#mad at the system yet again

[numbuh424]

I don't know if anyone else will appreciate this but if there are any other Death Note fans out there who also enjoy the TV show Taskmaster I am making a DN on Taskmaster AU so self-indulgent and I am pleading that you make yourselves known to me cause I can't be alone in this

[diredeliverance]

This was supposed to just be a quick, barely-more-than-stick-figures doodle to remember a pose for later, but every time I glanced down at my sketchbook while doing something else I thought "ah, I could add one little detail for fun" until it stopped being a helpful pose reference and became some other thing. Watch your back or something

[iwacura]

college sure is lab designed to make you want to crawl up a wall 👍

[kat-writes-things]

I also have a... book? I'm writing. I don't quite know if I can call it a book yet - it's currently a bunch of scenes that I've written which are reeeeeeeeeeaally far apart time/space/realm wise and I will have to find some way to connect them at some point. ANYWAY I'll post some of that here too ig.

[s-4pphics]

… are we rolling?

SYNOPSIS: screwing your best friend on live isn’t that strange… right? … RIGHT? 

WORD COUNT: 5.3K

WARNINGS: SMUT — MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS/MEN WILL BE BLOCKED, switch/sub!ellie, switch/dom!reader, brief mentions of misogyny in porn?, ellie bottoms n is slightly bratty in this, readers a service top, stoplight system, fingering, eating pussy, making out, readers dirty mouth[to be expounded, she’s gross], orgasm denial/ruined orgasm, mentions of weed but none used, mentions of sex on camera(not performed,,, yet), mentions of voyeurism, brief mention of exhibitionism, brief mentions of bondage, slight dumbification, laughtercare :)

A/N: i reread click and realized i need more cam star ellie. this is for ME. i wrote this for ME. i needed THIS. another result of ovulation. i imagined jackson!ellie while writing this but imagine any ellie you’d like. sigh... love yall <3 

wait i came back…. guys i think i love writing again. i love editing again. i love rewriting again. hurray/hooray

everybody clap for aestra for proofreading for my drafts :) LUV YA DEAR @edenspoem

“Look here.” 

“I am.”

“Not at my hand, honey. Look here. The camera’s here.” Your fingers twinkle in front of the lens. 

Yes, the camera’s there, but so are your stone-clad, delicate fingers, wrapped graciously around your sloppily stickered tripod where your overtly fancy digital camera sits neat and determined on top. 

Ellie’s trapped in delirium. A lost tango of abiding your very thorough instruction while waltzing the line of entrancement. She hasn’t retained much in the past five minutes because frankly, how could she? The same fingers she’s secretly admired for the better part of 5 years are about to submerge inside her and lead with nothing but carnal instinct. Who wouldn’t go mad? She surely has, and your mattress isn’t even a mess yet. 

The invitation of her star-fishing had been bright and fruitful on your part. Since the birth of your friendship, Ellie has grown incredibly reliant on your clarity. She’s never met a person as honest and forward — but not abrasive — as you are; the reins of the relationship remain stable under your control, never too wild or incessant to be yanked, and much to her appreciation, lack of structure turns you to panic just as it does her. She gains a sense of tranquility from your bluntness, and that day in your car was just that. Blunt.

She was naive at the time: to accept a time bomb disguised as an overtly expensive black coffee, placed gently into your cup holder while Ellie clapped her hands together like a seal. It’s always the same steady routine: coffee and shittalking, the brunette’s favorite pastime. 

If she knew her blood would practically write love letters all over your car windows, she may have never accepted your invite. 

“Would asking to fuck you stupid be too forward?” 

Asked with a nothing tone, simplicity and the brightest eyes. Her soul was snatched clean from its confinement with your manicured claws, palms stained with the maroon of her bleeding heart. She assumed you were pulling her leg for her own sanity, but you’ve never been a puller, at least not during conversations that highlight lengthy forms of human intimacy, but damn, no one had ever asked to bend her over in broad daylight ever. Heat radiated off her and onto you like overworked machinery. 

“I don’t think so?” was her stuttered response, but it hadn’t been enough to convince you. If you were to despise one thing, it’d be uncertainty, and that lost tremor was nearly enough to turn you the other direction. Nearly. Almost. 

How did someone like Ellie, intimidated, clueless— dangerously obsessed— convince? Simple as ever — it was a thoughtful proposal. Straightforward. Not a leg pulled, and in that moment, she knew she garnered your approval. Look where she ended up a few days later. 

“Wanna get in the back… or?” 

Reckless? Yes—but a girl with wants doesn’t care about her mutilated surroundings. Fulfilling her desire: that’s what Ellie needed right then and there, on the seat in the middle of the parking lot of the shopping center. Consider it a repayment for that six dollar cup of nitroglycerin. 

You giggled a sound so tender despite the twistedness of your tongue. Had you finally given Ellie the upper hand? You had to, even if it would be the last time you ever allowed her to lead. She assumed your laughter to be a sign of surrender—finally, she had thought, right as her jacket slid off her shoulders to dangle from your passengers side.

You have an ability to stun with your smile—teeth stained red with every swipe of your tongue on dirtied glass. Ellie fell victim to your attacks all over again, another bomb unleashed, from your mouth this time. 

“Would asking to fuck on live be too forward?” 

Right at that very second, the clouds of the heavens split down the center to embrace her hollow, dark spirit—to protect her from the lecher of a seductress. The angels didn’t dare touch you to bring along: they sense the trap in your softness. There’s so much filth that resides underneath your colorful aura. She took that secret to the sky: how equally sick she was, your exact match. 

You had put heavy emphasis on live. Live as in livestream. Live Stream as in real people watching while you make a mess of her despite having always had, but that would teter into a space neither of you have touched in your friendship. She always hoped there was something there, a fringe of deeper devotion, even if meek; all those times where you caused goosebumps to bloom all over her with your filthy whispers, all the times you’ve called her gorgeous, all the times your fingers travelled, dipped, stayed just a bit too long on her skin. They had to have meant something, and your proposal was proof of it, in her mind at least.

Doing porn had never crossed Ellie’s mind. Viewing was barely satisfactory on its own—an occasional indulgence here and there when she’s desperate and her imagination’s a bore, she’d watch, cum, and fall asleep slightly less antsy. It was a raunchy tool for satisfaction and nothing more.

Until it wasn't. 

Until she scrolled a tad too deep on Twitter after hours—a fuzzy video that lasted no more than 12 seconds, but it mutilated her brain so viciously, and it wasn’t due to the saliva-coated fingers circling around a swollen areola before showcasing sharp fangs. 

No. It was the nightstand in the background, barely in focus; it’s shocking how easily she recognized it. The same nightstand with a knife scratch in the left corner of the top drawer. The one sloppily painted over with neon yellow. The one that holds a floral-patterned lamp that she remembered turning off on countless occasions. 

Your nightstand. Your tits, your saliva, your fingers. You you you and yours. 

A part of Ellie died that night, exactly a year ago. The innocent part. The strictly-friends part. The stress-filled day ended with her rubbed completely raw and swollen and irrevocably high off you: rewatching that same 12 seconds over and over before progressing to minutes long ones of you screwing yourself silly—buried deep at the bottom of your page, then the 15 minute long ones that hid behind a paywall where you got fucked or fucked in positions she didn’t think were possible—even made a burner account to unabashedly like and bookmark every moment of your partners seemingly entranced by you, so much so that she had to comment under an alias—her appreciation for cumming so hard. The relishment hadn’t lasted long because men—the bane of her existence(and yours, every pest now deleted), can never shut the fuck up. Comment after comment: Sexy, Bet you can take massive loads like nothing, I can make you straight again. Ellie’s unsure if she can bring herself to kill, but if she could without a trace… oh, if she could. 

Unfortunately, telling predatory men to kill themselves only beckoned her karma. Her naughty secret had a three-day lifespan. What luck she has. 

Who accidently falls asleep to Twitter porn inside of said porn star’s house, on said pornstar’s couch? 

She was awoken by warmth from a blanket she hadn’t retrieved herself, a fully charged device that she knew she hadn’t plugged in, and breakfast. A good and hefty breakfast for a good and hefty conversation. 

Safe to say you and Ellie’s relationship became helluva lot more personal that morning. 

Personal enough for you to describe in detail the adrenaline you feel when people(not men, people) get off to you, your body. Personal enough to show her videos that may never reach the internet due to their intimacy. Personal enough to ask her to hold the camera while you pose unclothed—that took a bit more time, but it happened. So, so personal. 

Not personal enough to turn her away from fucking you, though. She spent too many late evenings stalking that account—absorbing each line and curve of your stature in lingerie or naked or strapped up, memorizing where and what sensations set you ablaze, rewinding the small seconds right before euphoria consumed you whole. All that studying had come full circle, all to be tested at that moment. Her daydreaming had flipped on her. Tongue in cheek—she didn’t bother hiding her enthusiasm. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“I want you to know this is the craziest thing I’ve ever done.” Ellie calls from your mattress, jeans already kicked off to the side of your room. 

“Having second thoughts?” 

Not a scrimmage of disappointment in your tone—eyes soft with alertness and an overcast of concern. 

“No… just talking out loud.”

“There’s no wrong in wanting to back out. This is… it's a bit weird.” 

Live Streaming is weird. That’s probably the scariest part about all of this—not the risk of ending a friendship that Ellie has grown especially fond of, not the potential change in perspective of her from your end, but the perception from strangers. What if she hiccups or makes a weird noise or reacts in a way that’s not… attractive to the masses? What if they don’t like her? You’re the star after all. They pay decent amounts to see you in your sensual glory—Ellie simply doesn’t possess that eloquence this sort of indulgence requires. 

“Or we can opt outta streaming altogether if it’s bothering you. We can just… you know, build up to it.” The shy gesture towards your mattress gets Ellie swooning. Her tone drops an octave, playfulness cranked higher to soothe her nerves. “Are you suggesting that I become a regular?” 

“Would you like to become a regular?” 

“Oh? There's other clientele?” Ellie snickers off the slight—quite slight agitation that sparks within her at the suggestion of others. Unreasonable and annoying, but she can’t help it. “I’ll know for sure after this, no?” 

“I suppose.” You murmur with curved lips, scanning your camera with what Ellie can read as hesitance. 

“What’s the matter?” 

“I’m thinking.” 

“About?” 

“I can’t help but think this is a lot for you. We’ve never even kissed.” 

“I beg to differ—“

You scoff, “we were high. That doesn’t count and you know it.” 

“Why wouldn’t it count?” 

“Ellie.” You scold gently, and her fight falters, sighing deeply when the mattress bunches around her elbows.

“So… what’s the plan?” 

“I told you already. Building up to.” 

Ellie hums with interest you’ve piqued. “Are we rehearsing then?”

“That’s cute. I like that. Sure, rehearsing.” 

She huffs at your mocking, “come closer.” 

“In what world do you think you can tell me what to do?” 

Ellie’s response stays lodged in her throat from its dryness. The air shifts—her world shifts in a way that she feels upside down, her breath scattering and fingers twitching where they rest on your blanket. Heat blooms from her cheeks to her forehead at the ease in your stare. 

You’re so calm. You radiate serenity on the slow journey to your dresser, your rings clattering in your jewelry holder—the same glass seashell Ellie gifted you on your birthday two years ago. It’s a familiar preparation, a ritual she’s mastered on her own, but for some foreign reason, her chest swirls with a sensation that she can’t pinpoint.

“I… um…”

“Yeah? You, um, what?” The corner of your mouth curves ever so slightly—so cunning, and suddenly, the conversation could be about anything. All efforts of indifference melt down through your mattress to drip onto hardwood. The role of your camera is long forgotten with every step your sock-covered feet take. 

Her legs jerk when you finally stand between her legs, jeans tickling her skin, nearly locking you in place by your thighs but you don't falter—she’s frozen in her position, laid out in front of you with confidence on rapid declination.

“Stoplight system.” You whisper, Ellie’s response just as airy. 

“What?” 

“Do you know what that is?” 

Sounds familiar—possibly something that you’ve mentioned in passing a few times. She hadn’t understood the context when you mentioned it during your routine one-night-stand recalls, but you were left giddy enough to talk about them until you went blue in the face. 

She says no, secretly due to how good you sound, raspy and alluring. You could be talking about actual traffic laws and she’d be just as skittish and needy as she is now. 

“If, for any reason, you don’t like something that I do, or say or anything — or if you just want to stop, say—“

“Red.” She comprehends, and you call her smart—just under your breath, and her legs lock on you again. Stoplight. Simple enough. Green or blue or orange or whatever. Come closer. 

“And if I like it? Whatever it is you do.” 

“Then tell me you do. I work better with praise.” 

The room goes silent while Ellie flounders and you inspect, particularly deep and all over her; lines burning into skin with every pass of your pupils on her thighs, scarred and dotted. Your gaze flickers, dilated and fluttering with lust but upholding serenity, eyes capturing and framing every insecurity she’s developed since adolescence, lodged deep into your memory. Such scrutiny… she wishes she had the heart to despise it. 

“Speaking of, what do you like? How do you touch yourself?” With causality, the tip of your index finger traces up her thigh, following the healed gash she earned after failing to hop a fence when she was fifteen. Ellie’s chest gives a tight squeeze when it curls underneath the lining of her shirt to inch it up slightly. A smile twists when you catch the colorful lining of her underwear. 

“I touch myself like everyone touches themselves.”

“And how is that.” 

She scoffs ludicrously. “I don’t fuckin’ know, I just do it.” 

“Does it feel good when you just do it?” 

“I don’t remember.” 

“Interesting.” And with that, you drop to your knees and Ellie nearly faints. 

“You’re tense.” 

“Well, yeah—“

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“You know I’m not.” 

“Then loosen up a bit. I won’t do anything crazy til next week.”

That’s the problem, isn’t it? How does Ellie tell you that she wants everything you have to offer without frightening you? Overwhelming you? Would that even be possible for you—to be alarmed by her desires? It’s hard to tell. There’s three different floggers pinned to your door for fucks sake. 

Yeah… incredibly hard to tell. 

Especially when your fingers hook in her waistband like you've been anticipating ripping them to shreds. You don’t pull, but rest. It’s clear in your vision when she looks up, that tranquil warning: Ellie’s last chance to bail out completely, even as you attempt to mask your smile when you catch a glimpse of her wetness. 

Her lungs constrict with how deep her breath is. Her heart thrashes with her inquiry, ragged and insatiable. 

“And what’s next week?”

You scoff a laugh and Ellie’s thighs twitch. 

“When my paypigs finally get to watch me fuck you dumb.” 

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” escapes in one exhale before she’s sucking in another gust of air.

“Yeah?” 

She barely has any time to squeak her approval before her underwear is torn from her. Her thighs tense with instinct to shut them. You’re eye level with her cunt in all its drippy glory. Ellie’s never felt this form of anxiety when naked in front of anyone. She’s seen your pussy when it glistens under flash—a glorious sight. It feels wrong and misogynistic to call a pussy mediocre but in comparison, you’re beautiful and she's… decent? She’s not as smooth and doesn’t shave because what the fuck for, but she also doesn’t have to worry about people criticizing her pussy in the way they would criticize yours. Her pussy’s hers and hers only… but she’ll die if you think she’s… unattractive. She’ll jump out your window. 

“Why do you look like that?” 

“Like what, dude.” 

“Like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Well, my labias on display, for one—“

Rebuttals die as quickly as they blossom. 

The last bit of oxygen in her lungs is lost when your index and middle finger lay gently over her, stunted by your warmth when you spread her, gentle sloshes from her slick spreading as it spills from her. You’re seemingly unbothered by any of Ellie’s sudden self-judgements, and shockingly, her own brain has silenced under your gawking. She only watches your hand, uses it as grounding before her lungs stop working. 

“Look at you.” You coo. “You’re real cute, baby.” 

“Thanks,” barely mumbled—barely coherent. Your canines bare beneath a smile; you’re about ready to tear her to shreds.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask you. How do you touch yourself?” 

“I… just rub one out when I have time.” Her eyes flit from your face to the wall only to find more nudity across pink and faux brick. Even with erratic glances, there’s so much detail and care within each photograph: some from magazine shoots, some from polaroids you’ve captured. Some of you, some with you, and some without you — images left with only your satisfied companions, evidence of your lecher embedded permanently into their skin. 

Will you leave her the same way? Capture her with such delicacy to pin to your wall?  

“… That all?” 

Her entire body engulfs in flames and your gentle scrutiny doesn’t help. Her shoulders bump weakly. 

“I think you deserve a little bit more than that. All ‘m saying.” 

You stand and wave your hand at her, ushering her further back onto your mattress. She flounders stupidly until she’s centered on your pillows and you smile. “Get this off for me.” You tug at the hem of the shirt she stole from your drawer last year. Ellie short circuits when her back arches and fingers tug at the fabric, leaving her fully unclothed—she prays you can’t hear the borderline violent pounding atop her ribcage. 

She fidgets when your arms hook tight around her thighs to yank her closer, her locks dragging across your pillows and before she can even register your closeness, you kiss her. She hardly notices the noise, her noise, vibrating on your lips—guttural and strained and nasally, and she can’t stop wriggling against you, no matter the efforts of you trying to station her hips. 

This kiss is nowhere reminiscent of your first one. You may not remember but Ellie does—chaste but filled with adoration and softness underneath the stars. Gentle and light that got Ellie’s chest stirring with tenderness. This isn’t like that—not when your hands move from her hips to her wrists to pin above her because she keeps pulling you where she shouldn’t. Not when you bite her lips, not when your lips suction around her tongue. Not not not not. 

This kiss is real, this kiss is hungry: pronounced with fervor with every steaming swipe of tongue. Just when she’s sure you couldn’t get any closer, you manage, and Ellie burns wherever your skin touches. You’re making her a mess — you did then when you cradled her cheeks with that doting smile before pecking her mouth that night, and you still do; the proof scents your fresh sheets. How’s that for praise? 

She’s conflicted between wishing you weren’t clothed and desperately needing to grind herself into your jeans. The need to imprint herself in every corner of your comforting sanctuary is enough to turn her animalistic: she tears into your hand with her nails, arches her back to grind up into your leg before you force her still. Every corner you turn, whether she’s here or not or you’re fucking someone else — no matter the ache of that knowledge, there’ll always be a memory of her presence— she was here first, and everytime she ends up under your sheets, you’ll be the first to know.  

You must have the same idea because your mouth and teeth travel south with intent to bruise, down the curve of her neck, and… fuck. 

You pause at her giggle, when her chin tucks slightly to the side to shield the sensitive skin. You suck your teeth at her, all smiles. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t—“

Ellie cackles when you pout, “You ticklish here, too?” One wrist gets freed from your confinement before you poke a tentative finger to the other side of her neck, but the results are the same. Chin tucks and light snickers. You mask your own laughter with a kiss to her cheek. And her chin, and her nose. Until she’s giggled out. 

“It’s weird as fuck, ‘m not ticklish anywhere else but there, not even on my sides.” Nerves unravel her tongue. You hum acknowledgments like you’re listening because you're sweet and care that she feels heard, all while your lips smack down to her chest. 

“My sides are ticklish,” you whisper between her breasts, and she shudders, “my thighs, too.” 

“Noted,” cracks reside in her timbre when your teeth sink into her skin. Her whining replaced laughter. 

“What’re you takin’ notes for?” 

“Gonna tickle you when you’re not looking.” She whimpers.

Ellie’s jaw slacks when you suck a nipple into your mouth. Your hands return to their residence on her waist when she jerks and her back cranes. You sound so far away when you laugh around her, “feels good there?” 

“Agh, shit—“

“Does it? Tell ‘em it does.” You grit, and Ellie freezes. She can feel you smiling. 

Your fingers find the cushions of her cheeks to force her head up, but she’s not looking at you. Not at the wall either. She doesn’t have to. This is a rehearsal, is it not? You're training her for the real thing: to be fully exposed on camera and not feel shame. 

Her eyes meet the camera lense, and you hum around her nipple in satisfaction. She’d bet every dime that her eyes crossed and met directly in the middle. Thank God you’re distracted. 

“Tell them, Ellie. How good is it?” You vibrate against her and her hips launch up into you. 

“It… yeah, it’s really goo—“

You cackle into her chest and Ellie’s eyes squeeze shut. How is it possible that her body’s temperature increased another hundred degrees? Just as she garnered enough courage to talk to a theoretical audience, her voice breaks like a kid going through puberty. 

But your laugh is very reminiscent of jingle bells. She can’t help but smile. 

“They’re gonna love you bitch, holy fuck—“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ellie snickers, and your lips smack against her chest. She has to stop her arms from chasing you when you sit up onto your knees. One quick glimpse at her chest is enough proof that you two crossed paths. You’re all over her. 

Your eyes are soft with their travels over her frame. Too much scrutiny that she’s enjoying: deflection is her only way out of it. “My nips hurt, man, fuck.” 

“Sorry dollface, couldn’t help myself.” 

Her knuckles pale around your blankets when your hands hook underneath her knees, slowly forcing them up where they connect to rest on her chest, and her skin bleeds its deepest shade. Her last bits of anxiety leave in one final exhale before she hooks her arms under her knees to keep them steady. 

“She’s gorgeous, baby.” 

Your directness makes Ellie scoff. She watches you readjust where you’re seated, ass rested on your heels with a hand on the back of her thigh.

“Watch me, ‘k?” You peer from behind her legs. Ellie can barely get a nod in before her clit gets stimulated, circled slow by your thumb. 

“Don’t kick me.” You whisper sillily, and she huffs, albeit dry and breathless, but you smile brighter and her heart soars. 

“How’s that, babe?” 

“Good, like it.” 

“Tell me what you need.” You demand softly and her body feels caressed by your tone alone. 

“C — can you… do it like this?” Her middle and ring finger demonstrate before you: side to side, faster. She likes pressure—bodies on bodies, desperate hands, feeling so needed that she’s drowned by whoever she’s with. She needs that from you. 

Her eyes cycle when you comply with precision—of course you’d be an expert and touch her right where she needs it, get her panting like a dog. 

“Better?” 

“M… mh—“

“Yeah?” You breathe when she whines, and she nods. There’s a pull already forming—more of a yank in the pit of her stomach because she’s on you; dripping onto your sheets, scenting your fingers. She’s slowly infiltrating your space in a way she’s never verbalized but always thought of and you’re allowing it, all because you want her as much as she craves you. She can hear it in your voice, feel it in your touch; you want to own her, even if it’s a mistake or it’s temporary or the damage is irreversible. Her peak is already cresting and she doesn’t even know if the five minute mark has passed.

“I feel it baby, cumming f’me already?” 

Her clit twitches as if commanded. She fucking might if you don’t shut up. You shouldn’t talk like that you shouldn’t sound like that—so alluring and hot and as needy as she feels. She could cum just from your voice, she thinks. She has in the past, but this is different; every vowel is punctuated with swift massages on her cunt by the hands she practically idolizes—the ones attached to her best friend who’s responsible for her messy bed sheets and wrinkled fingertips almost every night. 

You deserve applause for your efforts, so she moans encouragement; hums on about how good you feel, how sexy you are—almost slips and admits that you’re so much better than she imagined when you rub a spot too right. You’re slowly molding her into an open diary with your fingers. 

But Ellie must’ve been too loud. Too wriggly, because you’re gone and standing before the edge of your bed in seconds. She almost sobs but any complaints are strangled quiet by shock when you snatch her arms away to tug her to the edge by the ankles. She chokes on a whine when you drop to your knees, lungs constricting when your mouth latches onto her clit, arms locked tight around her thighs because she can’t stay the hell still, efforts worthless. Your suctions bend her in ways she assumed to be impossible, her nails in search of grounding in your shoulder but you don’t waver when blood drips. She takes you like it with every one of your moans that rattle her from the inside out. 

She’s loud but so are you. With every wail that leaves her mouth, you reply with your own like you feel what she can, but this amount of pleasure is incomparable to anything she’s ever felt. You’re working to break her apart and it’s working; she needs to suffer under you. When a finger prods at her entrance, she knows she’s a goner. The thigh that collides with the side of your head is enough confirmation that she won’t be making it past your bedroom door tonight. 

“Dammit, El—“

Her leg is raised and held at the hind crease of the knee when an eager finger floods around plush and twitchy walls—on a curious search, one rested deep in her while her softness attempts to suck it dry. 

“Gonna have to tie you down to my bed, huh? Keep you nice ‘n still while I wreck this cunt?” 

Her brain wracks with apologies but none actually formulate; just jumbled and broken syllables that sound too much like your name and fuck and deeper. 

She forgets where she is and what’s being done to her when you suddenly graze deeper, fingertip pressed right up against that raised skin that she digs for whenever she fucks herself to you. Her walls practically strangle your index when you snicker at her entranced and lovestruck expression. 

“You close?” 

“Yesyes fuuu—“

Tears wash down her cheeks when you pull out and her euphoric intensity is lost, only left with an ache that makes her abdomen burn. If she was in her right mind, she’d curse you to hell. 

“I know, I know, stop crying. Back up a bit, baby.” 

She slugs but you steady her when those thighs give a little wobble. You keep her leg bent with your hand as you rest. Ellie’s weak arms blindly search for one of your pillows to rest on so she can watch without disturbance. She doesn’t need to beg for you back inside—you’re already stretching her with an extra finger before she can blink and ecstasy takes over her vision, spots on your ceiling, gets her sobbing all over again because it’s too good. 

And you’re laughing—not your normal, excited and chippy giggle that she loves with every cell of her being. This is dark and mocking like you crave her humiliation. She likes that. She loves that. She gives you that: the pleading eyes, grabby hands on your waist, attempts to shut her legs just so you can swear to mount her flat all over again. 

“‘s coming, ‘s comin’ oh my fuck—“ 

“Give it t’ me, be good and give it, c’mon—” 

“—pleasedon’tstop—“

“‘m not. You earned this, yeah? Cum for me—”

There’s 8 wonders of the world. Or 3. However the fuck many there possibly are, your fingers take up two rankings. 

Ellie’s never had an orgasm that deafened her. Either her shout was loud enough to blow her eardrums out or the deep grind of your fingers reached so far that her brain now lacks some function. There’s no wave, there’s no buildup, there’s no anticipation—she just cums, thrashes underneath you, rips your sheets to shreds with her nails. Soaks your wrist til it drips down your forearm with whatever she could give and you take it all, force her through whatever she doubts she can take. Her pleasure is so aggressive it’s almost painful but she needs that. She’ll do and take anything from you if it means you'll do this for her again and again and again until her breath belongs to you. 

She sobs so guttural when your fingers push past her tightly shut legs, your laughter so gleamingly cynical. 

“O—okay—god, fuck, okay, baby, okay okay—“

All over again, your fingers yank her soul from her pussy when you leave. She’s completely motionless against the damp mattress, breathless whines vibrating from her throat as her muscles flex and twitch and beg for your return. She barely manages to roll over onto her side to curl into herself. Every movement is a reminder of what she’s had, what she’s lost due to emptiness. Embarrassment can’t even be felt anymore; she needs you to fuck her again, nerves be damned. 

Some minutes pass with you aimlessly rubbing her leg until that same twinkle—the laughter she knows and treasures—raptures her ears. Euphoria leaves her in the same form, so hysterical it turns her red in the face. 

“So…”

Ellie calms her giggling just enough to hear you say, 

“Same time tomorrow?”

[no-144444]

don’t embarrass me- l.norris

summary: lando and you have a fight on NYE

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You were angry. Every five seconds you had a friend asking if you and Lando had broken up, all because Maugi (one of Lando’s friends) was trying to make it look like she was with Lando. It was infuriating.

“You alright baby?” Lando whispered as he leant against you, the party already in full swing. You looked fabulous. Silver and gold for the new year. You looked like a million bucks. Yet you felt like a fraud. Every time you saw them together you felt yourself… shrink. Like you had to make room for their friendship. Whenever you’d try to talk to him about it, you were met with more questions than answers, and a lot of aggression.

You didn’t care anymore.

“I’m good,” you smiled. “You?”

“I’m great,” he smirked, pulling your waist into his. “You look fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, dotting kisses against your cheek.

You grinned. “Thanks baby.”

His grip tightened but over his shoulder you saw him. Oscar. Lando’s teammate. Lando’s friend. You had a plan, and you were going to make Lando pay for brushing you off.

“Wanna get out of here-?” Lando had started to speak, but he was cut off when you walked away, and straight into Oscar’s arms. He assumed after a little while, you’d come back. You didn’t. You and Oscar spent all of New Year’s Together, while Lando was stuck with Max and Pietra looking every part the perfect couple.

“Why are you sulking?” Max laughed, clapping Lando on the back.

“She’s gone off with Oscar,” he mumbled, looking up as he leant against the balcony railing.

“He is her best mate,” he pointed out. “Join the conversation, or at least hang off her like you usually do.”

He huffed. “She’s mad at me.”

“What did you do this time?” P asked.

“The whole Maugi thing kind of got to her, and when she’d ask me… I kind of brushed her off. She's been off for weeks.”

“So you fucked up?” Max sighed.

“I fucked up,” he nodded. “And now she’s ignoring me, and it’s 3 minutes to midnight.”

“She’ll let you be her New Year’s kiss, surely,” Max scoffed.

Lando nodded, deciding to go find you, but the uncertainty in his stomach had settled long ago.

He caught you from across the room, the absolute picture of beauty. Dancing haphazardly with Lily as Oscar held both your drinks, you danced, somehow looking somehow carefree and elegant at the same time. He smiled. The anxiety in his chest settled momentarily. You were still you. You were still his. You were just upset.

“It’s almost midnight,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, joining you in dancing as Lily excused herself to the bar. The red flashing lights and alcohol in both your systems made your dancing look a lot dirtier than it had intended to be, but alas, he just enjoyed feeling you close.

“Oh yeah?” You asked, turning around to him. “Finding Maugi anytime soon?”

He rolled his eyes. “You think I’d want her over you?”

“You don’t make it look any different,” you scoffed.

“Baby,” he smirked, practically laughing. “You’re the most perfect, incredible, kind, woman I have ever met. I love you. You’re my everything. I’ll admit when you came to me about it, I could’ve responded better, and I’m sorry. I was stressed about the way the media saw it, and I didn’t know how to respond to you. I’m sorry.”

You smirked. “That’s all I needed.”

He giggled, pulling you into him. How had he ever pulled you? He was such a loser when it came to you. He’d do anything.

“Do I get my midnight kiss?” He smiled, his cheeks blushing.

“You’re such a baby,” you chuckled as the timer counted down. You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Don’t ever embarrass me like you have, ever again.”

You pressed your lips to his and bit down on his bottom lip. You made him scared. Is it bad that made him hard?

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

navigation for my blog :)

mclaren masterlist

[hvnlygrl]

hello! may u please take my request? :) ♡

rafe cameron and reader are at a party and she starts acting bratty and telling him to go away and shoving him off and then he leans down and whispers in her ear to tell her to meet him in the bathroom for a spanking as punishment but she tells him no and that they should just do jt at home and then he smirks and leans down again saying that if they do it at home he'll make it 10x rougher, then he leaves, giving reader no choice as he watches her from afar with a smirk as she nervously chips on her nail and bouncing her leg. also can u write the smut punishment (edging)

⌞ BRAT ⌝

જ⁀➴ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader

જ⁀➴ word count | 2.4k

જ⁀➴ warnings | MDNI — raw sex (wrap it up y’all), rafe edges the fuck out of reader, crying due to edging, p in v, oral (f rec), creampie 🫣, uhhh, dirty talk, little bit of after care.

જ⁀➴ synopsis | at a party on figure 8, you begin testing rafe’s patience with your attitude. he’s not the type to let shit slide, and you’re in for a long night.

જ⁀➴ notes | HOT HOT HOT woah now i ate with this i think… thanks for the request anon! sorry it took so long i hope this makes up for it tho 💌

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the first time, rafe had to admit, it was cute. but by the third and fourth, he knew you were doing it on purpose. consistently teasing him by letting your ass glide against the thin fabric of his shorts as you passed in front of him, or the winks you shot his way over the rim of your cup. he wasn’t mad, per se, just frustrated.

rafe knew you were riling him up, and he knew that it was working. however, he wasn’t ready to leave, the two of you had only been at the party for a total of an hour.

rafe also knew that the more alcohol went into your system, the more you would tease him. and he was right, the longer it took for you to get your way with him, the more horny you felt and the more you pushed.

you finally found a moment where he was away from his friends, using that as your opportunity to whisper into his ear, “baby, when are we leaving?”

“not now,” he cuts a semi-menacing glare at you, “i’m not ready yet.”

you groan, making a face at him, “but babe!”

“no,” he affirms again, “not leaving now. you’re just gonna have to keep it in your pants for a little longer sweetheart.”

now you were frustrated, brows furrowed and eyes squinted at him. “seriously?”

“yeah,” he huffs back at you, “now stop teasing me.”

“or what? what are you gonna do about it?”

rafe looks at you like his next meal, “oh no, no, i’m not playing this game with you right now.”

“ugh, you’re no fun,” you roll your eyes.

you knew you were getting to him, but you also were fully aware that rafe would never let you be in control, especially not when you were acting like such a brat.

he leans down to give you a kiss, face hardening when you weave away from it at the last second, a mischievous grin plastered across your face. he takes a deep breath and tries again; this time grabbing your face as he does so. you wrench your chin from his grasp, dodging his kiss yet again.

“you being forreal right now?” he’s not hurt, that much is obvious, but you can see the mild anger building behind his gaze. “give me a kiss.”

“you can get a kiss when we leave,” you cross your arms childishly, turning your face away from him as you begin to walk away.

he grasps your bicep firmly, pulling you back and into his chest, “meet me in the bathroom.”

“nope, i’ll wait till we get home,” you raise a brow at him, almost as if you were challenging him.

“oh, baby, you won’t like it if you wait till we get home, it’ll be a hell of a lot worse.”

he grips your chin again, this time using his grasp to place a sweet kiss on your forehead before he leans down to the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin, lighting up each and every nerve in the area.

“meet me in the bathroom. now.”

you watch, wetness pooling in your panties as you watch him flash a grin over his shoulder while he makes his way up the stairs. you debate internally whether or not you should follow him, but you’ve dealt with rafe’s punishments before, and the last time was fairly recently, you weren’t sure if you could handle another severe one again just yet.

you quickly scurried up the stairs and down the hallway, eyes scanning back and forth until you find the bathroom.

you take a deep breath, ruffle your hair, and pull your hand from your mouth; a nervous tick you’d picked up as a child, constantly watching your dad mimic the same motion when he was nervous. you knew it was bad, that biting at your cuticles and nails was a big no-no at your age, especially being in a relationship with the king of the kooks. but you couldn’t help it, it was one of those seemingly unbreakable habits that was instilled in you at such an early age. and you figured there could be worse habits to have, so you didn’t do much to quit.

you let your knuckles rap against the hollow core door two sharp times, a signal to rafe to open the door, which he does almost immediately.

he beckons you in wordlessly, watching you squirm in place as you lean up against the bathroom counter. “hiya, rafey,” you huff out in a nervous laugh.

“hiya, baby,” he shoots a wolfish grin at you as he moves toward you, removing his rings and watch, setting the gold items inside of his hat atop the counter. “take your panties off and flip, angel.”

you follow the instructions, lip pinched between your teeth as you do so. you watch him in the mirror, his tight shirt making his muscles pop in the dim lighting. he looks down the neckline of your low-cut dress, his cock growing hard at the sight of your tits dangling against the soft fabric.

rafe drags his hands up the insides of your thighs as he uses his foot to spread them, a quiet gasp flying from your lips at the sudden movement.

“gotta stay quiet, baby, can you do that for me?”

you nod at him quickly, your pussy clenching and dripping just at the sound of his voice, much less everything else he was doing at the moment.

he flips the bottom of your dress up onto your back, leaving your mostly-bare ass out in the open for him to admire. rafe drags his hands across it slowly, fingers tracing the roundness of your cheeks. “you’re so pretty, sweetheart, every part of you is just fuckin’ gorgeous.”

you can’t help but blush at his words, dropping your head for a moment before picking it back up to watch him in the mirror.

“i hope you wore your good mascara tonight,” he laughs lowly, watching as you gulp at the implication.

rafe pulls your panties down and out from around your ankles, placing them along with his jewelry inside of his hat. he uses one hand to pull you a couple steps backward, your legs still spread as he angles you just how he wants you; pussy on full view for him to do whatever he wants.

he begins by slowly trailing his fingertips through your wetness, letting them glide through your folds and around your clit ever so lightly. the gentle sensation already has you breathing heavily, your hands clasped in front of you, gripping each other tightly.

rafe continues that motion for a few more moments before really focusing in on your clit, rubbing it in the way he knows you love the most. he builds up your climax, almost to the point of bursting, and then pulls away quickly, watching the realization flow over your face.

he was going to edge you to the point of tears, that was your punishment for acting like a brat all night, you finally understood, part of you kicking yourself with anticipated frustration while the other part of you felt nothing but excitement.

he flips you over, allowing you to sit atop the counter while he kneels between your open legs, your knees hooked over his shoulders. he starts by kissing long, slow kisses beginning at your knees and eventually trailing their way up to your sensitive area, his lips pressing up against everything except for where you want them the most. where you need them the most.

you were already horny before you even entered the bathroom, hence all the teasing and games you’d been playing all night, but now you were on a whole other level of horniness.

rafe waits until you're far past the point of squirming in your seat before giving your pussy a quick lick, letting his tongue swirl around your clit for a moment before pulling away, his eyes watching the look on your face fall back into a deep level of frustration.

“rafe,” you whine softly, brows furrowed desperately. “please, baby.”

“please, what? you get to tease me for over an hour and i don’t even get five minutes? that’s pathetic, baby.”

you groan at his words, knowing he’s nowhere near giving into your needs.

“you did this to yourself, just keep that in mind, angel.”

you huff softly, the sound caught in your throat when he latches back onto your sopping wet cunt, practically making out with it as you throw your head back in relief. he grips your thighs, letting the tips of his fingers dig into the flesh as he alternates between open mouthed kisses and intricate licks, waiting for the signs of an incoming climax.

you wonder if he’s going to let you cum, or if you can let one slip past him before he notices, but he knows your body better than you do, pulling away as soon as he knows you’re mere seconds away from hitting that point.

he repeats that process a few more times, bringing you to the brink of cumming four more times before standing between your legs, his lips coated in your juices as he grips the back of your hair, gripping it while he pulls you in for a kiss. “you taste yourself, baby? taste so fucking sweet, i just can’t get enough.” he’s almost breathless now, his eyes glossy with lust and his hair unkempt from your hands gripping and tugging on the golden strands.

he notices the tears that have welled up on your waterline, your chest heaving and your expression full of pure desperation.

rafe unzips and unbuttons his shorts, letting them fall around his ankles as he pulls you a little closer to the edge of the counter. he releases his cock from his boxers. he’s big, his dick full of veins and his tip leaking precum. he lets the tip glide through your folds gently, lets it swirl around your clit while he kisses you, his cock throbbing in his hand at the desperate sounds you breathe into his mouth.

your hips jolt forward when you feel his tip barely breach your hole, hoping that the movement would be enough to feel him inside of you, a whine falling from your lips when rafe pulls back, giving you a look. “you want me to keep going?”

a tear glides down your cheeks at his words, “no, no, please, rafey, i need it.”

“what? what do you need, baby?”

“i need you, i need you inside me,” you whimper, praying it's enough for him.

“what, like this?” he sticks two fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out quickly, curling them at the ends so his finger tips brush against your g-spot. your eyelids flutter at the feeling, a frown washing over your lips when he pulls them away. he sucks the juices off of his pointer finger before putting his other finger in your mouth. “speak up, sweetheart, tell me what you need.”

“i need to feel you, feel you fuck me,” you’re truly on the verge of real tears here, “please, rafe, please fuck me, i can’t take it anymore.”

he flashes that tell-tale grin at you, one hand gripping your hip roughly as the other guides his cock back into your hole, “whatever you want, baby.”

you gasp when he finally bottoms out inside of you, the tip of his dick brushing up against the deepest part inside of you. one hand grips the edge of the counter, the other one grasps the back of his neck as you pull him closer. the hand he used to guide himself into you moves to hold one of your legs up to his hip, the other gripping your ass tightly. he thrusts in and out harshly, breathing heavily as he feels you clench tightly around him.

“feels so fucking good inside this pussy, baby,” he groans softly into your ear, “this is my fucking pussy.”

“yea,” you moan quietly, “it's all yours baby, just for you.”

he continues thrusting, knowing that your climax will come crashing down at any moment after all the edging he put you through, and he can’t wait for it. he moves the hand that was gripping your ass to your clit, letting his fingers drag over the sensitive nub gently but quickly.

you grip the back of his neck even tighter, pulling him as close as possible. you can feel a scream building in the back of your throat at the upcoming climax, knowing that you can’t let it escape. so the only logical thing you can think of at that moment, your brain practically fried from the mixture of his endless edging from earlier and now amazingly good sex, is that the only way to keep quiet is to sink your teeth into his shoulder. he’s wearing a black shirt, so you know it won’t show, but even if it would you didn’t really have another backup plan.

rafe fucks you like a wild animal until you cum, his fingers still gliding over your clit as your body tenses, teeth digging into his shoulder. he throws his head back at the combination of your pussy practically swallowing him whole, clenching around him so tightly he’s sure his poor dick has suffocated inside of you, and the harsh feeling of your teeth. the cluster of feelings sends him spiralling into his own climax, hips stuttering as he fills you up, cum spurting deep into you.

the two of you rest for a moment, holding each other as you both breathe heavily. he plants a gentle kiss to your forehead before pulling out and grabbing a handful of toilet paper to wipe up the mixture of cum that begins leaking from your hole almost immediately. he gives you your panties back and pulls his own boxers and shorts back up, adjusting his appearance in the mirror next to you. “i love you, baby,” he whispers softly as he watches you go through similar motions, taking a different piece of toilet paper, wetting it as you wipe at your face, c;eaning up the places your mascara ran from the tears.

“i love you,” you smile at him, turning to plant a sweet kiss against his cheek, “that was fun.”

“yea, it was,” he laughs quietly, “you feel better now?”

“oh yea,” you nod, heart fluttering as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in for a tight hug.

he holds you for a moment, hand rubbing your back softly before leaning back to look at you once more. “now, let’s get back to that party and get fucked up, what do you say?”

“i’m so down, babe,” you smile, fingers interlocked with his as he leads you out of the bathroom after checking to make sure the coast is clear in the hallway.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

hvnlygrl 2025 ©️

taglist — @lanasb0ngwater @sarahsangelicdoll

[bytemee]

WICKED GAMES — YU JIMIN.

“bring your love baby, i could bring my shame.”

synopsis. fueled by liquor and jealousy, you show karina that she's not always the one in control.

pairing. mean!sorority!karina x (not so)loser!gp!reader

warning(s). 18+ smut, g!p reader, p in v (unprotected), degradation (um haha), rough sex, u call karina track #17 off 1989 taylors version by taylor swift (sl*t), spoiler alert she likes it, spanking, backshots or a good career, begging, tummy bulge, jus dirty man im sorry this isn't who i am

words. 3k

authors note. yes im late, yes i was sleep, yes im sorru. prob gonna make a masterlist for mean sorority karina (when i wake up tmr). no men interact w this one cuz yall already get yk...so plz don't ruin it

navigation. main masterlist. series masterlist. prev. next.

the bass from downstairs was still thumping through the walls, but you barely heard it over the sound of your own irritation.

you weren't even supposed to be here tonight. you told yourself that every time—every time karina batted her lashes at you and you showed up anyway, standing on the sidelines, playing the role of her personal support system when you weren't even hers to claim.

and yet, there you were again, nursing a drink that was long since finished, watching as some frat guy leaned in a little too close, grinning like he actually had a chance. karina wasn't exactly entertaining him, but she wasn't shutting him down either. just smiling, letting him talk, letting him think.

you clenched your jaw, rolling your empty cup between your fingers.

the party had dragged on longer than you wanted, but you stayed—because you always did. because karina wanted you there, and for some reason, that was enough.

you hadn't said anything when she let those frat guys linger a little too close, hadn't reacted when she flashed them that signature smile. you just watched, jaw tight, fingers curled around your empty cup, telling yourself it didn't matter.

but now, the night was winding down, and somehow, as always, you ended up here.

karina's room was quiet, muffling the heavy bass still shaking the walls downstairs. you barely acknowledged her as you dropped into the chair by her desk, pulling out your phone, pretending to be more interested in your screen than the way she moved around the room.

she hummed softly as she unzipped her dress, letting it slip off her shoulders, pooling on the floor. the sound of her humming was the only noise between the two of you, and it filled you with an uncomfortable warmth. "you were really quiet tonight," she mused, stepping out of it, now left in just a tank top and shorts.

you didn't answer. just kept scrolling.

karina turned, watching you for a moment before making her way over. she didn't hesitate before settling onto your lap, straddling you, one hand resting on your shoulder while the other tugged at your phone.

your gripped tightened, eyes still glued to the screen. "don't want to talk about it," you murmured, turning your head to avoid her lips.

a small smile slipped onto her lips, and her hand came up, brushing back a strand of your hair. "c'mon, don't be mad at me," she said, a hint of amusement in her tone, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

you rolled your eyes.

karina clicked her tongue, fingers curling around your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze. "don't pout, puppy" she cooed. "let's have some fun."

"i'm not in the mood."

"not even for me?" she pressed her hips forward, grinding down on you.

your expression darkened, jaw clenching. "karina—"

karina huffed, her grip on your jaw tightening just slightly. "you're being difficult," she muttered, leaning in, brushing her lips against yours. "thought you liked it when i gave you attention."

"not in the mood," you repeated, pushing her back.

"what, did the guys downstairs upset you?" she said, a knowing smirk slipping onto her face.

Karina stared at your expression for a long moment, waiting for your resounding silence to confirm what she already knew. She chuckled, running a finger along your jaw, leaning in, voice low as she spoke. "are you jealous, puppy?"

your expression hardened.

"shut up," you muttered, grabbing her wrist, releasing her hold on your face. "do you get off being a slut or something?"

karina blinked, eyes widening, her breath hitching slightly. her usual confidence wavered, the teasing expression on her face faltering as a faint blush rose to her cheeks. she opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

her wrist flexed slightly in your grip, not in an attempt to pull away, but more like she was unsure of what to do with herself now. for once, she wasn't in control.

"i asked you a question," you murmured, tightening your hold just enough to make her shiver.

karina swallowed hard, lips parting as she stared up at you, the pink blush on her face growing darker. her tongue darted out, wetting her bottom lip, eyes darkening.

"yes," she whispered, a slight whine in her voice.

"what was that?"

she inhaled shakily, her hips shifting against yours. "y-yes, i get off being a slut," she admitted, a soft moan escaping her.

"that's what i thought," you said, voice low, your free hand dropping to her waist. you squeezed her hip, drawing a sharp gasp from her, your hand drifting lower, squeezing her ass. "you're so fucking annoying," you breathed, leaning in, pressing your lips to her jaw.

"oh, fuck," she gasped, hips pressing forward, hands dropping to your chest. "i'm sorry," she mumbled, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, clinging onto you as you nipped and sucked at her skin.

you hummed, kissing your way up her neck. "are you?"

karina let out a whimper, her hips grinding down against yours.

"you're the only one i want," she whispered, turning her head, catching your lips in a messy kiss. "the only one who can make me feel this good."

you groaned, the sound muffled against her mouth, your hand gripping her hip, tugging her closer. karina's arms came up, wrapping around your neck, fingers tangling into your hair, moaning against your mouth.

you pulled back, just enough to breathe. "so annoying," you repeated, the words lost to the press of your lips.

karina smiled against your mouth. "i know."

it was all too easy to give in to her. to give her exactly what she wanted. you knew she had you wrapped around her finger, and she didn't hesitate to use it to her advantage.

you hated her, and loved her, and everything in between.

she kissed like a dream, the faint taste of strawberry chapstick lingering on her lips, her tongue hot and eager against yours. a soft moan escaped her as her fingers tangled into your hair, nails grazing your scalp, her hips rolling against you, a breathy whine slipping past her lips.

your grip tightened around her waist before you lifted her effortlessly, turning to drop her onto the bed. she grinned, hands reaching for your shirt, trying to pull you down with her. but you pushed her back, pressing her into the mattress, guiding her onto her stomach, her legs hanging over the edge.

she glanced over her shoulder at you, a teasing glint in her eyes as she let out a soft laugh.

"really? from behind?" she mused, lips forming the slightest pout.

you exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes before gripping her hips, pulling her back until her ass was raised. with one swift motion, you tugged down her shorts and underwear, leaving her bare beneath you.

karina bit her lip, a soft moan escaping her at the cool air.

"you wanted to be fucked, didn't you?" you asked, hand coming down to her ass, a loud slap echoing through the room.

karina jolted forward with a cry, the pain only causing her arousal to grow. "f-fuck," she whimpered, pressing back into your hand, desperate for more. you spanked her again and again, leaving her skin red and warm. karina's cries grew louder, her grip tightening on the sheets, her back arching beautifully.

"please," she moaned, eyes fluttering closed.

you spanked her once more, harder this time, the sound of your hand against her skin ringing in your ears.

"please what?" you murmured, dropping to your knees behind her, pressing a soft kiss to her skin.

"want you," she breathed, a quiet whine escaping her. "wanna be fucked. please, wanna be fucked."

"yeah?"

"fuck me," she pleaded, voice cracking as your belt jingled. karina sighed at the sound, anticipation building, her legs spreading, her hips rocking back and forth, desperate for friction. you could hear her ragged breaths, and you could practically see the way her hands were fisted into the sheets, the way her eyes were squeezed shut, the way she was biting her lip in anticipation.

you pushed down your pants, just enough to release your cock, taking yourself in hand. karina moaned as you lined up, a shiver running through her, the head of your cock teasing her entrance.

"you're gonna be a good girl for me, right?" you asked, hand trailing up her back, tugging at her hair.

karina's response was a high-pitched whimper, her hips pressing back against you. you pulled harder, tugging her head back, forcing a moan from her throat.

"use your words, baby."

"yes!" she gasped, her hips pressing back, desperately trying to find purchase. "yes, yes, i'll be good. i'll be a good girl. just fuck me. please, please fuck me. i need it. i need you. please."

"good girl."

karina cried out, fingers curling into the sheets as you sank into her. her mouth fell open, head tipping back, her eyes squeezing shut as her jaw fell open. she was so wet and hot and tight, and it felt so good, and she looked so perfect, and you were going to ruin her. you groaned, sinking deeper and deeper into her until your hips were pressed flush against hers.

"oh, fuck," she whined, her back arching.

you let go of her hair, letting her fall forward, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. you grabbed her hips, digging your fingers into her skin hard enough to leave bruises, and started to move. karina moaned, fingers scrabbling at the sheets, desperate to find something to hold onto, as you fucked her into the mattress.

your pace was quick, a mix of shallow thrusts and deep ones, never letting up, never giving her a chance to recover. her voice cracked as her moans grew louder, her body shuddering, the pressure building in her core.

"you like being fucked like a little slut?"

"y-yes!" she gasped, nodding, her eyes rolling back as your cock hit the perfect spot. "f-fuck, fuck, fuck. so fucking good, feels so good, god, i'm gonna cum. don't stop. i'm so close. fuck, i'm gonna—!"

"not yet."

"p-please!" she cried, voice cracking, her hips stuttering.

"hold it," you warned, voice low, a dangerous edge to your tone.

she sobbed, shaking her head. you gripped her hips tighter, controlling the pace as she whimpered in frustration, on the brink of release.

she cried out as you slapped her ass, a harsh sting spreading through her. you gripped her hair, tugging her head back, forcing her back to arch. she moaned, the new angle hitting deeper, her voice cracking, her walls tightening around you.

"are you going to cum?"

"yes!"

"say it."

"i'm gonna cum, i'm gonna cum, please let me cum," she whimpered, a desperate sob escaping her. "p-please. please, i'm so close, please let me cum, fuck, please."

you growled, a low, possessive sound, and you reached for her chin, pulling her head back even further. "cum for me, rina."

the moment the words left your mouth, karina's body jerked forward with a scream. her thighs shook, her hips bucked, and her body shuddered as she came, the pleasure crashing over her in waves. she was beautiful, her voice ringing through the room, her hair sticking to her forehead, her eyes screwed shut, her lips parted in a silent cry.

you released her hair, letting her collapse against the mattress, her body going limp as her orgasm faded. her hips rolled against yours, the small movements pushing her through her aftershocks, her voice a quiet whimper, her fingers curling into the sheets, her back rising and falling with her shallow breaths.

"so beautiful," you murmured, stroking her back.

she was gorgeous, flushed and breathless, and completely spent. you ran your fingers along her spine, up and down, up and down, letting her come down from her high. she hummed, her eyes fluttering closed, her body relaxing.

"how are you feeling, baby?" you asked, brushing her hair out of her face.

"'m good," she mumbled, her lips curving into a lazy smile. "feel good."

you nodded, leaning down, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "that's good. can you take some more?"

she let out a quiet hum, a soft moan escaping her. "more?"

you gave a gentle nod, and karina's lips curled into a sly grin.

"fuck me."

karina gasped as you moved her, your hands gripping her, manhandling her, positioning her. she was pliant, her body moving willingly under your touch, and a small whine escaped her as you pulled her to you. you sat on your knees, karina on her back in front of you, legs spread, head tilted back, exposing the smooth column of her throat.

you sat on your knees, karina on her back in front of you, legs spread, head tilted back, exposing the smooth column of her throat.

you couldn't resist leaning down, pressing your lips to her neck, your tongue tracing the skin there, tasting her. she let out a soft moan, her hands coming up to rest on your shoulders, nails digging into your flesh. you bit down, leaving a mark on her skin, before sucking on the spot, eliciting a sharp cry from her.

you pulled back, staring down at her, and she stared back, eyes heavy, her lips parted, a faint blush rising to her cheeks.

"beautiful," you murmured, hand trailing down her body, stopping at her breast, squeezing her under her tank top. karina whimpered, hips rocking against yours, a breathy moan escaping her as you pinched her nipple. "you're so perfect, karina. such a pretty little thing."

she flushed, biting her lip.

you chuckled, leaning down, catching her lips in a kiss. "don't act shy now."

"m'not," she mumbled, her hands trailing up your back, tangling into your hair.

"no?" you asked, pressing kisses to her cheek, down her jaw, and her neck. you could feel the warmth radiating off her, her pulse quickening under your lips, her skin flushing, and it was all too easy to imagine her face. her eyes screwed shut, bottom lip caught between her teeth, her cheeks painted with a dark blush, her expression so perfectly sweet.

you leaned back, your gaze dropping to where you were still buried inside her. your cock was glistening, slick with her arousal, and you licked your lips. karina inhaled sharply, watching you with wide eyes, a soft whine escaping her.

"you want me to make you cum again, baby?" you asked, slowly dragging yourself out of her. she nodded eagerly, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she balled up your shirt, half confused why you were still wearing it but too deep in the moment to question it.

"want it so bad," she said, the words slipping past her lips before she could think. you chuckled, pushing back into her with one quick thrust, forcing a moan from her. you stilled your hips, just for a moment, looking at the bulge in her stomach, her skin stretched around your cock, and a shiver ran through you.

"god, look at that," you whispered, your voice thick with lust, a hand pressing down on her stomach. "you take my cock so well, karina."

she whimpered, her head falling back against the pillow, her eyes fluttering closed. her walls fluttered around you, clenching and unclenching, her body craving more, wanting you deeper. she moaned, her hips moving, trying to get you to move, but you stayed still, your eyes glued to her stomach.

"fuck, you're so big," she mumbled, a shaky breath escaping her, her thighs trembling.

"yeah?" you murmured, grinding into her just slightly. "feels good, baby?"

"yeah," she whined, nodding, her fingers tightening their grip on your shirt. "you feel so good. love how deep you are."

a groan rumbled in your chest, and you leaned down, pressing a kiss to her lips, a soft whimper escaping her.

"gonna make you feel even better, baby."

karina's eyes snapped open as you started moving, her head falling back with a moan. her arms wrapped around your neck, holding onto you tightly, her legs hooking around your waist. you groaned, a low, guttural sound, her head turning to the side as you quickened your pace, her breath coming in short gasps.

"so good," she whined, her voice cracking, her grip tightening around you. "oh, god. y-you're gonna make me cum again."

"already?"

"mhm," she hummed, biting her lip, a desperate whimper escaping her. "f-fuck. oh, shit. feels s-so good. please, please. fuck, don't stop. gonna make me cum, gonna make me cum."

"such a slut," you murmured, lips pressing to her cheek, your hand slipping between your bodies, thumb circling her clit. "so sensitive."

karina jolted with a cry, her hips jerking up against yours, her back arching, her mouth falling open in a silent moan. she was a wreck, and you loved it. her eyes were screwed shut, her face scrunched up in pleasure, her walls clenching around you, and the sight had you throbbing.

"you're so fucking sexy, rina," you breathed, nipping at her neck, your thrusts getting rougher, losing any sense of rhythm. "i could do this forever. fucking ruin you, make you scream my name."

karina was beyond words. all she could do was moan and gasp and whine, her body rocking beneath yours.

"cum for me," you murmured, your lips trailing across her jaw, nipping at her earlobe.

she cried out, her hips stuttering, her walls clamping down around you, her head thrown back as she came, the pleasure coursing through her. her body trembled, and you fucked her through her orgasm, her moans and cries echoing off the walls.

"fuck, i'm gonna cum," you muttered, burying your face in her neck.

"please," she whimpered, the word muffled against your skin, her voice cracking. "please, wanna be filled. wanna be yours. cum for me, cum for me. please."

you moaned, the sound rumbling in your chest, as you slammed into her, burying yourself to the hilt. karina cried out as you came, your cock throbbing, filling her. you shuddered, your body going slack, a low groan escaping you, your grip on her hips loosening.

she hummed, her fingers trailing up and down your back, a soft, sated sound, as she held you. she was warm and pliant and perfect, and for a moment, all you could think about was her.

your breaths were ragged, chests heaving, as you both tried to catch your breath. your lips brushed against hers, soft and sweet, and you could feel her smile.

"was that good?"

"yes," she breathed, nodding. "it was amazing. thank you, puppy."

you hummed, your thumb trailing along her hip.

"can you stay tonight?" she asked, a slight pleading tone to her voice.

you couldn't help the smile that slipped onto your face, pressing another kiss to her cheek.

"yeah, rina. i'll stay."

she grinned, the sight making your chest tight, and pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

taglist — @brocoliisscared @kimminjiissosjdirbidnsjje

navigation. main masterlist. series masterlist. prev. next.

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDS in Hogwarts AU

AN: Hi anon, thank you for requesting. This was an awesome one to write. Some of these could be multi chaptered but alas I am a woman of few words and even meagre attention span.

Request: a request!! harry potter au :D love and deepspace and harry potter are my two favourites ^^ thank you!!!

Pairing: LaDS boys x gn reader

Ingredients: 100% Fluff (damn, this is rare)

My Fav: Sylus and Caleb...this is a trend (tell me which ones you like pls)

Xavier:

He is the legacy Slytherin. Pureblood prince of a faraway kingdom, the kind with a family vault older than the castle and buildings named after them.

He sleeps through class but still scores the highest. Doesn’t take notes, but his potions always come out textbook perfect, somehow even better than the textbook.

Even Snape, ever the grump, seems to favor him.

He was your enemy. At least, he was supposed to be.

The nepo baby. The one who walked into Hogwarts with an heirloom wand and a last name that made professors stand up straighter.

You, who ran away from home for magic, scraping together acceptance letters and scholarships, walking into the castle with nerves and nothing else. You, who earned your place.

You hated him. Hated how the system seemed built for boys like him. How Slytherin’s points climbed every time he so much as blinked. How he didn’t fight for the respect he got. He just had it.

And worst of all? He was nice.

Quietly. Gently. Infuriatingly nice.

He held doors open without thinking. Helped carry books for first-years. Always paired with the struggling students in class because, “Well, they need a win, don’t they?”

He never rubbed it in. Never gloated. Never treated you like you were less, which made it worse, somehow. Because you wanted to hate him. Needed to.

But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and smiled like you were someone worth smiling at.

And that… was the beginning of the end.

Rafayel:

You sighed when yet another chair was dragged next to yours at the Hogwarts staff table. At this rate, they might just push you off the end completely.

But alas, such is the fate of a muggle-subjects professor in a school where “Calculus” might as well be a curse word. You’re used to the disinterest, the disapproval. The dark arts will always win over derivatives.

You’re halfway through mentally drafting your resignation letter when the new professor takes his seat, by replacing his legs with an enormous siren tail and dramatically splashing half your legroom away.

"Hello," he says, smiling with too many teeth. "Rafayel. Art professor. Lovely to meet you."

You stare. Shake his webbed hand. Stammer your name.

And then it hits you.

Arts. No magic.

Another outsider. Well—not quite the same. But close enough.

To your complete dismay, Rafayel’s subject is met with none of the disdain yours is. Students flock to his class like he’s handing out enchanted paintbrushes dipped in prophecy. Somehow, he’s the cool muggle professor.

You want to be mad.

But he keeps bringing you snacks during staff meetings. And drawing you in charcoal between grading.

So maybe you forgive him. A little.

Zayne:

“Classroom windows need to be elevated above the two-foot mark,” the man drones, leading you through Hogwarts like he built it himself.

The Ministry has to be trolling you. There’s no other explanation for sending him again.

Zayne. The most regulation-obsessed official alive. The man who’s turned passive-aggression into an Olympic sport.

“Yes, of course, Zayne,” you smile with false sweetness. “Filch and I will get right on it.” (Translation: I will do it while Filch glares and mutters about unions.)

He ignores you. Of course he does. Groundskeepers aren’t worth Ministry time.

Then he stops, turns, and hands you a thick folder. “Every storage hinge in the castle needs to be updated to a new spell protocol. Instructions inside.”

You want to hurl it at his head.

Instead, you smile. “Got it.”

What you don’t know: Zayne spent weeks compiling that list. Researching every obscure policy he could dig up.

All just to have an excuse to come talk to you.

He even bribed Filch to stay out of the way.

So that later, when you’re elbow-deep in cursed cabinet screws, he can show up with dinner.

Professionally, of course.

He’s not an amateur.

Sylus:

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was… a piece of work.

Many a student, mostly girls, a few brave boys, and one very dramatic portrait on the third floor, called him a work of art.

You agreed.

Which was fair, considering you hired him.

Sylus. Your oldest friend. Keeper of far too many of your secrets. Former war general, occasional assassin, and man bound by an ancient oath not to die. Because of course he is.

Was it an HR nightmare? Absolutely.

Did it matter? Not even a little.

You’re the principal with the most peaceful term Hogwarts has seen in decades. No cursed classrooms. No dark lords. No goblin incidents in the West Tower.

They can’t afford to question your hiring decisions, not when it’s working. Even if “working” currently includes the students placing bets on whether the two of you are dating, dueling, or doomed.

There are whispers. Screams, really. Squeals in the hallways every time Sylus leans a little too close during staff meetings. Every time he calls you, by your name, letting go of the official address, with that knowing smile that turns half the seventh-years into puddles.

You pretend not to notice. You also pretend not to see the doodles left behind in your healing arts studies classroom, little hearts drawn in ink, a chemical formula twisted cleverly into your ship name.

"Ten points to Ravenclaw," you murmur with a smirk, holding up the notebook for him to see.

Caleb:

They called it the sweetest story in Diagon Alley.

The Quidditch coach who kept showing up at the same little pub after every match, “for the butterbeer,” he claimed.

(He absolutely couldn’t handle it. Turned red after two sips. Giggled after three. Once tried to do a victory dance and knocked over an entire broom display.)

And the innkeeper, you, who always kept a room open. “Just in case,” you said, as if he wasn’t the reason you looked out the window every Friday night.

Together, you became the unofficial mom and dad to every half-injured, half-homesick player who passed through. Post-win snacks. Pep talks before tryouts. Holiday dinners for those who didn’t go home.

You weren’t just a couple. Your relationship was a blessing.

So of course, when Caleb finally proposed, it had to be with the team. After a big win. Pub packed, cheers echoing off the enchanted ceiling.

He slipped the ring into your butterbeer. A cute idea, in theory.

But you’d just taken a deep sip when he got down on one knee.

Cue: choking, gasping, sputtering.

Half the league panicked. Someone shouted, “She’s dying!” And Caleb, red-faced and frantic, performed the Heimlich in front of two full tables of junior league athletes and at least one reporter.

The ring did come out. Eventually.

You said yes, coughing.

He cried anyway. Ugly, happy, overjoyed tears.

[felikatze]

QoL as Kindness: ISAT's diagetic tutorials

This is the hopefully first of a series of posts I'll be doing reinterpreting ISAT's Loop through the lens of START AGAIN: a prologue's context. As such....

Major spoilers for both ISAT (all acts, including optional content) and SASASAP (all endings).

One of the biggest differences between ISAT and SASASAP is it’s QoL – it’s Quality of Life. QoL refers to all the little things that make a game just that little bit more playable; quick to navigate menus, quicksaving… tutorials.

It’s not really a surprise that SASASAP is as RPGmaker as RPGmaker gets. This isn’t a criticism, just an observation, and also a compliment to how much Adrienne’s skills with the engine improved between releases. Still, there’s some things that ISAT has over SASASAP.

ISAT’s QoL is absolutely essential to making it bearable. Anyone ever watch an ISAT playthrough where the player sighed in relief as the tutorial on picking where you loop came up?

SASASAP lacks a lot of ISAT’s QoL because it’s an earlier project without a studio backing it, but what impresses me is how this change ties into narrative.

Because the greatest chunk of ISAT’s greatest QoL is provided by Loop.

Even before you ever meet them, they’re already over your shoulder. Loop is the tutorial, speaking to you inside your brain. It’s genius, in that no player is ever going to question this. Hell, SASASAP’s movement tutorial is the exact same thing with less flavoring

This reframes what the QoL is – it’s not just a convenience to the player, it’s a convenience to Siffrin, too. It’s diegetic. It’s not something the game is giving you, it’s something Loop is giving you. Let’s look at what Loop gives you, and more importantly, why.

Zone Out

The first of the QoL features I want to talk about is the Zone Out function, the absolute bread and butter of not making this game a total slog.

The Zone Out feature as is did not exist in SASASAP (because Adrienne didn’t know how to do it yet) – instead, some doubled scenes let you just skip them entirely outright. There’s only two extremes: listen to all of it again, or none of it.

ISAT’s zone out system is much more dynamic, since it fast forwards dialogue line by line, letting you zone in whenever you’d like, and forcing you to zone in whenever a) something notably new happens, or b) whenever Siffrin speaks.

The way this feature is introced by Loop is kind of genius. Because Loop’s tutorial is about one thing – it’s okay to skip.

“You might miss what your party is saying, but who cares, right? If you make them mad, you can always loop back and they'll have forgotten all about it!”

It’s a cruel joke, or at least it seems that way on the surface. It’s also genuine advice. And a cruel joke at the same time. For Siffrin, freshly starting the loops, this is scandalous, but for Loop, who’s long since desensitized, it’s the same old same old.

What Loop’s doing here, by joking about Siffrin not listening to the party, is alliviate Siffrin’s guilt when they inevitably take Loop up on the offer. Because, even though Loop loves their party members…

From SASASAP, when sitting outside the bathroom:

(Will you get farther this time?) (Will you live this time?) (Or are you stuck listening to the same lines forever?) (…) (Stars, you’re so tired.)

Loop knows intimately well that Siffrin is going to drive themself insane trying to be a people pleaser every single loop, so this joke is telling the outright – don’t bother.

At first, Siffrin (and the player) still might. I really enjoyed reading the same conversations five times minimum because they’re fun and I’m deranged, but at some point I did start skipping them. And it was a relief to know there wouldn’t be anything new.

Siffrin: “Should I check everything again?” Loop: “You mean, should you check the same barrels, the same closets, the same objects on tables every loop?” Loop: “I mean, you can, but… You know things won’t change, right?” Loop: “If you really want to get a certain item again, or listen to your friends repeat something funny, you should!” Loop: “I personally would only check two or three things every loop, and ignore the rest.” Loop: “It will just make you crazy to expect something to change, when nothing will.” Loop: “All that might change is your reaction to it!”

The game is telling you, Loop is telling Siffrin, don’t drive yourself insane playing, please. The characters aren’t going to remember if you skipped something.

In the course of my script wizard activities, I’ve gotten an in-depth view of just how much that actually holds up. Pretty much all major differences are by Act, unrelated of how often you’ve done something. Minor variations apply for other things, but… those variations are minor.

And this also points out what all those variations are. Siffrin’s reactions!

Loop’s pre-empting Siffrin’s guilt, cuz they probably felt it themself. Hell, we do know they felt the pressure to perform and make sure nobody notices anything’s wrong, in SASASAP! Right up until the finale, Loop was driving themself up the wall.

(You have to act, you can't crack, you have to fake it and play it exactly as you did the first time for the whole way through so your friends don't find out anything is wrong) (You don't want to know what would happen if they knew their quest was in vain) (If they knew their quest for justice and change always ends in stillness and death!)

Acting everything out perfectly is one of the ending paths for SASASAP, which results in… complete and utter failure. Obviously.

(You acted perfectly normally, didn't you?) (Nothing out of place, nothing weird, every line the same as it might've been the first time?) (Ah…That was your mistake, wasn't it…?) (Because… Didn't your very first time… end exactly like this?) (The King throws the Housemaiden's body onto the floor again.)

Zoning out for too many conversations actually awards weird points in SASASAP, locking you out of the Perfect Ending. On the other hand, acting “perfectly” in ISAT… has no awards whatsoever. No special scene or or optional event or anything at all. You get nothing for paying attention!!!

So spare yourself the pain already, m’kay?

(On that note: I don’t think Loop not being sarcastic about it would’ve like… worked. At the start of ACT 2, Siffrin isn’t going to believe Loop when they say “Stop forcing yourself to relive the same thing over and over because you’ll start seeing your friends as disposable actors and lose touch with reality.” That all comes later, when Siffrin can look back on Loop’s words and see how right they were.)

Loop Back

The second biggest sigh of relief in any given ISAT playthrough is probably this specific tutorial.

Loop graciously shows you that you don’t need to loop back all the way to the beginning every single time. You can pick and choose where to go, even going forward by paying up with Memories of Skirmish.

This is a feature SASASAP does not possess, for the reason that it is much, much shorter, only covering about as much as one floor of ISAT’s three floor House.

But… since this is a character showing this to you, Loop showing this to you, we can ask… when did Loop learn this? After all, START AGAIN, Loop’s loops, do not have this feature.

“It'll save you time, so it's important, so listen up!”

This feature not existing in SASASAP means this is a thing that Loop did not know exists during their own time as Siffrin.

And that’s just the thing, isn’t it? SASASAP’s Siffrin does not know how to do this. They cannot pick and choose where they end up, as demonstrated wonderfully by SASASAP’s True Ending. There’s an even more wonderful implication, though –

On SASASAP’s Perfect End path, when exiting the final room before the King, Isabeau says this:

Isabeau: “…I'm glad you're feeling better, though!” Siffrin: (…?) “What do you mean…?” Isabeau: “Oh!!! Um, you were…” Isabeau: “Well! You were acting a little weird when we were way closer to the Castle's entrance……” Isabeau: “You weren't really listening to us, you were kinda smiling the way you do when you're actually not happy…” Isabeau: “…and you like, almost acted like you knew exactly where you were going?” Isabeau: “But clearly you're feeling better now! You're acting just like normal!!!”

SASASAP’s Siffrin knew how to do this, somehow managed to lock themself into the House’s last floor… and then forgot how to get back. By making this tutorial, Loop is ensuring that Siffrin never will.

“What can I do next?” – SASASAP’s greatest flaw

So, if you’ve had the pleasure of playing START AGAIN START AGAIN START AGAIN: a prologue yourself (as you should), then you’ve probably faced this scenario, or some variation of it:

I got to the end, I died to the King, but… what do I do next? The game tells me to go for the extremes, but how do I do that?

(edit: apparently some of yall just managed to speedrun sasasap in two loops. You're gonna need to stay with me here, please. Suspend your disbelief a bit, because a lot of people [including me] were dumbasses about it)

Maybe you try another loop, but just get the same ending again (or a differnet one, depending on a coinflip). You’re getting frustrated. Getting the Perfect Ending demands pinpoint precision to avoid everything weird, the True Ending demands good memorization of every single damn key in the game, and the order you do everything in. (Though, to be fair, the requirements on that one are actually more merciful than one might expect.)

Point is, in SASASAP, it’s incredibly easy to get stuck in that endless loop of “What the fuck do I do now?” It’s not uncommon to think you got it right only to get the same result anyways. What does one do in this situation?

They consult a guide, obviously.

START AGAIN’s ending requirements are frustrating. They are. When I tried to go for either the Perfect or the True Ending, I saved inside every single room, just so I could get right back to it when I inevitably fucked up five times minimum. This is both criticism… and praise. Because Loop is the major reason that ISAT does not suffer from this same problem.

Whenever you’re stuck in ISAT, Loop is just a single loop or call away at any times. And besides that, no plot requirement in ISAT demands nearly as many moving pieces all at once as SASASAP does – the “Sus Route” has been relegated to an optional ACT 4 exclusive event, instead of the game’s True Ending.

Instead of consulting an external guide on how to progress, you have one right there in the game, always ready with the next tip. They’re not infallible, mind you – enough time in Isatcord’s #game-help proves that, but Loop solved all of the moments I got stuck and frustrated in ISAT for me.

(Primarily that one time you need to figure out that a photo is similar to being stuck in time. That moment in particular is actually commendable, as you need to ask Loop about it twice before they tell you, leaving you a last shot to try and figure it out on your own.) Loop is a feature that nullifies SASASAP’s greatest flaw in its successor, and they choose to do so.

Memory of Keys

In my humble opinion, Loop does this because… they do not want Siffrin to suffer as they did. They want Siffrin to escape. And there is no greater example of their kindness than how Loop treats keys.

First of all, all keys in the game have a sparkling effect on them if you’ve picked them up at least once before, making it immediately clear where in the room they are. This means you don’t need to search every single room top to bottom for them, as you had to do for any keys and Star Crests in SASASAP. It’s some nice QoL that just means you don’t have to re-search the same area if you happened to forget which specific cupboard the key was in.

Key point being: SASASAP did not have this feature. In SASASAP, you did have to memorize where all the keys are, and doing so is expected if you want the True Ending.

Loop does not want Siffrin to have to do this. Because…

From SASASAP’s True End:

(The torch in the infirmary? That’s important!) (The key in the book? Soooo important.) (The names of your friends, that have been by your side throughout this entire adventure?) (Not worth remembering.)

Compared to ISAT’s ACT 2:

Siffrin: “How come I can see where the keys are?” Loop: “Whaaaaat? You caaaaaan? How can that beeeeeee?” Siffrin: “Is it thanks to you?” Loop: “Maybe.” Loop: “I figured you'd have other things to worry about than where a stupid key is.” Loop: “No need to thank me.”

To Loop, that they memorized the House’s layout over their friends’ names is a defining moment to their own failures. After all, in all likelihood, the True End of SASASAP is the last loop before they called it quits. It’s a traumatic experience from them, one that came from having to remember all the dumb fucking keys.

They do not want Siffrin to experience this. They do not want Siffrin to have to memorize the House, to push away what actually matters in favor of efficiency. So Loop is directly, personally, giving them a boon, so that Siffrin does not have to.

Conclusion

There’s probably more tutorial things I could talk about, but I feel like you’re seeing the pattern now, even if I don’t bring up saving level ups or keeping equipment or the “You’re stuck” signifier, least of all cuz they don’t have direct points of comparison with SASASAP like my other examples do (SASASAP has no changeable equipment, and saving levels doesn’t matter if you only have one floor, and you can’t softlock either.). So.

Loop’s tutorials all belie a fundamental kindness to their character. Everything that made their own experience trapped in the timeloop just that bit worse, they’re choosing to do away with it for Siffrin. They are choosing to make Siffrin’s time here easier.

Zoning out too much lead to them never paying attention to their friends, forgetting their names, so they make sure that Siffrin can still zone back in whenever something new happens.

Loop trapped themself for years on the final floor, locking themself out of progress that might lie further back, so they’re ensuring Siffrin knows exactly how to loop forwards and backwards so it doesn’t happen again.

Loop lets Siffrin keep equipment across loops to cut down on time spent doing the exact same thing over and over.

They are saving Siffrin time, and they are giving Siffrin comfort. At every single turn, Loop is saving Siffrin from the same pitfalls they fell into without anyone to guide them out.

It's honestly incredible to transform an increase in skill into an actual narrative element. Yes, SASASAP sucks more to play. But ISAT sucks less, because Loop wants it to. It's the perfect marriage of real world circumstance and storytelling. I could... probably pull another comparison here, saying it's like a game and its remake - overhauled graphics, expanded story, and loads and loads of QoL, because the makers of the remake realized something. They love the original, but parts of it do suck, and there's so much that can be done to make a new player's experience smoother. Metanarrative commentary,,,, woah,,,,,

Every single one of these QoL elements I’ve mentioned function as a crutch for a player’s failing memory, but also Siffrin’s (similar to what I talked about in my previous essay on ISAT’s ludonarrative - the player and Siffrin are always in sync, even in how tutorials benefit them). Loop doesn’t know the player exists though (only the Change God does), so they do everything for Siffrin.

To keep Siffrin from forgetting. To help Siffrin focus on what’s important. To make Siffrin’s journey just a little bit less miserable. Loop directly improves ISAT’s QoL. For you. For Siffrin.

From Loop’s introduction:

Loop: “See, I’m useful! I’m very useful! That’s why I’m here, helpful Loop.” Siffrin: “Why are you helping me?” Loop: “…” Loop: “Because I think you should be helped.” Loop: “I won’t always have the answers, but… I think having someone on your side to talk to is better than dealing with this alone.” Loop: “Right?”

From Loop’s hangout:

“But it’s fine.” “Whether you believe me or not, I’m here to help you.” “So you can escape this loop.”

And finally, from the start of ACT 3:

Siffrin: “Are you really here to help me?” Loop: “Stardust…” Loop: “…” Loop: “Yes.” Loop: “If you can believe anything, believe that.” Loop: “I asked to be here, so I could help you.”

And I do believe them. Loop’s feelings on Siffrin are… complex, to say the least. They love Siffrin, and they hate him in equal measure. They’re jealous, and spiteful, but underneath everything…

In SASASAP, if you die to a Sadness thrice, you get this monologue:

(Sometimes, when you loop back here…) (In the corner of your eye, you can sometimes see someone that looks just like you.) (Is it a you from another loop? Remnants of your past failures?) (Are you going crazy?) (May they succeed where you cannot.)

[sturnioz]

messing around with bbf!matt while he's playing a game with your brother. based off this ask i got a while ago. (i changed it to a bbf!matt prompt cos im missing him)

you shouldn't be here. you should be at your friends house like you promised your brother you would be. but lying to him and sneaking into his best friend's house instead?

oh, you're definitely not the perfect sister you always prided yourself on being.

you're a liar, and the guilt does gnaw at you — a constant reminder of your betrayal, but you just can't stay away from matt, and the thought of anyone trying to pull you away from him would have you kicking and screaming if they dared try.

matt is like a drug to you, so unbelievably intoxicating and utterly addictive, and each moment spent with him only drowns out the voice of reason that tells you to stop.

even your friends have sat you down, telling you how wrong it is to get involved with your brothers best friend. they even reminded you how furious you'd be if your brother was doing the same with your friends.

and they're right — you would be mad.

but you guess you're just a big fucking hypocrite.

none of that matters right now, though. not when you're wrapped in matt's warm embrace, straddling his lap, your heart racing as your chest presses against his. he's focussed on the game, playing with your brother and their shared friends.

you're trying your best to stay silent as possible, to remain invisible to your brother and to not be heard over matt's headset — but the way he sounds; each grunt, each curse, each movement of his body sends a thrill through you, and you can feel the heat building up in your tummy.

it also doesn't help that you can feel his cock pulsating inside of you, nestled in the tight heat of your walls that fit snugly around him. cockwarming him was your idea, promising to be a good girl and just sit still after pleading him to give in.

"don't move, don't make a sound," he had told you after he muted his mic, helping you get settled in his lap. "and maybe i'll fuck you after this, alright?"

you're trying. you're trying so hard not to move and to not make a sound, but the slight promise of a fucking already has you dripping around him. you're so turned on and horny that you forget for a moment who he's playing with, and you whine into his ear and rock your hips slightly, feeling his cock graze against your gummy walls.

matt stills, and you fear you've been caught when you can hear your brother's voice through his headset — but you ease up when you hear him talk about the game, and you continue to subtly roll your hips, in desperate need for some friction.

you whine again when you clit rubs against him, and one of matt's hands leave his keyboard to grip your hip in warning, trying to stop your movements but you're relentless, moving more deliberately against him.

in a desperate attempt to make you stop, matt moves his own hips, thrusting up into you as he can't use his voice to tell you off — yet the sudden thrust, the feeling of his cock sliding in deeper sends a wave of pleasure through you, and instead of stifling your sounds, it makes you whine even louder, the desperate noise escaping before you can catch it.

"the fuck was that sound?" your brother's voice slices through the air, snapping you back to reality in an instant and your eyes widen in panic, and a rush of fear floods through your system once again.

"fingers crampin' up bad," matt lies swiftly, his tone casual but you can feel the tension radiating off him. you can also feel his jaw tighten against your cheek, the muscles clenching in response to the sudden pressure of the moment. "gonna head off. shits hurtin' me."

"dude, what?" is the last you hear from your brother before matt abruptly ends the call, the screen going dark and the game fading away into silence.

the abrupt quiet feels heavy, and a mix of adrenaline and anxiety courses through your veins as matt's grip on your hips tightens slightly, and you're worried you might've ruined things.

you go to open your mouth to apologise, but matt suddenly stands with you in his arms, carrying you over to his bed, never once dislodging himself from your slick folds and you gasp, clinging to his shoulders as you feel yourself slip.

he drops you down onto the bed, a hand wrapped loosely around your neck as he thrusts deep inside your warmth; the pace relentless as every stroke is followed by a deep grunt.

"you're that fuckin' needy, you wanna risk gettin' caught by your own brother?" matt's hips slam against yours, pounding into your cunt with fervour and you mewl, your body bouncing on the bed. "i told you, sweetheart. told you to not to move 'n to not make a sound... and you disobeyed me."

you writhe beneath him — choked whimpers leaving your lips as you claw at his arm, pressing his hand down on your neck as your legs wrap around his hips, trying to pull him in deeper.

"you're makin' this fuckin' hard to keep secret, sweetheart," matt grunts as you clench around his cock, his balls slapping against your puffy folds. "you want him to know what we do? huh?"

of course you don't, but you can't help but arch your back and cry out his name as mind-numbing pleasure crashes over you as his continues to drive into you, holding you down to the mattress.

you're cumming before you can even register it, your eyelids fluttering and body convulsing beneath him; your pussy contracting around his cock and he groans loudly, burying himself fully inside you and painting your inner walls white.

© STURNIOZ

[heliosundercover]

Special customer

Redhood

Special customer Redhood who gains the title by beating up some shady guys attempting to break into your bakery and apartment above it, and after the job was done, you begged him to stay around until you got a new security system installed. But even with it installed, he seems to be in the area. One night, you offered him a coffee, and now every night on patrol, he comes for his coffee.

 

Special customer Redhood, got a pretty sweet drink, not something a vigilante would drink. It was a black coffee with 5 pumps of caramel and a dash of cinnamon sugar. Something about the unlikely order was cute in a way.

 

Special customer Redhood, doesn't know that you have an alarm set, so you can wake up late enough to catch him and give him his coffee. One day he catches you, though. You come downstairs to check to see if he was there yet, and he sees you in pajamas, your hair up so you can sleep comfortably, 

 "Wait, were you sleeping?" He looks you up and down. 

"Nice pajamas" 

Only then does he look up the hours of the bakery, seeing that it closes at 10 p.m., whereas he's coming in between 1 a.m. and 3 a.m. That was when he first realized how considerate you were.

 

Special customer Redhood finally asks you about your day after two weeks of him coming in for a cup of coffee and a weirdly comfortable silence while he drinks and unwinds from his long patrol.

"How was your day... You look exhausted." He took a long pause, realizing he didn't know your name, but to his surprise, you laughed, and after that one small gesture, he knew he wanted to hear it again. 

You and him talked for a few hours until his headset pinged that there was something suspicious going on in the area he was supposed to be patrolling, but here he was flirting with a baker.

He never got your name.

 

 

Special customer Redhood, gets the same thing every time, so eventually you give his order a special name. His own secret menu item. special customer, Redhood, who asks

"Did you name this drink after me?" When you say 

"One red cup coming up." The name was Corny, and it slipped up before you could stop yourself, and now you cringed as you could hear the smirk in his heavily distorted voice. His question was immediately met with denial. 

 

Special customer Redhood enjoyed talking with you and learning about you. He also liked how you weren't pushy, not asking anything that could put his identity at risk. Here's a list of things he told you.

He liked classic literature.

He had never tried matcha before you made him try your new matcha white chocolate cookies. 

He loved animals and always wanted a big dog.

His favorite color was green, which was surprising considering his choice of name.

He never went to college. 

 

New customer Jason Todd, who made you raise an eyebrow when he ordered a "red cup," had a barely noticeable smirk like he was thinking of an inside joke.  Your eyebrow raised a bit more when a younger-looking guy asked

"Jason, why this bakery? It's not even a real coffee shop; they just happen to sell three types of coffee and a special lemonade. And its super put of the way."

His words were met with a flick to the back of his head by Jason.

"Because I like it here."

 

New-ish customer Jason, who came in mornings ordering the same thing every couple of days every so often, had a person or two with him. But while Jason wasn't consistent, but you like him any.

 

Special customer Redhood, who had been planning on asking you out as Jason for months. It was now winter, and the snow on the ground made him think of you. He knew winter was your favorite season, and it was the first snow of the season today. He knew it had to be today. 

 

Innocent bystanders Dick, Damian, and Tim watched their brother go mad over a baker. A mix of happiness and impending doom lingered amongst the group they had started taking bets on when he would finally ask her out a while ago. And so far, Alfred is the closest to winning. 

 

Regular customer Jason Todd, who had run into the bakery with flowers in hand right before closing, Slightly out of breath, he asked 

"Will you go out to dinner with me? Saturday night at 8 p.m.?"

"Sure." You smile happily, accepting his offer  and you watch as his eyes light up and he hands you the bouquet of flowers. 

 

Boyfriend Jason Todd, who is surprised when you, after a year of dating, reveal that you've been suspicious since day one, All because of a stupid drink with a corny name. 

 

Boyfriend Jason Todd, who can't help but tease you,.

 "So it was named after me?"

 

Boyfriend and soon-to-be fiancée Jason Todd, who proposes to you on the roof of your apartment and bakery the whole roof was decked out with a vine covered arch and fairy lights. 

"So, will you marry me?"

 

He gets on one knee, opening a gorgeous engagement ring with your favorite precious stone inside. It was your dream ring, and he was your dream guy, and of course you said yes.

 

Fiancée Jason Todd, who pulls you into a passionate kiss when he hears the words leave your lips, couldn't be more excited to spend the rest of his life with you.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

this is a lil part two for this lil request fic i wrote about katsuki takin' care of a drunk reader ! yall rlly seemed to like it n asked for a part two so, here it is !! hope yall enjoy !

no pronouns mentioned, just pure fluffy katsu, microscopic angst maybe kinda and if you squint HARD (reader gets a little bit upset), soft katsu but he's also an asshat but we love him anyways, mentions of food n eating, mentions of bein drunk, lemme know if i missed sum else !

"ya told me you loved me yesterday."

it's all katsuki utters in the quiet of your apartment as he looks out the window.

you promptly choke on your toast.

you manage to cough down your bread. clearing your throat as you try to speak as naturally as possible. “oh yeah ?”

katsuki grunts in response, taking a sip of his orange juice and smacking his lips before speaking again. still looking at the window and away from you, it makes you nervous. “yeah, thanked me for always takin care of ya, r’something”

katsuki is trying his very hardest to speak casually and he’s praying to every god there is you can’t hear the slight quiver in his voice or see the slight shakiness of his hand when he brings the glass of juice to his lip.

“oh.” your heart beats so loud you can hear it in your ears. you try to salvage the situation and you force out an awkward laugh. “ i mean—i am thankful to you, y’know.”

“ya should be, nobody else could handle takin’ care of your ass.”

“hey !”

you think this is fine. you were drunk and stupid and you’re fine with him brushing off your accidental confession like this if it means it won’t make things awkward. if it means he’ll keep coming over to your house like he owns the place and cook for you because you apparently don’t know how to cook for yourself well enough for his liking. as long as you can keep hanging out with him and going out for drinks and having him take care of you. though, you might not drink as much next time you two go out.

after a minute or two he speaks again “did you mean it ?”

your hand is already reaching for his half bitten piece of toast when you freeze for the second time “did i mean what ?”

katsuki scoffs, smacking your hand away from his toast with two fingers, you let out a little whine “ i know you’re not dumb, so quit actin’ like you are.”

“but i don’t know what you mean !” you inwardly cringe at your dumb response.

“when you said you—“ katsuki cuts himself off with a quiet groan, grabbing his toast and splitting it in half, chucking one of the pieces onto your plate “whatever” he mutters to himself. your heart squeezes when you see the sad frown on his pretty face he doesn’t seem to realize he has.

you don’t know if you’ve still got alcohol in your system, you don’t know if you’ve fully slept it off yet, if you’re fearless or crazy or just plain stupid, but after taking a bite of the toast he’d given you you blurt out something you were sure you would’ve only had the courage to say if you were black out drunk.

“i did.”

katsuki turns to you the moment you finish your sentence, bright red eyes widened as he tries not to let his surprise show, he fails to though. “ you did what ?”

in the back of your mind you want to pout at him because you know he knows what you mean. you know he just wants to hear you say what he wants to hear and it makes you a little grumpy because it’s early in the morning and you don’t look your best at all right now. you’re too embarrassed to even look him in the eye yet his bore into you so hard it feels like a magnetic pull, like you’re being forced to look at him despite your best efforts not to. you want to be at least a little mad but you can’t blame him, you feel like you owe this to him in a way.

“ i did mean it..when i said..” you’re incapable of looking at him as you feel shame creep onto you, clinging onto you like a sweaty shirt, you manage to swallow down the piece of toast“ when i said that.” you trail off quietly.

no sound is made and no voice is heard for at least a minute, but you feel yourself wanting to cry more and more with each second that passes.

you get the courage to look up at him and instantaneously which you never had when you see a smirk on his annoying face.

“that ? that, what ?” he jeers with a grin bordering on evil, sharp teeth on display.

you throw your head back and groan “katsuki, oh my god !” leaning forward across your table you try to pull his nose after you hear him chuckling. he swiftly dodges you, grabbing your wrist and then your other one when you try to pull a fast one on him, unsuccessfully. you grumble as you sit back down and if you weren’t as enamored with him as you somehow ended up being you’d have knocked that stupid smirk off his face. everything seems to be against you, including your heart.

he hums once you’ve sat back down “ooh, you mean when you told me you loved me, right ? s’that what you meant ?” he snickers, shit eating grin on his face. asshole, he’s not even trying to look innocent.

“you’re not funny.” you huff, crossing your arms and glaring at him. “ like, at all.”

“you’re right, i’m not.” he responds, leaning his forearms against your table “ i’m hilarious, actually.”

a part of you wishes you could punch him. hard. another louder part of you just wants to kiss his smug expression off his face, both options sound extremely tempting but one of them more than the other.

“hilariously stupid.” not your best retort, but you’ll take it. katsuki huffs out a laugh as you pout and look off to the side, you’re so fucking cute.

his smirk doesn’t fade as he keeps staring at you but his eyes soften as he leans in to rip your arms away from your chest “ relax, m’just fuckin’ witcha.”

“yeah. haha. funny.” you spit. katsuki starts getting actually worried he’d hurt your feelings and quickly tries redeeming himself. he pokes at your cheek once, twice and you swat his hand away when he goes for a third poke. then he leans forward so he can tickle your side and inwardly sighs in relief when you swat at his hand trying to hold back your laughter. the way he’s leaning against the table is a bit uncomfortable for him but as long as he keeps that warmth on your face he couldn’t care less.

he gets up and grabs his chair, dragging it against the floor causing it to squeak and making you cringe, you let out a noise of displeasure but katsuki doesn't look the least bit phased as he bring his chair to sit next to you.

his cheeks are red, you realize it now that he's sitting so much closer to you. he speaks after a moment of silence "so you meant it, yeah ? when you told me you.." he trails off at the end of his sentence. he's quieter than you're used to. there's a certain hopeful urgency in his eyes that has you shyly nodding your head in response.

he’s looking at you and you’re looking right back

“i meant it.” you whisper.

“i know.” he whispers back after a beat, before pressing his lips to yours.

the kiss lasts about 10 seconds before he pulls away, then leans in again for another, slightly longer one. when you separate your breathing a little heavy. you place your hand on his face and rub his cheek, admiring the way his eyelashes flutter slightly and how the feeling causes shivers to run up his spine. you can't help the goofy smile that pulls at your face and neither can he, you both chuckle slightly.

then you take a breath as if contemplating if what you were about to say was worth it. but katsuki knows you don't care and he's right because you say it anyway.

"we should go out for drinks to celebrate !" you giggle. he playfully rolls his eyes, pinching your side making you let out a squeal.

even though you call it a celebration katsuki knows it'll be the same charade as usual. you'll drink until you pass out and he'll bring you home. he'll help you clean up and take you to bed and have breakfast made for your hungover ass in the morning. but this time, you'll be his. and to katsuki, that's worth so much more than the headache he knows you'll give him.

[crying-fantasies]

Monsterfucking

Masterlist

Featuring Merformers! Rodimus Prime, smut/fluff/humor, CW: you fuck the fish, that's it, Roddy doesn't know about kissing, licking (sexy and lovingly), handjob, penetration, mention of a knot, barrier language, nesting, light gore (in a fight), mention of Rodimus’ creators, mer pups/cubs (I love these fictional babies so much), long fic.

Days in Cybertron tend to be regulated in cycles, the days are longer than average back on Earth, and it has been years but you still get problems waking up at the start of the day cycle, a new day to work, and a new day to try and not mess all up as a snake-like tail gets clingy, not letting go of your leg and purring when his claws get a hold of your torso again, hardly letting you hold on the data pad and give your boss a message of your more than sure tardiness just to get a thumbs up from her, almost hearing her say “work hard!”

Anything to help an endangered species.

Rodimus tends to be quite the hyper-energy kind of person, well, fish, he stands up more than the rest of the marine wildlife on this planet, and that's saying a lot given the unique metallic nature displayed, it’s a miracle that whatever kind of liquid filling most of the planet's oceans isn't cooking your meat out of your bones; Rodimus stands up, a lot, you've seen the others around, most are friendly, more inclined to curiosity when they touch your legs or look at you from some reef like structures, believing those as the better spot to hide but forgetting to low the light in their optics, first time it happened you were in for a shock as the rest of the team laughed at your spooked reaction to more than 20 pairs of optics shining bright under the liquid, all with overflowing attention to the new organic putting feet on the floating laboratory.

Rodimus would always be more noticeable to you, as he was the first pair of blue optics reaching out to you the same day your work put you there, so far away from your real home, all to preserve the mechanical nature of this planet and it's creatures, Rodimus escaped from his group, servos trying to catch onto his fins, all for nothing as the mech came up to a side of the lab where your official in charge was giving you the tour of the facility.

With shiny red-colored scales and flimsy paper-like metallic membranes, he was just like in the books, something from far away yet seemed organic, it was something so intricate no one could ever think of, the pads in his digits patted your right foot, feeling the texture of skin and thin body hair before giving a high pitched trill when he launched himself back to the liquid.

One of the scientists laughed, “Rodimus likes you”, almost catching on to his designation he emerged back, just to be dragged under by the rest of his group in a hissing feat, especially by a very mad hunter mech.

Mechs they call them, as in mechanical individuals, some skip over formalities and call them mers because the mers call themselves that way; and no, it’s not a joke as you see Chief Medical Darcy act as a referee when Optimus and Megatron are about to rip the fins of one another again as the doctor only sips on his instant chemical coffee, watching them both quarrel like an old couple, using sounds on a piano-like artifact to tell them to, in the mers own language, “frag off already, Optimus, you left him” while pointing at the blue mer, then to the almost smiling big-like ancient shark, playing his piano like a pro, moving pieces and volumes to say: "Megs, you shouldn't have acted like that, you started it”.

They are ancient, going way back to when Earth was still galactic powder, sentient in every way, they have language, culture, arts, and everything in between, the planet was under colonization until someone noticed the fishes could communicate, it all burned down from it, now considered a protected system the priority was to increase their number, as they could tell tales from bygone times, cures and methods never told before; the mer called Alpha Trion knew of a treatment for decayed fins, which somehow also worked on humans, it was incorporated to treat many skin diseases back on Earth, and the pros of keeping them alive overwhelmed the ones trying to sell them in pieces like it was done at first.

Rodimus is part of the reproduction program, more like one of the offspring resulting from it, but you've seen the program, it looks more like a dating event to this point, and then a nursery program, once the mers get good results, keeping the babies is high maintenance even for the most experienced ones, Cory tells you so once he catches on Rodimus going to you more times than ordinary, cuddling your side like an over-affective cat while purring, “he was just a small baby when I handled him, seems like it was yesterday”, he has a very worn-off expression, and the bags under his eyes tell you of unending nights while he has a new baby in his arms, you see a few mers in the pool connected to the nursery, passed out on the floor in uncomfortable positions over beds of wire-like kelp, some with their young sleeping like angels over them, and Rodimus, who is now shining and swimming in circles for some reason around you two as you also hold a baby, is very focused in how the little guppy holds the neck of your t-shirt, even using one of the sleepy carriers as some platform to show off his pretty red and orange scales, “never expected to live enough to see the day he would dance for a human”, you take a moment to think over it, process it, Rodimus has little time to do something when one moment you're standing there and the next you're running like you heard Megatron is coming with a bad temper.

Rodimus hasn't seen you since that day and makes it everyone else's problem while wailing on the shore closest to your room, and you, so shocked you almost dropped the baby back into the water, only hide in the sudden realization that an alien, mechanic, sentient fish wants to have something with you.

It was too much for a Saturday night, excusing yourself and leaving the baby with Cory who shouted something along the lines of it being normal, “Have you seen this fellow here?” he pointed at the red and silver mer in the pool, a new sire taking a rest while his babies were being rocked back and forth by you just a few seconds ago, the silver and white baby, now in Cory’s arms next to his red and white sibling, “have you meet Miss Astoria yet? The co-owner of this preservation program? These are her boys”

How can it be normal? How did it even happen between two different species on two different planets? How come the babies don't even look human? How?

And why is he trying so hard to find you? There is hardly time to even eat next to the shore before he appears once again, at least his blue optics peaking over the liquid before he goes back down, leaving you in a moment of solitude, raising your hopes, that maybe he finally settled for a partner of his species, but no, Rodimus only went back to the ocean and took out some kind of alien mechanical fish, still moving and trying to return from where it came, only to be gutted right there and then in front of you, Rodimus looks at you, expectantly, how can his optics shine so much?

“You know what? Fuck it”

Next thing everyone knows you're sunbathing in your free time on the beach, Rodimus making a donut-shaped nest at your side with his body, thrilling happily while doing so before you are called back, making him look at you, then at the nest, and back at you, big optics pleading and almost whimpering, “what is-? No, no! It's not that I don't like it! You shouldn't even be doing that here!”

Mers hardly do nests everywhere, as it is only recommended to do it near calm waters, safe to raise their young, close to the waters to ensure the moisture of the nest, with enough light to keep the iron sand warm and cozy for the growing protoforms.

Rodimus makes them where he likes or where you stay for a time long enough for him to get back at his job.

Cory tells you that's normal, since you said yes to Rodimus is normal for any newly paired couple to create their own nest, and also the fact that Rodimus is a recently matured young adult makes him more eager over the idea.

Maybe not exactly at the prospect of having a baby, more like the idea of banging.

Rodimus makes a lot of nests around the iron sand, he has one outside your shared habsuit, another out of your side of the laboratory, one in the sunbathing grounds like the other mers, but not one in the nesting grounds or the nursery, being extremely on edge if an unpaired mer looks at you or his nests, Rodimus is snarling at them when he notices, fins flaring with violent intent and only stopping when the other mer is at a distance he considered respectful before going to you as if he was the victim and not the curious young mech, chattering inconsolable until you let him snuggle in your lap, holding to you and whistling happily.

Mers, while being highly intelligent and sentient still go by their traditions, quite animalistic traditions as they fight over themselves to get a partner, and catch the attention of another; a group is wrestling in the iron sand in one of the little islands while you sunbathe with Rodimus, cleaning his fins of parasites or dead scales, taking samples while at it before a road and a snarl catches on your attention, jumping on your spot over the sand and looking at the island, two mers soon to kill each other while some others look, expectantly, waiting for the winner, the mers waiting to make a display and show their scales, show their array once the loser is bleeding energon in the sand and the winner takes the prize, you feel bad for the med, dragging his massive metal body back to the ocean, maybe soon to arrive at the medic area for medical aid, Rodimus calls your attention back at him, his servos holding your hands and pressing them back at his chest which rumbles, then holding onto your face to look him directly at his optics once you notice the healed scars under his scales or the growing pity on the injured mer just meters away.

Doesn't take much to know why he is always so clingy, or the reason for him to have so many scars when you look at his multiple medical reports, all gained after several mating seasons, losing every single one, being dragged back by Cory to patch him up even in a fainted state.

You look at him now, different, both resting in the bed inside your habsuit, still too early in the morning, Rodimus is curled next to you, his arms holding you, tail heavy over your legs, tangled within your legs, a remarkable subject that pointed out what he was and what you are, impossible to miss, still, you know about it now.

Nesting season is still a long way to come but the mating one is ever present once the fights for lovers have ended, Rodimus seems to not be moved by it, or he tries to appear as much as he grooms you with his hands and his glossa, it is more like an affectionate display but it still far from any sex, still, while he tries to rule over your hair with his oral solvents you catch on the puffy look his slit shows; most paired mates had long since gone to more private zones to let their needs and urges free, you are with the rest of the team as everyone gives their farewell to the newly paired young mechs, hoping for the best in the nesting season.

He tries to deny it, trying to keep up with the older mers who choose not to join the younger ones and the ones without pairs, all just doing their usual routines, Rodimus comes back much earlier than usual and becomes more anxious, just yesterday you finally noticed the reason why he didn't like to enter the nursery lagoon, using the piano-like artifact, asking him if he didn't like to come near the nursery even when you or Cory, his partner and his sire, were inside, his answer was simple “you don't like pups”.

Take a moment to let that sink and the misunderstanding born from the moment you realized his intent in courting you, Rodimus was, in reality, giving you much praise while snuggling next to you, presenting how nice you were with the young pup in your arms in front of his sire, happy by the way you two seemed to be getting along and then thinking in how happy his carrier was going to be when he came back with the hunting group, but his sire said something, making you jump and run, leaving the pup behind with his sire.

Rodimus believed you didn't like babies.

Which, in truth, wasn't exactly like that or different, “it may be impossible”, your words translated with the machine made his optics go big, soon pointing at himself, “Well, hard to happen”, Rodimus looked at you with barely closed optics, a little mad and hurt, “how can we be prepared? Or in any case, why now?” of course, it had to be soon, as the days progressed, and as every grooming session got heavier, sometimes you would nap while Rodimus cleaned you, soon feeling the way his servos were touching, massaging, his glossa looming over your neck, denta nipping at the skin.

He has been so strong so far, but it only takes a movement of your leg to make his tail recoil over it, rubbing his dilated slit over your hip, moaning during his recharge, optics opening just slightly when your fingers started to move along the opening, he squeaked, then rumbled out a groan, hissing while letting his slit open, you've seen the books, but it never said anything of it being soft, like rubber, Rodimus moves his hips, his massive tail pumping against your fingers as his arms go to your neck, anchoring himself to you while crying out in ecstasy, your fingers push a little more and you find a protrusion, pushing your fingers out for a moment to show his spike, letting you touch him more, lavish him more, his servos were frantically holding to the meat in your ass, trying to make you move against his spike in a rutted haze, barely giving your time or space to get the pajama pants off, “Okay, if only we could- could you keep it down?”, your laugh is nervous as he seems to be ripped apart on putting you over or under him, groping where he can while doing so, being careful to not catch your skin or hair with his frantic moving seams, finally deciding to put you down in the mattress, rocking his spike in between your open legs, knowing well the differences, but also the coincidences, between your bodies.

Where the slit of his tail was is also the point in which your legs connected.

“Come here”, your instructions are hard to follow as he is overthinking, full of joy while nipping at your neck, eager to couple but too excited to put it in, the little fighting you both do, one to put his spike inside of you and the other showering you with affection, finally ends when your hand catches on the pointy head of his spike, pumping at it while dragging him over, making him curl a little to be able and still be face to face plate.

Of course, you should've expected the unfamiliar sensation, impossible to compare to anything you've ever had, there was desperation in it, and his movements were too fast, too eager, still, Rodimus kept showing what you liked about him, smiling like a dork and holding to you, letting your legs brace to his tail, said tail rocking fast against you like he was swimming, putting your arms around his helm as he snuggled against your chest and neck, leaving bite marks just to show off, never to give you real damage, moving just enough, in that specific part to make you see starts with your breathless indications, easing your worry with forehead nudges that you changed for kisses, taking him for a surprise before he just let you continue, imitating you, when you felt his spike grow, inflaming, he was sure to make you come at least once before he started to pump faster, wilder, until the base was all in, pushing to a point never had before, looking at you with barely open optics as he started to coo and chatter, you didn't know what he was saying without aid, but Rodimus was singing you praises once again, “I love you, we are mates, mates for life, you're mine, I’m yours”, every short break in between his thrilled gibberish were supposed to be words, but you didn't have much to think straight as he kept on leaking into you, overflowing, keeping it all inside while relishing over your limp body as he still moved to let you get all of him, cleaning you once again to let you rest.

Once you slept well, he was back from wherever he went, coming back with food for the day for you both, once you ended your rations he would give you one of those glances, holding one of your legs, smoothly putting it over the beginning of his tail as you let him, seating you over his already wet and dilated slit.

Mating season wasn't a long period, but it was a delightful one, soon comprehended why so many people on base were missing for all of its duration, now being part of them and even learning why some told you to keep your clothes off most of the time except for a night coat easy to open, Rodimus was a good lover, as he barely left your side, and if he did, it was only to get rations from the cafeteria before leaving them to you and expanding the nest he was making outside your habsuit, using his body, curling it over the sand to make it compact at the base, then making a hole in the middle to keep water inside while you rested inside, not worrying about you leaving to do your science as he was sure the other humans just let you rest.

Months later, Cory found Chandler hissing at the ocean, just to stop, startled, like him at the sight of Rodimus, soon making direct eye contact with them, holding a still closed-eyed little black and silver hissing pup between his servos, presenting his own young and beaming with pride as they both heard you screaming Rodimus’ designation with two more pups in your arms from your habsuit, more than likely enraged and worried out of your mind by the lack of your firstborn in the nest where you left him with his siblings, then being startled by the potent cry of the pup that could only be comparable to a dying animal asking for mercy as he was soaked, cold and scared out of his young mind by the emotion of Rodimus’ to show off his offspring, and this was the fourth stop he made so far.

Rodimus’ carrier, Chandler, didn't give his own pup time to ponder what made you so mad before he was trying to knock some sense with violence into his adult pup like he was still a youngling after snatching protectively the pup against his chest to try and comfort him, Cory runs to them to try and save his son from the fury of his partner and his heavy servo, you appeared with your other two babies to see Rodimus being smacked by his carrier without mercy, “Have I not taught you well?! What in the PIT were you THINKING?! What are you DOING with a NEW FORGED PUP OUT OF THE SLAGING NEST?!”

Rodimus was a great lover, he was still learning to be a sire.

.

Inspired by the work of @tinydefector and @shyspider, love your guys’ work so much, totally lost Mermay but I can try it again with some good monsterfucking.

And if you realized, yeah, that hissing baby is Sunset.

@tf-kinktober2024

[mrnightingale]

George doesn't know what the hell do with his face when he's not talking on the Cameos and I think it's pretty cute and funny because it's in those moments when I remember that, unlike Jayden who has more experience with the industry, Edwin is George's fucking first role.

And now I'm mad at Netflix again for taking such an amazing performance and role from him. He was absolutely brilliant impersonating Edwin and they took his work out of his hands. He'd spent a lot of time and effort studying his character, crafting his appearance, he did fucking ballet only to give Edwin his characteristic, elegant manners and way of habit the space. The level of comitement it's amazing. And he did it so well. So. Fucking. Well. That most of us didn't even thought for a bloody second the possibility of this being his first role. I'm still shocked. I still can't believe something like this happening.

Hate them so fucking much. I want to cry. They're destroying Art. The Corporations are destroying Art. They're taking all the work of people who love what they do and sacrifice a lot for doing it, because it's not easy working in the industry, and then spitting in their faces and throwing and kicking and I want to scream. This people aren't numbers. This people effort can't be valuated in viewership and monetary numbers.

I don't want to work for a world like this. I don't want to be an artist if that's what they'll gonna do with me. And yet, it's the only thing I ever wanted, like all of them. All those people are working in something they love, they're working so hard in making something important, something beautiful, and they're doing it. They're doing Art. They're doing things right. And still this fucking system kicks off their arses. Like they did with George and all the crew, all the people behind the show.

They don't deserve this. WE don't deserve this. We as a fandom don't deserve them taking away this show from our hands. They don't care a shit about Art. They don't care a shit about how this impacts in our hopes, in what Art can do in people's lives.

I HATE THEM SO FUCKING MUCH. I want to cry. I want to cry and scream and disappear because I don't want to live in a world like this. It's rotten. It's wicked. How can everything change so much in a few years?

It's disgusting. Capitalism is disgusting. I want to throw up. People aren't fucking numbers.

Let's keep fighting.

[frudoo]

Ghost x Fem!Reader x Gaz

The Original Thought

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. Consensual non-consent (CNC). A tiny bit of angst? Barely proofread. Fem!Reader. GhostGaz implied at the end teehee

“Wha’s go’ yer knickers in a twist, LT?” Johnny cocks an eyebrow, kicking his superior’s leg teasingly.

     “Watch ya mouth, sergeant,” the lieutenant rolls his eyes, slumping further into his chair.

     The 141 has had somewhat of a lazy work day. They all did a half-assed job at PT this morning, took off an entire hour off of gym time, and convinced Price that it’s an off day, and if they were all to go to the range, someone would get shot. The captain, of course, would never turn down a chance to skip duty in favor of smoking a nice cigar with his lads while they each have a tea (or coffee for a certain Scottish snob) in the rec room. 

     “C’mon, Simon. Keep squeezin’ tha’ mug so ‘ard, it’ll break,” Price smirks through a puff of pungent smoke. “Summat goin’ on w’the missus?”

     His silence is telling.

     “Spill it, Ghost. Go’ a few more minutes ‘fore we’re off,” Kyle makes a grand gesture of resting his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands. 

     “Oi, qui’ swingin’ ya legs, Gaz, can see the hearts in ya eyes,” the masked man grunts. “We’re jus’ goin’ through a bi’ of a… dry spell.”

     The other three men all nod with a collective ohhh, like he’s just given them the answer to the last part of a crossword puzzle. Ghost rolls his eyes yet again, crossing his arms over his broad chest in a frustrated motion.

     “Lass is ‘oldin’ back the goods, aye?” Johnny pouts mockingly. “If ye need tae ge’ yer cock wet-”

     “Ya better think ‘fore ya finish tha’ sentence, MacTavish,” Price warns, pointing a stern finger at the Scot, whose pout instantly turns genuine.

     “S’no’ her,” Ghost mutters. “S’my faul’. She’s been wantin’ t’try summat new, an’ I jus’ can’t do it f’er.”

     “Why no’?” Questions Gaz, brow furrowed in curiosity. 

     “She wan’s t’be surprised w’it, rough and ‘ard, like a- like she’s bein’-”

     “We go’ it, LT, ye dinnae ‘ave tae explain,” Johnny interjects, patting his mate on the shoulder. 

     Ghost nods, sucking in a deep breath.

     “Was real proud tha’ she felt comfortable enough t’tell me, an’ I think it’s great tha’ she ‘as fantasies, bu’ I can’t stomach it. She’s no’ exactly mad, she knows why it makes me uncomfortable, and she won’t admit it bu’ I can tell she’s disappointed. Makes me feel like a shit ‘usband,” he admits sheepishly.

     “Y’know tha’s not true,” Price tells him firmly. “Jus’ make sure she understands tha’ ya still love ‘er, and I’m sure it’ll go back to normal soon enough, lad.”

     Five o’clock hits, and everyone stands immediately, eager to go home. Ghost barely makes it back to his truck before Gaz catches up to him, eyes narrowed with determination. 

     “Ghost!” He stops the huge man before he can get in his truck and drive away.

     “Wha’?”

     Gaz bites his bottom lip nervously, turning his ball cap backwards so he can see his superior better. 

     “A-abou’ ya wife. If she wan’s, I-I can-”

     “No,” Ghost interrupts gruffly. “Absolutely no’. Ge’ outta my sight.”

     “Sir, I didn’ even say anythin’ yet!”

     “You’re no’ fuckin’ my wife, Kyle. M’no’ bloody incompetent,” the masked man climbs into his truck and starts the engine, turning to say something else only to find his sergeant gone.

     Ghost whips his head around at the sound of the passenger-side door opening, sighing deeply as the younger man enters. Gaz buckles up and stares at him intently.

     “Piss off outta my truck, Garrick.”

     “C’mon, Simon! Ya bird needs it rough, an’ I’ve go’ some pen’ up frustration to release,” he pouts. “Maybe, once she gets it outta ‘er system, she’ll come runnin’ back t’ya an’ everythin’ goes back t’normal.”

     The lieutenant looks at him long and hard before letting out a growl of frustration. Kyle straightens up, clutching onto the bottom of his seat for dear life as the older man backs out of his parking spot without so much as glancing at the backup camera. 

     “Been waitin’ f’this, ‘aven’t ya?”

     “N-no sir!”

     “Bullshit. Ya’ve wanted ‘er since I introduced ‘er t’the team,” Simon grumbles. “Ya gonna eat dinner w’us, charm ‘er real nice, and after ya leave I’ll bring the idea up t’er. If she looks even slightly uncomfortable during the meal, ya out. No exceptions.”

     “Yes, sir,” Kyle tries not to show his excitement, but he can already feel all the blood in his brain trying to rush directly to his dick.

     “Knobhead.”

     //

     “Thanks again for the meal, Mrs. Riley,” Kyle smiles with all of those pretty teeth, and it flusters you.

     “O-oh, it’s no problem, Sergeant Garrick. I’m happy you enjoyed it,” you return his grin, smoothing out the wrinkles in your apron to give your hands something to do.

     “Please, call me Kyle.”

     “Go’ an early mornin’ tomorrow, Gaz,” Simon hints, stomping over to the front door and opening it quickly. “Good t’see ya, mate.”

     “Simon, you drove him here.”

     “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he sighs defeatedly, grabbing his keys. 

     With a giggle, you give your husband a kiss on the lips and Kyle a hug. You busy yourself with cleaning up the kitchen while your husband drives his teammate back to base so he can take his own car home.

     Simon doesn’t get back for another half an hour, and by then you’re already cozied up in bed with a book. He’s quiet, but not in his normal enigmatic way—his silence is contemplative. You frown and watch as he changes out of his clothes into a pair of pajamas. Usually he sleeps with nothing on, but ever since you brought up your little fantasy, he’s been… withdrawn. Protective over himself the same way he was when you met him. It sucks.

     You don’t say anything when he climbs into bed, but you are pleasantly surprised when he scoots up close to you and wraps a burly arm around your shoulders. You lay your head back against him, shutting your eyes contentedly, afraid that the moment will be cut short if you make any wrong moves. Simon leans in to press his lips against your hair.

     “Y’like Kyle?” He asks.

     “Yeah, he’s sweet, baby. Didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him when we met at the banquet a few months ago,” you grin, saving your place in your novel and setting it aside. 

     Your husband hums, then sniffs once.

     “Y’wanna fuck ‘im?”

     “What?!” You ask incredulously, jolting out of his grasp in shock.

     “D’ya wanna fuck Kyle?” He clarifies blankly.

     “S-Simon, no, that didn’t even- when- what are you-”

     “He wants t’fuck you,” Simon meets your eyes, but instead of seeing trepidation like you expected, there’s curiosity written along his features. 

     Now confusion pokes at you. He’s not angry, or asking this in a fit of jealous, accusational rage. 

     “Do… do you want me to fuck him?” You ask slowly, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

     “S’not up t’me, love. Told the team ‘bout our li’l… issue-”

     “You told them-?!” You interrupt shrilly.

     “-and Kyle’s fancied ya since the first time I brough’ ya ‘round,” Simon continues. “Says he’s willin’ t’do a, uh… a scene w’ya.”

     Realization dawns on you, and it makes your heart sink. He wants a divorce, doesn’t he? Oh, fucking hell, you should have just kept your kinks to yourself. Now your own husband can’t even stand to be with you. He’s offering you up to his mates like some kind of prize horse.

     “Si, I-I don’t… do- do you not want me anymore?” You gasp softly, chest heaving with looming panic. “God, please don’t leave me, Simon, I c-can’t live without you-”

     “Fuck’s sake, lovie,” Simon cuts you off with a short huff, dragging you into his lap. “Fuckin’ course I still wan’ ya. I jus’ thought tha’ maybe if… if ya get ya fix from somewhere else, it won’t be as disappointing when I get like this.”

     Oh. Is that what this is about? Is that why he hasn’t touched you for so fucking long?

     “I’m not disappointed in you, Si. I know it’s difficult for you. The idea was out of my head the second you told me you weren’t interested,” you cup his face gently. “I don’t need nor want anybody else. I only want you.”

     Simon makes love to you for the first time in weeks.

     //

     You thought that after everything went back to normal with Simon, the suggestion of getting with Kyle had left his head now that he knows you were never upset with him. 

     You were mistaken.

     “He won’t shu’ up ‘bout it, y’know,” he grunts one night while the two of you snuggle up on the couch.

     “Huh?”

     “Kyle. Whinin’ my bloody ear off ‘bout no’ gettin’ t’fuck ya,” he snorts. “Wanker’s jus’ as bad as Johnny.”

     You giggle, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He hums in satisfaction, squeezing your waist gently. You bask in the comfortable silence for a good while. 

     “I think y’should do it.”

     “Simon, don’t start,” you groan, but he shakes his head.

     “No, listen t’me, sweet��eart. I know ya like ‘im. Could see it when he came o’er for dinner- ah, shh, I know you.” He presses a finger to your lips when you start to deny his accusations with a whine. “M’no’ mad ‘bout it. I know tha’ ya mine.”

     “Yours,” you confirm, straddling him and pressing your forehead against his.

     “Tha’s righ’. Jus’ sayin’, if ya still wanna try one o’those li’l fantasies o’yours… I support it. I trust ‘im. I trust you.” 

     “It’s… but what about you?” You frown, humming softly as his thumb traces over the column of your throat. 

     “I won’t be ‘ere, ‘least no’ physically, bu’ I’ll be watchin’ it all ‘appen.”

     You’re obviously a bit confused by his statement and still hesitant, so Simon lightly squeezes your neck and pulls you in closer. His hot breath ghosts across your face, lips not quite close enough to touch but enough to make you crave his kiss. His free arm wraps around your waist and his hand grabs onto your hip, beckoning you forward and backward, effectively grinding your body against his.

     “Still worried ‘bout me, sweet girl?” He whispers, chuckling at the miniscule nod you give him in response. 

     “Don’t want you to be left out,” you breathe.

     “Mm, I won’t be. I’ll be back on the base, watchin’ tha’ pretty face through the cameras and rubbin’ my cock bloody raw.” 

     You gasp as he bucks his hips, his hard cock nudging against your clit perfectly through the dampening fabric between the two of you. 

     Simon Riley fucks you so good that night that you forget all about the conversation that took place right before.

     //

     The dryness of your throat wakes you up at two o’clock in the fucking morning. You never sleep well when your husband is away, and right now, Simon is somewhere you can only assume is far from your quaint little town, probably sleeping on the concrete floor of some cold, lifeless building in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t give you any details—all you’re certain of is that he’s been gone for two weeks now and you miss him like crazy.

     With a raspy curse, you stand from the bed and shove the covers off of yourself, stepping into your slippers and shuffling down the stairs and into the kitchen. You don’t even bother to turn on a lamp or the overhead light, depending solely on the glow of the refrigerator door when you open it to grab the water pitcher. You grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it to the brim, chugging it down until you’re nearly panting, your lungs begging you to take a breath. 

     Something heavy hits the kitchen tile behind you, startling you. You whip your head around in the direction of the clutter but it’s too dark for your eyes to focus on anything. Still, they dart around cautiously despite the eerie silence that settles in your house. 

     You sigh—it’s early. Your brain is probably playing some cruel joke on you because you’re exhausted and your body knows that Simon isn’t here to protect you. You chug the rest of your water and replace the pitcher back into the fridge, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart now that there’s absolutely no light illuminating your surroundings. With a shaky exhale, you slowly pad your way to the stairs.

     It’s not as easy to play off the sound of glass shattering as nothing but paranoia. Goosebumps rise along the expanse of your body as you book it up the stairs. Heavy footsteps trail behind you, right on your tail. You barely reach the bedroom before tears start running down your face. You lunge for your phone where it rests on the nightstand but before you can make contact, a gloved palm slides over your mouth and yanks you back into a hard, warm body. You let out a strangled sob.

     “P-please, I’ll do anything, just please d-don’t hurt me,” you weep, words muffled against the stranger’s hand.

     A deep, mocking chuckle rumbles through the chest pressed against your back. The person’s free hand travels up to your throat but instead of a warm touch, the cold sting of metal bites against your skin. 

     “Scream an’ I’ll slit this pretty throat.”

     A scared whimper escapes you as you nod vigorously. The hand that was previously covering your mouth runs down your body, shamelessly groping at your soft tits through your flimsy nightgown. The intruder presses his lips to your ear, and you feel rough fabric scratch your skin. He’s wearing a mask, but this is not Simon. You’ve never despised your husband’s job so much more than you do at this very moment. 

     “Such a nice rack,” the man coos, pinching one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger and tugging. “Always wondered wha’ these tits would feel like in my ‘ands.” 

     “W-who are you?” You blubber.

     “Shh, shh, shh… don’t worry ‘bout tha’, dove,” he tuts, lowering one strap of your nightie so that your shoulder is exposed. 

     Dove. You know that nickname. You know this man. It’s okay to let go, allow your body to fear because your brain knows it’s perfectly safe. Now, you can play the part and enjoy it.

     “N-no, please don’t, my h-husband will be home soon,” you shudder when you feel the material of the mask rub against the delicate skin of your neck.

     “Well, he’s no’ ‘ere now, is he?” 

     The intruder drags the sharp end of the knife down your chest, teasing your collarbones before hooking it in the hem of your nightgown. You gasp as the silk rips and ruins itself beneath the blade, falling to the floor uselessly. You stand before him naked as the day you were born, shivering from the cold and the knowledge that you’re now completely at his mercy.

     “Bloody fuckin’ ‘ell,” he growls, removing his belt and binding your wrists together behind your back.

     The man shoves you down so that your ass hits the edge of the bed. Beside you, he stabs the knife through your mattress, nearly nicking the skin of your thigh. You yelp, blinking up at him as he grabs your chin roughly. The fucker is wearing one of your husband’s infamous balaclavas, albeit without the attached skull.

     “Gonna fuck these big tits o’yas,” he sniffs, rubbing his thumb across your pouty bottom lip. “An’ ya no’ gonna say a word ‘bout it, are ya?”

     You shake your head.

     “Tha’s a good girl,” he praises darkly, unbuckling his pants and allowing his hard cock to spring free. “Ge’ my dick nice an’ wet. I feel any teeth, ya gonna lose ya tongue.”

     You lean forward to take him in your mouth, and he lets you suck the tip for a moment before pulling out and smacking your cheek with it. Your yelp only spurs him on. One gloved hand tangles into your hair as he shoves himself back into your mouth without mercy. He’s long, reaching the back of your throat with a single thrust.

      “Mmph… if ya mouth is this fuckin’ warm, can’t imagine wha’ tha’ pussy’s gonna feel like,” he ponders, snickering at the gag you can’t hold back as his tip bruises your poor throat. “Righ’, tha’s enough o’tha’, babe.”

     You gasp for air when he pulls his dick from your mouth, both chests rapidly rising and falling with effort. He pushes your tits together and narrows his eyes at you, giving each nipple a sharp pinch when you don’t read his fucking mind.

     “Spit on ‘em,” he demands. “Now. I ‘aven’t go’ all night.”

     You tilt your head down and spit a glob of saliva onto your breasts, watching as the fluid lubricates your supple skin. The man nods in approval, guiding his dripping cock into the valley of your chest. He shudders when his tip pushes through the top, fat and red and disturbingly gorgeous. You can’t help but stare, watching the way the flesh of your tits spills through his fingers’ vice grip. 

     “Wha’ is it, dove? Never seen a dick this fuckin’ big?” 

     “M-my husband-” you start, huffing with frustration when the bastard interrupts you with a guffaw.

     “Righ’. The one who left ya pretty arse all alone, w’no one ta keep ya safe? Tha’ husband?” He taunts.

     “He can’t help it,” you defend, clenching your fists behind your back.

     “Course no’, dovie. Bloody ‘ell, these tits’re so soft,” he grunts, picking up the pace.

     The head of his cock hits your lips every time he thrusts upwards. When you try to tilt your head back so you don’t have to feel it, he stops his actions and grabs your hair roughly. 

     “Stick ya tongue out,” he hisses, smacking your cheek hard enough to sting. “C’mon, be a good li’l slut f’me. Unless ya wan’ me ta take my knife t’ya guts?”

     “N-no, please,” you wince, tears starting to form in your eyes. 

     “Tongue. Out.”

     You comply with no more hesitance, whimpering softly as the man pushes your breasts together again and builds his pace back up. Instead of your lips, his tip runs over your tongue with every pump of his hips. Salty precum mixes with your saliva and drips down your chin as the lewd sound of his cock slipping through your tits fills the air of your bedroom. 

     “Fuck, fuck, m’gonna come,” he warns, his fingers digging into your slick skin with a bruising grip. “Ya gonna swallow every fuckin’ drop.”

     He moans exaggeratedly as hot ribbons of his spend fall along the expanse of your tongue, coating the muscle with the sticky substance. Along with the expected tang, there’s a hint of sweetness in his cum, and it makes you smack your lips with a twisted form of delight. Apparently, he’s been planning this for a while. 

     “Spread ya legs,” he orders. 

     “No! My h-husband will be home soon, and he’ll- he’ll kill you!” You protest, crossing your legs for emphasis. 

     “Give it a res’, fo’ fuck’s sake,” the man rolls his eyes, forcefully grabbing your knees and wrenching them open. “Ya big, bad leftenant husband isn’t ‘ere t’save ya, an’ he won’t be. Least, no’ before m’done abusing this pretty fuckin’ pussy. Now qui’ ya bloody whinin’ and pull off my glove w’ya teeth.”

     With a disdainful glare, you bare your teeth to the hand he thrusts towards you. He gives you a warning glower like he can see the plotting you’re doing in your head, but you ignore it and bite the tips of his fingers instead of doing what he told you to. The bite earns you a growl and a sharp smack to your cheek.

     “Li’l fuckin’ bitch,” he grabs you by the hair until you’re on your feet, getting right up in your face. “Now ya don’t ge’ my fingers. Tha’ cunt’s gonna ‘ave t’stretch ‘round this fat fuckin’ cock instead.”

     “N-no, I’m sorry, please-” you gasp.

     “Yeah, ya will be. Pull another li’l stunt like tha’ and I’ll yank ya teeth ou’ one by one,” he turns you around and shoves you face-down onto the bed. “Keep tha’ arse up an’ tha’ mouth shut.”

     As best as you can with no help from your arms, you get on your knees, face buried in the sheets. The man chuckles, still-gloved hands rubbing at your asscheeks. He gives them a squeeze and spreads them harshly, letting out a low whistle.

     “Look at tha’, dove,” he drawls. “Don’t reckon you would’ve even needed my fingers, ya pussy is so fuckin’ wet.” 

     You shudder when he runs the tip of his semi-erect cock through your dewy folds, yelping as he smacks it against your clit. Once he’s fully hard again and decides his cock is slick enough, he pushes in with one sharp thrust. You scream in pain, tears streaming down your clammy cheeks, as the man slowly rocks his hips to let you adjust.

     “Wha’s the matter? Can’t ya take it?” He mocks. “Didn’t think ya’d be this tigh’ after takin’ ya husband so many times.”

     “P-please, please stop!” You beg, inching forward to try and get away from the persistent grinding of his hips.

     “Ah-ah, don’t ya do tha’, girlie,” he grabs his belt where your wrists are bound and pulls back until you’re unable to do anything but take what he gives. “Wanted this pussy f’so. Fuckin’. Long. M’takin’ wha’ I’m owed.”

     The man thrusts harshly, now, the almost gentle treatment he gave you just seconds ago long forgotten. Your poor cunt is still raw from being stretched so suddenly, but in addition to the ache there’s a spark of pleasure blooming. It makes you feel sick, disgusted by your own body. It makes your pussy clench.

     “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he groans, and you can feel the way he tosses his head back. “Y’like this, don’t ya? Gettin’ fucked by someone who’s no’ afraid t’break ya?”

     “N-no!” You protest, tears streaming down your face. 

     “Mm, ya say tha’, but ya pussy jus’ keeps gettin’ wetter,” he tuts. “Bet if I were t’reach down and play w’ya clit, it’d take no time at all f’ya to cream all over my cock.”

     “No, p-please,” you whimper in an attempt to hold back your moans. “I won’t-”

     “Let’s test tha’ theory,” he lets go of your wrists, chuckling as he watches your front helplessly hit the bed. 

     He wraps one arm around your plush stomach and trails his hand down to where he connects with you, two gloved fingers circling at your sensitive little bud. Your squeal is muffled but he hears it clear as day, like you let it free right into his ear. His free hand wraps around your throat, squeezing tightly as he pulls your back into his solid chest. His hips never cease their fluid motions, and at this angle, you can feel the way his tip kisses the plug of your womb. 

     “Poor, neglected girl,” he huffs. “Cunt’s so damn tigh’, feels like ya gonna rip my bloody prick off.”

      The roughness of his gloves against the slippery heat of your clit is a blissful sensation, and that combined with his dick consistently hitting that delicate spot inside you and the slight restriction of air as he squeezes your throat gets you teetering on the edge of ecstasy. 

     “Ya gonna cum, babe? Yeah? Gonna give me wha’s mine?”

     “It’s not- not y-yours!” You rasp pathetically through clenched teeth.

     The man quickens his assault on your clit, moving his hand from your throat to your face. He squishes your cheeks until your lips pucker out, then shakes your head forcibly. 

     “Ya orgasms belong t’me, tonigh’, dove, like it or no’. Matter o’fact, I think I’d like t’show ya dear husband ‘ow pretty ya look cummin’ on another man’s dick,” he taunts.

     Your body is turned to the side as he holds your face still, forcing you to look at the little red light shining in the corner of your bedroom. You knew Simon had put those up a long time ago for safety, but you never could have guessed they would be used to capture this. 

     He hooks his fingers into your mouth and stretches your lips until your gums ache and your teeth are exposed. 

     “Smile f’the camera,” he mutters into your ear and although you can’t see the smirk on his face, you can damn well hear it in his tone. 

     “Go to- fuck! Go to hell!” You weep, your body trembling violently with the force of your orgasm. 

      “Yeah, fuck yeah! Ya see tha’, Ghost? See ‘ow good ya li’l slut is f’me?” He growls, giving your ass a sharp smack. “Think I can make ‘er squirt?”

     “No!” You shake your head, but it does nothing to deter the man. 

     Despite not having recovered from your climax, he continues to toy with your sore, overworked clit. Every nerve in your body is alight with electricity, furious lightning that has no intention of showing you any reprieve as long as the man inside of you continues his ministrations. Not once has he stopped moving his resilient hips or let up on bludgeoning your sweet spot. 

     “Open ya fuckin’ eyes, I wan’ ya t’see wha’ a mess I’m gonna make o’ya.”

     He pants breathlessly and tangles his fingers into your hair, forcing your head back and pressing his masked lips to your forehead. 

     “Gonna pu’ on a show f’ya husband like a good girl?” He questions in a whisper, using his hand as leverage to nod your head for you. “Mm, so obedient.”

     It takes just a few more circular motions from his fingers on your nub for you to see stars, this orgasm far more intense than the previous. The man laughs gleefully as your squirt soaks the sheets, fucking into you harder to watch the stream intensify.

     “Holy hell,” he beams, slapping at the wet mess of your slit over and over again until you’re drained. “Ruined the damn bed, didn’t ya? Sexy fuckin’ bitch.”

     Your limbs feel like jelly. You’re essentially useless, and he loves it. He pummels into you with a vigour you were unaware he could top, then pulls out all of a sudden, squeezing the base of his cock to edge himself.

     “Sit up,” he demands, yanking your hair back so that your clammy, tear-stained face is level with the hand now furiously fisting at his dick. 

     Without warning, ribbons of his warm spend spews across your face, causing you to flinch. The man just grips your hair tighter and smacks his tip across your cheeks to smear his cum all over your skin. 

     “Wha’ a gorgeous fuckin’ disaster ya are,” he coos, running his gloved thumb over your bottom lip. “C’mon, dove, show ‘im tha’ ruined face.”

     Your eyelids droop with exhaustion as he angles your head toward the camera once more to show off his handiwork.

     “Now, thank Simon f’allowin’ us t’play.”

     “Th-thank you, Simon,” you murmur, earning yourself a fond ruffle of your hair.

     He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and snaps a quick picture of you before he drops the act completely, tugging off the balaclava. You’re met with Kyle’s handsome face adorning a look of concern. He gently wipes away the sticky remnants of himself off of your face and tosses aside his gloves to cup your cheeks with his bare hands.

     “Ya okay?” He asks softly. “Was I too rough w’ya?”

     You shake your head as a dopey smile stretches across your mouth. Kyle lays you back against the pillows and leaves the room for a moment, coming back with a wet rag to clean the both of you up with. You open your arms towards him and he huffs with amusement, shrugging off his clothes and climbing into bed with you. He presses a kiss against your forehead as you sigh dreamily.

     You’re halfway asleep when your phone rings. It’s Simon, so you put it on speaker.

     “Garrick, quit kissin’ my wife,” his gruff voice rings out playfully from the other end of the line. “Did ya ‘ave fun, sweet girl? Did tha’ wanker hur’ ya?”

     “Only in good ways,” you slur.

     “Glad ta ‘ear it, baby. M’on my way back ‘ome, now,” he explains.

     “Ah, I guess I should see myself out, then,” Kyle hums, sitting up slowly.

“No. Ya best still be in my bed when I ge’ there, Kyle. Gotta reward ya f’makin’ my girl’s fantasy come true, yeah?”