that he sees it from both angles at the same time, from his own perspective and from the ground looking up with the light growing cold and faint around the edges.

he nestles the muzzle snug under his chin, back against his throat. you gotta aim it right or you'll miss the brain, blow off your face, and then you'll really wish you were dead. good thing he can see it from both angles. make sure he gets it right the first time.

he's not scared, before he pulls the trigger. for one goddamn glorious moment, he's not scared of anything.

it all goes red when the gun goes off, the red of taillights in the dark, and he never wakes up with the bang. no, he wakes up one...two...three seconds after with every muscle clenched and his tongue clamped between his teeth. and he stares up into the black and waits for it to come back to him. how it really happened. where he is. who he is.

what he's done and what he hasn't.

it's only once he's sure of things that he seeks him out, sends a hand roving through the sheets until it meets the angle of a hip or an elbow. sometimes that's enough. sometimes he won't allow himself more.

sometimes he will. sometimes he needs to. sometimes he rolls to the side and pulls him in under his arm like a teddy bear, shoves his face into the bone of his shoulder and pretends to sleep until the sun comes up.

either way, he spends the rest of the night trying to forget. trying to forget the sound, the screams of a girl or a boy or a rabbit. the smell of blood and gunpowder. the heat of steel against his throat.

the feeling of feeling nothing, nothing at all, when he looks into those eyes, blue in a way that can't be real.

[stinkfacestories]

What’s the worst face fart you’ve ever given somebody?

Alright buckle up because this one's nasty even by my standards:

It was early in my college career. I ate like shit back then. Not like now where I only eat like shit and drink. Around about two mins to half time my gut gives me a warning. You know the type. The kind that says I better hope no one else is in the bathroom when I birth whatever crime against God I've had brewing in me. We're outside and I gotta hold it for at least two minutes because I'm not sure if I have to fart or take a shit.

So next play the ball fumbles and I go into the pile. I land hard and my gut did not like it. From behind I feel someone fall on top of me, the. Someone fall on top of them. I can feel the guys face pressing into my ass. All this pressure I know what's going to happen. I try to hold it back, but my asshole just opens up. Let me see if I can describe how it sounded. I want you to imagine a wet balloon just let out, only deeper. My gut just deflates in this poor guys face for what feels like an eternity. Thank fuck I was wearing pants because I'm pretty sure it's the only thing that kept me spray painting this guys face.

All in all though after I felt better and we went on to win

[ohtobeleah]

Doing this on anon because I'm not really confident yet >. > for your #strictlyscandalous blurbs, Bob Floyd being introduced to a femme fatale-esque fellow pilot? I leave the rest to your imagination ❤️

“Should we help him?” Mickey had gone into what he thought was cardiac arrest when he heard the commotion coming from inside the men’s showers on base. “If he’s in there with Venus he’s gonna end up on the news tonight." Fanboy teased as he threw his wet towel into the nearby hamper. Bob's near-painful grunts filled the gap between when he'd finished his last sentence to now. "Robert Floyd—dead at thirty-four.”

“Ahh! Ohh fuggh—!” The sounds of Bob moaning filled the changing room once again, only less painful and more pleasure-filled. The stream of hot water spewing from the shower head was doing nothing to muffle his cries. He never swore, ever. But you had cuss words dripping from his tongue like liquid gold. "I can't--fuck!" Bob pleaded, he was so in over his head it wasn't funny. But god it felt so good.

“Such a needy little boy—“ Mickey's eyes widened as he cupped a hand across his mouth so he didn’t spew out a slew of laughter. How the fuck had Bob managed to find himself in this position. “Beg for me baby—you can take it, I know you can.“ An unmistakable sound of a slap cracking against wet skin rang out throughout the changing room. Which body part it had collided with Fanboy wasn’t too sure. But it sounded like it stung in the most perfect way.

“Need it—ahhh fughh, need it so bad.” Bob cried before the same sound of an open-palm slap rang out. Fanboy flinched, holy shit Bob was getting his ass beat. Not to his surprise, you had a reputation for being a man-eater.

“It sounds voluntary—“ Jake smirked as he stood up from where he’d been changing out of his standard issue boots back into something more comfortable. “I say we let him learn his lesson not to feed the animals.” Jake had zero sympathy. He’d been there and done that a million times before. He knew girls like you like the back of his hand—like a Venus fly trap. Pretty enough to lure your prey in close enough to have them squirming in the palm of your hand—then you attack. Bob just happened to be on the menu. “It’s Venus for crying out loud, he should’ve known better than to mess around with her—“

“She’s gonna kill him, man—“

“She'll keep him breathing just enough, let him learn a valuable lesson.”

Mickey may have been right. If only he could see the way you were riding Bob on the floor of the shower. His back against the tiles as he babbled like a little bitch at everything you gave him.

“Such a pretty boy for me.” You had to keep Bob's head still by wrapping your hand around his throat, watching as his face turned a nice shade of dusty red as you constricted his airway. “You gonna cum for me huh Floyd? gonna cum so soon? can't you handle me huh?" You were killing him, truly Bob couldn't breathe. But the way it made him feel was otherworldly. he didn't want you to stop as his body tumbled under you as his hands gripped as your hips, nails near drawing blood as his grip tightened the closure he got to his high.

“Pl-please.” Bob's practically sobbing as you slow down the pace. “Please, I’m begging—“ When you slap his cheek a little harsher than the last two times his eyes grow wide as you let him breathe again. Gasping as you picked up the speed you were flicking your hips and he was done for. “Ohhhh fugghh I’m cumming!” It hurt just as much as it felt amazing as you rode Bob through his high. He couldn’t think, couldn’t see, couldn’t control his appendages as he twitched and babbled incoherent nonsense. Flooding you with everything he could give you.

“Lay the fuck down.” You barked as Bob did what he was told. Mesmerised as you climbed him like a tree. Sitting perched on his face for a moment. “Fuck! Ahhh eat my cunt Bobby, clean your fucking mess.” He’d never had a woman speak to him this way before. He was addicted, needy for more and oh so thankful for what you gave him. "Ohhhh fuck yes! use that fucking tongue." Leaning yourself back on Bob's chest, you pinched his nipples to the point he was hissing into your cunt.

"Fuck!" Again, you had him begging into your cunt as you smothered is face. "Mmmm hurts." But he felt amazing.

“Holy shit what happened to your cheek?” Phoenix ran her hand delicately across Bob's slightly reddened cheek when he stumbled into the Hard Deck a little later on that same afternoon. “Did someone hit you?” Bob noticed the way Fanboy choked on his beer and Hangman snickered as he took his shot at darts. Fuck, they knew.

“I think I just got laid, or—mugged, or both—“ Bobs rubbing his neck, still throbbing from where you’d choked him out. “I’m not sure yet.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

#StricklyScandalous Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd

[karlachismylife]

I have four fresh asks in my inbox that all bring me immense joy and I wanna give all four quite lengthy answers, so asking for a lil bit of patience from my beautful anons, the brain juice is juicing (is this an appropriate thing to say considering that two out of four are piss-related? i dunno) 🙏🏼 I am once again sleepy for god knows what reason so I came here to ramble sleepily. Surprisingly no unhinged feral thoughts tonight.

Just Karlach, Soap and Ghost. Probably from the anarchist!Karlach au, but far, far down the line, when everything between them is finally resolved and their little weird and unlikely family is together.

Holy shit it somehow became a oneshot.

All The Leaves Are Brown

(Title from "California Dreamin'" by Hi Standard)

Dingy little apartment, messy and a tad bit unlivable, smelling like petrol, paint and cigarette smoke, partially stripped of furniture, half-painted murals on just recently plastered walls, window frames old and frail, letting draft in. It's okay, though, it's not that far into the autumn cold yet, so no need to whip out whatever hermetic paste they decided to try this year.

Just a little bit chilly.

Chilly isn't a problem for them. Not when both Karlach and Soap are living, breathing furnaces, tank tops and matching boxer briefs letting the heat evaporate from the big surface of their naked skin. And there is plenty of heat as they laze about on the old couch, casing coming apart in the most rubbed on places, pillows dipping almost down to the floor, a single spring trying to bite into Karlach's ass as she sits there, Johnny perched on her thick thigh with his hands running up her stomach, the fabric of her loose top bunching up over his wrists.

They're just kissing, slow, sloppy, sensual makeout, puffy and sensitive - they've been going at it for quite some time already - lips catching onto each other. Johnny catches Karlach's lower lip ring between his, tugs carefully, gliding his tongue over the steel piercing and further into her mouth - only for it to be caught by the tiefling, sucked on and melted in the clove aftertaste of the pretentious black-wrapper cigarettes she spoils herself with.

Pulling back a bit, he slurps the excessive drool loudly, as if he was offered a really sweet caramel candy, causing them both to giggle, Karlach's nose wrinkling irresistibly. Johnny kisses those wrinkles with his wet lips, then brushes them against the snake bites piercings at the corners of her mouth, touches her little eyebrow ring and finally presses a soft, barely audible "chu" to her forehead, rendering Karlach completely soft and peaceful, yellow cat eyes fluttering close and her big palms coming to rest on the small of his back, not even noticing that it makes the hem of his tank top ride up just like hers.

"Tryna heat up the place, are ya?" Low chuckle startles them just a little bit - after a certain amount of time you just come to terms with living a literal ghost, able to move silently even when the ancient floorboards of the cheap apartment creak even under cockroaches' tiny little feet. Simon's quiet appearance still elicits simultaneous "fuck"s from his two warm sunshines, and he looks pleased with himself as he detaches himself from the wall he was leaning on for god knows how long. Watching them. Soaking in their love he had to learn to accept.

"Aya, dinnae want ye tae freeze yer auld bones, LT." Soap grins at him, sliding off Karlach's thigh onto the couch that immediately lets out the most pitiful and drawn out plea for mercy a piece of furniture is capable of. Karlach next to him crinkles her nose again and slaps her bare thigh in a more than clear invitation.

"Come on, soldier. We missed you."

Something buried, rotten and probably almost dead flutters in Simon's chest at this simple, fearlessly sincere and thus invincible in its vulnerability admission. He thinks everyone in the room can hear the disgusting sound of raw meat, chopped up and disfigured, fed to the worms and rejected even by them, churning in place of his heart - but neither bright-eyed Johnny with a mischievous smirk on his face, nor visibly excited Karlach with her tail twitching and coiling around nothingness on the floor, seem to be turned off by the gloom and darkness that Simon is.

Even after everything he put them through, they are just as eager to have him, if not more.

He comes closer, big, looming shadow, wrapped in all black from head to toe - from the hood of his skeleton hoodie obscuring his eyes to the socks, probably not a pair since he can't find a single matching one after that one time he let Karlach deal with the laundry. Doesn't matter, though, Simon just needs them to be warm, and that they are.

Autumn is his season, season of wet decay and exposed death, but he still barely handles the cold. Winter will be hard.

Two hands grab him at the same time, a considerable effort put into pulling him onto the couch between two buff bodies. Giving in just for the sake of the pleading puppy eyes, Simon carefully lowers himself onto the poor thing barely holding up - and finds himself in a heatwave.

Karlach and Johnny are searing hot as they wrap themselves around him, muscular thighs thrown over his manspread, one leathery tail coiled under his knee, burly arms holding him down by his waist and chest as if he might wrangle himself free and run away.

He would. Just some months ago, he would. Run away and leave scorched ground behind himself, empty shells and shattered hearts.

His, whole, reborn and red-blooded, gives away everything Simon would like to keep to himself, as it pumps like crazy, sending cold, viscous blood to his skin to get warmed up by the external heat of his lovers and come back as red surf washing over the internal organs.

"Should've come to us sooner, mate, you're freezing," rings Karlach's genuine worry in his ear. Booming voice that used to bring some deep-rooted hate from within muffled as Simon watches her grab his hand and shove it under her tank top generously. Her chest is burning hot, like he dipped his hand into boiling water after holding it in ice.

"Stubborn bastart." Soap grumbles into his other ear, lifting Simon's second palm and pressing hot kisses to his scarred knuckles. Black hoodie starts to get hot. "Hiding from us won't fly, LT."

Karlach's fat scar glides under his fingers - she leans closer, careful with her remaining horn, and Ghost half expects her to kiss him like she was kissing Johnny - hungrily and sensually, but instead he gets a soft nose brush and a peck onto the little bump with a scar he has after breaking it how many times.

"Why so shy all of a sudden, lass?" It's a weak attempt to regain control, and Karlach has no one control her. She shushes him with a quick peck to his mangled lips. Then on his cheek. His temple. Split eyebrow. Corner of his eyes.

"Just taking my time to look at you, soldier. And I like what I see." Her smile is blindingly bright and genuine. Simon's ears feel hot - he can't believe he would blush from a single compliment.

Turns out, it's just Johnny breathing open-mouthed breaths onto the tips of his ears to warm him up. Caught in broad daylight, he just snorts with a grin and latches onto Simon's neck, bringing out the shivers. Now that his hand is free from distracted Johnny, Ghost can bury his fingers in the outgrown mohawk and pull, earning an immediate moan and a more eager bite to the neck from his predictable mutt.

"Wanna take this off? We'll keep you warm, Si," Karlach's impatience is too obvious - in the way her tail squeezes his knee tighter and her fingers tug on the hem of the hoodie, urging Ghost to get rid of it.

The thought of shedding his thick cotton hide is cold. But when he does pull it off with a casual tug somewhere behind his scruff and over his head, Simon doesn't even get a chance to shudder, two living heaters plastering themselves over his both sides.

Slowly, without much coordination and with apologetic giggle from Karlach at the sound of suffering furniture, they all lean onto the back of the couch and pull their legs from the floor, tangling them and her tail together.

"Ye good?" Johnny tucks his head into the crook of Ghost's neck, his hot, wet breath hitting his pale collarbone peeking from the T-shirt's collar.

"I'll fix the windows tomorrow, don't worry, soldier. Someone from the commune brought good stuff from the city and promised to share." Simon frees his hand from Karlach's tank top and wraps it around her shoulders, scratching at the base of her broken horn absentmindedly. He would've refused help from her people proudly not so long ago. Nothing he needs from the scum like them.

But that scum is family now. And the windows need fixing. And finally someone is doing or for him, not waiting until he deals with all his problems himself.

Karlach's heart can't beat too fast nowadays, but her ears still twitch and her eyelashes flutter when he presses a kiss to her forehead.

"S'alright, love. I'm already plenty warm."