#it's so fuckin cool man i can stare at these for hours...

[funkbun]

the progress of this one triptych seen throughout the game cause it's my favorite thing ever

[kingkunigami]

This man needs to leave me alone, I can’t think😭

Warnings: 18+, public sex, fucking in your childhood bedroom, Oliver is obsessed with eating pussy, Oliver is a menace.

Pairing: Aiku Oliver x f!reader.

Word Count: 0.8k.

Oliver doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.

It’s almost as if the word doesn’t exist in his vocabulary, as he’s pawing at your ass and pulling your panties to the side. Never mind the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a packed bar, patrons all around you as his fingers brush through your messy slit.

“Come on, baby,” He gives you that shit-eating grin and you swear you could smack it off his face as he presses a calloused finger against your puffy clit, “At least your pussy’s fuckin’ honest, I can feel her dripping for me.”

It doesn’t matter if you argue back, complain that you’re in public and he can survive until he gets home— Oliver always gets what he wants.

Which is why he managed to get you.

He doesn’t care if you’re getting ready for work, slipping into a fresh pair of tights as you slide them up your thighs. His hands already poised and ready as he presses you over your vanity, a shrill rip sounding through your bedroom as he tears straight through. Pushing his throbbing length through the gaping hole to press against your slit, a satisfied grunt vibrating deep in his throat when he feels you hug his cock.

“I’ll be quick,” He groans, fucking into you with swift, sharp thrusts but it still doesn’t mean you make it to work. Stumbling into the office an hour late with his cum still nestled between your thighs.

You can try as hard as you like to push his head away after he tries to settle between your plush thighs when you’re trying to video chat your friends, messy stubble tickles the supple skin as he mouths at your clit.

“Not now, Oliver.” You push at his brow as he latches on to your clit, flicking it with his tongue.

“Just mute yourself,” He groans, letting his tongue drag lower as it prods against your tight hole, “Or don’t, you know I don’t care.”

He even has the gall to blame you for it, it’s not his fault you have such a pretty pussy— why wouldn’t he want to devour it?

He’s especially a menace when he finishes a match, dragging you into the showers even as you’re trying to bat him away. Pining you to the cool tile as he works his frustrations out on you, unbothered about who sees and hears as your head lifts over the stalls. Leaving the venue with your skin dewy and damp hair a mess, a clear indication of what you were both up to inside.

“Tell your pussy to stop being so pretty, then I wouldn’t want her so bad.” He’s unbelievable.

It doesn’t matter if your poor little cunt is sore from the previous nights activities, or that you tell him you’re dirty. It only spurs him on more as he breathes in the scent of you, committing it to memory as he drags his tongue through your folds.

But the problem is you’re in your childhood bedroom with your parents down the hall. Certain he’s attempting to kill you when he suggests just letting him have a quick taste, promising that he won’t be long. Which we know is another big fucking lie.

He’s got your legs strewn over his shoulders as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved, even your hand over your mouth to keep quiet is no match for the debauched sounds of him lapping at your messy sex, practically slurping your essence into his eager mouth as you try to keep him quiet.

“But she needs it, princess. I can feel her clenching around me.” He’s insufferable as he continues to delve his tongue inside your fluttering walls, nosing your clit as he works you towards your climax.

You think you’ve found salvation when he makes you cum, your desperate cries of his name muffled by your hands as he works you through your climax. Fingers dragging against your ridged walls as he tongues your sensitive clit, eyes staring up at you with mischief and intent as he keeps going.

Your thighs clamping down around his head to try and push him away does nothing but goad him on, his strong palms grip you tight. Fingers dipping into the plush skin as he parts your thighs like the Red Sea, leaving you exposed for him as he continues his meal. Dragging his tongue from your clit all the way to your tight asshole as he does as he pleases. His face glistens with your release, your slick drooling down his chin as he gives you a smug grin. Reaching up to wipe the back of his hand along his mouth to clean it off before lapping it up with his tongue.

Oliver is used to getting what he wants, when he wants. Especially when it comes to you.

[spencewalterreid]

The Red Means I Love You

Summary: Spencer came into the restaurant you work at when you were in a bad mood, but nonetheless he has to see you again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female First-person POV

Category: Fade to Black Smut (TV-14)

Warnings: dirty talk, switch!Reid!!! switch!Reader, first person pronouns no use of y/n, date nights,hair pulling, neeeerd spencer, reader works at a truck stop, fade to black smut, smooches, second base. I think that should be it?

Word count: 4.3k

Author's Note: Hello again ladies!! I'm not sure how I haven't yet come across a riff fic off of Spencer and Cat's scenes, but here it is!! Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying they were a good pair, but the way their characters played off of one another was positively scrumptious. Here's an indulgence into that.

The first time it happened, I was working a 14-hour shift at a truck stop diner. I’d started my shift right out of school, and I was working until the next morning. Just an hour before he’d come in, we were slammed – every table in the store was full, and I’d only just gotten all the tables bussed. I was exhausted, my manager was hounding me, and I was on the verge of a full-blown breakdown. When refilling a Dr. Pepper for the jackass at table 32 who I had to argue with over the burger that he specifically requested onions on, I glanced up at the door as the bells rang. Oh.

He is... stunning.

My attention was abruptly yanked out of my daydream about the gorgeous boy that had just walked in with a handful of other people, and I looked down at my right hand wrapped around the plastic cup, which is now cold and drenched in the sticky beverage. Goddamn it.

“Boys, are you dining in?” I asked cheerfully as I grabbed a new straw, a smile plastered across my face. Stay professional. Stay professional. Stay professional.

“Yeah, we’ve got–” he paused to turn around and count heads– “six,” said one of the three men. Not the pretty one, though he was by no means ugly. He was tall, but not the tallest of the group (that title belonged to the one that caught my eye), with broad muscles laced under dark skin. He had a great smile. 

I glance back at table 32, who was rolling his eyes at the few-second delay. “Wherever you like,” I reply, swiftly returning to this grumpy-ass trucker. “Your refill, sir! Anything else I can get for you?”

He blatantly ignores me.

“If you change your mind, just holler,” I added, and as I turned to walk away:

“You can get me a new fuckin’ burger, this one got cold while I was waiting for you to finish flirting.” He slammed the second burger I’d brought to him back down onto the tray. Fuck you, dude. I’m already getting chewed out by the kitchen, but cool! Yeah! Okay!

“Yes, sir. I apologize, I’ll be right back out.” As I walked away with his tray, shifting it between fingers so as not to scald my fucking hand, I let a subtle sigh escape from my lungs.

10 seconds at the door. 30 seconds at the table. 15 minutes for food. 1 minute to bus.

I remind myself for the umpteenth time today of what’s supposed to be the restaurant policy. That had been out the door since 4:30 that afternoon and it is now… I glanced at the clock above the window as I slid the tray back onto it… 12:57 in the morning. Sick. Can’t wait to see the reviews.

“What was wrong with it this time?” The chef snapped, yanking the tray back.

“I’m just as annoyed as you are, I promise. He said it got cold. Just…”

She cuts me off. “Leave it there for a few minutes and come back. I’m not making a whole new burger.”

I did not roll my eyes, thank you very much.

Wheeling around on the balls of my feet and carefully controlling my breath, I picked up 6 menus and a matching number of silverware on the way to the round booth the group had settled into. I flipped on a positive tone to greet them. “Howdy, howdy! How are you folks-”

“Just say the word, and I’ll see him out,” the dark man interjected. The rest stared at him in partly shock, partly reprimand. I think the silver-haired one was his superior, he was carrying the ‘don’t interrupt her, asshole’ look.

“Uhm, sorry?” I glanced around the mostly-empty store, divvying up the hardware on the table in the meantime.

“The old fuck over there. If you want him to leave, I’ll make it happen.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looking me dead in the eyes. I chuckled uncomfortably.

“No, that’s okay.” I have a feeling he was not kidding. I swept my eyes along the table to make eye contact with each person as I introduced myself, but I risked a few seconds longer for the boy on the far left. “I’m gonna be your server tonight. You folks know what you’d like to drink?”

They rattled off their drink orders one by one (The dark-haired woman asked for scotch and I’m only a little sure she wasn’t being serious, and the one with the colourful clothing almost squeaked in joy when she saw strawberry lemonade on the menu), but the sweet-looking boy on the end took the longest.

“Sir?” I nudged, tilting my head down to catch his gaze under his hair.

“Yes, uh, what kind of coffee do you serve?” he inquired, pushing his menu in front of him on the table, trying to straighten the edge flush against the side of the table.

I stammered. “It’s just black coffee…” I replied uncertainly, glancing at the other members of the group.

“They don’t serve frappuccinos, Reid. Do you want the coffee or not?” the second blonde woman sighed, and I think she was probably just as far down her rope as I was. That slips from my mind, though, at the mention of his name. Reid. Cute.

“No, I just meant the roast,” he clarified, but at the uncomfortable look on my face, he conceded. “Yeah. Black coffee, please.”

If he slumped any further down, I think the booth would swallow him.

—-—-

The second time it happened, he caught me on a better day. Our breakfast rush wasn’t too bad, and I actually had a second server helping me that day. It was almost noon, and I was feeling far lighter than I was the last time. When I glanced up at the chime by the door, a smile far more genuine than last time crossed my face.

“Hello again!” I chirped, wiped my hands on my apron, and pretended not to notice his flinch. “Just you today?”

He returned my smile, albeit feeble. “Yes. It’s just me.” 

“It’s Reid, right?” Grabbing a menu and silverware, I followed him over to the same booth he’d occupied with the other five people last time.

“No, I- Well, yes. Derek uses my surname. It’s Spencer,” he replied, sinking into the fake leather and glancing around the store. “It’s busier than last time.”

Setting the menu in front of him, I followed his gaze. “Well, yeah, it was the middle of the night.”

“The coffee was Colombian roast with hazelnut,” he said. Huh? “You seemed confused when I asked what kind it was.” He nodded, like he was trying to remind himself. “That’s what it was.”

“Oh.” Did his lips look that soft last time? His sleeves are folded up his arms this time. “Your hair looks pretty,” I said before I could stop myself. Shut up, shut up, shut- “It matches your eyes.” My smile softens the compliment, but I don’t think that made him any less confused.

“T-thank you,” he replied softly, pushing it back on instinct. Change the topic.

“Do you, uhm.” I clear my throat and shift my weight. “Would you like a coffee, then?”

He shook his head with a grimace. “Absolutely not. It was awful.”

He’s funny. I guess I didn’t throw him too far off-course.

“Why did you order it, then?” I asked, not unkindly. He turned pink. Pretty.

“I didn’t want to make you more stressed than you already were.” Reid– No. Spencer adjusted the strap of his cross-body bag. 

“Did I seem stressed?” I asked, quickly chancing a look behind me to check for my manager. We’re in the clear.

“Ye- No, not like that. I’m, uh. I’m trained to read people well. You were walking at an abnormally quick pace, and you kept looking around when you were at other tables, even though there were very few, as though any second you’d be pulled away." He straightened slightly, setting his shoulders, as if he were in his element, but he still doesn't look at me, his eyes cast down. "When you were filling our drinks, you poured some out and refilled it more than once, which I assume was to achieve a perfect ratio, or at least one you perceive as such. And–” he looked up from his menu that I’m positive he wasn’t reading to look me in the eyes. “And the man at table 32 was being very curt with you. That would cause stress. Your manager behind the window wasn’t making it any better, I bet.”

I scoffed incredulously. “Good memory,” I said with a smile. “That was impressive. Yeah, I wasn’t in the best mood that night.” My voice lowered to a conspirational whisper, but I didn’t let my facial expression change. “But you helped. You have no idea how far a little bit of kindness goes. And hey, I never got the chance to tell you I was sorry for messing up your order.”

Spencer shook his head, stretching and relaxing his fingers above the table for something to do. “It was just a salad. I just took the tomatoes off, it was no problem.”

I smiled softly. He’s so sweet. “Do you know what you’d like to drink, Spencer Reid?”

He let himself genuinely laugh. “Good memory,” he repeats, an air of light-hearted sarcasm to his tone. “I’d like a sweet tea with lemon and– actually. I know I shouldn’t ask, and you absolutely do not have to answer, but uhm… when do you have a lunch break? Maybe we could-”

“Right now. I’ll be right back,” I replied, taking off my apron and walking to the back to alert my manager (thankfully, different than the overnight one.) They could manage without me for an hour. I was not passing him up a second time.

——

The third time it happened, we were on our third date. Spencer wanted to go to a museum, I wanted to do something a bit more interactive. We agreed on an aquarium.

“Actually, Parrotfish are one of my least favourite of the wrasse family, and definitely least favourite of the Labridae,” he countered when I insisted their colours were pretty.

“I didn’t say they were my favourite, Reid, I said they were pretty."

“No, I know, but I’m just saying.” He was practically vibrating, balling a fist and unballing it, and I could tell he needed to tell me number 1,001 of his facts in the last hour.

I sighed, an affectionate smile on my face as I turned around and leaned on the rocky wall. “Why are they one of your least favourites?”

Reid offered me a toothy grin. “The parrotfish has a tendency to coat itself in a bubble of its own mucus and saliva in order to protect itself from parasites and predators. It’s intended to mask their scent. Many refer to it as an underwater sleeping bag,” he explained with a grimace. Oh, that’s why. “I’m positive it only spreads bacteria, and if fish could get sick in the same way as homosapiens, they would all be sick all of the time.”

“You know, not for nothing, but I wouldn’t mind your saliva all over me.”

“Ugh! Gross!” Spencer staggered backward, glaring at me. “Don’t say things like that.”

I pout. “You’re not even a little curious what I taste like, Dr. Reid?” I stalked up to him, mocking a femme fatale in one of those cheesy black-and-white spy movies.

“Stop it.” He swallowed thickly and when I went to lay my hands on the sides of his neck, his instinctively found my hips. He glanced at my lips. I stared at his.

“Make me,” I whispered, deciding eye contact was a better choice. Good god, his face was red.

His mouth parted slightly and he squeezed my hips, then adjusted his bag. “Enough,” he asserts, and I’d be lying if that didn’t turn me on. In all honesty, I was totally doing a bit and I was just about to back off anyway, but yeesh. For the sake of my own sanity, I giggled and pushed off of him. He sighed in relief.

“Fish can get sick,” I said, changing the topic back to what he'd said about the parrotfish to ease his nerves. When he took more than a half a second to reply, I started to doubt myself. “Can’t they?”

“Well, yes, but not… not ill. They can’t have a sickness like we can. They just feel sick. Like, if they swim upside down, or have issues breathing, or if the water quality is poor.”

I pushed myself off the wall and linked a finger around the strap of his bag, dragging him along behind me. “Alright, last section. Lock and load, you’ve got…” I glanced at my phone. “13 minutes to give me as many facts as you can. Go.”

–

Spencer insisted (according to Date Etiquette 101 from Professor Derek Morgan) that on the third date, he had to take me to a romantic dinner. He still wants to stop by his apartment to get changed, so we’re on the way there now, and have 1 hour, 42 minutes and counting to get to our reservation. I brought a bag with makeup and a change of clothes so I could get done up too and not have to go all the way across town to my place.

Y'know, you wouldn't think it, but he's really a reckless driver. It isn't that he doesn't understand the rules of the road or how to follow them. It's more that he knows them well enough that he feels confident in breaking them. It's kinda sexy. He drives with his left hand only barely touching the wheel and his right hand in mine. It took him a long time of being around me to be okay with physical contact, but now that he's to that point, he's incredibly clingy. He turns a 25-minute drive into 18, and I guarantee that's only because there was a fair amount of traffic.

–

“Are you almost ready?” I hear a rustling sound on the other side of the door, then a muffled, soft scraping noise that suggests he just sat on the floor (which by the way, is clean enough you could eat off of it) against the door. I’m in his room also sitting on the floor, utilizing a full-body mirror against his wall, carefully tweaking my eyeliner. Reid didn’t want to see me before the date, said it was bad luck. It’s strange what he chooses to be superstitious about.

“Almost. 1 minute.” I lean back, raking my fingers through my hair and checking my appearance. Not to toot my own horn, but toot fucking toot, I look downright strapping. “Okay!”

Just as the word leaves my mouth, the bedroom door is flying open and he’s barrelling in, but he stops dead in his tracks as he sees me. “Wow.”

I spin in a little circle, my black, mid-thigh corset dress making a dome around me. “You like?”

Spencer approaches slowly, his eyes scanning me head to toe, right to left, and everything in between. “You… are magnificent.” His fingers twitch when he’s about a foot away from me as though he wants to touch me but chickens out. I gently take his hands and place them on my hips, emboldening him to slide his touch upward, over my waist and around to my back. I pretend not to notice his repeated glances at my breasts, as does he.

“Et toi, mon amour,” I reply, a fresh grin painted across my lips. “You look hot.”

He makes a sour face. “You ruined it.”

My jaw drops and I take a step back, feigning offence. His grip falls from my sides. “Fuck did I do? I can’t call you hot now? I’ve said that a thousand times, calm down.”

“I was being a gentleman,” he pouts. “You’re just being crude.”

“That’s not crude, Dr. Reid. If you want crude-”

“No! No, don’t do that. Save it.” He chuckles, stepping forward again and putting his hands right back where they were. I don’t stop him. “Just hush.”

I let him look at me for a few seconds, and I, him. Just a few until I started getting squeamish under the scrutiny. “Okay. Enough, we need to go,” I interject, pressing against his chest gently with my fingers splayed out. With a glance at the clock behind me, he nods.

“Après toi, ma ch��rie.”

–

Fancy, fancy FBI boyfriend-not-boyfriend rented out a whole room for us. Candle in the middle of a two-seater table, a window into the main room so we can see what’s going on, and a record player in the corner. The decor is upscale, but not obnoxiously proud. Lots of wood, mostly dark, but light walls. He even goes so far as to pull out my chair for me. 

We’re almost to the end of our meal and I’m taking pin-sized bites to try and draw out the time it takes to finish my lava cake. Reid has already called me out for it twice, but I have blatantly ignored him.

“Spencer,” I begin, cutting off a conversation about the history behind the Hays code and its relevance in a specific episode of Supernatural.

“Hm?” He straightens up, clearing his throat.

“I have a stupid question. You don’t have to answer it.”

“Go ahead.”

“What was your first impression of me?” My voice is low, unsure. I have time to cross my legs, then uncross them, then look at him, then back at my lap before he begins to reply.

“I thought you were pretty. You seemed agitated,” he says, slow, haltingly, like he isn’t sure if that’s the answer I wanted. It wasn’t.

“No, after that. When we started going out. What kind of person do you think I am?”

Spencer hums, folding his hands and leaning back. The seconds tick by like minutes, and god he looks delectable.

“You’re self-assured and conduct yourself as though you think you’re the greatest person in the world. You hand out compliments like candy and you flirt like you’re dying tomorrow because you want people to find you exciting. You think you have to have major sex appeal to attract a partner, which isn’t true, it’s actually quite off-putting.”

“You think having major sex appeal is off-putting?” I interrupt.

“No, I think overdoing it to the point of-”

“I’m not overdoing it! It’s just the way I am.”

“I’m not saying-”

“It’s just that-”

“If you’d stop interrupting me, I’d answer your question.”

I shut my mouth. That was hotter than it needed to be.

“Thank you. As I was saying, it’s clear to others, or at least to me, that you do not feel that way about yourself in the slightest. For the sake of honesty and because I always answer your questions to the fullest of my abilities, I’d say you find yourself almost repulsive."

My stomach twists. Does he find me repulsive? Why would he think I feel that way? Better question: How does he know I feel that way?

"When you first began getting into relationships, you were probably up-front about that because you didn’t know any better, but quickly learned people internalize what you tell them. So, to combat that reaction, you started acting like all you wanted from people was sex so it didn’t matter whether they liked you or not, which led to a lot of meaningless flings that left you feeling worse than you did when you were single.”

If my jaw were any lower, it’d be on the floor. I swallow my arguments.

“Tell me more about my sex life, then, Dr. Reid. Since you know so much.” I’m hoping he knows me well enough to know I didn’t mean that to be as bitter as it sounded. He does.

“You project dominance because you fear loss of control, not to mention your hatred of your own body. You wouldn't ever want to be the receiver in a sexual situation, or at least you wouldn't ask for it for worry of your partner finding you less-than-satifactory."

I fight the urge to ask if he'd feel that way, even if I know his answer.

"You only lightly dabble in more aggressive sexual habits, but your enthusiasm whether or not it comes across as joking suggests there’s more truth in it than you’d like for there to be.” He pauses, and I’m not sure whether it’s because he’s trying to remember his next line or it’s because I distracted him when I leaned forward to lean my chin against my palm. I forgot how much of my cleavage this dress shows. He licks his lips and moves on more elegantly than I thought he would. I take advantage of his silence.

“What about you, Dr. Reid?”

He blinks. “What?”

“What about your sexual habits?”

“I, uhm-”

I stand up and walk over to him, placing my hand on his shoulder before I settle on his knee. His hand goes to my thigh nearest to him and he catches my eyes, careful not to look away.

“Well?”

His composure repairs itself like magic.

“It depends on my partner,” he says, his voice lower than it was before, and I swear his eyes are darker than they were a few minutes ago. “I tend to let my partner set the pace. I can embrace aggression if the circumstance proves it necessary.”

Holy shit.

This, my dear reader, was the third time I thought: I’d really like to see just how red I could make you.

“What about me?” I ask, my throat dry. I think I’m more nervous than he is, but I’m taking it like a champ. I look down at Spencer’s hand (his very pretty hand, his very big hand, across my entire thigh. Has it moved up?), but he’s not having it. His free hand goes up to hold my chin firmly, and with utter and total reverence, he lifts my face to look him in the eyes again.

“What about you, beautiful?" He watches me carefully, brown eyes full of intent. My self-control right now is dazzling.

And if I said a little thank-you prayer to God for not giving me a dick with which I would be cursed a boner right now, then maybe that’s nobody’s business.

“What kind of aggression would you use with me?” I bite my lip and swallow, staring at his lips. Perfect, perfect boy.

He studies me for a moment, and I think he’s trying to make me squirm on purpose. His hand hasn’t left my chin, the bastard.

“Keep talking," he prompts. Yes, sir.

I could not tell you, gun to my head, where the fuck I got my bravery from, but hallelujah holy shit.

“Would you grab me by the throat and hold me against a wall?" Woah, where did that come from? Go me. "Would you hold onto me so hard it bruised? Would you leave marks that wouldn’t go away for weeks? Would you ever hurt me, Dr. Reid?” If he notices my face getting so hot it would rival the sun, then it was sweet of him not to address it.

“Is that what you want?”

“I guess I just want to know if you could,” I reply, my left hand coming up to his face, my fingertips tracing his bottom lip, my eyes glued to the point of contact.

“You have no idea what I could do, given enough provocation,” he whispers, finally allowing his eyes to fall to my mouth, parted slightly in awe.

“Are you gonna kiss me or not, Spencer?”

Rather than responding to me, his grip on my chin loosens for favour of travelling down my jaw, then to the back of my neck, curling into my hair, pulling just hard enough for me to feel the tension. “Fix your attitude,” he asserts, and then his lips are on mine and it’s all passion and fury and the taste of chocolate. I moan into his mouth on instinct, and his grip on my hip tightens.

If there’s one thing about Spencer Reid, it’s that he exists as a multitude. And if there’s two things, it’s that he kisses like a man fucking starved. Like he’s been suffocating slowly in a room with no oxygen, and once he gets a mask, he’s not letting it go. He’s teeth in lips, he’s hands roaming, he’s furrowed brows and mouths parting.

His right hand roves over my thigh furthest from him, dipping under my skirt just barely. He stays under the fabric and moves his hand to the top of my thigh, then braving the inside. He’s squeezing once or twice everywhere he touches, like the cliche of saying pinch me. I spread my legs instinctively.

As quick as it started, it stops.

I whine, my eyes opening slow like molasses.

“This is an incredibly uncomfortable position,” he pants. I only just realized the poor thing is not exactly on a sofa made for two. I may be snug as a bug in his lap, but the arms of the chair are digging into the sides of his legs. The recollection of our being in a fucking restaurant right now hits me in the face like a fresh bucket of ice water. 

“Fuck. Sorry,” I breathe, my hands tangled in his hair, and I’m not sure when they got there, or when they managed to unbutton the top half of his shirt, or how the straps of my dress are halfway down my arms.

“Bathroom?” I propose, glancing at the adjoining one that I am thanking my lucky stars for as we speak.

“Bathroom,” he agrees.

[radioisntdead]

Hi again so I was wondering if you could do a angel dust x fem listener where we comfort angel dust and he talks about when he was a alive and the

Struggle he went though and he probably mentions his sister Molly

Good evenin' my dear! My apologies for this taking forever to get too! I did tweak it a little bit, Angel and reader just kinda talk about their siblings and being alive here, not really comforting each other but talking?

Late night talk

Angel dust & F! Reader

Warning: drugs, both reader and Angel are intoxicated, and canon divergent because I don't think we know much about Angel's being alive, ending is kinda abrupt.

It was some unspeakable late night hour and the two of you were in some rundown motel room, far away from Valentino, surrounded by all types of drugs, alcohol, a first aid kit and empty food wrappers.

The two of you were quiet, Angel was dangling off the bed while you were laying sprawled on the cold floor, staring blankly into the ceiling that felt like it could collapse at any given moment.

"Ya' know, I'm a twin," Angel dust said breaking the quiet, his eyes focused on the yellowing ceiling.

"Twin?" You glanced over.

"Yeah, I had a' sister, her name was Molly."

"Oh neat."

Silence filled the air again as a few minutes passed before he spoke up again,

"Ya' know I don't think I stood a' fuckin' chance when I was alive,"

You glanced up at him, only seeing the white fluff of his head, "Weren't you born in like, the big scary spaghetti mafia?"

"Ya' mean the Italian Mafia, the spaghetti mafia sounds like we were doing pasta crimes."

"Well you were doing crimes with olive oil,"

"Okay that was not me, I do not fuck with the olive oil!"

You broke into a laugh, "You haven't yet! No idea what grape man might try next." You heard him gag.

More silence passed before he popped up, "But seriously, I never stood a' chance, ya know my brother and I started bein' taught about the family business when we were like, twelve?"

"Yeah that's pretty fucked, I remember being twelve and playing video games not being taught how to commit crimes,"

"Right? gave me my very first gun for my birthday" Angel turned over on his stomach looking over at you, He was right honestly didn't stand chance, he never did.

Born in a mobster family as the second son, with a horrific father and a mother who could do nothing but watch as her sons were raised to live a life of crime, she wasn't the greatest person either though.

His sister on the other hand, was lucky, kept away from the whole crime business due to being born a daughter as opposed to a son.

"Who the fuck gives a twelve year old a gun?!" "My Pa did, twice."

You simply blinked, you were no saint, clearly, but you wouldn't give a kid a gun and just go, 'here kill people!'

"Ya' know the first time my brotha and I had to dispose of a body together we accidentally dropped it? The bag it was in ripped open and I just saw this guy with no face, torn clean off, It was jarrin' at the time,"

You grimaced, "Ouch, imagine getting your face torn off, he was probably alive during that too, eugh."

"Mhm, painful process I can tell you that much."

You got up from your rather comfortable position on the floor to grab a water bottle you had tossed aside on the table in favor of liquor instead earlier.

"Pass me the bottle o' whiskey' will ya?" He asked, you lazily grabbed it and tossed the bottle over to him, one of his four arms catching it.

"You know I had a sister too," you said as you popped the cap off of the water chugging it.

"Huh, Ya' always kinda stuck me as an only child"

"Yeah, well I practically was, she was prepping for college by the time I popped out," you wiped the residue of water off your mouth with your sleeve before setting the half empty water bottle back on the table and going back to lay on the floor, still slightly warm from where you were laying.

"I used to look up to her when I was younger, she was the cool big sister who stopped by every holiday or break, the one that said I could 'Tell anything too' and she'd be there for me," you let out a rather dry laugh, "honestly a load of bullshit."

"Damn," He took a swig of his drink, drinking the rest of the liquid before tossing the now empty bottle aside, you could hear the bottle crack on the ground.

"You know what's kinda funny? My sister was the only one in my family to get past the pearly gates."

"Huh, mine ended up down here, girl didn't last a week before extermination day," you went quiet for a few seconds, "What the fuck even is this conversation?"

"No clue, I was talkin' about how my sister went to heaven and you're over here talkin' about how yours is double dead."

"One twin going to hell and the other heaven is some book tragic book trope nonsense,"

"That nonsense is what happened,'' he said pointing a shaming finger at you, Sometimes he wondered how Molly would react to how he was now, she would be disappointed or maybe she'd pity him.

Maybe both.

After all he overdosed, ended up in hell and sold his soul to a purple psychopathic freak, and well look at him now! Laid on a cheap motel bed, under the influence, sharing stories about his sister and parts of his life on earth to someone called a friend.

Sometimes he wondered that maybe if he was born into a different family, in a different time things would've been different, maybe he would've ended up in heaven.

His sister was the only family member he could stand.

They drifted apart when they grew older, as he began to indulge in drugs, from cocaine to PCP to whatever he could get his hands on.

His sister tried to get him to quit, and to be fair he did try, a few times only to end up back snorting white power up his nose, and well, he ended up overdosing.

"I remember once our parents went out for the night, Molly took out a bunch of her dresses and had me pick one, then she did my makeup n' everythin' and we were just talkin' as she did it, just causal no judgement, nothin' just us bondin' I guess, I miss that.''

"Honesty I'm jealous, the best I got from my sister was her saying she was a safe space, that I could go to her about everything and then turning around and throwing it in my face," you took a moment to sit up, "Thank fuck I didn't tell her much, I can't remember exactly what she said but it just gave me this like, sickening feeling that just said 'You wouldn't be safe around this person if you told them what you are."

"I know that feelin' fuckin' hate it."

"Yeah."

"I'm hungry, I want whatever hell's equivalent to McDonald's is,"

"What the fuck is a McDonald's?"

"How the fuck do you not know what a McDonald's is?!"

Good evenin' folks! I do hope you enjoyed this, I edited this fic and decided to get it out today as opposed to Wednesday or Thursday, because my somewhat estranged brother is supposed to make an appearance tomorrow and I am positively nervous so this was fitting! I tried a little different way of editing dunno if it's noticable but I think I'm gonna stick with it! Also why did I think to write so much dialogue??

Anyways as always thank you for tunin' on in and I do hope you all have a wonderful night!

[beans-core]

So. Rambles under the cut. I’m a little feral cause I’ve been postponing watching this for a hot minute.

moments from Batman v Superman that made me Feel Something:

the gun that killed Martha being placed just right between her necklace so when it shot her pearls broke. Like. Ough.

“Do you bleed?”

said while staring into Clarks soul with your glinting crazy eyes. such a very normal thing to say bruce. If this version of Bruce wayne wasn’t running around in a bat costume I feel like he’d be a mad scientist. he and lex could be crazy scientist buds who experiment on aliens together. Also the following “you will” after Superman flew away was cringeworthy but the first bit made up for it.

The whole conversation Clark had with his mother, along the lines of “you don’t owe them anything” : Thanks Ma Kent for being so real and true. Also great how Clark runs to her for every emotional crisis what a mommas boy /pos

“I’m older now than my father ever was.”

yo what the fuck that came out of left field and kneed me in the kidney. No words just ouch.

“This is my legacy.” … “The first generation [of Waynes] made their fortune trading with the French. Pelts and skins. They were hunters.”

Olay the look on his face when he said the last sentence was lowkey bringing back the crazy eyes— tempered of course bc it’s Alfred. But jeez no wonder his mask doesn’t cover his eyes because when he gets that freak glare you know it’s scary af for an opponent. Or sexy. Distracting in many ways. Someone put that expression under a microscope. Someone put him under a microscope.

“No one stays good in the world”

Before flying off? Just like that? Had to pause, debate whether to laugh or be suprised, and then just ended up saying “what??” at the screen.

Batman’s metal suit. Brother please you look like if a soup can wanted to be a real boy. I know it’s for a reason, two of those being to look shiny and to include platforms in your boots, but it’s so goofy. Goofy in a cool way.? Like it’s corny because it looks overly intimidating and dangerous, but it also does actually kick ass so. Idk man. Mixed feelings but the majority is LMAO

When bruce hits Clark with the kryptonite poof for the second time, Clark collapses … Bruce goes out of his way to rip a sink off the wall and break it over Clark’s head… i CACKLED. You have so many weapons, multiple that you made specifically for defeating Clark, and you use the FUCKIN SINK.

Ohhh the whole “why did you say Martha!?” Moment. Bruce wondering what else Clark knows just for Lois to rush in and be like “no mr batman that’s his mommas name”. I was sooo expecting for Bruce to go “ah okay well atleast it wasn’t about me teehee” and stiLL GUT HIM LIKE A FISH. Forgot there was more to the movie than the girlies fighting for a minute. But yeah whatever they reconciled. Boooo the show must go on

“I don’t deserve you Alfred.” “No sir, you don’t.”

Yeah… yeah. Especially when Alfred then takes over the fucking batplane thing and continues to be a badass like a minute later lmao.

Bruce you little bitch you can’t introduce yourself as “a friend of your son” to Martha when you were trying to spear him dead not an hour earlier?? This part had me giggling hard. Also Martha you continue to be the best mwah kisses

“You lose.” “I don’t know how to lose.” “You’ll learn.”

CLARK. I don’t need to say anything for this other than CLARK *swoon*.

WONDER WOMANS INTRO MUSIC HAHAHAH

…And then the rest of the movie I forgot to have rational thought. Like a dog seeing a squirrel— Ooo wow fight scenes. Got me like 👁️👁️

Only zoned back in for a moment to laugh at how Bruce and Diana were standing behind Lois while she was having her emotional funeral moment like 🧍🧍.

Honorable mention (aka it’s impossible to narrow it down to my fav parts): every single thing about Lex Luthor Junior. Lex being a charismatic twitchy evil nerd who really really wants to dissect aliens is scarily endearing. Peeling off the dead-guy-kryptonian’s fingerprints— straight up skinning them off the body and wearing them to enter the spaceship is. Hah. Like yeah exactly, the dude you’ve introduced to me in this movie would definitely do that. Calling Superman and god and then full-naming his secret identity, like Lex is shoving the fact that there’s more under the ‘divinity’ right in his face. Oooooh yeah. Setting up a hero surprise date— a “fight night” for “god versus man”— like a deranged matchmaker? Kind of iconic. HOW HE REVEALED HE KIDNAPPED CLARKS MOTHER?? Oh, he’s AWFUL. and he’s GIDDY, completely unrepentant. I’m jittering just thinking about it he made it rain on supes with pictures of his captured mother. that’s a hilarious amount of emotionally fucked up. Fundamentally twisted, that goober is. “and now god bends to my will” AHHHH. But yeah just love how they made him batshit insane, pun entirely intended. The last bit w/ the “dingdingding” was funny.

Jesse Eisenberg played the whole ‘tweaky freaky psycho geek’ sitch sooo well like dude hats off. You found your niche— nerds, psychos, emotionally repressed people, or a wombo combo— and you stuck with it. Keep spreading your geek freak my beloved.

Bonus thirst:

BATTFLECK OH MY GODSHSJDHD… he’s so. Wow. And he’s so fucking large??? Idk how to word it because I’ve just never seen someone with such a stance. A presence. Like his shoulders are so wide? Broad? Genuinely how does he fit through doors being such a hulking hunk of a man. he looks HAWT in a suit, the suit is what enhances it. In his batsuit it’s personally no biggie but as Bruce Wayne he’s SCRUMPTIOUS.

WONDERWOMAN. good holy mama she’s gorgeous, of the drop-dead variety. Her accent is. I’m on my knees. The scene where she gets knocked down by the Monster Thing, huffs, smirks, and then gets back up to fight. WOOF. and of course she’s absolutely beautiful in her dresses but something about that hero costume… maybe it’s how nonchalant she is about killing the Monster Thing while Brice and Clark are both like “wait where did she come from. i thought you brought her.”

Clark is a cutie pie and I Would, don’t get me wrong. But also his cuteness for me is more based on his personality so I don’t classify it as thirst. Kansas boy earned his hotness for me by doing his hero thing, which is pretty on brand actually.

[themarginalthinker]

Centennial

(Dwayne is turning a hundred years dead. He and David go for a walk about it.)

-

It's a quiet night when they go for their walk.

They both know why, and both feel the need for the intimacy. David and Dwayne slip outside into the coolness of the fresh autumn night. It's not truly the height of the season yet, the leaves on the few deciduous trees not quite turned yet. It's in the air, though. The Wheel spins ever on...

Dwayne sets the pace, the direction. Really, they're not walking to any particular destination, but David follows along to wherever his packmate's heart desires.

Their stroll takes them over little streams, rock formations they clamber like squirrels over. It's nice to stretch their limbs, their claws, their senses. Not human. But not hunting either.

Eventually, on a tall ridge overlooking a deep valley, Dwayne stops. He sighs, leaning against a tree and staring out at the deep, clear sky. Never, never again will David be trapped under the glow of city lights, blocking the stars from view. But this night isn't about him. He takes a comfortable crouch, waiting.

It's a while before Dwayne slides down the tree to sit. Longer still until he speaks.

"A hundred years tonight."

David nods. "Almost to the hour, huh?"

"Can barely fuckin' believe it."

No. David neither. Between them in the bond, a hundred years passed, in memories and feelings. The wonderful, the fair, the bad, the hideous. People come and gone. Places seen and left behind.

"We finally did it. And it wasn't even us," Dwayne comments into the night.

David knows what he's talking about, because it's also on his mind.

"Yeah. Go figure."

Max was dead. Their sire, the reason for all of this in the first place. The monster who, from the very beginning Dwayne and David had been planning, hoping, praying a day would come when they could finally be rid of, was dead. And they'd not laid a finger on him.

"...Are we old, David?"

The vampire in question blinks, looking to Dwayne properly now.

Across the bond, almost as clear as words spoken aloud from so long having it, being as close as they are, sharing so much, David knows what Dwayne means. Watching the seasons, the years, the decades tick on, but here they were. Maybe not celebrating, but certainly commemorating after a fashion, the night Dwayne died at the hands of a beast the both of them only ever wanted to be free from.

"Not as old as some," David answers instead.

Dwayne hums, looking away, back to the valley below.

David cracks a smile. "I personally don't think you get to bitch about anything until you're at least a hundred 'n fifty."

Dwayne snorts at that, sending David a look. "Now you're just moving goal-posts to feel better about your own dusty ass."

"Heh. Not too dusty for the whippersnappers last night, apparently," David simpers.

They share a small, but genuine laugh.

It feels good. It feels freeing.

David moves first. Not rising from the crouch, but leaning into it, loping on all fours the few paces left between them. He's not a man, and hasn't been for a long, long time.

Dwayne meets him as he comes close, turning so his body is open to it. David fits himself beside Dwayne. Thighs pressed close, knee to hip. Shoulder to shoulder.

Tonight, a century has passed, and the two vampires, the eldest of their pack now, watch the stars pass overhead.

Maybe, a thousand years from now, they will be here again.

They find themselves hoping so.

[coneyislandbabey]

she's got a strange magic. -> w. rojas

WARNINGS: profanities, complete dork warren rojas, partially from warren's POV

SYNOPSIS: Warren is usually cool and confident, but there's something about you that makes him completely nervous. He's desperate to ask you out, and he's desperate to get it right. Written for this request! word count: 1,391

“Eddie, man, please,” Warren asked, standing in front of his best friend with his arms crossed. It was early afternoon, and they were the only two left at the house with nothing to do. Warren had been out on the deck smoking a joint and talking to himself for the last hour, and had gotten nowhere fast. In a rare moment of clarity, he realized he must be high as balls to be asking Eddie to help him like this at all. 

“That’s fuckin’ stupid, man, c’mon,” Eddie responded, scoffing. When Warren didn’t move or say anything, Eddie looked him over once more, reassessing. “You seriously want me to pretend to be (y/n) so you can practice asking her out?” 

Warren nodded. “You know her as well as I do, so you can be accurate!” 

Eddie let out a genuine laugh this time. “You’ve asked out a hundred girls before, man, and you never needed help. What’s the deal?” 

Warren dropped down onto the couch and sighed, running a hand down the side of his face. What was the deal, indeed. Eddie was right; he had asked out plenty of girls before. Hell, he’d been rejected by plenty of girls before, girls he knew would reject them before he even asked, and that still didn’t deter him. But you… you were different. You were a bartender at The Whisky, and the whole band had gotten to know you pretty well over the last few months, playing regular gigs at the nightclub. You were blunt, and took shit from no one. You had this hair that was always a little messy, a little windswept, and these alluring eyes that had grabbed hold of him the first time you looked at him and never let him go. Warren had tried flirting with you the first night he met you, hitting you with a line even he knew was way too fucking corny, and you shut him down so fast his head spun. Ever since, he had been harboring a bit of a crush on you. Every night the Six played The Whisky, he would tell himself that that was the night he would ask you out, and in the end he chickened out every time. 

“She just– she’s driving me crazy, man,” he said finally. “I’ve never been scared about a chick saying no to me. If they say no, whatever, I can find another chick. But her? Shit, I just need to get it right, you know?” 

Eddie fixed him with a deadpan stare. “Because you’re my best friend, man, I will do this for you once. But only once. Never ask me for this shit ever again.” 

“If you’re actually helpful right now, I won’t ever need to ask you again,” Warren grinned. 

“Alright,” Eddie said, leaning forward in his chair. “Pretend I’m her standing behind the bar. Hit me with your best.”

Warren cleared his throat, trying to imagine himself walking up to you at the bar at the gig later. He’d come over after they played, of course, because it was basically scientifically proven at this point that women found his drum playing sexy. And the whole being sweaty and shiny and amped up thing seemed to work, too. 

“Hey, sexy–”

“What the fuck, Warren, no,” Eddie shook his head, a genuinely pained expression on his face. “She already knows you, you’re not picking up some random woman after a show. You can’t fuckin’ start like that.” 

Warren groaned, falling back into the couch. “I usually have game! I just want us to be on the same page about that.”

“Look, the best thing you can do is just be fucking normal when you talk to her,” Eddie said. “She likes you on some level already, she always talks to you after shows. Not just to humor you either, man. So just… go for it.”

“Just go for it,” Warren repeated, nodding. “Yeah. Okay. Just go for it.”

***

It had been a good night. 

The Six had played, and they were always the highlight of your shift when they were there. Not even because of the music– which was fucking great, as you liked to remind them every time they stopped at the bar for a drink after a gig– but because of the band members themselves. You loved getting to catch up with Karen, who was probably the coolest chick on the Strip, in your opinion, and you loved the way Graham got all timid when you complimented his guitar skills. Billy never got a drink, but he always said hi, which you appreciated. Eddie always challenged you to come up with a new drink to give him, and you did your best to come up with something that tasted closer to diesel fuel every time. 

And then there was Warren. He’d certainly made an outstanding first impression, when he sidled up to the bar and fed you the corniest line you have ever heard in your life before the first gig the Six had ever played at The Whisky. You had shut him down, then– you had to after that line, your pride demanded it– but you could appreciate the way he looked nonetheless. You liked that he still came over to talk to you after each show even though you’d rejected him. There wasn’t any of that toxic masculinity, wounded pride bullshit with him. He always had a smile and a funny story for you, always listened to whatever you had to tell him while you half-distractedly made drinks for the other patrons. 

This had been a particularly good set, even for the Six, and you beamed as you caught sight of Karen slinking through the crowd toward you, ready to shower her in well-deserved compliments. 

“Hey (y/n)! How are you darling?” She asked, leaning over the bar to squeeze you in a quick hug. 

“I’m great! Happy I was working during your gig,” you said, grinning at the blonde. 

“I’m fairly certain someone checks to make sure you’re working before we agree to play any gigs,” Karen joked.

“Wow, well I’m feeling extra loved. I’ll get you your usual?” Karen nodded, and you started on her usual after-show martini. The two of you chatted while you did so, and Karen gratefully accepted the drink when you were done and bade you goodbye after someone across the room caught her eye. 

The bar got extremely busy with people trying to get their drinks while the next band got ready for their set, and for a while you got lost in trying to serve everyone as fast as you could. 

“(l/n),” you heard Warren’s voice from behind you, after the mass of people had been served and walked away. 

“Rojas,” you acknowledged, turning to see the curly-headed man leaning against the bar, smiling lopsidedly at you. “You want a beer or what?” 

“Shirley Temple, actually,” he shrugged, and you snorted in surprise. “How’d we do tonight?” 

“Amazing, but you knew that already,” you said, sliding the drink across the bartop to him. 

“True, I just wanted to hear you say it,” he nodded, that grin still firmly affixed to his face. 

You shrugged. “I would say it a million times over. You’re somethin’ special.” 

“The band, or just me?” He was joking, you could tell from the tone of his voice, but there was a note of sincerity under it all as well. 

“The band, sure, but you, Rojas, you’re somethin’ special all on your own.” 

Warren stayed quiet, a strange look passing over his face as he stared at you. You busied yourself with drying the glasses in front of you, bobbing your head to the music and trying to look unconcerned with whatever was going through his head. 

“Would you allow me the privilege of taking you out to dinner?” Your head snapped up to look at him, took in the clear, sincere look on his face. No frills. No corny lines. No overpowering compliments to butter you up. Just Warren, looking at you like he had his heart in his hand. 

You put the glass and the rag down and leaned your arms on the bar, a genuine, dorky grin overtaking your features. “Yes, Warren. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me again since the first time you tried it.”

tag list: @eonnyx

[roadkillxd]

Ok ok ok but ftm price with a partner who’s also transmasc? I just know his bottom growth would be stupidly big, enough to shallowly fuck his partner *or* or or or….. he has one of those pumps that’s specifically for bottom growth so he can pump himself bigger to fuck you….. he always does it before you come over so he’s prepared but it leaves him actually insanely horny by the time you get there, dick big and twitching and sensitive against his underwear…. You can see it in his eyes when you walk through the door, dark and half-lidded with a flush on his cheeks 😵‍💫 alsohelikestobemeanandcomparedicksizes anyway I just love some t4t price

How about stupidly big AND using a pump? ♡

FTM!Price x FTM!Reader  ↪ 914 words — 18+ / SMUT

Content tags — trans male switch reader, trans male switch Price, t4t relationship, clit pump, vaginal fingering, vaginal penetration, oral sex, overstimulation, established relationship, referenced/implied voyeurism, referenced/implied edging, and spit kink.

Price groans low and deep, a growl shaking his chest as he pulls the pump free with a slick pop. His ruddy cock twitches and pulses as it’s exposed to the cool, stagnant air of his quarters. 

He’s been at it for almost half an hour now, pumping his already sizable cocklet ‘till it was almost the length of his middle finger and twice as thick, the slick flesh engorged and aching red. 

He has to trace his thumb feather light over the tip, using the thick foreskin to dull the sensation—his cock already so over-sensitized from the blissful suction of the pump. He runs his fingers through the coarse hair of his thighs, trying to calm himself down, to come back from the edge.

He hears a firm knock on his door, followed by two more in quick succession. 

“Come in, lad,” he grunts, pushing off the bed to meet you as you close the door behind you, locking it just as Price’s lips collide with yours, hungry and desperate.

“Missed you,” he growls, pulling back just enough for you to see his blown wide pupils and flushed cheeks. 

“Mmm,” you hum as he kisses you again before trailing down to your neck, “me too.”

You can feel him smile against your throat, beard tickling your skin as he turns you and pushes you toward the bed, shoving you back on the mattress and knocking a laugh out of you, amused by his eagerness.

He straddles your lap, and you eye his swollen cock, mesmerized by the pulsing of the flushed nub. 

“What’s so funny, huh?”

You hum, reaching up to run two fingers through his folds before stroking his cock, smiling as he gasps and moans, hips rocking into your touch.

“You’re needy tonight,” you coo.

“Been edgin’ myself for the last fuckin’ hour for you—“ he grunts.

“C’mere,” you grab at his ass, squeezing the muscle there as you pull him forward to shuffle up your torso. He maneuvers a pillow to prop your head up, ever the gentleman, as you take his cocklet into your mouth, sucking harshly.

You bob up and down the short length, reveling in his groans and moans, his hips grinding into your mouth as he grips tight at your hair with one hand, the other moving to deftly undo your belt.

You pull off for only a moment to shuffle your fatigues and boxers off, returning to his cock as he pushes two thick fingers into your aching hole.

You moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder. He yanks you back by your hair, your lips releasing his cock with a wet pop. You stare up at him through half-lidded eyes and thick lashes, mouth agape as you pant, rocking your hips down onto his fingers.

“Open,” he commands, pulling your head further back until your neck arches up. You obediently open your mouth wider, sticking your tongue out, and moan when he spits down onto it.

He leans down to kiss you furiously, tongues fighting for dominance as he starts to shift between your spread legs, throwing the limbs up and over his thighs as he shuffles forward.

You both groan at the first tease of his cocklet. It’s nothing impressive if you were to compare it to a cis man, sure, but the feeling of the thick nub sliding into your winking hole has you moaning, the tight ring of your entrance squeezing down around him.

It’s the same stretch as his two fingers had been, though the pulsing flesh is more forgiving.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans low and gravely, leaning down as he grinds into you, resting his forehead against yours, panting into each other’s mouths, “y’always squeeze me so good, love. Milkin’ me, huh? So bloody good.”

You whimper, rocking your hips down to meet his movements, feeling how his cocklet pulses inside of you. 

You cry out as his calloused thumb comes down to rub at your own cock, nudging the foreskin down to abuse the sensitive glands under the head. You squirm and buck, Price pressing his lips to yours to try and silence you.

“Wan’ the whole damn base to hear you?” He grumbles, a choked gasp escaping his lips as you clench particularly hard down around him, walls fluttering. He laughs breathily, smile sharp against your skin.

“Like that, do you? Wan’ everyone to know what a slut you are for my cock, hm?”

“Fucking—Christ, baby, m’gonna—!”

“Me too, darling, fuck,” he moans, voice turning to a coo as he kisses your chin, “go on, love, cum on my cock.”

He presses the palm of his free hand over your mouth just as you peak, muffling your wail as your back arches, walls convulsing around him. Price’s hips stutter and twitch as he rides through his own orgasm, hole gushing thick slick, soaking the both of your thighs with his creamy spend.

You manage to catch your breath before he does, groping at his thighs and hips before flipping him over onto the bed. He goes with a grunt, propping himself up on his elbows to watch you lower between his legs.

“Shit!” He barks out, hips bucking up hard as you latch onto his overly sensitive nub, slurping wetly before moving down to his hole, lapping up his creamy spend as it drips down to his ass.

You press a teasing kiss to his thigh, nuzzling the thick hair there with a grin.

“S’my turn, Captain.”

[timaeusterrored]

(The Northern Lights)

Depression was a common thing in the Eurodyne household. It normally hit at different times luckily enough, their bad weeks never usually lined up. But the one time it did, Kerry booked them a trip. He needed to get them both out of the city, away from stress and reminders.

Kerry wanted to spice things up, go somewhere Vax had never been. He tried to keep it to his place in Florida or Italy simply for his husband’s comfort, but he felt they needed something new, and see something Vax would be all over.

So next thing he knew, they were on their plane to Iceland. Vax was mostly quiet, lost in thought as he usually was as Kerry answered emails and did the less fun part of his job.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head?” Kerry spoke up after about an hour of silence, making Vax look up. His exhaustion was hitting him hard, and Kerry wished he didn’t over work himself like this.

“Static. I think if I had a single thought right now I’d explode.” Vax got up from his seat and moved to cuddle up with Kerry, the older man moving his laptop away in favor of his favorite person.

“Understandable… try not to think too hard. You take your meds today?”

“Yes Vik.” Vax mumbled sarcastically.

“Hey now, don’t get sassy because I’m making sure you’re doing what you’re supposed to.” Kerry held him to his chest, looking out the window. He hoped he had planned this right.

When they landed, Kerry got them checked into their lodge as soon as possible, they had a tour to get too and he could see that Vax’s interest had been caught.

He had Vax out of the lodge in ten minutes flat, basically dragging him. Vax had no idea what was going on, but he was into it. And Kerry had to keep that interest for the next few hours.

Okay, the beginning of the tour was kind of a drag, Kerry wouldn’t lie… but goddamn was it worth it when he saw what he had dragged his husband all the way up for.

“Aurora.” Vax breathed, staring at the night sky with childlike wonder. Kerry was glad the Space station hadn’t completely ruined the stars for Vax.

Kerry leaned into his side, for warmth and support. This was totally worth it.

“Can I-“

“Yes you can tell me facts, that’s why we’re here.” Vax was his own personal stars podcast sometimes.

“So basically, the Northern lights, or Aurora borealis, is actually sun storms. But our atmosphere protects us from them, they’re as pretty as they are violent.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“Yeah Venus is fucking violent sometimes-“

“You asshole. You knew who I was talking about.”

“A n y w a y, speaking of Venus, did you know that the lights were named after the Roman goddess of dawn, Aurora? And the Greek god of winds, Boreas?”

“I did not.”

“Yeah, it’s really fuckin cool when you think about it-“

Vax proceeded to take about the lights for the next 15 minutes, until they had faded and his face fell a bit.

“What?” Kerry frowned.

“It’s just said something so beautiful only lasts for a short amount of time. We’re lucky we even got to see them.”

“…kinda like life.”

Vax’s arm tightened around him, and Kerry looked up to find grey eyes staring down at him.

“You didn’t drag me up here to serve divorce papers did you? Because we are stuck in this shit together, no one else could possibly-“

Kerry cut him off with a kiss, holding his face with a small smile when they pulled back.

“I’m genuinely amazed you haven’t exploded yet… I’m not going anywhere.” Kerry whispered, bumping their foreheads together.

“Good…” Vax whispered back, looking back up at the stars.

[x3r1k4x]

Animal He’s Become

A Jeff the Killer x Daryl Dixon FanFic

TW: SMUT / CURSING / MENTIONS OF DEATH

(Before you read I just want to mention I wrote this 3 years ago at 4 in the morning. This is a Crackfic. ENJOY ^3^)

On a cool fall evening, daryl quietly walked through the woods. hunting for food was harder as the air started to become colder, animals hibernating. he was starving , hasn’t eaten anything filling in days.

he lost his group not too long ago, it being dark and all. he sighed , putting his crossbow down beside him as he sunk onto the ground by a tree. he sat there , his mind going a thousand miles per hour. asking himself how he got here , why any of this started. so many questions he had for the last couple years he would constantly ask himself , stayed unanswered.

a snap of a branch , daryl was brought back to reality and looked around him. waiting for whatever it was to come out as he got up and drew out his crossbow.

“well would you look at what i found” he heard behind him and he turned around. “woah buddy watch where you’re pointing that thing, i just wanted to see my prey up close” daryl could barely make out this guys face in the dark. but he didn’t sound sane and that’s all he needed to know before he stepped back farther away, still pointing his crossbow at the mysterious man.

“i guess you don’t wanna talk hm? you know it’s been harder to find people these days, but when i do they always point weapons at me.” he pulled a knife out of his hoodie pouch, “what happened to being scared? to begging for your life?” he stopped closer to daryl.

“what’s yer name” daryl stood still , watching this guys every move. the man chuckles , “i’m Jeff, Jeff the Killer” “an’ ya think i’m suppose to believe that? kinda name your parents gave you?”

Jeff stood there speechless, no one had ever talked with such power to him before. he was starting to get nervous. “a what’s with that big ol’ smile on yer damn face? ya look fuckin’ stupid” Jeff couldn’t believe this guy. who was he ?

“enough about me tough guy, what about you? what’s your name?” Jeff crossed his arms looking at the man before him. “Names Daryl. How many walkers you killed?”

“walkers? the fuck are those ? i only kill people.” jeff laughed out loud. Daryl looked at Jeff puzzled. who in this world , had no idea what a walker is? “enough, im done waiting , im going to kill you now” daryl widened his eyes “can’t kill me, if you already dead” daryl shoots his crossbow , the arrow hitting the tree as jeff dodged it.

Jeff moved so fast daryl could hardly believe he was human (or was he?). before he could aim again jeff had daryl on the ground, his cross bow beside him. “you think you’re funny huh? no one can kill me, it’s impossible.” Jeff pointed his knife under daryl’s chin. “no, do me a favour. and Go.To.Sleep” before jeff could do anything daryl grabbed jeff by the arms and pinned jeff to the ground , now on top of him.

“an you can’t kill me.” the moonlight shone on Jeff’s face and he could now see clearer. Jeff’s leathery skin, his non-existent eye sockets, the carved out smile in his face. blood splattered on his face , his hair and his hood. Daryl couldn’t look away. he was kind of mesmerized by him.

“take a picture it last longer” jeff spoke, with what could be a smirk he can’t tell. “why donchu shut up bitch” Jeff blushed at daryl’s words. “ah i see, you like bein degraded like how ya should be” daryl took the knife out of jeff’s right hand and tossed it away. “won’t be needin that”

jeff stared at daryl, his brunette locks perfectly placed over his face , his blue eyes that sparkled in the moonlight. he too was mesmerized by daryl. Jeff took one for the team and leaned in to kiss daryl with whatever lips he had left on his face.

daryl cupped jeff’s face gently and became one in the miss with jeff. his thumb rubbing jeff’s cheek. Daryl’s other hand exploring jeff’s clothed body, his hand slipping underneath jeff’s hoodie. his warm hands against jeff’s cold skin.

“mm” jeff moaned into the kiss, his arms above his head. Daryl took that as an invitation to start undoing jeff’s belt and unzipping his black jeans. his hand over jeff’s growing bulge. “Daryl..~” jeff groans, he hasn’t been touched like this before. it was all so new to him he just let daryl do his thing.

daryl took no time to rip jeff’s pants off down, now down to a hoodie and underwear, jeff was shivering in the cold. “don worry boy, i’ll warm ya up real good in a bit” before he knew it his boxers were peeled off of him and his legs were spread wide open, his feet over his head.

daryl’s (clean) fingers massaged jeff’s hole gently , feeling the smaller man squirm under his touch. “i can’t wait no longer” and with that, daryl pulls his cock out of his boxers. he strokes himself and spits on jeff’s hole, rubbing the tip of his cock at his entrance (or exit).

“i’m going to do you real good, you’ll be warm in no time. and you’ll regret ever tryin ta kill me”

his cock slowly inching into jeff, pulsating and throbbing. “fuck..you’re so tight” jeff moans at daryl’s words, he can’t seem to speak or make any other noise. his body taking in all the pleasure.

Jeff takes his right hand and jerks himself off slowly as daryl is balls deep in his ass. after waiting a minute daryl starts moving a bit faster, picking up a pace and thrusting into jeff. “daryl please..” jeff moans quietly , his breath shaking. a warm feeling weld up inside him that he’d never felt before , it felt so good to him. he wanted to keep feeling it forever.

“imma fuck you so good” daryl turns jeff over onto his hands and knees. hand on jeff’s head pushing it into the ground as he starts pounding relentlessly into jeff’s ass.

stroking himself , precum leaking from his own cock, jeff tried to keep his voice down as he moans “i’m- im going to.. “ daryl grabbed both sides of jeff’s waist and thrusted like his life depended on it. “i’m gunna fill you up so good…”

jeff could feel daryl’s dick twitching within him, bringing himself closer to orgasm. he stroked his cock faster “ahh fuck!” daryl’s cum filled jeff’s ass, still thrusting to bring jeff to his own orgasm.

feeling the cum drip out of his ass as he was being fucked made jeff’s body feel warm and fuzzy, “daryl i’m gunna.. cum” “do it bitch” daryl slapped his ass, and like a button was pressed jeff came all over the ground. his body shaking and him moaning.

“wanna kill me now?” jeff looked at daryl , who was now kneeling beside him. “never” jeff said as he slowly drifted to slumber.

[spotsupstuff]

what happened to boreas during the events of saint's campaign? I'd have figured because of his self sustaining properties, he'd be one of the last iterators actually functional before saint inevitably bababooeys him

-snaps fingers n fingerguns atcha- you got That right, buckaroo! Boreas indeed is still kicking just fine when Saint enters the Aeolus Root ring, especially if you ignore his mental state consisting of crushing loneliness and nasty ass giant case of guilt. i told Shkiki this- i geniunely think he'd only die if a lot of ice would block his water filtration systems. he's like a damn cucaracha

(see, Beebee is stationed very high up north n i think he's close enough to the sea that he uses That as his water supply. he runs Very cold, much more so than a normal Iterator- this is mostly the case cuz i wanna give the greek god Boreas shout out with it, but in-universe can be blamed on his sheer massive size. he needs to keep himself as cold as possible. can't exactly cool his systems with solid ice tho and so this person who doesn't like/can't handle other people Needs these other people that warm up the atmosphere n keep the polar caps at bay. so honestly even tho he's fine n dandy when Saint finds him, he was already living on borrowed time)

Saint has a bossfight with Boreas just like with Sliver except Boreas is.. kinda more sturdy n also more aggressive n has a bigger chamber- he's like Sliver+, that girl was a weasel. hard mode Sliver.

it takes a bit, but eventually Boreas' puppet falls and the antigravity stutters to a stop. i imagine that working iterators that put up a fight need multiple blasts before they completely die because each blast is killing only a portion of the Hivemind, then the rest of it rushes to fill in the holes, that gets blasted and the process is repeated until there's no more of the collective left. so you can imagine what kind of state B is prolly in after like 9 direct blasts

torn apart, exhausted and so much more smaller n lonelier than before, Boreas finally stops fighting and instead huddles in a corner. for once absolutely terrified out of his mind n insterestingly enough- regretful. he tries to send out a warning signal to the rest of the group, but he can't manage it with how diminished he's become. Saint approaches. Boreas doesn't plead for mercy. he stares the rat down even when its eyes wildly flash

Saint finishes him off. Leaves. Notos watched the whole thing

to say that Notos is fuckin Traumatized from that is an understatement. its special overseer stays with Boreas' puppet beeping at it for an hour, waiting for him to wake up. but of course, nothing

now, i'll add- Beebee n Notty didn't ever really Fully Click together. either they didn't interact much because of their "i gotta work, man" mentalities, they were shit at interaction or they barked at each other (even in mythology it says that fights between Boreas and Notos were catastrophic and absolutely terrifying- fun fact! Notos actually seems more dangerous than Boreas from what i've read n this Is meant to be reflected with the Anemoi Iterators too). like i've had the idea that when Notos calls for an elder brother n Boreas n Euros look up, it'd specify "the elder brother that I actually appreciate" when needin Euros

either way, these two were still siblings and Boreas *did* Mentor Notos when it needed it (along with Euros; the Winds r kinda like a lil self-sustaining group within the bigger group- they are "Elite"/Leading Iterators of The Children of Eo after all) n they still like... Loved each other. even when Notos cut the communications with him after everything started going down the drain, it still loved him. n it regrets some things it said to him (thoughtless.. cruel things...) but cuz of the way it is as a person it never decided to step up n be the one to reestablish contact and apologize

and now Boreas is dead. one of the first iterators of the group gone, maybe the third. it can never say now, how it is so sorry and never meant it

[kimkat0500]

Alaris - "Look at the high-waisted man, he's got feminine hips." "and I said "No," y'know, like a liar." "I will start with the fact that I am homeless, as that is a given. Then for backstory I will pepper in the fact that I am gay." "Ah, numbers... The letters of math." "When he was holding back the gay part, he did some of his best work." I went to college, I was 18 years old, I looked like I was 11. I lived like a goddamn Ninja Turtle. I didn't drink water the entire time." "I get that mom, but why don't we just tell our relatives that I'm a four-year-old boy..."

Sasha - "Can I please go home? (No! In fact, we're gonna frame you for murder!)" "Sometimes babies will point at me and I don't care for that shit at all." "And my brother was like "Hah, that's great!" *imitates gunshot noise*" "Here goes nothing, "Ya ever seen a ghost?""

Natalie - "I grabbed it, drank all of it, and said "It's perfume."" "I am very small, and I have no money, so you can imagine the kind of stress that I am under." "I made a salad with Craisins!" "Give us some money!" "You're supposed to say "May I please have a Diet Coke please," and then maybe you would get one." "If you think this story ends with me being like "Absolutely Not," you're about to be so disappointed!"

Ella - "(And my girlfriend would just be like:) Let's see if Southwest has any flights." "Nah, nah, nah, you're not gettin' me to no secondary location!" "I'm allowed to make fun of my wife, I asked her and she said yes."

Rowen - "It was really easy to get away with murder before they knew about DNA." "He grabbed a 40, smashed it on the ground, and yelled "Scatter!"" "Eat ass, suck a dick, and sell drugs." "Hey, do you want me to kill that guy for you? 'Cause it sounds like he sucks and I will totally kill that guy for you." "I was two hours late for my intervention- I didn't know people were waiting on me!" "I'm like the great Rasputin, they cannot bring me to my knees."

Kara - "When I was a kid I used to watch "America's Most Wanted, as kids do, and I would always be like "How could a human being kill another human being?"" "You have your law practice, and me? I have all these fuckin' markers." "Ever been to the goddamn zoo?" "There's a horse, loose in the hospital! (literally)"

Thea - "And in a brilliant moment of word association, I yelled, "Fuck Da Police!"" "Because you're never too young to learn our national "No Snitching" policy." "I'm definitely never gonna be president. Not unless everyone gets real cool about a bunch of stuff really quickly." "I was the best-looking person at my intervention, by a mile." "Has there been [an insurrection] since I got out? No, they wouldn't dare. They know Baby J is back on the streets."

Alvar - "You could pour soup in my lap and I'll probably apologize to you." "You want my money? *mimics throwing* Go get it! Then you run the other direction!" "Have you ever seen old film from the past of people just waving at a ship? What if I called you now to do that?" "When I was three years old, I thought Miss America was the Statue of Liberty."

Riina - "13-year-olds are the meanest people in the world. They terrify me to this day." "They'd be like "Governor, what's your favorite food?" and he'd be like "I don't know, fries."" "I need everybody, all day long, to like me so much. It's exhausting." "So I go in and I sit down and I go "Hi, I'm John M..." and they stare at me like "Why are you holding for applause?""

Siral - "He ordered one black coffee, for himself, and kept driving." "And without looking up at me, he said "You have the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair."" "So let me ask you this... In Nazi Germany- [...] How are you better than a Nazi?" "Time for Street Smarts with Detective J.J. Bittenbinder! Shut up, you're all gonna die! Street Smarts!" "Well, that was 7-year-old John Mulaney, currently being sued for police brutality." "I don't care for these new Nazis, and you may quote me on that." "Oh, those old winter coats! You know that phenomenon."

Delos - "I was once on the telephone with blockbuster video (which is a very old-fashioned sentence)." "And he was wearing reading glasses to show that time had passed." "What is college? *stammering* Stop going until we figure it out!" "Everything was slower back in the old days because they didn't have enough to do, so they slowed things down to fill the time."

Zarton - "I'll keep all my emotions right here and then one day, I'll die." "I also don't want me to be doing what I'm doing. I don't like that I'm in that lane either and I sure would like to get out of it." "Brush your teeth! Now, Boom! Orange juice. That's life." "There's a horse, loose in the hospital! (metaphorically)"

Tag your OC as a John Mulaney quote

[dcjavu]

BEGINNING OF THE END

October 22nd, 2077

Fine china wiped spotless, a vacuum sucking at the dust clinging to the drapes, mops squelching against the floors, the hum of the radio on the kitchen table as a chicken roasts in the oven, whispered lullabies and hushed babies, an old army jacket thrown over a chair with initials sewn into the shoulder, pairs of newly polished shoes by the door and a jacket being hung up as a man entered through the front door. Kicking aside his work boots, adding to the pile of dirties that his wife need clean before the day’s end, he lifted his hat off his head and tossed it aside so that he could collapse onto the couch and sling an arm over his eyes to cover himself from the dying light pouring in through the windows. The smell of bleach and lemon-lime permeating the air. Sun bleached rooms that lit up in primary colors painted onto every appliance. 

This was the American Dream — at least, that’s what Riley Worthington was fed her entire life. 

She could hear her husband enter and she kissed her teeth, wiping clean the knife she was planning on using to carve the chicken that’d been baking in the oven for hours. Dirtying her skirt by placing the blade up against the hem and erasing any blemishes on the surface, she wandered out of the kitchen and stared him down as he was sprawled out on the couch.

“Ry,” Riley spoke up, gently at first as he started snoring theatrically upon hearing her voice. She didn’t blink. “Ry, wake up.”

“If it ain’t about dinner bein’ ready, I don’t wanna hear it,” Her husband returned and moved over onto his side, burying his face in the cushions.

She bit her lip. No talking back, ever, she could hear her mother’s voice say. You made your bed. Now die in it. Or was it lie? She couldn’t quite recall. Reaching out, she tugged on her husbands ankle so he’d wake more, which only summoned a groan from him. She kept tugging, growing impatient with each yank. God, her son was easier to coax out of bed in the morning than this grown man.

As Riley tugged harder, her husband reached out and grasped onto her wrist tightly. “What the fuck is it, Riley?!” he then snapped — silenced quickly whenever she held the kitchen knife directly at him. “... Riles,”

“Don’t start, Ryker,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Tell me why I shouldn’t gut you right now for what you’re plannin’ to do.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Riles?” Ryker asked, sounding more exasperated than usual as he glanced between his wife and his reflection in the surface of the knife. “Listen, calm yourself down first, then we can talk about whatever you’re all riled up about. That sound good? I’ll even get you a cold Nuka Cola, take the edge off.”

Riley didn’t falter, only cocking her head to the side as she smiled in pure disbelief. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that, Ryker Worthington?”

“Riley,” Ryker said cautiously. She could see his hand raising slowly, presumably to steal the knife from her, which only prompted her to jut the point closer to his neck, making him flinch. Figures. Always a coward. “H-Hey now. Cool it with that, it ain’t no butter knife.”

“I fuckin’ know it’s not a butter knife, dipshit,” she spat. “That’s the whole goddamned point. Now, start talkin’ or I’m gonna gut you like a fish.”

Ryker eyed his wife with caution, slowly lowering himself back onto the cushions. “I don’t really like fish much, you know,” he said to try and ease the tension. Needless to say, it didn’t work, as Riley only snorted in return.

“I’ve been married to you for five years, trust me, I know you aren’t very familiar with any kind of fish,” she quipped.

“Oh, you’re funny,” Ryker said, chuckling slightly out of nerves. “What’s gotten into ya, huh, Riles? … Is it your daddy? Did he call you again? Offer to fly you back out to Shitstain, Missouri and live with him and your mama and sister? You know he’s full of it. He can hardly provide for her, how could he—”

“Speak another word on my daddy and I won’t hesitate.” Riley deadpanned in return. That silenced Ryker — for a time, which just kept irritating the young woman as her wide eyes tracked every twitch of his limbs. “I’m talkin’ about your work. Vault-Tec.”

Ryker’s eyes darkened and narrowed at his wife, who kept her chin held high as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Right, then,” he said. “We’re havin’ this conversation again. Tell me, Riley, do you remember the definition of insanity?”

“It’s what the fuck you’ve been up to the past three years,” she snapped.

“Not quite,” Ryker said, sounding eerily calm. “That’d be the exact opposite, really. Why don’t you stop beatin’ around the bush and give it to me straight? What do you know that’s got you like this?”

Swallowing thickly, Riley could feel her nerves clench, forcing her hand to develop a tremor. Goddammit. She squeezed the handle tighter and kept it held as straight as she could. “I know what you plan on doin’,” she said. “I heard you. In that meeting.”

“Oh, so we’re committin’ espionage now?” he snorted. She couldn’t deny how unsettled he was by his blase act, but she held a brave face as she stared him down coldly without answering. “... Alright. So, we’re doin’ this. You know the truth, now you wanna hear it from the horse’s mouth. I always did peg you as a bit of a masochist, y’know.”

“I married you, after all,” she shot back.

Ryker grinned crookedly at her. “That you did, Mrs. Worthington.”

“Say it to me,” Riley said through gritted teeth as she angled the knife closer to his neck, and she was satisfied to see him flinch for the first time since she’d met him. 

“Before I do, I want you to think about Rue,” he said. 

“Don’t bring him into this,” she denied. “You don’t get to even speak his name after what you’ve done. What you’re gonna do.”

Ryker scoffed at his wife, who maintained her composure in spite of his expectations. “He deserves to have his family whole when it’s all said and done,” he told her, but when she didn’t falter, he let out a tired sigh and eyed her before letting his shoulders slack. “... War never changes, Riles. You know that better than any of us. And the world we’re livin’ in now does nothing but perpetuate it. Look at the past three-hundred years of this country — has there been a century of it without war?”

“So the best solution is to, what?” Riley began, feeling her voice thin out with every word she spoke. “Burn it all to the ground?”

“This world’s corrupt and dangerous,” Ryker told her flatly. “It’s for the best that we give humanity a second chance and start over. And yes, that means most people will have to die. But not us. You, me, Rue, we live on. We get to build a better future for him, Riles. Together. Ain’t that what you always wanted? Is that not what you went to war for in the first place? In the vain hope it’d make a better life for us all?”

Riley clenched her jaw, feeling frustration course through her veins as she clutched onto the knife even tighter. “Don’t talk to me about war,” she said. “You don’t know the first goddamned thing about it.”

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” Ryker then snapped. “You know what I did every fuckin’ day when you were gone? I waited for a letter, or a phone call, anything, just to know you were still breathin’ and that you were comin’ back to us. I slept alone. I took care of Rue, I told him you were gonna come home when I didn’t have the slightest fuckin’ idea if you were even still alive out there. So don’t stand there and jab a knife at me and stand on some fuckin’ high horse like you’re the only one who knows what war is like. I know, Riley. I fuckin’ know.”

She gasped whenever he reached out, grasping onto her wrist and keeping a firm grip. Struggling at first, it wasn’t long until the knife went sliding across the vinyl floors and they were stood, face to face with one another, and neither of them quite knew what the other had in mind next. Instead of scrambling for it, he reached out to take a hold of her neck and bring her in closer.

“We’ve got a place ready for us,” Ryker said lowly, and despite knowing she was technically stronger, Riley could never find it within her to do anything except for squeeze his arm so he’d loosen his grasp. “And we’re leavin’ when it’s time. Is that understood?”

When he let her go, she gasped for breath, collapsing onto the floor and spitting where it’d just started to shine underneath the light of the sun. He stepped around her and grabbed the knife, working his way toward the kitchen. 

“Your chicken’s burnin',” he called out. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Always do.”

That night, Riley couldn’t catch a wink of sleep, meanwhile Ryker was in a peaceful slumber beside her. She kept staring out the balcony windows, at the city lights of Los Angeles ahead of her. Carefully, she peeled the sheets away from her and padded toward the door in her slip dress, eyeing her husband from over her shoulder as she stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

Reaching into a potted plant and unearthing a silver cigarette case — she promised she’d quit a year ago — she popped it open before picking out a cigarette and placing it between her teeth. After some more digging through the wet soil, she fished out the lighter and held it up to the end of the cigarette and flicked it on. She watched the flame as it danced in the wind, sucking in a long breath whenever it caught on the paper. The bud glowing, she held it delicately between her index and middle fingers as she leaned over the balcony on her elbows, observing the cityscape. 

How long until it’d be reduced to ash and bone? 

She closed her eyes slowly and thought back to simpler times. Her childhood, out in the suburbs of Missouri. Really, she’d always lived a cushioned life up until she was drafted, and she was considered a lucky girl that that’d been the only run of bad fortune she’d encountered in her life. But she was still young, only 23 years old as of June that year. 

She could remember her father chasing her around the backyard and, from the porch, her older sister sketching them as they ran in circles and played kickball and catch. She was the closest thing to a son he’d ever get — that’s why she was named Riley, because her mother was certain she’d be a boy up until the doctor presented her with a fully female newborn, much to everyone’s surprise. And disappointment, of course, though every time her father told the story, he kept expressing to her how overjoyed he was that she was a girl.

“You were the prettiest thing in the universe, Riley,” he said, grinning cheesily at her. “Right up there next to your mama and sister.”

A fond smile laced Riley’s lips as she reminisced before it began to fade. Was there any saving him? Or her mother or sister? They were all innocent, and if Ryker and Vault-Tec were set on repopulating the world with the right kind of people, well… Her father and sister would at least make the cut. 

She remained on the balcony until she could see the sun break over the horizon, having chainsmoked the last of her cigarettes throughout the night. By the time Ryker woke up for work, she was back in bed, having doused herself in perfume so that he wouldn’t smell the chemicals on her. She was awake the entire time he readied himself, listening to the rustle of his belt and his grunts and groans — he was getting old. Was he even qualified to be in the program he so eagerly pitched ideas in favor of?

Once she felt his lips press against her cheek in goodbye and heard the front door shut, Riley sat up out of bed and rubbed her face before she hurried over to the closet. She hauled a suitcase onto the mattress and flipped it open, yanking out all her dresser drawers and piling as many clothes as she could into the empty space.

Whenever the suitcase was packed nearly to the brim she fled her bedroom. Hurrying down the hall, she rounded the corner into her son’s room and crouched beside his bed, nudging him carefully so that he’d stir awake.

“Ruru,” she whispered softly, reaching out to caress his cheek. “Wake up.”

Whining, Rue rubbed his eyes and blinked at his mother, still drowsy. “School?” he assumed.

“No, cowboy,” she chuckled a little as she scooped her arms underneath him to help prop him up, hoping it’d wake him more. “We’re goin’ on a road trip, you and me. Out to grandma and grandpa’s. Don’tcha wanna see ‘em again? And Aunt Nonnie?”

“Why?” the young boy asked. Always inquisitive, that one. He certainly inherited that from his mother. “... ‘Cause of the bombs?”

Riley frowned at him, freezing where she’d gone to take some clothes out of his dresser. “How’d you know about all that?”

“Heard you and daddy talkin’,” he said honestly. “I’m sorry, mama. Is that why we gotta go?”

“... C’mere, Ruru,” Riley let out a sigh as she lowered herself onto her knees and held her arms out for Rue, who stumbled forward so that she could cradle him. For a moment, it was almost like he was an infant again with the whole world at his fingertips. Now, it was falling apart and he didn’t even have the bliss of ignorance to protect him from it. “You wanna know somethin’ I learned about those bombs in the Marines?”

Rue looked up at her with curious brown eyes, and she smiled down at him before holding her thumb up and shutting one eye. “If the cloud is smaller than your thumb, then you start runnin’,” she told him.

“What if it’s bigger?” he then asked.

Her expression softened and she lowered her hand. “Well. They said there’d be no use in runnin’ then.”

“Is it gonna happen?” he kept wondering.

Riley’s lips pressed together, then she leaned in to press a kiss against his temple. “I certainly hope not.”

Thirty minutes later, Riley had all of their necessities packed and she’d written a brief note to Ryker that she stuck on the leftovers in the fridge: GONE CAMPING. SEE YOU ON THE OTHER SIDE. — R.

As she loaded their things in the older car of hers that’d been rotting away in their garage since she came back home, Rue was sat in the front seat, kicking his feet around and listening to the radio while he waited for his mother to finish sorting everything. While she murmured a list to herself over and over, assuring herself that she wouldn’t forget anything else they’d nee to acquire during the drive, he glanced up at the horizon and tilted his head at the mountains in the distance.

Slowly, he held his thumb up in front of his squinted gaze, and though it tremored he managed to keep it straight after a bit of practice.

“Mama?” he called out.

“One second, Ruru,” she said in return as she struggled slamming shut the trunk.

“Is it your thumb or mine?” he asked.

Looking up at him, Riley’s attention was thwarted to the horizon, where a mushroom cloud had developed and a darkness had engulfed the skyline. She could feel her heart jump into her throat and expand there, a loud beating that couldn’t be swallowed. From the car’s radio, only one thing could be picked up before the radio tower was knocked out:

“—followed by flashes, blinding flashes. Sounds of explosions. We’re trying to get confirmation … seemed to have lost contact with Anchorage stations. We do have — we do have coming in confirmed reports, that’s confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in Alaska and Washington State. Dear God—"

Riley's eyes widened in horror and she slammed the trunk shut with all her might as she went around the car to jump into the driver's seat. Buckling Rue in first, she jammed the keys into the ignition and started peeling out the driveway; driving into the darkness, or else the light.

[lymtw]

NSFW

Gojo x f!reader

Description:

You're the prettiest thing to ever grace this man's eyes, is it so bad that he wants to show you how hot you get him?

Satoru takes advantage of how easy it is to fluster you. You turn bright red when he even looks at you for too long, how the hell does he think you can handle him touching himself right in front of you. It takes a lot for him to have your full attention when you're on the brink of passing out from how fast your heart is beating.

"Hey, hey," he waves in front of you when you avert your gaze to the wall. It shouldn't be as interesting as the show in front of you, given that it's a blank wall, but it's just so hard to focus when all you can do is watch. He specifically said, 'You can't touch until I say so, 'kay?' before he started.

"Princess, I need those eyes on me." He smiles, kindly. You turn your head to face him for a second, then look down, away from his intense gaze. "Up," he says, tilting your chin up with his index finger. He was able to feel the warmth that colored your face when he touched your chin. "Just want to show you how pretty you are, mama, that's all."

This lured your attention for a bit. He's showing you how much he loves you, is what you tell yourself. How could you turn away from him? You switched from sitting on the floor to sitting on your knees. In a way, it looked like you were worshipping the man sitting in front of you. You blink, nodding for him to continue.

"You know I think about you all the time, right?" His voice drops a little as he slowly starts moving his hand up and down his shaft. "God forbid you leave my mind for a second." He hisses, collecting the precum that spills from his tip and uses it to slicken his hand. "I can't let that happen, you know? It's not in my plans."

You fidget with your hands, the feeling between your thighs becoming more and more prominent as you focused on Satoru's voice and what he was doing.

"There's a constant image of you in my head. You're happy in that image, and it stays in here," he taps the side of his head with his free hand, "all day."

You smile a little. The information allows your heart to take a five second break. Not long enough because the next part managed to shake you up again.

"That image changes when you're not here, baby." He lets out a little sigh, his eyes shutting for a second. He opens them, and you get instant chills down your body when his hauntingly beautiful eyes stare straight into your eyes. "You go anywhere without me for longer than a couple hours and that image I told you about before... Poof." His hand mimics the act of vanishing. "Instantly replaced by the image of you being devoured by me. On your back, tits out, and the sound of my name repeated in that voice." His hand slows down a little. Just the mere mention is enough to challenge his composition.

"God..." his breath is shaky as he tries to keep going. He can't deny that your attention really enhances the lust coursing through him. "You're so fuckin' pretty." His abs quiver when he runs his thumb over the tip of his cock. "You've got the prettiest voice, prettiest moans—fuck... the prettiest lips." He lays his head back on the couch, fully unaware of the nail indents on the palms of your hands from trying not to touch him. His gaze returns to you, now lidded as his mind gets cloudier. "And you're all mine. No one else gets to touch you or taste you."

Now it's your turn to let out your ragged breaths. You look down bashfully, your hips pressing down on your legs to gain friction for the unbearable ache between your thighs. Your pussy is pulsing with need and there's nothing you can do.

Satoru laughs through his nose. He sees the way you're moving. "You do wonders for my ego, baby. You getting anything good down there?"

Your palms are cooled by the cold wooden floor. "No," you sigh. "It's not enough."

"Give me a minute," he says, shooting a small wink in your direction. The amount of precum drooling out of him is significant. It's quiet for a few seconds. All that can be heard are the slick noises of Satoru fisting his cock and the reactions from it. You're on the brink of melting on the floor, just from watching and listening to his whimpers and moans. "You'll never get to see how I get when you're not around. It doesn't feel right, princess." He pants, his brows pinching as his hand runs over a vein. "This is nothing in comparison."

You gasp, feeling a jolt of pleasure in one of the rolls of your hips.

"I couldn't even verbalize it. It's not appropriate for a sweet girl like you."

You let out a whimper, your head bowed down.

"Look at me." You raise your gaze, noticing the crumbling of his facade. "Watch the effect you have on me."

Your cheeks are red, and your face feels so hot.

He strokes himself a couple more times, holding eye contact with you. You know this memory will bring out the shy side of you whenever it comes to mind around him. It's the volume of his moans and the way his abs tense as he gets closer and closer to his peak that has your heart threatening to stop completely. It's the way he smirks at how flustered you are by him. It's way his brows furrow when he cums so hard that his whole body is trembling when he continues to fuck his fist. The moans were debilitating for you. Your ears had the rhythm of your heart blasting in them, making your entire head pulse, and all you could do was watch with your lips parted.

"Oh fuck..." he lets out a breathy chuckle. His stomach has cum gliding down to his pelvis, his hand definitely not exempt from the mess. "My pretty girl..." he sighs, a lazy satisfied smirk on his face. "You really have me acting like some prepubescent teenager for you." He caresses your face with his clean hand. "Feeling a little warm. You okay?"

"Just in shock." You smile, holding his hand against your cheek.

"This shouldn't have been shocking." His eyes widen humorously. "You know i'm in love with you, right? Like, borderline obsessed with you."

"I do, yes."

"Do I not show it enough? I'm genuinely concerned." He pouts, leaning towards you.

"This was just another way, 'toru. Don't worry," you offer him a reassuring kiss his cheek.

"Fine." He made a mental note to remind him to send you videos when you're away. You'll get enough to know he's thinking of you, but not enough to know that he's going crazy without you. "Let's take this to the room."

[unknownjpegs]

1 million

The first album sells. They don’t care much for that part — well, besides how nice it is having a fuller pantry and topped-off tanks of gas. 

No, what they care about is when the website hits one million album downloads. 

It’s a cool gimmick, Benji had said petulantly. And, obviously…y’know. Punk. But I do like paying bills.

We will, Lark had responded, hands gripping his shoulders, pay so many bills for the rest of our lives, dude. We will totally pay. 

And of course Benji had rolled his eyes: Mate I get your message, okay? Delivery’s piss-poor thought.

But Lark was right. Now, red-faced from celebratory jumping and yelling into one another’s faces, they clutch and shake each other.

“One million.” 

Lark’s grinning from ear to ear, eyes bright. “One fucking million, Benji? One million.” He laughs wildly. “Fuck it, two million. Three.”

“A hundred million.” Benji gets shaken again, his friend’s fists tight in his jacket.

“You know what? One hundred bazillion.”

Benji laughs too, without his usual reservation. It’s a bit wild, loudly unhinged at the end with a waver that Lark only hears when they’re really, really blasted. 

“I got you something,” he says suddenly. Lark’s eyebrows knit tight. 

“Okay, well no. I didn’t get you anything so I don’t want it.” Benji slips a tissue-wrapped box from his pocket and holds it out. He’s not looking at Lark directly, but in the center of his chest. He tucks hair behind his ear jerkily, chin tilted. 

“Benji, if this is a goddamn ring or something —” Lark warns, kind of just to see how Benji reacts. Hilariously, is the answer: he flushes in the way he thinks is more invisible than it is, face twisting into a defensive, shy scowl. 

“Oh, don’t make me fuckin’ kick off,” Benji warns back, shoving at Lark’s shoulder while he snickers. 

“It would make sense for taxes. For citizenship —”

“Fuck’s sake, you know that saying about ball and chain?” Benji huffs. Lark nods. “I’d drag us both into a lake.”

Lark takes the box with another chuckle, head tossed back as he meanders over to the shit couch — that they can replace with a new one — and falls into it. Benji follows, perching himself with one foot off the ground, hands nervously stuffed in his pockets. 

“Morbid,” Lark intones, spookily but affectionate. “That is so morbid, man.” 

Benji watches as he plucks the wrapping paper off. Lark’s a careful sort of gift opener, and seeing him tuck a finger, careful and delicate, beneath a taped edge makes Benji sad. 

You weren’t expecting a gift. You didn’t grow up expecting them. You grew up expecting bad shit, just because. Got the shit end of the stick for what? I’m gonna throw you so many fucking parties, Lark. I’m gonna throw you a birthday party every fucking year of your life ’til we both croak. And one day I’m gonna convince you to tear into the wrapping paper, because you deserve that. 

Lark had been partly correct — it’s a jewelry box. Not anything fancy. Just red canvas stretched over cardboard. He cracks it open and his mouth drops. Benji has to look away.

The case is a sleek black rectangle with beveled edges. There are no dial decoration or hour markers or minute track: just two thin, dainty silver hands set on matte black. They flit hypnotizing in a circle comfortingly slow, ticking seconds that pass under the boys’ dual stare.

“Holy shit, Benj.” 

“It’s a vintage Sekio. Not that — I mean, it looks more expensive than it is, trust me.” Benji says quickly, immediately winces. Fucking daft thing to say. “I had — I know a guy, it was in such shit shape when I got it off eBay, he fixed it up nice. You would not believe how —”

Lark slaps his free hand over his mouth. “Holy shit.”

“M’dah got —” He licks his lips when Lark’s hand comes away. “Thanks. Anyway, remember when my dad got…like when he made me finish school, yeah? Before we could start doin’ this.” 

Lark nods, unblinking eyes turned up at him. 

“He got me that watch. Cheap one, not that I’m ungrateful, but he went and had this thirty-pound thing engraved. Little thumbs up emoji, right, because every letter cost more.” Benji laughs at the memory. “Thought that was sweet.”

“Sweet. I’m going to kill you if there’s something on the back of this.” Lark announces, lifting the leather band and turning the watch. “Oh, go fuck yourself.”

1M :) is etched into the center back, angled edges catching light from the bulb hanging from the ceiling. 

“Thought I’d get extravagant with four letters, y’know. ‘Cuz we’re famous or whatever.” Benji jokes. His voice is a little tight to even his own ears. “And you can’t even slander me with it. Y’show people that, they’re gonna assume you’re some kind of pretentious corporate dickhead who celebrates his first million dollars.” He grins. “Get fucked.”

“I’m putting it on and then punching you in the face.”

Benji watches him struggle with it, eyes blurry with tears and sniffling. He drops onto the couch  next to his friend, his bandmate, this special and unequivocal fucking force in his life. The watch goes on much easier with help, and when it’s fixed in place Benji taps it with a finger.

“There.” He lifts the sleeve of his jacket to knock the wrist brandishing his own shitty watch against Lark’s. “One million.” 

Suddenly, Lark’s fists tightens in his jacket again. He brushes the fabric aside to take Benji’s shirt instead, clutched hard. Benji blinks at him. Lark’s dark are wide and wet as they circle his face. He shakes Benji again, scoffing in disbelief.

“Dude, you’re just… you are such an asshole.” Lark sniffles. Benji’s hand comes up to pat his mess of smooth black hair away from his cheek, where it sticks on a few tears. “Jesus. One million. Okay, listen, I don’t know how I’m supposed to — I’m just gonna kiss you, and if it’s weird, it’s weird. Yeah?” 

“Why not,” Benji laughs, and then he’ being dragged forward. “Not the weirdest thing we’ve done.” 

And for a second, it’s not the weirdest thing they’ve done. 

It’s just a close-mouthed press of lips. Maybe the excitement of the moment, the lingering shred of adrenaline, or the full-chest gratitude makes it more. Lark opens his mouth and then Benji tilts his head. Then it’s a kiss kiss, like a frantic one with a stranger at a club. Lark tips forward until Benji falls back, his head knocking against the torn armrest.

Their hands rest briefly on each others’ shoulders, but it’s exactly that — brief. Because Benji thinks oh, those are Lark’s hands at the same exact moment Lark thinks oh, those are Benji’s hands. 

In tandem, they both scowl into the kiss and jerk away. 

Lark rolls completely off him, falling ungracefully to the floor as he wipes his mouth. They both stare up at the ceiling for a moment.

“Ew. Weird.”

Lark hums in uncomfortable agreement, tapping his fingers on his stomach. “Really weird, actually. Never again.”

“Thank-you note’ll do for the future, mate,” Benji deadpans after another stretch of silence.

“Fuck off and die,” Lark snorts, sitting up to punch him in the arm hard. “You use too much tongue.”

[neverhangd]

@lighthousepyrate is almost as useless as he looks.

She’s sporting a bloody nose and bruised knuckles the third time she sees him. Without her hat and coat, she could be any other woman alive than the lady pirate on the wanted posters—and half the time, just lacking a pistol was all it took to confuse them. She knows that, had he not seen her hours before in that dog fight downstairs, he would never know for sure that she was Anne Bonny and not some poor innocent woman instead.

That thought alone gives her all the disdain she needs to spit in his face when he presses some other poor fucker into the cell bars.

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he warns, ignoring the disgusting blob on his face in favor of finding his keys before the new prisoner can manages to slip loose.

“I didn’ fuckin move ‘em, twat,” Anne spits back.

The door opens and the new fuck gets shoved inside; the pimple-faced teenager at the cell door fumbles nervously with his keys as he pulls away from the cell, like he can’t get out of her reach fast enough. It’s enough, though. The dumb fuck’s so badly shaken that he didn’t quite close the cell door enough, a slip-up Anne’s fast to act on. She slides her thumb over the lock’s bar and rattles the door against its hinges like it’s still stuck tight, snarling at the boy. He flees without checking the door and Anne, relieved, presses the bar back into the cell’s handle before turning around and leaning against the cell door—closed now, yes, but not locked.

Two makes for better odds in a fight but worser odds in an escape. Anne isn’t about to let some half-witted twat trip over himself and topple her carefully constructed plan in his haste. She studies him carefully before speaking, eyes picking apart details as she goes, constructing stories. Sweat stained, sun bleached shirt: not a landlubber, denied the luxury of clothes washed often. Tanned: time spent outdoors, and a lot of it. Stubbled, wind blown, carefully and even lovingly patched, everything about this man told Anne a story, but no part of that story spoke to her in familiar tones except for the bags under his eyes. Sleepless. She stares at them and tilts her chin up, offering her own evidence of the same condition. Anne’s stand out more on her freckled, burnt, stubble-less face, a cool color on a map of warmth.

“Are you a friend,” she asks, gaze jumping up to meet his own, “or a liability?”