#or rather he grunts like this through it the whole time while he tries to talk you through it

[spicyspiders]

I’ve been working on a Leon fic but haven’t been able to stop thinking about a tiktok I saw the other day where it had the sound Leon made at the end in it. The last time I went to watch it, the audio was deleted so I had to find it myself.

[nanaslutt]

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

toji getting his ass absolutely drilled by sukuna

sukuna is shoving his head into the sheets, his fingers halfway inside tojis mouth that’s hanging open, drooling like a slut. his back is arched so deep, angled for sukuna so perfectly so he can fuck right against his prostate

“ugghhh- ngh-“ toji squeezes around sukuna when he cums for the third time, cock bobbing heavily with each thrust as sukuna fucks the cum out of him.

sukuna grips the fat of tojis ass so hard his sharp nails dig into his skin. his eyes roll back into his head as tojis hole tries to milk his cock. “did anything even come out? you’re shooting with every thrust, zenin.” sukuna teases, releasing tojis ass before smacking it roughly.

he’s rewarded with a grunt of pleasure from toji. “i can fuck your-“ tojis words cut off in a long groan when sukuna presses his fat cock to the hilt of his ass and rolls his hips in a circle. “f-fuck your mouth and cum down your throat if you don’t believe me.” his eyes are glossy and his face is flushed beyond beleif, but he still has a cocky, cock drunk smile on his lips

sukuna pulls back almost entirely before slamming back in, making toji borderline scream as he sets a fast and brutal pace so hard toji has to place his hand against the headboard so he doesn’t bump into it.

“bold words, sorcerer killer.” his cock leaks inside him. “but id rather watch you squirt on your own face while i ride your hole.”

in moments, toji is on his back with one of sukunas hands wrapped around his throat, which looks so small in comparison to his hand now. sukuna uses his other hand to push one of his knees back against the bed, folding toji in half.

toji grips sukunas thick wrist with both hands, mouth agape and eyes locked on the demon as he pounds his hole. “f-uuuck, fuck.”

“yeah.” sukuna grunts, his fangs showing with his smile. “just a stupid slut when i have you on my cock. where did that fight go?”

tojis nails break the skin of sukunas arms, making his cock twitch from the pain. “still here.” toji chokes out, his breath scratchy and breathy from how hard sukuna is gripping his throat.

his response makes sukunas smile grow. toji begins rolling his hips back to meet sukunas thrusts as best he can, his mouth falling open when his moans start to quiet.

“going to squirt, sorcerer killer?” toji’s mouth closes and he grits his teeth together hard, tears of pleasure falling from the corner of his eyes. sukuna’s heavy balls throb, and he has to unclench the muscles in his pelvis to try not to cum at the sight.

leaning down over him, he crushes him with his body weight while not relenting in his thrusts. tojis sopping wet cock drips between them, making a mess on their abdomens. sukunas tongue flicks out, and he licks up the tear that fell from his eye.

“i do thoroughly enjoy it when you cry. give me more.” tojis lips part and his whole body tenses on a shout. “A-ah!!”

sukuna watches with pleasure as toji’s cock bursts, and he squirts all over his own chest and face. he’s too fucked out to even care about the mess he’s making, as he fumbles for his leaking cock to stroke himself through his climax.

sukuna beats him to it, slapping his hand out of the way to jerk him off quickly, making toji whine as his head thrashes side to side trying to excape the painful pleasure. “sukuna!!” he yells, legs shaking around his large body so violently it nearly looks painful.

“yes pet, again.”

sukuna gets what he wants when toji cums again, though this time nothing comes out. sukuna fucks him through it all the same, jerking his cock harshly that’s been rubbed raw. the tip is so red, and he’s so wet it’s making the most vulgar noises.

when sukuna slows his thrusts, still hard and throbbing inside his ass, he pulls his now drenched hand off of tojis cock and lifts it to his mouth. toji’s tounge lazily swirls around his fingers, tasting his own cum, but that’s not good enough for sukuna.

releasing his throat, he pinches his cheeks together roughly, forcing him to suck on his fingers properly. his cock gives a twitch inside his tight hole when he presses them down his throat and toji gags in response.

“can you take more? or are you nothing but a broken toy now?”sukuna asks, pretending to be more brutal because he knows how much it turns toji on.

sukuna grunts when toji bites down hard around his fingers before smiling like the brat he is. “f-fuck you, i can’t be broken. you still have to check if i have any cum left in me, or if that was just a fluke. unless, you can take anymore…”

he knows he’s taunting him, but he can’t help but fall right into his trap. the vein in his forhead pulsates, and he smacks tojis face harshly, making the other man smile.

“when i’m done with you, you will have no more fluids left to give me.”

(he’s talking abt tears there ^… not uh��. not anything else….. just had to clear that up…. anyways hope u enjoyed…. freaks…….)

[dokidokidraft]

Sub JJK Men Hcs

A/n: Im sry about kinktober guys, hcs are just easier to write rn. Plus, I’ve had this in my drafts for a while.(since August…)

⇨Masterlist⇦

Warnings: smut, nsfw, the title says it all. Dom!afab!reader, no pronouns used tho, sub jjk men (separate), overstimulation, edging, dracryphilia, brat taming, bondage/gagging, pegging, and gun play in Toji’s

Includes: Satoru Gojo, Geto Suguru, Toji Fushiguro

More in part two, I promise. Request specific characters if you’d like!

꧁Satoru Gojo꧂

This man has 2 moods

#1 is whiny, obedient sub who’s kinda desperate. This only happens when he’s had a tough day at work and need to cool down a little.

#2 is his most common, the brat. Disobedient, cocky, and his ego goes through the roof. Tries to take charge most of the time.

He's super into overstimulation, whether he’s a crying, begging mess, or you need to brat tame him a bit.

The punishment that best works for him is the chastity cage. The pain turns pleasurable for him, but your always so cruel and hide the key. The longest he’s gone is 4 days, before he was begging (full on his knees, tears in his eyes, hands together as if he was praying) for you to take it off.

One of the loudest men on this list. I’m talking moans, whimpers, grunts, whines, the whole damn package.

Even when he’s being bratty, and TRYING to block out the noise, he’s crying out your name like it’s the only word he knows.

Hates edging, so that’s also an optimal punishment for him. Being on the brink of orgasm, teetering off the edge, before you pull him back down to earth is probably the worst feeling ever. (maybe second to the chastity)

Doesn’t like getting spanked or anything like that, but do use his blindfold to tie his wrists to the bed frame, etc.

Super big praise kink, but degradation also makes him moan, even when he tried to convince himself he doesn’t like it.

But oh god, when you ride him. That’s what really gets him going, seeing you bounce on top of him, tits swaying enticingly in front of his face. that's his absolute favourite thing.

Heavy aftercare is needed with this guy. I’m talking bubble bath, chocolates, and at least half an hour of snuggling afterwards.

“I’m NOT begging for you to blow me. I’m the strongest, I don’t beg”

“God, woman! J-just let me cum already! I’ll even let you peg me again just don’t edge me anymore….ple-e-ease…”

꧁Geto Suguru꧂

Not on the bratty side, but not completely submissive either

As long as you’re happy, he’s happy.

One of his biggest kinks is hair pulling, especially if he’s eating you out. Making eye contact and feeling the tug on his scalp while you force your cunt against his face is just heaven for him.

Also loves being edged. Unlike Satoru, he loves to feel the buzz when he gets denied, loves the feeling of you in control.

He doesn’t usually need to be punished, but on the odd occasion when he does, the best option is simply putting him on a sex ban. The chastity doesn’t really sit right with him, but not getting any pussy is definitely torture.

Like it when you tie him up, but make it overdramatic. Give him full-on jewelled handcuffs, and a bright red, shiny ball gag, with a side of fairy lights hung around the bed frame.

Whenever you gag him, he makes sure to be extra loud to entertain you. His muffled moans will be replaying in your head for days.

Speaking of which, you definitely get some noise complaints from the neighbours.

Would much rather be giving you oral, but once your tongue touches the too of his cock I can promise you he whimpers from the tiniest touch 🥺

He will buy a new bed, and make it fucking massive. He wants to try every single position possible, that’s a given.

Has a habit of biting the pillow to muffle his moans <3

“Tying me up again, huh? Don’t you ever get bored of it? Oh, did that earn me the gag yet?”

“Sex ban? You’re joking. You’re fucking joking. Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”

꧁Toji Fushiguro꧂

Submissive? Not at all…until you ride him

He would sell his soul to have you go cowgirl on him for the first time again

Toji likes the chastity cage bc it’s like a challenge for him, seeing how long he can last

If you try to peg him I’d suggest like…writing your loved ones a note :)

Overstimulation is his JAM (for both of you) but it takes fucking forever for him to get a bit overstimulated, this man has a shot ton of stamina.

When you convince him to sub, he can go all night. He’ll just be lazy and take it, whatever you give him, with lots of suggestive comments along the way

Giving him a blow job is the best way to relax him, especially if you have your nails done and use your hand at the base <3

He may or may not secretly love when you step on him, it gets him going like crazy

Hold him at gunpoint and he will be hard as a rock. He taught his girl well, and loves the thought of her overpowering him like that

Car sex. That’s it.

When you guys get really into it his hair will fall in front of his face, and if you gently brush it out of the way he falls in love all over again.

“Wanna suck on it, doll? I promise I won’t force it down your throat like last time, take your time.”

“I heard pineapple makes your cum taste sweet. Think we should try it? I’ll be the lovely taste tester if ya ride me afterwards.”

[solarmorrigan]

“You know, you’d probably be more comfortable in bed.”

Steve groans. Quietly.

“I’m gonna take that noise to mean, ‘Yes, Eddie, you’re so right, I should take my sick ass to bed!’, to which I am going to say, ‘Thank you, Steve for acknowledging how right I am.’”

If Eddie’s plan is to irritate Steve until he manages to get up off the couch and shamble himself to their bedroom, he’s on the right track.

But the thing is, Eddie is right (unfortunately) – Steve knows he’d be more comfortable in bed. The couch is too short and the cushions are too worn and the seats are just a little too narrow for him to really relax. But at the same time, the flu is trying to murder him, and he’s got a fever, and everything aches, and he doesn’t want to move.

Rather than explaining any of this to Eddie through his sore throat, Steve instead grumbles, “Your impression of me sucks.”

“Well, I’ll work on that while you’re resting,” Eddie drawls.

Steve manages a faintly agreeable-sounding noise and then pulls a throw pillow over his face.

“Steve,” Eddie says.

Steve doesn’t move.

“Steve,” Eddie tries again.

Steve is still not compelled to move.

“Steeeve. Come on.” Eddie reaches out to poke Steve in the side, who belatedly raises a hand to swat him away.

“Don’t wanna move,” Steve mumbles.

“You’re never allowed to call me dramatic again,” Eddie says.

“Mph,” Steve replies.

He hates being sick – really sick, the kind that his body just won’t tolerate pushing through. If he can’t pretend to be well, he feels he has no other recourse but to be dramatic.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Eddie offers. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

Steve snorts. “Yeah, sure.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Eddie declares, and Steve has just enough time to pull the pillow off his face and look up before Eddie is scooping him up off the couch.

“What the fuck!” Steve shouts, arms locking almost instinctively around Eddie’s neck as Eddie gets one arm settled beneath the crook of his knees and the other around his back.

“Relax, we’ll have you in bed in no time,” Eddie says, swinging around to face the living room door with a grunt and trundling forward.

“You’re gonna drop me,” Steve says, winding his arms more tightly around Eddie’s neck; he’s pretty sure no one has picked him up or carried him anywhere since he was maybe eight years old.

“Ye of little faith,” Eddie replies, only slightly strained.

“Me of exactly the right amount of faith, which isn’t a whole damn lot, no,” Steve insists, ducking forward when Eddie lists a little too close to one of the hallway walls.

“You’ll be fine,” Eddie says. “I’m not gonna drop you.”

They reach the bedroom door and, as he’d promised, Eddie doesn’t drop Steve.

He does, however, whack Steve’s head on the doorjamb.

And then he drops Steve.

It doesn’t end up being much of a fall; Eddie only loses his hold on Steve’s legs, and with Steve’s death grip around Eddie’s neck, he mostly just lands awkwardly on his feet before tumbling down onto his ass with a thud and a quiet, “Ow.”

Eddie is on his knees beside him in an instant. “Holy shit, I hit your head.”

“Yeah, thanks for that. My head was the one part of me that didn’t hurt,” Steve grumbles, rubbing behind his ear, where his skull had connected with the doorframe.

“Oh my god, I hit your head,” Eddie says again.

Steve blinks at him. “Yeah, we established that. Did you hit your head, too, or–”

“Shit, shit, are you dizzy? Is your vision blurry? Wait, fuck, you’re not wearing your contacts – are things blurrier than normal?” Eddie places his hands on either side of Steve’s face and stares into his eyes, as if he’ll be able to tell that way if Steve’s brain has finally been knocked loose. “Do you feel anything, like, swelling? Bleeding? Leaking?”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t feel that sort of thing happening,” Steve says, and Eddie’s face crumples.

“Shit, you’re right, I should take you to the doctor,” Eddie declares, moving to stand up.

Steve grabs him by the arm and pulls him back down. “Eddie, I’m fine.”

“No, your brain could be leaking or some shit, and you’re gonna have, like, an aneurism, and you’re gonna die, and it’s going to be all my fault because I hit your head and I killed you,” Eddie rambles, shaking his own head.

Steve isn’t sure if any of that is even correct, but he’s willing to bet Robin has been sharing her worries about Steve’s head trauma with Eddie. “That’s not–”

“Your head is the one part of you we really can’t afford to hit!”

“As opposed to the rest of me?” Steve asks, one eyebrow raised.

“If it comes down to it, yeah!” Eddie bursts out. “Do you even know how many times you’ve hit your head?”

“Are you asking because you don’t know, or because you’re afraid I don’t remember?” Steve asks drily. “Because you weren’t even there for most of those times, man.”

“It’s not funny,” Eddie says, and he’s definitely trying to sound stern, but he’s verging a little bit on whiny; he seems like he’s starting to calm down, since Steve has so far failed to collapse and die.

“Okay, then, seriously, Eddie – I’m fine,” Steve promises. “You didn’t even hit me that hard, it barely hurts.”

“Steve, I love you, but you have a severely skewed sense of pain and should not be trusted to rate it on your own,” Eddie says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Fine. Here,” he grabs one of Eddie’s hands and pulls it around to where his head had hit the jamb, “feel. Are there any bumps? Cuts? Anything seem out of place?”

With a frown of deep concentration, Eddie runs his fingers gently from the top of Steve’s skull to the base, occasionally pressing a little harder, but never hard enough to hurt.

“Good?” Steve asks, once Eddie’s had a minute to feel for himself.

Eddie’s shoulders slump. “I guess.”

“Ah, don’t be disappointed. Maybe it’ll be a concussion next time,” Steve offers.

Eddie shoots him a wildly unimpressed glare. “That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” Steve decides, but he takes Eddie’s hand from his head and brings it around to press a kiss to the back of it.

There’s definitely a smile ticking at the corners of Eddie’s mouth, but Steve doesn’t point it out.

“Do you want some ice, or something?” Eddie asks, and Steve shakes his head.

“What I want is to walk over to the bed and lie down, and I want you to come with me,” Steve says. “And in an hour, I want you to bring me more Tylenol and some of that really good tea that Joyce sent over. Deal?”

This time, Eddie does smile. “I think I can handle that.”

Steve smiles back. “Good.”

They get themselves situated, Eddie at Steve’s back with an arm slung over him, a single blanket pulled up to their waists (“Pretty sure you still have a fever, sweetheart,” Eddie had insisted. “You’re gonna cook yourself to death if you cover up.”), and in the dim, sleepy light filtering through their curtains, Steve presses back further into Eddie’s chest.

“I like that you care so much,” he says quietly, and Eddie squeezes him a little more tightly.

He shifts enough that he can press his lips to the spot where Steve had bumped his head. “Always will,” he murmurs, and hell if Steve doesn’t believe him.

[Prompt: Bridal carries]

[theanimeroom]

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

BRAINROTTING OVER…

💎 men who miss you so much when you’re away. so much so, that they resort to stealing your belongings in order to satiate their urges. it was only supposed to be a week, maybe even sooner, that’s what you told him. your business trip would be a walk in the park for you, and once you finished closing out the deal your company made, you would be on your way back home.

so why? why is it that you still weren’t home? he’d spent the last few days dealing with the empty house you’d left him in, a pout on his face every time he walked into a room and you weren’t there to greet him happily. he settled for the takeout that he got everyday since he was a menace in the kitchen, you not trusting him within an inch of his life to cook a meal. he’d even managed to work with the blood filled appendage between his legs that never seemed to go away. but as the days grew longer and so did your trip, the man just couldn’t seem to take it anymore.

his hips rotated desperately as he clenched his fist around his cock, a look of anguish painting his face as he tried to force the orgasm that’d been building in him for the past week and a half. his teeth clenched around the material of his shirt that was stuffed into his mouth, pitiful whines and grunts muffling themselves into the cloth. he pictured you in his head, your teasing expression staring down at him while you stroked him, soft hands dragging him closer and closer to the edge of that narrow cliff.

the slick sound of the lube slicking his shaft blended into his cries, body jerking as his thumb grazed the tip lightly. every touch left his body on fire, the thought and image of you pushing him over the edge left him so close that he could taste it, just a small nudge and he’d be tumbling head first into bliss. yet, time and time again, the moment he felt like the leash would snap, he’d come back to his senses just long enough to remind him that you weren’t home, orgasm quickly fading away at the revelation.

it wasn’t enough, it wouldn’t be enough.

more, more, more.

his eyes were blurry as he peeled them open, a result of how hard he was squeezing them shut moments prior. when he was able to focus he looked around the room for something that could help, gaze falling onto the bedside dresser where his phone sat atop of it. he contemplated for a moment whether he wanted to risk waking you up at this late hour, before his attention was directed elsewhere, onto the top drawer where some of your belongings resided.

as the idea crossed his mind he mentally asked himself if he was really this down bad, but with another throb of his cock he cursed lowly before quickly reaching for the dresser.

his hands found their way inside rather quickly, hands rummaging through the undergarments until he felt the familiar waistband of his particular favorite pair of underwear. he was quick to snatch the material out of its confines eyes lighting up when his eyes landed on the pretty red cloth.

there was no room for embarrassment as he brought the thin panties to his nose, a deep sigh escaping him as he inhaled your lingering scent.

this.

the man’s hips shot into the air, searching for friction as he nearly became high off the action. you would be disgusted in him if you saw how lowly of a human he was, but when you were this much of a drug for him, what else was he supposed to do? his hand quickly wrapped around the base of his cock, squeezing tightly as he felt heat course through his body.

with another whiff he was fucking into his fist like his life depended on it, cries of pleasure masked by the pair of underwear he’d stolen for himself.

“ahh~” his red and angry tip leaked with every stroke, incoherent pleas begging for you to let him come. his back lurched from the bed in a disasterous arch, your scent flooding his nose as he felt like his whole body would explode. “want it, want it, please fuckkkk–!!!”

it hit him all at once, every muscle contracting and squeezing so tightly it left his knuckles white and teeth clenching. his hips bucked rapidly into his fist, riding out the blissful high that he couldn’t seem to grasp. his breathing was scattered and shallow, mind blanking as he only saw a white sheet enveloping his body. he relaxed, maniacal smile stretching across his face as he relished in his afterglow.

he shuttered when he released himself, his now soft cock slapping against his sweaty stomach. he could barely move by the time he was able to open his eyes, fingers twitching around the red panties held in his grasp. when he looked down at himself he let out a small chuckle at the picture he’d painted all over his stomach, laying the underwear to the side as he reminded himself to put them back where he found them later.

his breathing started to recover as he shut his eyes once more, shielding his gaze from the world until he felt his mind starting to wander, thoughts of you and your pretty smile being the last thing he thought of before slipping into a content slumber, wondering momentarily;

you wouldn’t have to know about this right?

kazutora, takemichi, hanma, peh-yan | bachira, nagi, kunigami, hiori | uryuu, yumichika, kira, urahara | kise, izuki, midorima, wakamatsu + your faves!

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty One - Crash Site

Part Forty

Warning: Gore, Violence, & Vomit

———

Mech emergency evacuation systems, M.E.E.S; which to be perfectly honest is not the worst acronym in the army. Was initially designed and regulated by the US Army armored suit branch, to bring down the number of pilot deaths and suit destructions.

In its first year of operation it prevented three suits from having catastrophic failures and saved the lives of seven pilots. The initial system was a massive power sink, likely to drain the suit and put it out of commission until new batteries or reactor or core could be sourced.

MECHA’s number one researcher went on to redesign the system as a whole, it prevents 99.1% of suits from experiencing catastrophic failures when experiencing devastating attacks. It saves the pilot around 17.8% of the time. This system saves the governments of the world billions in suit production costs each year.

It costs them millions in wrongful death lawsuits.

Lawsuits are rare when nearly the whole world is living under martial law.

The switch to Shockwaves system’s has become the typical followed path with his rapid advancements and improvements for the integration technologies.

Even if the outcome is less than desirable, his advancements are the fastest and most consistent. His advancements ensure steady income for MECHA, along with free reign to find the path forward.

To end the war. To design the best suits. To be willing to take the steps that some refuse to.

His version of the M.E.E.S is the most used in the world, ensuring the safety of the suit.

Of Arcturus One, two of the four pilots have that system integrated.

—

He slams into the side of the Quintesson, bringing his gun up and firing point-blank, splatting himself and the ground in green gore. It splashed against some of his lower field cameras, but it was easy to reroute the needed angles, shoving against the Quint with his now empty shoulder while digging the gun into the hole he’d made, firing several more times.

Shifting the gun and activating some of the magnets in his platting, it locked in place on his forearm while tearing the Quint in half. Grunting with the effort of it as one arm laid useless on the ground somewhere behind him, the other at present pulling out the entrails of the Quintesson in front of him. Honestly if he hadn’t been a pilot for so long and spent those first few years doing exactly what he’s doing now, he’d probably find the whole situation rather disgusting.

Of course they’d all seen the slightly sideways glances Breakdown gave them when they got covered in the remains of the enemy, tankers rarely got as close as they did or as Breakdown did now.

None of that mattered at the moment though, just thoughts to keep him occupied while trying to ignore Sideswipe’s painfully loud, blaring music.

The music of the bar had been nice and quiet most of the time, nostalgic for a time he’d hardly know but still one he’d been around for. A connection to home and his life before all of this mess.

Sideswipe’s taste in music was significantly louder and less familiar to Hound. It pained him to admit it, mainly because it made him sound incredibly old, he wasn’t partial to the music. He didn’t particularly dislike it, but sometimes the pitches made his ears ache from going through speakers twice. Wincing as a particular note tried to slice his ear drum, Hound turned down his audio receiver even more, “God.” The concussive blow from moving to the next Quint wasn’t nearly as bad.

Spinning on his good foot, Hound crouched for a moment to survey. Sideswipe was still to his left, dealing with a Quint who had managed to wrap its tentacles around his suit, and there were only a few left though he could just see one starting off towards the crashed ship, the same direction the rest of the pilots went off to.

Slowing his breathing, Hound takes a deep breath, shifting his gun back to his hand for now and standing, moving to the next Quintesson in line. He could hardly hear the gunfire now, less from his turned down audio and more from the repetitive action. Sideswipe slams into the Quint in front of him, spraying them both with green, “Ugh, these things are horrible.”

With a glance, Hound shrugs the best he could, “The sooner we get splattered with green, the sooner the fight is over, come on.” There were only a few left, “When we’re done here, we go to the crash site.” Shaking his head, Sideswipe chuckles, “No shit.” Closing his eyes for a long moment, Hound was reminded why they were split up, again, they would get each other killed even if it was just from the banter.

—

Sunstreaker had grown used to knowing there was a sniper at his back, it had been a safety net of sorts, and with only one arm it was turning his stomach unpleasantly. Even with Jazz at his side, the uneasy feeling just wasn’t going away.

After watching some of the fighting on New Kaon, he’d asked Blue for some help with something that he was now very grateful for. Sure, he had the blades on his bracers, but now he was thrilled to have sharp; effectively, claws.

Taking apart the fingers of his suit had been a pain, they had sensors in them that were entirely unfamiliar and magnets like his assistance suit, but they weren’t activated. It had never been his thing, to try and stick to things. Whether buildings or the light armor the enemy sometimes wore.

Blue had been a massive help to get the plating on his fingers off and reshaping them, then filing them, apparently it had been a somewhat regular practice during the last war. Not among the autobots but certainly among the decepticons. It was still a regular practice for them, but more for aesthetics than practical use now.

Sunny knew for him that there was no real aesthetics to it, it was all practical use, use that he was using now.

His hand dug into the side of a Quint, just enough to ensure his bracer followed, why he had never thought of this before he’d never truly know. Slicing upward, it through through the dense mass of the Quintesson and he laughed, pulling his arm back as his enemy basically popped.

Splattering him and Jazz with it’s gore just as another Quint came and wrapped it’s tentacles around his legs. With the missing arm, his balance could have been better, “Fuck!” He was jared in his piloting seat as his suit slammed face first into the ground, groaning as he shoves up and grasping at the ground as it drags him.

Jazz moved in fast and grabbed hold of the Quintessons tentacles and started pulling, twisting his arms around them and pulling, “Where are the others?” Sunny throws himself around and kicks the Quint in its beak like face, “I don’t know, coming eventually.” They both struggled with it, Jazz pulling the tentacles free of the body as Sunstreaker caves in its face.

He breathed heavily, jumping when the booms of Breakdown’s cannon reached his ears, turning briefly to see him before looking back at the army they were trying to keep inside the crashed ship.

The ship, thankfully, had landed on the road and had yet to do tons of damage to the nearby buildings. Earthlings were skilled in taking down their ships, but they were far more fragile than they appear. Keeping it from falling apart of exploding was key at the moment, the surrounding buildings appeared to be residential but thankfully evacuated.

Sunstreaker had no idea where everyone went, but he was glad there were no cybertronians nearby to see the state of their suits. He knew he wasn’t the only person to think they looked like the walking dead.

His vision blurred for a moment, the Iacon street fading into New Kaon sand and he swore.

Swinging back out, he still connected with the approving Quintesson, both in memory and in reality. His head swam and his stomach turned again, gasping as he tore off his oxygen mask desperately, “Jazz, help!” He kicked the Quint back and stumbled.

It took several painfully long seconds for his vision to clear, Jazz in front of him, tearing apart the enemy. Taking several deep breaths and grabbing his water pouch, Sunny gags and tries not to throw up.

He really wished Blue was there, watching his back, he sat on the ground trying his hardest to not throw up. It was bad enough he got alien gore on his suit, it would be even worse to throw up in his cockpit.

—

Hound could hear the booming of Breakdown’s cannon in the distance again as he and Sideswipe moved closer to the crashed ship, the bar had been cleared and Hound had his fallen arm tucked up under the one remaining. He’d have to leave it once they saw Quintessons again, it was too cumbersome to carry around but he wasn’t just going to leave it behind.

Sideswipe was to his back, watching behind them and the sky as the seekers still screamed overhead, “You know, this is very different from any of the times I had to defend Miami.” Nodding a bit, Hound kept his gun up, scanning the surroundings.

”It’s because they're just scouting Earth, they are actively trying to invade Cybertronian space.” Sideswipe glanced over his shoulder at Hound, “Yeah, but why? They’ve been on Earth for thirty years as of today.” Sighing, Hound shrugs again, holding his fallen arm tightly to his body.

With a glance around, Hound leads them between buildings, “We’ve been holding them off for thirty years, I think if we had an army like this, an army of pilots it would be different.” He nearly stops at the sight in front of him, but instead drops his arm and brings his gun up.

The ship had crashed, but Quints were still trying to work themselves out of the gaps in its armor, screeching and clawing at the metal.

His vision was pinging him with each one trying to escape, along with ways into the ship that he could have hardly fit through, now though without an arm those gaps were slightly more doable. His skin itched with the prospect, with the hunt, and he grinned behind his oxygen mask.

Sideswipe’s hand landed on his shoulder, “I’m going to move in to help Jazz and have Sunny fall back towards you.” But Hound was already shaking his head, “No, have him fall back towards Breakdown, I’m going in.” There was a pregnant pause, “Are you nuts?” Shrugging again, Hound chuckled, “Well, slightly.” He glanced at Sideswipe.

They shared a look, “Alright, but you’re not going to have help in there.” He nodded and turned up his comms, “Did everyone hear the plan?” Breakdown grunted with the effort of keeping his suit upright as his cannon went off, “I think it is a stupid plan.” Sunstreaker nodded in the corner of his vision, “Hound, were strikers.”

Chuckling filled the comm, “You guys really should know more about pilot history, Hound used to be a hunter class. This is what he initially tested into.” He paused, “And Prowl says the backup is about twenty minutes out, so it’s now or never that we try to end this ourselves.” Hound hardly had to spare a glance to Sideswipe before running for the ship, gun coming up again.

The comms of course were loud then, “Well, how was I supposed to know he was a hunter class? Since I’ve known him, he’s been a striker and class jumps are rare.” Jazz tore out the throat of an approaching Quintesson while Sunstreaker cut off several of its tentacles, “Hey, welcome to the chaos that is being a soldier then a pilot!” Jazz’s voice was light, even as his foot collided with the beak of the enemy.

Hound was trying hard not to laugh as the intense focus drew in, “Only ones who’d understand that process are Breakdown and I.” His voice was slightly gruff now with concentration, slamming into the side of the ship for a moment to catch his breath. Sideswipe came up fast so he effective wall sat, giving the younger pilot the leverage he needed to jump up towards where Jazz and Sunstreaker were fighting the worst of the hoard.

He breathed deeply for a moment, watching the shadows of his friends on the ground and looking to Breakdown, braces against the corner of a building while his cannon glowed red hot. He’d have to stop soon to prevent it from blowing up in his face, again. Each shot sent his head wobbling slightly.

Yeah, they were going to look like hell after this fight.

Catching Breakdown’s eyes, he nodded for a moment before turning and forcing his way through one of the gaps. As soon as his cockpit was lodged inside, his comms cut out. Sending him into a near silence, “Okay then,” It wasn’t the first time he’d been aboard an Quintesson ship, nor would it have been most of their first times, but this one was four or five times larger than any that had been spotted on Earth.

The ones they’d taken down on New Kaon had all but disintegrated on impact.

Kicking against the slide, he falls to the floor, or in this case the wall, of the ship and sighs. They needed answers and every time they tried to get them, something happened. They also needed to handle the Quintessons that were likely hiding throughout the remains of their vessel.

Hound brought his gun back up and started moving in slowly, bringing up his sensors and different camera settings, he was going to handle all those who remained in this ship. No matter the outcome. He was just thankful his gun didn’t need to be reloaded regularly or he’d be left with just his suit.

This was going to suck.

—

His head was pounding and the only relief he had was honestly the fact that they were in the dark, Bluestreak and Prowl were sitting together speaking quietly. He should probably try to get up to be a part of that conversation, but right now he has hardly been able to drag his corpse over to Optimus.

The last time he’d been caught in a collapsed building hadn’t been so bad, but he also hadn’t been diving onto another person to try and save their life. Primus, he was fragged.

Now Hound was up on the surface somewhere with the other humans dealing with the Quintessons alone. It tore at his spark, he’d had the mechs back for around a stellar cycle now and it had become second nature. Their senses were so different between the species.

There had been more than one occasion where Hound just hadn’t seen the enemy, where any of the humans had, so he’d handled it. The slight lightening to Hound’s visor indicated the appreciation or at least that’s what he figured each time it happened.

Which was a lot.

For sparks sake, the mech could miss the enemy but always find him, invisible or not and that shredded his spark. Looking over to Prowl and Bluestreak, he could see the same worry he felt etched into their faces as well. The humans moved their ways into their sparks with an ease that was almost unsettling, but then again he’d watched the same sort of thing happen with Optimus Prime and Megatron.

That was even after a million years of war, whereas the humans had been nothing but helpful and loving, and nearly perfect. His head was swimming.

Fragging damnit, he loved the mech, and as many times as he had saved Hound’s life, Hound had saved his. If Hound hadn’t found him in the rubble, it might have been cycles before anyone did, because of course Hound would find him.

He’d always find him, because he was human and that’s just what they seemed to do. Full of enough confidence and ego to manage it. Primus, he needed to be with him.

Mirage stared at the ceiling a bit stupidly as his head swam, not moving still, his head pounding.

—

They were able to stand together again, back to back while Sideswipe slashed open the enemy, “Sunny, you should move back.” His voice sounded far away, like his head was under water and Sideswipe was shouting down to him.

Overuse was hitting him like a truck, trying to pull him back again, away from the edge of getting past it, “No, we need to handle this.” He turns and Sideswipes hands land on the shoulders of his suit, “Dude, you have one arm and are out of it. Other than Breakdown and Hound, none of us have guns.” It was the simple fact of being a civilian pilot.

Sideswipe shakes his head a bit, glancing up, “The seekers are covering the stragglers we missed, I think, but for now Jazz and I got this.” He gives Sunny’s suit a bit of a shake, he looks to the camera and watches Sideswipe tilt his head slightly.

”You look like you did after Savannah, take a minute to catch your breath before the backup arrives. Alright?” Nodding a bit, he pats Sideswipes shoulder carefully.

Today has been hell, for both of them. First it was Simon having an overuse-induced panic attack and now he was on the verge of throwing up, his chest hurt and he could hardly breathe. Whatever was going on was far from normal for either of them. So, instead of arguing, he nods a bit.

It was easier than bickering with his brother. With a pat to his shoulder, Sunny turns a bit uneasily towards the back of the ship. Maybe the front and carefully makes his way to a spot where he slides back down the edge, glancing back towards Jazz and Sideswipe again.

The pair were cutting through the Quintessons that squeezed through the gaps in their falling apart ship. He didn’t want to stick around any longer than he needed, turning and running the best he could towards Breakdown. Sliding slightly on the sidewalk before taking his flank, “You doing alright over here?” His stomach turned unpleasantly when he came to a stop.

”As well as one can, how are things looking in there?” Shooting another glance towards the ship, Sunstreaker sighs a bit, “Not great, Hound went in I think. We really need that backup.” Breakdown hummed and stared at the ship, “We’re hurting more than we let on to our allies, yes?” Shrugging a bit, Sunny sighs, “Of course we are, but what else were we supposed to say? Let the Quints invade while we wait for backup?” Nodding slowly, Breakdown shakes his head, “They’ll have our heads.”

Smiling a bit, Sunny shrugs, “Well, yours is almost off anyway.” Breakdown shoved his shoulder and he lost his balance, crashing to the floor with a groan. They both chuckled even as his stomach turned over again.

So much for keeping his cockpit clean, Sunny at this moment was just glad to have taken his oxygen mask off as he curled up in his piloting seat. Getting miserably sick.

—

The halls were disgusting, seemingly to be alive in a way that was hard to explain. Even Hound was having a hard time just looking at them, turning down his main visual feeds and changing to infrared.

Every time he came up on another Quintesson, his gun came up and fired rapidly before moving in. They probably already knew he was here, there was no sense in staying quiet.

Tearing into them was never easy, but the practice had made perfect. Whether grasping at the edge of their jaws, fighting a grip on one of their tentacles, or blasting a hole through its side, ripping a Quintesson apart was the easiest way to kill it. It left nasty, sticky and stinking hot gore in its wake.

Greener than anything should be, it would splatter and cling to the suits, after long enough the joints would stiffen up.

Tonight their apartment's bathroom was going to suffer and be excruciatingly hot, but that didn’t matter at the moment.

His gun comes up again and fires rapidly as three Quints come screaming from around the corner, “Shit!” They slam into him even as he keeps firing, the barrel of his gun turning red from the heat. One of them, or more than one he really couldn’t tell, was quick in wrapping its tentacles around him. Thrashing, Hound continues to swear and fire his gun.

Even opening comms just left his head full of static.

Shouting out of anger, he drops his gun and grabs one of the tentacles, then pulls as hard as he can. Everything narrowed down into an eerily calm focus, life or death, hunt or hunted. And he would not die here.

The tentacle gave way with just the first tug and the grip around him loosened instantly, catching his feet under him before spinning, Hound took one breath before moving back in. Fist colliding with the side of the Quintesson nearest, rupturing its eyes and his hand grasped the socket.

Blood squirted across its companions as Hound threw it into the wall, tearing off some of its shell with it. It broke the light that had at one point been in the ceiling and sent them into near darkness, but their heat signatures wouldn’t escape his view. Not now.

Diving forward, he grabbed a set of tentacles and pulled hard, slamming the head of his suit into the aliens beak with such force Hound could hear the bones or platting under its shell crack and break.

His foot then collided with its already broken face, sending it crashing to the floor and he stomped on it, hard. Breaking the last of its exterior and splashing the floor and walls with its insides. The heat rapidly dissipated before he turned to the third one, which made the fatal error of both lunging at him and existing.

It manages to wrap its tentacles back around him, but Hound hardly noticed, hand digging into the soft more mailable limbs and ripping open its skin there. Breaking through what were likely arteries and spraying the last bit of nearby clean floor with its blood.

The thing shrieked in pain, letting go enough for Hound to swing around, kicking it in the side and sending it colliding with its dead allies. It continued to shriek as Hound picked up his now disgusting gun and fired into its face, caving it in.

His breath was ragged, gasping against the mask for a moment, his heart was racing as his senses came back with a brutal force.

Stumbling into the wall, Hound presses his hand to his chest, gasping for air for a moment more.

This was one of the many reasons why he gave up being a hunter class, you lost yourself to the suit far too easily. But it’s exactly why he missed it. With another few deep breaths, his heart rate comes back down and he looks down on the mess he’d made of the alien hall.

If he could have spit on them, he would have, instead he made do with storming through their corpses. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying.

There was this grotesque element to being a pilot, to killing these things they didn’t know or understand, but they were some of the first things in Hound’s life he didn’t want to know or understand. To alien and to vile, the things that were trying to take away both of his homes.

The people he loved even. For a moment, just a moment, Mirage’s werey face flashed through his mind just as sharp as any overuse halicunation.

Shaking his head a bit, he took a breath and glances back at the pile of bodies he was leaving behind. They had chosen to come here, to hurt his friends, he was just returning the favor. Looking back down the hall, he starts to stalk towards the end, staying to one side, gun low but ready.

Someday, when the war was over, if he made it to see the end of this damned war, he’d go back out to nature and just wander in the expanse of it all. What brought him to the hunter class in the first place, the desire to track what was unusual. To understand things that weren’t human, even if it was just trees and plants.

For now, he raised his gun and turned right at the end of the hall.

———

A/N

So, I will be honest. I did not feel great about this chapter until I wrote the last part with Hound. When I wrote Mirage’s scene was probably when I started to feel properly in the grove but Hound’s last scene is just *chef kiss*. I love writing fights from his perspective.

Tuesday’s update might be part 42, it might also be the next part of Arcturus 3 or the sequel to Arcturus Negative One, explains what happened with Soundwave. All of those things will be written at some point. At this moment in time I have 0% written for any of them.

So yeah, you can let me know if you have a preference on what gets updated next.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[naehoonx]

" Are you scared? " - caleb [ oneshot ]

→ SUMMARY: the news of a train incident including wanderers made you anxious. it was the same train caleb was on to get back to skyhaven. as he didnt picked up his phone you made your way to his apartment ... just to discover his biggest secret.

→ GENRE: angst; drama; anxiety; mentions of losing an arm; wounds; scars; the feeling of being lost; the feeling of not being good enough.

→ RATING: 16+

→ NOTE: another oneshot? two days in a row? hell yes. caleb is my muse and i hope that wont stop so soon. i hope yall enjoy this one too like the last one!

♡.°₊ˎ SONG FOR THIS ONESHOT

the moment you stormed into caleb's apartment you were met with silence. only the soft ticking of the clock which was hanging on the wall was heard. as the door fell close your eyes scanned the whole area. there were no signs of calebs clothes on the ground or on the sofa. it felt .. eerily empty which could only mean one thing. he wasnt back yet. panic started to rise in your chest as you pulled out your phone again once more. the moment you pushed the phone against your ear, a faint ringing was heard. did he forget his phone before he went to linkon? no that wasnt possible, you saw it when the two of you were sitting in a cafe. it was with caleb the whole time until one of his fleet mates called him back to the main base. slowly your feet carried you to the faint sound but something wasnt right. the ringing came from behind a wall next to the sofa. with a serious expression you pressed your ear against the cold surface. either you were going crazy or calebs phone was really behind this wall.

determined to get to him you pushed your whole body against the wall, hoping it would give out underneath you. with a huff you managed to move a strand of hair away from your face as you tried again, this time with more force. finally something clicked as you nearly crushed with the hidden door inside the room. the first thing you noticed was the constant rythmically beeping tone from one of the devices in the room. overall it was really gloomy and the light barely covered the whole room.

"what is this ..?"

walking around the room you took everything in, every single beeping device. these things must be from the fleet, because in your hunter base the devices looked much more .. different. everything looked so high tech and expensive that you were afraid to touch anything. why did caleb had all these stuff. yes he was the colonel but he mostly only used his virtual display to check on things. it didnt made sense. nothing of this made any sense. the deeper you got into the room, the darker it got. there were only some small lights here and there which dimmed the room in a cozy atmosphere it it werent for those machines around you.

suddenly something else catched your attention. it was caleb's voice or rather a painful grunt. he was in pain. did he got injured while helping the people on the train? you were quick as you made your way to the end of the room. in front of you was a bed, the ones you already saw in the surgery room when visiting zayne. clasping your around your mouth, you tried to keep yourself from calling out. in front of you was caleb, or at least thats what you hoped, his bare back was turned into your direction. bruises and cuts made their way down from his shoulders to his waist. luckily none of them looked painful for him to wither that much in pain. thats when you finally noticed something else, a mechanical arm; at the spot where his normal arm would be. wires were plugged to it and everytime the little loading bar on the display moved further; another jolt went through his body. followed by sucking in his breath through his lips.

this wasnt okay. were was his arm? why was it replaced with an mechanical one? so many questions were swirling around in your head that you didnt noticed how you moved closer. determined but still carefully, your fingertips finally meet the soft and warm skin on his back. at the same time caleb freezes, the beeping only a mere whipser against his ear. caleb didnt have to turn around to know who was behind him. he would recognize these hand everywhere; because he already held those hands in his own so many times before.

"caleb ...? are you okay? it seems like you are in a lot of pain" it took you a lot of courage to finally speak up. your hand still lingered on his back as you tried to catch a glimpse of his face.

"dont come closer ... please" calebs voice sounded so small compared to this morning when you picked him up at the linkon station. a few droplets of sweat were rolling from his jaw down to his neck. the urge to wipe them away became so strong that you couldnt help yourself anymore. automatically your fingertips moved up to his shoulder blades but before they met with his neck; caleb stopped you again. this time his voice was much more serious.

"i mean it y/n .. stay away from me." "but why .. is it because of your arm?"

at the mention of his mechanical arm caleb froze again. after that everything just went too fast for you to comprehend it correctly. one moment you were standing right behind you and in the next caleb got up from the bed; ripping the cables out from his arm before pushing you against the bed.

"caleb whats- " your voice catched in your throat as you could finally see his purple eyes. they were looking straight into your soul, such an intense look wasnt common whenever it came to caleb. normally his eyes were soft whenever he was looking at you. this time his eyes were full of hurt, before his head dropped. caleb couldnt even look you in the eyes anymore. his mechanical hand clutched around nothingness as he tried to compose himself.

"caleb ..." "no, dont look at me ... please dont"

you couldnt understand why he was so stubborn, why you werent allowed to look at him anymore. your eyes moved to the mechanical arm right next to you. the beeping stopped and from this distance this arm didnt looked scary the slightest. so why was he so worried? yes, there were many questions but this wasnt the time to express your confusion. carefully you placed a hand on his mechanical biceps. the metal felt cold and soft at the same time; so much different from the rest of caleb's body. calebs breath hitched for a short moment.

"im sorry .. did i .. hurt you?" for a short moment you contemplated if you should take your hand away from his arm but then, caleb just shaked his head slightly. "no .. i .. well, i cant even feel you anymore. not your touch .. nothing. that arm, it can only feel intense pain"

immediately your eyes went over to the arm again. this arm was a part of caleb body and at the same time it wasnt. he couldnt feel your touch anymore. the knowledge brought tears to your eyes at the same moment caleb lifted his head up once more. seeing your tears at the corner of your eyes; he lifted his mechanical arm up just to stop inches from your face. this moment only lasted a few seconds before his arm fell back onto the bed again.

"so you cant even feel it when i touch you here? not .. even a tiny bit?"

caleb just shook his head before he dropped it against your shoulder. his voice was only a whisper when he finally dared to speak again. his "normal" hand grabbed your waist tightly, digging his fingers into your flesh.

"i dont feel anything. so .. as you can see im truly a monster .. and a weapon. someone who could hurt you any second. after the explosion the fleet picked me up ... they literally .. well kinda ripped off my arm and enhanced it with this thing" "caleb thats ... " "horrible i know. but thats who i am now. not really human but at the same time ... i am."

pressing both of your lips together you wrapped both of your arms around his neck; pulling him as close as possible. tears threatened to spill out of the corner of your eyes. as you start to speak your voice starts shaking;

"stop saying that .. you are not a monster caleb. you never were one. i dont care if you have an mechanical arm or no arm at all. that doesnt matter to me. all that matters is .. that you are here with me .. and wont leave again."

slightly shaking caleb wrapped his arms carefully around your waist. he could feel the heat from yout body seeping through the fabric of your clothes. maybe having an mechanical arm wasnt so bad at all, at least there is someone around him who still accepts him. who doesnt loko at him with eyes full of disgust. for the first time in ages he feels safe again in someone elses arms.

"im not scared of you .. you are still my caleb. i promise .. i will stay by your side forever. so .. try to lean on me more from now on okay?"

the last thing you heard was a quiet sob before caleb nodded. he buried his face more against the crook of your neck as you just kep holding him. sitting there on the bed until the rise of the sun peaked through the closed curtains.

[catiuskaa]

COACH OR PLAYER?

SUMMARY: there’s always a time when one just has to know, but is the coach able to risk it and play their own game?

WC: 1.43k (omg)

CW: caution! content hot! lol, just suggestive, a sneaky reference to the devil wears prada, some sports/gameplayer terminology.

REQUESTED! by annonie right here. i gotta say, good music taste, pookie. I had fun with this one, I really hope you do too! <3

[⛓️☆ 🎀 ☆⛓️]

Bet.

“Do I look that cold?”

You hesitated, smiling after he lend you his jacket.

“Maybe.” He shrugged playfully, scrunching his face in a funny way, which made his glasses fall a bit further down the bridge of his nose. “Maybe I’m just that hot.”

You rolled your eyes, biting your lip.

Sometimes you wished you could just forget about it.

“He said that?” Your roomate Jeongin scoffed. “Man figured a way to lower a standard that was already non-existent for his category.”

You blinked, deadpanning at him before sighting and merely continuing making a simple grilled cheese for dinner.

“Now’s when you ask, Innie, what category?”

The olive oil teased you, its sound almost threatening as you pulled your sleeves as far as they could reach, trying to cover your hands.

“What if I’m not interested?”

He scoffed with a smirk, already munching what had been meant as a dessert, his eyes never leaving the sliced pieces of fruit.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea, everybody wants this.”

You laughed, sitting down on the sofa next to him, and he lowered the TV’s volume, going as far as to sit propperly —criss-cross is propper, and that’s on period, he’d say— and facing towards you, clearing his throat and leaving the plate on the coffee table.

The crisp feeling of toast was better than you imagined, considering you’d thought you weren’t even that hungry at first. You chewed gingerly, unbothered by what was starting to feel like a piercing stare to your forehead.

“Jeongin-a.” It was funny how hard he tried to play it as if he hadn’t been startled by your tone. You blinked again, merely meeting your eyes with his. “I’d rather you speak than drill holes on my head.”

He groaned, throwing his legs over the sofa’s armrest, passing his hands through his face. You ate quietly, waiting for him.

“It’s just that…” he sighed. “I never know when you’re going straight ahead for someone. I don’t think I know now either.”

You frowned, covering your mouth with the back of your hand, still eating. “The fuck you mean, pal?”

He stood up faster than you expected, which almost threatened your grilled cheese sandwich to end up facing the floor.

“I know you like him. Shit like that is your whole modus operandi. But ever since our bet, I just don’t know.”

It’s probably a famous last word. At the rate it’s said, it’s gotta be. It’s easygoing, slipping off one’s tongue quickly, as if ripping off a band-aid.

“Bet on it.”

“That just scrambles my eggs, dude.” You had winced a while back, playing half-annoyed, suddenly focused on the contents inside the can in your hand. “I don’t think I’m interested.”

He had chuckled, opening another can of beer.

“Why?” He said, smirking teasingly. “Even coach leaves the fucking bench if the rest of the players suck,” his face was serious, his pink-tinted cheeks obvious, considering his weak alcohol tolerance.

“That’s not even funny.”

He had dissmissed your denial, grunting a bit, approaching you further, and laying a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re normally blind to this type of things, but with this guy, you can’t even say if he’s just playing.”

Alas, your can had been empty. But now, a small idea had blossomed and filled a part of your mind.

“I bet that if I flirt back, he’ll back off. That’s my bet.” You had slammed the can against the table, your expression that of a winner.

Silly little thing.

No one can win if no one wants to stop playing.

[⛓️☆ 🎀 ☆⛓️]

“Hey,” you grinned, watching him smile at you as he took his big headphones off and left them hanging on his neck.

You closed the door of the studio behind you, taking a seat on the chair next to him.

“Pity. I had a better seat saved for you, doll.” Jisung teased, tapping on his thighs playfully.

You chuckled, biting your lip.

Every player knows that rules exist for a reason. The issue in the gameplay is the rules. They limit one’s extent to keep the game going. Rules are there to make sure the result is fair.

But what if any fairness can get out of this?

Your eyes didn’t leave his when you smirked.

“Sure thing, jagi.”

The chair threatened to move backwards with the added weight, but Han planted his shoes on the ground with more firmness, his arms traveling to your waist, making sure that even if the chair gave up, you wouldn’t end up on the floor.

Your back was facing him, and you knew you were using that to your advantage when you stoond up just enough to sit a little further, just a tiny bit, now able to lie your head on his shoulder comfortably.

It’s no surprise that this match’s winner could have been already decided, considering your current position in less than ten minutes together. A good player knows when not even the VAR can rule these points out if they wanted to.

Han knew he wouldn’t.

You don’t, however, so it could start to look like the gameplay may take a turn. He could get the upper hand, seeing as his arms cheekily traveled around your waist and he sighed, his breath hot against the skin of your neck, and your head could figure out you had lost, judging by how hard it was to fight off the shivers that ran through your spine because of him.

You were blushing, sitting on his lap. You weren’t sure you could remember what you were supposed to be doing in the studio anyways.

After all, rules are followed because everyone knows them. But what happens when none of the players can decide where to draw the line?

“What do we have here?” Your tone sounded cheeky, yet neither of you will comment on it as you point at the big screen slightly above you.

“A beat I was working on.” His voice too felt slightly lower, its sneaky undertone able to hit you like a truck if spotted, hunting you like a sweet you couldn’t help but crave.

Your hands traveled to his neck, and you fidgeted with the golden chain there, teasing as you purposefully graced your fingers against his skin, tickling, tantalizing.

“Can I listen to it?” You snickered while putting on his chain.

Sometimes, one of the players may not be really acquainted with the rules. And at the end, in this gameplay, at least, no winners can achive said golden medal when you’re not able to ignore how his fingers never once stopped playing with the light-coloured threads that decorated the end of your high-waisted shorts.

The drums and beats and bass all filled up the sound-proofed room once Jisung pressed play.

You giggled, returning the chain to its rightful owner, letting it dangle, following its patter from his nape, to his collarbone, and down to his chest.

He shivered, almost unnoticeable, and you smiled.

“It’s a fire beat.” I’m winning. “Have you planned what to add to it?” Turn it against me.

He smirked, nodding, his hands pressing you even more against him, as if that could make you able to read his mind, then make him able to take your breath away as he’d finally let the bomb inside him explode, take you from your thighs and sit you on the table before him, not bothering to move anything an inch as his fingers unbutton your blouse and how you would hastedly discard his sweatter off him.

But that won’t happen as of now, so he just grinned, taking your hands, always a little colder than his, and used the sleeves of his sweater to cover them, warming them up with the fabric. Which was as intended. Not merely holding hands as he kept at bay all of the thoughts that flooded him whenever your studio sessions came around.

Of course not.

“Oh, yeah.” He replied, a faint blush not noticeable thanks to the coloured lights. Its direct if you’re thinking the same as him, but that, he won’t know, so still, he replied cheekily.

“There’s still things to do.”

His eyes found yours, and he smirked.

“I don’t think I’ll be done soon.”

It’s ridiculous how he bit his lip, almost threatening you to follow along and bite him too.

“It’s just a little too good. Don’t you think, doll?” The way he paused after every sentece started to drive you wild, and you fidgeted with his rings again, both of your hands hidden in the holes of his sweater.

It’s also sweet how you didn’t know he was not wearing anything else underneath it.

At least, not yet.

Rules says you’ll have to wait a bit longer.

And Han Jisung is and has always been a thorough player.

[⛓️☆ 🎀 ☆⛓️]

~Kats, who thinks has been exposed to lots of euro matches to end up writing this. lol

catiuskaa, july 2024 ©

[judasgot-it]

String Me By My Sins, So I Can Be Clean

Scenario: You found out. Yandere!Fyodor x Reader. Part 1 Word count: 1.2 K @ceramic-raven because you encouraged me to write a part 2. I hope you don't mind being tagged <3

Sitting in your small bathroom, you stared at a small patch that stared back at you.

21 mg. Nicotine. A beige-colored patch.

Just a minute ago, it had been adhered to your skin while you were sleeping, as if you had put it on yourself.

You don't smoke. You never smoked.

The only person you knew to smoke was Nikolai or Fukuchi, but you didn't know them to use patches. They only smoked socially, on good days when they could people watch or when Nikolai could show off vape tricks.

Fyodor had never dared to touch a cigarette, always claiming it as a hazard to his health. His lungs were probably as weak as the rest of his constitution, so you believed it.

So why the hell was it on your skin?

You wanted to ask him yourself, but he was sleeping.

Was it a good idea to wake him up?

You looked out into the darkness of your shared bed with Fyodor, looking at his sleeping form. His small frame was curled in a pile of blankets, curled against a feather pillow - like the princess and the pea, as you could see that he never looked truly comfortable.

The patch could be left for the morning.

He was smart. It must have had some sort of reasoning, shouldn't it?

Fyodor always found things out with almost no context needed. He could figure out the reason. You trusted him.

-

You had gone back to the bathroom. The patch was missing.

The trash, for once, taken out. In fact, it seemed the whole apartment had been meticulously cleaned.

You remembered that patch stared at you. The pain of removing it from your skin. How hard you had to pull it from your skin.

So where did it fucking go?

"Hey babe!"

You called for Fyodor, knowing that he was most likely working on the same projects that he always was. Whatever it was, he would be able to answer you, right?

There was no response from him this time though. You called again, but you were left with silence.

Padding towards his 'office space' you found that he had his headphones on. Was he busy today and hadn't bothered to tell you beforehand? Usually, he was rather meticulous about that.

Gently, you poked his shoulder, hoping to get his attention.

Fyodor only grunted, giving a sign of recognition. You tried again, hoping he would respond.

"Are you busy? I wanted to talk to you about something that happened last night."

Fyodor turned only slightly, his eyes still facing his screen - absorbed on whatever 'work' was on his screen. Code that you never bothered to learn to understand, that became a source of frustration as it seemed more important now.

"Yeah, what is it?"

Complete disinterest.

"I found like. A nicotine patch, last night. On me. Fyodor, that's weird, right?"

His eyes finally looked at you, although they were only glancing, at best.

"It is. You don't smoke, do you?"

"What?"

You took a moment to look at him. What the hell was he implying by that? He knew you never did. You always rejected them, since he was so sensitive to smells.

"If you do, you can tell me. I won't judge you."

His voice was soft, unjudgemental at the implication of you even having an addiction. You tried to keep calm through you frustration.

"I don't smoke. You know I don't, asshole! It's really weird that it showed up on my body like that, isn't it?"

You hoped he would help you. But he didn't even seem to care about your predicament so far, instead lazily moving typing commands on his keyboard like a sort of wizard.

"It is weird. If neither of us smoke, then how did it get there, hm? Maybe someone is playing a prank on you. Do you have the patch? We can figure out more about it from there."

He had leaned back, as calm about this conversation as anyone could possibly be. You wanted to kill him.

"It was on the bathroom counter when I took it off last night. I can't find it though!"

You couldn't help raising your voice at the end. For some reason, your frustration was building up so easily it was nearly boiling over.

It wasn't fair to take it out on Fyodor. He gave you a look as well, because well, you knew that you were being emotional about this.

It was just weird. Why was this upsetting you so much? You weren't usually upset so quickly like this.

"Sorry. But I'm being serious Fyo."

Trying your best to calm down, you took a deep inhale. Your lungs filled with air, clearing your head, if only a little.

There was still a frustration coursing through your veins, making you want to pull at Fyodor's hair for being so...well, him. Just being himself, right now.

Is he doing it on fucking purpose? Is he trying to piss you off as much as possible?

He's the smartest man you know, this isn't any real detective work. Fyodor knows why you're feeling the way you are. He can clearly tell that this actually happened - that you aren't fucking crazy.

So why is he acting like you are?

"Of course you are. I believe you, sweetheart. But what's the real problem here?"

His tired eyes slowly blinked at you. There was an emotion lurking in there, but you really didn't know how to describe it.

It was gentle, but not kind.

"Well. It was put on me. That means someone is drugging me. It's violating."

"I can see why you feel that way, yes. But maybe it was just an accident? People on the street these days are rather crazy-looney."

Fyodor had the gall to laugh as he said that, finding humor in his own words as he didn't find your plight worth crying over. There was no fret - being drugged was an everyday occurance.

Tomorrow you could be stabbed with heroin and it would just be an everyday occurrence, right? Worse things could happen to you. Maybe you would accidentally inhale deadly amounts of cocaine since this was just normal.

"Oh I can't believe you."

You left the room. At that moment you just wanted to punch Fyodor.

Did he always look that punchable? With his stupid smirk and pale, dead-looking skin. His eyes seemed so dead, with no read smile attached to them.

It was hard to look at him without feeling enraged.

"And where do you think you're going, sunshine?"

"Anywhere! If I have to see you again, I would probably. Oh!"

You made a noise as you kicked the door, rushing to just get out and get away from the source of your anxiety.

It felt natural, running outside and walking - letting the adrenaline in your body take you as far as it would let you.

Where were you going?

A hand on your arm stopped you. You turned around, the calm face that matched the pale skin - his dead purple eyes were smiling, although it made you stop dead in your tracks.

Where were you going?

You didn't have anything besides Fyodor.

"Please. Just leave me alone."

"You're being irrational, my dear. It's embarrassing."

The hold he had on your arm was tight, some hidden strength he carried that you never knew existed. Pulled did nothing, and there were tears pushing against your face as you felt the feeling again -

Trapped.

"Please. Fucking just. Let me go."

Shaking his head, Fyodor pulled you in - his face rested against your forehead, but the pull his hand had on his scalp was anything but gentle.

He was mad. About what?

Why did it always end up this way?

Honestly this can be stand alone, but YAY i finally finished this !!!! To the people who wanted this, I hope you enjoy this cuz this was kinda lot for me idk why.

[quitealotofsodapop]

"Uh, Monkey King?" MK asked, ducking as a rather expensive pensive looking cloth flew ive this head, "What are you doing?"

"Packing." Sun Wukong grunted, eyeing what appeared to be a ceremonial robe of sorts with a critical eye. MK felt apprehension build in him, remembering what happened the last time he found his master packing.

"Are you... going somewhere?" MK swallowed his anxiety, hoping beyond all hope the answer was no. The gods, however, did not grant his wish.

"Yeah." Wukong sighed, running his hand through his fur, "I got some business that requires me to be gone for about a week. I'll try to keep you updated."

"A week!?" MK parrots back in horror, "But what about my training!?"

Wukong paused, tail flicking, before turning back to MK as if shocked he'd even ask that.

"MK, after everything that happened, do you really think a short break in training would be that big of an impact!?" Wukong asked, legitimately confused by MK's worry, "'Sides, you knot definitely are far enough in your training some self-guided study would be a benefit. If you want i can give you some tasks to do while I'm gone, too."

"But where are you going!?" MK asked, "And don't lie about going on vacation like you did with the whole Lady Bone Demon thing! Wait... is this like the lady Bone Demon? Are you having me behind again!?"

"Uh, no." Wukong grunted, pushing MK out of his face. "I just have some kingly duties to fulfill that require me to take a trip. I'm not going to be gone more than a week, maybe two at most. And Macaque is keeping an eye on the island so if anything happens, he can send a message to me."

MK froze at that, confusion written in his face. He tilted his head as he looked at the other monkey,

"Kingly duties? I thought being the Monkey King meant fighting bad guys and taking naps whenever you want!"

"No." Wukong chuckles, choosing to be amused by his apprentice' backwards comment than offended, "Being the Monkey Kid means fighting bad guys and saving the world. Being the Monkey King is a biiiit more complicated than that."

"...Say what now?"

"Alright, let's just say... I've been kinda keeping a lot of what goes into being my successor a secret." Wukong's paw came up to rub the back of his neck, "With so many major threats popping up all over the place, I'd focused entirely on your training as a warrior, but there's a side I haven't even began to touch. I wanted to make sure you were the best warrior you could be before either tried to add the ksot political and administrative side of being my heir into the fold."

"Politics!?" MK spat out incredulously, staring straight his mentor in disbelief.

"I am the Monkey King, MK. That means I have a whole kingdom to run." Wukong continued, "Any and all of the free time i get is dedicated to training you on top of that! The Counsel of the Great Demon Kings happens every hundred years or so. I hadn't gone to the last four, but since I've made a public reappearance, and with an apprentice at that, I'm expected to go and can't wiggle out of it this time! Believe me, I've tried."

"So like... Are you just up and leaving without me?" MK now looked heartbroken, putting all the puppy dog eyes on full blast, "You promised not to leave me again though!"

Wukong groaned, catching on to what MK was trying to do.

"Kid... you don't want to come with me. It's not going to be fun or exciting at all. You'll be forced to wear uncomfortable ceremonial robes that weigh a ton and have to be quiet and well-behaved." Wukong explained, trying to dissuade MK from his train of thought, "And everyone there is mean! They are dying to sniff out a scandal or two to take advantage of!"

"So? You said yourself you neglected to teach me how to handle politics. This is the perfect opportunity to start!" MK grinned, "I'm sure Tang can lend me one of his robes too."

"First of all, you will NEVER go to one of these events with a stuffy old scholar's robe. I'd lend you one of mine if that EVER happened." Wukong pointed out, eye twitching, "Second, NO! This is a final test sort of deal, NOT a tutorial type of thing!"

hehe! We discussed in the dms about poor Wukong having to attend a political summit for demon kings, and MK getting "homework" for the week.

Pigsy is approving of the homework idea. He's raised MK long enough to know his son needs goals to fulfil or he starts getting into trouble.

[konigbabe]

LUCKY PICK

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader Word count: 3.1k Tags/warnings: no y/n; gambling; smut; public sex; pure filth; getting caught; p-in-v; unprotected sex; Toji's a little bit of a meanie; blowjob; pussy slapping (like once) Summary: Toji's frequent presence at the boat races doesn’t go unnoticed by your observant gaze. Every time you see him, however, luck seems to elude him, leaving him on the losing end; until you offer the man assistance in selecting a boat–lucky you, he wins. So he finds a way to thank you properly.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

Amidst the kaleidoscope of social strata, one thing that sticks out for you: his shoes.

While some attendees adorn themselves in lavish, bespoke suits, busy with their own affairs while the events before them serve as a mere backdrop, others, those less fortunate, come in more casual in hopes to earn some quick money.

He, on the other hand, is rather glaring with his choice of clothing. Too casual. Insouciant. Black tracksuit, something more fitting for a morning jog or a workout at the gym. The fabric seems slightly worn, a faint stain on the sleeve. His shoes, however, are the most intriguing part of his ensemble. They stand out. Like a flash of lightning on a stormy night.

In a sea of polished leather and high-end dress shoes, he wears a pair of scuffed, worn flip-flops. It's not just the stark contrast between his flip-flops and the elegant footwear of others that piques your interest. Rather the aura of confidence and a nonchalant demeanor that could easily be mistaken for arrogance.

Even for the outfit, he’s rather handsome. Raven hair tumbling down just to his ears, framing the chiseled planes of his face. The faint scar on the corner of his right lip only adds to the air of mystery surrounding him.

In contrast to the meticulously groomed individuals around him, his appearance carries an air of authenticity. As if he doesn't conform to societal norms but carves his own path instead.

He’s here often. Twice a week. A clockwork of unwavering routine. A regular fixture. Each time, he places his bet on the same number. It’s always three. No regard for any other possibilities. He’s staying the whole day, watches all the races and loses his money. Each and every time.

You stand on the stairs leading to the ticket vending machines, overlooking the racers warm up around the buoy. People passing by until he’s here again. In the same outfit, with the same aura of disregard, detachment.

He passes you as well. A solid wall, going straight, no disregard whether you move out of the way or not. Makes you take a step aside. You know he’s here to lose again. Letting out a grunt, an annoyed huff of air, your voice carries through the loud environment when his bicep brushes your shoulder.

"Here to lose again?"

It makes him stop. Look you dead in the eyes. You can feel the steel behind his eyes as he studies you. Tries to understand why someone like him – a man who’d been losing every race for months – is being confronted by someone like you, someone with nothing more than a passing interest in the track and its races.

For a moment, time seems to slow down as his gaze locks with yours. His eyes, like storm-touched steel, easily likened to polished basalt, peer out from under strong, dark eyebrows. Hooded. Locked onto yours. A thunderous downpour.

He stays silent for solid few seconds. Possibly aiming to intimidate you into leaving him alone. Yet, he fails as you stand tall next to him; not backing down or wilting away under his scrutiny.

"Who says I’m here to lose," he retorts, a touch of defiance in his voice. The hint of a smirk plays on his lips as he studies you, perhaps trying to gauge your intentions.

As you arch an eyebrow, you remark, "I haven’t seen you win yet. You've been betting on the same number, sir, every time I've seen you here. And from what I've observed, you haven't had much luck."

His brows furrow momentarily before he responds with a knowing smirk, matching your aura with his own brand of dry wit.

"Luck has nothing to do with it. Besides, one day, that number will hit."

His confidence is almost infectious, and despite the peculiar choice of his attire and betting strategy, there's an air of genuineness in his words.

"Then why don’t you bet for other numbers," your body pivots to face him, arms crossed over your chest, "try it," you hold your chin high, " buy a place-show, numbers four and six."

To your suggestion of trying other numbers, the man chuckles softly, seemingly amused by the idea, "and why would I do that?"

"You have better odds with the place-show ticket rather than the win ticket," you explain with a shrug, "and if you lose, you’ll have someone else to aim your anger at."

He smirks, nodding thoughtfully as if considering your proposition. "Ah, you're one of those logical types, ain’t ya? Always calculating the odds an’ playing it safe."

You chuckle at the characterization, appreciating his keen observation. "I haven’t lost in a long time. Plus," you blatantly look him up and down, "I have a feeling you could use some luck, and maybe a touch of charm wouldn't hurt either."

He raises an eyebrow, the faint scar on his lip accentuating the mischievous glint in his eye. "Charm, huh? What's in it for you?"

Flashing a grin at his question (it's a valid one, after all), you meet the playful spark in his laden eyes.

"Oh, nothing much," you reply, feigning nonchalance, a familiar mask that you wear to try to stifle the faint tremor of fear, "let’s just say if you win, you’ll owe me a favor."

One moment, you were sitting a few seats next to the man, a winning ticket grasped between your fingers; both watching the race unfold before your eyes.

Next, a subtle, self-assured grin spreads over his face as the winning numbers are announced.

("Would ya’ look a’that.."

"Who would’ve thought…")

And then, flicker in time. You find yourself in an alleyway, still at the stadium and next to a dumpster. Away from the fanfare of the racetrack. A putrid stench of decaying food still in the air overpowered by the potent, heady musk of Toji’s body as the concrete scrapes against your naked knees. Uncomfortable and rough.

Pants lowered down only enough for his cock to spring free; the tip glistening with pearls, a byproduct of his pleasure. Lifting your head slightly, you dip down to kiss the dew away as your hand, wet with precum and spit, moves over his length, pads tracing every curve and ridge.

Lips swollen. Jaw hurting from the tight fit, Toji’s fingers grip the top of your head; urging you to take him in deeper, feel him heave in your mouth. Careless to the fact you should need air. But at this moment, looking up and seeing his eyes already boring into yours, oxygen’s the last thing on your mind.

"That’s it," his husky froan reverberates in your ears as his thumb traces the arch of your eyebrow before his hand cups your cheek, cradles your face, "atta girl."

His words cause heat flooding into your core. A warmth to blossom from deep within. Feeling your heart thudding between your legs, you press your thighs together more. Fingers moving along the exposed, wet slit before pushing one in—

It’s barely a stretch. Disappointing.

—then two.

Letting his cock from your mouth, the sweetness lingering on your tongue as you move the top of your tongue along the underside of his head. Glistening, painfully swollen and painfully red. Hand gliding over the length, thumb pressing onto the sensitive slit, causing a stream of Fuck, Goddamn and your name stream from his bruised lips.

Spit-covered lips trace the underside of his cock, leaving a glossy trail behind. With a trembling breath, he taps your temple.

"Up."

You don’t even register his command before a hand encloses your arm, effortlessly lifting you on your feet.

"Wait," you squeal, a mixture of surprise and trepidation when he crunches down. Putting a hand instinctively on his shoulder to steady yourself, you feel the taut muscle, finely sculpted and responsive to his movements. Fingers gripping your ankle with determined strength; in one deft motion, he liberates your leg from the confines of the pant leg (and carelessly leaves the other be).

For a moment, you feel like a child again – pushed around, a small puppet, being dressed and undressed by another's hands.

It’s all happening too fast yet not swiftly enough.

His lips brush over your dripping core. Gives it a lick. A taste of your sweetness, humming in appreciation when your juices coat his tongue, lips, chin. And when you push your hips into his face, shamelessly chasing the feeling of his tongue – he stands back up. Palm making a benign impact with your swollen core, leaving you gasping from the sudden jolt of pain.

"Maybe ‘nother time," he speaks up. Hand grasping your ankle, resting it against his shoulder, heel digging into his collarbone, foot beside his face. Teeth grace your ankle, the wet tip of his tongue darting to lick a stripe over the fibula. All while his fingers spread the wetness leaking out of you, fingertips tracing your opening, teasing the entrance with his pads.

"Someone’s a lil’ eager."

You feel the blunt press. Too thick for his fingers.

The head of his cock spreads you open. You fight the urge to close your eyes, lean onto the brick wall barely touching your back. Instead, you force your gaze to remain on Toji’s face; his eyes hooded, barely open but piercing through you as he pushes forward. Slowly.

His hips push forward, fighting the resistance as you welcome the feeling. Heart racing, a groan leaves your lips when Toji grips your waist and pulls you onto him. Cock grazing your sensitive walls, you watch his eyes close in a blissful moment momentarily.

A feeling of triumph washes over you – you managed to capture the beast itself in its most vulnerable state.

Then he snaps. Gets impatient. And if it wasn’t for the hand on your waist, you’d certainly lose balance with the raw, almost inhuman strength with which he thrusts into you.

"Ugh—fuck, oh God," eyes closed, you succumb to the feeling; shallow, deep thrusts slowly speeding up, turning into something more resembling a pounding. Savage.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, fingers digging into the fat of your hips before moving upwards, cupping your clothed breast, thumb flicking your erect nipple, "told ya it’s Toji."

It goes like this. You try to steady yourself on one foot, clinging onto Toji’s arms as if he’s your beacon. Mouth agape, you rest your forehead on his collarbone. The hamstring in your leg feels close to ripping apart when his hand slides onto your thigh, providing a reassurance that makes the ache between your legs flare up with ardent fervor.

Toji pulls and pushes — forcing your body to twist, spinning you around to the point where your hands can rest on the wall. One leg’s still on the ground while the other is held against his broad chest. All while his thrusts remain merciless.

He fills you up, the fat head of his cock pressing against your depths, stretching you wider and deeper than before. Shameless squelching filling your ears whenever he bottoms out. Pulls out only halfway, his cock glistening with your juices and his precum when it almost slips free. Coaxing moan after moan from you.

"Damn," he stops, cock buried to the hilt and you feel the pads of his fingers swipe over your clit. Moving down, to the place you two are connected, "feel that?"

Wetness; his fingers dip between your folds, trace your core.

"Look at that."

And you look — wishing that maybe you didn’t. He scissors his fingers before your face, showing off the sticky substance connecting his fingers, glistening in the daylight. Heat shoots up your whole body when his smug face watches your reaction, a sly grin spreading on his lips when a moan comes out of you.

His thrusts come back without warning. Deep. He pulls you back into his cock.

It’s blissful. Euphoric. But painful.

"Can’t," you breath out, feeling close to cramping, "m’not that flexible."

"Oh really," he remarks. Yet, his grasp loosens on your body.

It feels like hours have passed with the way Toji ruts into you. Truly living up to the expectations one would’ve expected from a man his build and reputation.

Bend over, palms flat against the rough surface of the brick wall, Toji relentlessly pounds into you. The spongy head of his cock feels as if it’s breaching the opening of your cervix, mingling pain and pleasure in a confusing mix.

"Hey," a high-pitched voice startles you, Toji’s pelvis kissing the flesh of your ass as he buries himself to the brim, "What you doin’ there?!"

His hand moves from the arch of your back, fingers burning as they trace onto your hip. Squeezing, locking you against him.

"Takin’ a piss," Toji remains unfazed. Voice laced with a subtle hint of boredom while his cock pulsates inside you.

Taking a hand off the wall, you slap it across your mouth. Gentle fear of even your breaths being heard (and it doesn’t matter that you are good ten meters from the passerby).

"The toilets are right over there," the man shouts, making you question whether he’ll take a step toward you.

You’re aware that for a passerby, your figure is hidden behind the dumpster and unless Toji thrusts into you, it would look as if the man is simply relieving himself in the alley. Still fully clothed, only the front of his pants down enough for his cock to be free, one might think he’s telling the truth.

Silence falls onto you, forcing your head to turn to the side. Neck straining, you look over your shoulder – Toji’s unphased, nonchalant demeanor combined with the overly muscular physique visible even with loose clothes on radiates authority. Brutality. His demeanor serene; a tranquil lake at dawn. It would frighten you as well if you weren’t impaled on his cock.

His head lurches to the left, eyes locking onto the poor man's soul with an intense and penetrating gaze. It might be enough to scare the man away. To leave you alone.

That’s when he pulls back. Only an inch, mere centimeters but still enough to thrust back with rough intent. Body jolting forward, a surprised yelp gets muffled by your hand. Heat ripples through you.

He’s shameful, you realize. Salacious with his indecency.

The corners of his lips turn upward. Not enough for the passersby to see but from your point of view, it only fuels the sadistic image of the man behind you. The man whose cock keeps massaging your walls with shallow, almost non-existent thrusts.

How dare he.

"Whatever."

Loud footsteps echo through the alley before Toji’s fingers curl around your nape and he yanks. Hand pushing against the lower of your back, the other moving to the side of your neck as he twists your body into his own, pliant toy. Into a position he desires.

"Damn–," he breaths against the hairs on the back of your neck, chill breath washing over the shivering area, "does that turn ya’ on? Being watched?"

He pulls back at a leisurely pace. Unhurried. In and out.

"Fucked dumb on my dick–"

In and out.

"–while some loser watches your drippin’ cunt soak me."

Hitting that sweet, sensitive but delicate spot deep inside you; that even your fingers cannot reach. The one that makes you see stars, feel the heat in your core spread.

"Shut up," you basically snarl, pushing your ass into his crotch with fervor, forcing him deeper, causing his breath to hitch with his lips brushing over your burning skin, "shut up."

He chuckles at that. Licks a stripe over your shoulder. Moves to the side of your neck before his teeth sink into the earlobe, tugging.

"Could feel you squeezin’ me back then," the hand on the side of your neck inches forward; now resting firmly against the front of your neck, a silent reminder of the power it wields. The pressure is gentle but firm, a subtle yet unmistakable display of control. All while Toji matches your rhythm, thrusting at a pace that gets you closer to the sweet abyss.

Your hand moves from the wall, slides over the curve of your belly and find its place between your legs.

"Close ‘em," Toji’s thrusts grow in intensity. Forcing your body forward – to prevent falling, his hand on your back moves to rest against the wall, trapping your delicate hand underneath the roughness of his palm, the other holding you close by the neck.

"Ugh–wh–what," you barely breathe out, legs straining to keep the pace as the heat spreads.

"Your legs. Close ‘em."

And you do. Pushing your thighs together, a whole new sensation surges through your body as his cock fills you up. And it seems Toji feels the same by the way your name leaves his lips in a heavy groan, forehead resting against the crown of your head.

"Fuck yeah," he sighs, palm kneading the flesh of your ass. He’s pushing his hips against yours. Pulls you back into him with fingers itching to your aching nub. Finger flicking over it, making you shudder and moans to grow louder.

The coil in your abdomen grows tighter with each flick of his finger, kiss of his cock. Breath catching in your throat, you push back against Toji when the searing bliss washes over you.

He fucks you through it all.

"Gonna cum," you feel him thicken, pulse inside you. Hips stuttering, speeding and growing in intensity as he chases his own high.

"Not inside," you don’t struggle. Let him absolutely destroy you.

And he listens. Gives you few more fucks before he pulls out. Fists his cock, eyes watching your dripping, swollen pussy before you feel the sticky globes land on your core, slide down your clenching thighs.

He groans behind you. Hand resting on top of your ass, thumb caressing the skin there as you try to catch your breath. All while the man seems only slightly fazed by all the fucking. Makes you feel weak, pathetic — looking like you’d done a full workout while he’s standing behind you.

You stand back up. Wipe the cum off with a tissue you dig from your bag before pulling your pants back up, breath still slightly labored.

"Was this what I owed you?"

He fixes his pants, adjusting the waistband to hug the defined muscles of his lower abdomen, fleshing you his happy trail.

You shake your head to which his eyes narrow softly, "I want to hire you, Mr Fushiguro," hands fixing the mess on top of your head, you turn your back to The Sorcerer Killer, "take the win as your upfront payment."

[got-pucks]

sports betting gone right? || quinn hughes

summary: in which quinn hughes is completely infatuated with you and will do anything just to get more of you

warnings: none! :)

note: to the anon who requested this, i did make a slight change to your request, but i totally hope that you don’t mind :)

Much to his dismay, Quinn had been in New Jersey to help his family with moving Luke into his apartment with Jack. Luke hadn't fully moved into New Jersey during the playoff season, as he wouldn't have been there for very long. The family thought the best option was to move the essentials such as a bed, nightstand, and some clothing at first and then whatever Luke felt he might need later on.

Quinn hadn’t seen the point in needing the whole family, especially with all the different moving companies that could have done all the work instead. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he would rather be anywhere else, frustrated with all the different directions being shouted at everyone. Quinn had always felt that he was pretty easygoing and was chill with most things, but even this was a lot for him.

After a few hours of bickering between the brothers and a couple of stern looks from Ellen, everything that Luke could have possibly needed for the upcoming season was moved into the apartment. The family decided to go to a local street fair to see the different vendors and food stalls that were there. 

As the family was walking up and down the street Quinn was looking anywhere but straight ahead. His mind was wandering, thinking about all the things he needed to do in preparation for the upcoming season. Next thing he knew he felt himself knocking into someone, causing him to grunt and fall straight onto his ass. 

Quinn could hear his brothers snickering about him being an idiot while heat rose to his face as he quickly tried to stand back up. As soon as he was back on his feet and facing the person he ran into, Quinn swore he almost fell over again, coming face to face with you, one of the most beautiful people he has laid his eyes on. He felt completely enamored by all your features wanting to take everything about you in.

“Don’t mind my brother,” he heard Jack say before he could even mumble out an apology, “he can be more than kind of a dumbass sometimes.” 

Quinn turned to give Jack a mouthful when he heard you laugh, “Oh Jack, don’t be so mean to your family. That's your brother you're talking about!” 

Quinn watched with his mouth agape as he saw you and Jack hugged each other. He introduced you to his family, explaining how you had met through a mutual friend during his rookie year. You had apparently helped Jack a lot, teaching him how to cook a few basic meals and survive on his own. 

Suddenly, Quinn felt himself pushing himself closer to you letting out an apology about how bad he felt for not paying attention and then quite literally running into you. You laughed even more at Quinn, making him think to himself that he could hear that sound forever. Not thinking much, Quinn blurts out an invitation to join his family while they walk around looking at the different vendors. Thankfully, you accepted the offer.

You and Quinn had spent that time hitting it off, which turns out that the two of you had many similar interests. By the end of the night, Quinn felt like he had known you for years. Feeling like he hadn't had enough of you, he had asked if he could take you to dinner sometime.

“You know, hockey players aren’t my type,” Quinn could feel his heart drop as the grin on your face grew, “but maybe I am willing to make an exception because I just think you’re way cute. The next time you’re in town to play a game against your brothers, and you score a goal, I’ll consider going on a date.” 

Suddenly, Quinn could feel his heart beating out of his chest. He mumbled quietly, “I mean yeah… I could possibly manage that.” 

“Okay well, that sounds perfect!” you exclaimed, then kissing Quinn on the cheek, which caused his face to get hot for one more time that night. 

After that night, all Quinn could think about was you and your little proposition. Eventually, that game came around. He made sure that Jack had gotten you tickets, even going as far as suggesting that you should sit with their parents during the game. 

He felt like a nervous wreck all before the game, wondering if he would even get the chance to score a goal just so he could get a date with the most beautiful human being he had ever met. However, those nerves were not needed, as he ended up getting a hat trick by the end of the game. Each goal scored he searched for your face in the stands to give you a little wink. Quinn had felt like a king that night, not only bringing in the win for his team but also the prospect of getting to take you on a date.

By the end of the night, you found yourself opening a text from an unknown number. 

Hey, I hope you don’t mind that I got your number from Jack. Anyways, about that date? :)

[ghcstao3]

Im currently watching brave and it’s given me brain worms hehe

It’s to do with the will o’ the wisp!

Either soaps been seeing them his whole life guiding him to the task force or after a rough mission, totally lost/injured and with no way to contact anyone they guide his way back to ghost :D

Thanks for everything you write it genuinely makes my day to read all your works!!

ooh i really like this. also- apparently will o' the wisps are actually Not good in folklore so i wrote a little twist to fix that ;)

-

Throughout his life, Soap's nan had always liked to tell him stories about the many malevolent creatures he should hope to never have the misfortune of encountering—kelpies, redcaps, sluaghs; just about everything that existed in his homeland's folklore.

A little cruel in retrospect, Soap thinks, but for a while he'd just understood it as his nan's way of ensuring her grandson was to behave. They were myths, old tales and explanations for the unexplainable, and he can appreciate the determination to share tradition.

But now, as Soap is stranded in thick woods after an operation gone awry, blood sticky on his temple and a bullet stuck in his leg, he's not so sure they were just stories. Not as he's currently staring down an unnatural wisp of light in the darkness, hovering just a few feet away from where he'd collapsed against the thick, gnarled trunk of a tree.

Will o' the wisp, his mind supplies. Omens of death, his nan had told him, like many other creatures and spirits. They appear to the weary and lost like himself, flickers of glowing blue light almost hopeful as they guide one along a seemingly nonsensical path—but instead of leading someone to safety, they lure people to their doom.

The wisp just floats, unmoving, as Soap sits frozen. He tries his radio to no avail, and realizes with a great dread that he only has two options: attempt to find his own way back to his team, to anyone, anywhere, with the great risk of only getting more lost—or follow the wisp in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, it may actually lead him somewhere useful, no matter how bad the destination. Soap could only hope that doom is something he can fend off with a gun.

His decision is made rather easily because... he supposes it doesn't really make a difference, does it?

So he pushes himself away from the tree and toward the light—it vanishes as soon as he steps toward it, but with another step forward, another wisp appears.

Soap limps along, following the wisps. They weave him through trees and take sharp, sudden turns, disappearing and reappearing endlessly as Soap pursues the trail they leave. His head is on a swivel with every sound that isn't the crunch of branches beneath his own boots, with every flash of movement in his periphery.

He feels like he’d been walking forever by the time the forest has grown less dense and the wisps fade away for good—and that's when Soap sees it.

The large, imposing silhouette. The hulking figure cloaked in black. The glimpse of a skull in the sliver of moonlight that had managed to break through the forest's canopy.

Soap swallows a laugh. The will o' the wisps must have led him to Ghost, not realizing doom would have only been certain for Soap had he been the enemy.

Funny.

Ghost spots him and raises his gun, pauses, then after a moment lowers the barrel.

"Johnny?" Ghost grunts. "Where the fuck've you been?"

Soap shrugs a shoulder, wincing as he steps closer. "Lost my way running from the facility. Comms were dead." He flashes a crooked grin. "Worked out though, aye?"

Ghost snorts. "Aye," he echoes. "C'mon, then. Exfil's waiting. Save your explanations 'til then."

Soap gladly follows, relief nearly exalting.

But as they walk shoulder-to-shoulder, Soap can’t help but cast one last glance back at the trees from where he had emerged.

He wonders if the wisps had really made a mistake. He wonders if maybe they hadn't been done leading him, but Ghost had gotten in the way.

Questions he'll likely never find the answers for.

But regardless, now in safe hands—Soap thinks he had better refresh himself on his nan's stories as soon as he gets the chance.

He doesn't know now, whenever they might come in handy.

[williceunleashed]

Any headcanons about the shadow triad? (I love them sm and they're so underrated)

Ur art is rrly amazing btw!!

Thank you so much !!! :)

I'm still building a lot of stuff, and there isn't much on the Shadow Triad in canon material to work with sadly 😭 But here is what I have :

As in general interpretation :

I personally see them going through a very similar treatment to Anthea and Concordia, in that they exist for one purpose only. Anthea and Concordia were meant to take care of N, and don't know what to do with themselves in BW2 once he is gone. In the same way, the Shadow Triad is unable to let go of Ghetsis because their whole existence, for years, has been to serve Ghetsis and N.

Unlike Anthea and Concordia, they don't even have a unique appearance or even a unique name, they are considered as one single unit, blending their identities together. I think that, pretty much like the grunts, their sense of identity is barely existant anymore and they considered themselves more like a gog in a machine rather than individuals. They are pretty much the only high-ranking members with no identity at all.

I feel like they followed Ghetsis in BW2 because it was "comforting" to them. It was an harmful environment, and Ghetsis kept considering them like tools, yes, but it is the only thing they knew. While they seem to still respect N (I believe they call him "Lord N" in BW2 ?), they couldn't stay by his side. N stopped ordering the grunts and the Shadow Triad around, and therefore the Shadow Triad would have lost the only identity they ever knew. With Ghetsis, despite being treated like objects, they still feel like they have a "purpose" to accomplish, they still have a thread of an identity.

Even when Ghetsis is defeated for the second time and breaks down completely, the Shadow Triad still tries to defeat the protagonist (If I remember well, just like N, they are stationed in a specific spot and you can battle them post-game). They tell the player they want to defeat them in hopes to make Ghetsis go back to his "normal" (very evil) state. That's how bad they lack any identity outside of Ghetsis. Even when Ghetsis is reduced to nothing and has no one anymore on his side, the Shadow Triad sticks to him because Ghetsis' orders is all they know. They are really tragic characters man,,, they are like a black mirror to N, Anthea and Concordia,,,

Their sense of identity, or lack there of, is something really fascinating to me. Obviously they serve a special purpose, like Anthea and Concordia, but never even had the basic right to an individual name. I can't help but feel like it was done on purpose and not just as a quick cut, because damn Anthea and Concordia barely have a few lines but they still have specific designs and names. Same for the Admins in other teams. But the Shadow Triad is an exception to that. They would be close to "Admin" roles, but unlike all other admins in other teams, they lack any identity. I think they represent how Ghetsis treated his team members : Never as humans, only as tools who don't even deserve to be named.

In the same way as N, Concordia, Anthea and many grunts, they were victims of a master manipulator and years of brainwashing, neglect and abuse.

As for headcanons with my OCs / general headcanons in my story :

Dardanne never interacted much with them because Dardanne respects the higher-ups and wouldn't dare speak to them if not allowed to first.

Melony, on the other hand, proves himself to be a menace to society (AGAIN) and goes out of his way to talk to the Sages and the Shadow Triad as if they were besties. Melony's out of pocket behavior was, for once, a positive thing, as he ended up being one of the few people talking to the Shadow Triad as real people. He enjoys infodumping to them about Rattatas and will show them pictures on his phone. The Shadow Triad is very confused and doesn't know how to react at first, but they don't dislike the interactions.

In BW2, they grow closer to Melony and welcome his attention. The Shadow Triad are the only members in Team Plasma that Melony doesn't boss around, alongside Colress, because they are his favorite people (He doesn't hesitate to boss around Zinzolin and to ragdoll him into the walls tho).

Because Melony talks to them quite a lot, he is capable of differenciating them. They don't have individual names, so Melony took the habit of calling them A, B and C.

Melony seems to unconsciously understand that the Shadow Triad are very fragile mentally due to the severe abuse and brainwashing, and tends to care for them in a weirdly gentle fashion. He does his best to learn about the three of them as individuals and learn about their interests to offer them gifts or talk about their interests later.

Post BW2, after Ghetsis' mega breakdown, Melony is severely injured by Kyurem but survives. Once he is healed, he is more or less the head of the household, as Ghetsis is barely interested in being alive anymore. Melony attempts to keep the Shadow Triad functioning, but struggles a lot, seeing that the three of them are now completely lost, now that they can't serve their original "purpose" as tools. The post BW2 is still a wip, but I feel like the Shadow Triad deserves to heal a bit and take some sort of independance away from Ghetsis and Mel.

Personalities headcanons :

I think the three of them genuinely love pokémons and care deeply about their own pokémons. They treat their pokémons like family, because they don't have the occasion to bond with humans much.

A might seem like the most passive member of the Triad. He is aloof and distant at first glance, but can be very fun to be around once he trusts you. He is the most mischievous out of the Triad. A loves pizza. Bro can eat 10 of them in one evening. I think he secretly enjoys watching the cringiest romance movies. In general, his media tastes are really bad, but he can't help the guilty pleasure of watching all the Twilight movies in one go on a monday night.

B is the most expressive of the brothers. He is the most happy-go-lucky, but usually hides it being a very practiced emotionless mask. His favorite food is anything home-made. Maybe he even enjoys cooking himself in his leizure time. B might be the one who misses a "normal life" the most, and finds comfort in doing domestic stuff, such as tidying up places, cooking...

C might be the kindest of the three. He displays more mercy and is generally more gentle. He has many regrets, and might be the one who is the least attached to Ghetsis. He is fully vegetarian and loves playing with Pokémons in his off-time. Outside of his Shadow persona, he is kind of shy. He is generally a rather nice person, and would have probably been similar to N in term of kindness if he hadn't been brainwashed and abused so badly.

[baldurs-gape]

excuse me? Hi? Excuse me?

How dare you influence me into being a monsterfucker. The good lord Jesus will never forgive me. Now I will go to hell and get fucked by centaurs.

Oh-ho! Hate mail? For little old me? Whatever shall I ever do?! XD Nothing for it, dearest "anon", I'm going to have to write out in full the cursed idea I have prattled on about many moons ago in our DMs.

The Science of Magic

Getting stuck in a wonky portal was the second most humiliating thing Gale had done, only topped by the time at Blackstaff when he managed to accidentally call the library tressym Tara. While nobody believed it, calling Elminster 'Mum' would have been far less embarrassing. But that was in the past, his current predicament was much more important. He was stuck. In a portal. After being abducted by mindflayers and infected with a tadpole. Utterly mortifying.

In theory it was a simple matter to solve, all he had to do was climb out of the portal. Alas, it was locked. Not locked locked, he could get a bit of himself out but it refused to expand beyond a certain limit. To understand it better, Gale had to employ the very scientific attitude of testing.

First, he pushed a finger through, no problem. Pulling it back, he licked his finger and went again. Yep, there was a breeze. So far so good. If a finger was through, he couldn't get a second one in next to hit. However, a duckbill shaped fist passed into the world beyond the portal with no trouble, locking down around his wrist. It was just as well that Gale was a very serious adult man who didn't find crass sex jokes funny. At least that was the persona he had created for others to see. But, on his own, he snickered as he fisted the portal over and over again. It was for science! Repetition with the same result was a key part of proving a theory, that was all he was doing. Though, heh, fisting.

So, he could do a hand, great. He should probably have a look around if at all possible. With great dignity, he pushed his head through the opening, feeling like he was being given birth to all over again. Thankfully, he didn't remember the first time and he would rather keep it that way. Head out of the portal, he looked around. Judging by the smell, he was still near where the nautiloid had crashed, burning metal and who knew what else tainted the air. There was also smoke just about visible if he craned his neck. Given how uncomfortable it was, Gale glanced around a couple more times, couldn't see or hear anyone so retreated. He could wait.

Who knew that waiting was so boring? Gale liked discovering things and the portal was a source of professional curiosity, nothing more. Hand and head could get through fine, great. Would a foot count as the lone body part permitted passage or would it be a toe? Curiosity won out and, in the confined space, Gale hopped around to pull his boot and socks off. He made a mental note to focus more on functional fitness because having muscles just for show was not serving him very well in that moment. With a groan, he hefted his foot up to the centre of the portal, wiggled his toes before trying to dip a single toe through it. Like a hot knife through butter. Enthused, Gale rammed the rest of his foot against the portal and cursed as it was like stubbing his toes on the base of Mystra's statue. Gingerly pulling back, he slowly tried again, this time with more care and focus on not spreading his toes. It worked! His whole foot enjoyed the cool breeze of the world for a whole three seconds before he lost his balance and crashed to the ground, grunting at the impact. Ouch!

So, finger or whole hand, head, toe or whole foot, they all passed through the portal. What else could he test his theory with? There wasn't much left. But nobody was around. Surely he could try it. Whether shaft was considered a separate body part to his testicles. In the name of science and understanding magic better, he was going to try. His trousers and briefs joined his lone boot and sock to on the ground. With a bit of huffing and puffing, he lined his cock up and pushed. The cool breeze made him shiver. It was chillier than he'd anticipate. Still, he was learning and that was the most important thing. Even better, his balls were deemed part and parcel of his cock and merrily rolled over the edge of the portal, hanging rather pleasantly. Excellent.

Pleased, Gale moved to pull back. He yelped as his body was yanked at, portal refusing to release his cock for retrieval. Oh crap, this was not good. No gentle shifting, no tugging, nothing worked. Gale couldn't even get a hand through to try and help push. Panic was slowly rising in his chest. This was not how he planned on dying, stuck in a portal with just his genitals poking through, all in the name of magical understanding. The Folly of Gale was not going to read well in the history books. Buggeration. Even worse, he was convinced he could hear voices. Freezing, he listened. Yep. Those were definitely people talking and coming closer.

"And what have we here?" A haughty sounding man asked.

"A hand? Anyone?" Gale called. Someone slapped his cock.

His yelping shriek silenced the whole forest around them before the people burst into laughter.

"Astarion, that was mean," a woman said.

"Istik! That is not what he meant. Here, like this."

A slender yet frighteningly strong hand gripped his shaft and started pulling. Gale cried out.

"Stop! Please! No!"

"Lae'zel," the man, apparently called Astarion, snorted, "a little finesse, please."

This time a softer hand wrapped around Gale's shaft and another cradled his balls. It was a small mercy that the pain was lingering so he didn't have the worry of getting hard. The embarrassment was already enough.

Something in the portal twisted and he was tugged with a bit more care, tumbling hips first into the world. Naked from the waist down, save for one boot, he stood up and smoothed down his robe. Right. He could salvage this.

"Hello, I'm Gale of Waterdeep. My apologies, usually I'm better at this."

[eccentricallygothic]

Wrote this in the uni library during a class break today because @bigtreefest gave me Robert fever right after I woke up this morning 😭 (to be fair, her post was fairly innocent but I am not)

Pairing: Dark!Robert Prongue | Naive!You.

Warning(s): Noncon (no smut), Robert Pronge, choking, kidnapping, size kink, fear kink, strength (?) kink, pet names, possessiveness, allusions to consensual sex, age gap (reader is in her 20’s, Rob is late 30’s). MDNI.

You hurriedly ran the hairbrush through your hair as you plucked your clothing articles off the ground and hurriedly put them on your still damp body. A string of curses left you when you bent down to look for a missing shoe and the bristles tangled with one of your locks and upon your insistent pushing bounced out of your hand and landed against the wardrobe door with a thud.  

Though you had your back to the large form sprawled across the bed, you felt it stir before a deep little grunt sounded in the dark morning air of the room. 

Choosing to abandon the hairbrush, you collected your hair in the best ponytail you could manage at the moment, locating the shoe under a chest of drawers before wrapping the hair tie that was looped around your wrist onto your coil of hair. 

“Doll?” You heard Robert's husky morning voice question in confusion as he sat up, the weight of his heavy body causing for the old bed to creek with each movement. 

“Hey” you shot him an awkward smile as you finished dressing up and ran a hand down your day old outfit to smooth it down. 

“Where are you going?” Contrary to idealistic expectations, your first time with Robert was not followed by a whole day dedicated to cuddling, kissing, showering and relaxing together. No. You lived in the real world and people had to go back to work no matter what had happened the day before. In your case, it was school. 

“School” you responded, distracted by tidying up your academic clatter that littered the little makeshift study table -that he had arranged just for you- and disposing of it in your backpack.  

“And leaving me?” You scoffed out a chuckle, taking his words for a cheesy joke.

Because how could something so absurd be spoken seriously? 

… Right?

“Oh, yeah, about that…” You pretended to be awkward as you ‘thought’ of an excuse by swaying left and right while packing your bag. “Yeah, sorry… but that was it” you didn't notice how his dark eyebrows furrowed as he sat up straighter now, clearly offended by your playful words. 

In your mind, they could not be mistaken, since you had been seeing Robert and hanging out with him -although always in secluded places or your homes- for a while now. Besides, you thought he knew you weren't the one night stand kind of girl. Rather, you were the straight A clumsy goody two shoes if your ‘friends’ were to describe you. 

“That’s not how it works” you jumped when he spoke next because he did so right in your ear. 

“Robert! You scared me!” You finished the collecting of yourself into the semblance of a functioning individual of society before you rotated on your heels to look up at him, eyes wide from how he had surprised you. 

Robert looked handsome, in spite of the scowl marring his agreeable features. Even with his wavy hair all messy from a whole night's worth of tousling, regardless of how your fingers had tugged at and played with it just a few hours prior, despite how scarcely you could really see his face due to the barely parted curtains and how rudely he glared at you, your heart skipped a beat. 

He was genuinely the most good looking man you had ever seen. 

“No.”

So what if he was a little rough around the edges? 

He tried, and not many people you knew were like that.

His efforts could never be lost on you. 

“Don't be silly, Rob” you stood on your tippy toes to capture his lips in a quick peck. “I'll see you— ow!” You let out a series of giggles when his bigger hands suddenly flew out to lunge at your sides before his stern fingers roughly groped them. “Rob!” 

“You're not leaving” the finality in his stubborn words caused for a hot little nervous knot to form deep in your chest. You tried to mask it with a smile that you could literally feel was crooked because of the reaction that his sudden, unfriendly growl had on your body.

Okay, maybe Robert had always intimidated you. 

Just a little, though. 

“I am just going to school, Rob. I'll be back” you weren't too experienced with people but you felt sure this was not the way. 

“No need for all that silly business now that you're mine” your eyebrows raised in both amusement and surprise as you felt your face heat up. Although, it wasn't a blush that coloured your cheeks crimson but rather a much darker feeling of rising dread. 

Blood rushed to your ears. “Rob—”

“Come on,” he almost pleaded, as if you were prompting him towards something he didn't want to go through with. “You saw how I took care of you last night, doll. You don't need any of that stuff anymore… just me” moisture formed in your fists that had subconsciously made their way to his hard chest which his hands were trying to integrate with yours from how they pressed your body into his. “Don't do this, please.” You thought you heard emotion crack his voice. 

“Rob, it's… I—” You had to take a couple shaky breaths to steady yourself whilst you stumbled over your false starts. “I- It's just school, I'll be back before you know it” even if you did not have an important quiz today, which you did, you weren't sure fulfilling his wish was something you would have done anyway. “Rob, please—” you winced, wrists jittering with the force you were putting into trying to push his beastly form away. “Let me—” but he would not let you finish your sentence.

He could not.

For your words would be too devastating and cruel. 

Sure to be spoken with a callousness later greatly regrettable, you would learn.

“It's okay, doll, just relax” his fingers ceased the kneading of the flesh on your hips and abandoned their territory to ascend. “I've got you now, just breathe” ironically, his serpentine fingers that had completed their maneuver up your sides by the time his utterance had reached its end began to coil around your throat at the same time. Your eyes bulged out of their sockets as the horrifying realization of what he was doing dawned upon you. 

Oh, no. 

Not Robert of all people. 

Your smaller fingers tried to claw and pry at his tyrannical ones but what strength does a lamb hold against a wolf? The lack of air in your lungs caused them to painfully flutter to find relief, the nerves on your forehead bulged from the pressure in your blood, moisture weighed down the lines of your lashes and the palpitations of your pulse thundered under the fists he had formed around your throat. 

You couldn't tell how much time had passed during your pathetic excuse of a struggle. It felt like an eternity by the time your eyes began to droop, but in that last moment when you let out a broken sigh, it seemed like you had  only been granted a few fleeting seconds to possibly mend your plight. Before your weary mind could decide whether to curse your incompetence or take a more sympathetic stance towards yourself, everything faded into a hopeless void, and you became a weightless hollow vaguely held together by a fragile thread that you could feel only faintly.