#the file name for this one is Sticky fucks

[your-fave-is-silly-and-goofy]

Blue and Yellow from Animation vs Minecraft are some of my favorite silly goobers :3 (all the characters are very silly goofy though!)

Yellow and Blue from Animation vs Minecraft are silly and goofy!

[alnilaem]

you buy a second-hand laptop from a dodgy craigslist user only to make a carnal discovery hidden between the files.

cw for anal sex, face fucking, pet play, choking, masturbation, noncon filmed sex, overall dubcon, reader is fujoing out

ghoap (x reader)

-

You saw it in a flitting advertisement. Used Acer Aspire V5, female buyers only, and didn’t hesitate to contact the poster.

Ghost was his screen name. Macabre, but not something to dwell on because he’s selling the only affordable hand-me-down you can find. He insisted on meeting at a hole-in-the-wall pub, beneath a metal sheet awning. There’s a cigarette pinched between his lips as you approach, an overripe mask rolled over his broken nose.

“You’re our bird?” He asks in a Manchester hint, exhaling a plume of off-white smoke.

You stifle over that operative word—our—but push through it and meekly nod, preening at his feet.

Beneath the predatory glint of his eyes, you realize you’ve gravely miscalculated the calibre of this situation. Meeting a complete stranger in a gritty alleyway and waiting to pick up his scrap-metal laptop, all because it satisfies your budget.

“Yeah…” you mumble. Try to make yourself invisible even though it’s redundant—he already towers over you, his shadow eclipsing your body, his heat drinking you in.

“‘ere it is,” he grunts. “You’ve got our cash?”

You hand him the crumpled wad of paper, squirming as he passes his thumb over his tongue and folds through the money, counting it with a mean curl of his lips.

“That’s– is everything alright?”

He stuffs the money into his jacket and expells a deep prusten sound, like an idle predator. “Fine. Pleasure doin’ business with you, bird.”

Ghost turns on his mud-clogged boot and strays off, letting the shadows swallow him whole. You hold the bulky laptop to your chest and wield it like a weapon on your way home, finally settling into bed, ready to examine your new purchase.

The hinges creak as you pull it open. A grimace splits your cheeks at the dust crusted in the margins, the rings of juice gummed to the mousepad.

A few letters from the keyboard are missing, and a few strips of tape look dog-eared, peeling from the corners, exposing the laptop’s internal wiring. Gossamer-like, spiderweb cracks work across the edges. The screen is a blotchy eyesore, striated with horizontal lines.

You have to beat your knuckles on the laptop to keep it from jamming. You navigate the desktop with simmering irritation, invaded by the inkling that you’ve been utterly scammed. Nothing matches the photos advertised on Ghost’s account, and just as your annoyance is about to ripen into white-hot anger, something catches your eye.

It’s nestled into a nook on the desktop. It’s an unnamed folder that stares back at you, unassuming, the icon already half-opened and waiting to be examined.

You double click it, more like triple click, actually, since the mousepad decides to cramp, and squirm as the folder flares over the screen. It’s a collection of videos, their thumbnails all spotty and dark, eclipsed by the thumb of whoever’s holding the camera.

Their titles are as cryptic as their photos.

wet.avi; tail_plug.avi; no_prep.avi; with_price.avi.

You find yourself scrolling lower, your fingers working against the mousepad like a rapidly unfurling spool of thread. You decide to investigate one of the videos, one with a foggy, filmy thumbnail, and carefully heed the title before poising your finger above the open function.

johnny_leash.avi

The video is grainy, as if it was imported from a camcorder rather than a phone. The first few seconds are a blurry with grey-scale strobes running across the screen, radiating an aura of seediness that makes a hint of discomfort sink like sediment in your stomach, adhering to your viscera. A deep, damp squelching sound peals out, tempered with the sticky noise of something being broken in, hollowed out.

The camera ebbs, settles, then focuses all at once. You think you’re going to faint.

It’s someone’s puffy ass getting stretched out on a fat cock. It puckers and tightens with each piston-paced thrust, red.

A large hand belonging to the person recording enters the frame. Their hand tattoos stretch as they split their palm across the hind of their spine, the cameraman’s fingers digging sickle-shaped scratches into their back, clawing them down on their battering ram of a cock.

“Quit whinin’, Johnny,” the voice behind the camera loudly grunts.

The one getting split open, Johnny, snivels into the pillow. His spine is curved into the mattress, his ass pert and sticking in the air, rippling with the force of the cameraman’s hips.

A plume of dust travels over the screen, fleetingly concealing the image. When the soot thins into the air and bares the salacious material of the video, you gasp.

There’s a glint caught on something silver from the feeble lightning. It’s a chrome-plated chain, you see, connecting to Johnny’s throat. A leather collar cutting into his ruddy skin. The leash is wrapped around the cameraman’s hand like a reel, and each time he tugs, pulling his hand back as if winding up for an attack, Johnny gets peeled off the bed, his back arching so deep you’re sure it’s close to snapping.

“Shit, Simon—!” He squeals. “Can ye… slow down?”

The aforementioned Simon grunts. Animalistic, like a rabid predator. The camera whirls, the unromantic colours of the room they’re in bleeding into each other, and when it focuses, you see Simon’s large palm splayed against the back of Johnny’s half-shaven skull, gripping his hair, pushing him into the bed.

The man flails like a fish out of water, struggling under his hand. It prompts an emergency response out of you—the way he’s being fucked into the mattress, no doubt pressing a Johnny-shaped chalk outline like the ones at crime scenes into the bedding. Alarm seizes you, and the thought of submitting this to the authorities trumpets like strobe lights in your mind.

The video is written with inept non-professionalism, reeking with the sentiment of a found-footage horror film that it’s not the authenticity that rattles your bones like a wind chime, but the morality.

You tell yourself to stop the video, but as the thought squeezes itself between your ears, Johnny’s hoisting his neck back and peering into the camera, his striking-blue eyes flaring in all-encompassing horror. His lips pop open and wrap around a soundless scream, warbling.

“Yer recordin’ me?”

“Smile for the camera, Johnny,” Simon pants. “Who knows who might see this, right?”

Simon shoots his hand up and bullies his fingers past Johnny’s lips. He sinks his nails into the round of his mouth, stretching his cheek back into a repugnant curl. It’s paradoxial—how Johnny’s mouth is pulled into a smile, but his eyes are wide and wet, wordlessly begging.

Your body betrays your moral plight.

Your rapt ocular vein, the signals rushing to your mind, your nipples stiffening in your shirt. You feel as though you’re made of livewire, not matter, as you watch Johnny’s ass get spread open on Simon’s cock, his eyes rolling like unruly billiard balls to the back of his head.

His ass is red and patchy, burning up. Simon’s hand swats through the air and makes the sound of a whistle, flaring into a booming crack of thunder whenever he brings it down on Johnny’s ass. It makes you jump. Makes you feel as if your ass is being abused by proxy just by sitting, and watching raptly.

Instead of inching your hand towards the button that exits the video, your hand dips below your waistband and moves to cup your cunt.

The gusset of your panties is already hot, clinging to your dewy core. It sticks to your pussy, baring your puffy lips and swollen clit. You give it a few slaps and rub your fingers languidly, pace quickening.

But the video abruptly ends before the ascent to your pleasure is able to materialize. You yank your hand from your pussy, smearing your arousal on the mousepad as you search for another video.

You don’t heed the title—face_fuck.avi—before clicking it and readily spreading your legs, flushing at the sound of your lips parting.

The video starts, and you swear it feels like you’ve been hit with a brick.

Simon—or Ghost, you now recognize—is a behemoth. Huge would be an understatement for him. The camera is set up this time, somewhere across the room, but Simon still just barely fits within the margins. He’s folded over Johnny who sits on his knees with his back against the wall, his neck hoisted up at him.

Simon’s cock is fat and heavy. He’s hard—this, you’re sure of because of how red his balls are—yet still, his cock droops with weight, the bulbous tip scarcely teasing Johnny’s lips.

“You want your snack, boy?”

Johnny nods. He darts his tongue out and tries kitten licking the slit, but Simon isn’t having that. He grips the base of his dick and swats it against Johnny’s cheek, slapping him, the noise so thick and resounding it sounds like a palm that breaks his skin, not a cock.

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost snarls—you decide that name is more seemly for him—“Can’t wait when it comes to dick, huh?”

Johnny’s lips part, a response poised behind his chattering teeth. However, his reply gets snuffed out and shoved to the back of his throat as Ghost feeds him his cock, slamming into him with one, slick motion.

Johnny’s head hits the wall, his face puckering as pain blooms behind his skull. The action makes his jaw clench, clamping down on Simon’s cock, but Simon is quickly gripping his hair and puppeting his head back, sliding his cock deeper, until the tuft of steel-wool hair on his pelvis brushes Johnny’s nose.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Ghost grunts. “No teeth.”

The only mercy Johnny is afforded is when he sinks his nails into the sinews of Ghost’s thighs, scratching him striated, trying to offset the burn in his jowls. The back of his head thumps dumbly against the wall with each of Ghost’s jackhammering thrusts, his smaller cock springing up and slapping against his navel.

You keen. Rub your clit a little faster, tease your forefinger around your winking hole as spit and precome sticks to Johnny’s chin the same way your juices strings your fingers together. Johnny goes lax and the video abruptly ends, and you almost feel yourself going crazy, hastily exiting the video because you miss the phantom sensation around your cunt getting stretched. You click on another video that has your heart jumping to your throat.

It’s dated from just yesterday, two days after you placed the order with Ghost.

breeding_my_boy.avi

Your panties are completely soaked through at this point. The image of Johnny folded like origami under Ghost, eclipsed by his body, makes you gush. His knees are pressed against his ears and his ass is in the air while Ghost tugs his cock, towering over him and pressing his tip against his hole, slowly sinking into him.

Simultaneously, you hook two of your fingers up your cunt. Your arousal seeps out and pools into the divots between your knuckles, hot and wet, making a sucking sound as you draw your fingers out and thrust them back in, pawing your walls.

Ghost pulls his cock to the tip before driving himself back inside. He’s deeply-seated, knocking the air out of Johnny’s lungs with each stroke. Ghost draws his thighs close for leverage and sinks his fists into the bed, on either side of Johnny before snapping his hips, feeding him his whole cock.

You sink your other hand below your pants and blindly sweep at your clit, watching with keen eyes as Johnny gets pounded into the mattress, his legs thrashing dumbly with the force, his hands twisting into the moth-eaten sheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands and according to Ghost, he’s “not allowed to touch his cock.”

You can barely see Ghost’s sweat in the coarse-grained, gritty video filter. It comes out as glistening dew, dribbling down his neck and onto Johnny’s cheek, to which he swiftly laps up.

It’s the same thing for Johnny’s tears—sparkling in the soft smoulder of light, smearing like spread as Ghost works his rough tongue against his cheek, licking up his brine.

Johnny’s whimpers and the crack of flesh against flesh emanate out of the janky laptop as tinny, thin. However as Ghost lowers his head, grumbling against the hull of Johnny’s ear, whispering, the thin sound travels out of the speakers and punctures your stomach.

“Wish I could breed you, pup…”

Pleasure gyrates in your belly, frothy. You curl your toes into your mattress and buck into your fingers, feeling your orgasm beginning to crest. You pinch your clit the same way Ghost snakes his hand low, trapping the tip of Johnny’s cock between his fingers to squeeze.

“Smile a’ the camera, dog,” he mutters. Takes him by the jaw and dimples his cheeks as he makes Johnny look into the lens, his eyes glossed over.

“Y’reckon she’s touching herself?” Ghost growls. “Watching you turn a mess?”

Your orgasm is on the edge now. Ghost looks at the camera, his eyes glowing like predators do on trail cams, a swill of molten rushing through you. He looks like he did beneath the awning—animalistic, as he seems to stare directly at you, snapping into Johnny’s ass.

“m gonnae come…” Johnny whimpers.

Ghost chokes his hand around Johnny’s cock, sliding his hand up and down to the pace of his thrusts. And with what happens next, your body girdles, throwing itself into the throes of your panoramic orgasm.

It’s Johnny. Bending his back off the bed and squeezing his thighs. He moans your name—your screen name—the one used to purchase the laptop. He treats it like something to bite on to defer the pain of his orgasm, trembling.

Thick ropes of come shoot from his cock just as an off-white liquid escapes you, splattering over the screen. You’re quivering as Ghost fills Johnny, watching as his balls tighten and breathe like a pulse as he comes inside.

The three of you are miraculously synchronized. Your laboured breaths simmer, thinning into nothing, as the two of them turn to look at the camera.

You undertake the decision to keep the laptop.

And a week later while browsing Craigslist’s homepage, you stumble across a familiar username.

Posted by Ghost 32 minutes ago.

Looking for a flatmate in Manchester. Two roommates. Three bedroom. Females only. Serious inquiries only.

A second doesn’t pass before you’re writing up your application.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Locker Room

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, enemies-ish to lovers, sexual tension, arguments, suggestive themes, intimate touching, teasing, dirty thoughts

A/N: For @glitterypirateduck 's Ghost Writing Challenge. I used prompts 43, 97, & 99. (I had so much fun challenging myself to do this all in one go. I set a timer and everything.)

After finding an infuriating note on your desk, you confront Simon in the communal locker room.

Part Two // Simon's POV

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

Beneath your skin is an inferno.

It’s not the kind that blazes for another, or burns in tandem with a deep yearning. This is just seething anger and blunt frustration.

You’re ready to knock out some fucking teeth.

How dare he? Who the fuck does Lieutenant Riley think he is?

When you return reports to Captain Price, you point out all the inconsistences and errors. The lack of accountability and absolute carelessness has been scratching at you for ages, and this time you had enough. Usually Price shrugs, fixes whatever you’ve marked—to a degree—and then returns them without argument.

This time? Price took one look at them and told you to talk to Simon.

Not a problem. No issue at all. You and Lieutenant Riley have always been on good terms. Sometimes, it’s been more than good. You’ve caught him staring for far too long, or he stands a bit too close as if the two of you are a couple and not coworkers. And while you’ve internalized the fantasy, it’s not like you’ve ever acted on it.

But now you’re just irritated.

You handed over the files yesterday evening, and this morning you found them back on your desk. It’s not the turnaround but Lieutenant Riley’s audacity of placing those files back on your desk with a singular sticky note.

The reports are just fine, sweetheart.

Sweetheart. Sweetheart?

The other day you imagined what it might be like to have the burly, masked man call you a pet name, but this is just fucking condescending.

Your heels clack sharply against the linoleum floor. Perhaps it’s the rage in your face, because every person you meet on your rampage steps out of your way, their gaze averted. Rounding a corner, you exit through a side door and into one of the hangars. A few people glance up, frowning, but return to their job.

Sighing heavily, you approach the nearest person. “Where’s Lieutenant Riley?”

The young man—who looks right out recruitment—glances up. He swallows and peers over his shoulder as if he’s not sure he’s supposed to say. “Locker room, ma’am?”

“Thank you,” you reply sharply, turning on your heel and heading for another door leading to the communal gym.

“But—” he begins, stumbling to his feet as you charge on. “Ma’am! You can’t—”

The door slams shut behind you and you don’t look back.

This is one of several communal spaces. There are the usual training areas on base but there are also a few gyms for those that want to get a bit of extra work in. Every head turns toward you and many don’t look away. This one is just for the men, and you’re the odd duck.

And fuck it. You don’t care. You’re too fucking mad right now to think of anything else but giving Lieutenant Riley a piece of your goddamn mind.

With everything pumping in your veins, the reality of you storming toward the locker rooms hasn’t even dawned. Hasn’t clicked. Fury laces your every step, and even here, where you’re not supposed to be, the men in your path move as if they sense the rage.

When you burst through the door and meet a wall of steam, all the heat suddenly extinguishes. Glancing around, you’re met with wide-eyed stares and surprised expressions.

Keeping your gaze as upward as you can, you clear your throat. “Where is Lieutenant Riley?”

There is only silence. Maybe if you stare at the top of the lockers for long enough, you’ll somehow gather your courage again.

“I asked where Lieutenant—”

“I’m right here.”

You turn abruptly and freeze.

Lieutenant Simon Riley stands before you in nothing but a towel. It hangs low on his hips. Other than that, the bottom-half of his face is covered up by a black mask and his dog tags dangle from his neck. His hair is a wet, tussled mess, and his chest glistens with water like he just stepped out from the shower.

Simon simply stares at you for a moment as you stand in utter silence. His gaze, which is piercing and fierce, slides away to scan the room. He doesn’t have to say anything. The rest of the men in the room grab bags and clothes, rushing to exit through the door you just entered from.

When the last man leaves, Simon rolls his shoulders, straightening his spine. It makes him appear larger, more intimidating, and that one movement draws forth a heat in your belly. This isn’t anger. This is need.

“I know what you came here for,” he says, and it’s so casual a tone that the earlier rage comes rising up.

“I’m sure you do,” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

Simon says nothing. His dark eyes remain on you, unmoving and cold, yet pinning you to the spot as if you’ve been impaled by a spear.

“Are you going to apologize?”

“Why?” he asks automatically.

You scoff. “Are you fucking serious?”

“You didn’t come here for an apology.”

You uncross your arms and hold them out in front of you, bent at the elbows. “The reports—”

“The reports are fine.”

You roll your eyes and throw your hands up in the air. “There are inconsistencies everywhere. I can’t submit them as they are.”

Simon rolls his neck and then strides forward. Instinct has you stepping back, moving away, but you bump into a row of lockers. He doesn’t stop until he’s leaning over you, one large hand pressing into the metal to the side of your head.

“You’re nitpicking,” he replies.

“About lazy writing?”

“Oh, love. I assure you. I’m thorough.” At that, Simon leans in, and your hands rise instinctually, pressing against his firm chest.

Simon’s gaze doesn’t drop from your face. His entire attention is on you and that heat is back, twisting in your stomach, stirring up a slickness between your legs.

“Lieutenant,” you breathe, wanting the need between your legs to leave but also loving how close he is.

Sure, you’re pissed off but my god. The fresh scent of him is intoxicating, and you’re doing everything in your power not to lean in and lick up the droplet of water running along the side of his throat.

“Why did you come here?” He waits a beat, and when you don’t reply, Simon continues. “To argue?” He lightly pinches your bottom chin, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip, dragging it down a bit. You open your mouth involuntarily and Simon makes at sound in his throat that makes your legs weak. “To see me?” He leans in like he’s about to kiss you. “To be alone?”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whisper.

Simon has you caged in. Pinned. The only thing separating your body and his is that towel.

“Why do you think everyone left when they did?” Simon’s thumb drops away from your lips only to press at the hollow of your throat. “It’s not because you walked in.”

“Why?” you ask, as Simon’s thumb drags lowers over your top to the space between your breasts.

“Because you’re mine. And they know it.”

“You—what?” Without anywhere to go, you can’t escape his intense stare.

“I’m staking a claim.”

“Lieutenant—”

“Simon,” he growls. “Call me Simon.”

“Simon,” you say, and he groans.

His dog tags brush against your fingers. The metal is slightly cool and damp. You curl on finger around the chain, and tug, bringing Simon’s face down to yours. If he can tease and touch, you’re going to do the same. He can’t have all the power.

Your lips brush against his through the mask, and Simon’s eyelids begin to close, revealing his gentle submission in this moment. Deepening the movement, you kiss him as if there were no barrier. This time, he truly groans, and you’d give anything to remove the barriers between you and find out what it’s like to feel him deep inside.

Fisting his dog tags in your hand, you shove him away, but only enough that there is a fraction of distance.

“Fix the fucking reports, Simon.”

Instead of kissing him again, or even touching him, you unclench your fist, releasing the dog tags. Slipping under his arm, you exit through the door and out into the gym, leaving a trail of steam in your wake.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth

@miaraei @coffeecaketornado @wren5650 @aykxz98 @kayden666

@unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @enfppuff

@cinnabeanz @berarenado @rogerrhqpsody @josephquinnschesthair @saoirse06

@therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf

@lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien

@xxkay15xx @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project

@burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605

@contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @leed-bbg @blackhawkfanatic

@suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair @nomercyforthewarrior

[charliemwrites]

Oooooh I finally did it!! Mafia au part 6! A little bit of that sweet angst/comfort.

Content: Violence, Previous Injury (mentioned), Panic Attack (non-descriptive)

Let it be said: Johnny’s no snitch.

Outgoing (“loud” Simon would grumble) as he is, he doesn’t run his mouth about anything important. Doesn’t talk business over a pint or boast his connections in bar disagreements. Doesn’t drop names, flash heat, throw around the weight of his employer. Has never spilled a single fucking secret, not for knives, acid, a fucking gun to his head.

Oh, and please don’t tell the boss.

Let it also be said: Johnny is loyal.

He would happily lay down his life for any of his comrades, lives and dies for SpecGru – for Price. And even though you’re new, you’re one of them now. You’ve quickly found and secured your place in Price’s inner circle, different as you may be. Johnny would go to war for you, and your silly pink sticky notes.

Still, keeping something – anything from the boss. Even a private matter like this…

It happened on SpecGru property, that makes it SpecGru business. And it happened to you, which makes it Price’s business.

That you don’t already know that is… well, that’s between you and the boss. Johnny’s already too involved as it is. (Not that he regrets helping you. Not a bit. If he had his way, that little prick would have left with his teeth in his pocket and a new appreciation for his remaining thumb).

So now Johnny is stuck. He likes you; he really does. That you trust him with something so personal isn’t lost on him, especially in this line of work. He also has a healthy fear of your wrath. (You may not carry any weapons he’s seen, but you’ve got Price grimacing when you narrow your eyes just so. Johnny knows where his cupcakes are made, and he likes them without arsenic, thank you). So, personally, he wants to be able to honor your request to keep the matter private.

But then there’s Price, and whatever he’ll do to Johnny if – when – he finds out about all this.

Johnny’s solution?

“Christ, Gaz, ya shoulda seen it. Never seen the little miss tell someone off like that. Graves woulda been shakin’ in his boots. Will have to ask security for a recording of it.”

Gaz, unimpressed with Johnny’s volume, rolls his eyes and walks away, muttering about tea for his sudden headache. And Price, sitting at his desk, twitches and reaches for his phone.

Mission: accomplished.

Not the most elegant, but he’s a mafia lieutenant, not a fuckin’ spy. Now, to get those pastries you like before Price sees the footage.

“Luv?”

You glance up from the expense reports you’ve been working through for the better part of an hour. Mr. Price is leaning in the doorway to his office, shoulder to the jamb. There’s… an odd look on his face. You’ve never seen it before, don’t have it categorized in your mental files.

“Yes, boss?” you ask, straightening up.

“A word?”

You blink. That’s… different. You don’t like it.

Price is a steady sort of man. Not predictable, but consistent. That this is new, unusual, unfamiliar, makes you uneasy. Reminds you of your last boss, who could call you into his office with an affable grin, only to spend thirty minutes berating you for anything and everything he could think of.

Price has never done that, nothing even close… but you can’t suppress the slight shake in your hands as you smooth your skirt down. Hide it with a little flick of your wrists before grabbing for your ever-trusty tablet. Hell, you probably don’t even need it, but at this point it’s practically a comfort item. Maybe you should name it, put some googly eyes on it.

“Sweetheart?”

You startle a bit. Realize your feet have already carried you into his office and followed him right to his desk. Except instead of standing at his elbow as usual, you’re facing him across his desk. Like you did during your interview with him, when you were still strangers. Like you used to do for your previous boss.

“Oh, sorry, sir,” you chirp, forcing your usual brightness, “those expense reports, ya know? What did you need me for?”

Without a word, he spins his computer monitor around. Your brow furrows as you process the video playing on the screen. You. Soap. Brandon. Your stomach sinks.

There’s no sound, but there doesn’t really need to be. Even in profile, the expressions are crisp – high end cameras. You feel numb as the scene plays out all over again. You and Brandon snipping at each other back and forth. Your rigid spine, stiff shoulders. Brandon’s sleezy confidence. Soap, getting visibly aggravated as the seconds pass.

And there it is, the moment you spun on your heel, done with the conversation, and Brandon reached for you.

When you see Soap’s hand snap out – just a blur on the screen – you have to sit. Muscle memory collects your tablet in your lap, sweaty hands stacking neatly on top of it. Your heart is beating either too fast or too slow.

Your eyes stay locked on the screen until you and Soap disappear into the elevator, and the video stops.

“Should I play the elevator footage as well?” Price asks, voice low and quiet. “That comes with sound.”

It takes all your years of learned discipline and cultivated poise to resist shrinking in on yourself. It does not, however, stop your eyes from burning.

“Sir,” you say, struggling to keep your voice even, “I am so sorry.”

There’s a beat of tense silence as you gather yourself, throat getting tighter and tighter. Your head is spinning with fear and anxiety. What he’ll say, what he’ll do. How you could possibly damage control this.

“I-I don’t even know how he found out where I work,” you say, “and Soap w-was just trying to help. If I’d known that would happen, I would have taken it outside.”

You can barely look at Price as your voice break midway through, the panic leaking into your tone even as you stay frozen in place.

“Did we – is he suing? Is – is that why—?”

The tears escape despite your efforts, dripping fast and down your cheeks as you shudder in a breath. You can’t pay for a lawsuit, especially not if you’re fired over this. And you don’t want to lose this job. You love this job, you love—

“Oh, darling, what a mess you’ve made of yourself.”

You sniffle as Price rounds his desk and kneels in front of you, plucking his handkerchief from his breast pocket. He tuts at you when you open your mouth to protest, already blotting at your cheeks with a surprisingly gentle touch.

“There now, no need to cry,” he soothes, thumbing away another tear before it can fall. “I know it takes you ages to get your eyeliner right. This is nothing to ruin it over.”

“But…”

“I’m not angry, luv,” he continues, voice still low and quiet. This time, it doesn’t make your shoulders tense. “Wasn’t before and definitely not now. Chin up, there’s a dear.”

“Y-you’re not?” you warble.

“Not a bit,” he answers. “Not at you, at least.”

“Then why…?” You gesture weakly at the computer screen.

He sighs, something almost fond passing over his face. “Darling, you could have been hurt. Imagine if Soap hadn’t been there. All of us on the top floor, waiting for you to get back, not knowing something was wrong.”

He shakes his head, cradling your cheek with the same hand that brushed away your tears.

“You’re one of mine, you understand? Anything that happens to you is my responsibility,” he explains. “And I didn’t… enjoy that you want to keep something like this from me.”

You drop your eyes in shame. Of course. An employee assaulted on company ground, his personal assistant no less. Price would never stand for that sort of thing. He looks out for his own, looks out for you.

“Hey, look at me, luv. None of that now,” he coaxes. “I just want to get to the bottom of why you didn’t want to tell me.”

It occurs to you that that tone you heard earlier might have just been genuine worry and maybe… a bit of hurt. You twist your hands in your lap as you gather your words.

“I didn’t… it wasn’t because of you,” you murmur. “I just… was so embarrassed. And I didn’t want to make it your problem. I’m supposed to make your life easier, not harder.”

He huffs, but you’re relieved to see wry amusement on his face now.

“No more of that,” he orders, as softly as he when he wiped your face. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s a love.” He gently pinches your cheek, then stands. “Stay here, I’ll get you a cup of water. Take a moment, yeah?”

You nod, sniffling again. He squeezes your shoulder as he passes, and you finally let yourself breathe. Not getting fired, not getting sued. And Price isn’t mad at you. Christ, he needs to work on his approach.

“Kyle.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Look into that knob from the lobby. And the little miss’s last boss.”

“You’ve got it.”

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Masterlist

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

synopsis: you get arrested and sent to the fortress of meropide after being oblivious to a Fontainian crime, so your boyfriend Nuevi gets you out by striking a deal with the Duke, Wriothesley ;)

tags: threesome, double penetration, semi-public, vulgar, explicit

wrd cnt: 500+

a/n: repost/rewrite from first acc!

You couldn't believe the circumstances you were in, who knew Fontaine had some obscure rules with loans? One overdue day and you'd have rather get strucken by a loan shark than be sitting in the Fortress of Meropide right now.

You did get one call though, and of course the most sensible person to contact right now was the Ludex, who just so happened to be your partner. He could surely get you out of here, if anyone.

It was almost a whole hour wait, as Neuvillette was in the middle of a trial, but left as urgently as he could to come get you. That wasn't the only obstacle, the most difficult was the Duke.

"I'm sorry Neuvillette, I can't bend the rules for you" the brown haired man stammered on, "as much as l've done it before...this one's out of my control. She's in the files now." He explains. "I could try but it's too risky".

You heard back and forth for some time.

After what seemed to be hours of negotiations, it seemed your boyfriend ran out of all his other ideas.

"If it's really this hard" Neuvillette said, putting a firm grasp on your thigh, pulling it open slightly, "I don't mind...sharing some of the difficulties with you, Wriothesley. You've always been one for risks."

You felt your face burn in a deep pink hue, was he really about to whore you out? In this cell?

"Wouldn't be the worst thing to happen..." You thought in your head.

"Mr Wriothesley, there must be a way we can figure this out?" You plead. Going along with your partner.

"You two...you're quite forward huh? Do I follow you clearly?" He asked, standing from his chair to approach you two while loosening his tie.

It was exactly clear, and Wriothesley was exactly right.

"This place is quite uncomfortable, I can't believe you'd subdue her to this, Duke."

"Well I'm not the one who built it you know, I just run the place."

"Well honestly we need to reevaluate, seems all too gauche." Neuvillette admitted, complaining about the bars he was pressed up against.

"S-slow down- fuck..." You breathe out, barely managing to keep your eyes open while the two men bicker while deep inside you, all too casual in such a risqué act. Your back was pressed up against Neuvi, resting your hands on his arms which held you up, cupping your ass, while Wrio held your legs up, pressing closely to your front while they both put their cocks in your wet hole.

"Aww...getting tired? I can assure you it's better than staying in here my dear" Wrio says, gripping your legs tighter as he smirks down at you "If you were to stay any longer, I'd be real hard for me to ignore you now after this..."

You hear Neuvillette scoff at his flirty remark, "treading dangerous waters now Duke, be careful" he said, a slightly threatening tone.

"Lighten up...just making some conversation." He says annoyed, tilting his head in curiosity at your face, shifting down to whisper close to you, pressing your legs against him closer in turn.

"What's your name sweetheart?" He asks. His lips brushing against your cheek.

Out of breath, you mutter it out for him, almost unnoticed over the sound of your sticky cum soaked cunt and his lower stomach slapping together. Your moans bounced off the walls in the cold dark room. You wondered if anyone could hear you.

If anyone was listening to you mewl and cry in pleasure over getting stuffed full of cock.

"Fuck...you're so tight, Y/n..." He grunts out, fucking you even harder now.

"You're being so good my love" Neuvillette speaks into your other ear, "I'm sure we'll get you out of here now" he assures, caressing your waist with his thumb as he holds you up, his cock slowly hitting the gummy spot in your pussy, completely opposite of Wrios animalistic thrusts. "Right, Wriothesley?"

"Fuck- you feel so.... Huh? Oh yeah just- don't worry hun...I'll..." Wriothesley rambles incoherently, drunk on your pussy.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[the-froschamethyst4]

Retired Price

————

Retired Price

SFW & NSFW

————

————

SFW

Retired Price who retired at the ripe age of 45

Retired Price married his wife a few years ago and once he retired they renewed their vows and Price works from home or would volunteer at random places around the town

Retired Price who started to lowkey become a househusband doing the chores for his wife while she was work

Retired Price who started to set up a home office for his wife for whenever she has to work from home, she use to work on her laptop but sometimes overheated because of the amount of files she saved

Retired Price who started to sleep in 24/7 no matter the day or time, he slept in

Retired Price who started a small garden with fresh vegetables, he also starts planting flowers around the house (again househusband)

Retired Price who makes your lunch when you forget to make it the night before or if you are in a hurry in the morning time, he’ll always come and personally deliver it to you

Retired Price who started to hang out with his military friends again, he was ‘off the grid’ for a little bit to spend time with his wife

Retired Price who grocery shops and sometimes buys things for you online. You won’t know till you see a package on the front porch with his name on it but then seeing a sticky note with ‘For My Love’ on it (of course you knew it was John. No delivery man {or woman} would ever write that)

Retired Price who loves seeing you get ready for girls night. Seeing you sitting in the sink doing your eyeliner and eyeshadow as you were also trying to see which dress would look better with your makeup till you ask for his opinion

“Which one, John. Red, black or white?” She asked, switching between the dresses against her body.

“Red, it looks lovely on you,” he says.

“Okay!” She says with a smile.

Retired Price who made sure to be your personal driver for girls night. He knows that sometimes you can get yourself a bit…out of control to put it nicely

Retired Price who carries you through the door at 1 in the morning. You slung over his shoulder and your feet almost hitting him in the face when the door slams.

“Woah! Hey t-there big g-guy I’m m-married, I’m n-not interested in y-you,” she hiccups as Price places you on the couch.

“Love, you’re drunk. Let’s get you to bed so you can sleep it off,” he says with a chuckle.

“No. You w-will use me like trash and toss me away l-like a used c-condom,” she hiccups.

“What? Love come on,” Price tries to take you up to your shared bedroom.

NSFW

Retired Price who strips you from your work clothes and kisses every part of your body while also complimenting you

Retired Price who shows you a few moves while he was away in the military

Retired Price who wakes up late one Saturday morning to catch you in nothing but an apron cooking pancakes with pancake mix all over your body

“Love *yawn* what time is…it…” he trails off seeing your round ass on full display for him and once you turned around had pancake mix on your forehead, cheeks and nose

“Oh good morning.”

“A good morning indeed,” he smirks while walking up to you and pinning you to the counter kissing every inch of your body and fucking you till the house smelt of burnt pancakes

Retired Price who learned why he loves leggings/yoga pants, to watch your ass as also get a sneak peek of what underwear you are wearing while you workout. He also doesn’t watch the morning News, nope, he watches his wife workout, it’s better entertainment

“Pink lace?”

“Dammit. I thought you couldn’t see them,” you curse as you were doing upward dog.

“Just a bit,” you heard him get off the couch and you felt a slight sting on your ass, you yelp and land on your knees rubbing the spot he smacked

Retired Price who loves you sitting on his face. He slightly developed a slight bleach spot from where you’d cum or just leak your juices on him

Retired Price whose eyes are trained to look and stare at every private part of your body. You catch him every time

Retired Price who starts buying you smut books and recreat the scenes. Your ass in the air, him deep inside of you and the book opened to the part you two are recreating

“So he starts thrusting, a bit slow, then she says.”

“Harder…faster…” you moan as Price does just that.

Retired Price who has multiple nude photos and lewd videos of you. He stares at them and also jacks off to the ones he love the most like the one with your mouth wide open and his cum leaking into your mouth

[withonly-sweetheart]

hear me out. nsfw mentions ahead

<><><><>

re6 leon in which the events of re2 never happen, he doesn't become a police officer until chris recommends it to get over a break up, smth abt finding your purpose or fuck tht

he's got no idea what he's doing in the goddamn room, six months of training later, but theres a shiny new badge on his chest and a can do attitude that disappears as soon as he twists over his shoulder to check out his t.o.

shit, you must be at least, what, a decade younger than him? he has to hold back a scoff when sergeant dismisses the room, and suddenly he's left alone with your silent, wide eyes looking up at him.

you keep him behind you in your quick, clicking steps, allowing little time for the questions he asks, trying to pry that little shell of yours open. but you're unrelenting, in the way that he is, in your serious posture and his amused demeanor.

a demeanor that "has no place on the force", you tell him a week later, just after he's turned the corner and tripped over the felony you handcuffed just seconds ago.

he huffs and puffs on the ground, but he knows that you're the big bad wolf in his story. and he's not about to swap roles to become little red riding hood.

so after crashing at chris' penthouse with a cooler full of cold beer, a recovering heart and heavy thoughts, he realizes that he can do so much better. become what you expect.

and the man that walks in the day after? well, he's not the same old man whose back you were snickering behind when he got the captain's office and the locker room mixed up, courtesy of your fellow cops.

you feel more like a cheetah around its prey than a partner to him, especially with the snarky banter that flows easily, the subtly thrown smiles and winks during an ambush, his awkward yet sweetly charming demeanor.

and guess who can really judge a book by its cover? well, in this case, you suppose by its age.

to be honest, the only thing stopping you from pouncing is the number printed next to his name on the file that's two months late, sending all you've known about him into a loophole.

it appears that sometimes, the force of objects thrust into motion cant be stopped, and the events that ensure one night during a late night study of the rook book ends up with a pair of boots tangled in his sheets.

the thrill of getting caught is delicious, hell, its the reason you became a goddamned cop. but you've been denied that thrill all your life, and when it finally comes to you in the form of this glorious man, you should've realized there would've been some kind of problem.

your crazy big hint was the sun-crinkled eyes, salt and pepper stubble and old man advice, but that's hard to think about when his mouth is buried between your thighs, and even harder is to remember the question he asked beforehand, now somehow expecting an answer as he smothers your hips in wet, sticky kisses. blissfully broken and gazing at the book with glazed eyes.

because how the fuck are you supposed to memorize how to identify a gun when that was the best head you've gotten in years? but when he finally sinks into you with a groan, you realize that there is one gun you will always be able to identify on sight.

better pray that doesn't show up on the quiz though.

series masterlist

[buryustogether]

lilac - chapter 4

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: you accidentally overhear a conversation between miguel and his ai at work.

wc: 4.5k

warnings/tags: domestic lifestyle, mentions of violence, mentions of choking and death, swearing, mentions of office sex, strippers, sex workers, strip club, private dances, cuddling

author’s note: he’s so lana del rey coded guys

Anybody with experience knew that trying to keep twenty third graders together was like herding cats. Anybody with further experience knew that keeping twenty third graders together in a sharp, sleek, trillion-dollar facility like Alchemax was like herding cats who were soaking wet and high on all the catnip they could have stuffed their stupid little faces with in the span of five minutes.

“Alexander,” you snapped as you helped your coworker count little bodies as they piled off the bus. “If I have to tell you one more time to keep your hands off James, I’m going to drive this bus myself back to school and give you a fifty-page packet while everyone else here has fun.”

While your words had the effect you hoped they did, you wouldn’t exactly classify a field trip to Alchemax as fun. It was a megacorporation that dabbled in exploits from clean energy to genetics to god knew whatever else they did in there between those fancy metal walls. The building looked as though it should have come straight from a sci-fi film compared to the other foundations on the block, all floor-to-ceiling windows and fifty-some floors and armed guards that stood at the front doors. Certainly not a place to take a field trip with a bunch of nine year olds. Again, you would have thought some place like the zoo or even an interactive museum would have been better, but when the principal wanted something, she got it.

To be honest, you had a suspicion she was hooking up with one of the guards here, but you had nothing to prove your theory.

Like the pack of raging little animals that they were, your students filed across the front way of the building and up the stone stairs to the doors, where they waited in a mass of wiggles and excited spasms. Each of them held their partner’s hand, a rule you pressed with each field trip. Going into a freaky building like this, you almost wished you had a hand to hold yourself.

“That’s all of them,” said your coworkers, one of the three teachers who had come to chaperone the trip. She looked up from her clipboard of names, double checking each kid as you both followed the crowd of children up the steps. “Christ, this is going to be a shitshow. I just know we’re going to be escorted out of here after… I don’t know, a molecular leveler gets demolished by tiny, sticky hands.”

You snuffed out a little snort, reaching up to adjust the necklace perched about your collarbones. In your free hand, you carried a coffee cup that still had the tab in; it wasn’t for you. “I think it’ll be alright,” you said, but not nearly as confidently as you would have liked. “We had an entire assembly over this.”

“And since when has that ever helped?” She followed your movements, her eyes trailing over your form. You blinked at her. “Are you wearing lipstick?”

“Hah! No…!” Quickly, before she could ask any more questions, you turned away and pressed your lips to your sleeve, trying to wipe off some of the excess lipstick you’d applied right before leaving the school. Fuck, it was too much, wasn’t it?

Definitely too much for popping in to visit during a school field trip when you should have been watching your kids.

After passing through multiple tall, sleek-looking metal detectors (and scolding a few kids for bringing their phones when they were specifically told to leave them at school), you met the man who would be giving the tour of the facility in the lobby. Overhead, modern-art-classified light fixtures hung from the ceiling like someone had captured starlight and crammed it into bulbs. A cafeteria filled with scientists and researchers and everyone in between stood to your left, each of them donned in a stark white lab coat. Some of them spoke on phones, others clacked away on laptops and futuristic-looking tablets with such an intensity you would have thought they were taking a test for their lives. A few of them spared a glace or two at your group, but they didn’t last long. Apparently field trips to designated areas in the building were normal.

You heard the tour guide talking animatedly to the kids, but his words didn’t quite register as you kept your head on a swivel, searching out something specific. After a moment, when you leaned back on the heels of your feet, you found what you were looking for; the elevators.

“Hey,” you said to your coworker as the kids began to move deeper into the lobby, “will you cover for me? I’ve got to run to the restroom real quick.”

After they had moved along to where they couldn’t see you, you grasped the coffee cup tighter in your grasp and made a beeline for the elevators. Your footsteps against the polished marble seemed deafening as you quickened your pace, realizing the cup wasn’t as hot as it had been earlier. How fucking humiliating would it be if you brought him cold coffee? There was a part of you that knew, really, he wouldn’t mind, but the larger, more insecure bit insisted he would mentally cringe and throw it out the second you left.

Fuck, you thought. This man had you whipped.

You had just reached the elevators, reaching out to tap the call button, when a voice called out to you from your left. “Excuse me,” said a woman sitting behind a large metal desk you hadn’t seen in your haste. She eyed you from behind thick lenses, brow quirked over the top of her monitor. “We do ask that you stay with your group, if you’re here for a tour.”

“Oh! Uhm…” Gripping the cup tight enough that you felt the cardboard bend ever so slightly against your fingers, you padded closer to the desk and put on your best tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry. I was just bringing a drink to someone who worked here. He’s, uhm… he’s -”

Before you could force your tongue to get out some kind of excuse, some kind of title, the woman was pulling out a small paper sheet from a drawer beside her leg. “Are you a significant other?” she asked, pulling a visitor sticker from the sheet and leaning forward to press it to your shirt. She didn’t seem to want to wait for an answer before sitting back down and clicking away at her screen. “Just a security question before you go; name and floor number?”

Goddamn; suddenly you were so fucking glad some people sucked at their jobs.

Taking a breath, you inhaled and plastered on a grin. “O’Hara,” you replied. “Floor seven.”

“Alright,” she said without looking up again. “You’re free to go up. Please stay in the public hallways.”

The entire elevator ride up to the third floor, you were unable to keep a goofy, surely stupid-looking smile from your face. You liked the idea of being called Miguel’s ‘significant other.’ It made your stomach clench, made your pulse race and your heart thunder and your core throb with a dull ache. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that kind of role, being deserving of such a title.

Coming home from your teaching job not to immediately race to do your makeup in loud, flashy colors, but to stay in the warm, basking glow of a house or a roomy apartment each evening. The keys would always fit just right in the lock, never click or jump. The air would be filled with the sound of a little girl’s quiet giggles from her bedroom, along with the smell of dinner cooking on the stove. Small soccer cleats by the door. Trinkets and photographs and everything else that made the house a home strewn about the rooms. And a tall, sinewy figure that towered over you there to greet you when you walked inside, all warm smiles and wide, calloused hands on your hips and full lips to press against yours with enough gentleness and passion and adoration to keep you on your toes the rest of the night.

A bed big enough for the both of you, with enough blankets and comforters that you wouldn’t be cold even if you couldn’t afford to keep the heat on. Sheets and pillows that knew your white-knuckled grip, that would mold to your hands as you laid out bare for him and allowed him to worship the very ground you walked on with his mouth, his fingers, what lay beneath his slim, narrow hips…

By the time the elevator reached the seventh floor and the doors opened with a gentle chime, your cheeks were hot and your palms were sweaty enough you were sure you’d heated the coffee back up to steaming.

Wandering through the halls of Alechmax’s third floor and feeling incredibly out of place amongst the scientists flipping through reports and chattering on calls, you shuffled from office to office, searching for that familiar name that made your stomach flip. It seemed an awkwardly insane amount of time before you finally spotted his name on a plate beside a door left slightly ajar. You approached and smoothed out your shirt, preparing to present the coffee, when you heard voices inside.

“This isn’t like you, boss,” a woman was saying, her voice slightly warped from speaking over a computer. “You’re always preaching to the others that messing with canon events and triggering changes that aren’t meant to happen is wrong. You know it’s wrong.”

From across the room, a voice you recognized as Miguel’s scoffed. “This one is different. I’m balancing out the changes. I’ve got it under control.”

“Some control you’ve got. You do realize you’ve already altered enough canon events that even this universe itself doesn’t know where it’s going anymore? The bad guys here aren’t supposed to be in jail. Things aren’t supposed to get better. You know why? Because here, there is no Spiderman.”

Spiderman? Your gut clenched slightly as you inched closer to the gap between the door and the frame. If they were talking about Spiderman, then surely - he must have come from here. Some of those conspiracy theorists were right.

“Like I said, Lyla,” Miguel replied, his voice a touch deeper than it had been just a moment ago, “I have it under control.”

The woman named Lyla went on despite the dangerous rumble in Miguel’s throat you’d never heard before. “Here’s another one. That friend of yours? She was supposed to be engaged by now to her boyfriend. Her actual boyfriend. They’re supposed to have the whole angsty proposal thing, go back and forth for another three months, then end things. When he ends her. Asphyxiation by choking for approximately seven minutes, by the way.”

For a long, long while, there was silence. You realized you had been holding your breath, trying desperately to connect these pieces that just refused to fit together. What on earth were they talking about? Universes? Spiderman? Someone getting choked to death by their fiance? It sounded like a bad movie plot.

“Lyla?” came Miguel’s voice.

“Yeah, boss?”

“...Shut down and mute all alerts.”

Again, there came that horrible, palpable silence. Lyla seemed to be in some kind of shock. “Boss, I’m not sure that’s really what you want. You’re in a state of denial. Maybe you should take a break there, come back to headquarters. Jessica’s tried reaching out. Peter and Ben, too. I advise spending time with friends to decrease levels of -”

“Shut down. Now. I’m not going to tell you again.”

“...Yes, boss.”

When you heard his footsteps crossing the room, you took a small step back and clutched the surely-lukewarm coffee to your stomach. You’d never heard him take such a tone before, always used to that warm, content baritone that rumbled comfortably from deep within his throat. This kind of voice you’d just heard was cold and emotionless, without an ounce of feeling in a single one of his words.

You took a breath and exhaled it softly.

Then, as if he heard it from inside his office, the door was opened at an alarming rate to reveal Miguel on the other side. His brow was furrowed and a line had appeared at the corner of his mouth with his frown, obviously expecting one of his coworkers to be intruding at his door. Yet when his gaze met yours, when his frame towered over your smaller one, he realized just who you were, recognized that gleam in your eyes when you locked stares. His gaze softened like an airbag deflating. That line by his mouth disappeared. His tensed figure slowly relaxed, his shoulders coming down from where they’d been set.

For a short moment, you simply stared at one another. You were forced to admit to yourself that tone he’d spoken with had intimidated you.

It reminded you of the one Ferris used when he cornered you and threatened to take off for good.

Finally, Miguel’s lips parted. “Hey,” he breathed out, like he was trying his damn fucking best not to let that tone leak through to you.

You swallowed and slowly allowed yourself to relax. He wouldn’t ever speak to you like that. You didn’t know how you knew. You could just sense it in the warmth that poured from him, from the gentle honey of his dark eyes, from the way he held himself and carried his weight and set down each step like he knew the outcome of each and every movement he made. “Hi.”

Miguel inhaled, as if he were relieved you decided to speak. “Sorry about that,” he said and gestured over his shoulder into his office. “We’ve been testing out some new AI lately. Throwing it curveballs to see if it can keep up.” A small smile graced his face, close-lipped and sweet. Again, you realized - he never smiled with his teeth. “It hasn’t been going well.”

Like a dam breaking and letting a flood of water into a canal, relief rocketed through your systems and worked to ease your stress. Of course he had been talking to a computer. You doubted he could ever speak to a woman like that, much less anyone else. And that also explained all the wild things they had been discussing. Universes? Some poor chick getting murdered by her fiance?

Just the complicated workings of an out of sorts AI.

“I have to admit, I was wondering,” you let yourself laugh. “But, you know… who am I to question Alchemax’s best geneticist?” You watched in fascination as the corner of his mouth quirked upward and one eye squinted with the smile. God, you could watch him do that all damn day. Suddenly remembering the coffee in your hands, you held it up to him with an embarrassed grin. “I meant to bring you this while it was still hot, but I guess you know how hellish it can be getting a bunch of third graders on a bus.”

He took the cup with a rather confused expression.

“The field trip,” you said and folded your hands in front of you, because you knew if you didn’t, you would surely reach out and touch his face. “It’s today. You signed the permission slip about a month ago.”

Miguel blinked a few times, then took a breath and lifted his face. “Right. Right, sorry. Must have slipped my mind. I’ve - heh.” He shook his head and reached up to scratch at the delicate skin of his throat in that way he did when he spoke to you. “More going on than you would know.”

“Believe me,” you said softly, looking down at your shoes. You thought of dishes still in the sink, and band practices in your living room, and threats of leaving you all on your own because, really, that was truly your worst fear. “I know.”

You thought from there you would smile and turn, say something like, ‘Well, just thought I’d stop by,’ and leave him in the doorway of his office so that he wouldn’t see the yearning swimming in your irises. Maybe if you were feeling bold, you’d reach out and touch his wrist for just a moment before pulling away and practically sprinting back to the elevators.

But when you went to turn, he beat you to all of that. He reached out to touch your upper arm, the tips of his calloused fingers brushing along the fabric of your shirt, and he asked if you’d like to come inside, sit down for a minute. And inside his office, he told you what his department was working on, explained it in ways he knew you would understand. He spoke of a molecular collider that, in theory, would open a doorway to parallel universes.

You could have spent hours sitting in that office that smelled like his cologne, listening to him talk.

But life moved on. You were forced to pull yourself away, travel back downstairs and hold Gabriella’s hand like you hadn’t just thought about Miguel folding you over his desk, hushing your desperate cries, and gripping onto your hips with a hold that would bruise. You were forced to drive home and argue with Ferris about dirty laundry and his new keyboard girl constantly texting him. You were forced to land in the dressing room at The Menagerie, carefully dotting rhinestones to your collarbones in the mirror while the other girls buzzed around you.

“And he brought you flowers, too?” asked Shawna from where she was spread out on the couch across the room. She sighed deeply and hung her head over the armrest. “Girl. When are you going to stop playing and give that little girl of his a new mom?”

“You know why I can’t,” you replied as you pressed a small plastic rhinestone to your skin.

Zara met your eyes in the mirror as she grabbed the back of your chair, already dressed in her colorful, skimpy outfit and her mask. “We know why,” she hissed, but not at you. “That Ferris dude has got you held under the water, babe. Serious ball and chain kind of deal here. You really need to do something.”

If you could have found the strength to, you would have rolled your eyes at their words. But you really couldn’t. You were nothing short of exhausted after the field trip today, so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you were unable to keep your eyes open while you were on stage. God, you loved your teaching gig, but sometimes it was so, so stressful. And so was this job. Teaching, dancing, disciplining, teasing. They all collided into one big, neverending hurricane of fatigue.

“Maybe in another universe,” you found yourself mumbling under your breath, remembering everything Miguel had told you about this morning, “I could have been a flower shop keeper.”

Behind you in the mirror, a few of the girls looked at you with strange expressions.

Before you could go back to applying your rhinestones, one of the newer girls entered the room and pushed her mask up so that her face was visible. She looked to you. “Boss said you’re canceled on the stage,” she said, and you hoped for a moment you were going to go home early, before she added, “Guy paid for a private dance in Room 7.”

“Goddammit.” You groaned and leaned forward to rest your forehead on your arms. You were way too fucking tired to do a private dance right now.

“M’sure he won’t be that bad,” said Shawna as she let herself slip further over the arm of the couch.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you stood, finished off your rhinestones the best you could, and slipped your cold porcelain mask over your features. At least like this, your customer wouldn’t be able to see your exhausted eyes and lost expression.

The beating, thrumming music of the club seemed to vibrate your very soul in your chest as you wound your way past patrons and around the stage, sure to throw half-assed smiles at the people you were forced to wiggle past just a bit too close. The short corridor leading to the private rooms were lit with neons, playing with shadows across your costumed form as you found Room 7 and gently knocked on the door. You blinked a few times to clear the blur from your eyes, then cleared your throat and stepped inside.

“Hi, handsome,” you said as you turned to shut the door - your classic line, no matter who the buyer. “How are you doing tonight?” You turned around to face your customer, then came to a complete stop. Even your heart jumped a beat or two.

The man you’d seen in the shadows that night of the robbery, the man with the little scar on his collarbone, had gotten to his feet from his chair when you entered the room. He wore that same spider mask, still had his dark hair slicked back over his head.

You swallowed thick as you felt his eyes traveling over your form behind the gaps in his mask. “Hello… Spiderman.”

He hesitated for a moment, like he was lost on just what to do. “Hey,” he said in an equally soft voice. It was muted in the same way it was behind his spandex mask.

You placed your hands behind your back as you leaned up against the door - and locked it. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“...You asked.”

“Did I?” Putting on your best flirty, coy smile, you slowly crossed the room to meet him. “I thought all I said was… if you stopped by, to ask for me.” You reached out to touch the edge of his shirt, past his dress jacket, and skim your knuckle over the tan skin of his exposed collarbone. That scar sat just where you’d seen it before. “But you’re here.”

“...I’m here.”

There was a soft lilt to his voice, one that you had not heard before. Then again, you hadn’t spoken to him much, just in the bank and on the rooftop. But it seemed long enough to know that it wasn’t normal.

“What’s wrong, Spiderman?” you asked gently, taking a step closer. Your knees brushed against his, and when you gave him a gentle push on the shoulder, he sat back in the chair positioned in the center of the room. You gingerly climbed up so that your knees rested on either side of his thighs, so that your center was just inches above his. You didn’t miss the slight hitch in his breath, the way his eyes widened ever just so behind that spider mask. “Have a bad day? Some criminals get the better of you?”

You knew, in a way, that he wasn’t going to do it himself, so you took his wide, warm hands in your own and rested them on your hips. They stayed there for a long, long moment. Then they moved not down, toward your ass and your core, but up. They felt tentatively along your middle, his thumb tickling your stomach just a bit, and stopped just below your breasts before sliding back down again.

“No,” he replied in a low, raspy voice. He paused when you slowly lowered yourself so that you were seated on his lap now, your hips pressed against his. You felt his thigh twitch beneath your ass. “Pretty good day, actually. Just… heard some bad news.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hummed, letting your fingers drag along the delicate skin of his throat, just barely shaded with stubble. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

You expected him to hesitate, then make a request. Strip for him. Dance. Whisper in his ear all the things you wanted to do to him.

But there came none of that. Instead of touching you like you were used to, his hands - which were still respectfully resting against your middle - slowly slid across to your back and gently, gingerly, pulled you against him so that you were lying against his front. So that your chests were pressed together. So that you were slumped comfortably in his lap. He held you there against him, one hand on the small of your back and the other on the base of your neck.

“Just this,” he murmured.

You were stunned, to say the least. This was not the first time a customer just wanted to hold, or be held, or anything of the sort. But even then, those touches were desperate and needy, clingy and awkward. But this was everything they were not. This was gentle and considerate, kind and… romantic. Like he didn’t just need to be touched, he needed to be touched by you.

When you inhaled you thought you recognized the scent you breathed in. But with his body so close and his hands holding you so securely, you dismissed it like a runaway thought.

“Here.” Spiderman pulled you back for just a second, raising his fingers up to pull at the ribbon keeping your mask on your face, mindful not to catch any hair. Your breath hitched when he set the monarch mask aside, your face now bare as you stared down at him. This was against the rules. You were not supposed to do this. Customers were not supposed to see your face, know you like this.

But this?

This was far beyond any rules.

Your lips parted and your heart thundering in your chest so loud you were sure he could hear it, you found your own fingers slowly reaching up to graze at his porcelain mask. Your fingertips grazed the edge, began to hitch it up…

He caught your wrist in a hold that was so gentle, yet so commanding, that you immediately let your hand drop. But there was no venomous feeling there, no edge. Just a warning. A soft, quiet warning.

Exhaling, you wrapped your arms around his neck and settled yourself against his wide, powerful frame. Your face nestled itself into the crook of his neck, your chin resting atop his shoulder, as his hands came back to hold your form against his. One of his thumbs glided across your shoulder blade, sending goosebumps rising across your skin.

Gripping onto his jacket collar, you opened your eyes to look at yourself in the mirror that faced the back of the chair. Here you couldn’t see the mask over Spiderman’s face, just his slicked-back hair and his broad shoulders keeping you caged against him. His head tilted toward yours, your temples resting together.

For a moment, in your exhaustion and fatigue, you thought he resembled someone else you knew. But you let the thought pass, instead shutting your eyes and basking in his soft, gentle, perfect touch.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quaintii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead @bitch-onthemoon @hier—soir @takayomi @kirke-is-my-name @d1lf-loverrr @might-be-a-rat @brooks-lin @maki-z @bookfreakk @act1839 @dollscircus @sleepingaway @anxietybutterfly @bioticboot @mxkn @freeingrebels @digitalcreature404 @aimee777 @hunnaye @blahbahed @cyanide-mustard @impettywhenyouare @mental-illness-is-my-friend @bobfood

[chuunai]

I had an idea for the 100 followers thingy- so like the babies thing but you’re a single mother (maybe teen mom?) and dazai (pm) falls in love with you and your baby :} ps- I LOVE YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF SUGAR 💗‼️‼️‼️

I’m trying I swear TvT

✧˚ · . you’re a virgin and I’m just a meth head - pm! dazai osamu

the new hire at the port mafia interests him. the baby, too.

summary ⋆ ★ comfort, fluff with a sprinkle of angst, mentions of teen pregnancy, reader and PM! dazai are seventeen, SFW, mentions of a former abusive relationship, mentions of suicide (it’s fucking dazai), happy ending.

Assistants were something he never cared for much.

They came and go, either requesting to work for a different department in the Port Mafia after witnessing his peculiarities or dying. He hadn’t ever formed any bonds with them. Hell, he hardly knew their names. Dazai preferred to give them childish nicknames such as ‘four-eyes’ for the ones with glasses or ‘baldy’ for the ones who had barely began balding.

No use in actually getting to know them.

All they were good for anyway was organizing his work and making a schedule of meetings and pointless missions he’d hardly follow. And what could they do? Nothing.

Once, he had attempted to get Ango to apply for the job during an outing at Bar Lupin, but that four-eyes declined. So did Oda. Geez, his friends lacked faith in him. Dazai wasn’t that bad of a boss. His subordinates didn’t die that often compared to the others.

Then again, his most recent assistant had died via overdosing. Straight from the Port Mafia’s warehouses, too. Dying of his own stupidity because karma struck him down. The high may have been sending him to the clouds, but he got too close to the sun just as Icarus did and burned—or in this case, vomited—to death. Fun.

A replacement would be needed, yes, but that would involve looking through so many applications and that was boring compared to strangling himself or pulling Chuuya’s hair when the redhead was speaking with Kouyou.

He’d pick irritating the slug over paperwork any day. At least one was fun.

So he just had Mori pick one out. As long as they wouldn’t be a nuisance and knew their place, he didn’t care who it was. Boy, girl, whatever. All ages welcomed. Dazai preferred younger though. The old farts were annoying and so utterly dumb! So when a subordinate gave him a file for his new assistant, he didn’t think anything of it. He always got those for record keeping.

Although this particular individual piqued his interest as his eyes gazed over the information attached.

The age was young—seventeen, same as him. A girl. According to the report, you were previously stationed as a secretary for some lower ranking member. And you’d just joined, too. Only a few blissful months ago. Just barely a baby in the crime world. All dewy-eyed and truly unknowing of the dark underbelly of Yokohama.

Most interesting, though, and the thing that struck his curiosity was the fact that a small sticky note was attached to the last page.

‘Single mother of eight month old girl’

There weren’t many parents in the Mafia, much less teenage ones. Nobody had time to have a baby with the lack of safety. But you did. Someone desperate enough to provide for their child to the point where they joined an illegal organization without even being an adult yet. That took will and selflessness. Something he lacked.

And without having even met you yet, Dazai found himself fascinated by you.

Murmuring your name to himself, he found himself a bit startled at how smooth it rolled off his tongue. He liked it, too. Your name was nice to say.

Tossing the file onto his desk carelessly, Dazai tapped his fingers on the desk, mind wandering once more. If you had a child then you’d probably work your best to support them. You’d be competent enough for him.

Apparently competent enough to the point where you felt like you could handle bringing the baby to the Mafia HQ.

“I don’t remember hiring two assistants.”

Dazai’s voice came out as slightly amused and startled. There you were, standing in-front of his desk while occasionally shushing your…daughter? It looked like a girl, anyway.

“Sorry- her sitter wasn’t available and I-“

His eyes stared at your reddening cheeks—embarrassment and shame, he could tell—as you spoke again.

“I don’t really have anyone to watch her. I’m so sorry, sir.”

Sir? You called him sir? That made him wave his hand a bit dismissively. The only people who called him ‘sir’ were the random grunts and gunmen that served under him. Or people who were scared shitless of him.

“Dazai. Not sir.”

Sitting up languidly, his uncovered eye focused on the baby. Curls of dark hair fell over her forehead while her tiny hands grabbed at your shirt and hair. Funny, he thought.

“And the baby can stay.”

She reminded him of some of the orphans Oda took care of. Especially Sakura. Maybe they had the same name, too. Unlikely, though. She didn’t look like a Sakura, really.

Picking up a pen, he pointed it at you, a small smile on her face.

“Speaking of, may I know her mother’s name?”

He knew it already. But it felt more right if he convinced himself you told him.

“Oh! Yes, uhm, I’m (L/N) (Y/N). And her name,” Tapping your baby’s forehead, she released a small coo, giggling slightly. “is (L/N) Yukirou.”

“Winter baby, huh. I’ll guess, December 16th?”

This was so much fun for him so far. Maybe Yukirou really could be his second assistant. As a joke, of course.

Nodding, you began to ramble on about the baby as he relaxed back in his chair, spinning around and making funny faces at Yukirou. The small child giggled and outreached her fingers to him, probably infatuated by his bandages and messy hair. He didn’t touch her, though. No need to let such a good small thing interact with a person like him.

And so minutes went by. Technically, he should’ve been doling out tasks and trying to kill himself again—he had heard of a technique where one could inject apple juice into their neck and die, but he wasn’t sure it’d work—but it slipped out of his grasp. Maybe it was the fact you two were so close in age. The fact that in another universe you could’ve been classmates fueled this moment. Dazai didn’t really know people his age other than Chuuya, but Chuuya was Chuuya. You were new.

New to everything in this line of business. The killing, the release of morals. Then again, you were just an assistant. You’d never directly be involved with that. Just helping him out with whatever was needed.

Dazai thought that was a smart choice, whether or not you intended for it to be. As an assistant, you’d be safe from the gunfire and outermost threats. More likely to live and protect your daughter.

So caring in a line of work where lives were dispensable.

He wondered how you got there. Not to the Port Mafia—the file told him. But how you took on such a frowned upon job to solely provide for your child. Was the father a deadbeat? Or actually dead? His father was the same. Dead five years into Dazai’s life.

His mother tried her best, but she died too and he slipped onto Mori’s grasp. Hopefully your baby wouldn’t end up in the same situation.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by one of his men who dropped off a load of documents, side-eyeing you before leaving.

Dazai wished you hadn’t turned the conversation back to work.

“Sir, sorry- Dazai-san, would you like me to organize the papers..?”

Why did he forget that you were just an assistant of his? The medication must be making his mind woozy again.

“By date and incident, yep. Also, if you see any that mentioned a Chuuya, please throw them out. Or burn them. Preferably the burning part.”

His office was always to be kept rid of that ginger.

“On it.”

And so he doodled a noose on the wood of his desk while you slowly put the papers away. It soon became clear to him that Yukirou was making the job a tad difficult by trying to grab at the papers.

A slight idea of letting her crawl loose in Mori’s office and destroying it entered his mind, but it quickly left.

“Y’know, if she’s being a devil, I can play with her for a bit. I swear I’ll be good!”

The words left him before he could really process them. Next thing he knew he was wearing the baby carrier with tiny fingers pulling at his shirt. Instructions poured from your lips as he nodded and patted the baby’s back.

“I’ll kill you if anything goes wrong.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of that. You? Kill him? Never going to happen. Unless it were a double suicide, but you probably wouldn’t say yes.

And he replied when the slight fear in your eyes registered after remembering that he was your boss in the Mafia.

“If course, cutie. I give you permission to kill me if theoretically anything goes wrong.”

Dazai made sure to sneak a peek at your reddening cheeks before leaving his office with the baby strapped to his chest and tugging at his bandages like a little snake.

That’s how it all started. A boy and a girl who happened to have a baby.

He’d never regret how months went by as you two became closer and closer. Joking around, complaining about work, all the stuff friends did. Hell, Dazai even watched Yukirou sometimes.

Thank god Chuuya wasn’t there to see him watching children’s cartoons on your couch with a baby in his lap and a stuffed animal in the other.

Or how he insisted on covering some of your rent when you were struggling. Yukirou needs a home, after all. He sees himself in her a bit. And he didn’t want her to turn out like him. If he couldn’t change his own life for the better, he’d change hers.

And yours.

Much better than that dickhead that fathered Yukirou. You told Dazai about it one night when he stayed over after babysitting once more. Yukirou was napping in her nursery, and you two were sitting on the couch just talking.

Talking turned into sharing details of your lives, and he came up. Your old flame who ditched you. Breaking a promise that he’d be there for the baby and you. Dazai was silent all throughout it. Quiet when you spoke of the emotional abuse and stress that you had, quiet when you began crying over the fact you never got to graduate high school.

He was just there, daring to awkwardly rub your back as you vented. He wondered if you had talked about it before. Probably not.

Dazai felt like he too needed to share a story of his childhood too in exchange for yours. So he told you about the poor neighborhood he grew up in and the horrors he saw daily.

Did it lessen the impact of your venting? Most likely, but in his opinion, he was trying to show you that he trusted you now too. He assumed it worked when you fell asleep on his shoulder. He took care of Yukirou when she woke crying an hour later. He would’ve been a much better father than that bastard.

It didn’t help either that Yukirou began to see him as her daddy. He was there when she turned a year old, gifting her all sorts of things. Scolding her when she nibbled on his hands. Doing nearly everything a dad would.

Even when she managed to say ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ for the first time, it was when all three of you were in the room together. In her tiny mind, it was her family. Her mama and Dazai—her papa. Oda congratulated him for becoming a father when you came along one day with him to Bar Lupin.

It didn’t live up to Chuuya’s reaction when he first heard one of his guys call Dazai a doting father. The shortstack had gone up to him asking if he really was Yukirou’s dad—rumors went around at HQ quickly—and Dazai had to sadly reply that he wasn’t. Sometimes he wished he was. Months of time with you led to nights in bed where he dreamed of a universe that he was really the dad. That Yukirou had his brown eyes instead of her dad’s blue ones.

It wasn’t fair.

Nor were his growing feelings.

Dazai was smart. A genius thinker and planner. So of course he noticed how his heart began to rapidly beat around you. The sweating of his usually cold hands.

He’d had crushes in the past, sure. But it didn’t equate to this. Such a strong connection only made it worse. Was it wrong his Google history lately was filled with questions about confessing to and dating a single mom?

Did you even like him back?

That question couldn’t be answered by anyone but you. It scared him. You probably didn’t. Not as more than a brother, anyway. His suicidal ideation and tendencies scared off any woman who wanted more than sex. But he probably wouldn’t be living long anyway. So he’d have to shoot his shot eventually.

Which he did after another five months of consideration and thought. Dazai committed this act by simply asking you to sort out some notes for him. A total of eight. Each one had a single word on it. If you correctly put them together, it spelled:

‘I like you. Do you like me back?’

Much to his relief and shock, you did. You did, and he had hugged you so tightly. Tightening their bond, too.

So he became your boyfriend. And he wore the title of ‘dad’ to Yukirou gladly. The little girl saw him as her papa, and he couldn’t deny it. Even if it wasn’t biologically, she was his. And yours.

Dazai’s life used to be mundane and slow, yet with his new…family, he felt genuine happiness for once. A reason to live.

That was the greatest gift he could receive of all.

Regular Tags: @twst-om-lover, @xxcandlelightxx, @sinfulthoughtsposts.

Tags for everyone who interacted with this post (it’s over 100): @walking-simp, @hypocritic-trash-baby, @heartsfourdazai, @cheriiyaya, @depressed-monarch, @nyxt0t, @baby-tini, @h0nk3rs, @internet-angell, @cupidszvlvr, @owosamu, @my-dear-melancholy, @dazaibae, @nekomafumafufan18-blog, @cvsmois, @lizsano, @nanamiinto, @inojuuy, @reomarys, @mayanakahara, @briiscoolig, @maislovebot, @syona-sachyo, @xieqq2, @angelof-darkness, @moriiko, @fuckthisfuckingshit, @daushu, @wrynue, @amnda-ft-fyodor, @rain-alucard, @hanayoshiii, @moemoekunn, @thatwasa, @miiiloo, @probablyzombiedinosaurs, @mauviese, @chips-and-vinegar, @https-dazai, @rragudoru, @leyla3x0, @cheetozai, @jillyfsh, @rylerboi, @linaaeatsfamilies, @zorizoras, @onlinewhisper14, @komicoral, @anim3-simps, @theoddsinner, @caayye, @scaramow, @such-a-silly-little-gy, @bunnybs-stuff, @psychiclovecollective, @sleepy-yumi516, @fromjas, @suzurans-world, @mrstengenuzui, @mitislm, @tealover111, @edgarallanpoeswifey, @baby-tini, @yaz4luvv, @deliciouscandysalad, @isrealityevenreal, @briefcreationcandy, @astr3eaa, @underscoredaniii, @nolongerhooman, @notalooo, @ratinawetsocksweater, @tomiroro,

Rest in comments I’m crying now also if your tag is white it’s because you didn’t pop up when I was doing the @‘s

[poppy-metal]

omfg. art abusing the power he holds over his stalker is SOO. your insistence and pestering and creepiness give the impression of dominance, gives the impression of control. but art could do literally anything to you. could make you do anything. anything in the whole world. nothing was too depraved. and he knew that. you weren’t normal. you were troubled, deeply, deeply. but what did he want with normal anyway? maybe he wasn’t a normal guy either. maybe, with patrick ran off with tashi, he could have someone that was just his. he knew you would never even look at another man. you told him so yourself. and it made him infeasibly hard, knowing a girl with such a hot little body was so insane about him. you probably had no issue with men, but you just wanted him. so, being abnormal, he writes something back. tucks it in your favourite pocket in his gym bag, knowing you’ll find it.

artdonaldson@hotmail.com

write my name on your tits and show me in a video

okay now we're back to being depraved <3

its a risk. art almost feels guilty for being so...... short and demanding about it. about talking to someone that way. but then he remembers you're literally breaking the law and harassing him and you've sent him pictures of your fingers in your pussy - his guilt fades then. he's more on edge with anticipation. it takes you awhile to get back to him and he wonders if its a line you wont cross. if its some unknown boundary you have. he naws on his pen cap while he pours over an essay, an essay he should be writing, but hes not, he's thinking of you - as he often is these days. his knee is bouncing under his desk.

really, the reason you take awhile is because you're trying to find the perfect lighting. you dont want to have your hair in the frame, lest he be able to recognize it later on - you make sure you dont have any identifiable marks near your chest - nothing but a few beauty marks, nothing too distinct - then you spend half a day just debating on the kind of marker to use - what color. do you go the permanent route? but what if someone saw when you were changing and asked about it? using an easily washable one feels wrong though - his name on your skin going down the drain the very same day you'd marked it down..... it makes you frown. permanent it is, then. you'd just skip going to the gym this week. you choose blue for the color. like his eyes.

you have a whole setup in your dorm - a camera and a stand for it. you spend alot of time working on the angle - should it be super zoomed in? a little farther back? its different when its just a picture but a video.... you have to make it enticing. you cant just sit still.

you end up staring zoomed in - his name is written between the valley of your tits - the video shows you cupping your hands hesitantly under them, unsure. you imagine art watching you - you remember reading his note - losing your breath over the commanding tone behind it - he wants to see my fucking tits -

you get into it then - squeezing the flesh in your hands and you mute your sigh but it slips out anyway. the words on your chest - his name - morphs and expands as you jiggle your tits, squish them together to show the hard peaks of your nipples.

you drop your hands so he can see the bounce of your chest when gravity is involved. rub your thumbs over your hard buds and whine when you pinch of them - you imagine arts hands. his fingers pinching and twisting them - playing with you like a doll -

you can't stop playing with them - you get turned on, sticky between your legs - you hope he streaks his stomach in cum and thinks about covering your nipples with it.

when art gets the video sent over through email from an anonymous file - he tries briefly to see if he can track the ip, but you'd used some encrypted file that gets him nowhere. he sighs. he'd find you eventually. what he'd do when he did..... he didn't know. turn you in? end this? ask you out? kiss you? fuck you?

he opens the video and sits back. lets out an audible "fuck." when he sees your tits. his lips part and he doesn't even touch his dick for the first half, mesmerized by the sight of your tits. the hard little nipples. and his name..... art donaldson. his breath hitches.

he slips his hand into his sweats and fists his dick. it isn't enough. he has to lean over and fish through his drawer until he finds the fleshlight he'd bought a week ago - he'd never bought one before - his hand had always been enough - his pillow too when he was desperate. but it wasn't enough lately. especially with the pictures of your pussy.... he needed to feel pressure around his dick so badly. it burned under his skin until he was forced to cave and order a standard toy online.

it makes him flush with shame to place the plastic lips over the tip of his cock - but that shame pretty much floods out of him as soon as he puts his eyes back on his computer screen - watches your tits bounce - and sinks the toy down. his eyes roll back and his head falls back too, curls tumbling.

he works the silicone up and down his length while he watches you play with your tits - for him - he can hear the small little moans you let you and it makes his balls ache. fuck. hes so turned on. grips the toy and starts really fucking it up and down on his cock - shameless in chasing his pleasure now.

he wishes you were here. he wishes he was rubbing his cock all over your chest and into your hard nipples. he'd make you press them together for him - he'd make you rub them on his legs - on his chest - he'd demand them in his mouth - oh fuck he wants those nipples in his mouth. wants to suck and suck and suck and hear those moans in full volume.

when he cums - he paints the inside of his toy with it. twitching with the aftershocks.

already, hes thinking of what he can have next. of how much you're willing to give.

he kind of scares himself when he realizes how much he's willing to take.

[billskeis]

PLEASE DO ANOTHER POLICE OFFICER! BILL SMUT PLSLSLPLSSLPLSPSLPSLSLPSLPSLPLPSLPLS

ᡣ𐭩 police officer bill p2

now what the fuck did you get yourself into? because there you sat in the interrogation chair, facing the one and last person you wanted to see. sat straight and tall, tapping one of his fingers on the wooden desk of his office, staring at you like some animal. licking your dry lips, you are met face to face with the officer who fucked you silly.

bill kaulitz was his name, and on your last endeavour, he had caught you.. which ended with the both of you encountering some, quite indecent acts that following night. now, he had warned you about committing crimes again, and what would happen if you did.

but maybe you wanted this, maybe you wanted him to fuck you silly, brain so numb all you can think of is how his dick drills into your sore pussy. you miss that feeling, the feeling of fullness. the feeling of his cock all the way in your stomach as he brings a hand to choke your neck.

“dollface, did you hear anything i said?” a voice breaks your consciousness as you jolt within your seat. clearing your throat, you pretend you were paying attention to whatever the fuck he was just saying earlier. “of course i was!”

he hums in disapproval. uh oh. getting up from his seat, he leans over his desk to hover over you who’s sitting down, hands restrained together by the uncomfortable clasp of metal around your wrists. using his thumb and his index finger, he holds your chin making you look directly at him. eyelids lowered, he has this primal gaze that almost has your knees buckling.

“i don’t think you understand the current situation you’re in, dollface..” you swallow hard, damn. did he have to say it in such a dark tone? moving away from the desk, he circles around it’s peripheral, finding his way behind you. he presses his crotch against your backside, clearly hard. dumb little you would’ve thought it was a gun again.

papers and files were pushed off the table, and there you were, bent over officer kaulitz’s desk as he fucks into you for being such a bad girl. clawing at the wood, you attempt to stabilize yourself on the furniture as it shakes and lean with every thrust. his cock throbs inside of you with every moan and whimper that slips out of your mouth.

“b-bill..” “that’s sir, to you,” you bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan as he pumps himself within you, heavy balls smacking against your ass as he relentlessly moves his hips. “s—ah—s-sir.. n’more..” a low chuckle heard from behind you as a harsh smack lands on your behind, a yelp escaping your lips.

“u-ugh.. been such a bad girl.. i literally fucked you the other day, was that not enough for ya?” tears fill your eyes. your cunt hurts from the way he pounds into you, and it doesn’t help that you guys just had sex not too long ago. god wasn’t nice enough to let you successfully escape from your heist, a limp to your walk. now you’d need a wheelchair.

you sob at how thick he fills your pussy, angling his hips to continuously abuse your g spot as the creak of a table and sticky wet squelching echoes through his office. “y-you don’t understand.. i—mmh! needed the m-money.. hahh..” “yeah? then lemme help you out.”

frowning, you couldn’t ask him to do that. what the hell was his problem? a police officer helping a felony? it sounded almost insane but the way he latches his fingers to circle on your clit as he pistons his hips fucking into yours made him sound a smidge more genuine.

“f-fuck!! ‘m gonna cum soon..” “so is that a yes?” you look back at bill, whose hips still for a moment as he awaits your answer. averting your gaze, you face flushes as he can only look down at you with a smirk, “i-i’ll think about it..”

another slap lands on your ass, quivering you gasp in disbelief at the sudden movement of bill. he only looks at you, pursing his lips together as he begins moving again, your cunt walls shaping to fit him better inside of you, “guess yer gunna need a lil’ more convincing, hm?”

a heat firing in your belly as he pounds into you. your pussy sounds filthy, wet and squishy as bill plunges his cock into you with no intentions to stop. you clench around him, close, and without your words bill can see as how fast your orgasm is to come, even making an effort to fuck your hips back onto his.

scoffing, bill can only pull himself out of you, juices leaking out and an empty, unsatisfying feeling flurries within your cunt. “w-wha.. why’d you stop?” “ohoh, look at you all desperate to come now, little slut wants this dick but doesn’t even want my help.” your chest feels heavy, cunt even heavier with need.

“y’know i can’t ask you for that..” “you’re not asking doll.. i’m offering.” he turns your body around to face his and cups a hand around your cheek, stroking away the sweat and tears with his thumb as he places a kiss to your forehead, “s’what is it gunna be? gunna let me help ya? if not, you can leave right now.”

you whine, reaching a hand out to his lower groin, bill quickly swatting your hand away. “‘m serious, y/n.” as you look him up and down, you can’t help but think. it is a pretty good offer, what is there to lose? “o-okay.. i’ll let you help me.”

a smile forms on bill’s lips as he gropes one of your breasts in his hand, thumbing over sensitive bud, “atta girl… whaddya say?” both hands now grasping each of your tips, fondling with the flesh, “t-thank you..” he shakes his head at you, sighing, letting out a little gasp in all of your forgetfulness, “thank you, sir..”

“that’s more like it,” as he pushes himself back into your needy cunt, fucking nice and deep into your cervix.

i absolutely fucking hate this im so sorry T_T

[xstarsdiary]

ミ day 001 : 𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 ❦

@neteyamsyawntu 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : pet names, needy reader, dom miles, sub reader, size kink.

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 : miles quaritch x fem human reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : really fucking short - the other prompts will be longer, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+

Miles sat at his desk, reading through files and submitting work as he so desperately tried to ignore how your gummy walls suctioned his cock, squeezing his thick length and drenching it with your sticky arousal.

The two of you had been like this for an hour or so, your small tawtute pussy begging to be fucked as whines and mewls escaped your throat every so often. Your head rested against his big, muscular chest which was only covered by his thin forest green tank top as miles used one of his large navi hands to hold both of yours behind your back, his other hand used to do work.

“Miles..” you managed to breathe out, his name used as a plead to fuck you. Your clenching pussy tempted him, it drove him fucking mad and all he wanted to do was absolutely destroy you, to pound into your tiny pussy until all you could think of was his cock.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he remembered how pleasing it was to see you like this. So small. So full. So needy. He knew that he would snap soon though but he wanted to see just how far he could push himself.

“Jus’ a few more minutes, princess. You can have me soon. I promise.” His gruff voice comes out, a groan threatening to leave his mouth as he gulps. One more file. One more, Miles. He tells himself, knowing that he won’t be able to get through just one more.

@plooto ❥

[foli-vora]

Congratulations on your follower milestone! That is amazing! 💖

May I please request a Rick Flag fic with “The first time you smiled it felt like the universe aligned.” and I would love for you to rip my heart out (since that is an option 😊)

Thanks and I am so excited to read all of these upcoming fics!

My sweet angel, thank you for your never ending support and love, and thank you for the request! I'm sorry for the major delay getting this done, but I hope you enjoy me ripping your heart out and squishing it under my slipper 💖

hear me

rick flag x suicidesquadf!reader

word count: 1k warnings: ANGST SUPREME. sad ending. swearing, blood, bullet wounds, death, sad sad sad. rick is cheesy & sad. SAD. ANGST. genuinely teared up writing this bye.

They lied. Everyone who had toed that line between life and death, they fucking lied. There was no bittersweet flash of memories before your eyes. You didn’t have a lot, but shit—there’s gotta be something worth showing you, worth reliving, before you close your eyes forever.

The minutes pass, you feel the growing chill along your limbs from the steady flow of blood from the various bullet holes in your torso, and still—nothing. Not a goddamn thing. 

Just Rick.

Rick bolting across the sand with your name falling from his lips. You can’t hear it, there’s a distinct shrill ringing in your ears that seems to be drowning out the chaos around you, but you see the movement of his mouth, the strain of his throat as he yells.

He comes to land on his knees next to you, a shower of cool sandy grains flicking up and dusting your black tac shirt. It glistens under the light of explosions and gunfire, and you briefly wonder in morbid curiosity how much of your blood stains the beach beneath you.

“Jesus. Oh, oh darlin’—”

You hear him then, his broken and strained mutter cutting through the surrounding ambush.

“Hey Colonel,” you rasp with a barely there smile, a sticky hot trail of liquid leaking from the edge of your lips, “how’s it lookin’?”

Those pretty doe eyes dart over the destruction of your body, his hands ghosting over your wounds in what feels like hesitation, anxiety. Which ones can be smothered with a cheap and easy dressing? What one needs the most pressure applied?

Going by the rate your body seems to be numbing, cooling in the breezy night air, they’re all pretty shit. At least there's no pain. Shock, adrenaline - whatever the fuck it is, you're thankful for it.

“Fine,” he mutters, rough gloved hands instead coming to rest on your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the coarse sand and half dried blood splatters covering your skin, “you’re gonna be just fine.”

“Damn,” you breathe heavily, brows briefly coming together, “I never thought I’d hear you lie to me. None of that shit. No, no.... you gotta make it something good, Colonel.”

Confusion pinches his pretty face through the pain, and you give another strained smile.

“The last words I’ll ever hear—make ‘em… they gotta be good.”

“Don’t talk like that, you hear me? You’ll be fine. Backup’s comin’. They’re comin’, and we’ll get you patched up, and you’ll be right to back to bein’ a pain in my ass, okay?”

Oh, sweet soldier.

No.

It doesn't work like that.

They don’t send help for people like you. Suicide Squad, remember? It’s in the name. You knew what you were signing up for. He knew what you were signing up for. This is it. You’re just another classified file thrown through the shredder at the end of the day.

You blink tiredly up at him, “No one’s coming, Flag.”

He shakes his head in firm denial, strong jaw rolling in an effort to remain cool and collected.

“No, they... they have to.” 

“Somethin’ good, Flag,” you remind him quietly, a heaviness now seemingly coming to rest along your limbs.

Is this it? Can’t you just have one more minute? One more minute of him crowding your vision? You don’t need a last minute life montage, not when he’s here, not when he’s carefully dragging you further into his warm embrace.

Please, just a little longer in his arms.

“Okay… okay. The—the first time you smiled, it felt like the universe aligned.”

“Oh, fuck me,” you splutter with a sudden roll of remaining energy, chest heaving and lungs screaming as you choke on a weak chuckle, “that’s a… a new low, even for… f’your s-soft self.”

“Thought you’d like that,” he drawls quietly with a grin.

It’s brief, tainted with agony stricken tears, and falls from his face the second it stretches his lips. No, sweet soldier. Smile. It’s okay.

Maybe… maybe this is why your life isn’t flashing before your eyes. It’s because it’s here—he’s here. You didn’t really have anything before this, before the Squad, before Rick. You were merely a shell of a person in your cell, angry with the unfair world and the hand you’d been dealt from childhood, but when he came along?

He gave you a chance, saw something in you no one had before. He provided you with the Squad, with friends. He got you out of your cell and into the fresh air with a new outlook. He trained you, laughed with you, ate with you in the crappy mess hall despite the frowns from his co-workers.

He saw you.

He saw you for everything you were, not for what people thought you to be.

“Think you’re the… the closest thing I’ve e-ever felt to love, Colonel. Thank you.”

It’s a decent goodbye, you decide with the final beat of your heart, slackening in relief and embracing the call of the abyss with a leftover curl still tugging at your lips. Better than you’d been led to believe you deserved, better than what Waller threatened you with.

You got a good ending.

He feels the weight of you in his arms, sees how unnaturally still your chest has fallen and how your eyes seem to stare just past his shoulder. It shakes him to the core. His heart beats at the base of his throat and he can’t help but call out to you one more time, despite knowing you’d never answer.

“Darlin’?”

You can’t be gone—not yet.

You can’t be gone, because you didn’t get to hear him say it back. He needs to say it, he needs you to hear it. He murmurs those three little words over and over, breathing them into your skin wherever he can reach, willing you to stay just long enough to hear them, long enough to know you were loved.

You need to know you’re loved.

Bile builds in his throat at the thought, but he has to leave you behind; alone, broken and bled out on the sandy beach for a sweep team to deal with later. He wonders as he runs through the dense jungle, but he’ll never know if you did manage to hear his broken, tear filled I love you’s.

He hopes with everything in him that you did.

[shardechance]

𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔩

ao3 link | playlist | detailed content warnings | masterlist

parts: 𝐈 𝐈𝐈 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐈𝐕 𝐕

pairing: feyre/mor

rating: explicit

wc: 7.9k (pt 1)

warnings: major character death, cannibalism

Self-proclaimed 'BFFs' and high school seniors Mor and Feyre have definitely had fights before, but none as bad as the night at the bar when Mor is forced to leave Feyre behind in the rather dubious hands of her distantly related cousin and wannabe rockstar. Mor fully expects to make it up to Feyre the next day, except her best friend doesn't show. Nearly one full week later, Mor is so overjoyed to see Feyre again that she is blind to all the strange new things about her crush--er, friend. Namely, that Feyre suddenly seems to have developed some rather peculiar tastes. That, and she's hot as hell.

[FREAK WEEK DAY 3 - PART 1]

read on ao3 or proceed below for small snippet.

“You think he’s bald?” 

The paper straw flattens between the press of Feyre’s lips, half soggy from how she keeps worrying it between her teeth. That, or the fact that it's been soaking up the same offensively flat Diet Coke for the last half hour since the band finished their set. They tried for something stronger, but the black crosses emblazoned on the backs of their hands were unfortunately doing their job of signaling to Jurian not to slip them any vodka, this time.

They’ve been watching the band pack away their instruments and file into the lounge behind the bar, a pitcher of beer and three pint glasses set out for them in a corner booth. A folded sheet of paper reading RESERVED in blocky script, sitting limply on the table.

Mor looks up from her phone, Instagram promptly forgotten in favor of whatever the hell caused Feyre to ask that question. “What?”

Rolling her eyes, Feyre nudges her chin towards the bar. The delicate twitch of one eyebrow has Mor turning, more bodily than she might like. There’s no such thing as subtlety in places like these. The guy in question looks even bigger up close—broad as he is tall, with arms thick as tree trunks and swirled with tribal tats. Mor struggles for his name, despite having just sat through their entire discography in a room with worse acoustics than their high school bathroom and blown-out speakers. 

“Under that beanie,” Feyre says, by way of explanation. The straw bypasses her lips entirely, and she irritatedly flings the limp wet thing from her glass to discard it on the sticky table. Probably not the worst thing that’s ever been placed on it. The nachos here have food poisoning written all over them. “He looks like he could be bald. Seems the type, you know? Like, did too many steroids on the high school wrestling team and now he’s paying the price?”

A reminder suddenly pings from her phone on the tabletop, interrupting a reel of someone from their year showing all the Homecoming dresses she decided not to buy. They’re all ugly, the dresses. Not that Mor’s is any better—the only one her dad had allowed her to buy. 

Ten minutes. Fuck.

“Feyre, for one second, can you be serious? My curfew is at eleven.” She doesn’t mean to snap, but Feyre knows how her dad gets. How strict he can be about grades and curfews. How little fucks he gives about everything else. 

“I don’t want to go just yet,” she whines, eyes following the unfathomably buff drummer back to his table and the two other guys sitting there. Mor watches as the big dude lines a shot in front of each of them, layered liquors starting to merge into a brown mush. They knock them back without so much as a wince. Mor is suddenly very grateful for her soda, even if it’s lost all the carbonation.

The only guy she recognises, Rhysand Sterling, catches them staring and waves. That quick flick of his wrist turns into a come over type gesture. Two fingers beckoning them forward. 

“You know him, right?” Feyre poses the question as if she doesn’t already know the answer. As if she hasn’t seen the one picture her father has of her in the living room. Taken at one of his firm’s Christmas parties, of course. Rhysand, a couple years her senior, had gone by Rhys back then. 

“Feyre, we have to go,” Mor reminds her, grabbing onto her wrist. She stares dejectedly at the side of Feyre’s face, deflating when she notes the way she seems to have perked up, eyes constantly flitting to the guy sitting at the table. Mor’s cousin. Twice removed, or something.

“It’s fine! We should just say hi!” She stands, neatly pushing in her stool but still well within Mor’s reach. She slips her hand into Mors, using it as leverage to tug Mor behind her, and crosses towards the booth. Maybe she notices how reluctant Mor is by the way she drags her feet, and Feyre offers the incentive, “Besides, it’ll drive Eris crazy.”

Oh, Mor doubts that very highly.

tag list: @shardminds @damedechance @velidewrites @melting-houses-of-gold @popjunkie42 @secret-third-thing @separatist-apologist @the-lonelybarricade @jon-snows-man-bun @iftheshoef1tz

[bump1nthen1ght]

The Prince of Hell is Not a Gentleman (F!Reader x M!Demon)

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Male!Boss!Demon

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Warnings: Non-Con, Forced Exhibitionism, Forced Infidelity, Abuse of Power and Work Dynamics, Degradation, Misogyny

Word count:  2815 words

Summary: You’ve tried your best to ignore the ridiculously inappropriate behavior of your boss, desperate to keep your job and knowing a filed complaint will get you nowhere. But one fateful meeting pushes your relationship to a whole new level

Request: I got a request!

Female human coworker with a scummy male demon boss. When I mean scummy I mean a proper PoS. Coercing her into sex when she is already with someone, smoking cigars and blowing it in her face, and making her call her partner while he is fucking her.

Isn’t workplace sexual harassment supposed to be subtle?

You think to yourself, simultaneously wondering how the fuck you got in the position to be thinking such a thing in the first place.

You’ve been to HR training, seen those types of creepy bosses. The ones who hide behind being overly “friendly” and saying “everyone’s so sensitive these days.” You’d known to report them, to not stand for their gaslighting. 

But nothing really prepared you for this.

Sugartits, in my office ASAP. 

The crude sticky note stuck to your computer monitor reads, sending your heart all the way into your gut.

You’ve only been at this job for two months, settling in nicely to the routine and your fat paycheck every two weeks. The only issue so far has been your boss.

The demon himself is named Solvaloth, AKA Sol, and is the supervisor for your entire department. He’s a high prince of hell that no one felt like dealing with down there, so was kicked upwards and saddled with a cushy position in this hell-associated company. He’s big, loud, and frustratingly handsome. The kind of handsome that has treated him well his entire life and in turn convinced him that he’s Lucifer’s favorite creation.

You’re the only human in this whole department and that novelty probably drew him your way in the first place. He quite literally cornered you on your first day, his clawed hands pressed against the wall behind you, a leering smile full of canines looking down at his new toy.

“Damn, it must be my lucky day.”

Since then, he has been the bane of your very existence. Grabbing your hips when he ever needs to “scoot” by, whispering dirty compliments in your ear, even looking down your blouse whenever he “pops” by your cubicle. Not to mention the patronizing nicknames.

“File these papers for me, won’t you sweet cheeks?”

“Looking good today, princess.”

“C’mon baby girl, give me a break here.”

Guess you can add Sugartits to the list.

You try not groan audibly as you trudge your way to his office. Knowing that no matter what he does, how inappropriate he is, HR will do nothing. 

(You would know, you tried. The message of “don’t bring this up again” was made very clear.)

His door is stupid tall, meant to accommodate his giant size and extra large horns. You open it as slow as possible, trying your best to delay this ‘meeting.���

“You know how to keep a demon waiting, honey.” Sol turns around in his opulent office chair, legs spread wide and head thrown back without a care. His hair hangs loose and wild behind him, a white mane tucked in between two curving horns. Despite the snarky tone, he’s got a sickeningly sweet grin on his face. “Lock the door, please. We’re gonna need privacy.”

Ugh, I cannot deal with this today.

But you comply, flipping the lock. You don’t notice the way his curtains have been drawn, or how everyone else has been encouraged to go on a long lunch. 

“Is everything okay?”

Sol leans forward, that smug grin still on his face. He puts a hand up to his ear, batting his eyes in a cartoonish display of “what was that?”

You sigh.

“Is everything okay, sir?”

“That's my girl.” Sol laughs, slapping his knee and gesturing for you to sit down.

You pull back your chair, keeping your ankles crossed. You curse yourself for wearing a pencil skirt today, chiding morning-you for forgetting where you work. Sol’s eyes burn as they roll up your pantyhose, not even trying to hide his leering.

“Actually, everything’s not okay.”

That has you sitting up, a seed of worry in your gut. As much as he sucks, this job pays really fucking well, and you can’t risk loosing it.

“You see, I overhead Mazey in accounting gossiping over the water cooler. Said something about how the human has a new boy-toy.” Sol crosses his arms across the table, making his large chest seem even bigger.“That true?”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he called you in for that.

“Not that it’s anyone’s business, but yes. I am seeing someone.”

A nice human guy you met at a bookstore, named Rich. He was cute, with fluffy hair and a sweet smile. You had only been on a couple dates, nothing exclusive yet, but you saw a potential future with him.

Sol clicks his teeths, his eyebrows furrowing as that smug grin drops down to a disappointed pout. 

“That’s gonna be a little problem, because last I checked-” Sol gestures back and forth between you two, “-I’m your boss.”

You raise a brow. “So?”

“As your boss, I kind of get final say in everything. I mean, everything.” Sol leans even farther forward, gut pressed into his desk. He’s so close you can feel his breath, see the way his hair falls from behind his pointed ears. “That includes who you spread those little legs for, capische?”

A hot blush runs up your neck, a combination of shock and anger shot through you like adrenaline. 

You had kept a stiff upper lip for most of his shenanigans, for his stupid ego and this job, but this? This was crossing a line.

“That is not-”

“You want to keep your job?”

In just a sentence he steals the thunder out of your voice, a vice grip clutching around 

your heart.

“You wouldn’t.”

Sol shrugs, eyes rolling.

“Why not? Can’t have a little slut like you distracted all day, thinking about some human.”

He says the word like a curse, practically spitting it.

“This, this isn’t-” Your lost momentum has you floundering, trying to find ground to stand on. But you’re trapped; You know it, and he knows it.

You take a deep breath, trying to reel in the desire to leap across the desk and strangle him.

“What do you want.” You state, not ask.

His lips curl up, his devilish nature on full display.

“I want you to do what you were always meant to do.” Sol leans back, tapping his chin. “You’re gonna plant that pretty pussy on my face, and let me show you a good time.”

Your ears feel hot, tears bubbling at the corner of your eyes. There's a distinct taste of shame in your mouth. 

But you can’t lose this job. Can’t be blacklisted in the industry, which this spiteful bastard probably would do to get back at you.

So you sit up, kick off your heels, and ignore the way Sol licks his lips.

Your thumbs go down under the waistband of your skirt, before Sol stops you.

“No, keep it on.”

You stop, wondering what his plan is, and tepidly walk towards him.

Sol’s eyes elevate up and down, switching the knob on his chair to recline slightly. He pats his chin again, a long tongue poking out between his teeth.

“That’s right, baby. Come to papa.”

You hate the way the curdles your stomach, the way your legs begin to shake.

Just to be an asshole, Sol does nothing to help you climb up his chest. He sits with his arms crossed behind his head, smug as you struggle up his body.

Your skirt begins to naturally hike up as you shimmy, almost to your underwear by the time your legs are around Sol’s shoulders. You have to lean your hands in the walk behind his head to stay stable, a deliberate placement that forces your crotch right in his face.

With your legs slotted around his neck Sol's hands find their place in your ass, yanking you forward and taking a deep whiff of your pussy. A wet tongue follows it soon after, soaking the thin fabric and rubbing dangerously against your clit. You bite your lip, feeling the skin almost burst under teeth and pressure. He’s already humiliated you enough, Sol is not getting noises out of you.

Sol is ravenous, his sharp canines deftly tearing apart the fabric of your tights and panties, just missing the fat of your thighs on their way in. He has no patience once he reaches his prize, thick tongue shoved in with little preparation. Your hands scratch at the cheap company paint of the wall behind you, still refusing to let a peep out. Even as your body betrays your mind and your pussy begins to slicken.

Your eyes can’t help but wander downward, a jolt shooting up your spine when you realize Sol is looking directly at you. His nostrils flare as your eyes meet, his tongue curling and stretching open your walls. He must see the way your brow scrunches, how flushed your face is getting. There's a look of pride in his eyes that makes you burn.

Sol nuzzles his nose, digging his tongue deeper inside and you hate the way it rubs against your clit and makes your toes curl. It sucks how good he is at this, how your legs are beginning to tremble not from fear but from pressure. You’ve been able to stay quiet so far, but the moans are fighting towards the surface with every sultry lick.

You know you’re in trouble when one of his hands sneaks from your ass and over your thigh, Sol’s thumb coming to rub and flick at your clit. A moan crawls up your throat and you try to choke it down with another bite of your lip. But your legs clench around Sol’s head, your hips chasing the friction as he pulls you taught like a bow string.

Damnit, it had given you a sort of satisfaction to assume he was one of those guys who was all talk, no action. A dirty mouth that probably never went down, never brought his partners pleasure. This is just another slap in the face.

“Hmmph!” Your hand throws across your mouth, hunching forward as Sol finds that sensitive spot inside. Electricity shocks across your abdomen.

Please, no.

Sol is relentless in his chases, spurred on by your noise and fucks his tongue like a piston against your g-spot.

Too good, too good. I’m gonna-

“Angh~!” Your back arches, breath finally escaping as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. You refuse to look down, refuse to see the satisfied look on the bastards face.

But you never get a chance, as Sol hooks his strong arms around your legs and picks you up like a ragdoll. With a surprising gentleness he is able to sling you down his abdomen, turn you around to your stomach and pinned to his desk. Your skirt stays bunched around your hips, the slutty hole in your stockings ripped wider by fervent claws.

“Hey, kitty kitty~” Sol coos, fingers spreading your pussy’s lips wide open for him. “I knew you’ve a nice cunt, baby. Knew it right when I saw you.” Sol slaps your pussy, chuckling when you flinch. “Perfect for daddy.”

A hot head presses against your entrance and you know immediately that he is too big for you.

And he has a big dick?! What the fuck?!

“Wait, Sol-”

“Waited long enough, sugar tits.” The head presses deeper, the stretch cutting any words right out of your mouth. “Let’s fuck that attitude right out of you.”

Sol plunges in, aided by your slick and a fresh glob of spit. The dam being broken, your humiliation at its peak, you don’t try to hide your gasping breathes.

“Fuck!” Your shout, hips traitorously swinging backwards, urging him deeper into your guts. There's a deep groan from Sol’s chest and the scratching of hardwood. A glance to your side sees his claws have dug lines into his fine desk.

“S-shit. You’re fucking tight.” Sol gives an experimental thrust, the desk and bouncing forward. “That little boy toy of yours must have a pencil dick or something.” A large hand grabs your jaw, forcing your back to arch as he pulls you back to him. “Or has he not fucked you yet?”

You don’t dignify him with a response. Sol clicks his teeth.

“Whelp, I guess we’ll have to ask him.”

That jolts you awake, eyes widening as you realize Sol’s slipped your phone out of your skirt's pocket. The home screen is in front of you, your face unlocking it with ease. That fight instinct comes back and you begin squirming.

“Ah, ah.” Sol needs only one hand to pin you down, back on your stomach now that he’s on your phone. “What’d Mazey say his name was, Richie?” Sol casually scrolls through your contacts, humming as he spots Rich’s contact, with an emoji heart next to it. “There he is. Let’s give him a call, clear this up.”

You squeak in exertion, trying your damnedest to wiggle away and escape. But Sol’s grip is like iron, and Rich answers on the second ring.

“Hey there, what’s up?” 

Sol leans down to look at you, tapping the speaker option, and makes a motion for you to talk.

“N-nothing much. Just-” Sol gives another hump, the desk legs squeaking against the linoleum. “-just thinking about you.”

You hate how Rich’s ‘aww’ is tainted by Sol, tainted by the noise of his hips slamming against your backside. You pray Rich’s phone has shitty audio, that he’s totally oblivious today. That he overhears the slapping of skin and the shaking of the desk to be some weird aspect of your demon company, and not what it really is.

“Thinking about you a lot too.” Richie says, and you try to dim the breathy moan that gets through. Sol’s nails dig into your hips, yanking you like a fleshlight. “Wanna meet up this weekend?” Sol slams a hand down, clawing a NO into the hardwood. Rich tone switches to concern. “Woah, what was that?”

“S-sorry, dropped a stapler, heh.” You throw your head down, chest heaving as another knot pulls in your stomach. Your words are beginning to feel foggy, your brain fuzzy as Sol finds your g-spot and starts brutalizing it with his cock. “Can’t this weekend unfortunately. Got some extra w-work to do.”

“Damn, wish I could help.”

Sol barely muffles his chuckles, patting your ass as he leans forward, whispering filth in your ear.

“Cum around my cock, baby~ I know you want to.”

You shake your head, tears dripping down your cheeks as you nuzzle your face into the desk. Sol laughs into your neck, his cock twitching at your frustration.

“Well, I gotta get back to w-work. Just wanted to-” You suck in a deep breath. “-hear your voice.”

“I love hearing your voice too, babe.”

Your heart aches at the sincerity in his tongue, imagining his sweet face. Wishing it was him behind you right now, making you feel this good.

“Ok, see you later.” Your voice whines as a shaky hand taps the phone to off, making sure you’ve hung up before collapsing back into the desk.

Sol cackles behind you, hips swiveling.

“Sounds like a fucking loser. I guess I was right.” Sol’s tongue licks up the side of your cheek. “If he had fucked you, he wouldn’t be calling you ‘babe’.” Sol pitched his voice up high, mockingly, before pulling back his teeth in a snarl. “He’d be calling you whore.”

Sol yanks on your hair, baring your neck and sucking huge hickies right below your jaw. His hips begin to stutter, the balls slapping against your clit feeling tight as he exhales through his nose.

“Please…not inside.”

“I know you’re on birth control, bitch. I do what I want.”

Sol detached with wet lips from your neck, hand now on the back of your skull and forcing you down to the cool desk surface. Your breath leaves a foggy trail in its wake, your eyes rolling back as Sol reaches a peak in his intensity.

“Fuck, fuck!” Sol cries, claws digging lines into your skin as he begins to jerk and twitch. Soon after you feel a heavy warmth shoot deep inside of you, rivulets of cum dripping out between your two bodies and on to the desk.

There's a distinct feeling of emptiness in your gut when Sol pulls out, even with the sticky strings of semen stuck in between you. A thick finger pushes back in any lealing cum, Sol’s cooing voice admiring your fucked out pussy.

You can hardly think, your brain caught in a self-defensive haze as you just try to catch your breath. If you think you’ll hear Rich’s voice, have to feel the intense shame burning inside your chest, feel the red hot anger that you’re too tired to act on.

A warm hand caresses your face, pushing messy hair out of the way. Somewhere distant, Sol chuckles. “Yeah, just like I thought.” You hear the brief click of a camera. “Such a perfect cock-slut, all for me.”

[badbatchsprincess]

Heated ~ pt.7

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15 ~ Pt.16 ~ Pt.17 ~ Pt.18 ~ Pt.19 ~ Pt.20 ~ Pt.21 ~ Pt.22 ~ Pt.23 ~ Pt.24 ~ Pt.25

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake. 

Warnings: SMUTTTT, f/m/m/m/m, rough sex!, Dom!Crosshair, Dom!Tech, soft Wrecker, a little angst I guess, heat/rut, knotting, a little Crosshair possessiveness, blow jobs, PnV

You are responsible for your own media consumption ya filthy animals.... AHHHH we made it! We made to the smut y'all ahahaha

Anyways, enjoy!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

He looked up at Crosshair then Tech, “She said she wants… all four.” 

“That’s-“ Tech cleared his throat at a loss for words. That was unheard of… 

“Good enough for me.” Crosshair stood up walking over to you, he moved to reach down and end all of this, but Wrecker cradled you possessively making Crosshair snarl. 

“Alright. Easy. You all agreed to be civil.” Echo broke up the almost fight. 

“Wrecker let go.” Hunter ordered. 

The giant was reluctant at first, but set you back down on the ground before Crosshair. The lean clone brought you up and into his arms, running his nose through your hair, “let’s get you better sweetheart.” You were being carried through the galley back into your room before Crosshair set you down on your cot. 

You squirmed around desperate to keep his calloused hands on your heated skin. He quickly got to work ripping off what little pathetic pieces of clothing you still had on. Your tank top was nearly shredded and your soaked panties were snapped off into two little flimsy stands. Crosshair wasn’t gentle by any means and it made your insides vibrate.

“Alpha.” You whined trying to get him to touch you. 

The others soon started to file in. You preened seeing their lust blown eyes as Crosshair wrangled you into a proper position underneath him. 

“Eyes on me Ad’ika.” Crosshair yanked his shirt off revealing his perfectly muscular chest. That wouldn’t be difficult you realized. On instinct, you spread your sticky thighs making Crosshair very happy at your submission. 

“So beautiful.” He crooned grabbing your hips and tugged you down so you were flush against his thighs. You let out a sweet sigh that had the others cock’s twitch. Crosshair pushed his blacks down freeing his painfully hard cock. He could have moaned from finally feeling some relief, but he had a mission to accomplish… and that was to take away your pain and put his thick knot in your pretty little pussy. 

He leaned forwards supporting his weight on one hand while using the other to finally touch your silky folds. You let out a pornographic moan making Crosshair shudder. When he had confirmed you were wet enough, he grabbed onto his throbbing cock pumping it a few times before rubbing his tip through your wetness. 

You cried out and lifted your hips trying to feel more of him but he just snarled and used his hand to push your tummy down into the mattress. 

“Behave omega.” 

You whined but relented. He continued his trajectory and pushed through your opening making you gasp and the stretch. Crosshair sunk in until his hips were flush with yours. You let out a happy mewl finally feeling what you have been craving for days and damn did he feel good. 

“Fuck.” Hunter grumbled watching you take Crosshair. 

Crosshair didn’t give you a second to adjust, instead he pounded into you, mesmerized by the site in front of him. He was trying to commit this to memory before the fog of a full fledge rut took over his mind. You pink cheeked and blissed out. The sounds you were making while taking his cock was so much better then the horrible cries that had previously left your pretty lips it made his inner alpha very happy. 

The way your hands clung his biceps for dear life while you mewled and bounced up and down the cot. He decided to sit up leaning back on his knees before slipping out making you cry. He didn’t say anything, instead he flipped you over roughly grabbing you by the hips and tugging you up onto your hands and knees before lining himself back up and pushing inside again. 

You took him like a champ letting him manhandle you just how he liked. You didn’t know this, but Crosshair had imagined this very moment so many times in his head and it was so much better than he had ever dreamed of. You were the most beautiful thin the’d ever laid eyes on. 

Crosshair was probably the roughest alpha you’d ever taken but it was giving you such a thrill. You then remembered you had an audience and turned to see the others stroking themselves watching you with intensity making you whine. 

You involuntarily clenched making Crosshair hiss, “You like that huh? You like them watching you get fucked?” He leaned over fisting your hair forcing you to scramble for something to grab onto. 

You stared at Tech watching how flushed he was trying to satisfy his throbbing cock. 

“Tell him what you want Ad’ika.” Crosshair released your hair keeping his brutal pace. 

“I-I ahh- I want Tech in my mouth.” You struggled to speak. 

“Good girl.” Crosshair praised making you clamp down on him again, you felt him falter slightly. 

Tech stepped forwards until he was kneeling in front of you on the narrow cot. You looked up at him with needy eyes asking for permission to touch him. He reached a hand down to stroke your face giving your bottom lip a little tap. You smiled and reached down to wrap your hand around his thick cock giving it a few strokes before experimentally running your tongue from the base to tip teasing the alpha. Tech forced himself to breathe, letting you do whatever you wanted to him. 

But Crosshair wasn’t having any of that. He snapped his hips extra hard to punctuate his every word, “Like. You. Mean. It. Omega.” 

You yelped before shoving Tech entirely into your mouth giving him a good hard suck and bracing your hands on his muscular thighs. The Pilot groaned grabbing your hair in his fist. 

You fully committed to giving him the best head of his life. 

You even let him fuck your mouth when he suddenly couldn’t take it anymore and went at his own pace. You were in heaven. You’ve been thinking about how good Tech would taste, you’ve thought about it when you would watch him in his pilot’s seat, how easy it would be for you to kneeling under the console for him. 

You shuddered imagining it. Before long you felt Tech start to tense up making you double down and suck and tongue him even harder, eager for his cum. 

“Please Alpha.” You mumbled around him. 

He grunted and pushed your head further onto him as he came. You swallowed greedily making sure you didn’t miss a single drop. He pulled back keeping your mouth from his swelling knot, but his self control ended there. The Pilot nearly fainted from the orgasm and he had to take a deep breath before he blacked out.

Crosshair on the other hand reached down and grabbed the back of your neck yanking you up so you were pressed against his warm chest. His nimble fingers snaked down between your thighs rubbing you slowly. He felt you clench up around him as your little hands clawed at his forearms for purchase. 

“Cum Ad’ik.” He growled into your ear. 

That sent you over the edge. 

You came with a scream feeling relief flood your system as Crosshair thrust a few more times before cumming inside you with one powerful thrust. Waves of pleasure numbed your brain as it flowed through your entire body. Crosshair fucked his knot inside your pulsing pussy before settling in behind you. You sighed feeling the first bit of relief you’ve had in what feels like days. 

Crosshair gained back a bit of his sanity and helped lower the two of you down onto the cot keeping himself snuggly inside you. You had no idea Crosshair would be this kind of Alpha. Sure, you recall him taking advantage of his quarterly breaks but you didn’t think he’d be so… good at it? 

Tech bent down to pick up your tooka mug and tilted your chin to pour the water into your mouth. You sucked up the liquid gratefully and nuzzled back into Crosshair. You noticed the other two had clearly been able to relieve themselves before they too settled into the room. It smelled like sex and potent alpha. You felt Crosshair’s possessive arm wrap around you keeping you pressed to his chest.

“Better cyar’ika?” He whispered into your ear. 

“Yes.” You gasped, “So much better.” 

“Good.” He nibbled your ear nicking you with his incisor. You squealed and squirmed in his grasp as he toyed with your instinct to mate. He chuckled feeling you flutter around his fading knot knowing that would rile you up. 

When you could slide off of him, you felt a puddle of Crosshair forming under your bum. You wiggled around feeling more of him slipping from your folds making you squirm. 

The others watched your eyes dilate again as you suddenly got the powerful urge to nest. Crosshair must have triggered the instinct as you crawled out from under him. He let you, and watched as you knelt down inside your makeshift nest, collapsing into the moving blankets Echo had brought you. 

You quickly snatched up Crosshair’s discarded clothes from the floor and greedily added them to your pile. He watched in admiration as you very particularly organized his scent around you in a way you liked. He was mesmerized seeing his cum still dripping from your core as you fussed in your blankets 

But something wasn’t entirely right, you poked your head up over the mountain of blankets and stared at the three other alphas watching you with interest, “More please.” You begged sweetly. 

They didn’t hesitate for a second, they shed their armor off with practiced skill as they went to remove their shirts and under clothes leaving them in their black briefs. You sighed contently plucking the garments from their willing hands and started getting to work. 

“What now?” Wrecker asked watching you curiously from his spot across the room. 

“Just let her do her thing.” Crosshair threw the sheets over himself and settle back into the cot throwing an arm over his eyes content with letting you allow your instincts to run its course.

You fussed, and fussed, and fussed until the smells were finally right. Then you settled down into the pile totally content. The burning was dulled, you were covered in alpha, your nest was just right and the stretch in your cunt was making you purr in delight. Everything was perfect. 

Crosshair nodded off finally able to enjoy the quiet now that the omega had been satiated. Wrecker and Hunter decided to bring their mattresses in to the room and arrange them on the floor so they had a place to lounge. Tech continued to check your vitals every few minutes and covered you with another blanket while you napped. He noted you were probably exhausted from not being able to sleep for the past day and a half. 

Later, Hunter came into the room with food, stepping over his brothers before reaching your sacred little nest, he knelt down and ran his fingers gently over your ankle rousing you from sleep. 

You sighed and yawned looking up at the pretty alpha kneeling over you. 

“Are you hungry Ad’ika?” He whispered trying not to disturb the other’s sleep. You nodded and sat up letting the eldest enter into your space. 

He very carefully crawled next to you setting the plate in your lap. You eagerly forked down the warmed rations and followed up with more water. When finished you pushed the plate away and crawled into his lap straddling him like you had earlier the day before. 

“Y/N.” He crooned running his fingers over your face gently. You smiled and pressed harder into his lap happy to feel his hard length beneath you. You rubbed up against him again spreading your scent along his skin and taking his on too. That familiar fire started to ignite again. 

He let you scent him to your desire. This alpha was always trying to please you, you noticed. You nudged your nose under his chin feeling his scruff. You licked his neck tasting him making him shiver. His hands went to your back on instinct grabbing your hips to guide you as you ground down against him.

“Alpha.” You kissed his neck feeling his heart start to accelerate, “I’ve wanted you for so long.” You sighed. 

He looked down at you with lust blown eyes, “Fuck lil‘mega.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you after Crait.” You confessed. You didn’t know if it was your heat laden brain making you confess, or if it was really you who wanted him to know in this moment, “After they forced us apart, all I could think about was your touch, and your scent. I would touch myself and use those toys pretending it was you.” You purred feeling him explore your naked writhing body. 

He suddenly pulled back looking at your flushed face and blown eyes. For a moment you thought you displeased him, but he reached out and grasped your neck bringing you towards his lips. 

When he pressed his to yours, you melted. His lips were so soft and his kiss was passionate. You could feel the months of pining behind it as he deepened the kiss. Your hands flew up to his long hair as you ran your fingers through the chocolate strands. You felt him buck up into you making you mewl. 

Then you were on your back. The Sargent pushed you into the plush blankets and shoved his briefs down before running his cock through your slick folds. 

“I could have killed them for taking you from me.” He growled pushing the tip into your weeping entrance. You gasped at the stretch, “Wanted you so bad ‘mega.” He trust in until he was flush with you, “Could’ve had you like this on my cock instead.” He leaned forwards nuzzling your mating gland and the same place he had cut the implant from you all those moons ago. 

He growled licking at the gland filing his hyper sensitive senses with your pheromones. You moaned as he started to thrust powerfully. You could feel his honed strength with every movement. You trilled as you felt his entire body moved in order to pleasure you. 

“Fuck alpha.” You whined feeling yourself start to near the edge. 

“Everyone’s trying to take you from me.” He growled possessively, “Commander Wolf dreamed of having you like this little ‘mega.” He nibbled lightly at your gland making your entire body rush with excitement, “But little did he know, you’re ours Mesh’la. Our omega.” He teased his incisors along your gland possessively like he was fighting with himself. 

You bared your neck trying to entice him to do it. Hunter had to dig his own nails into his hand to stop himself, you were just too precious, offering yourself up like that to him. It was killing him not to just seal the deal and sink his teeth into you and claim you, but he knew his brothers would never forgive him, and neither would he. Instead he continued to kiss the spot despite your squirming. 

“Such a good girl.” He crooned, “Taking Tech and Crosshair like a good little omega.” He felt you clamp down on him thinking about how both clones had had their way with you. You remembered seeing the lust filled eyes of Hunter and Wrecker watching you while stroking themselves to release. 

You cried out as your orgasm suddenly washed over you. You scrambled against Hunter scratching his chest with your nails trying to wriggle away from the overstimulation. He reached down to grab your neck into his calloused hand and flipped the two of you over so you were on top of him. He held your hip with his other hand as he thrusted up into you with force. You couldn’t help but cry out as he pounded you relentlessly. 

You were certain the others were stirring at your sudden noise but you didn’t care. 

The sound of your core squelching with every single merciless thrust threw you over the edge violently and you came again with a cry as a gush of wetness coated both you and Hunter. 

You collapsed on top of his chest he came with a groan as well. You heaved and twitched feeling the two of you lock together. 

“Cyar’ika, did you just…” Hunter held onto you as he tried to look down at where you were connected still. You just nodded hiding your face in his neck. If you weren’t so blissed out you’d be embarrassed… you’d never done that before. 

“Holy shit.” He smirked pressing a kiss to your forehead as you dozed off on his warm chest. The Sargent lightly massaged your scalp holding you close to him as you fell back asleep to the sound of his heart beating. 

~~~

When you woke the next morning Hunter must have maneuvered you to his side and curled you into his arms. You whimpered suddenly feeling hot again. 

“Pip?” Wrecker’s sleep raspy voice cropped up from the corner. 

You wriggled against Hunter causing the Alpha to wake up. He immediately scented your pained arousal and sat up looking down at you. Your eyes were nearly black as you pawed at his chest. 

“I know Mesh’la.” His groggy voice made a puddle of slick form between your messy thighs. He kicked off the blankets and rolled you over onto your belly before raising your hips up for him. He blinked a few times forcing the sleep from his eyes as he lined you up. 

As he sunk in, you let out a desperate cry as you rutted back against him with ferocity. He snarled grabbing your hips in a bruising grip pulling you back onto him. 

“M-More alpha please.” You moaned. Hunter sped up his thrusts forcing you to skid up the nest. 

You pushed back against him and gave Wrecker a wanton look. The giant kneed his way over to the two of you entering the nest and settling in front of you. You wasted no time shoving his boxers down to pull out his hardening cock. It was massive, just like the clone. You realized when they enhanced his size they must have enhanced everything. Your mouth watered at the challenge. 

“Easy omega.” Wrecker petted your head with a gentleness you weren’t expecting, “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

You ignored him and opened your mouth to take him. You struggled, that was an understatement. He was far larger than you had ever taken. You shoved him into your mouth making him roar as you forced yourself to swallow him as best as you could. Determined, you allowed Hunter’s rough thrusts to rock you back and forth against Wrecker making him moan loudly. You ignored all of the reflexes in your throat and ran your tongue along the bottom of his shaft using your hands to massage what your mouth couldn’t reach.  

To your left you could hear Crosshair and Tech stir in the darkness. They no doubt heard Wrecker’s exclamations.

You pulled yourself off of Wrecker with a gasp feeling a dribble of spit drip down your chin, 

“Cross.” You whined waving your free hand around. He was quick to be by your side and guided your hand to where you wanted. You moaned as Hunter hit a particularly good spot before you slid Crosshair into your sloppy mouth. You were stroking Wrecker while you sucked on Crosshair making the Sniper inhale suddenly. You literally knocked the breath out of him. 

Around Crosshair’s cock you whined, “Tech!” 

You felt Tech’s distinct hands touch your leg before trailing them upwards to your breasts giving you a good squeeze before he pinched your hardened nipples making you yelp around Wrecker’s thick cock. 

This only spurred on your desperate frenzy, you couldn’t get enough of them and finally having all of them… it was sending you into the deepest most feral parts of your omega brain.

Then you felt a shift in the blankets under you, when you finally pulled back to look down, you noticed Tech laying down before you with his head between your legs. He grabbed your thighs before nudging his way under you, like he does to the ship’s console, to lick a thick stripe on your clit. 

You howled feeling Tech latch onto your clit sucking while Hunter pounded you from behind. 

“Fuck!” You screamed unable to help yourself from grinding down on Tech face. He just growled and grabbed your hips pulling you down harder. 

“You gonna come Adi’ka?” Crosshair grabbed your hair yanking you off of him. You nodded vigorously showing him how messy your face had become. 

“Tech, switch.” Hunter commanded pulling out of you with a wet squelch. 

You whined suddenly feeling empty and your climax coming to a halt you let out a frustrated huff. You didn’t miss the way Crosshair smirked at your disappointment. He gave you a patronizing pet to the head before you felt Tech slide inside taking Hunter’s spot. 

You whimpered when he picked up where Hunter left off. It wasn’t long before you felt Hunter’s nose nudge your little bundle of nerves and you were left grinding down on him too. You returned to sucking off Crosshair and Wrecker with vigor determined to make them cum. 

Tech hit that same good spot and you were suddenly clenching down on him as you were thrown over the edge. Tech grunted as he came, pumping you full of him. However, he quickly pulled out before he could knot you, giving a signal to Hunter and he too stopped what he was doing to sit up. 

Confused, and desperate for a knot, you let go of Crosshair and Wrecker and spun around shoving Hunter down onto his back. He hit the floor with a thud forgetting you knew how to pin him after those lessons on Kashyyyk. He realized you weren’t holding back this time.

You growled and crawled over him pinning him under you before mounting him. 

“Fiesty little thing.” Hunter let you ride him with amusement as he felt Tech’s cum start to leak out of you. 

“She wants that knot, huh Mesh’la?” Crosshair teased. 

You just snarled and dug your nails into Hunter’s chest determined to get his knot. How could Tech do that to you, you could cry from how empty you were feeling despite having Hunter inside you. 

Crosshair walked around to face you again, this time you were eye level with his glistening flushed cock. You leaned forwards taking him in your mouth again and reached around to fist Wrecker with more vigor then you had before. 

You eyed Tech as he watched you with a smirk from the corner of your nest. That bastard. He did that on purpose to rile you up.

Wrecker croaked before you felt his hot spend paint your tits. 

“Oh fuck Mesh’la.” He sighed at the site. 

Crosshair was quick to follow, you felt him start to twitch in your mouth and you started to double down on your sucking but he pulled out suddenly too, leaving you to chase after him. He grabbed your little neck stopping you in his big strong hands as he jerked off adding his cum to your chest as well. You mewled continuing to bounce up and down on Hunter feeling yourself near your second climax. 

Hunter felt you fluttering around him and he reached forwards using his thumb to rub your clit sending you over the edge once again. This time, when he came he didn’t leave you. When you finally felt his knot lock inside you, you screamed in victory and another harsh orgasm hit you hard. 

“Kriffing hell.” Hunter winced feeling how hard you convulsed around his knot. 

You were sated and thoroughly fucked. You wavered slightly on Hunter’s lap as Tech left to grab a damp towel. 

“You okay Mesh’la?” Hunter asked sounding concerned. 

You gave him a lazy nod using his chest to keep you upright. 

Tech returned walking up to you to wipe away the evidence of his brothers. Once you were clean enough, you flopped forwards back onto Hunter’s scratched up and welting chest. 

“I need to hear you say it baby.” He whispered pushing your tangled hair out of your face. 

You mumbled into his skin, “I’m okay, just tired.” 

Crosshair left to get your breakfast and more water. 

You ate without a fuss and drank the water diligently, still seated on Hunter. The Sargent gently stroked your sides affectionately as Tech took the mug from your hands. Crosshair left the empty tray by the door before walking back to the nest. 

He gave you a sharp spank to the ass making you yelp and jump on Hunter, the both of you groaned feeling the tug. Crosshair drove into the pile of blankets with a playful smirk on his face. He liked toying with you, you realized. 

“Play nice Cross.” Hunter grunted adjusting you slightly to make it more comfortable. 

The sniper just laid back in your space ogling your body. You flushed under his attention. For some reason this felt a lot more intimate. 

“Mmm.” Hunter rubbed your hipbones, “She likes you watching her.” He felt your insides flutter and he heard your heart start to race. You looked down at him embarrassed. He just smiled reaching up to massage your tits making you preen forgetting the sniper’s intense eyes. 

Hunter’s knot went down and you were finally free to leave his soaked lap. 

“Can I have a shower?” You asked suddenly a little shy about how much cum you were covered in. 

“C’mere Mesh’la.” Wrecker held out his hands which you took. You giggled at the size difference as he pulled you up and off of Hunter. You blushed bright red feeling the Sargent’s cum ooze out of you and down your thigh. It was a lot, you realized it was probably Tech too. You caught a glimpse of his lustful gaze when Wrecked picked you up with ease and carried you to the fresher. 

After the Wolffe incident, Tech had finally agreed to refresh the water supply on the Marauder and you were so thankful. 

Wrecker set you down and turned on the warm water. You held onto him as the two of you stepped inside letting the water cascade over you. 

“You’re so pretty Pip.” Wrecker’s sweet eyes looked you up and down in admiration. 

“Thank you alpha.” You pushed yourself into him letting him wash you with his big hands. You felt so small in his presence. You quickly realized how much of a turn on that was. You moaned as his hands massaged the soap into your aching muscles. He chuckled liking your reaction. You stepped back under the stream of water washing all the grime and soap off of you. You then turned to Wrecker who was watching you carefully. 

“Wreck…” You sighed bringing your hand up to his cheek. He leaned into your small palm, “I need you.” 

He was making the heat return back to your core. 

“B-but…” He shook his head, “I don’t want to hurt you Adi’ka.” 

“You won’t Wreck.” You were feeling hazey. 

“Are you sure?” He was wary. He knew he was larger than most human men. 

You nodded and turned around eagerly facing the wall letting the water pour over back you as you stuck your ass out for him. 

He stepped closer grabbing your hips giving them a little squeeze before running his finger through your dripping folds brushing up against your clit. You moaned and swayed your hips as he continued to prod at your used hole. He pushed a finger in with ease and you quickly realized just how big Wrecker really was. Your insides fluttered in excitement as he added a second then a third. The third was a stretch but you were loving every second of it. 

Then he pulled out his fingers and gripped his leaking cock running it through your folds. He very carefully pushed forwards letting this tip enter slowly first so you know just how big he really is. 

You mewled at the delicious stretch thankful that you had been stretched by Hunter right before this. He pushed further in and you were giddy, his normal size was nearly as big as the other’s knots. When he went as far as he could before hitting your cervix, you were panting heavily relaxing all your muscles to take him comfortably. You were filled to the absolute brim. 

“Doing so good omega.” He praised, making you clench around him pathetically. 

“Mmmm,” He moaned and started to move oh so gently. 

You could’t believe how perfectly full you felt. You reached down feeling your belly bulge just slightly from Wrecker rearranging your guts. 

“Fuck Wrek!” You whined as he started to move a little faster. You braced yourself against the fresher wall as the giant alpha pounded you from behind. 

You were a blubbering mess feeling your knees start to go weak as the pleasure washed over you. 

He laughed and pulled out leaving you feeling incredibly empty. He flipped you around and picked up both of your thighs effortlessly heaving you up into the air. You wrapped your arms around his neck while he lined you up and sank you down onto his cock again. 

You let out a loud whine as Wrecker fucked you onto his cock like you were his personal cocksleeve. 

“So pretty pip.” He leaned forwards kissing your flushed cheek as you struggled to hold onto him. You knew he’d never drop you, but the thrill was making your entire body shake. 

“I’m gonna cum!” You gasped feeling your muscles start to contract. 

He nipped at your neck and you came with a scream. For the second time in your life, you squirted all over Wrecker’s cock feeling yourself go limp with exhaustion. 

He chuckled triumphantly before following close after you. You felt Wrecker lift you slightly just keeping his tip inside as he came avoiding his swelling base. 

“The-the others made me promise not to knot you.” He sloppily pressed kisses to your flushed face, “Don’t wanna hurt our girl.” 

You shivered. Our… your little omega heart fluttered. The implications of their ownership over you made you tingle with emotions. 

When Wrecker finally pulled you off of him, a gush of your combines release poured from your core. You heard him gasp seeing it before he helped you clean up. He wrapped you in a fresh towel and lead you back to his room and to your nest. You happily curled up against Wrecker letting the others snuggle in, giving you assuring little pets and strokes as they dozed off too. 

~~~

This is how the next few days went. You’d wake up from your naps in a delirium scrambling for the nearest alpha. They’d of course take care of you, fuck you, knot you, feed you, wash you, and repeat. 

You noted that Tech and Crosshair were the most dominant. They liked playing with you, getting you all riled up, sometimes even denying you your orgasms for a bit just to get you to beg for them. They were learning you, trying to figure out what makes you scream. You knew they were the analytical types. They seemed to be cataloguing all the things that make you cum.

Wrecker and Hunter were much more lenient alphas. They just wanted you to feel good and stop your pain. They doted on you the most. Constantly trying to make you comfortable. You fell in love with Wrecker’s strong hands when he’d give you shoulder rubs and little massages and you loved how you could just flop on top of him if you wanted to use him to sleep on. 

Crosshair was by far the most territorial and possessive. He didn’t entirely like to share. You could tell by the way he always started to make it into a bit of a competition, thrusting a little harder, keeping score of who makes you cum more, leaving his marks all over your body.

The entire past five days were a blur. You spent most of it on your back having one mind blowing orgasm after another until the final day of your heat came and you were beyond content with everything that had happened. 

When you finally came out of the delirium you had really come to terms with that had happened, and you couldn’t have been happier. 

That morning, when you woke, the unbearable heat and cramps were finally gone and all you could feel was how badly your muscles ached. You felt thoroughly used. 

Rolling onto your back, you stretched your arms up feeling every abused muscle and had to bite back a yelp. The others were still sound asleep when you rolled to your side. You sat up looking at the four alphas curled up in your nest in various states of rest. 

They struggled to fit, but it made your heart happy. 

Wanting some cuddles, you crawled over Tech and nudged in next to Hunter where you leaned down to nuzzle your head under his heavy arm. 

In his sleep, he wrapped his arm around you and hauled you up onto his chest before sighing and slipping back into deep sleep. You too let out a content breath and settled in resting your hand over his steady heart. 

You had nearly forgotten you were still stuck on Mimban… that was until Echo came flying into the room disrupting the peace. When the door slid open the others shielded their eyes from the interior lights to see what had disturbed their rest. 

“Get up.” Echo commanded.

“What’s going on?” Tech asked shoving his glasses back on. 

“Theres… people here.” Echo whispered keeping a hand on his side holster. 

The others quickly got up, leaving you in the nest, as they scrambled to get dressed and find their weapons and investigate. 

“Stay here omega.” Hunter ordered grabbing his helmet and following after Echo. 

Tech gave your shoulder a little squeeze before trailing after the Sargent leaving you alone in the now dark room. 

You anxiety started to spike as your scrambled to find your clothes. 

~~~

Hunter blinked the sleep from his eyes willing himself to wake up, “What’s going on?” 

“I was fixing the last few pieces of the hyperdrive when I saw their man up on that hill.” Echo handed Hunter his scope and pointed in the direction the scout was seen. 

When hunter peered down the scope his stomach sank. There was a war party watching them. Their leader sat atop a horse like creature with skin as red as human blood. He had beady eyes and a strange scale like texture to his skin. They seemed to be staring right at the Marauder, and his unit. 

“How long have they been watching us?” Hunter asked. 

“Not sure.” Echo admitted. 

“Are they hostile?” Crosshair peered down his riffle scope. 

“It appears in my records of Mimban, the Mimbanese have been historically friends with republic forces. The GAR had been assigned to assist the local tribes men with keeping separatist forces off of their planet’s territory and airspace.” Tech informed. 

“So they’re friends?” Wrecker asked. 

“Then why did they bring a war party?” Crosshair hissed.

They watched the leader wave his arm in the air signaling the other riders to follow him as he started making his way down the barren hillside. 

“They’re coming.” Hunter said getting into a defensive position. The others followed in suit crouching behind the mountain of clay they had dug out days ago. 

They watched the war party near, they had riffles strapped across their bellies and decorative grasses making up their clothing. The six legged horses galloped through the clay earth with ease. Very quickly the Marauder was surrounded by these observing humanoids. 

The leader guided his horse to pace back and forth while he analyzed the five clones. 

He then spoke in a loud booming voice. The language was strange and nothing like any of them had ever heard. Tech very quickly got to work translating the alien language. 

“He’s asking who our leader is.” Tech read through his helmet screen.

Hunter stood up taking off his helmet, “Tell him I am.” 

Tech translated roughly trying to mimic their accent to the best of his ability. The clan leader responded with a gesture to the ship. 

“He’s asking who we are and what has happened here.” 

Hunter gestured to the ship then his men, “We crash landed sixteen days ago. We’re trying to fix our ship to leave but we need some replacement parts for our engine, we’re with the Grand Army of the Republic.” 

The clan leader narrowed his eyes looking at Hunter. 

Hunter looked to his men, “Take off your helmets.” 

They quickly disengaged their helmets and showed the leader their unique faces. 

“Clones?” He asked pointing between them.

“Defective.” Hunter replied, “We’re a special unit. We were supposed to deliver a message from Kashyyyk to Coruscant when we were shot down.” 

The clan leader responded, “We have fought along side your warriors before. We will help you, as you have helped us.” 

Hunter nodded in agreement. So they were friends. 

Just as Hunter was starting to relax, he heard the clan leader make a surprised noise, then the others made a similar sound. He noticed them all looking to their damaged ship and he whipped his head around to see you poking your head from around the hatch opening looking frightened. 

The leader pointed at you and said something aggressively. 

You shrunk back regretting your curiosity. 

Two warriors walked up to the hatch as other Mimbanese suddenly seized Hunter and the others holding them at gunpoint. The clan leader continued to yell as their weapons were taken from them.

“What is he saying?” Hunter tilted his chin up slightly as one of the warriors poked him with the riffle. 

“He wants to know why we’re traveling with a female.” Tech replied in a whisper. 

“She’s-” Hunter gritted. 

They all heard you scream as you were being backed down the galley. You dove to the right trying to hide in your nest hoping the blast doors could barricade you, but the warriors just pushed it open with the strength of a wookie. You whimpered backing up into your pile of blankets. The two red aliens looked down at you cowering and suddenly stopped their pursuit. 

Their eyes widened slightly before they looked at each other and exchanged words. 

Then you were being wrenched from the safety of your nest and dragged thought he ship before being tossed out of the hatch, splatting into the clay earth below. 

“Y/N!” Hunter growled pushing against the strong hands restraining him. 

You sputtered trying to regain your footing when you were once again, being forced into a kneeling position with a gun to the back of your head. 

“Let her go!” Your alphas roared. 

The red aliens exchanged words before their leader slid off of his horse to approach you. You trembled watching him kneel down in front of you. He grabbed your chin roughly forcing you to look at him. 

“They figured out her designation.” Tech informed, “They saw her nest in the ship.” 

The clan leader then poked a spindly finger into your shirt collar wrenching back the fabric to reveal your untouched but inflamed mating gland along with a few love marks Crosshair had left over the past few days. 

You hissed baring your teeth making the clan leader back up and release your shirt. 

He said something else before getting back on his horse. 

Tech whispered, “They’re taking her back to their elders.” 

You were suddenly lifted up into the air as you fought and flailed screaming as they carried you. 

Wrecker acted quickly punching the nearest warrior and used the limp body to throw at a few more. The others quickly fell into action using their close combat skills and knives to ward off the male warriors trying hold them back. They were enraged watching you get manhandled. 

They watched you get hauled up onto the clan leader’s horse sitting in front of him despite trying to fight your way out. The animal reared back with a loud whiny making your alphas stop mid fight as you clung onto the saddle for dear life with a shriek. 

The clan leader spoke again and Tech translated, “She will be cared for until they can get our ship parts.” 

“You cannot take her!” Hunter’s patience was slipping. He watching strangers take his omega from him. He could smell the anger radiating off of his brothers and your distress, “She’s one of us!”

The clan leader shook his head, “This is no place for a female…” 

“You don’t get to decide that.” Crosshair snarled. Tech didn’t translate that. 

“She’s our mate!” Hunter growled, “You cannot separate her from her pack.” 

The leader laughed, “She hasn’t been claimed.” 

Hunter knew he was going to kill this man. He locked eyes with you seeing the fear in them. You looked to Echo who was distressed and to the others who had murder in their gazes. Their anger was evident as they tried to figure out how they could overpower the aliens even though they were desperately outnumbered and out armed.

You screamed when the horse suddenly took off making you bounce around violently. The last thing you saw before the clan leader took off was Hunter and the others swinging their fists trying to get to you as your rode off into the distance.

“Y/N!” Hunter screamed. 

“Alpha!” You cried trying to lock eyes with him again but the clan leader’s body was blocking your view. You tried to jump off but the red alien gripped onto your midsection with such force. You heard him say something but you couldn’t understand. It didn’t matter anyways. You couldn’t get away, not now…

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist:

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