#one swearword

[nocek]

And this concludes the grand crossover event

(or does it?)

(it does but I was given a great idea for how to solve Gwen's problem :) )

the timeline of previous relevant comics:

[Jeff has a great fashion sense and Peter is the best hooker]

[Jeff is found and fucks are lost]

[bro landed up in the wrong universe and all he got out of it is a lousy bow]

[reallunargift]

Romanisation, or "I don't always headcanon Port as having met Rome, but when I do it’s bc Rome would deffo teach a kid swear words in latin" (mildly connected to this)

[tintinology]

One thing this 20000 leagues under the sea AU idea has got me thinking about is Haddock being from Quebec. Mainly because Ned Land is from there, but like, I also feel like it could hold up? Like from a historical standpoint, Sir Francis could still be French, with one of his sons moving to New France later on (maybe maybe that's why they never solved the unicorn riddle hmm)

Anyways the more I think of it the more I love it so this is just my personal headcanon now

[ckb1077]

help not my sister saying vittua what have i done

[dragoncarrion]

English is so lame. For example you can only say "i hit myself really hard with the table" where's the flavor in that. Whereas in Spanish you can go "me di un pinche chingadazo de la verga en la puta mesa de mierda"

[aintgonnatakethis]

Checking in with Everett, you say?

Yes, this man is fine. No problems here!

[rainbowgod666]

The instant- THE INSTANT he tried to use religion he got fucking MUTED. LoL. Epic.

this video has been going around for a while but the English subtitles didn't match the energy of the spoken French at all. i had to fix it.

reblog to spread this version

[gurorori]

logged in jus 2 say Wow. i do nawt like da way sum of yall raising yr boys

[osomatsusanki]

the reason why there's no hungarian translation of project sekai is that they couldn't possibly keep tsukasa pg

[sevilynne]

"B—but... Snivellus is a death eater..."

Listen here, you little shit. For Severus, he got neglected by BOTH parents (and it was implied that he was abused both physically and mentally as well.), gets bullied by two boys because he wanted to go to Slytherin (who sneers back and ends up getting bullied), almost gets killed and Sirius nor Remus gets any consequences other than detention (Really? Is his life worth detention and not Azkaban?), James flexes it to Lily and Lily starts believing James over the victim, Severus accidentally calls his bestfriend a mudblood over the heat of the situation (Lily was about to smile, when James literally used scorgify in his mouth), loses the person thay cared for him the most compared to others (Which Lily isn't even a good friend, so his life is messed up), with Remus and Sirius not maturing (Sirius still calls Severus "Snivellus", and Remus and Sirius spreading lies like "Severus was jealous of James" or "Lily never hated James," when it's the other way around!!! James was jealous of Severus because he existed and Lily was his best friend!

Now his blood supremacist friends are basically recruiting him, and helping him on the way! Basically, the "bad side" is his good side! They are the only ones who "cared" for him when he needed help! He was a death eater for a reason, and people manipulating him because he was vulnerable is a reason.

The audacity of stans trying to make a hotter version of Severus—Regulus? Regulus is basically a walmart Severus but Timothée Chalamet dressed up in wizard robes! If Regulus was told as ugly, nobody would boohoo care about him.

Y'all only hate Severus and love Regulus because J.K. Rowling never made a Marauders era movie! Regulus is basically a blood supremacist with Voldemort shrines and posters who'd call Lily a mudblood! While Severus is basically bullied on a daily basis.

You guys got to see Severus's good and bad things! Like him "bullying" children, but saved the wizarding world. Literally, maybe he targeted children, but so did Minerva! Minerva literally targeted Neville and locked him outside of the Gryffindor common room when there's an apparent psycho killer, and humiliated him infront of everyone! But we all never see that because we are in Harry's POV, she favours him—she only took points and she was apparently fair because Harry's BIASED!!! Just like how all Slytherins are portrayed because of Hagrid and Ron!!! She favours Gryffindor just like how Severus favours Slytherin, except she takes big points away (which is from Gryffindors she doesn't like) and when she's infront of the professors!

Severus is a morally grey character, and Regulus? We basically time skipped him, we skipped all of the bad things he has done while we never skipped Severus's, that's why you don't have a bad opinion about him, but really! In the Marauders timeline, Regulus was a Voldemort fanboy while Severus literally had stuff happening.

This is why you don't hate James Potter, you guys basically skipped HIS timeline and moved to Harry's, which Severus is portrayed to be this big bad bully until DH! And that's why Harry "Snape's #1 Biggest Hater" Potter's vision changed to "Snape's #1 Biggest Defender", just like how his vision changed from "My father is a great man" to "I fucking hate my own father".

But you guys are so deep into these fanfics like CR (Crimson Rivers) or ATYD (All the Young Dudes) that you all forget about canon lore! He physically assaulted, sexually assaulted, and mentally exhausted Severus! We're not throwing the SA word around, because lets think of this:

———

Lily let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but her wand being ten feet away, nothing happened.

“Wash out your mouth,” said James coldly. “Scourgify!”

Pink soap bubbles streamed from Lily’s mouth at once; the froth was covering her lips, making her gag, choking her —

“Leave her ALONE!”

James and Sirius looked around. James’s free hand jumped to his hair again.

It was one of the boys from the lake edge. He had black hair that fell to his shoulders and startlingly onyx eyes.

“All right, Snape?” said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.

“Leave her alone,” Severus repeated. He was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. “What’s she done to you?”

“Well,” said James, appearing to deliberate the point, “it’s more the fact that she exists, if you know what I mean...”

Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn’t, and neither did Severus.

“You think you’re funny,” he said coldly. “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave her alone."

Behind her, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Lily was beginning to inch toward her fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.

“Bad luck, Prongs,” said Sirius briskly, turning back to Evans. “OY!”

But too late; Lily had directed her wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood.

James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Lily was hanging upside down in the air, her robes falling over her head to reveal skinny legs and a skirt.

Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter. Severus, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though he was going to smile, said, “Let her down!”

“Certainly,” said James and he jerked his wand upward. Evans fell into a crumpled heap on the ground.

Disentangling herself from her robes, she got quickly to her feet, wand up, but Sirius said, “Petrificus Totalus!” and Lily keeled over again at once, rigid as a board.

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” Severus shouted. He had his own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.

“Ah, Snape, don’t make me hex you,” said James earnestly.

“Take the curse off her, then!”

James sighed deeply, then turned to Lily and muttered the countercurse.

“There you go,” he said, as Lily struggled to her feet again, “you’re lucky Snape was here, Evans —”

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like him!" (Severus is canonically a Mudblood because he has dirty blood—Muggle blood)

Severus blinked.

“Fine,” he said coolly. “I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your skirt if I were you, Evans.”

“Apologize to Snape!” James roared at Evans, his wand pointed threateningly at her.

“I don’t want you to make her apologize,” Severus shouted, rounding on James. “You’re as bad as she is.”

“What?” yelped James. “I’d NEVER call you a — you-know-what!”

“[...], walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.”

He turned on his heel and hurried away.

“Snape!” James shouted after him, “Hey, SNAPE!” But he didn’t look back.

“What is it with him?” said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.

“Reading between the lines, I’d say he thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,” said Sirius.

“Right,” said James, who looked furious now, “right —”

There was another flash of light, and Evans was once again hanging upside down in the air.

“Who wants to see me take off Evans’s skirt?”

———

Now, let's see if this isn't messed up. This is humiliating! Why did Severus leave his female best friend when she was being PA'd and SA'd by a male! Why did he take out his wand too late? Why is he such a coward?

Gender roles do matter in this context, no matter if Severus considers this as SA or not, it's SA and he got his pants stripped down, but it doesn't matter, he's a boy isn't he?

If this was Lily, everyone would care, but no! It's greasy, slimy, old Snape, and he's a boy.

Sirius nor James used dark spells, but they were pretty much using hexes so it doesn't matter—they are basically baby DE bullies but Gryffindors.

Stop attacking Severus and start thinking about this, because he was just a boy.

A lot of people (Not all) cared for Harry when Myrtle basically tried to SA him, why not Severus? He was stripped infront of the whole school! (Not invalidating Harry's trauma), this is just so messed up.

[thisisnotmiami]

I recently started working at the afterschool program of a primary school. Here are my two favorite quotes so far:

We're having a snack. The teacher is making sandwiches. One of the kids is holding his teddy-bear. Teacher: "I'll make you two sandwiches. One for you and one for the teddy." Kid: "How is the teddy supposed to eat a sandwich?" Teacher: "Don‘t you have an imagination?"

A boy is playing with dominos. He keeps knocking them over and is getting frustrated. Boy: "Urgh, gaay!" Random girl from across the room: "What does gay mean?" Boy: *repeats "gay" in German* Girl: "Slay, girl!!"

[erdarielthewhumper]

Did you know that you can warm up a can of tuna preserved in oil by sticking a tissue or a paper towel in it, letting that soak up the oil, and lighting that on fire? I didn't, until my brother came to visit while in military (we live in a country with mandatory service for men - optional for women, and i sure as fuck wasn't singing up for that - and north enough that if you're fucking around in a forest on some military exercise or even just camping in any other season than summer, you're gonna want to eat something warm), and for some reason decided to show me that. Just feels relevant to the list of weird habits with food...

Also idk about how it is in the English-speaking world, but at least around here, military seems to have very much its own slang. While my brother was doing his service, I was constantly having to ask him to clarify words he used when he was texting me. And like, he was only in military for about a year. Depending on how insular the unit or group your living weapon whumpee belongs to is, and how long they've been there, I'd say there's a decent chance that they speak in a distinct slang. And depending how familiar with military your caretaker is, they might have to frequently either google words, try to guess them, or ask the whumpee what they mean, because a word the whumpee just used is complete nonsense to them

Things I wish I saw more of in living weapon whumpees: a non-comprehensive list from being around actual Marines and army people

They can and will sleep anywhere... except an actual bed. The moment you give them access to an actual bed with a mattress and sheets, their immediate instinct is to make it up in barracks style, not sleep in it. The moment they're expected to sit and wait and/or have no expectations of them, they lean back and enter a light doze.

Caffeine addiction. Usually through pills, sometimes through special caffeinated gum. This pairs with the weird sleeping habits.

When they ARE guaranteed eight hours of rest, at least two of them are spent maintaining equipment/ their uniform if permitted. When they wake, they're up and ready for whatever comes next in under five minutes. This includes making up the bed.

If it's not the bare minimum to keep them functional and armed, they don't have it. This is going to be especially true for LWW's who were raised in the lifestyle and/or brainwashed after abduction from civilian life. Watches, jewellery, spare clothes, even non-obtrusive things to occupy them outside of training like books or a phone are not things they have without stealing or being given a gift by someone around them.

Paired with above, they have no preferences for what they do get. If someone above them fucks up and gives them too-small or too-large clothes, they just make it work and take the punishment they don't deserve at inspection time. If the only toilet is a bucket on the floor, they use it without complaint.

Their language when speaking freely is something the fuck else, like for real the shit that comes out of their pieholes is unbelievable! A "fuck" every other word!

They only speak when spoken to, and when they do, it's in what I like to call a Sir Sandwich: "Sir, [response goes here], Sir", usually in a very flat and (if appropriate) loud tone. "Sir" can be considered gender-neutral in this case and is meant to denote someone in authority, not a masculine someone specifically.

Buzzed hair on men, pixie or chin-length bob on women, though if your LWW is the only woman in a mostly masc environment, buzzing her hair can be a deliberate tactic by her captors/superiors to dehumanize her.

Food aggression. They inhale their food, they never eat anything that takes time or effort to prepare OR to consume (salad, omelette, pancakes/waffles, steak, etc.) and if the situation calls for it they can and will eat with their hands no matter how nasty their hands are. Permission to sit down for more than ten minutes and actually TASTE what they eat should be alien to them during recovery/leave if they get it.

Hazing. Sorry, but if your LWW is in a group with other soldiers or LWs, they're going to experience some kind of unpleasant/humiliating/dangerous initiation ritual, ESPECIALLY if the team is going someplace dangerous or going to be together for long stretches of time. Stealing clothes while your whumpee is in the shower, mocking them for things they can't control/weren't aware were 'weird', anything and everything that would get them screamed at or punished by the commanding figure on an individual basis. (For my NSFWhump peeps, yes this can include SA or harassment and often does, especially for women and effette/less masculine/nerdy men.)

Exercise as punishment. This can be extra labour, a pointless task they can later be yelled at for not stopping by curfew after not being told to stop at a given time, or even just the classic "drop and give me twenty!". Hitting or otherwise physically abusing a trainee is a federal offense, but for a LWW it depends... are you leaving a mark? Can they still perform as intended?

Just. The irl army is already pretty horrible and I don't see anyone making use of that.

[risuola]

HANDCUFFS AND ALIBIS || GOJO SATORU

It's rare that you make mistakes. You know which houses to target and which ones to avoid but this time, you failed to read a note properly — that led you to a man that you, as a robber, would rather avoid. It's a story about a dance between crime and law.

contains: policeman!satoru x burglar!reader, crimes (burglary, corruption, slight blackmailing, thief, gun usage), smut (strangers, unprotected sex, oral very briefly licked), usage of pet names (kitten, good girl), wc. 5000 ⋯ reader discretion is advised

kinktober '24 masterlist || art in the header: @/lxzemathena on X

Seventy-seven.

“Fuckin’ lucky sevens,” you grumble, breathing quickly as you look down at the ever-present city of Tokyo. The flickering neons and long stripes of light glitter against the dark streets and buildings, matching the starry skies above. There’s so much life below you — the cars rushing through nighttime traffic, people scurrying over the jaded pavements. You can smell the mellow scent of the street foods and when you close your eyes, you can almost see the older ladies calling invitingly to try whatever delicacies they are offering. The view is gorgeous, you have to tell, but it’s also incredibly high and scratching you in all the wrong places. But you move through the roof, the skyscraper below your feet seems to vibrate slightly with each step you take. “You better be damn lucky.”

Once more, you glance at the piece of paper you kept in your pocket — a handwritten note from your associate, the address along with the numbers of the apartment, your tonight’s target. It’s supposed to be empty and full of goods you can steal. It does seem a little strange that your middle-aged middle-class businessman lives at the very top of the building, in a zone that you are certain is reserved for vips, but there’s no time to question it. Maybe the not-overly-successful CEO is in fact more successful than you’re giving him credit for. Or maybe it’s the lucky sevens.

Moving with feline fluidity, you’re swift about the break-in. The window is open, invitingly so, and you slip off the edge, swallowing the swearwords that bubble at the top of your throat — right above your racing heart. You move like water, like a drop of liquid sliding through the surfaces until you reach your destination. Two more steps and one little jump and you’re in. Breathless for just a moment, you listen to the silence making sure that you’re alone, as you are supposed to be. The businessman that’s unluckily occupying the lucky sevens should not be home for three more hours at least so you’re fairly confident that you can wrap it up in that time and maybe even grab some chicken nuggets on your way home. That being said, it’s better to be safe than sorry so you listen, you focus on the darkness as the soft thud of your landing echo in your ears along with the furious beating of your heart. You hear nothing.

But nothing hears you. The thud of your feet meeting the wooden planks lining his floors makes his lips turn upwards. Oh, Satoru has seen you way before you even thought about placing your little foot on his windowsill. It wasn’t hard, or rather, he’s very perceptive. Maybe it’s because of the experience he’s gathered in life or maybe just his own eyes are predisposed to catch little details that otherwise would have slipped away.

Once you’re inside his apartment, ruthlessly shifting the balance of his sanctuary, he allows you a moment to look around. He lets you wander and pick on his things just to look at you, to take you in. You’re clueless, it’s sweet. Gojo doesn’t rush it, the night is still young. He lets you find out yourself, he lets you experience the dread when you’re ready. He would hate to spoil the surprise.

There’s much less valuables than you anticipated and it makes you wonder why would your associate even recommend this house to you? But it does look good. With cat-like quiet, you move around the living area, taking in the sight of the opulent surroundings. Even in darkness you can make up that the furniture is high-end, crafted from real wood and glass. Looks like ebony, dark and rich, but you’re not sure. There is a feeling of luxury, a scent of it coming off the leather couch and armchairs, artistically mingling with the hint of perfume that marks the place with male presence. A nice perfume, with hints of vanilla and tobacco. Maybe you’ll snatch the bottle once you make it to the bathroom. Just for yourself.

You find some money in one of the pockets of the jeans discarded messily over the backrest of the sofa. The belt doesn’t seem expensive so you leave it before moving towards the bedroom. That’s where the main event is and as you go through the drawers, you grab a watch, already eyeing the laptop resting on the nightstand. Quickly, you move the socks around and then your hand finds something hard.

Oh, it is surprising to pull out a god damn handgun.

“I see you’ve found it,” a voice pulls at the strings of your attention and your eyes snap to the side. The light flicking to life blinds you for a split second before you see the man leaning against the doorframe. He’s tall, white hair and eyes that seem to be blue. How could you not hear him earlier? You must have been too busy rummaging through his belongings, too confident that there’s no one home that you lowered your guard. Rookie mistake. “Now be a good girl and put it down.”

You’re not a good girl and you raise it up, pointing the barrel at his direction — it’s an instinct, you wouldn’t shoot him, probably. You’re a robber, not a killer. He chuckles, as if he knows it as well as you do, or more.

“You’re not—”

“Oh, I certainly am not,” he cuts you in, his face morphing into a smile that you could only describe as wicked. He’s amused, you can tell, exhilarated even. He wants and will toy with you if you allow him and you’ve already decided that you won’t. “I wanted to let you know earlier but you were too sweet to interrupt. A little kitten digging through my underwear, searching for treasures that are nowhere to be found. It’s disappointing, isn’t it?”

“Shut up,” you snap, feeling the annoyance boiling inside your chest. Maybe you will shoot him.

“Now, now… don’t hiss at me,” he shakes his head, his white hair bouncing with every move of his neck. “I must admit, the wash of dread on your face was a sight I would hate to miss and you surely delivered. Now give me the gun–“

“I will shoot you,” you threat, taking a step back once he takes one forward. “Stay where you are.”

“Oh, kitten, do you think I keep a loaded gun right next to my boxers? That seems like a bad luck,” he laughs, his broad shoulders moving up and down as he shrugs nonchalantly. “See it for yourself. There’s a button on the side, can you feel it?” He’s instructing you and despite yourself, your eyes lower from him and onto the weapon in your hands. “Right there, good girl. That’s a magazine release button. Press it and the magazine will slide down from the gun’s grip.”

You truly don’t know why you follow the instruction. Maybe it’s because you have no real idea how to use a weapon or maybe it’s because his voice is so beautifully honeyed as he praises you. Maybe it’s because of how distracting he is, standing right there in nothing but a pale blue t-shirt and a pair of black boxers. And he is excited, in more ways than you’d expect.

You put some pressure on the button and just as he said, the magazine pops from the bottom of the handle. You pinch the protruding baseplate with your fingers and pull it out in a steady motion but you have not even a second to examine it when the man closes the distance between you two. His long legs covering the missing meters effortlessly and his body moving as if it was something he does on a daily basis. He grabs the barrel, aiming it up and grips your wrist, wrenching the gun out of your grasp. Throwing the weapon away, he twists your arm behind your back, slamming you onto the nearest wall. Your chest meets the cold paint and you whimper in surprise and discomfort.

“Got you,” he murmurs, his breath teasing your earlobe and you feel his strong, big body pressing against yours, much smaller one. The hard plates of his musculature crowd you in the forced embrace, his heat a harsh contrast against the cool wall. “Such a naughty little kitten, aren’t you unlucky to break into a cop’s house?”

A cop. It makes a lot of sense.

“Seems like the sevens on your door have nothing to do with luck,” you sneer, struggling in his grasp, shifting and pulling your body inch by inch towards the freedom. And he lets you, he lets you have hope as he keeps the control over every squeeze of your muscles.

“Sad to disappoint,” he hums, teeth grabbing the delicate flesh of your earlobe teasingly before his cheek presses against your temple. There’s something threateningly intimate about the way he keeps you close, his breath so delicate while his grip holds you harshly. “It truly would be a waste to put you in jail, don’t you think?” You can’t see him, but you can hear that damn smirk. “You wouldn’t like it. Pretty girls like you were not made for the bars and enclosure.”

“Oh yeah? And you’re so sure of yourself that you will catch me?” You ask, despite all and he’s laughing again. His free hand slides around your waist, splaying possessively across your stomach as he pulls you harder against him. You feel his crotch pressing against your butt, the bulge hard and prominent against the plush of your rear and the leggings you have on do little to mellow it down.

“Let’s be real now, will ya?” He muses, slowly enveloping you more and more within his arms. You feel them snaking around you, smothering, suffocating. “I could think of far better uses for such a delectable little kitten. Perhaps we could come to a more… mutually beneficial arrangement. What do you say?”

And you laugh at the realization. “Not very lawful of you now, is it?”

“Not very lawful of you to break into my house too but here we are,” he nips at your ear, sharp teeth grazing the sensitive skin and sending shivers down your spine. You feel his lips moving lower, following the side of your neck, marking the juncture of it with little wet kisses. “Damn, you smell so good,” he purrs, nuzzling his nose into your skin and inhaling deeply.

And he smells good too. Once so close, the lingering scent of his perfume fills in your nostrils much more. It’s musky, a hint of wood and a spice lingering below the sweetness of vanilla. There’s something impossible to guess too — something that seems to be just him.

“What’s stopping me from screaming?” You challenge, fighting yourself to not purr at his touches. “I’m sure your neighbors would love to hear about their friendly neighborhood cop assaulting a helpless woman.”

“Go ahead,” he chuckles. “Go ahead and scream, kitten. No one will hear you. Besides,” he lowers his tone, mouth hovering right next to your ear. “I don’t think you really want to be rescued, do you?” You don’t. “I bet you’re wet already.”

It’s you who laughs this time. What a sassy bastard. It doesn’t take you long to catch him off guard, twisting out of his grasp and elbowing him straight in the ribs. You’re not gonna go down without a fight, though… you wouldn’t mind getting a taste of that man, sinking your teeth into his muscled flesh, leaving a mark on him.

He groans and you push him back, making him stumble just a bit and it’s enough for you to flee through the doors, right towards the exit but he’s right behind you before you touch the locks. “Good luck with that, sweetie,” he mocks and you hear the metal clinking behind your back. You turn, expecting to see the keys dangling off his finger but instead, there are handcuffs there. “I wouldn’t want to cuff your pretty little and oh so fragile wrists, but you might not leave me with a choice.” He’s toying with you yet again and yet again, you scoff.

He’s annoying. Everything about him — the tone of his voice, so smooth and buttery; the sly smirk on his stupidly handsome face, those eyes that now you see are in the shade of the sky in the middle of summer, or the ocean, twinkling below the sun; the way his hair sticks out and falls down here and there in an artistic kind of mess. And his body, oh, how infuriatingly sexy he is. It makes you want to both choke him and choke on him and sooner or later you might act on either one of those urges.

Satoru knows you want him just as he wants you. It’s easy to tell in the way you look him up and down; he can almost feel your eyes exploring his frame, studying the lines and edges of his physique. It tickles his ego, feeding into his grin and he knows he needs to have you by the end of the night — and after that, the world can turn upside down. You’re too good to let go, too beautiful to let you slip between his fingers. The way your lashes flutter when you blink and how your brows furrow each time you try to act bothered by his words makes the fire burn hot and bright in his lower belly. The things he would do to you—

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” you warn, eyes fixed on him as you take a step towards him. “It’s a fire you’re toying with and you know what fire does? It burns.”

“Dangerous games are the most fun,” he grins, fingers finding the edge of your jaw as soon as you’re close enough. His touch trails along the line, hand splaying a little wider once he slips below your chin and you feel it wrap around your throat. He squeezes just enough to let you know it’s him who’s in charge. You allow him to think that it’s him.

You’re exhaling a little weaker, inhaling greedier as he holds you in his hands. You do nothing to stop him, you play into his game, dance to his melody just as he dances to yours. Your eyes meet and he’s smiling, stepping closer, you feel his heat going right through the thin layers of clothing between you. “So what will it be?” He’s purring, voice low as he leans down, running his nose down the bridge of yours.

Tilting your head, you grab his mouth, your teeth grazing over his lower lip as you nip and kiss him. He tastes like mint, you want more of him. Your hands find his hair, tugging on it, gripping it as you pull him closer. He pushes you back, your butt meets the edge of the dresser and soon you’re sitting on it. His growing bulge presses right into your core, grinding against the thin fabric of your leggings and you can’t help but whimper into his mouth.

His hands are all over you and yours are all over him, tugging and pulling the fabrics away, shedding the threads and baring his skin to your hungry paws. He’s a stature, light skin stretched over the wall of muscle that you’re all too eager to explore. He’s gorgeous, you let your lips lower, tracing down his jaw and neck, towards his shoulder. Little nips and sucks made him chuckle — purr — as he wastes no time removing your clothes.

“Aren’t you fucking gorgeous?” He breaths out, taking a step back and admiring you with an unabashed grin. “And dripping already.”

“And who says it?” You tease him back, hopping off the dresser. Your bare body is a sight, the curves and edges of you he wishes to engrave into his mind forever. You can tell he’s hungry — for you — and it stirs a thing in you, you want to devour him. You skip the distance, your hand gripping him through the boxers, palming the thick, throbbing erection and your thumb finds the tip, rubbing circles over the wet, sticky patch on his underwear. “I’m not the only one dripping, am I?”

“Certainly not.” He grins, large hands kneading the supple flesh of your bottom.

“Let’s get the guns out,” you muse, pushing him back, step after step until his knees met the edge of the bed.

“This gun is loaded, little kitten. Can you handle it?” He’s nonchalant as he falls back, bouncing off the mattress with a low chuckle. You let him smirk, pulling the black fabric off his legs and it makes you salivate — he’s thick, throbbing with need. Pearly white globs of precum glisten at the pink tip, stretch between it and his skin each time the hefty shaft meets the bottom of his stomach, too heavy to stand properly on its own.

“I can handle a corrupted cop,” you mock, crawling on top of him, running your flattened tongue up his length and swirling it around the tip.

And he’s laughing, taunting, “oh, says the little thief,” sneering. But his breath hitches, his eyes glued to the way your mouth stretch around his tip. It feels warm, wet, like silk and honey. You have no intent of rushing, you want to tease him, to make it painfully slow, to make him beg. “Be a good girl.”

“Am I not?” You stop, grinning wickedly and he groans, twitching right against your cheek.

He won’t beg.

You can’t have another lick before he’s right on top of you. Your chest vibrates when you laugh at his desperate movements, a mocking reminder of your victory but he ignores it. Set on the target, Satoru moves your thighs apart, groaning “shut up,” before he rubs the tip of his cock against your clit.

The contact is electric, sending tendrils of pleasure through your entire body. His movements are deliberate, it’s intense, it makes your thighs tremble on the sides of his hips. You look at him and his eyes are set on the spot you’re connected — the way his precum coats your throbbing bud, how it mixes with the thick, sticky fluids that slick your pussy, how your body twitches from pleasurable little shots of ecstasy.

You won’t beg either.

But he’s never been patient, he wants to be inside you. He needs to feel you around him, to be squeezed by you, to be buried to the hilt and lost completely, utterly in you. So he moves, his tip sliding down your slit, prodding your entrance as if giving you a ghost of a chance to run away, before he’s deep in you. One thrust is all it takes; he groans and you moan. Your back arches off the mattress, hands find their way onto his shoulders, scratching and squeezing, pushing and pulling.

The air hot from each breath, thick with tension and heavy with anticipation. He fills you completely, your walls stretching to accommodate his girth and a gasp escapes your lips. You feel all of him, it’s too much and not nearly enough. It overwhelms you, consumes you; the sensation, a mixture of pain and pleasure, sending shivers down your spine and makes everything blurry. His pace is relentless, punishing almost, each thrust harder than the last. His hips snap against yours with desperation and desire. It’s lustful, it’s raw.

Your bodies move together in a primal dance, the room echoing the symphony of raw, unfiltered passion — a cacophony of heavy breaths, soft moans, the wet smack of skin on skin and the rhythmic creaking of the bed beneath you. You grip his shoulders, run your fingernails across his pale skin, mark him with pleasure that fills every cell of your being. It burns you from the inside out, it turns your mind into a flurry of no thoughts. Your walls clench around him — it’s a silent plea for more, for harder, for faster.

His hand finds its way into your hair, gripping it tightly, tilting your head back as he pounds into you. He can feel the pressure building, a fire igniting within his core and he wants more. His teeth graze the exposed column of your neck, like a predator, he runs his nose along your silky skin inhaling your scent, memorizing it. He nips and kisses the delicate juncture, leaving wet marks and wet trails.

Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his firm ass, urging him onward, urging him closer. Satoru listens, his pace quickens as each powerful thrust drives deeper into your overly sensitive body, stoking the fire between you both. You feel the tension building, a delicious pressure coiling in your lower belly, threatening to unravel at any point and you don’t hold it. He grips your hip, bruising your flesh with his fingers as he holds you in place. You scratch his back and he’s leaving marks, you bite his shoulder and he sucks your skin. You lose your mind and he loses it too.

In this moment, there is no corrupt cop and a petty thief – you are just two souls entwined in the throes of ecstasy, drowning within the sea of pure, deafening bliss. The world outside ceases to exist, walls of reality blurring as you surrender to the overwhelming sparks coursing through your veins — an eager, desperate chase of euphoria. With each thrust, he claims you, branding your very essence with his presence and yet, in the surrender, there is a sense of empowerment. You hold the key to his undoing, just as he holds yours.

Your heart is pounding in sync with the unforgiving rhythm of Satoru’s hips against yours. You see the strain on his face, the muscles in his neck standing out as he’s fighting to maintain control, to prolong this exquisite torture, but he can’t. Sweat beads on his brow, trickling down his temple and mirroring the sheen that glistens upon your own skin. The salty tang of perspiration blends with the heady aroma of arousal, creating an intoxicating perfume that fills the room. Soon, his restraint snaps, he’s growling lowly as he drives into you with frenzy — new ferocity of his movements sends you careening over the edge. You cry out, arching yourself as the waves of crashing pleasure wash over you. It’s a freight car that hits you, sending you spiraling into the abyss, it’s a tsunami that sweeps you off your feet and into oblivion.

“Look at me,” he commands, stilling himself inside you — despite himself, despite the overwhelming need and the surges of electricity that seem to be the only thing to keep him alive right now. “I want to see you when you come undone,” his voice is barely more than a raspy whisper and you look at him. Hazy eyes find his own, blurry lines of his face are all you’re able to make out in the dimly lit room but he’s there, you see him, you feel him.

He moves again, the crescendo builds as both of you dance at the edge of the release. Sweat slicks your skin, mingling as you press tightly against one another. It’s a torment, an expertly administered torture that targets your very soul and you love it, you grow addicted, you want more of it, more of him. And then, as if the universe itself cannot resist the pull of desire as powerful and heavy, the dam breaks. Your inner walls clamp down around him, orgasm ripping through you with power you have never experienced before — one that leaves you breathless, that makes you see nothing but stars in the dark blue eyes of the man above you. Release rips through you, it comes and drowns you as he angles his hips to hit that one sweet spot over and over, making you cry real tears and gasping for air. Soft moans and pleas escape your lips in a litany of need, a beg for mercy and for more at the same time. And he’s right after you; feeling your climax, he lets himself come undone too. He finds his release within the tight embrace of your body. Enveloped by the pulsating walls, milking him until he too succumbs into the overwhelming sensation, shuddering and following you headfirst and into the bliss. You can feel the muscles in his body tensing as he empties himself in you, fills you until you can’t take any more and spills, running down your velvety skin and onto the bedsheets below.

For a moment, time stands still. The two of you remain locked in an intimate embrace, hearts pounding in tandem as the echoes of your shared climax reverberate through the silence. Your breaths blend together and hearts mimic each other’s beating. As the aftershocks subside and the haze of passion begins to clear, you find yourself in a tangle of limbs, the evidence of what happened cooling on your skin. There’s a sweetness in the aftermath. A gentle vulnerability that neither of you are accustomed to showing but none of you fights against. It’s a moment of peace. Rare. Real.

Satoru rolls onto his back, taking you with him so that you’re draped across his chest. His heartbeat thrums steadily under your ear, a comforting rhythm that lulls you into a state of peaceful repose and for now, you choose to simply exist in this moment, allowing the events of the night to wash over you. The moonlight filters through the window, casting a silver glow over the scene. You feel his breathing evening out, his grip on you loosening bit by bit.

His sleeping form seems peaceful. He’s beautiful, truly and you almost feel bad before disentangling yourself from his embrace, careful not to wake him. Silently, you retrieve the handcuffs from the pile of discarded clothes on the floor and dress yourself in what you came in. There is a brief flicker of remorse as you secure his wrist to the bedpost, but it’s quickly extinguished by the thrill of the impending escape. Of winning. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips — a strange mixture of gratitude and goodbye, a stolen intimacy that you couldn’t get enough that night and you know, deep inside, that you will miss the feeling of him.

It’s bittersweet.

His wallet, watch and badge lie on the bedside table, ripe and ready for the taking. With deft fingers, you lift them, ensuring to keep the silence, not to disturb the peacefulness of the room. You pick up the gun — the one he has ripped out of your hands before everything escalated — the weight of it is unfamiliar in your grasp and you hesitate. For a moment you consider leaving it behind, but your nature wins out and you tuck it into the waistband of your leggings.

Clad in the moonlight, you take one last look around the room, memorizing the details — the rumpled sheets, the faint smell of sex still hanging in the air, and the man who — for a fleeting moment — made you consider a different life.

But that life isn’t for you.

With a final glance at the sleeping cop, you slip out of the room, closing the door softly behind you before you’re on your way out. As the steps echo through the staircase leading you down the building, you can’t help but smile. You want to laugh, it’s impossible. You can’t shake the feeling of Satoru’s touch, the memory of his body intertwined with yours. He’s a dangerous distraction, one that could get you caught if you’re not careful enough.

Once you step outside, the cool night air greets you, a stark contrast to the warmth you’ve left behind. The streets of Tokyo are never quiet and quickly, you allow yourself to be swept by the chaos, by the neon lights, by the people chatting around the edges of the street food booths. And you run, forward, somewhere. You run and you laugh. It’s high, you’re lightheaded. New day will come by and you’ll never see him again.

It’s okay.

It was worth it.

The first rays of dawn seep into the room, casting a golden hue over the tousled bedsheets, warming up the bare skin. Satoru stirs, blinking sleep away from his eyes as consciousness returns. He stretches, expecting to feel the warmth of a body that had been nestled beside him only hours before, but instead, his hand meets the cold sheets and even colder metal. His eyes snap open and he turns his head to see his wrist bound to the wooden bedpost by a pair of his own handcuffs. The very same ones he had shown you at night, the ones he wanted to put on your forearms. He tugs at it, listening to the metallic clink that echoes in the otherwise silent room, as the events of the previous night come flooding back.

You’re gone, and Satoru laughs. A cursory search of the bedside table confirms his suspicion — you’ve taken the wallet, the watch and even his badge. A souvenir, he thinks. Alone in his bed, he relaxes. He lost. A little thief had bested him, the woman who had writhed beneath him, had turned the tables in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He lowered his guard, allowed himself to fall into slumber.

You’ve played his game and won.

You had enough curtesy to leave the key, knowing that once he’s awake again, you’ll be long gone. You left the key knowing, that he will not pursue you, that he will not call the authorities. Oh, you little minx. As Satoru uncuffs himself, he cannot stop chuckling. There’s so much lies he will need to tell to get out of losing his badge and the gun without admitting to what truly has happened.

But it’s okay.

You are worth it.

[iheartgirlzn]

CALLING THE SEVEN ‘BRO’

characters: percy, annabeth, jason, leo, piper, frank, hazel

warning(s): like one swearword, gn!reader, sappy nicknames and the seven being silly teenagers in love🧎‍♀️

📱 notes: back with a texting smau !! i’ve seen 0 of these with anyone from pjo so ima change that :3 enjoyy

— P.S. sorry if these are lowkey ooc or inaccurate 😭 I TRIED MY BEST GUYS

[estrella-etoile]

I think that when the heavens are returned to normal, Xie Lian starts a little cultivation temple up there. He figures it's never a bad time to keep up good cultivation practices, to help gods keep true to the path. One of the rules is godly powers stay at the door.

Feng Xin and Quan Yizhen are the first to join him, never missing a single combat session. Feng Xin is still in awe of how outclassed he was during the final showdown, and he wants to get better. Quan Yizhen just loves to fight, and Xie Lian has become his second favorite person. He still loses, but the matches are excitingly close.

Pei Xiu joins next, nearly as soon as his detention as a mortal has been lifted. He's never fought with General Hua, and still can't believe that the man who saved his life is right there and beat the crap out of the Emperor.

Pei Ming wants to know what all the hubbub is about. He's a martial god too, who are these younguns who are forgetting this? He has a lot of fun, but no one misses the frustration on his face that he can't hold a candle to Xie Lian. He vows to train harder (but often gets distracted by beautiful ladies).

Lang Qianqiu was hesitant at first. He is worried his old Master would bear some grudge (and vice versa), but more and more, he finds himself slipping into calling Xie Lian "guoshi", and it doesn't feel so weird on his tongue. In fact, it's starting to feel nice again.

Mu Qing holds off as long as he can. He calls the practice a waste of time, claims that the martial gods are all shirking their duties by participating. Okay fine. He guesses he will participate too. His complaints are met with a patient smile by Xie Lian and a lot of swearwords by Feng Xin. No one allows Mu Qing and Feng Xin to spar, afraid of the damage to the capital, and to being even more in debt to Hua Cheng.

Once in a blue moon, Hua Cheng himself joins! Those are the days that only Quan Yizhen volunteers to spar. No one else dares to join, but everyone hides nearby to watch. Someone boldly asks Hua Cheng why he no longer offers up his own ashes should he lose.

Hua Cheng simply says, "They are in a place that I will not take them from, and I hope that they remain in that place for as long as the world turns."

Xie Lian blushes, and clutches the ring so near his heart.

[massive-nerd-potential]

EXACTLY THIS!

I hate, hate, hate your usual miscommunication trope, it is so horrible but HE DID IT WELL!

the good omens season 2 finale is the classic miscommunication trope but done right. it's my least favourite trope of all and i never thought i'd see the day when i lived for it, which just goes to show that the beauty of a story depends almost fully on how its written. @ neil gaiman, you've done it again.