#sorry i really got off the rails there

[the-acid-pear]

just finished a video on no longer human. It really do be like that

[myreia]

✦ D A R K K N I G H T

Abyssal magic comes effortlessly to her, and therein lies in the danger. Too much grief, too much rage, too much love. Forces bent on tearing her apart from the inside out. Her aether twists around her blade, setting the runes alight, unrefined magic pulsating in the palm of her hand. When she reaches into the abyss, she feels a strange serenity, content with the knowledge her enemies will certainly fall. The question remains as to whether she herself will be left standing at the end. —level 90 compendium

[binarisunset]

I’d like to think Coryo would be nervous before meeting Sejanus’ family like yes he knows he’s handsome and charming and he’s well loved by Sejanus’ parents so he surely would be loved by his extended family as well but he doesn’t know much about them while they certainly know more about him considering the way Ma teases him about how much he talks about Coryo and so he sits Sejanus down and asks him specific questions about everyone, general facts, favorite colors, interests, favorite foods.. etc and he makes a document of everything and keeps reviewing it on the way to district two until he had memorized everything (Sejanus of course exposes his nerdy ass in front of the entire family but he’s secretly gushing at how cute and adorable Coriolanus is being)

THIS IS SO FUCKING FUNNY HE 100000% WOULD DO THAT

Sejanus: Coryo, you can’t be serious about this.

Coriolanus: I am as serious about this as everything else in my life, Sejanus. Now hurry up and tell me your youngest cousin’s favorite Disney princess.

S: Come on. Not even I know that!

C: Well then you’re not a very good cousin, are you? I know Tigris’s. It’s Cinderella.

S: You have one cousin. I got like, twenty of them!

C: That’s not an excuse.

S: Coryo!

[kangaracha]

daffodil + chan

a song

the prompt: daffodil (a god bows before a mortal)

read it on ao3

---

"You have no power over me."

running through his hands like water, and suddenly the earth is not his to control. The skies do not turn with the twist of his head, lightning does not fork in the air when his eyes, dark as night and yet still lit by some unearthly light, fall upon you, his mouth wide as if to gasp for a breath he cannot take-

And yet, still, it shivers down your spine; the magic that draws you here even as you rip it apart, the prize of your conquest to rip the world into two.

"Take it back," he hisses through his teeth, the ground trembling with every syllable that slides down his tongue. You watch his mouth as it forms the words, the flash of teeth behind thin lips reminding you of the way that the swordsman you'd fought through to get here had smiled at you - the last of his seven challenges, the last of his demons, or angels, or citizens of the sprawling, damned city he claimed as his kingdom.

And here you stood, at the pinnacle of the eighth, and stared him in the eye without cringing away because now you knew the truth. Now you knew that what he whispered in the dark was a lie and what you saw with your eyes wasn't always true, and though he may be a god and a king amongst beings that you could never hope to rival, a god can only hold as much power as you give him. A god can only claim dominion over a beast that bowed to his dogma. 

You see now that you are no beast. You are no believer in any lie he utters to the darkness.

"Take it back," he says again, the note of his voice changing. He pleads, his brow furrowing and his shoulders curling in as if waiting for the final blow. "Take it back now, before it's too late."

"I can't," you tell him, and you watch him fall to his knees, and you know that it's wrong and your heart pounds in your chest and it

like the ground does at the impact of his knees, crumbling into the pieces it was in when you first took his hand, alone on the side of the road with only one thing to call your own. And what was that thing, the little warmth you'd held to your chest in the dark and the cold? What had you traded away for the comfort of the house that crumbled around you now? Why had you destroyed him to get it back, where was it now, why did it not appear within his hands at this, the hour of his reckoning?

"Please," he spits into the cold ground, the dirt and the leaves and the curl of ivy that grows up the walls around you, old and ancient and not yet sprouted from its roots all at the same time. His hands curl in the dirt like he can reach down and pull the earth to him, like he can stop the wane of his power if he just tries to hold on a little bit tighter. "I know what you want, and I don't have it. I can't lose-"

Broken, fragile thing. Small god of limited earth, crouched at your feet like he might worship you instead. You'd thought him all-powerful once, and then you'd thought him severe and his servants and beasts and playthings petty, and then you'd thought him

because he'd smiled at you in the garden that bloomed from his own hands when you expressed your desire for a flower to tuck in the braid of your dark hair, and his hand had been soft in yours, and when he looked out across his kingdom and the clamouring faces of the people he'd brought to live there, he'd looked at them the same way that he'd looked at you.

Beneath your foot, the ground cracks, fracturing outwards like a spiderweb. It's your heart, you realise morosely, sinking from your chest and into the depths of the earth, disappearing with whatever he'd taken from you; and it was a wretched thing and it had betrayed you a hundred times over, but you still mourn at the loss of it and all the dreams it had carried with it. It blooms in your flowers in the corners of the room, embeds itself into the land and sings along with the song of his power, a thing you can hear but cannot touch, a beast once born that now does not belong to you.

"I'm sorry," he says, his breath like mist in the cold air, and even without your heart, you can't bear to see him so cold.

Your hands reach for him without permission, your body kneeling in the dirt before you can stand your feet firm upon the earth and refuse to move. He flinches away, but your fingers are soft upon his chin and the curve of his jaw, gentle when they brush the soft dip of his neck. "I only wanted to know what it was," you tell him with a voice that cannot hold itself steady. "I thought if you loved me, you would give it back." It's the only voice you have - you are not like him, or like Felix, speaking with many tongues. You don't have any power of your own.

"It's because I love you that I can't give it back." His voice is hoarse, every word a knife that he swallows without ever once flinching. "It's because I love you that I couldn't tell you what it was."

"But didn't I deserve to know?" you question. "Doesn't my life belong to me?"

Finally, his eyes rise, looking up at you with a fire that belies the cold of his skin. "Of course it does," he gasps, and his hand reaches up, dirt-stained fingers dragging at your cheek. "That's why I gave it to you, and I never asked for anything else."

"But you wouldn't give back what you took in the first place."

The sudden violence of his voice crumbles the walls and fractures the sky, the clouds blooming te dark colours of a bruise. The absence of his hand on your cheek stings in the cold; his face turns away, screwed up in regret and a pain he won't allow you to feel. You lurch forward before he can disappear, drawing him into your arms; stiff shoulders, spine of beaten steel, slow beat of a heart you once held in your hands. 

He'd stood so tall and unmoving in the morning light, when you'd first walked down this path, and now in the dark of the setting sun and the ending of the earth, his weight slumps into your grasp, his resolve melting into the warmth of your body. "I didn't want you to suffer again," he says to the soft cotton of your shirt and the curve of your collarbone, his breath a whisper against your skin. "I couldn't watch that, when you asked me to make sure it would never happen again."

Surprise comes in the pause of your breath and the still of your arms, the jump of a heart you're not sure you still possess. "I asked you to make me forget?" you question the world behind his back, and into your neck, he sighs.

"You couldn't forget," he murmurs. "She was dead before I found you, and when I took her from your arms - you couldn't forget. There was nothing I could do to fix what had been broken. And then you begged me to let you forget, so I remembered her for you." He pauses, his throat hitching like he's swallowing something down. A sob maybe, or the tears he will never let fall. "I can't give her back though. She's not here anymore."

You push him upright, your hands on his shoulders, his neck, his face. Brushing away the hair that falls in his eyes, wiping at the blood that drips from the cut on his cheek. "Why didn't you tell me?" you ask, because the answer is incomprehensible. "Why did you let me go this far?"

"Because I was scared," he admits, and his teeth clench and his spine stiffens against the urge to hide away from you again. "Because I'm a wretched, evil, stupid thing who thinks they can-"

His words die in your throat; vile, wretched things that you store away to spit out later, into the ground where they belong. He is none of that; he is soft, and hesitant, until your fingers find the sharp curve of his hip and the lines of his back, dragging him closer and his lips open like there is nothing in the world to devour but you and

[feroluce]

I'm still not done with chapter three but oh my God 😭😭😭 oh my God

As much as he wants to say Boothill’s name, to see how it feels dripping from his tongue, he will keep it cradled in his mouth. He is well aware of the damage caused by dishonoring such a request.

OH MY GODDDDDDDD!!!! if this was a book I'd have to sit here and hit myself with it to lessen the pain 😭😭😭

I KNOW I KNOW OH MY GOD OH MY GOD. I was laying on my couch reading that part and I had to like flail and kick around and got tangled up in my blankets because AUGH

I LOVE that Boothill's true name came up in this chapter, and Dan Heng's reaction to it? That's so wonderful. That's so perfect for them. Because of course Dan Heng would know a thing or two about not having your name or identity respected. Of course he would honor Boothill's wish even above his desire to feel how his birth name fits in his mouth, how his tongue could curl around it. He doesn't push, doesn't question it even once. He gets it!!

(the fic this is about is my favorite, room in the mouth by minorly_inconvenient on Ao3, please go read, it is INCREDIBLE-)

Anyway speaking of which, I actually have this post in my queue, about Boothill's birth name and what he would be called in Apache! And I also have my own name I'd come up for him in Hymmnos, since that's my default whenever I need a different language (Ar Tonelico series ftw!!!!): Boh Basilic!

Basilic is the noun for "gun." And Hymmnos has no word specifically for "loaded" or even for "ammunition," but! They do have boh, an adjective used to describe something as explosive, and I think that's a pretty good equivalent. So! Loaded gun! Boh Basilic, and Nick and Graey and some of his siblings would call him Bazzy for short. <3

(Bonus gay thoughts: Basilic came to mean gun, but it was originally actually a word for a giant snake or serpent. And boh can also be used to describe something as supernatural. So, somehow, by some beautiful coincidence... The name Boh Basilic perfectly describes Boothill, but also includes Dan Heng. His fate really was just in his birth name all along... uwu)

[robinsnest2111]

maybe I really need to get back into carbonated water. the latest addition to the local grocery store's bottled water selection has been quite good actually (sparkling peach and sparkling lime-lemon flavour) in those 3/4 liter "sports" bottles...

[enjoytheglow]

Since Mae's gonna say it a lot, y'all who haven't seen Reefer Madness need to hear the way she says "Just fell, that's all!"

@emprean @legbite @crisisbabe @nothingtrivial @trailnapped @themeekwillinherit @vihilum

Edit: not sure why only some of the tags are working but anyway

[master-of-the-railway]

List of my Big Boy ocs for my upcoming fic <3

And also their pronouns!

No. 4000, Big Boy (he/him)

No. 4001, Stampede (he/him)

No. 4002, Westlander (she/her)

No. 4003, Captain (he/him)

No. 4004, Silver (they/them)

No. 4005, North Star (she/her)

No. 4006, Prairie Rider (she/her)

No. 4007, Pioneer (he/him)

No. 4008, Fireball (he/him)

No. 4009, Midnight (she/her)

No. 4010, Cowboy (he/him)

No. 4011, Wildfire (she/her)

No. 4012, Alpine Torch (she/they)

No. 4013, Bear (she/her)

No. 4014, Big Iron (he/him)

No. 4015, Buck (he/him)

No. 4016, Jolene (she/her)

No. 4017, Delilah (she/her)

No. 4018, Clay (he/him)

No. 4019, Dally (she/her)

No. 4020, Flint (he/him)

No. 4021, Zephyr (she/her)

No. 4022, Houston (he/him)

No. 4023, Blazar (he/him)

No. 4024, Sally (she/her)

[distantlaughter]

in an older post (Top 5 Brocedes moments) you said that back in 2008 Nico had a favourite Brit and it (probably) wasn’t Lewis and Lewis had a favourite German (Adrian Sutil) but it (probably) wasn’t Nico. This got me wondering who was the favourite Brit and why that person? Sorry for bringing this up but the question won’t leave my head.

Hi! I’m going to be honest I actually cannot for the life of me remember who I was talking about in that post but if I had to guess I think the favorite Brit (in terms of people on the grid/associated with f1) might have been Jenson? Just based on what I could tell from the research I had done (doing activities off-the-grid together, general camaraderie)… I think I said that based more on how the media would sometimes play up the friendship between Nico and Lewis and how their level of friendship during that period in time (pre-Mercedes) actually (probably) wasn’t as best-friends-since-childhood as ppl make it out to seem…

[imaginepostingonmain]

if theres one thing i could say to roleplayers and writers and oc makers it would probably be that you don't have to make your oc good at the things they enjoy!!

i remember one of the first people i ever really roleplayed with (we fell out of contact a long while ago; i hope they're doing alright now) was a big doer of this- their ocs would have talents or hobbies that they were very, very good at-- they never needed to learn or practice or anything of the sort- and i ain't condemning them for it in any way! the world of fiction is a wonderful place and a great form of escapism! that's what the "you don't have to" aspect of this is all about!

but it led (at least in this case) to this vein of thinking that was centered around "(x) aspect of my life isn't how it is in stories; does that mean i'm doing it wrong?"

when you don't have any other reference for things like hobbies or relationships- or when trouble with hobbies and relationships comes first, and you make ocs that are very, very good at dealing with these things to cope- it can sometimes skew your way of thinking about these things-- which i know because i did exactly the same and it did exactly the same for me. there weren't any characters out there who sucked at what they liked and liked what they sucked at, and honestly it just began to make me feel worse about myself. was i not improving fast enough? was this not the sort of route of life i should be pursuing? would my favourite characters be disappointed in me?

sometimes it works with escapism! sometimes it makes you feel worse abt your own life! sometimes- and this is entirely possible- it does both at once!

and honestly, there's a lot of things you might be able to accept in the worlds you create and the fiction you consume that could help you- like that it's okay if you (and your characters) don't fall in love as a teens, or it's okay if the relationships said teens build aren't concrete aspects of their life. it's okay if you (or your characters) never fall in love at all! it's okay if your characters are messy, complicated people and it's okay if they're not right or good or nice all the time!

but the biggest (and funnest, and perhaps most freeing) thing is they don't have to be good at what they like!! you can have singers who aren't prodigies and artists who aren't secretly talented and bookworms who aren't geniuses- and you can have people who like romance and aren't good at falling in love, or who like being good and aren't skilled at being morally upstanding!!

you truly can do what you want forever!!!!!

[lucifer-the-fetus-eater]

I have a few ideas!!!

Now this is long, so... Prepare to venture into the pandora's box that is my category 7 autism event.

Below the cut for sake of space !

So long it could be the colors of the sky post... just significantly more cursed because it's tf2 lore speculation.

"You've been a real monster up there. Honestly, you probably would have ended up here anyway. I feel silly that we even bothered with a contract."

-The Devil on pg. #209 of TF Comics #6

The Devil himself called The Medic a monster. And honestly, I doubt he's far off.

Kill count alone can't be enough to get someone into Hell. As we saw, Sniper and Scout got into Heaven. It's not explicitly stated what gets one into Heaven or Hell in the TF2 universe. All we have to go off of is implication.

Sniper and Scout are paid killers. This is widely considered by humanity to be pretty damn immoral. But here's the thing. They're killers who kill killers. They're paid to kill people who also kill.

"But you left a lot of rotten @#$%s down there that need killin'." "Yer mum's right. A professional wouldn't quit when there's still more work to be done."

-Sniper's parents on pg. #61 of TF Comics #5: Old Wounds

By "rotten @#$%s" I'm going to assume Sniper's mother is talking about other paid killers; mercenaries. I believe Heaven operates on grey moral principles in this universe. Yes, Sniper's killing people... but he's not killing innocent people.

It's similar for Scout (ignoring the Mall Santa Training Facility incident for just a moment...) I don't think it's mentioned or shown anywhere that Scout has explicitly murdered an innocent person. Sure, he's been an asshole. But based on God's behavior, I don't think that's enough to bar him from Heaven either. I mean-- regardless of what Scout has done, God does state that he's His gift to women... So I don't think God is the best person either. (Honestly, God is biased and must have ignored the Mall Santa Training Facility incident all together.)

"Aw, come on, God. Don't destroy humanity. They're good people at heart. Just a buncha dum-dums tryin' their best."

-The Scout on pg. #180 of TF Comics #6: The Naked and the Dead. (Holy shit, I can't believe Scout of all people had to convince God not to smite everybody.)

So it seems God is a little forgiving when it comes to letting people into Heaven. (And... He's also just kind of a douche.) In that case... What does it mean when The Devil Himself tells Medic he probably would've ended up in Hell anyway?

Now this is definitely my own perspective, but...

There are fates worse than death.

The act of ending someone's life, while cruel, isn't... the worst you can do. That would be torture-- prolonged suffering. Unethical medical experimentation would certainly be one of those things.

In Meet the Medic, while Medic is telling Heavy the story of how he lost his medical license, he specifically says "When the patient woke up..." implying the patient survived the procedure. Maybe this is conjecture. It's possible that the medic was being sarcastic. But what if he wasn't?

Not only did he steal a man's entire skeleton, the patient might've just survived the procedure. The Medic was able to preserve BLU Spy's severed head in his refrigerator. Who's to say he didn't find a way to keep somebody alive without a skeleton? In real life, you can't survive without your skeleton. But... I mean... the TF2 universe is full of science fiction crap that isn't all that realistic. We also wouldn't know how long he could've survived without the skeleton. Could've been anywhere from hours to years. (This is a wildly different case from real life, but I this reminded me of the case of Hisashi Ouchi, who received a lethal dose of radiation in 1999 during a criticality accident. He survived for 83 days after the ordeal with drastic medical intervention. Why I started thinking about it is because the man's bone marrow was utterly destroyed, so his body couldn't regenerate new cells. Something to consider when thinking about the logistics of somebody surviving without their skeleton. Ok I'm getting distracted-- discretion advised if you decide to look that up. It's genuinely horrific. Can't emphasize that enough.)

There's also the whole brain-inside-a-pumpkin deal. Yes, the victim was a criminal; a mugger, to be specific. Sure, he wasn't the best person in life. But does that mean he deserved to have his brain meticulously cut out and relegated to being trapped inside of a pumpkin?? I'll go out on a limb here and say that's some I Have No Mouth and I must Scream bullshit. I mean... He can still talk, but... Outside of that and think, not much else. That's terrifying. I'd even say, the skeleton-lacking patient probably experienced something similar if he survived and only had some rudimentary structure to keep his body's structure. (Sidenote: The Engineer was an accomplice in the sentient pumpkin debacle... just throwing that out there...)

With incidents like the baboon uteruses, the uber-heart transplant, and Sniper's resurrection also in mind, we can establish that Medic has a clear pattern of behavior. That being... He likes to experiment on people. Not always for their benefit. (He's no stranger to experimenting on himself, either. He does state that he surgically grafted 8 other souls into his own. In the game, he can receive the benefits of übercharge. Oh, can't forget The Second Opinion or Medimedes cosmetics. Depends on whether you consider those canon or not.)

"...the Medic considers healing a generally unintended side effect of satisfying his own morbid curiosity."

-Medic's bio on the official TF2 Website

I sincerely doubt, in the Medic's approximately fifty years of existence, these are the only experiments he's conducted. They're the only ones mentioned or shown, but I sincerely believe he's got a whole undepicted track record of doing whatever the hell he wants with those unfortunate enough to find themselves on his operating table. It's no wonder he'd end up in Hell with or without a soul-binding deal.

Given the Devil's statement about feeling silly that they even bothered with a contract, I doubt it was his "corruption" that influenced Medic to behave the way he does.

"Well. You're a clever man. You tempted me once, after all. I'm sure you'll figure out a way to trick me out of my other eight souls."

-Medic on pg. #220 of TF Comics #6.

Medic does admit he was tempted by the Devil's proposition. But I believe he was appealing to the Devil's ego here. He even says "I'm sure you'll figure out a way to trick me out of my other eight souls." This doesn't read genuinely. In the next frame, he immediately jumps to mentioning the Devil's "lovely looking pen." He then proceeds to further imply that the Devil could "trick" him out of another soul with it.

The devil looks confused, bamboozled, even. The Medic is walking away all smug like this:

"Ohhhh, what have I done? See, you're well on your way! I don't like my chances."

-The Medic on pg. #225 of TF Comic #6.

This is definitely sarcasm. I'm gonna go ahead and say I don't think the Devil tempted Medic at all. Rather, Medic was the one who tempted the Devil.

The circumstances regarding Medic's first meeting with the Devil are debatable. I could definitely concoct some theories as to what might've happened, but for now I'll conserve some mental energy and process that later.

Medic's procedures are not only unethical, but extremely difficult to execute. One might say, even impossible.

"Please. I am a doctor. You will not die on my table. I'll just kill you here."

-Medic on pg. #101 of TF Comic #6.

Alright. This doesn't prove anything. But it did give me an idea... One could even say... a headcannon... [lightning crash]

What if Medic used his deal with the Devil to decrease the mortality rate of his patients?

Medic's experiments can be very drastic. He kind of just does whatever the hell he wants and gets away with it. It's possible that perhaps somewhere in the clauses of his contract with the Devil, it's explicitly written that his patients "Can't die on his table." Meaning whatever he does to them can't kill them outright.

Or, alternatively, to preserve the idea that Medic is very skilled on his own, the Devil provided him access to ✨forbidden knowledge✨... Such as some visceral idea as to the inner workings of the universe. Some divine... or cursed inclination as to the ingredients for life. No doubt it took him a while to figure out how exactly to use that knowledge. Memorizing a book doesn't make you a rocket scientist until you put that knowledge into practice.

It's nothing the Medic could ever explain. It's like instinct, it's just something he's aware of. That's why he can take a man's skeleton and leave him living (allegedly.) Why he can remove a delicate brain and put it in a pumpkin. And with some engineering expertise at his beck and call, keep that little shit alive.

The Medic isn't magic.

He just knows things nobody else does.

Alright yeah I think that's all. Unless there was something substantial I forgot to consider. Likely because by this point I'm exhausted.

Except I need to circle back for a moment because I forgot to explain what I meant by the Medic tempted the Devil. So. Quick Encore:

I think, perhaps, the Medic proposed an additional clause in their deal. He'd be allowed to handle souls. He claimed he'd use this ability to send more of them to Hell. Collect them... sort of like the soul gargoyle... and ferry them off to the Devil somehow. It just so happens being able to handle souls also makes it so you're able to interact with them in other ways, too. For example... Surgically grafting them.

And that's not something the Devil considered.

Hey, remember when TF2 comics were a thing, and there was this great scene of medic bargaining with the Devil?

Well in that scene there's this particular line which got me wondering.

First -: How likely is it that medic only went to hell for selling his soul? I mean scout and sniper went to heaven and they for sure killed more people, Scout even blew up a Santa training facility , which I'm fairly certain is terrorism. And sniper's whole thing is killing people and he's proud of it.

Meanwhile while medic did probably kill some people, it's not likely that it's more than these two. His biggest crimes are stealing a skeleton, stealing a brain and stuffing it in a pumpkin, and stealing 8 souls from other mercs, and all victims of these crimes survived, sooo...

The other thing it got me wondering... What exactly did he sold his soul for? And here I don't really have an answer, immortality clearly isn't that since he did, well, die, in order for this scene to happen. Talent or intelligence ? Doesn't sit right, I mean it implies that he didn't worked for his achievement , or even worse that he's so immortal only because da devil corrupted him, and that just stinks. So I'd like to hear your ideas if you got any.

[shy-writer-999]

AHOY can i humbly request op men hcs for when they accidentally cum too early (monster trio + ace sabo law and kid) if you so desire 🤲

i got a couple requests about this same idea and i am so happy to oblige!! (afab reader) please note there are a handful of instances of "girl" being used in dirty talk! (´ ᴗ｀✿)

ZORO

He’s buried deep inside of you when he cums on accident.

He can’t help it, you’re just too wet and hot for him—he underestimated how close he was to cumming.

You’re both sitting up and you’re straddling him with your legs wrapped around him. Every time he fucks up into you, his tip nudges on your g-spot.

The dirty noises you make are what really drive him crazy.

Every time you say, “fuck Zoro,” or “feels so good, Zoro” his cock twinges—he can only take so much.

One particularly deep thrust and he’s convulsing and shuddering.

He can’t even get out a warning, he just explodes inside of you with a deep groan.

“Zoro, did you just cum? What the fuck”

“’m sorry babe”

His cum is leaking out of your cunt and you’re pouting because you were really looking forward to cumming on his cock.

“I wanted it, Zoro” >:(

He pulls out of you, and you whimper at the emptiness.

“I’ll make it up to you” he purrs in your ear, and you get goosebumps.

He picks you up and puts you on your back on the bed. He scoots down between your thighs and starts to fuck his cum back into you with his fingers.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

“Do you like it when I finger fuck you? You like how my fingers feel inside of you?”

You quickly become a fucked-out mess. He knows how to use his hands, that’s for sure.

He admires the cum seeping out of your entrance that he shoves back in with his fingers—it adds so much lubrication, and the idea that your wetness and his cum combined are being stuffed back inside of you gets him hard (again).

“Cum on my fingers, baby, juuusttt like that.”

SANJI

You’re riding him cowgirl-style when he cums inside you too early.

His hands are on your hips and he’s looking up at you, mesmerized by the way you roll your hips on his cock and by the way your tits bounce as you grind back and forth.

He’s lost in pleasure. Heat builds inside of him and every time you moan his name so sweetly, he gets closer to letting go.

Unexpectedly, his orgasm crashes on him like some huge wave, white-hot and crushing.

He bucks his cock up into you and his grip tightens on your hips, holding you in place.

He can feel your walls pulse around him, and you try to keep fucking him, not realizing what just happened—you’re confused at the fact that he’s making you stay still.

When you inspect his face further, he’s making that face, the face he makes when he orgasms.

His brows are pinched together, his eyes are closed, and his mouth is open. He’s making the cutest panting sounds and lets out the occasional muted whine.

“Fuck, my love, sorry”

“Sanji, did you just cum?”

“Mmmhmmm sweetheart, my bad”

He takes a couple moments more, surrendering to the last ripples of pleasure from his orgasm

“Just give me one minute and I’ll go for round two, gorgeous.”

His eyes are glossy, his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is ruffled—he looks messy, and it emphasizes how hot he is.

You make the move to pull off his cock, but his hands hold you in place.

“Hold on, angel, I’ll be ready in just a second.”

You huff and sigh, sitting there with his cock in you. It does feel good so there’s not much to complain about. Also, his refractory period is insane; he can go round after round, and he never fails to make you orgasm multiple times.

He’s like a rabid animal for your pleasure and he’ll do anything to get more.

After a few minutes, he’s ready to go again.

“Alright darling, keep riding me. Wanna feel you cum on my cock now.”

LUFFY

Luffy is fucking your doggy style with his chest pressing on your back.

His arms are wrapped around your waist and he’s fucking you hard and fast.

You have no clue what’s going on other than that Luffy is railing you into oblivion.

He’s literally feral and could fuck you for hours (and he does)

After so much toe-curling pleasure being extracted for your core, you’re sweaty, sticky, and dripping with own arousal.

There’s a small puddle underneath where he’s fucking you—drops of your own juices that have seeped downwards.

You can hardly talk at this point, the only word you can force out is his name “Luffy.”

In an instant he cums all over your insides, painting your insides white. It’s so much cum that it oozes out of your entrance and onto the base of his cock.

He knew that he shouldn’t have, but the orgasm had hit him like a train.

“Fuckkkk” he groans and pulls out of you.

“Luffy, did you just cum?” You’re annoyed because you had been so so close to orgasming.

“Yep” He’s nonchalant about it.

He doesn’t think it was such a big deal, but he knows that he should and will make you cum. He always does, so it’s no biggie if he released too early on this one. No matter what happens you will be more than satisfied.

So, he fingers you for a while until he can go again, then he fucks you so hard you see stars.

LAW

When he’s not making sweet love to you, he has a really dirty mouth.

He lets it all out shamelessly.

“Poor little thing. You need me to fix you up?”

His voice is deep and sounds like honey, with a sprinkle of smugness

He’d like you to beg him for it, he gets off on the idea that you need his cock so much you resort to being pathetic and whining for it.

“Yeah, you want my cock that badly? You wanna cum on my cock like a good girl?”

He’d fuck you prone bone and rub your clit at the same time, and when he gets tired of that he makes you ride him reverse cowgirl.

He is an ass man, there’s no question about it.

He’d grab fistfuls of your ass as he watches himself slide in and out of you.

As you spasm around his girthy cock, he starts feeling like he’s going to lose control.

He’d groan and growl at you to keep going, “ride it just like that and don’t stop.”

He’d throw in the occasional pet name—they only make an appearance in bed.

He’d praise you and tell you that you’re “doing such a good job for me, sweetheart, pussy feels like it’s made for me.”

Out of the blue, he’s cumming. He didn’t realize that he was at that point and he’s surprised.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, fuck.”

He loves to cum in you, but he pulls out at the last second and cums on your ass.

“Lawww,” you whine. “Wanted to cum on your cock. Why’d you pull out?”

He knows that he came far too early and he’s pretty embarrassed about it, he apologizes once but won’t say more than that.

His spur of the moment thinking is that if he pulled out before you orgasmed, he can eat you out until you cum on his tongue. He’s not a huge fan of a mouthful of his own cum so he had to prevent that.

When he goes down on you, he makes a real mess until his face and your thighs are covered in your juices.

He fingers you at the same time and alternates between licking your clit and fucking you with his tongue.

And boy, does he deliver. He eats you out so well that your orgasm is better than what it would have been if you came on his cock.

Your eyes roll back in your head, and you grab and pull on his hair so hard it hurts.

“All better now?”

ACE

Ace has you in a mating press, fucking you as deep as he can.

He has one of your thighs pushed up, his fingers are digging into your supple skin.

As he grunts out sweet things, he looks so damn hot.

His muscles are rippling, his hair is really messed up, and his freckles are scrunching up.

He just won’t shut up during sex, he knows you love hearing him.

“You’re so gorgeous with my cock in you.”

“Do you like how my cock feels, pretty girl?”

“So wet for me, sweetheart”

“Your cunt is so tight for me, beautiful, you’re doing such a good job.”

“Want you to cream on my cock, baby, let it all out for me.”

Before you actually can cream on his cock, the pace of his hips becomes frenzied and haphazard.

He’s groaning suspiciously deep and desperately—you wonder, is he about to cum?

He is, in fact, about to cum.

He gets so carried away by how your walls are squeezing him and how pretty your face looks that he shoots cum inside of you unexpectedly.

His hips come to a stop and he almost collapses on top of you.

“Fuck, babe, I’m so sorry, came too early” he’s pouting, you can tell he really is sorry.

You tell him it’s ok but he knows how badly you needed it.

“Let me make it up to you” he kisses your cheeks and forehead and then pulls out of you.

He goes to grab your vibrator and comes back.

Ace spreads your legs on the bed and one of his hands comes to hold your thigh down for better access.

He turns on the vibrator’s pulse setting and holds it up to your clit, you yelp in response.

"Fuck, Ace, feels so good” you keen his name as the vibrator’s pulses send zaps of electric pleasure to your core.

He starts to finger fuck you and you get to the point of orgasm rapidly.

“You’re doing such a good job, princess, just a little bit more.”

“Cum on my fingers, darling.”

You cum and gush all over his fingers.

Afterwards he gives you kisses and promises he’ll try his best not to cum too early next time.

SABO

Okay, so I DO want to write about Sabo but I fear I don’t know his personality much since he hasn’t reappeared where I’m at in the anime—it will only be in a few episodes though, I think! So I’m going to do my best guesses based on what I know about him. From my understanding he’s a little freak of a man, and by that I mean he’s HOT and I want him to be freaky in bed… Also he seems polite. AM I tripping or does it seem like he’d be the type to do love bites during sex and have a really dirty mouth? And he could get a little possessive…

Am I just projecting? … Probably. So here’s what I came up with:

He’s fucking you in missionary when he cums too early.

He’s in the middle of saying something really nasty.

One of his hands is braced next to your head and the other reaches down to rub circles on your clit.

When your hips jerk up in response, he has a little smirk.

“Does that feel good? You like it when I touch your clit?”

Because of his position, he gets a really deep angle, fucking down and into you.

He watches your face the whole time and adjusts his movements based on how much you moan or how contorted your face is with pleasure.

“Fuccckkkkk, you’re taking it so good.”

He adjusts his strokes to be as fast as they can, and when your fingernails start digging into his skin the pain pushes him over the edge (he likes it)

When he cums too early, he’s pretty dramatic about it.

Just shoots his cum inside of you with heaving breaths and the cutest O-face.

He apologizes a lot afterwards and will do anything you ask him to, so he can make up for it.

---

Also aaaghhhhh I wanna feed the kid lovers so bad but I fear I am just not attracted to him so I shan’t write for him (well, not right now at least…)

that's all for this one!! don't be shy to send over some pseudo-kinktober requests, check my masterlist for the info or just send over whatever pops into ur head lol.

[pedgito]

𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | Logan Howlett x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | with no threshold for pain, logan finds that losing control with you is easier, triggering a thirst that is insatiable.

author's note | um.......yeah idk. i have no excuse and while i still write predominately for pedge boys i had to. i couldn't help it. am i sorry? no. is this insane? a little. special thanks to @ovaryacted, @pr0ximamidnight & @wannab-urs for being the best and reading this over

content warning | 18+ smut, written with x-men (2000)!logan in mind, mutant!reader, established relationship, hand kink (and sensitivity), pain kink, blood kink, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), exchange of bodily fluids (yes its bl*od), mentions of exhibitionism, also kinda body worship, this turned out way kinkier than it was supposed to be

word count —2.2k

Logan was never soft, but he’s learned to smooth out his sharp edges for you.

And while he was never shy, he wasn’t always open about his claws slipping out near climax when things got a little too out of control or his mind would slip, bordering into that animalistic ferocity he sometimes drifted into when he was more desperate.

Just a touch, a lick, a press of his skin against yours and he’d haul you onto whatever surface was close by and rail you into a near amnesic state of consciousness. It made you feel like you were floating, allowing his superhuman strength to lift you up and off to bed, spending most of those nights in his room rather than your own.

You weren’t a thing, it had never been established. But, Logan has grown comfortable, familiar, and he was appreciative of it, even if he didn’t show it. It came with the kisses when you slipped into his room after heavy training evenings or a night where he just needed some entertainment, something to keep him occupied. 

He liked your company even if it was never spoken aloud. 

The signs came when you would scoot away on the couch to give him space when you both would drift into meaningless conversation that would in turn mold into you, in his lap after a soft tug and a complacent smirk on his face.

You’ve grown fond of him, his wittiness and unrestrained personality that was often subdued under a dark, brooding facade, his body too—strong, chiseled arms and a well-defined chest. He was big, everywhere. All-consuming and just bordering on the edge of too much. But, it was his hands that really pulled you in.

Thumbs pressing beyond swollen lips as you run the surface of your tongue against his skin, an aid to muffle the whimpers that slip beyond your lips when you’re trying to be quiet—when Logan needs you quiet, teetering on a dangerous line of exhibitionism if you keep it up.

Or the length of his hands squeezing against your hips, pulling you back to meet his thighs as his cock spears you open, his palm often finding on your lower back as he presses you further into the mattress, ass angled up as best you could manage when he was rutting himself into you like he was in heat—gruff, wet pants of a gradually building high against your skin that drove you wild. 

His claws have slipped out a few times—your headboard remained the proof as he’d rid himself of his own long ago, deep but thick holes in the wood that you’re almost positive continued into the drywall. He’s ruined a pillow or two, but there was a surge of excitement that came along with it. 

The sound of them as they slip beyond his skin, not even the slightest grimace on his face as it happens, ultimately taken by his pleasure in overdrive, the action always registers half a second too late.

 Thankfully, you’ve come to sense it well.

You always know just where to touch—what drives him wild and extracts the feral nature in him and what softens his steely regard. Touches along his jaw pull him in, lips pressing against the spot on you mirroring your fingers on him. 

Sometimes it’s nails digging into his indestructible skin, irritated and swollen marks that would fade as quickly as they appeared, no use in drawing blood as it never spilled.

But, the soft and intriguing sounds that slip as you run your fingers along his forearm are something you take note of over time—occasionally just a tickle that he shrugs away with a soft chuckle, slipping his hand between your bodies to play with your clit, leaving him just out of reach as he circles that sensitive bundle of nerves, urging your eyes to stay on him, with him.

He’s always good at talking you through, gentle words of encouragement married with tight, guttural groans as his cock sinks into you, a hand at your thigh to keep you spread open, his gaze always wandering down to marvel at the sight of you and him and you take him so well—he’s told you a million times over by now.

Occasionally his hands will make a slow crawl to your shoulders or your neck, curling around the muscle and cradling you, like an anchor for himself. Your own fingers spread over his grip, right along the ridge of his knuckles. 

At first he tensed, his hands slipping away in a hurry to grip another part of your body, lower, deeper—disconnecting helped and even if he had learned to control the urge to a degree, there was always a chance.

Logan wasn’t oblivious to your own regenerative healing—not entirely indestructible, although the lack of pain receptors made you a viable asset for a plethora of things but being on the other end of a spar with him was still nothing to take lightly, a man of challenge himself, you weren’t leaving that fight without a couple knicks and cuts even though as soon as they appeared, they were then non-existent.

Physically, you were a challenge, nothing for people to underestimate. The perfect torture device, the ideal punching bag. You've learned to subdue the emotion and the mental toll it took, but with Logan, there was an openness to be vulnerable, knowing that you needed the pain just as much as it often displeased you.

Where Logan fears worry and shame, you find the care and curiosity in soothing the spots where his claws tear through, a gentle squeeze of your fingers in the spaces between his knuckles, a kiss to each one and down his wrist, a show of affection while your eyes never leave his own.

Sometimes you did it absently, on the couch while you both drifted to sleep after a long day or during a movie that you’ve thrown on to distract Logan from his own mind—some days he just needed you around in whatever form you had to offer.

There wasn’t a single part of him you didn’t admire and one night, like tonight, things reach culmination and Logan slips.

—

His mouth waters at the sight of you on your back, pussy on full display and your thighs spread wide under his grip as his cock sinks deep and pulls out, right to the tip before he’s drilling himself back inside of you, fingers twisting into the sheets so hard they often rip, eyes drifting close as your head keens back in overwhelming pleasure.

“Bub, eyes on me,” Logan coaxes, his fingers curling around the top of your thighs as they squeeze, keeping you apart and open, pliant under his touch, “keep ‘em on me.”

He hips still, waiting, watching—you peek your eyes open with a shy smile that is met with a smirk, his eyes brimming with warmth, nodding as you listen.

 “Right there, that’s good.”

You roll your eyes fondly, a flutter of your lashes as he pushes inside of you unexpectedly, a sharp and wild snap of his hips that pulls a surprised gasp from your chest, squeezing instinctively around him in response—again and again as your thighs press further and further in until he’s nearly at your chest, his knuckles grazing the underside of your breasts and you beg, tongue wetting your bottom lip as you speak.

“Don’t—please don’t hold back,” you plead—to some degree, he always did, shared mutant powers aside there was always a deep need in Logan’s psyche to protect and inadvertently to shield, “all of it—want all of you.”

As to seal the words with truth, your fingers slide over his hands gripped tightly at your thighs, keeping them still as your feet curl around the back of his thighs and pull him in. Deeper, tighter. Logan chuckles at the motion, almost taunting. There was a sensitivity to the spot where his claws pushed through, a warning of what was to come and like all the other softer, more receptive parts of him, the touch surges a sense of hot, angry need through his entire body.

Easy, his eyes read.

“I like it,” you admit with a gentle swirl of your hips to bring him back, followed by the slow angle and snap in response, “—lose control a little, Logan. Let it out.”

“That part of me—“ Logan begs, but there’s a quiet noise of disapproval from you, your eyes softer as you admire him.

“Is part of you,” you remind him, “and I—“ like an absolute menace, he penetrates hard, rubbing the sensitive swell of muscle inside of you that makes you dizzy, “fuck—I don’t need you to hide yourself.”

Logan goes quiet, contemplating but observant as his hands squeeze against the sound of surprise you make as he grazes your g-spot, a fist pressing against his groin that flattens out into your palm, feeling the flex of his muscles as he works himself inside of you.

“I wanna feel it, I need it to hurt,” You beg, his brows drawing in—pensive for a half-second before you can see the flip of a switch in his head, “you can lose control with me, Logan.”

He practically vibrates as the growl emits from his chest, watching his hands squeeze impossibly tighter before his claws are our, unsheathed before you and you can’t help but smile, a millimeter from splicing through skin that could never keep the memory of it and you run your finger along the base, the slight flicker of discomfort in his face that fades as you began to move against him again.

There was something about pain, that stinging feeling of a wound as the adamantium sliced through you, along the swell of your ribs and breasts, a trickle of blood falling from the cut before it disappeared—and instinctively, Logan’s hand settle away as he leans in and swipes the blood away with his tongue, eyes locked on your own and you quiver, mouth opening in a silent gasp.

He moans at the taste, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip at the action and to make matters worse, he speaks, blood on his tongue and teeth, “M��pretty sure she tastes even sweeter.”

His eyes flick toward your cunt, a whimper in protest at the loss of his cock as he slips out of you and sinks to his stomach in one fluid motion, his slick covered cock ruining your sheets as he drives his tongue inside of you, nose pressed against your clit as he satisfies the loss of him with more, claws dragging dangerously close to your hips, the tips of his claws pressing into the skin.

His tongue drags up to you clit, lapping up the mix of sweet slick and his own, your hands pressing over top of his to force the sharp edge deeper, slicing through your skin until you feel yourself on the verge of passing out, a small pool of blood gathering at your pelvis.

Your own fingers drag through the thick crimson, spreading it over his waiting mouth as he grins, a perfect picture of greed and pleasure as he dives back into your cunt, a hurried and overwhelming pace against your clit driving you over the edge within seconds, your orgasm crashing toward you far faster than you’re expecting as you cry out, hips lifting from the bed but not without a fight, Logan’s grip pressing you down into mattress to clean you up.

All of you.

He rises with a grin, brutish but charming as he kisses you, tasting yourself on him as your own blood smears your lips, giggling softly into his mouth.

“Inside,” Logan already knows, fist curling around his cock as he slips back inside of you, “—oh fuck, Lo—“

“Greedy girl,” He admonishes amorously and returns his hurried pace, claws sinking into your pillows and mattress, a sorry that would come later for the action but you needed him now, “gonna let me fill you full, huh?”

You nod jerkily, forehead pressed tight against his own as he huffs into your open mouth, a mingling of sacred noises between each other as his hips falter, a broken gasp falling from his lips as he snaps his hips once before he’s buried to the hilt, coming deep inside you cunt.

His claws retract synonymous with his climax as he settles against his now bare fists before he’s falling onto his back with a huff, looking like a fucked-out mess with his hair even more askew than it always it, blood drying at the corner of his mouth as you roll onto your stomach and grab for his hand, pressing a kiss to each knuckle with a soft smile, figuring you must be quiet the sight yourself.

“You have to stop worrying, Logan,” you remind him gently, dropping his hand to move closer, his arm extending and pressing against your back as you curl into him, your fingers tracing along his jaw as you speak to him, “that you’re going to scare me away.”

“You still have time to run,” He jokes lightly, but there’s a tinge of sadness to his tone and you shake your head with a quickly developing smirk.

“Only if you’re chasing after me,” You challenge, leaning forward to nip at his jaw, surprised when he returns the action as he buries his pith against your throat, rolling you onto your back with a laugh that bursts from your chest.

“That can be arranged, bub,” He promises, nosing himself into the sensitive spot behind your ear, “I’d sniff you out in seconds, anyways.”

-

divider creds: @saradika-graphics

[a-ikuoliver]

god is a bit of a freak, why's he watching me getting railed on the couch, staying pure for a wedding, he's got fucked up priorities — aka an ancient, obsolete god of fertility hears your prayer

pairing: fertility god!katsuki bakugou x fem!reader w/c: 2.8k warning/s: voyeurism, oral (f!receiving), references to sex rituals and safe sex lmao, i think that's everything, mostly lead up notes: sorry i wrote this fucked up from a cold lmao i hope u all enjoy either way! inspo/acknowledgements: god is a freak by peach prcty @kweenkatsuki-fics @aquadenks @peachsukii @rabbbitseason for ur interest teehee

crossposted to ao3 • masterlist • wip updates & voting • kofi • askbox

the ancient tongue was dead, dying a slow death as all languages did, evolving again and again with every civilisation that rose and fell, until it faded into obscurity. with the death of their language, their communication with their believers, the gods faded, too, their followers dwindling more and more as their names were buried along with the civilisations they led. once adored, worshipped, feared, now, their names only existed on scrolls, yellowed and deteriorated beneath layers of mortal history, unspoken in aeons.

katsuki kicked the door shut behind him, the bag of produce in his hand swinging back and forth with the movement. there was once a time where he was lavished with offerings of food he now had to purchase; countless altars he tended to piled with vegetables, wines, fire, soil, blood, accompanied with prayers to answer. he'd all but assimilated into living as a mortal; cooking (he was grateful, at least, for electric stoves, cooking lerthargically over a fire not quite how he wanted to spend eternity), showering, learning, exploring and working alongside the humans that once lived in his shadow.

he was one of the first to deflect from utopia, to abandon his temple, to give up on the belief that the gods, their language could return to how it was, and with it their followers. katsuki had simply grown bored of waiting alone in the stone temple, of wandering the perimeter hoping to find a lost mortal he could grant a miracle to, to find a mortal to bring meaning to godhood again. after all, what was a god without his believers?

he hadn't given up his blessings or miracles, albeit on a smaller scale than he once had, he still granted wishes as he had in utopia's heyday, the offerings he received now smiles across counters as people passed along paperwork, hoping to be one of the lucky ones, praying over pregnancy tests in bathrooms instead of in his altar. he gave up godhood, but he refused to give up his miracles, even if the mortals didn't know he was responsible.

the pot was finally at a rolling boil, his knife poised above the produce when he felt it, the sensation freezing his blood in his veins, the pull of a prayer in his veins, an echoing whisper of his name lighting his nerves alight. the god freezes, blond hair slipping into his eyes as his ears burnt, twitching at every noise, waiting to hear the sweet sound of the prayer once more.

"bakugou."

his face falls from shock to a scowl almost immediately, his pupils dilating, his skin itchy from adrenaline, his stomach twisting. it couldn't really be his name. this couldn't be a prayer. not after all this time.

the obsolete incantation runs off your tongue seamlessly; almost melodic, light as you cite the prayer carved into the stone at the base of his statue, your dialect nothing like what the prayer used to sound like, but the more you read, the harder he finds it to hate. your voice clouds his head, every word past your lips making the fog denser behind his eyes. there was a dull pain alongside it, an ache that pulsed with your every breath, the pain of a prayer.

the call of the prayer felt… foreign after so long (a millennium he thinks? maybe more, maybe less, years, decades, centuries and millenniums all blurred into one for immortals), katsuki was accustomed to the silence every god feared, the silence of being abandoned by your believers, of dwindling power and control. even with how it was feared, this almost felt worse; a single prayer cornering him in the kitchen after an aeon alone, a single spotlight in the darkness worse than the endless pitch black.

"told you it was bull." barefoot, he paces back and forth in the apartment, shifting uncomfortably as you traced a fingertip over the carved inscription, the touch feeling as if it was on the very nerves of his scalp, down the curve of his spine, catching on every bump of his vertebra. crimson eyes droop, a thick hand rubbing at the bridge of his nose, an attempt to soothe the pain of your voice bouncing around his head, the sensation of your touch on his effigy.

"hey, stop that," your giggle almost has his feet sliding against the tile, nearly tumbling backward as he stops in his tracks; his muscles straining to follow the magnetism of your voice, the melody of your intoxicating laugh while he rationalises your existence at all.

"is that why you brought me here, huh? you think being in some ancient sex temple means you'll get some?"

perks of being a god: immortality, immeasurable strength and influence, impenetrable skin (with maybe a couple flaws). downsides of godhood? the power of their followers over them.

it was… overwhelming, the itch beneath a gods skin when a devout believer called their name, the weight of a prayer, the unshakable desire to follow the call. thankfully, the perks also included the facilities to do so; something akin to teleportation, the voice like a blinding beacon in the night, guiding the god.

once upon a time, civilisations ago, it was a lot, too much, the night always lit like it was daylight with the light his followers cast out. his temple existed for this very reason, devout believers building the god a home, a sanctuary for the light of his followers, complete with the marble sculpture of the built god. then, it was at the centre of the village he ruled over, now, you and your lover had hiked up a mountain, and back down into the valley to find it, the stone weathered and covered in vegetation, it was a miracle you'd been able to work your way inside.

dragging his finger over cold stone, every ridge and bump as it once was, katsuki reminisced about a time before the silence, before the darkness, a time when people lined outside his temple with dreams of a child. years ago, women came alone to his temple, clad in robes they'd weaved specially for the fertility ritual (sometimes gifted at their weddings), kneeling in the altar to offer anything they had in exchange for their heir; piles of gold from queens who begged for a prince, beloved and wise to rule their kingdoms peacefully, warriors armed with iron to wish for a knight, strategic and strong enough to return home from battle again and again, farmers gripping their herbs with soil-stained hands, praying for a child born with kindness and thumbs so green the village would survive the winters once more, a marble statue of the god, towering at over 9 feet tall from a sculptor wishing for a child with as much passion for the arts as their parents.

visitors now were only accidental, stumbling upon the temple in the darkness of the valley, seeking shelter, safety, protection. never a prayer tumbling from their lips for an heir (he answered their prayers nonetheless, never allowing harm to befall anyone on his blessed grounds).

peeking from behind a pillar overtaken by the vegetation, he finally spotted you.

you sucked the breath from his lungs, walking further into the temple, a cute, mischievous grin tugging on the corners of your soft lips, chasing your lover with your eyes as he spoke, "you don't think it's romantic? fucking in an ancient sex gods temple?"

"he was the god of fertility, not sex." you step onto the age worn sigil by the base of the imposing statue, brushing layers of grey dust away.

you look so similar to the countless women before who laid on his mark, the way you studied the carved sigil carefully, curiosity and stars sparkling in your eyes, a heat burning beneath your skin, adrenaline spiking in your veins. eras ago, women were bare on the sigil, stone icy against their skin as they drew runes, marking their skin with blood, dirt or ink, in the language native to the gods.

"what's the difference?" their voice was low, lips brushing beneath your jaw, biting at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, nimble fingers sliding beneath your shirt to tug it higher, higher, on your torso, tugging the material over your head with a flick of his wrist.

the god was no stranger to topless women, probably seeing hundreds and thousands of them in his prime, but the way the man in front of you toyed with the fat on your chest nearly making his eyes meet the inside of his skull. your allure was impossible to resist when your boyfriend rolls your nipples between his forefingers and thumbs, tugging on the sensitive skin to pull a delicious whine from your throat.

the silence had made him soft.

"i've been waiting all day for this," katsuki's blood rushes in his ears when you both fall to the floor, limbs already beginning to tangle together, bodies becoming one at the mouth, at the hips, at the chest. your sweet sounds echo in the temple, increasingly breathless the longer you kissed and nipped and sucked and bit at your boyfriend.

the ancient tongue was dead, katsuki knew that, knew you had no way to know what you'd read, like some naive final girl in a cliche horror film, that the very god you were laid at the base of was real, that he could see and hear you, that his cock throbbed watching you. you had no way of knowing what you'd started. carmine eyes study the beat of your heart in your chest, the way your tits look when your breathing quickens, how irresistible you look when deft fingers trace the seam of your panties.

katsuki prays himself for the first time in his long life that he's the only god to see you right now, to watch your face change the lower your boyfriend travels, dragging his tongue over your skin as he goes (katsuki's thankful for every time the mortal man bites at your skin, for the yelp it elicits anytime his canines sink into your flesh). his fingertips twitch at his sides, itching to finalise the ritual you'd started with the single murmur of his name, the first syllable of a language foreign on your tongue but you'd recited it so naturally.

you exclaim your lovers name with another sweet giggle, his hands now gripping your ass, tugging your obstructive underwear down your pillowy thighs, tossing it as far as he can the moment the garment is free from your ankles.

the god's ears scald at the way you sound when the brunet's tongue flicks against your skin, sucking at your pussy just to draw increasingly needier sounds from your pretty mouth. he's not even watching you and he already knows your hips are jumping from the stone floor, grinding onto your lovers mouth and nose to work yourself closer to an orgasm. your moans echo in the stone temple, bouncing in every corner before travelling back to his ears, tempting his attention to you.

he stays steady, sharp carmine eyes narrowing on the altar.

more specifically, the lump of material atop the bench.

your underwear is draped across like an offering of its own to him, far more lewd than gold, iron and herbs, but it made his core ache when the moonlight caught in the centre of the fabric, a small damp spot glistening in the light.

fuck, it hurts, every nerve aching, screaming to finally put an end his celibacy, unbroken for far too long. he hadn't felt a need for a mortal like this since the beginning of his existence, the pure want filling his head with fog. this is a duty, this power he has, it is what he was made for, there was never this heavy, dense fog filling his head before, no follower making his blood burn like you were. and you didn't even know what you'd done.

bakugou's gaze is finally drawn back to you, your spine arching away from the stone, fingers tangling at the base of your boyfriends skull, tugging the hair harshly as you chanted his name, your hips stuttering, grinding messily back and forth on his face, until you stopped. you were still wound tight, your thighs clamped tight around his ears while you recovered, a dopey, lovesick smile planted firm on your cheeks.

your squeal makes his dick twitch, one last flick of his tongue over your overstimulated clit, blond eyebrows furrowing so hard at the centre it makes his head pound, you were making his head hurt. a desperation to finish the ritual filled his lungs, every breath a reminder of his name on your lips, of your panties across the altar, of your naked body atop his mark.

he needed this, needed to bury his cock in a pretty cunt, to fill you until you were a babbling mess, needed you.

sitting back on his knees, your lover wiped your creamy cum from his chin with the back of his hand, spreading it from his face to his fingers, hardly doing anything to clean the mess you'd made of his mouth.

your boyfriend finally moves out of the way, giving katsuki the front row seat he deserves, your thighs shining with slick the masterpiece he'd come to see. unblinking, he thinks he's squeezing his cock through his pants, he's not sure, too hypnotised by the way your hips still twitched, chasing your boyfriends warmth. onyx and ruby eyes alike study your face, glued to the way your eyes roll into your skull when his fingers, still wet with your cum, trace your clit once more, teasing the entrance of your pussy before circling your sensitive nerves once more.

katsuki knows he's stroking his cock now, frantically tugging at the zipper still preventing him from relief, his fist moving at the same pace you grind your hips down to your lovers hand, sucking his fingers into you, squeezing your cunt around them until your thighs shook. his hips rock into his hands when your tongue lolls from your mouth, your moans getting faster and faster once more.

he has to bite his lip to stifle a groan of his own, his fist pumping faster and faster again, squeezing the base of his cock when you press a kiss as soft as silk to his lips, looping your hips around his, tugging him closer when you came again.

"fuck, baby, next time you cum, it's with my cock inside you." dark hair shields your face from katsuki's vision momentarily, your boyfriend leaning over you, searching his discarded coat for something, tugging it closer and pulling each pocket inside out.

your thighs slip from his hips as he moves, wincing as your thighs made contact with the icy stone instead of his warm skin.

"shit, i think i left the condoms in the backpack," sliding the empty jacket over your chest, you tuck it beneath your arms, clutching it close to you with one hand, the other waving your boyfriend off as he ventured back toward the entrance of the temple, your gaze lingering on his ass until he was out of sight.

another perk of godhood: the blessed ground was subject to the chosen gods whims. some gods had their temples in the centre of labyrinthian mazes, others had their temples impossible to find, buried beneath the earth or deep in the ocean, hidden between mountains, camouflaged in vegetation, some invisible until the winter solstice, or until the new moon. katsuki never quite cared for that, leaving his temple as his followers built it for him, not implementing challenges for believers to prove their dedication like others had, only protecting his hallowed ground. until now.

stone scrapes against stone harshly, the coarse sound painfully invading your ears as the temple entrance seals. you drop the jacket into your lap, rushing to shield your ears from the sound with your palms pressed hard to your ears, searching around the room for your boyfriend, for his protection, katsuki supposes, like a mortal man could save you from the god you summoned, from what you started.

stepping out from the dark corner, his figure casts a sharp, long shadow as he stands to his full height in front of the statue. like this, you look identical to the women he used to bestow his miracles on; splayed on his sigil, staring up at him with dewy eyes (your blown pupils imperceptibly widening when your gaze rakes over his large form, taking everything in; blond mess of hair, darting crimson eyes, ruffled shirt as he rushed to hold it in his mouth watching you get your cunt eaten, his still-unzipped pants and finally the impressive bulge of his cock), your lips parting when he finally relaxes his shoulders, now standing easily at the shoulder of his statue.

"you-re—" your eyes dart between the imposing statue and his steely face, your voice airy, wobbling slightly as you continued, "you're real?"

© all works belong to @a-ikuoliver, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost, feed my works into ai or recommend my work on other platforms, or bind my fanworks for sale.

[queers-gambit]

Perpetual L's and Overwhelming Dubs

prompt: slutty stranger bathroom sex on a train.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 3.7k+

note: are all our safe words pineapple? i need this man to rail me, you know, for science. yep, that's right, Cherry has a new fixation! aren't y'all so lucky?

warnings: author has brain rot, smut (public, strangers, unprotected), obviously cursing, PWP.

Japan was bright, you decided with a soft smile on your lips; looking around the train station glowing in neon lights; some blinking, some colored, all fluorescent. People milled around every inch of the place, all walks of life from school children to professionals with briefcases, talking on the phone, running to make their departure. Couples held hands, families took meals together, and a few meters away, a little girl screamed when her brother stole her Momonga plushie.

You must've been enraptured with all around you that your shoulder bullied into someone else's on the platform, making you gasp an instant apology in Japanese. However, the man you had collided with just offered you a stoic look up and down, letting his lips pull in a half-smirk, checking in English with a thick accent, "My apologies, love. You all right there?"

"Yeah, I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," you bid with a small smile.

"'S all right, pretty ladies like you can run into me all day," he smirked, eyeing you up and down before following after his snazzy-dressed companion - who slapped his chest forcefully.

"Leave the girl alone, mate," the man reprimanded. "Sorry, miss, he gets it in his head he's God's gift to ladies."

"It's really okay, it was my fault for not watching where I was going," you assured the men, glancing at your watch. "I'm so sorry, but I really can't miss this train. Safe travels, gents!" You bid, offering a simple wave, then scurried off - trying not to double back for the man with a mustache.

God, was that man handsome! Like, illegally handsome. Hauntingly handsome.

You'd even go as far as to say he was devilishly handsome! Those eyes? Beautifully clear blue, alluring, drew you in and held you captive. His cologne? Absolutely heavenly, borderline intoxicating. And he was built like a fucking mountain - tall, broad, slender hips, bulging muscles that looked as if they would rip his button-up.

Shaking your head, you rid yourself of the body-heating thoughts about the stranger you had just barreled into. Being horny got you nowhere, but being perpetually horny... Was the biggest fucking L. Sure, you could rub one out; you knew where the clit was and how to stimulate to your own pleasure (unlike most men). But it was something about a man sweating over you, thrusting into you with abandon; creating a mess in your guts, mind, and chest.

Yeah... You needed to get laid, you were fucking drooling over some stranger you had a 23-second interaction with.

However, upon entering your train and locating a seat in the hopefully peaceful quiet car, you mindlessly downloaded Tinder to pursue at your leisure, but only a few swipes in and you were exiting the app and deleting it (again) from your phone. The train was ready to depart the station, you cracking a bottle of water, looking back on your two-week Japanese excursion your job had sent you on.

And now, you were finally heading to your last stretch of meetings, requiring you to purchase an overnight ticket on one of the available bullet trains. Seemed the fastest, simplest, and most affordable way to travel - skipping out on upgrading to first class. Economy was just fine, you decided, perhaps doubting yourself when your eyes widened when you caught sight of the two strangers you ran into on the platform finding their seats a few rows up. There was a third man with them now that was left slumped in a spare chair - probably drunk off his arse, based on the man's grungy, disheveled look.

You tried not to thinking about the handsome stranger, but he was just a few rows up from you! God, you could practically smell his cologne from here, letting your mouth water slightly.

Yeah, perpetually horny was the biggest L - like you said.

Your thighs squeezed together as you crossed them, hoping the pressure was enough to relieve the build-up of warmth in your belly and cunt. Your headphones were placed, your attention diverting out the window, and tried to imagine if nobody else was in this fucking carriage - he could take you here and now.

After a few stops, your empty water bottle sought revenge against your bladder and ushered you to the closest bathroom. It wasn't as tight a squeeze as airplane bathrooms, but it was still a small facility to use. When done, you washed your hands as a knock sounded at the door, calling in Japanese, "Just a second!"

After unlocking the door and opening it, you actually flinched back slightly when the man from early with the '70s pornstache was stood directly in front of you.

"Well, don't you look like hell," you mused slightly.

"All in a day's work, love," he answered, stepping out of your way to let you exit the bathroom. He looked you up and down, asking, "So, uh, where you headed?"

You told him your stop, asking him the same. He told you, your mind doing mental gymnastics to understand that you both had a good bit left on this train... Surely, anything could happen.

"I'll let you, yeah," you half-smiled awkwardly, moving out of his way fully to give him access to the restroom.

"You know..." He trailed, pointing at the empty lavatory, "Could fit two."

You chuckled, "Yes, but I'm finished now - you go on."

He hummed, glancing up and down the train car - spying through the windows of the conjoining connection each car had. When he faced you again, he took a slow, calculating step forward, "That's not exactly what I meant, sweetheart."

You feet took a slow, calculated step back to find the wall, his smirk broadening. "Then how about using your words like a big boy and tell me what you meant?"

"You look like a smart girl, sure you can figure it out, yeah?" He leered over you, either foot standing between yours, nearly pressed into you but far back enough that he could maintain eye contact.

You pouted at him, "I don't read minds."

"Not sure it's me mind yah gotta read," he perked a single brow, glancing out the window again. "Now, I'd love t'stand here and ravish you the way I've wanted since you bumped into me earlier, but maybe exhibition isn't your thing."

"Judging me now?"

Now, both his brows slowly rose. His teeth poked out from between his smirking lips, praising, "Naughty girl."

"Maybe you're the one a bit nervous, hmm?" You quipped, boldly reaching forward to palm his cock - already half-hard. "What's wrong, mister? Don't want people seeing you so, hm, submissive?" You gave a cheeky flex of your hand, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"You fuckin' minx," he chuckled, hands to your waist now. "Get in that fuckin' bathroom or I might just have to give this whole fuckin' train a show."

"Better start charging them all," you whispered, hearing his growl before pushing his chest back to give you a little space. "You do this often, then? Proposition strangers into dirty bathroom sex on public, moving trains? Hmm? In a foreign country? Seems terribly disrespectful, don't it?"

"Sweetheart, the thoughts in my head about what I want to do to this body - those are disrespectful," he smirked. "Wanna tell me I'm not truly tempting you? You would've left by now," he pointed out, making your chest feel warm from the embarrassment you felt suddenly. You smirked and twiddled your fingers at him in parting, turned, and just before you could step away, you felt his arms lock around your waist. "C'mon, darlin', don't be like that," he hissed in your ear, your visible smirk spurring him on. "Not about t'beg yah, princess, get this pretty li'l arse in this stall."

You folded.

Being perpetually horny was an L, sure, but being propositioned by a handsome, hulking, muscly stranger was for sure a Dub, right?

You turned in his arms, lips only centimeters apart; breathing the same air, hand on his chest to ease him back into the bathroom stall. He grinned in triumph, and the moment you were over the threshold, still maintaining eye contact, he reached around you to click the lock in place.

"C'mere," he growled, surging forward to bring his lips down to yours finally - and just like that, your panties were done for. You moaned instantly, feeling something akin to relief when his lips molded against yours; all but immediately sweeping his tongue against the seam of your mouth.

Letting him in was mind boggling; literally making static fill your brain as your hand lifted to hold the back of his neck, threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. His mustache was stiff, wriggling in an irritating fashion against your upper lip and nose, but you didn't notice - too engulfed in the way he domineered every rational thought. His hands both pressed tightly to your ribs, then waist, down your hips, around to your arse - like he couldn't make up his mind where he wanted to touch you. So, he chose to touch you everywhere.

He was intoxicating; feeling drunk on his taste, smell, touch. He was warm, his curls a bit greasy but still shocking soft, and his lips - plush, welcoming, anchoring. You didn't even know his name, but you didn't need to! All you needed was exactly what he was doing: holding complete control over your heart, mind, and cunt.

Your stranger pulled back suddenly, offering a skeptical look, "There's no boyfriend, fiancé, husband I'm gonna have to look over my shoulder for, right?"

"Not since about 6 months ago, no. Do I need to ask you the same?"

"'Course not," he mused with a grin, kissing you again - but just a degree softer. Now, both his hands rose to caress either cheek; his tongue wagging against yours in more controlled caresses. One hand dropped slowly to hold your neck, pulse quickening, and your stranger smirked, muttering against your lips, "Cheeky girl."

You pushed him back half a step, offering him a once over before confidently reaching down for the end of your shirt and pulling it off over your head. Your companions mouth fell open when you revealed yourself to him, smirking as you opened your jeans to show a hint of the lace panties you wore. You told him your name, earning a confused hum. "My name," you explained, "figured you need to know what to moan." His tongue swept over his lips. "Gonna just stand there?"

He chuckled, checking his watch, then started unbuttoning his waistcoat. "Tangerine," he spoke simply.

"That your safe word?" You asked, shucking your jean clean off after toeing out of your shoes. "Hm, mine's pineapple."

"'S my name, love," he chuckled, opening his button up to reveal exactly what you thought - plains of smooth skin over rigid, bulging muscles. "So you know what to scream," he smirked.

You paused, stood in your panties, bra, and socks, asking through a small chuckle, "You're telling me, your mother carried you all those months in her belly, pushed you screaming - bloodied - into the world, looked at yah, and said, 'yeah, he looks like his name should be Tangerine'?"

He peeled his top half naked, your throat swelling close; swallowing harshly to clear your mouth of the overflow of salvia. Slowly, he moved closer to you, once again leering over you. He reached out for your neck, not too tight or aggressive, but forceful enough to tilt your head back. "'S a codename, love," he explained.

"Ah, so can't reveal the government."

"Exactly."

"The fuck kinda job you got that requires codenames?"

"The dangerous kind," he smirked, "wanna keep running your mouth or put it to other use?"

You chuckled and reached for his trousers, holding his eyes with yours as you easily unfastened him and hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and suit pants. His mouth parted slightly when the cooler air hit his exposed cock, asking, "Safe word?"

He snickered, "Pineapple's fine, love," he sounded far too amused, watching you get on your knees in front of him, "but I doubt we'll need - Oh, holy, fuckin' good God," he seethed through clenched teeth when you eagerly took him in your mouth.

He was bigger than what you were used to - like a full double the size your previous partners had been. He was longer, thicker, and Goddamn, was he sweltering in your mouth. You wondered how long it had been for him, feeling your panties dampen as you felt exhilarated to show this man with a "dangerous job" exactly what your mouth could do - and why he'd never forget your name.

"Oh, there's a good fuckin' girl," he groaned, collecting whatever hair he could in a makeshift ponytail; looking down his nose to watch you. His cock was overwhelming, but you were determined to earn the pleasure he would surely bring; mouthing around his cockhead, using one hand to pump what didn't fit, the other alternating between holding his hairy thigh for balance and cradling his balls.

A few times, you held his eyes with yours as you removed his cock with a pop; licking his shaft up and down like it was a popsicle on the Fourth of July. His jaw would clench each time, sputtering his breath. His veins were pulsing, prominent under the skin; making your cunt contract as his throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly, groaning.

"Li'l too good at this, baby, Goddamn," he breathed, chuckling to himself as he retracted his hips while holding your jaw. "All right, all right," he chuckled, "made your point, love. Get up here 'fore I lose my bloody mind."

You pouted, "I quiet like it down here."

"Darlin', I'm about to bust - "

"Isn't that the point?"

He chuckled and reached down to help you up, instantly searing you in a wet, messy kiss as he backed you into the sink counter; tasting himself on your tongue. It was erotic, something you were vastly not used to - no man ever being okay with you kissing them after having their dicks in your mouth.

But no, this Tangerine fellow was obviously built different.

One hand anchored your waist, the other dropping to toy with your panties gently; petting the waistband before sinking his hand lower. You shuddered lightly when his finger swept through your wet folds, both groaning in pleasure when he sunk knuckle-deep. "Feels so good, love," he praised, your legs widening your stance to let him better access; hand fully disappeared into your panties. "So fuckin' warm, yeah," he breathed, increasing his speed so he pumped aggressively. He didn't need a second finger, he was chasing your orgasm - purely focused on the way you withered before him.

"Tan," you whimpered, gripping his assaulting arm as he found your g-spot and chuckled darkly.

"Got it, there, did I? Yeah, let's see what you've got, love, c'mon."

You whined in your throat, leaning into his chest as your legs began to quake. You didn't get a chance to warn him, feeling that overwhelming urge to urinate - gasping loudly and needing him to support your body as his finger jabbed your g-spot to the point you were gushing into his hand.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he encouraged, stimulating you further; loving the feeling of your squirt in his cupped hand, "keep goin', good girl, that's it, yeah? I got yah, good girl, there you go."

You grunted when he slowed his hand to the point the heel of his palm ground into your clit. Feeling overstimulated, your hand slapped to his meaty forearm, meeting his eyes with a glare, begging, "Okay, okay, okay, you made your fuckin' point."

He grinned, "Didn't know I had that affect on you, love. Huh?"

"You could've offered to fuck me when I ran into you earlier and I would've bent over - right there and then," you whispered against his lips, licking into his mouth right after; making his own mind go blank.

"Feelin's mutual, doll," he nodded, using both hands to shred your lace panties from your hips with a shrill gasp. "Keepsake," he teased, showing you the ruined fabric before dropping it.

You offered him a coy look before turning around for him, not needing the instruction; meeting his stare in the mirror. Bracing yourself against the sink, you slumped over it, making him groan.

"Fuck, doll," he whispered, admiring the view and smoothing a hand over one bare cheek. "Just look at yah, ready fa' me, just drippin'," he bit his lip, giving a few pumps to his length as he looked you over; other hand toying with your weeping hole. He growled and slid his cockhead up and down your slit, both shuddering lightly; moaning in union when he notched himself at your entrance. His eyes met yours in the mirror, his mouth parted, slowly sinking forward to the fucking hilt - making you feel impossibly full.

"Oh, Jesus fuck!"

He chuckled, shifting his hips, "Keep it down, love, don't need anyone bangin' on the door, interrupting us, huh?"

"I'll be quiet when you get a smaller dick."

This made Tangerine genuinely snicker, "Fair enough."

"Fuck's sake!" You yelped when he suddenly pulled back, surged in, and started his own rhythm. Through the mirror, you saw the concentrated, cocky expression he wore; looking purely focused, mesmerized by the way his cock would disappear within you, only to reappeared - soaking wet, glistening.

"Feel's divine," he hissed, the grip on your hips sure to leave bruises. "God, this pussy's made fa me - grippin' s'fuckin' tight. Who was the idiot who let this go, huh?"

"Really wanna talk about my ex now?" You panted.

"Nah, don't need to - 's mine now," he grit, one hand letting go of your hips to bring down on the meat of your bottom. "Hear me? Huh? Fuckin' mine now," he pommeled your arse a couple more times. "Like that, huh? Don't you? Feel you fuckin' squeezin' me each time."

"Yes," you moaned. "Fuck, yes, yes, God, you feel fucking amazing."

"Keep talkin'," another slap that made you squeak.

You were nervous 'cause you never considered yourself the best at dirty talk, but still tried, "So fuckin' good, makin' me so wet. Fuck - never had cock like this, so good - so deep, so big. Don't stop," you whimpered, his feet repositioning to allow himself a new angle and speed to drill into you. "Fuck, yes," you moaned loudly, encouraging, "harder, please, yes, yes, yes! Just like that!"

The motions cause ripples across the flesh of your bottom, thighs quaking. You pushed your hand down your front, your partner groaning at the sight as you found your clit and started massaging; the contractions squeezing Tangerine's cock tightly. His one hand traveled around the front of you, sliding up to yank your bra from your breasts; palming one with fever before tweaking your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Fuuuuck, Tan," you whined, moaning. "Don't stop, please, 's too fuckin' good!"

"I've got yah, darlin', almost there," he grunted, folded a little more over your back so he could fondle you roughly. "Naughty fuckin' girl, lettin' me bend yah over like this - don't even know me. Just knew you needed my cock, huh, love? Ain't that right?"

"Yes," you moaned, orgasm fast approaching.

"Probably let me do whatever I wanted t'you, huh?"

"Fuck yes, whatever you wanted, however you wanted me!"

"At's a good girl," he grit. "Takin' me so well, so fucking good. Need this pussy again, hear me? Fuck," he panted, increasing his speed to an erratic pace, "need a taste, need yah t'squirt on me again. Need this pussy in all positions." He bared his teeth, increasing his speed, hissing, "Lemme hear you scream, love. Wanna hear my name. from that pretty fuckin' mouth, c'mon."

"T-Tan, fuck, Tangerine, I-I'm right there, I'm so close - OH FUCK!" Your orgasm made you reel back into his chest, milking yourself on his impaling cock. You gasped, mouth left wide as his hand constricted around your throat, his mouth hot against your ear; biting and licking as he grunted forcefully.

He gasped in your ear, moaning your name on a short repeat, shuddering as he stilled himself; coating your wet interior with his thick ropes of hot, heavy cum. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back to his shoulder; his lips actually soft as he planted several kisses along your neck (that he released) and shoulder. "Holy fuck, doll," he whispered, chuckling in disbelief. "'S a li'l too good."

You smirked, "Yeah, I've heard that before, you're not the first t'tell me."

"Ah, way t'ruin it, doll," he joked, making you chuckle breathlessly. "All right?"

"Mhm," you sighed, eyes opening. "You?"

"Never better," he mused softly, sighing as you both tried to regain your breath. He let out a single grunt as he held your hips, pulling his cock free; releasing a gush of cum from you both to drip from your cunt. As you both redressed, he eyed you for a moment, then mentioned, "Listen, love, uh... Don't miss your stop."

"I wasn't planning on it?"

"Good... Just..." He sighed, closing up his shirt. "Make sure you get off this train."

You stared at him for a moment, pondering, "This have something t'do with that 'dangerous job' of yours?"

"A bit."

You hummed, zipping your jeans back up sans panties. "Why don't you get off, too?" You asked softly.

"Can't, darlin', got a job t'finish."

You nodded, "Then be careful, yeah?"

He nodded in return, reaching out to pull you in close. He took a second to look you over, smirking slightly, "Worried about me, are yah?"

"I don't even know you."

"We'll change that," he eased. "Your phone?" You offered a small look before sighing, reaching for your phone, unlocking it, and offering it to him. He typed for a moment, a distant buzz heard from his own phone, then handed it back to you. "I'll call you up sometime, love," he smirked, watching you reach back to unlock the door.

"You better," you mused, letting him press one more searing kiss to your lips. You hummed, pouting slightly and telling him, "Behave, or we'll go at round two."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, darlin'," he pocketed your shredded panties with a cheeky grin.

"You still owe me for those," you pointed.

"Send a bill, I'll make it up t'yah."

You smirked, "No bill, but I'd take dinner."

To your honest shock, a sort of... Contemplating, soft expression took over his face, nodding, promising quietly, "I'll call yah, darlin'. Just make sure you answer."

[ part two: Shower Shenanigans ]

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[scottmcstark]

George is essentially Tony in WaW