#the way they really Keep setting the bar higher

[aadhiskanmani]

"You feel complete, you feel...yeah complete, that's the right word"- Deepika Padukone

[kousanosgf]

men, minors dni

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧

sevika x f!reader

you take care of sevika when both of you decide to spend the night at the club

tags: fluff, lap dance, oral (sevika receiving), fingering (sevika receiving)

an: was written while i was listening to my soft/chill tyla and rosalia playlist, keep it in mind for the atmosphere (⁠⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　☽༓･*˚⁺‧

the night was still young but the party was in a full swing. you were not yet drunk on the alcohol but the atmosphere and music made you euphoric. you were dancing for the past hour, the gentle beats of the drums, mbiras and xylophones, guitar string that jumped from upbeat to more sensual led your body. it was something you preferred more than the hard electronic noise of other clubs, which were more common in zaun.

though something or someone was missing. you left the dancefloor, making your way to the bar. a bartender nudged a glass of water your way and you took it in one swing, thankful to the woman.

hands captured your waist from behind, one real and the other mechanical, a body pressed close to your back.

"vika", you smiled and reached your hand back, sliding a palm on sevika's neck. "i'm all sweaty". you wrinkled your nose smiling.

"you often are when we're together", the woman whispered in your ear with heat but it only made you laugh. sevika was in your favorite drunk mood: touchy and blabbering sweet nonsense.

"missed you", she sighed heavily, like you didn't came here together. "well, someone could've dance with me". sevika only huffed out, grumpy, making you giggle again.

you signaled to a bartender for a new set of drinks. as you untangled yourself from sevika's grip you took the glasses, pushing one in her hand. "come on, baby", you moved away from the bar to the private booths, choosing one and closing the heavy curtains.

the booth was nice, muted colours, little trinkets hanging here and there, inviting soft and, mostly important for zaun, clean pillows. sevika plopped down on the seat, drowning in the cushions.

she was too quiet today, not that she would run her mouth nonstop in your or anyone else's presence, but definitely more quite than usual. "what's wrong?", you poked her gently in the side as you took your place beside her. she just grumbled in response. okay, so no reason really, you blamed alcohol for her attitude.

"did you watch me dance?", you try to get her mind out of the dark places. you put your knees under yourself to sit a little higher to be able to put your arm around her shoulders. she leaned into your embrace.

"barely. too much people", sevika answers, clearly sulking over the fact.

she never was the one to care for parties and definitely not participating in them, usually preferring some dimly lit bars and a long card game. but ever since you appeared in her life she made sure to follow you around to the clubs. "just care for your safety, princess", sevika would say. and that's a solid reason, zaun can be harsh on anyone, so noone would say no to a woman like sevika taking a role of a bodyguard. in this case though she loved seeing you move as if the dancefloor was your natural habitat, your home.

"been staring at me the whole night from your dark corner. people probably think you're some creep", you joked everytime later, when you went back home or moved somewhere private, like today.

"let me make it up to you", you untangle yourself from her and climb on her lap. sevika's real hand immediately gribs your thighs, running up to cup your ass cheek.

"no touching, babe. it's a performance." you smile and slap her hand away playfully. sevika frowns but doesn't try to do anything else.

you let your hair down, slowly dragging the hair band. the muffled music changed to something more slow, fortunately setting the right mood, you hummed the tune.

sevika's gaze was turning heated and hungry by a second, following your hands as they dragged on you body, starting with you hips, going up to your sides, to your neck, tangling in your hair and moving back, all while you swayed from side to side, making waves with your torso, coming closer and father to press against sevika's body.

"don't be mean", she whined under you after couple of songs, her fingers twitching in a need to touch.

and you were being mean, you knew that. you just couldn't help yourself to tease your girlfriend when she was so cute, all mushy and relaxed.

"told you, i'll make it up to you", you leaned closer, whispering in her ear.

the sound of a zipper opening is too loud. you can feel yourself on edge already. but this is not about you. you raise your eyes, looking over sevika's face. her eyes arr closed, she's breathing heavily. she's beautiful like that, she always is, really. but something about her soft expression, how relaxed she is under you awakens butterflies in your stomach.

her hands grip your waist as you move to stand up, holding you on her lap.

"come on, vika", you protest and push her hair out of her face. "if you want something, i gotta stand up". she let's you but complains while she does it.

you slide down on the floor, sitting on your knees now in front of her. sevika feels a tap on her hips and raises them to let you make a quick work of taking off her pants and underwear.

she's not wet enough yet, you notice as you slide your fingers between her folds but it's not much of a problem. you love taking it slow with her, spending all the time in the world leaving kisses and light bites on her inner thighs, while your hands roam around her body, squeezing her waist, feeling her muscles, your fingers traveling up and down the hair on her stomach.

"please" sevika whines and that's exactly what you were waiting for, that's how you know she's ready.

you move closer, though it feels like you can't be even more, skin touching skin. your fingers slide with ease inside of her and you feel like you're the one who needs to moan in pleasure. her pussy is hot, clenching around your digits.

"so good, baby. so pretty". you praised her because how could you not. sevika holds herself from moving too much so she wouldn't mess up the game you're playing, her hips staying in place but already trembling.

"don't even need to tell you what to do, yeah? always know what i want from you".

at last, as you move the tips of your fingers inside of her, you put your mouth on her. your tongue flat, you try to get as much as you can, starting from the place your fingers connect with her hole, going up, pressing on her clit and dragging it to her press. the sounds she makes are heavenly, sevika is so worked up she moans loudly, arching her back. you sure if anyone stands right outside the booth, they could hear it. it only makes you want her more, to make her scream that everyone in the club would know how weak she's for you. the woman who scares every thug on the streets of this city turns into a soft and whiney mess in your arms. that kind of power makes you dizzy.

you suck on her clit, hollowing your cheeks to put more pressure.

"wait", sevika breaths out.

"what's wrong, baby? already ready to cum?"

both of you want it to last so you give her time, withdrawing your lips and fingers completely and going back to caressing her inner thighs.

"gonna eat you out so good, gonna make you feel so good, vika."

her hands press on your head when she decides she's ready, guiding you back to her dripping cunt.

"need to promise me one thing, though", you smile as she nods without questions.

"look at me, 'kay? don't close your eyes."

you return to where you stopped. you try to be soft and careful at first, kissing her folds, occasionally flicking your tongue between them or pressing it on her clit, all while you hold her gaze. you smirk and huff out as her eyes remind you of some sad puppy, asking for more.

"fuck", she swears as you quicken you moves, getting messier. you can swear that's where you belong. between her thighs, squeezing your head so all the noise becomes muffled, like you're underwater, your tongue deep inside of her and your nose rubbing her clit.

it's cute, you think, how obedient she is for you, still trying to look you in the eyes, as you asked her, fighting the need to roll them back and just arch her back, leaning her head on the sofa back.

your face is drenched in her juices, few drops falling on the floor between your knees. you're so worked up, your panties are probably all wet but your pleasure isn't a top priority now. and honestly seeing sevika brake under your mouth is pleasurable enough.

as you feel her squirming and moaning more and more, you know she's close, so you put your arms under her knees and raise them on your shoulders. she never lets you do it while she still can control the situation, worried that it's too much for your smaller frame. but now sevika is going crazy with her own pleasure and you don't have to deny yourself.

it takes her couple more seconds to cum finally. her eyes roll back and she gives herself a moment of weakness as she throws her head back but quickly returns back to hold your gaze when she remembers your request.

you guide her through her orgasm, slowing your moves and letting go of her legs.

"relax, sweetheart", you laugh as you finally tear yourself from her pussy and climb back in her lap. your hand covers her eyes and you feel her eyelashes flutter, tickling your palm.

"you're a dream, vika."

sevika reaches for your lips and you meet her halfway through. the kiss is slow and sloppy, both of you need time to get some air and steady your breath. her cheeks now wet too. it does something to you, seeing her own juice on her face, makes you want more of her.

"fuck, vika. gonna destroy you when we get home. promise."

[hazbinshusk]

husk x afab!reader. finally expanding on my idea of torturing husk with phone sex while he's stuck tending the bar. unable to join you as long as he has guests in the lobby, and unable to reciprocate for the same reason, husk is left hard as a rock but desperate to keep listening to you come undone. featuring: sex toys, masturbation, edging, overstimulation, dirty talk, soft!dom husk, cherri and angel being pains in the ass, and a frustrated bartender. 1.4k.

Husk growls beneath his breath as the newly-installed phone on the wall behind him trills at a tone that he swears is specifically designed to grind against his last nerve. Which, knowing Alastor, it might very well be. He mutters an irritated curse under his breath as he unhooks the receiver and brings it to his ear.

“What?”

A soft giggle comes as the reply, and he softens immediately, the tension easing from his shoulders. “Y’know, we really need to talk about your bedside manner, baby. That was a little too hostile for one of the residents.”

“Doll?” Husk’s voice shifts, relaxing into that velvety tone he reserves just for you.

“Last I checked,” you reply merrily. “Now about the way you answer the phone…”

He hums, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Al makes me answer the phone. He didn’t say I have to be happy ‘bout it. Hell, if anything, the bastard probably prefers it if I ain’t.”

“A good point.”

“And I don’t know if answerin’ the phone at the bar needs a ‘bedside manner’, pet.”

He can practically hear the teasing smirk in your voice. “But what if the hotel resident is in bed when they call?”

Husk pauses for a moment, raising a brow. He glances towards the sofas on the other side of the room, where Cherri is entertaining Angel and with an animated retelling of her latest drug-fueled exploits. They pay no attention to him, and he turns his back to them, leaning back against the bar and folding his free arm over his chest.

“And where are you, doll?”

“Three guesses.”

“Uh-huh,” he replies, amused. “And you’re makin’ a deal out of callin’ me from your bed, because…?”

You mimic a gameshow buzzer into his ear. “Oof. Sorry, honey. Wrong answer.”

“Huh?”

“Would you like to play again?”

“…You’re not in your bed, then?”

“Uh-uh.”

Husk can’t help the small smile still playing over his lips. He winds the cord around his claws idly. “Then you are…?”

Your answer is wonderfully simple.

“In yours.”

Husk’s ears flick upward in sudden attention at the implications that rush through his mind at those two words. He can hear you breathe a soft laugh at the cattish sound of interest he makes despite himself. He glances back over his shoulder at the others and clears his throat. “If you’re lookin’ for me to join ya, baby, I’m sorry, but I think I’m gonna be stuck down here a while.”

“I know,” you say, and he can hear that your sympathy tainted with amusement. “I miss you up here.”

He hums again, eyes closing. He finishes the last of the glass he’s been nursing, the whiskey a familiar burn at the back of his throat. “Don’t do that to me, baby…”

“I’m sorry.” There’s a soft rustling sound that tells Husk you’re setting the phone against the crook of your neck. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Yeah?” Husk smiles. “How d’ya plan on doin’ that, exactly?”

“I’ve got a few ideas.”

Husk stops reaching for a fresh bottle in the moment he hears your breath catch softly. His hand tightens on the phone. “Doll. This is a new level of cruel.”

“Is it?” you ask, voice pitched higher. The change is only slight, but it makes Husk's ears twitch upward in interest. “Want me to stop?”

Husk chuckles, low in the back of his throat. God, how he wishes the others would just fucking leave. “I want you to tell me exactly what you’re doin’ up there, all alone.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You let your head fall back against the pillows with a soft moan, a smile on your lips as you hear Husk growl under his breath in response. You giggle quietly, rolling your nipple between your fingers.

“I need your hand between your legs now, baby.” he tells you roughly, and the tone in his voice sends a thrill directly down your spine. It makes you shiver, and you gasp as you pinch your nipple roughly. You've been teasing yourself like this, letting your hands roam down over your stomach to graze the top of your thighs before returning to your breasts... and every time, mapping out the journey your fingers take for your audience. His voice drops further, no doubt mindful of the others in the lobby. "I need to hear you tell me how wet you are."

"Yes, sir," you reply, smiling wider as he curses under his breath at the title. You let your hand travel back down your stomach, breath catching as you dip your fingers down between your spread thighs. You slide two fingers along your slit, hips bucking up into your hand as you graze your clit. "Oh, fuck, Husk..."

"Mmmm, baby..." Husk sighs, and you can picture his eyes closing, his head tipping back. "You wet for me?"

"Mm-hm," you nod against the phone, still toying slowly with your clit. "God, Husk, this feels good..."

"Oh, you're killin' me here, sweetness," he groans. "What I wouldn't fuckin' give for..."

"I can hold out for you, baby," you tell him. "I can keep playing... all by myself... get myself all wet and trembling and... fucking desperate for you until you can finally come and..." you moan as you slide two fingers into yourself, cradling the phone against your shoulder so you can keep playing with your clit with your other hand. "...and fuck me so deep and..."

The sound Husk lets out is a mix of a cattish growl and a groan, and you push your hips up against your palm as you fuck yourself on your fingers.

"You're already so close, aren't you, doll?" Husk asks, and you can hear the knowing amusement playing against his arousal.

"Yes, sir."

"Fuck..." he breathes, and it brings to mind the memory of his warm breath against your throat, his claws on your hips, and his teeth grazing your collarbone. "Fuck, baby, I-"

Husk's tone shifts, and you hear the muffled sound of the phone being lowered. "The fuck do you want, Cherri?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Woah, chill, kitty cat!" Cherri laughs, holding up her hands. "Just lookin' for a refill. You got something better to do?"

Husk swallows, shifting as his cock throbs almost painfully. He glowers at the cyclops, turning to face her. He stands almost flush against the bar to keep his erection from view. “You’re gonna wanna not call me that.”

Angel coos in faux-sympathy as he joins them at the bar, draping himself over Cherri’s back. “Ooh, I know that tone. What’s got ya down, Husky?”

“Y’mean aside from havin’ to put up with your drunk asses?”

Angel blows him a kiss, gives him a wink, and slides his empty glass across the bar towards the bartender. Husk, well-practised, has a bottle ready to pour just as it comes to a stop in front of him, eyes still fixed in an impatient glare on the two of them. “Y’know ya love us, baby.”

“What else ya got to do, anyway, bitch?” Cherri teases, swiping up her own refill. Husk bites back the urge to tell her to shove it, so, so aware of the weight of the phone in his hand. His whole body is burning with the knowledge that you’re on the other end of the line and he’s missing those pretty sounds you’re making for him.

“Yeah…” Angel draws out the word invitingly. “Ya could always come out and party with us, y’know. We can show ya the best places to get ya fur mussed.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Course ya will,” Cherri eye-rolls.

Angel’s eyes flicker down to the phone still pressed to Husk’s chest. “Ya got a better offer, pussy cat?”

Husk thanks fuck for his poker face. “Goodnight Angel.”

The porn star and his bestie cackle, and the former leans over the bar to smack a kiss the bartender’s cheek teasingly with an exaggerated, obnoxious ‘mwah!’. Husk swats him away irritably, and the two of them continue laughing on their way out the door.

There’s a beat before Husk jerks the phone back to his ear, and his flagging erection immediately swells again with the sounds on the other end of the phone. Finally, thankfully alone, Husk uses his free hand to unbutton his fly, pushing his hand into his pants.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You let out a breathless, high-pitched sound with each pump of the toy into your soaking cunt. You’d rolled onto you knees, the phone still glued to your ear despite the silence he'd left you with and your thighs quivering as your hips jerk against the cum-slick silicone between your thighs.

You'd been so close when Husk had been taken away, and the minutes he'd left you see-sawing along the precipice of orgasm is making your mind fog and your jaw clench. Each roll of your hips sends sparks of need and pure pleasure up through your core, and while the muffled, growling voice of Husk coming through the phone was enough to make you shiver, it's edging you just as much as the toy is.

So, when you hear the phone move and Husk's sharp intake of breath, it takes everything in you, eyes screwed tight and sweat on your brow, not to cum right away.

"Oh, fuck, baby..." Husk groans as you whine in his ear, his own voice torn. "Holy fuck, you sound so pretty..."

"You left me," you whimper into the receiver, grinding down against the dildo. It fills you well, but the smooth line of it leaves you wanting. Conjuring the memory of the way the barbs of Husk's cock tease when he thrusts into you makes you clench around the toy, eyes rolling back behind their lids.

"I'm sorry, baby..." he murmurs, his voice rough and breathy in the way you know means he's touching himself too. "Have you been waitin' for me this whole time?"

"Mm-hmm..."

"Such a good girl for me."

"Fuck..." you moan, pressing your forehead into the sheets. Switching the phone to speaker, you let your hand slip down between your thighs, breath catching in a squeak as you touch your clit. "Fuck, Husk... please..."

"Gonna make it up to you, baby," he promises, voice ragged. You can picture him, hand pumping at his cock, head back and a furrow between his brows. The way his chest moves staccato as he tries to keep his breathing steady, the way he thrusts into his hand. "Gonna reward you for bein' so patient..."

"H-how?"

"You're gonna cum for me," he tells you, all whiskey and smoke and raw, honeyed desire. "You're gonna cum so hard for me that you soak those sheets. So hard that I might jus' be able to hear you moan my name all the way down here, even without the phone."

"F-fuck, Husk..."

"Jus' like that, baby. You're gonna cum for me like a good girl," he continues, his voice breaking as he gets closer to his own release. "And the minute you do I'm gonna come up those stairs, an' while you're still layin' there in your own mess, twitchin' with tears in your eyes... 'm gonna come up there and taste you."

Moaning aloud, you quicken your hand against your clit, grinding down against the dildo as best you can. You can taste blood in your mouth when you bite your lip, so overstimulated that even the feeling of the sheets rubbing against your nipples with every disjointed bounce of your body over the toy does bring tears to your eyes. You can feel them staining your cheeks, joining the drool that drips from the corner of your mouth to mark the sheet beneath you.

"Husk... sir, please..."

"I want to taste every drop of you, sweetness," Husk almost growls, breaking off with a breathless haah for a moment as he tries to keep himself under control. He won't cum until you do. "I want to bury my tongue in that gorgeous, tight little cunt of yours and feel you fucking quake..."

"HUSK, I'm..."

"Cum for me, baby," he urges, and you can just hear the sound of his hand quickening against his cock under the tenor of his voice. "You're such a good girl, baby, c'mon..."

Your body curls in on itself so tightly as you cum that it hurts, your back arching and your thighs clenching around your hands. You feel your cum squirt out around the toy, drenching the sheets and your inner thighs, pooling around your knees. You collapse onto your side, body twitching with each aftershock, breath sharp and cutting around his name as you try to come down from the high.

Husk groans your name back in your ear as he cums too, gutteral and visceral and deep and it's enough to make your cunt tighten around the dildo again, cum still leaking out of you. It almost hurts to leave it in, but any move you make makes your whole body twitch and you're still trying to focus on breathing.

Husk chuckles breathlessly, brokenly in your ear as he relaxes, exhaling a shuddering breath that makes you shiver.

"Two minutes, baby." he tells you, a soft growl playing under his words. "You've got two minutes before I do exactly what I promised."

[beauty-brains-braun]

Better

Hawks wants to get back together. Your best friend Bakugo has some thoughts on that.

mdni 18+

Pairings: Bakugo/fem reader, mentioned Past Hawks/ fem reader

Tags/TW:  Smut, Aged-Up Characters, Penis In Vagina Sex, Oral Sex, Jealousy

Your eyes tracked Keigo as he crossed the bar, stopping every few seconds to chat with one person or another. He hadn't spotted you yet. You'd really like to be looking elsewhere once he did but you couldn't seem to look away.

If you’d known he’d be here, you would have stayed home. Shouldn’t he have been off being an asshole somewhere else? How could he possibly fit this party into his busy schedule of preening and backstabbing? His head started to turn in your direction and you looked away so fast you felt your neck pop.

Katsuki Bakugo was sneering at you when you looked his way. “When are you going to get over that loser?”

“I am over him. He just infuriates me.” You lean a little closer to your best friend. “You wouldn’t be interested in flirting with me real quick though, by any chance?”

He snorted so hard, he almost choked on his beer. “No chance in hell, you better find Kirashima.”

You put your hand on his arm and laughed a touch too loudly, leaning against him. Kiri was not going to get the job done, Keigo had always been insanely jealous of your friendship with Katsuki and what would truly heal you was pissing the feathered man off.

“You have got to be joking.” Katsuki said, blinking incredulously. “This is you flirting? How do you keep finding boyfriends?” He held up a hand. “On second thought, maybe this is exactly why you only date losers.”

“Ouch” You put your hand to your chest. “Let’s walk that back several feet. I am excellent at flirting, I just usually have a partner who gives me something to work with.”

“You want something to work with?” He asked, setting down his beer.

“It would be ni-” You were cut off as he pulled from your stool, and spun you so your back touched the bar. You blinked rapidly in shock as your eyes met his crimson pair, sparkling deviously.

Katsuki’s arms brushed against yours where he caged you in and he leaned forwards, placing his mouth next to your ear. “Like this?”

Your throat was suddenly extremely dry and you struggled to respond, eventually just deciding to nod. A mistake because his mouth brushed your skin at the movement and lightning tingled up your spine.

He leaned back, just far enough to see your face, and you noticed his devious expression had been replaced by something else. Something you struggled to recognize.

A throat cleared nearby, startling you both. You looked up to find Keigo standing there, face twisted into a frown and eyes burning with annoyance. You’d forgotten he was even here.

“Keigo. What do you want?”

“Can we talk?” he asked and you almost smirked at the tone in his voice. Pissing him off had not been hard.

“We are talking, unfortunately.”

“Can we talk privately?”

“Fuck off, Hawks. She’s busy.” Katsuki glared hard at Hawks and the other man’s eyes narrowed in response. You sighed loudly, suddenly annoyed with both of them. They had always hated each other, though in all fairness Katsuki hated anyone higher than him on the hero chart. Privately, you thought he’d pass Hawks soon but the thought had always felt like a betrayal.

“Let’s not start, guys. You’re going to ruin Mina’s birthday. Again. Remember last year’s incident? With the cake.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes but Keigo turned back to you. “Can we just go outside and talk then? Please. Just for a minute.”

“Fine.” You gave in, too tired to fight him. You’d never been all that good at saying no to him.

“This is not a good idea.” Katsuki growled, turning back to you, arms still caging you in.

“I’ll be fine.” You assured him, placing your hand on his arm briefly, before moving out of his hold and following Keigo outside.

***********

Forty-five minutes later you were in your shower, letting the hot water wash the day off of your shoulders. You were alone, exhausted, and a little too proud of yourself for successfully holding your ground. Keigo had wanted to get back together but you’d told him no. He’d hurt you too badly. He’d demanded to know if something was going on with you and Katsuki. You told him what you did was none of his damn business anymore. He had made sure of that. After your talk you were left more confident than before that you were over him but you’d just wanted to get out of there so you texted Katsuki and Mina and came home. You were going to have to do some serious groveling to Mina but that was a problem for tomorrow..

You were turning off the water when someone began pounding loudly on your front door. Wrapping a giant towel around yourself, you went to answer it. Confused as to who would be knocking on your door like they’d like to break it down, you pulled it open suddenly, blinking in surprise to find Katsuki standing there, fist flying uselessly through the air as he tried to keep banging on a door that was no longer there.

“Is something wrong??” You looked him over for an injury.

Katsuki glared at you. “I can’t believe you.”

“What?” You asked, confused. “Are you mad I left because-”

“Yes, I’m mad you left! That asshole completely shredded your heart and you still leave with him? Where the fuck is he? I’m going to kick his ass.” Katsuki pushed past you into your apartment and disappeared into your bedroom.

Wait. He thought you’d left with Keigo? You followed him. “Katsuki, no one else is here. Not that it’s any of your business, actually, but I told Keigo to leave me alone.”

“Not my business?” He asked, voice raising slightly. “Who has to hear about it every single time your shitty taste in men comes back to bite you in the ass? Who has spent a decade watching you choose wrong again and again?”

Ouch. Your chest hurt suddenly and you turned away from him. Katsuki had always been there for you and it had never occurred to you that he resented it. “Sorry, I’ll just keep my poor choices to myself from now on.” You tried to walk away but his hand shot out, grabbing your arm and stopping you.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” You turned to look at him, fighting tears.

“I’m saying choose better.” He pulled you closer seconds before his mouth crashed into yours.

The lighting you felt up your spine at the bar earlier returned, this time coursing through your entire body. You were frozen in shock, the last thing you’d ever expected was Katsuki to kiss you.

He pulled away suddenly and cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, you obviously aren’t interested in-”

You didn’t let him finish the sentence, pulling him back to you and kissing him this time. He kissed you back immediately, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you as close to him as you could get. His other hand, he brought up to cup your neck and you shivered at the feeling of his skin on yours. Your nipples hardened and you were suddenly very aware that the only thing you were wearing was a towel.

Katsuki’s mouth left yours and he trailed kisses down your jaw and to your neck, making you gasp. “Can I taste you? “ He asked suddenly and heat flared through you. “I’ve always wanted to know what you taste like.” His crimson eyes were dark with lust and you found yourself nodding. The sight of him dropping to his knees before you would be cemented into your brain until you died. He reached for the edge of the towel and tugged firmly, eyes drinking you in the moment it dropped away.

“Fuck” he whispered. His fingers brushed your skin, trailing up your legs almost reverently to grasp your legs and spread them. His lips touched your skin, kissing your inner thighs, before he turned his head and his tongue found your clit then snaked down to your entrance, lapping up the juices he found there then returning his attention to your clit until your legs shook and threatened to collapse. He pulled away, looking up into your eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Katsuki got to his feet and kissed you so deeply, you could taste yourself on his tongue. He moved you both back a few steps and laid you down onto your bed before stepping back and removing his shirt. Your eyes drank in his muscles greedily and then he removed his pants. Your eyes dipped lower and widened at the sight of his cock. Your tongue darted out to lick your lips which were suddenly so so dry and Katsuki let out a low groan at the sight before he was back on top of you. His mouth was everywhere. On your mouth, your neck, then your breasts, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and biting lightly while his fingers push into you, stretching you around them. His thumb rubbed circles on your clit as you felt pressure building in your lower stomach until you snapped, cumming around his fingers.

He removed his fingers quickly replacing them with the head of his cock. He put his fingers into his mouth, licking your juices from them as he slowly pushed inside you.

“Fuck” he grunted, head dropping to rest on your shoulder when he bottomed out deep inside you.

“Please” you whined, grinding your hips, needing friction. Needing him to freaking move.

“Hold on, I- fuck- I need a second or this is gonna be over before it starts.” He let out a deep breath then finally pulled back, almost all of the way out of you and thrust back in. “God, you’re perfect. Just for me.” He fucked in and out of you, his cock hitting just the right spot every time. “So wet and tight for me.”

“Katsuki” you whined, feeling amazing but needing more. “Harder please.”

He let out a rough laugh and pulled out of you, drawing a cry of protest from you. “So needy for me, huh?” He flipped you over, pressing your back down into the mattress with one hand and pulling your hips up with the other. He slammed back into you, immediately setting the rough pace you’d desperately needed. “Answer me.”

You nodded, unable to form coherent words, not sure he’d have been able to hear you over the smacking of his hips on your ass every time he bottomed out inside you.

“Such a good girl for me. You’re sucking me in so good.” His chuckle turns into a moan as your orgasm hits you and your pussy clenches his cock, milking it. He falls forward, hands gripping your sheets as you cum around him and he fights to keep the same pace, to keep fucking you through your orgasm.

You dimly register sparks in the corner of your vision and the sound of Katsuki cursing, but can’t concentrate on anything except for the longest, most amazing orgasm of your life. It makes sense for you to see fireworks really. You slowly come down from your high and register the scorched handprints on your sheets and Katsuki pulling out to cum on your thighs.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I- shit.” He’s staring at your sheets in concern but you laugh, pulling him down next to you.

“Worth it.” You tell him, resting your head on his shoulder.

He smiled at you and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

“Should probably go ahead and get a few backup sets while you’re at it.” You teased.

“You think so?” He rolled over, nuzzling into your neck and nibbling at the skin there. “I suppose these are already ruined… We might as well take advantage.”

“Already?” You asked, laughing.

A knock at your door interrupted his reply and you exchanged a confused look.

“Maybe we were too loud?” You suggested but an annoyed knowing look had settled on Katsuki’s face.

He got to his feet, pulling on his boxers on the way to your door.

The sound of Keigo’s voice had you sitting up in surprise. You wrapped the sheet around you and made it to your bedroom door.

Keigo stood in the doorway to your apartment, staring at Katsuki in open mouthed outrage.

“She’s taken.” Katsuki snapped, slamming the door in Keigo’s face before he had time to respond.

Katsuki turned around, smirking when his eyes landed on you. “Now where were we?”

[briarscreek]

141 have to infiltrate a gala in the states (just go with it for a sec) but they go in as workers instead of guests

weeks before the event they’ll send in their resumes to the hotel hosting it, each in a different job that they picked, thinking that they can just skirt by their duties until the gala but they get paired with trainers who actually give a shit about their jobs.

Price picked his position just based on the title. hey, he is a captain so assistant banquet captain shouldn’t be so hard, right? wrong. it’s more paperwork than he’s ever seen in his life, actually. he accidentally ordered 1,000 bottles of wine instead of 100. love don’t get mad at him, how was he supposed to know that a unit of wine contained 6 bottles in each crate? don’t worry love, he’ll fix it. and now you’re stressed because you have to justify to the financial department why you have so much white wine and nowhere to store it when it got delivered.

Gaz fancied himself a nice cook on base so guess who’s the next sous chef at your station? you’re right, it’s him. you were told that an experienced chef was coming to finally help out in the little hotel kitchen but it became a disaster. he left sauces on higher temperatures than needed, burnt a whole chicken, and darling could you show him how to mince garlic again please? is this guy just really charismatic and flirting with you or is he just bad at his job? at this point, you’ll take what you can get. he’s not the worst but he’s got room to grow.

Ghost chooses to be a bartender just so that he has a vantage point while he’s stationed at the edge of the room. the only thing is that he still has his medical mask on, he says he’s a germaphobe (you don’t buy it for a second) and he still refuses to take it off. whatever everyone’s got their quirks but dove, what the fuck is a sex on the beach? what do you mean this is an open bar, thought you only serve beer and wine? he goes home with your flashcard set of all the basic cocktails and now he has a few weeks to know the difference between a manhattan and a screwdriver.

Johnny chose to be an A/V technician, it’s no brainer. all he’s gotta do is set up some lights, some projectors, whatever. it’s manual based so he doesn’t care. until his trainer tells him to go set up the tech table to actually run the lights & projector. bonnie, why are there so many cables? what are these for? they’re for the projectors dummy, what happened to your 6 years in audio/visual experience? guess you gotta take over now before he accidentally overpowers an outlet or trips the breaker to the whole hotel.

*bonus*

all the trainers are actually friends so when they get together for their weekly dinner, they start putting the pieces together. four separate men are hired with glowing reviews but are miraculously doing terrible at their jobs. there’s gotta be something else going on cause there’s no way that their tough as nails hiring manager would have hired all of them on the spot of their first interviews.

(he would if he was bribed by the military to keep quiet)

[gothcsz]

jealous possessive javi?

💖

tags: f!reader, smut, javi cheats on you, unprotected p in v sex (this is fiction but be safe irl), fingering, angst, jealous and possessive javi, unbeta'd, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx. ~ 5.1k w/c / gif cred

a/n: toxic!javi stans, this is for us 🙂‍↕️ kat keep your writings short challenge (FAILED) hope you like this my sweet anon 🖤

You’ve been broken up for ten weeks now. Two months and ten agonizing days. Every minute since has felt like a slow burn, as if each breath without him is a reminder of the emptiness he left behind. You thought you’d have been over him by now— Javier Peña wasn’t supposed to have this kind of hold on you, not after everything he did.

Not after you walked into his office that night, a surprise dinner in hand, only to find him fucking his secretary. The image still sears behind your eyes— the slick, desperate way they moved together while you stood frozen in the doorway, a witness to your own heartbreak.

The signs had always been there, even from the first date. The way his eyes lingered a little too long on the waitress or how he’d get that restless look in his eyes when you weren’t around. But damn, he had a way of making you feel like you were the only one.

Like every glance, every touch, was meant for you and you alone. He had a gift for making you feel special, all while hiding his cock’s insatiable appetite behind a charming smile.

Now, you feel raw, like maybe it was your fault. Maybe you weren’t enough to keep him satisfied. Maybe you didn’t do enough in bed, didn’t keep his interest, didn’t hold onto him like you should have. The betrayal made you feel small, made you question every moment, every kiss, every whispered promise. It should’ve made walking away easier, catching him like that. It should’ve been enough to erase him from your mind. But it wasn’t.

And it’s taken this long— two months and ten days— of wallowing, of replaying the betrayal, to finally push you out of your haze. Tonight, something shifts. Your friend set you up with someone from her work, and after much prodding, you said yes.

Tonight, you’ve decided to put yourself back out there. Maybe if you let someone else touch you, if you let someone else in, you’ll finally be able to push Javier out of your mind for good.

It’s been radio silence ever since. After you caught him in his office, the scene unfolded like something out of a bad movie. His face went from shock to panic in a split second, scrambling to pull up his pants, stumbling over excuses. “She meant nothing,” he stammered, running after you with that flustered, desperate look. “It was a mistake!” But you didn’t stop, didn’t even give him a second glance. You barely held back the tears as you hurled the containers of food at him, the dinner you’d lovingly prepared splattering down the hallway, leaving a messy trail as you stormed toward the stairwell. No way in hell were you waiting for the elevator. Six flights of stairs felt like nothing compared to the pit in your stomach, and the thought of giving him even one more second to sweet talk you back into his web made you sick.

You blocked him on everything the minute you got home. Packed a bag with the essentials and bolted to your cousin’s place, where you spent weeks crying yourself to sleep on her couch. Not a single call. Not a text. Not that he could, since you blocked him on every possible avenue. But even then, he didn’t try. Not a knock on the door, not a surprise visit. You realized in those sleepless nights that he’d never really bothered to get close to anyone in your life. Another red flag you had stupidly painted green, thinking he was the man of your dreams.

So when you finally pull yourself together, forcing yourself out of that dark pit of misery and agreeing to this blind date at the bar, you’re in higher spirits. You’re ready to move on— or at least try. But of course, life has a twisted sense of humor. Because the last person you expect to see sitting at the bar, laughing with another woman like nothing happened, is Javier fucking Peña.

You’d recognize that broad, infuriatingly beautiful frame anywhere. He stands out like a sore thumb, even in the dim lighting. Broad shoulders, lean muscles, and the biggest mistake of your life. The shittiest man you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. And yet, the sight of him still makes your chest tighten, reminding you just how much you let him get away with.

You almost suggest to your date that you should hit up a different bar, something far across town, anywhere but here. But no, you catch yourself. You’re done letting your ex dictate your life, done letting him take up space in your head. You’ve shed too many tears over that man, and tonight isn’t going to be another chapter in the same pathetic story.

At first, he doesn’t even notice you. Of course, his attention is fully on the woman he’s with— some gorgeous thing with legs for days and a face that belongs on a magazine cover. It stings, that familiar twinge of jealousy creeping in. You can’t help it, especially when you know he’s always going to have a pretty girl on his arm.

It’s not until your date excuses himself to use the restroom that Javier’s dark, smoldering eyes finally land on you. And what does he do when your gazes meet? He fucking smirks. That slow, deliberate smirk that used to make your knees weak. He throws in a wink for good measure, casually bringing his short glass up to his lips, taking his time with a sip as if he hasn’t just shattered your evening. His eyes linger on you, tracing every inch of your body, undressing you from across the room without so much as a word.

You shift in your seat, heart pounding in your chest as you quickly turn away, forcing your focus on some random sports game playing on the big screen nearby. But even with your eyes elsewhere, you can feel it— the weight of his stare crawling down your neck, tracing the line of your plunging neckline. Of course he’s looking. Tonight is the night you pulled out the dress— the one kept tucked away for special occasions, the revenge dress.

Every girl has one. The one that hugs in all the right places, the one you save for when you need to remind the world, and yourself, exactly what you’re made of.

And while your date had all but drooled when you stepped out in it, there’s no denying the heat in Javier’s gaze from across the bar. You don’t have to look at him to know what he’s thinking— he’s already imagining that dress crumpled on his bedroom floor.

Your date returns from the restroom, noticeably tipsier and much more handsy than when he left. His touch is bold, his fingers possessive, and you revel in it.

You lean into the attention, letting him pull you closer, putting on a little show for the audience you know is watching. Javier might think he’s the only one who knows how to have fun, but you’re going to make sure he sees just how wrong he is.

Your date’s hands wander over your body— grabbing at your ass, pulling you into him by your hips. He leans in, hot breath against your ear, whispering all the filthy things he’s planning to do to you in the back of his car.

He doesn’t even want to wait until you’re back at your place. He’s desperate, and though you hesitate for a second— things are moving a lot faster than you planned— you can feel Javier’s eyes burning into the back of your skull. His relentless glare pushes you forward, stirring something reckless inside of you.

So, you let it happen. You let this guy press his body into yours, his hands traveling, voice dripping with lust, promising you things he probably won’t even remember tomorrow. But in the heat of the moment, you don’t care. It’s not about him, really. It’s about you. About knowing that Javier’s watching every second of this, hating every second of this, and that’s enough to fuel you.

The next thing you know, you’re outside in the alley behind the bar, lips locked like horny teenagers. His mouth is on your neck, sucking on that sensitive spot that makes your knees weak, and despite yourself, you let out a soft moan.

His fingers slip beneath your panties, fumbling as they rub at your clit, off-rhythm and sloppy. But right now, that doesn’t even matter. What matters is that someone else is touching you. Someone else is making you feel something other than loneliness and anger.

Suddenly, he’s ripped off you, and the cool air rushes in where his body had been pressed against yours. Your eyes snap open, and there he is—Javier, seething with rage, his hand gripping your date by the collar. The force with which he slams him into the brick wall makes your heart lurch.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shout, the shock sobering you up fast as you yank down the hem of your dress, covering yourself as best as you can. Anger surges through you, hot and wild. Your hands tremble as you take in the scene— Javier’s knuckles white against your date’s shirt, his face a mask of pure fury.

Javier’s voice is low, dangerous, a growl vibrating from his chest. “Who the fuck do you think you are, touching what’s mine?”

The laugh that bursts out of you is involuntary, bitter, filled with disbelief. His?! Your mind spins. After everything he’s done, after the way he broke you, he still has the audacity to act like you belong to him? Like you’re some possession he can claim when it suits him?

“She didn’t tell me she was seeing anyone,” your date stammers, already backing down, and you want to scream. Men used to go to war. Now, they cower when a bigger man steps in.

You feel an irrational surge of anger, not just at Javier but at this pathetic display of submission.

“Because I’m not,” you spit, stomping over to where Javier has your date pinned against the wall. You shove at Javier’s arm, trying to break his grip, but it’s like trying to move a mountain. You forgot how strong he is, how solid. His presence alone feels suffocating, like a storm rolling in and swallowing all the air around you.

Javier’s eyes flick toward you for a split second before turning back to the man trembling in his grasp. “You come near her again, and I’ll shoot your fucking knees out. You hear me? She doesn’t need a limp dick motherfucker like you putting your filthy fucking hands on her.” His words are a snarl, dripping with venom, and you can see the terror in your date’s eyes, his resolve crumbling as fast as it appeared.

It’s brief, but, you think your date might actually muster the courage to stand his ground. However, Javier’s patience snaps, and before you can react, he drives his knee into the guy’s groin with brutal precision. The man lets out a strangled whimper, doubling over in pain, and Javier finally releases him.

You gasp, hand flying to your mouth, watching in disbelief.

“Understood?” Javier’s voice cuts through the alley like a blade.

Your date nods frantically, both hands clutching his crotch as he stumbles away, all but sprinting out of the alley like a scared animal. The sound of his hurried footsteps fades, leaving you and Javier alone in the dim light.

Your fury boils over, fists clenching at your sides. “You’ve got some fucking nerve, Peña,” you snap, marching up to him and shoving at his chest with every ounce of strength you can summon. But he doesn’t budge. He stands there, unshakable, like the damn tower of arrogance he’s always been.

“Ruining my date, acting like you have some claim over me. I’m not yours anymore!”

Javier’s dark eyes are locked on you, tracing your every movement, burning a path from your heaving chest to your flushed cheeks. He doesn’t say a word, but his gaze alone sends a shiver down your spine.

It’s not just anger in those eyes. It’s something else, something that has always made your pulse quicken. The intensity of it makes your breath hitch, even though you’re trying your hardest to stay mad, to stay strong.

You push him again, but it feels like pushing against stone. “You think you can just show up, intimidate some guy, and suddenly I’m yours again? That’s not how this works you asshole.”

He says nothing, his chest rising and falling as he watches you, eyes dark and unreadable. Then he leans in, his voice low and rough. “So I’m just supposed to hang back and watch you practically fuck that guy in front of everyone?”

His words send a jolt of heat through you, the way his voice drops to that familiar, dangerous rumble that used to make your knees weak. But you force yourself to stand firm, to remind yourself that you’re mad— furious, even.

You won’t let him have this kind of power over you again. You can’t.

“Go to hell, Javier,” you snap, shoving him one last time before stepping back, your heart hammering in your chest.

But even as you say it, you feel the pull, that magnetic force that’s always existed between the two of you. And as much as you want to hate him, you can’t deny that part of you still burns for him, still aches for the way he used to make you feel.

“Chiquita,” he drawls, sending shivers down your spine. “You can’t talk to me all angry like that, looking this fucking good, and expect me not to want to push you up against that wall and fuck you like you need.”

Your jaw drops, your brain scrambling for a response, but nothing comes out. His words hit you like a slap, bold and filthy, and despite yourself, heat shoots straight to your cunt. You curse under your breath, hating how your body betrays you.

“Y-You—” you stammer, but you can’t even string a sentence together. And that’s all it takes for him to smirk, that infuriating, knowing smirk that tells you he still has that effect on you.

“You’ve got that girl in there,” you snap, voice trembling even as you try to hold your ground. “Your secretary, and probably half the goddamn city, waiting to spread their legs for you. Not me. Not anymore.”

But even as you say it, your voice falters. The truth you’re trying to convince yourself of feels thin, weak in the face of his presence. He takes a step closer, and instinctively, you take a step back.

“Still hung up on that?” He shakes his head, almost amused. “C’mon, baby, I told you. She was a mistake. She came onto me.”

Another step forward. Another step back.

You can’t believe he’s really doing this— feeding you the same tired excuses. But then again, you can. This is exactly what men like Javier Peña do.

They lie, they cheat, and they make you feel like you’re the one being unreasonable.

“Bullshit someone else, Peña,” your voice shakes again, betraying you. “I’m done with you.”

But he keeps advancing, every step pushing you back until your spine hits the cold, rough brick of the alley wall. You curse under your breath, ready to slip past him, to get out of here before he does something you can’t walk away from. But he moves faster, caging you in with his hands planted on either side of your head.

“I’m not bullshitting,” he murmurs as he leans in close. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, and despite every ounce of willpower, your body reacts.

His dark brown eyes burn into you, their intensity pulling you under. “She meant nothing. Pussy wasn’t even half as good as yours. Couldn’t even compare.” His nose brushes the side of your face, and you know he’s inhaling the scent of your perfume— the one he always loved.

“Javier…” you try to protest, but your resolve crumbles with each passing second. His hand finds your waist, slowly trailing up the length of your body, fingertips grazing your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. Your breath hitches, and you hate yourself for it.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispers, his voice softer now. His palm comes up to cup your breast, kneading it gently, and your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to the familiar touch that your body still craves, even if your mind is screaming at you to stop.

“You’re a liar,” you breathe, barely managing to get the words out as his fingers tease your hardened nipple through the fabric of your dress.

Before you can react, his other hand moves with lightning speed, wrapping firmly around your throat. He squeezes just enough to tilt your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. The heat in his eyes is undeniable.

“Don’t say that,” he growls. His grip tightens just slightly, enough to make your pulse quicken under his palm. “Do you know how much it fucking hurt to see another man touching you the way I did? Huh?” He leans in, his lips hovering near your ear as his breath tickles your skin. “You can be so inconsiderate sometimes, cariño.”

Your heart races in your chest, caught between anger and arousal. You should push him away, should scream at him, but the way he’s looking at you— like you’re the only thing that matters in the world— makes it impossible to move.

You open your mouth to speak, but his grip around your throat tightens just enough to rob you of breath, silencing whatever retort you had.

“Letting him put his hands on you like that…” he scoffs, his dark eyes scanning your face as if daring you to deny it. “Touching up on my pretty pussy like he had the fucking right. Like he could handle what’s mine. Even if you had fucked him, we both know he wouldn’t have left you all sore and throbbing the way I do. Wouldn’t have made you wet enough to take his small cock. You’d have to fake it. And for what? To try and make me jealous?”

His words are cutting, sinful, and despite your anger, you feel the way your arousal smears against the fabric of your underwear.

The twisted satisfaction in his voice, the way his grip tightens then loosens just enough for you to breathe— he knows exactly how to break you down, how to remind you that no one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“It seems like it worked,” you manage to gasp out, your voice a rasp as you gulp in air. “You came out here all pissed at the thought that someone else could make me feel better than you ever did.”

That’s what does it. His control snaps.

In an instant, his lips crash against yours in a bruising kiss. It’s rough, possessive, and desperate. His tongue invades your mouth, demanding and unapologetic, as if he’s punishing you for even thinking someone else could replace him.

His hand, the one that had been so firmly on your throat, moves to grope your breast, squeezing you roughly. You moan against his mouth, your body reacting on instinct, traitorous in its desire for him.

“Esos ruidos tan bonitos. Solo para mí.” He murmurs when he pulls back just enough to speak, a string of spit still connecting your mouths. His voice is low, vibrating with dark satisfaction. “Si alguien está mintiendo aquí, eres tú, chiquita.”

His words swirl in your head as you gasp for breath, but before you can form a coherent thought, his hand is already sliding down your body. His fingers trail down your waist, lingering at the hem of your dress before slipping underneath. You let out a sharp gasp, biting down on your lip as his fingers find your soaked panties.

It all happens so fast after that. The hunger between you ignites like a flame catching gasoline. The intensity of the kiss deepens, all teeth and tongues. His possessive touch makes you writhe beneath him, your body yielding even as your mind fights to hold on to some shred of dignity.

“Look at you,” he breathes against your lips, his voice dripping with desire. “Moaning for me. You always do, don’t you?”

“Javier…” You try to protest, but your words are swallowed by another moan as his fingers slip inside your panties, brushing against your throbbing clit.

“Shh, baby. Let me remind you what you’ve been missing,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin as his fingers begin to stroke you. His movements are deliberate, knowing exactly how to play your body, how to coax those helpless little noises from your throat. “God, you’re so fucking wet. All for me. Always for me.”

You gasp his name, your hands gripping his shoulders as his fingers slide inside you, curling just right. The tension in your body melts, replaced with a rush of heat that pools between your thighs. Your mind blanks, lost in the feel of him— his hand working you over, his mouth pressing hot kisses to your neck.

“You mean everything to me,” he whispers into your ear, his voice ragged as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the slick sound filling the alley. “This tight little pussy? She was made for me. Feels like heaven around my fingers. Imagine how good she’ll feel wrapped around my cock, huh?”

Your body trembles, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as the pressure inside you builds with each thrust of his fingers. You know you shouldn’t be here, pinned against a wall, letting this man who shattered your heart pull you apart like this.

But God, his touch is addictive. His possessive words ignite every part of you.

“Say it,” he growls, his fingers curling deeper, hitting that perfect spot that makes you see stars. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Javier…” Your voice is barely a whisper, your resolve crumbling with each passing second as he drags you closer and closer to the edge.

“Say it baby,” he demands, his breath hot against your skin as his thumb presses against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. “Tell me I’m the only one who can fuck you like this.”

“No,” you gasp, using every ounce of willpower to bring your hand down, gripping his wrist, halting the delicious rhythm of his fingers inside you.

His fingers still, his breath heavy against your skin as you lock eyes with him, summoning every shred of confidence through the haze of lust clouding your mind. “You tell me that. Tell me I’m the only one who drives you this crazy.”

The tension crackles between you, thick and electric. Your chest heaves, heart racing as his dark eyes search yours.

He groans, leaning in, his lips brushing yours with a desperate hunger. “You are,” he breathes, but it’s not enough.

You can’t help but smirk, your pussy clenching around his fingers just to tease him, making him hiss through clenched teeth. “Say it like you mean it, Javier,” you demand, fueled by the fire burning between your thighs. “You broke my fucking heart, and if you think you’re going to fuck me tonight, you’re going to admit it. Tell me I did everything right. That you are the one who’s hurting. Tell me how much you miss this pussy. How you crave her on your tongue, how you miss fucking her in your bed.”

His eyes drown in lust at your command. His fingers twitch inside you, but he doesn’t move yet. Instead, he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze head-on, staring straight into your soul, his breath ragged and uneven.

It’s a battle of wills, and for a second, you think you’ve won.

“I’m sorry, pretty girl,” he purrs, and finally, his fingers begin to move again, slow and deliberate, a tantalizing rhythm that sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. “Sorry for hurting you so bad you felt the need to find another dick to hop on.” His thumb presses against your clit, making your hips buck involuntarily as you gasp at the sensation. “I fucked up. You deserve better.”

His words are laced with apology, but his actions? Pure, selfish desire. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your toes curl. Your head falls back against the brick wall, eyes fluttering closed as a ragged moan escapes your lips.

“But I’m too selfish to let you go,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and husky. “I need you, baby. Miss how sweet you taste, how tight you feel.”

Javier’s mouth is on your neck then, his tongue darting out to lick at the damp skin, tasting the salt of your sweat as his fingers continue their relentless assault. Each stroke brings you closer to the edge, and it’s intoxicating— how easily he can unravel you, how effortlessly he pulls you apart.

Your body feels weightless, high on him, and with each praise, each filthy promise that falls from his lips, you’re hurtling toward your release. His thumb circles your clit faster now, his fingers curling deeper, and you can’t hold it back any longer.

“Javier!” you cry out, your walls clenching around his fingers as the orgasm crashes through you, making your body tremble. Your moans fill the alleyway, breathless and raw, and as you come undone, his mouth crashes into yours in a sloppy, desperate kiss.

He swallows your moans as he undoes his belt with one hand, his fingers never leaving you until the last possible second. Before you even have time to catch your breath, he’s lifting you off the ground, and instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist.

You barely have time to gasp before he’s thrusting inside you, burying himself to the hilt in one swift, brutal motion.

“Oh fuck!” you exclaim, your arms flying around his neck as he starts to pound into you, his thrusts deep and punishing. The sound of your bodies colliding, skin slapping against skin, echoes in the narrow alley. Every thrust pushes you further up the wall, and you clutch onto him for dear life as he fucks you hard, like a man possessed.

“Feels so good, baby,” he growls into your ear, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you relentlessly. “Only I can fuck you like this. Only I can make you scream.”

And you do scream, pleasure and frustration mixing together as you meet his punishing thrusts, your body moving on instinct, chasing the high that only Javier can give you.

“You feel that, pretty girl?” His voice is a low rasp in your ear, thick with need, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through your core. “This—this is how I fuck what’s mine. No one else can make you feel like this. Admit it.”

His grip tightens on your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he drives into you, deeper, rougher. It’s brutal how good he feels, how perfectly his cock stretches and fills you, like your body was made for him.

You hate him, hate that he can still make you feel this fucking good, but your body betrays you, responding to his every touch, clenching around him as if to hold him there forever.

“I—” you stutter, breathless, eyes crossing as the sensations drown out your thoughts. His cock is relentless, pushing you toward the edge again, and you can’t hold back the moan that escapes your lips. “I—God, I hate you…”

But it sounds hollow, even to your own ears. The truth is you can’t resist him, never could. He knows exactly how to break you apart, and you despise how much you crave him, how much you need this despite the pain he’s brought you.

Javier chuckles darkly, his breath hot against your neck. “No, you don’t. You love this. You love the way I make you feel.” His lips brush the shell of your ear, biting down on your lobe. “And I love the way you fall apart for me. Just me.”

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out as he thrusts harder, faster. You can feel the pressure building inside you again, tightening with every stroke, every whispered promise of what he’ll do to you.

It’s almost too much, the way he claims you, body and soul. And the worst part? You’re letting him. You want him to.

“Say it,” he demands, his pace quickening, hips slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll feel it for days. His lips find yours again, his kiss angry and claiming. “Say you’re mine.”

You shake your head, gasping, fighting against the overwhelming pleasure threatening to consume you. “Javier—”

“Say it,” he growls, his voice rough and insistent as he reaches between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. He circles it with precision, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through your body, pushing you closer to the brink.

“Fuck!” You cry out, the intensity of his touch stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body is on fire, trembling, and you know you’re about to shatter beneath him. “I—I’m yours…”

The words tumble from your lips in a desperate whisper, and the moment they do, it’s like something snaps inside him. His thrusts become brutal, animalistic, and your world narrows down to the feel of him— his cock, his hands, his lips, all of it overwhelming you, driving you toward that final, devastating release.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Now come for me.”

And with that, you do. The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, crashing through your body with a force that leaves you breathless. Your walls clench tight around him, your moans loud and unrestrained as you come undone in his arms, shaking and trembling.

Javier groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he follows you over the edge, spilling himself inside you with a low, primal grunt. His body shudders against yours, his grip on you tightening as he rides out his release.

The world is still. All you can hear is the sound of your ragged breaths and the pounding of your heart as you both come down from the high. You’re pressed against him, his forehead resting against yours, the intensity of the moment hanging in the air between you.

But as the haze of pleasure fades, reality starts creeping back in.

You push him away, your palms flat against his chest, but he doesn’t move, if anything, he tightens his hold on you.

His brown eyes still linger on yours, filled with the same possessiveness that’s always been there.

“I told you,” he murmurs, voice low, as if this moment has proven everything he wanted to. “You’re mine.”

🏷️ : @almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @bitchesuntitled . @angiewatson .

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

[genericpuff]

(You can delete this ask if it makes you uncomfortable) Do you think I should give up on my dream of being a webcomic artist? It's been what I'd been wanting to for years yet from what I'm hearing, it's hard to get money and an audience and that the mainstream webcomic hosting platforms don't treat their creators well. It doesn't help that while my art is decent, I don't really know how to create webcomics beyond like really short 4-5 panel comics even though I'd been drawing for many years. There's also the issue of my ADHD making it difficult to commit to stuff but then again at least that can be hopefully fixed once I get medicated. So, now the career of a webcomic artist sounds like a pipe dream at best. Is it worth pursuing, even if I don't make much money with it?

"Do you think I should give up on my dream of being a webcomic artist?"

And this isn't just for you, anon, this is for everyone who follows my nonsense here.

Yes, it's hard to build an audience.

It's even harder to make money.

You should still make webcomics if you really want to do it.

The only practical piece of advice I can give you from the perspective of someone who's been doing this for years is to manage your expectations. Because that's the biggest mistake a lot of webcomic artists make (and I too, made this mistake) they go into it setting the bar that it HAS to result in them making a living off it, getting famous off it, etc. when that's unfortunately only the reality for the 1% who get lucky or have an advantage that the other 99% don't have. And then, of course, failing to meet those ridiculously high expectations makes the fall hurt that much harder if you fail, especially with odds like that stacked against you. That's not to say you shouldn't set a bar for yourself, but you have to set it in a place that's reasonable. Especially if you're an artist with ADHD (same, mood), we have a REAL bad habit of setting the bar unreasonably high for ourselves when we're still learning and getting our feet wet (it's why we're always taking on new hobbies after getting inspired by musicians or crafters and then getting immediately discouraged when we're not suddenly able to do the thing with that same amount of skill).

Set the bar in a reasonable place with reasonable expectations, and then when you MEET that bar, you'll have even more motivation and confidence to aim higher. What won't give you confidence is setting the bar alongside the pros who have been at this for years, because not only will it take way too long to hit that for you to see results, you might give up before you even come close because of how far away the bar is.

A career as a webcomic artist is about as guaranteed as making a career out of Youtube. But being a webcomic artist, period? You can do it. Anyone can do it. I'm still doing it in spite of everything. Like, I cannot even fully express to you just how much of what I do here is the culmination of a long list of failures. My art, my writing, the stuff I do here is built on the corpses of my failures. But those failures were still important, they had to happen to make me into the person and artist I am today. That person is STILL making mistakes, and that artist is STILL not rich LOL Failure is scary, but fear of failure is the true killer of joy and growth.

Do not tie the merit of being a webcomic artist to how much money you can (or can't) make out of it. Just like with starting a Youtube channel, you shouldn't go into it expecting money and fame right out the gate, but there are equal amounts of joy and experience you can gain by doing it. There's a reason people say you have to do it out of love and passion first because ultimately that's all you'll have to keep carrying you through if and when you fail to meet your goals. You don't have to be sure if you'll still want to do it a year from now or five years from now, none of that matters. If you want to do it now, then do it.

Make your 4-5 panel comics if that's what you enjoy doing. Make whatever tickles your fancy. Acknowledge your fears and doubts, thank them for their opinion, and do it anyways. "What if it ends up being a waste of time?" The time will pass anyways. Worst case, at least you'll be able to say you did it. That's better than never trying and regretting it in the end.

[ghcstao3]

Different first meeting soap/ghost please

They’re at a bar and Simon is being harassed so orders an angel shot or something Johnny overhears and steps into help him out.

Then they meet when they do in game and ghost recognises soap but soap doesn’t recognises him because of the mask.

Ghost is a lot more trusting of soap because he knows he actually is just that kind even to strangers.

Love your writing hope you have a good day

thank you ! :) and i hope this is alright i kind of got carried away with word count haha

cw for sexual harassment

-

For most of his adult life, Simon has recognized the fact that he is a large man. Tall and broad and imposing; if it weren’t for the learned skill of making himself small, it’d be quite difficult to ignore his presence in just about any room.

That being said, just because he’s a large man does not mean he’s overbearing, overpowering, disrespectful. But he knows he is intimidating more often than not, so why is it that the uninvited man in his booth only moves closer every time Simon denies another offer for a drink?

The man is smaller than Simon, though not by much. And logically, realistically, Simon knows he could win a fight if it came down to it. But he’d prefer no conflict, really—quite ironic for a military man—it’s just particularly difficult when he feels unwanted lips press against his neck, teeth nipping at sensitive skin that only seem to chase when Simon attempts to pull away.

A hand grips tightly onto his bicep to keep him in place as if he isn’t already cornered, crowded up against the wall with nowhere to escape to. Simon feels alone, small, and his mind churns with too few ideas of how to get out of this.

Another hand creeps between his thighs, and Simon can’t help the way his knee jerks in aversion, slamming painfully against the underside of the table as the man only laughs, his hot, putrid breath on Simon’s throat as he continues to purr various pet names that have Simon’s skin crawling.

He’d apparently been foolish to believe a man like himself could have a drink in peace.

The man is then dragging Simon out of the booth as much as Simon attempts to stay put, but the nails digging crescents into his skin threaten blood just as the falsely saccharine smile on the stranger’s face does.

Mercifully, Simon is not brought to the washroom, or some other dark corner in the establishment. He’s only brought to the bar for the moment, a drink he doesn’t want ordered, a vice grip still held on his arm.

But he must be owed some miracle by a higher power, when he’s granted just a brief enough window to put in another order, as the man turns to flirt with the woman in the barstool next to him like he hasn’t been attached to Simon for the better part of a half hour.

The bartender’s gaze flickers between him and his unwelcome company and her brow furrows, jaw set as she nods minutely with a mouthed promise to see what she can do.

Simon can only pray as minutes are fleeting.

*

John has had his eyes on the booth for quite a while.

At first, it was in admiration. A sort of pining for the ruggedly handsome stranger sitting alone in the booth, occupied by whatever thoughts danced about such a pretty head. John decides quickly that he could never approach the man, to scared to disrupt the stranger’s clear peace, the temporary reprieve that keeps his brow relaxed and jaw unclenched as he traces the rim of his glass.

Briefly, there’s a jealousy when another man slips into the both beside the stranger, burrowing into the man’s side with far too much comfort to not be intimate.

But that jealousy quickly melts away for anger, concern, fear. In his quick glances to the corner, John notices the clear look of discomfort on the stranger’s face as the other man claims the stranger’s space as his own. John sees the word no on the stranger’s lips more times than John is comfortable knowing, but he doesn’t know if he should interfere just yet.

Doesn’t know what consequences it might have for the stranger. So John holds back a little longer, shifting constantly in his seat as a quiet fury prickles at his spine, the instinct to jump into action growing by the second. He couldn’t just sit by and let it happen, hope that the situation resolves itself. He couldn’t.

And he doesn’t have to. Not as the stranger is pulled up to the bar, still tense and nearly as rigid as a statue. Not as John overhears him order an angel shot the first chance he gets, with only a single nervous glance toward the man beside him, as if he couldn’t easily overpower such scum without trying.

The bartender doesn’t reappear before the stranger is being dragged off again.

That’s when John intercepts.

He moves from his table and directly into their path, plastering on a smile in greeting like he hadn’t been keeping eyes on the situation for as long as it had been going on.

“Hey, it’s been forever!” John exclaims, bumping a fist against the stranger’s shoulder. “Thought I’d never see you again after you transferred units.”

The stranger forces a laugh, still visibly trying to pull away at the man that refused to leave him alone.

“It’s good to see you,” is the quiet response. Any other time and John might have melted into the low rumble of his voice, but he shoves that want away, deep down until it’s entirely subdued. It’s unfair to the stranger. “I—“

“Who are you?” The man—the offender—asks loudly, turning his nose up at John before peering past him like he’s wondering how easy it’d be to push John aside and continue being an asshole to the poor stranger.

“An old friend.” John keeps his voice pointedly neutral as he squares his shoulders, tries to make himself taller. “From the army. You wouldn’t mind if I steal him a moment, aye?”

The man narrows his eyes at John, hardly considering.

John adds, “Not every day I get to catch up with the best sniper I’ve met.”

If only he knew how close to the truth he was.

The man seems to shift a bit with the comment, almost like he’s uncomfortable with the thought of messing with someone of such qualifications. His grip must loosen, as the stranger finally wrenches his arm free.

“We’re… busy,” the man finally decides.

“Then I’ll sit with you.”

“I don’t know if—“

“Really.” John grits his teeth. “I insist.”

The stranger’s eyes dart between John and the man, throat working anxiously as he watches everything play out.

The man scoffs, finally stepping away entirely. “Fine,” he mutters. “Whatever.”

John doesn’t miss the breath of relief that escapes the stranger as he’s finally left alone. He doesn’t miss the slump of his shoulders, the shift in his stance. John smiles sheepishly up at him once the man is out of sight.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes. He offers out a hand. “I’m John.”

Acceptance, a shake. The man’s own hand is warm, large, enveloping. “Simon. Thank you.”

John shrugs. “It’s the very least I could do, really,” he says softly. “I’ll walk you out?”

Simon nods, a subtle gratefulness in his face. He offers a reserved smile to John, and John thinks his knees go weak.

He leads Simon outside, few more quiet words exchanged before bidding farewell and safe wishes. Simon thanks him again before crossing the street and disappearing back into the city.

For the next few years, John would find himself wishing they could have met under different circumstances.

*

The sound of transport is loud in Ghost’s ears along with the hustle and bustle of men preparing to ship out for their next assignment.

Shepherd is in his headset with details of the mission, but Ghost can hardly be bothered—he’s already been briefed several times over. It’s a high stakes mission, after all.

Though, most if not all of his missions seem to be.

The general mentions something about a sergeant that’ll be joining Ghost, fighting under his command. Ghost hardly processes the introduction before said man is disembarking from a truck and marching up to the lieutenant.

Before said man bumps a fist to Ghost’s chest like he had however many years ago. Before John is smiling brightly at him and promising to save Ghost a seat.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost mumbles, breathless.

But of course, John wouldn’t recognize him. Not with the mask and battle-hardened years. Not with anything more than a callsign to address him.

Ghost continues on his way. He can focus on this much, much later. When his job isn’t coming first. When his life won’t be in peril.

At least he knows he can place trust in the sergeant. Instinct tells him, even when he’s never seen John fight.

Instinct tells him, when he recalls the irony of the excuses John made to help him escape a bad situation. It had never been lost on him.

Ghost clears his throat, and slips into command.

*

Soap never expected the Ghost to be so kind to him when they begin working together.

The lieutenant doesn’t go easy on him, of course, but he isn’t nearly as standoffish with Soap as he is with everyone else. He doesn’t place nearly as much trust in others as he does Soap—barring someone like Price, of course.

Soap doesn’t expect to find himself nearly preening, knowing he’s some sort of exception, because Ghost is someone he admires like so few others.

Ghost doesn’t undermine him. Doesn’t chide him for biting back at authority, doesn’t dismiss his ideas or contributions.

He’s a good man, Soap learns, in spite of rumours. A very alive and human man, in spite of everything others claim.

He’s a man that, apparently, Soap had met years prior.

After betrayal, survival, and everything between, Soap learns this. Learns this as his new team crowds around a table as a new team is formed from the ashes of what they had all been. Learns this as Ghost tosses ski masks from a duffle onto the table and reaches for his own hard-plate mask and pulls it off, revealing mussed hair, pale skin and a litany of scars, and a face Soap never anticipated being so familiar.

And as Price is saying, “It’s good to see you, Simon,” Soap finds himself agreeing.

Then Simon is pulling a new mask over his face, and Soap finds himself thinking, swearing that they’d all better make it out of this thing alive.

He wouldn’t lose Simon a second time.

[xsentatia]

Goth Dice - Part 2

Part 1

Still preoccupied with being in awe of her new boobs, Lisa didn’t notice the next transformation. Only when she attempted to stand back up and walk towards her computer did she spot something was off. At first, she wasn’t even sure what was different, her body was unchanged (barring the tits, of course), the only difference was the she felt a little taller. But not significantly enough for her to have rolled that one transformation that makes her 6’5.

Perhaps it was due to her increasing horniness, or maybe her changed dice did keep some of the “bimbo” in them, but only after a substantial moment did she notice that she was walking on her tip-toes. They were at a much higher angle than with the usual heels transformation, mind you. Her feet were positioned as if they were made for extremely tall fetish boots. And it was completely natural for her, so natural in fact, that, well, she didn’t notice it.

At this moment she pondered for a second if the dice had some way of reading her thoughts. Just before rolling them, she admitted to herself that she wanted them to make her into a “goth sex doll” – and now she got two of the most objectifying transformations out of the set. She trembled with arousal at the thought of her hypothesis being true, as that meant her future transformations could objectify her even more. She was really hoping to get the one that makes her pussy feel perpetually empty – to hammer home her newfound purpose.

She, sadly, didn’t get it. Instead, her clothes started changing. While they were already black, they began changing from a casual crop top and shorts, in to something much more eye-catching: latex. Her tip-toeing feet were now placed inside of absurdly tall shoes they were yearning for, while her upper body was covered with a skin-tight bodysuit, that clung on nicely to everything but her boobs, which were given a nice window to keep them on display. All her other clothing also changed in similar fashion, becoming black, latex and slutty. Normally, Lisa would’ve ran towards the mirror, but the tip-toe heels she was now forced to wear made any type of movement other than a slow and sexy strut impossible. She ran her hands over her body, each and every curve now exaggerated. It was exactly what she’d dreamed of – nobody seeing her walking around in an outfit like this would see her as more than a set of holes to be filled. That thought made a wave of arousal wash over her.

At its center was a feeling of emptiness between her legs. It only grew, as she realized it was the final transformation hitting her, the exact one she was anticipating a moment before. She was yearning to be stuffed with something, anything. The only thing preventing her from dropping on the floor and finger-fucking herself was the latex bodysuit limiting her access. She tried to nonetheless – as the need consumed her, she clawed at the part of the outfit that was covering her crotch, before stopping and looking into the distance for a moment.

At that very moment, she realized she’d become exactly what she wanted to be: a goth fuckdoll. And as she admitted that to herself, she only felt the emptiness grow stronger, much to her rejoice.

---

I hope you liked this <3 Just a small reminder, I have a Patreon with tons of stories in early access. It's just $3 and all of it goes towards me looking like that nice lady from the picture <3

-> BOOB FUND <-

[squiddy-god]

secrete menu

Hi hi hi! As stated in the pinned post this is squiddy, I used to be @/Squid-god-supreme However tumbler nuked my account for no reason and I haven't heard anny response on getting it back. Because of that I will be re-uploading Almost all of my over 200+ fics. If you remember a fic I wrote that I haven't posted you can give a request with a description of it and I'll try to find it and post it. Many of these fics are old so keep that in mind, if there is inconsistency with the CW tell me and I'll fix it

CW : pretty sure this is gn reader, no pronouns mention but afab genitalia described, oral (male receiving), dilucs single lunch voice line has me in a chokehold, praise if you squint a little. Smut with no plot in sight.

It was a rare day for angelshare, the tavern having been closed early for the day. It was rare that such a thing happened but it seemed that today was one of those days. While master diluc had closed the tavern for the rest of the day you had been off on yet another adventure, another set of problems that needed to be taken care of for the adventurers guild; they weren't that hard really, only hilliechurls and the ocatinal ruin guard. Dilucs day on the other hand had been rather stressful, waking up late had already soured his mood- but the bar had seemed even louder today, and the drunk customers even more annoying, so deciding it was a mistake to work the bar today he closed it down early. 

Looking down at the glass he was cleaning he sighed, he longed to see you and your smile, yet he knew that you wouldn't be dont with commission for quite some time. 

Greeting the guards at the front gates to mondstat you made your way to the familiar tavern, the smell of signature dandelion wine growing stronger as you got closer. When you entered you sat down with a content sigh you didn't notice the lack of people or how silent the usual boystorous bar was. Diluc didn't care that he had just closed the bar, you were always welcomed to stop by for any reason, but he wouldn't admit that this was because of his fondness for you. He smiled at you, a gloved hand resting atop your head as his shoulders seemed to lose their tenshin. “Rough day diluc?” you asked, (e/c) eyes gazing up to meet his crimson ones. Diluc let out a little sigh, hand falling from your head to the bar table. “yes but it's better now.” his voice was quiet, almost a whisper as he spoke. “now that you're here” you looked to the side as you felt your cheeks heat up. 

Diluc stood up straight, his bright hair tied up higher than normal and his strong arms exposed by his rolled up black sleeves- He wasn't wearing his usual coat yet still had on the gloves he always seemed to be wearing, the red palms seeming faded from use. “Angelshare is closed but,,,” his voice trailed off, a gloved hand lifting your face s your eyes met his as he came closer to you. “Would you like to try the secret menu?” he said, hot breath sending shivers down your spine. You nodded your head and your lips were engulfed by his. Dilucs kisses were always fiery, bottled up passion and longing seeping into every instant your lips locked, his kisses were deep and left you breathless by the time he pulled away. You painted, breath shaky from the kiss- in an instant diluc had led you behind the bar, your hands tangled in his as he kissed you again, your back against the surface of the bar while his tongue ran over your bottom lip. Playfully you dined him, smiling slightly and keeping your mouth closed. 

He let out a grunt before pressing further against you, his tongue making its way into your mouth to explore. He stepped back taking in the sight of your puffy lips and hazy eyes, it was an intoxicating sight, and one that he wished to indulge in. He leered over you, his husky voice sending shivers down your spine. “Well?” he whispered,hands trailing down your body “what do you want him?”

You slid off the bar and onto your knees in front of him, a prominent tent already in his pants. Your hands reached for the waistband as they nimbly undid the button that confined him. The fabric dragged down his hips, his cock springing free, tip already leaking with precum. Delicately you traced it, smearing the precm over his slit befor giving kitten licks to the base and along his shaft. Deep breathy moans left his mouth as his hands rested against your head. Lips wrapped around his cock as you slid your tongue along the underside of his dick, teasing the veins while his moans fuled you on. 

His chest heaved, scarlet eyes looking down at you as you took him deeper, hands working what wouldn't fit in your mouth. You looked heavenly, choking on his cock while you tried to take him deeper. It intoxicated him, the small tears forming in your eyes and the drool that leaked past your lips, it made him feel dirty but it wasn't often that he got to indulge himself like this. 

Your gurgled sounds sent him over, his grip tightening as his hips snapped forward, his length forcing its way down your throat. Gagging as your eyes get glassy, your hands finging purchase on his thighs for some hope of stability from his sloppy thrust. 

“You take my cock so we- ah” he panted as his thumbs wiped away a tear from your eyes. “So pretty with my dick in your mouth” a breathy moan left his lungs and his hips sputtered. 

The gargled noises you made when he hit the back of your throat sent him over, a salty liquid spilling down the back of your throat as you choked a bit- trying to swallow as much as you could. 

He pulled away, breath still uneven and ragged. You wiped the drool and cum from the corner of your mouth as diluc helped you up off the wooden floor. He held your face in his hands and pecked your lips before resting his head against yours. 

“Maybe i should offer you the secret menu more often, darling”

[justmeinatree]

Just A Little Taste

Summary : harry plays into your pain kink in a way you never could have imagined (feat. lhh)

TW : smut, reader pain kink, dom/sub dynamics, safe word use

Word Count : 2.1k

the handcuffs clink against the metal head board to your bed, harry’s nails scratching down the backside of your naked thighs.

your hands were currently cuffed together, the chain on the handcuffs looped through one of the intricate iron bars that adorned your bed. your head was pressed into the mattress, arms stretched above it, your bum high in the air.

you loved nights like this. where you could both just play. there was no time constraint, which meant harry took his sweet time with you. on nights like these, you’d both slip further into your roles, allowing yourselves to really let go and be all in. 

there was no denying it, you were fairly submissive long before you’d ever met harry. but you never had the opportunity to connect with a partner that was considered even remotely dominant. you’d never been with someone that had the experience harry had, and all the new firsts your body had just been patiently waiting for, made your toes curl.

and well harry did not complain, could barely keep his cock in his pants, when you looked at him with those doe eyes. he saw the need in you from a mile away. so when you two hooked up that night, he gave you a small taste of what he could do for you. always checking in for consent along the way. you had never been so blown away by a man in your entire life.

and so safe. especially the time he explained that even though he’s in the dominant role, you, the submissive, holds all the power. you’re the one that sets the scene. you’re the one that holds the safe word card. he gets pleasure out of your pleasure. the moment it stops being good for you, it stops being good for him. you’d never been so reassured by a partner in your entire life. and as someone with a pain kink, reassured is what you needed.

so that brings you here. with harry’s nails slowly raking up and down your thighs, your bum, your back. all the way up your arms, giving himself the opportunity to kiss against your ear and neck, sucking little bruises into your skin. your body shudders as his hair tickles along your skin, making harry nip playfully on your shoulder, “should i tie it up ?” he hums quietly, not wanting to disrupt the quiet moment you’re both basking in.

you manage a bit of a shrug, as best as you can in the position you’re in, “s’up to you. just tickles a bit.”

harry leans back into his kneeled position behind you, nails raking down your back as he goes to grasp the hair tie around his wrist. holding it up with two fingers, he gets an idea, gently letting it snap back against his skin. 

he hums quietly to himself, pulling the hair tie off his body and holds it taught between his index and his thumb. “do you trust me, poppet ?” harry asks quietly.

“always,” you hum without a second thought as harry places the tie against the back of your thigh, right where it meets your ass. he pulls on it, not too far, as he’s just testing your reaction, and lets it snap back against your skin.

your body jolts instantly, eyebrows furrowing as you groan, “fuck, what is that ?”

“a hair tie,” harry mumbles, mesmerized by the way your skin rippled as the tie kissed your skin. “colour, baby.”

“green, try that again. harder,” you hum, settling yourself deeper into the bed. you had loved the little jolt it sent through you, the way it made your toes curl and your breath drain itself from your lungs.

harry moves his hand with the tie up your body, right to the swell of your ass. he pulls the band up quite a bit higher than last time, watching the jiggle of your skin as the tie slaps against your bum. 

you moan out louder this time, your back arching, as your pussy clenches over nothing. without another second to breathe, harry snaps the tie again 3 more times right around the same spot.

you gasp in a breath as his left hand comes to smooth over the spot, his tongue reaching out to lick at the bright red bruise forming on your skin. “colour ?”

“green, green, fuck harry, why’s a hair tie so good ?” you groan, slightly embarrassed by how much the sting is getting you off.

and if you needed a moment to fall in love with him just that little bit more, his reply holding no hint of shame towards you, “fuck i dont know, but you look so good taking it poppet. want more ?”

“please, please, please,” you breathe out. “never want you stop.” 

harry smiles at that, although you cant really see him, bringing his right hand, with the tie, over to your left bum cheek, a little lower towards your thigh, and closer to your dripping center. he pulls it back further this time, snapping 5 consecutive times.

your body trembles as he finishes, his tongue darting out to soothe you again. he laps over the fresh wound softly, kissing over your skin.

he’s so close to your pussy, you can feel a few stray strands of hair tickling you, making your body involuntarily lean towards his mouth.

harry pulls away, clicking his tongue disapprovingly, “m’trying to make you feel better and here you are being greedy.”

“no, no, i’m sorry honey, your mouth just feels so good, you know how hard it is for me to resist you,” you add, silently praying that he just goes with it.

“stop sucking up,” he chuckles lightly, taking note of your pussy for the first time in a while. and christ, you really are wet. like really wet. dripping down onto the bed, wet. and for a moment harry feels bad. like he’s neglected your poor cunt. it’s desperately screaming for attention. as he goes to run his fingers through your sopping center, he notices the hair tie still wrapped around his thumb and index.

“wanna try something,” harry mumbles without a second though. 

he runs his hands from your hips, down your thighs to your knees, giving you a silent signal to lay down flat on your tummy. as you do what he asks of you, harry helps you turn over, onto your back.

“hi poppet,” he smiles at you, leaning over you to kiss your lips, something he hasn’t done since he tied you on your front.

you smile into the very welcomed kiss, having missed the comfort of his lips on yours. you slip your tongue into his mouth when he goes to speak, cutting him off before the first syllable even leaves him. you tug on the cuffs, wishing you could grip into his hair and keep his lips attached to yours.

but harry pulls away, shaking his head playfully as his index gently flicks your nose. “be good, poppet. wanna try something. think you’ll like it, but you’ll tell me if you dont, yeah ?”

“i will,” you hum, smiling at him. you wholeheartedly trust him, and your toes curl in anticipation, your tummy flipping with curiosity as you anxiously await to see what he’s got planned.

you watch as harry sits back on his knees, your legs on either side of his hips. his hands massage their way over your thighs, working their way inwards as he grips into your flesh, spreading your legs wide open for him. with any other partner, you would have been mortified right now. but not even a speck of that feeling exists with harry. 

his eyes rake over your inner thighs, seeing the mess your cunt has made. his gaze settles around mid thigh, the hair tie coming back into play and snapping against your sensitive skin.

your hips jolt, harry’s hands keeping your legs open before shifting to your other thigh, snapping the band a bit higher. each snap makes your body tremble more as he keeps up the alternating pattern, making his way higher and higher up your thighs.

harry watches as your pussy clenches with each snap, a dribble of your arousal leaking every time, as your hips jump up in search of any kind of friction. his prick is so rock hard, absolutely dying to bury himself inside you. but he needs to try this first. needs to see how you’ll react.

he places the tie taught between his fingers, just higher up than your clit, over your mound, wanting to test the waters out first. harry watches over your face, seeing a bit of apprehension, “s’just me, baby. i’ve got you. can stop anytime. give me a colour, please.”

and as anxious as you were, you were so excited, “green. just do it, please,” you groaned, the anticipation killing you.

harry snaps the band, not too hard, really not wanting to push you. he hears the loud moan leaving your chest, your stomach twitching. he places it a bit lower, right above your clit, “m’gonna need your colour again, poppet.”

“fuck, fuck, it’s green. can go harder,” you whimper, your nails digging painfully into your palms, waiting for it to smack against your most sensitive spot.

when the band hits against your clit, not too much harder than last time, harry notices a small trickle of liquid running down your cunt. “no fucking way,” he whispers to himself, eyebrows furrowed, your ears ringing much too loudly to hear him.

harry snaps the tie two times consecutively, a little harder again, as a bit more than a trickle escapes you this time. 

he can’t believe what he’s seeing, completely mesmerized by your heat, a groan from deep in his throat works its way out of him. without giving you much time to catch a breath, harry snaps it again, much harder this time, as a gush squirts out of your cunt.

“jesus fuck, poppet,” harry groans, dropping down to the bed, throwing the hair tie onto the bed, his mouth colliding with your sensitive pussy. 

your body is trembling from the attack on your clit, not having a moment to breathe before harry delved in to suck harshly on your abused cunt. 

you feel a bit disoriented, tugging hard on the restraints, needing to feel anchored to him somehow. “fuck, fuck harry, yellow,” you plead out, his ears perking up as he hears one of your safe words.

harry pulls away from you, his hands massaging your inner thighs, “what do you need honey, talk to me ?” he asks quietly, not wanting to overwhelm you. a yellow means slow down, and check in. he hopes this doesn’t turn into a red, that’s not exactly the way he hopes his cock goes soft tonight. 

“untie me, please,” you groan, tugging on the cuffs for good measure. 

harry nods without a second thought, reaching for the key on the nightstand and taking them off you, letting them clang to the floor. he holds your wrists gently in his hands, kissing the bruises left in the wake of your restraints.

“were they hurting ?” he asks, his hands gliding up your arms, settling on your back as he looks into your eyes, wanting to really see how you’re feeling.

“no, just a bit overwhelmed. needed to feel you,” you hum, your fingers running through harry’s locks, grabbing a good handful, “you can keep going anytime,” you smirk, adding cheekily.

he groans at the feeling of your hands tugging on his hair. as much as he loves seeing you tied up, the lack of touches torture him a bit too. “lesson for ya poppet, dont ever sass the mouth that’s snogging with your cunt.”

“i would, but your mouth is giving me a lecture, s’not snogging anything,” you challenge back, smirk growing wider. 

harry laughs, kissing your nose, “cant be mad at that. did you need me to slow down, love ? how has it been so far ? wanna check in completely, after that yellow.”

“maybe a bit slower,” you hum, rubbing your nose against his. “we have tons of time, yeah ?” you pause to kiss him, your lips slotting with his, sucking sweetly on the swell of his lip. “s’been really good so far, just really needed the cuffs off. needed to be able to feel closer to you after that.”

harry nods, totally understanding, delving back into your mouth, taking his time with you. reminding himself that tonight there’s really no need to rush, thankful for the odd occasion where time doesn’t exist.

“so, how many times should i make you cum then, poppet ?”

……

Masterlist

[abbyslev]

crazy- toji fushiguro x reader

SFW

a/n: if you guys want a part two i’ll be so down to do it!! love this sm. don’t mind any spelling errors, i’m tipsy writing this lolol

toji would curse shiu as long as he lived. bringing him to a bar? this fancy? one drink was over $13.

“how much longer of this crap?” toji stared down at shiu, fixing his rented suit. it was last minute, and though it fit him, he wasn’t used to wearing fancy crap like this. “it’s common courtesy to let the show finish before we socialize, fushiguro.” shiu teased, smoking his cigarette.

shiu had to meet up with some higher ups, dragging toji along since he’d be doing the real dirty work. toji denied at first, as this bar was meant for crazy rich people who had nothing better to do.

his eyes met the stage, where a beautiful woman in a black, skin tight gown held into a mic, singing. her beautiful, deep voice rang in his ears. he could give less shits about the music, but more so the woman amongst him. your long, beautiful curled hair. the smokey eye that made your beautiful eyes glint in the dim light, the used ashtray on the stool beside you, the red manicured nails, everything about you made him crazy.

“don’t eat her with your eyes, fushiguro.” shiu chuckled. “who’s she?” toji didn’t dare to move his eyes from you. “don’t know her name, but she’s a real eye candy. she’s here every weekend. real charming voice, too.” shiu lit a second cigarette. “go offer her a drink.” he added.

-

not long after you, another woman joined the stage. after a few quiet “thank you’s.” and polite bows, you left the stage.

toji had lost you in the crowd for a moment. he stood up, fixing his suit. “going to find her?” shiu smirked. “shut it, asshole.” toji huffed, making his way to the bar. he felt out of place, such a strong tall man, a serial killer, a gambler, mixed in with rich assholes who’d spit on him if they knew what he did and where he had come from.

“one yamazaki shot, please!” you waved down your favorite bartender. “make that two.” toji appeared from behind you. you turned around, eyes meeting the tall man’s eyes. you were used to men buying you drinks, trying to talk to you, even trying to slip money in your top. but for some reason, this man gave you a new feeling.

toji pulled out a stool for you, taking your hand as he helped you up. he took the chair next to you, watching as you took down your shot. he did the same, keeping his face from twisting up. expensive definitely doesn’t mean good.

“my names fushiguro. what’s yours?” “kamodo.” oh, rich family. of course. “no, not that kamodo. i couldn’t even dream of being part of that family.” you laugh as you see his eyes widen at your surname. “i was about to say.” toji smiled. “you have a beautiful voice, doll.” he complimented. “thank you, i appreciate you.” you giggle, setting your hands in your lap.

“i took you more of a vodka girl, maybe even sake. but whiskey?” he flirts, eyes your beautiful features. “what can i say? stuff gets boring around here, but expensive doesn’t mean good.” you look up at the colorful bar. “took two words right out of my mouth.”

“you from here?” he tilted his head. “no, i’m from tokyo, but business brought me down here.” sorcerer business. not that you were in it anymore. truth is, you came from the rich side of the sorcerer family, but the other half of your family was just a rich surname who lived normal lives. so, rich in both worlds. you hated saying it. you dropped sorcery after your sister had died from it. you were done protecting people.

“and you?” “i just float around, not really sure what i’m doing here tonight.” toji shrugged. “your buddy brought you here?” you looked at shiu, who was shaking a man’s hand. you order another round, slipping a cigarette from a golden case in your purse. “want one?” “i don’t smoke.” he shook his head. he took down the shot, watching as you did the same.

“gentlemen, aye?” “just looking out for myself.” “smart. your buddy over there, i wonder how many packs he goes through.” you inhale the warm air, exhaling into the air. toji stared at your collarbones, his imagination running wild.

“he doesn’t give a shit about his health.” “who does? i mean, we are at bar.” you laugh. you heel bumped his leg. both of you ignored it, continuing your conversation.

after plenty more shots and many cigarettes, you two were interrupted by tojis cellphone. “sorry, have to answer this.” he shook his head. you waved him off, stretching your back. it was mostly hushed whispers. “i’ll be home in an hour, the latest, just make sure he goes to bed, alright? and tell him to put them up.” toji hung up the phone, shaking his head.

“what? your kids being bad or something?” you laughed jokingly. “yeah, little brats being bad.” he put his phone up. “wait, you have kids?”

oh, how he fucked up.

why would a young woman like you ever get with a man with kids? he wasn’t ashamed of them, he was afraid of scaring you away. looking like a whore.

“yeah, two. ones from my wife’s previous marriage.” “you have a wife?” god, he just couldn’t make it worse, could he? “sorry, i have a bad habit of calling her my wife. she passed away a couple years ago during my sons birth. just so used to calling her that.” he gave up, just spitting out the truth.

“oh, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to overstep.” “no, i made it sound like i was an unfaithful man. i promise i’m not.” he mumbled. “it’s okay, i believe you. i know a lot of these men are cheaters. but you seem like an honest guy.” you gave him a smile.

“what are you waiting for?” you lean forward. “huh?” he snapped out of his trance. “show me those little shits! i wanna see!” you nudge his elbow. he felt a weight come off his chest. he scooted closer to you, opening his gallery. it was full of pictures of the two.

“this is tsumiki, and this is megumi.” “blessing.” you murmur. “yeah, i named him.” “he looks just like you.” you smile. “this is him on his first day of school.” he swiped to see a very snotty kid, looking like he could kick some ass. he swiped, showing megumi with a black and white dog. you recognized them. shikigami.

he was a sorcerer. toji kept rambling, assuming you had no idea what a curse was. or a sorcerer, or anything of that matter. you finally notice the man soften up.

“hey you two, time to wrap it up.” you hear a loud clap. shiu had his hand on tojis shoulder, pulling him off the stool. “oh, don’t be so cruel to the man.” you giggle. “it’s time for me to get goin, i promised those brats i’d be home earlier.” he helped you down from your chair. “hold on.” you dug in your purse, before pulling out a black pen.

you take his hand, feeling him stiffen. you wrote your number on the back of his hand, writing your full name under. he softened up after he watched what you were doing. you took his face, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i’ll see you around, fushiguro. and tell those brats i said hey.” you waved at him, disappearing in the back.

“got yourself a date?” shiu teased. “yeah, i guess i do.”

[mncxbe]

I'm in my party dress. He says "You're such a mess"♡

𝑭𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: smut♡/ unethical

<a little quick thingy I wrote a few weeks ago since I'm running out of drafts.>

Your head spun as you downed another shot. It was if you were stuck in a never-ending rollercoaster, looping somewhere on cloud nine. The bittersweet drink burned its way into your core, blooming heat in every cell of your body.

Sliding off the slick black bar stool you stumbled to the plush couch where Fukuchi was seated, a glass filled with golden liquid hanging idly between the tips of his fingers; staring mindlessly at the crowd of blaring people.

"Hey captain, you having fun?" you asked, disrupting his train of thought. His head snapped in your direction and he raised his brows.

"What'd you say?"

Placing a hand on the back of the couch for support you leaned closer to him and spoke loud enough to cover the roaring music of the club "I asked if you're having fun"

He simply shrugged in response, holding your gaze "It could be worse"

Fukuchi had to admit he didn't really like clubs with their loud music, overly expensive drinks and technicolor; but it was Teruko's turn to pick that month's mandatory teambuilding activity so he had no say in it.

As you plopped yourself next to him, his gaze followed the line of your collarbone down to your chest, skimming over the edges of your dress. How you could go out of the house wearing that thing was beyond comprehension; in the flashing lights of the club the satin seemed to stick to you by some sort of electricity, shfting colours like the surface of a lake in moonglow.

For a brief moment, Fukuchi found himself reaching a hand to touch you but he soon regained his composure. Setting his glass down on the arm of the couch he sighed, leaning his head back.

"Aren't you gonna finish that?" you slurred, voice laced with mischief and he shook his head in reponse.

"Nah. You can have it if you want to"

The alcohol was already starting to cloud his mind, a familiar pressure building in his skull. He knew it wasn't smart to drink around you, you were too tempting.

Fukuchi wasn't a stupid man. He noticed the subtle glances during meetings, how you always offered to bring in the reports for the whole team on Friday evenings, when there was no one but him left at the headquarters. He was fully aware of your intentions, yet laying amidst the blaring crowd in this god forsaken club, he didn't seem to care about your closeness.

Your chest was pressed against his side as you leaned over him and reached for the glass. His arm instinctively slid around your waist, keeping you from stumbling over as you drank the last sips of alcohol from his glass before setting it back down.

"Woah that's strong" you whined and he couldn't help but smile.

You shifted slightly; pretty dress hiking up as you crossed your legs. "Say, sir..." you began, tracing your fingertips along his clothed thigh. "How about we have another drink? My treat"

"I think you've had enough for tonight, Y/N" he smile, trying to ignore the bulge in his pants. Fuck, you were such a tease. Your hand trailed higher up, teasingly hooking a finger under his belt and he seized your wrist.

"Careful now, Y/N" he hissed, cold gaze meeting your own. "This ain't the best place"

A small chuckled rolled past your lips. Fukuchi felt his heart sink when you looked up at him with those big doe eyes, so vivid despite the alcohol you've consumed- pleading him. "Then take me somewhere else"

And how could he say no to you?

Half an hour later, your head was pressed against the cold pillows on his bed, muffled groans and mewls rolling past your lips as he rammed himself inside you from behind.

"You're doing well, sweet thing" he cooed, nails digging into the plush of your hips.

The whole thing felt surreal, like a hazy dream; it was all so wrong it felt right. Your mind spun from the alcohol, unable to fully comprehend the situation you were in. But it's not like you cared about anything except how good he felt inside you right now. He reached all your sweet spots with each thrust, way better than anyone did before and you swore you could see starts; pearly tears pooling at your lashline.

"God fuck it's so good" you mewled, fingers digging into the pillow underneath in a futile attempt to keep yourself grounded. He only hummed in response and tightened the grip on your hair.

"Told ya I'd treat you well princess"

With a swift movement he flipped you on your back, sharp eyes tracing the outline of your body; hair a tangled mess, makeup smeared on your cheeks and pillowcase, one strap of your white lacey bra off your shoulder. Your chest rose and fell with each ragged breath you took, lashes fluttering shut as you tried to keep your gaze focused on him.

"God, you're such a mess" he chuckled, thumb coming to circle your puffy clit, making you shudder.

"Now, now. Be nice pretty. I'm not done with you yet"

With that he slid inside you again, earning a low moan from you as he bottomed out and resumed his brutal pace. He fucked you nice and deep, just how you liked it- a familiar tingle pooling in your core.

Your nails dug desperately into his back, reaching for something to hold on to- you stomach twisting with guilt as you came, staining the bedsheets with your slick. Your walls clamped around him, coaxing his orgasm and he came with a loud groan.

"Sweet thing you're gonna milk me dry if you keep squeezing me like that" he uttered in a shaky voice, breathing heavily; but you felt too drained to say anything in reponse.

Instead, your eyes closed shut; but you could still make out the sound of his voice calling out your name, the cool air that seeped into the room through the open window against your heated skin, his gentle- surprisingly tender touch as he moved a strand of hair from your face.

And then you were out cold, forced into a deep slumber by your exhaustion.

The next morning you woke up to the faint sound of the rush hour traffic. You could taste the alcohol on your tongue- bittersweet, and you took in a deep breath. That moment your eyes snapped open; this wasn't your bed.

Memories from the previous night came flooding back in bits and pieces, like an old picture show, crackling with static and you sighed, rubbing your eyes.

"Thought you'd never wake up" echoed a voice from the other side of the room and you tilted your head to the side to see Fukuchi leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest.

"How'd you sleep?"

A small groan rolled past your lips as you pulled the covers over your head in attempt to hide the blush that rose to your face.

Fukuchi couldn't help but chuckle upon seeing you. Frankly, the shift of attitude amused him. He walked to the edge of the bed and sat down next to you. You felt the mattress slowly sink under his weight and you tightened the grip on the covers.

"Come on now Y/N. No need to be shy." he chuckled, pulling the duvet off of your head only to meet your defeated gaze.

"Captain I apologise for the way I acted last night it was totally inappropriate and-" you began, but he quickly cut you off, raising a hand.

"Do you think I'm mad about it?" he asked and you shook your head in response, earning a smile from him.

"Exactly. So don't apologise"

A deep silence fell between the two of you and you simply looked down at the covers. You were painfully aware of the bare skin beneath them, of how much of a mess you were right now; head pounding like you hadn't slept in days. Shame flooded your every thought and, carried through your bloodstream, reached every cell of your body.

A faint aroma of coffee reached your nose; as if on cue he rose from the bed, threading a hand through his silvery hair.

"Look, how about I let you get cleaned up and dressed and then you join me for a cup of coffee?"

You nodded in response and gave him a faint smile.

"Alright. The bathroom's there" He pointed at one of the adjoining rooms before making his way towards the door. Just as he was about to step out he turned around, flashing you his signature smile.

"I gotta say Y/N dear, this was one hell of a teambuilding" he said with a wink and you sighed, finding shelter beneath the cold covers once again.

You closed your eyes again and took a deep breath in, relishing the comfort of his bed. Yes, the situation wasn't ideal. You needed to get out of this room, face your boss and talk the whole thing out; and what's worse you knew that neither of you was willing to put an end to this ordeal.

You wanted to push these thoughts in the back of your hazy mind, drown them in whatever liquour was left in your system, but you knew you couldn't. You shouldn't. So five more minutes under the blankets and a cold shower will have to do.

[centaurianthropology]

Why C3E51 worked so well (a DM’s perspective)

I have seen a lot of absolutely bananas critiques of C3E51 (thankfully not nearly as many around here, far more on Reddit, which I should not have visited).   And the ongoing theme of those critiques is that Matt should not have imperiled former PCs, and if he brought them in should have either done lengthy side-bars with those characters or let them win the fight against Ludinis and have a chance to take him out themselves, since they’re ‘god tier’ or ‘high level’ and that makes ‘logical sense’.  What these critiques really boil down to, IMO, are people who were really invested in the former campaigns upset that their faves didn’t get to do cool things, treating it more like a TV show than a game.  But even as a TV show, that would have been disappointing from a narrative perspective.  Because even in a TV show, this is a sequel spin-off show, starring new characters.  The story is about THEM.  And more importantly, the game is about the players and about telling their story.

So let’s break this down from a DM perspective.  How do you build a Kobiashi Maru situation for your characters?  For those of you who aren’t familiar, the Kobiashi Maru is a Star Trek term for a scenario designed from the jump to be unwinnable (Kirk beat it by creativity, but later admitted that he missed the point of it).  In Star Trek this was done to test what a future officer would do if faced with certain failure.  In a D&D game it’s a little more complicated.  Part of it is to set up the BBEG, put their plan in motion, and set the stage for the next leg of the game.  But it’s also to give your players, who are clearly into it, a darkest-hour scenario.  Not every player group is going to be into facing down the Kobiashi Maru, and it’s clear from the aforementioned critiques that a lot of them are on Reddit.  Power-gamers who always want to win are not going to enjoy this sort of storytelling, but players who are really into RP and working through difficult times and failures will eat this stuff up.  And this is absolutely the sort of table playing on Critical Role.  There is a level of trust there that can only be built after years of working together, and this was finally the moment when Matt could pay off years of planning and campaign-spanning set-up.

Matt carefully plotted the structure of this episode out to give maximum agency and impact to a party of dramatically under-leveled characters.  And they knew going in they were under-leveled.  This wasn’t a surprise, but a potential suicide run by people who knew they weren’t the heroes they needed to be, but were the only heroes in the right place at the right time to try anything.  So they came up with as good a plan as they could, and executed it fairly well, all things considered.  

They knew they couldn’t take on Ludinus directly (and this was a great way to demonstrate exactly how much he had planned and how long, to bring in elements from C2, hints we’ve had for years about Ludinis, only to reveal it went deeper than any of the characters could have imagined), so Matt gave them some winnable objectives.  This is a great way to keep the characters invested in an unwinnable scenario: the ultimate outcome may be beyond the characters, barring some insane genius or incredible rolls, but they can still help.  They can do something that will have a tangible impact on events and hinder the baddies enough to give them another chance at a rematch and a way to stop the apocalypse when they’re higher level.  So Matt gave them the batteries: take out as many as you can.  While this would not stop the ritual, I suspect that the more they took out the more Ludinis would have to drain his own power to make the key work, and the longer the process would take.  Knocking out the feywild key, as well as multiple power sources turned what would have been an instantaneous event if they had done nothing into a more drawn-out affair which, I suspect, could be stopped or even reversed.  It gave them a window to come back and demand a rematch.

Then we have the high-level PC allies, and how to play with those sorts of characters without pulling focus from the PCs.  Matt handled this very well, by having the players roll for their former PCs, taking the specifics of their actions out of his hands and letting the dice of the former players decide.  He also revealed that Keyleth’s involvement, and baiting Vax with Otohan’s permadeath poison, was key to Ludinis’ ritual, which was why she couldn’t just dive in and clean everything up.  But again, because of this story, it ties less back to Keyleth and more back to Orym.  That was the point of the attack on Zephrah, to get her attention by getting her to look into who did it and then coming to get some payback, but the little guy on the ground has always been caught in the middle.  Orym has been Ludinis’ unwitting pawn from the off, his family’s deaths merely a means to an end, and that is vicious and amazing set-up for character growth for him.  

Beau and Caleb had to be there by the logic of the story.  It didn’t make sense that Caleb would sit out a world-ending event orchestrated by a Cerberus Assembly member after spending years trying to take them down.  Beau would obviously go with him.  It also made sense that they would be the only two there, because they were scouting when Ryn got taken down, and after that were trying to keep a low profile.  Shit accelerated too fast for them to call in reinforcements.

Which is the in-story reason for them to be there, but isolated and vulnerable, making them useful allies and wildcards (who likely could have been more useful if ultimately failing as well, but failed early thanks to Liam and Marisha’s rolls).  But they were still outmatched.  I have no idea what the challenge rating of Otohan, Leliana, and Ludinis are, but we know Otohan was considered ‘beatable’ back in Bassuras.  That indicates she’s the lowest CR, particularly with the glowing weak-spot on her back.  But she can still wreck a level-20 PC if she gets the jump on her, which she did.  And that meant that she remained a massive threat.  Caleb and Beau were playing it smart, keeping to the shadows, but still got caught by Leliana.  Between dice rolls, careful planning, and some great enemy design, Matt really set up a team that could take on high-level players and win.  And he made it clear that Ludinis did not leave this to chance.  He has the best people he could muster after 1000 years of planning.  Nothing short of a miracle could have truly stopped them.

Which is why we cut back to Bells Hells.  Because ultimately this particular story isn’t about Keyleth or Vax or Caleb or Beau or any other former PCs.  This is about the current party being caught up in events much larger than them and having to rise to the occasion.  This is the story of the schmucks sent in to take out the batteries, but who have personal beef with the big bads.  Ludinis orchestrated the plan to attack Zephrah to bait Keyleth and draw out Vax, and Otohan carried it out.  And he used Orym as a pawn throughout all of it.  This makes taking them down, but especially taking Otohan down, the cornerstone of Orym’s personal quest.  Letting an NPC take her down would be taking away a critical part of his motivation and goals, which is an absolute no-no for a DM.  NEVER bring in a god-tier NPC and take away player agency or story beats.  Especially never have them resolve important player goals and backstory events!  Every NPC, even the powerful ones, are there to support the story the players are telling.  So of course Keyleth wasn’t going to take out Otohan.  Of course she wasn’t going to stop the ritual.  Beau and Caleb might have been able to do something more if Liam and Marisha hadn’t rolled so badly for them, but ultimately, they had to get caught or fail in another way.  

For the sake of gameplay, Bell’s Hells had to be the only functional team.  They had to be the ants that were beneath Ludinis’ notice long enough to really accomplish something.  And as much as it feels like they failed, they had minor victories: Laudna and Ashton took out more batteries, making Ludinis drain his own power to kick off the apocalypse.  They only failed to take out Otohan’s backpack by 2 HP, which showed them that she was an achievable goal in the future.  If they had rolled a little better, they probably could have taken her out entirely, which would have felt like a big accomplishment for them.  Imogen made her mother pause in her assault before doubling down.  This leaves open very interesting future beats for their interactions.  Can she ultimately redeem her mother or would she have to take her out?  Every step that Matt set up in this episode, from the reveals about Ludinis’ plans and Orym’s past, to Imogen’s interactions with her mother, to Chetney and likely Ashton finding themselves staring down their own backstories after the party split, was focused on this party, on getting them ready to step out of low-level play and advance.

And that’s the point of E51.  It’s not a climax of the story, but the ultimate set-up.  It’s putting all the pieces onto the board in a way that all the characters can now recognize.  Yes, unless the players came up with something genius, the apocalypse was going to kick off, but their actions slowed everything down to a place where it could be combatted.  Yes, the god-tier former PCs were always going to get neutered, because this is Bells Hells’ story, and you cannot have NPCs fix PC problems.  They might have been able to do a little more before this happened, but the dice rolled.

And it’s honestly good for the PCs how things turned out.  They have a clear objective, but are split up.  This gives them great incentive to level up, explore character backstory, deal with their personal shit, get stronger, and then come back to kick the asses of all three of these villains (or possibly redeem one, we’ll see).  Their powerful allies are now temporarily side-lined.  Keyleth is badly hurt and will need time to recover.  Caleb is collared and will need time to get that removed.  Beau is likely up and moving now, but will need to safeguard Caleb for a while.

The Bells Hells are on their own.  The Darkest Hour has come, and it’s time for them to rise up and go from nobodies to heroes.  This is their true call to adventure.  And as a DM, it was so cool seeing how Matt set up all the pieces over the campaign, only to pay them out in such a satisfying and motivating way in this episode.

[sickficideas]

gotta hear me out || sick Akutagawa w/ caretaker Atsushi - chapter 2 of 3

ao3! 5.1k/10.6k - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2024, day 30: past prompt (2022, day 27: sleepless night)

Atsushi tries to keep himself busy. There’s not many signs at all that Akutagawa has done anything in his home outside of his room - there’s a few dishes and a pot in the sink that Atsushi decides to clean and put away, dishes far fancier than necessary, he thinks - a rice cooker and a teapot on the counter too. He thinks his next objective is going to be to get Akutagawa to eat something. Rice is probably an easy start.

The storm seems to have let up a bit. It’s still raining, sky still filled to the brim with dark clouds, but he hasn’t heard thunder for a while. He knows that it won’t continue like this, but it’s a nice break for now. He really hates having to listen to thunder.

He finally finds a thermometer, too. He snuck into Akutagawa’s bathroom through a second door, finding one buried under other medical supplies, without charged batteries, of course. At least the batteries were easier to find, and now he has a working thermometer.

He checks his own temperature, laying the thermometer under his tongue for a few seconds, to make sure it’s working properly. He’s been told by Yosano that his temperature is higher than the average human’s, closer to that of a tiger’s, and the thermometer reflects that. A hundred and one point one. That would be a decent fever on a normal person. He washes the thermometer and sets it on the counter beside the rice cooker.

Atsushi turns the TV in the living room after peering around for a remote. Thankfully, it was already on a very low volume. He doesn’t need it loud at all, he really just wants to keep track of the news. They’re actively reporting on the storm, confirming his hypothesis that it will indeed continue on through the night.

He bites his lip.

He wanders back into the kitchen, deciding he’ll work on the daunting task of trying to figure out how the rice cooker works. It’s more difficult than it looks. It’s way, way fancier than one he’s ever seen, and he thinks he might have to give up and opt for cooking rice in a pot, but luck is on his side, and he finds a manual.

He turns back to the island in the kitchen, opening the foldable manual to find the section that explains which buttons do what, and he catches something dark in his peripheral. Atsushi backs up, nearly hits his back against the other counter, arms defensively over his chest as he gasps.

Akutagawa just raises his eyebrows in vague confusion. He’s sitting at the kitchen island on one of the bar stools, one arm crossed and his head propped on the other.

“You scared me,” Atsushi says with the heavy sigh, lowering his arms and closing his eyes for a few seconds, trying to lower his heart rate. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“Not long,” Akutagawa says simply. Atsushi has no idea how he didn’t hear him leave his room. He doesn’t even really look half-asleep, his eyes just squint, bothered by the overhead light. Atsushi wanders over to the light switch to turn it off.

“Do you ever have these on?” Atsushi asks him, realizing a pattern from earlier.

“No,” Akutagawa says. “I hate having the lights on. Such a waste. I can see perfectly fine without them.”

“Maybe you’re still a vampire after all,” Atsushi jokes, finding the connection a little amusing.

“Ugh, shut up,” Akutagawa grumbles, bringing his head down into his hand and pressing them against his temples. Atsushi realizes he still definitely has a headache, no wonder the lights are bothering him so much. He’s slept a few hours, at the very least, Atsushi was hoping that would help. He definitely needs something in his system.

“When was the last time you had something to eat?” Atsushi asks him, folding up the manual after figuring out enough to be able to do simple things with the rice cooker.

“Not sure,” Akutagawa murmurs, lowering his hands back onto the counter, “a couple of days ago.”

Atsushi’s eyes widen. “Days?!”

“I don't eat often. That's not abnormal,” Akuatagwa huffs, like that’s an easily acceptable answer.

“Well, yeah. That's clear,” Atsushi mumbles. Akutagawa is ridiculously thin, which he’s sure has something to do with his illness, but he’s seen him regularly refuse to eat. “You should eat every day. No wonder you're passing out all the time.”

Akutagawa seems taken aback by that accusation. “I do not pass out all the time.”

“I can't count the number of times I've seen you pass out on two hands, so, that's too many,” Atsushi chides. It’s not always for a long time, but Akutagawa clearly never has enough energy to fight regularly. He’s seen him pass out, just for a few seconds, many times after using his ability for extended periods of time. “Also, you literally passed out when I got here.”

“I’m sick, in case you forgot,” Akutagawa grumbles.

“I thought you’re always sick,” Atsushi says, mocking how difficult he was being earlier. Akuatagwa just rolls his eyes, props his chin up on his palm and stares out the window, childishly pretending Atsushi isn’t there.

Atsushi opens a few cabinet drawers and doors looking for rice, surprised Akutagawa doesn’t try to wring his neck for going through his things, but he finally finds the rice. He takes the container out onto the counter.

“How’s rice sound?”

“Nauseating,” he answers, still staring out the window.

“Okay, well you have to eat something, Akutagawa,” Atsushi tells him with a half-pout. He wishes there was some way to help his nausea without him taking medicine, because he’s sure any of that would make him feel terrible on a completely empty stomach.

“Do as you wish,” Akutagawa huffs, repeating his earlier sentiment. Maybe he's realized that Atsushi won't back down.

Atsushi takes that, and decides to continue.

Akutagawa doesn't say a word to him for at least the twenty minutes while the rice is cooking. He stays on the chair for a while, listless and staring out the window, deep in thought. Atsushi wonders what he's thinking about, or what's ever on his mind in general, but he thinks that's something he'll never find out.

He disappears behind Atsushi's back once he's turned around and scooping the rice into a bowl. He sees he's gone and sat down on the couch, his eyes now on the TV screen instead of the window. They're still covering the weather. Atsushi suspects they'll probably be doing that through the night too.

Atsushi wanders into the living room with two bowls of rice and just sits with him and watches the news for a little while. It's kind of nice - calm, quiet. Akutagawa doesn't turn it up and neither does Atsushi, so at times the raindrops against the windows are louder than the weather reporting, but Atsushi doesn't mind it. He wishes Akutagawa had some sort of rice seasoning or chazuke packets laying around, but based on what he found in his kitchen, he gets the feeling that the latter never cooks at all. He thinks eating rice plain in solidarity with Akutagawa is fine in the end.

Akutagawa eats more of the rice than Atsushi expected him to, considering he hasn't eaten or taken medicine in days due to his nausea. Maybe he had been mistaking hunger pains from not eating for nausea. Atsushi decides he'll see how it goes, and if that's really the case, maybe he can take some medicine.

He's relieved at the idea that Akutagawa might be fine after all. He just needed a few simple things, just to be taken care of for a few hours.

The weather report starts to show aerial clips of Suribachi City. Atsushi's been through there several times in his time at the Agency, being it's an area of high crime that even the mafia seems to stay out of.

He'd never thought out how horribly prone to flooding the crater-shaped slums are, but it makes perfect sense. The reporter talks about how many of its inhabitants will be found in Yokohama during the storm to avoid drowning in the floods. They have nowhere else to go.

Akutagawa takes the remote, changes the channel to the next one down and hands it to Atsushi.

“Choose something else to watch,” Akutagawa tells him. Atsushi takes the remote, a little surprised by the sudden demand, but the look in his eyes is strange. It's not fear, is it?

“News not good enough for you anymore?” Atsushi says, testing to see if he's receptive to teasing, because even the tone of how voice is a little concerning.

“Are you enjoying watching homeless children drown?” he bites back. It's not quite as mean as he usually is, more defensively, and a strange comment considering nothing of the sort was shown on screen. It was simply implied.

“Since when do you care about kids? You kill people,” Atsushi reminds him. He's really just teasing him, but he's never seen Akutagawa interact with a child other than Kyoka, and he wasn't good to her. “Or, used to.”

Akutagawa looks angry for a few seconds, like he's trying to figure out what to say, but it seems Atsushi's comments have left him speechless enough to decide against it. He just sighs and turns his head back towards the screen.

Atsushi thinks the entire interaction was strange. Akutagawa getting so defensive out of nowhere isn't like him. Atsushi at least knows what to avoid in conversation most of the time so he doesn't get choked out, but this time, he has no idea what set it off. Or, if he does, he doesn't know why.

He knows a lot less about Akutagawa than he thinks he does.

Akutagawa coughs into his hand a few times before he places his bowl of rice on the coffee table, chopsticks laying over the top of it, to then cough into his elbow. Atsushi gets up quickly and decides he'll get him a glass of water. He needs to start getting hydrated anyway. The dizziness and headache could certainly be lessened if it wasn't dehydrated.

Atsushi hands him a glass of water once the coughing dies down. Akutagawa is hesitant on taking it, looking like he's considering ignoring Atsushi's presence, but he gives in and takes the glass from him, only taking a few sips of it.

“You're aware my lung illness doesn't care if I'm hydrated or not,” Akutagawa mumbles, ignoring Atsushi's eye contact as he stands in front of him.

Atsushi's heart sinks a little, hearing him say that.

“Let me look at that wound again,” Atsushi decides, not wanting to start an argument on how Akutagawa should care for himself. It's a losing battle with how unbelievably stubborn he is. He takes the glass of water and sets it behind him on the coffee table.

He leans forward over Akutagawa, who doesn't resist, pulling down the neckline of the sweatshirt to reveal the bandage. Blood has seeped through it already, but not enough to stain the sweatshirt, it looks like. He lifts a knee up onto the couch to avoid awkwardly leaning over Akutagawa, trying to inspect the wound a little more closely as he peels the bandage back.

It looks okay. Not better by any means, but cleaner at least, from Atsushi's earlier work. He thinks this should be stitched up, but it's far too old to do that now - it would only trap the infection the way it is. He thinks right now all he can do is keep it clean and covered, but once Akutagawa is feeling a little better, he needs this looked at by a professional.

He wishes he could lend Akutagawa some of his self-healing. It would make his life so much easier.

“You're too close,” Akutagawa mumbles suddenly, and Atsushi realizes how close he really is.

He's almost straddling him. One knee leaned against the couch and the other propped up on the other side of Akutagawa’s leg, almost leaning against him. This would have been much easier to do from the other side of the couch, but he was already here.

Akutagawa doesn't do anything to push him away, but his cheeks are suddenly red.

“Right - sorry,” Atsushi stammers awkwardly, standing and backing up. “I'll be - right back. I think I just need to change the bandage.”

So he does just that. He takes some supplies out from the bathroom and leaves the basket on the counter, since he'll certainly need this again later.

Atsushi just sits beside him this time, taking off the bandage as carefully as he can. Akutagawa doesn't react to much of what he's doing, aside from when he tries to clean it up. He can feel him flinch and tense up, but he doesn't make any noise - just staring forward, even though he's paying no attention to the random channel he flipped to on the TV.

Atsushi looks up every now and then, just to peer at what he can see of his eyes, and he's deep in thought about something, so much so that Atsushi is worried he'll scare him if he suddenly speaks.

He wishes he knew what Akutagawa was thinking about.

As he finishes up the bandage, he eyes Akutagawa’s unfinished rice. He ate a fair amount of it, but not as much as Atsushi would have liked him to.

“You need to eat more than that,” Atsushi tells him after he pulls the collar of Akutagawa’s sweater back up over the new bandage. He thinks he'll have to change it every few hours or so. 

“Do you want me to vomit?” Akutagawa grumbles, using the armrest of the couch to force himself up, an action that seems to be rather painful. He's sore. He hopes that doesn't mean his stomach is already hurting.

“Does that mean you feel sick?” Atsushi asks him.

“I wish you would leave,” Akutagawa mumbles under his breath, not with any intention of hiding that sentiment from Atsushi. He thinks that's a yes, then, with how he's deflecting. His arms are crossed over his chest, very defensively, but Atsushi's at least glad to see he can stand on his own.

“I don't get all your back and forth. You let me bathe you and then you want me gone,” Atsushi huffs. Akutagawa has never made any sense to him. He can never tell what he's thinking or what he'll say next.

“You're only here because of Dazai, are you not?” Akutagawa says, walking towards his bedroom, “Tell him I'm alive and go home. He doesn't care how I'm doing beyond that. As long as - I can still use my ability.”

Atsushi can't see his face, but he can tell by the way his tone wavers that it hurts him to say out loud, like it's something he's only recently come to terms with.

“That's not -”

Akutagawa slams his bedroom door behind him with the help of Rashomon, as if it's helping him prove his point.

That can't be true. Dazai isn't like that. Sure, he did ask Atsushi to make sure Akutagawa wasn't dead and really didn't say anything beyond that, but it was because he hadn't heard from him in over a week, and he wanted to make sure he was okay before the storm came in. He doesn't think Dazai would be okay with Atsushi leaving as long as Akutagawa’s still breathing. He still needs help, he's not okay by himself.

Surely that doesn't have anything to do with the usefulness of Akutagawa’s ability.

As the sky gets darker, it brings on more thunder. He thinks the storm is starting to kick things into gear, and he changes the channel to confirm his suspicions. They talk about how the worst of it will come at around three in the morning, and they're still only at eight in the evening. He shivers at the thought of having to deal with the thunder all night.

He decides to force himself back into Akutagawa’s bedroom.

Akutagawa's sat up against his pillows with his comforter up over his knees, reading a book, of all things. He looks a little cold. Atsushi doesn't understand how he can read the words with how dim the light on his nightstand is, even with the pair of glasses he's suddenly wearing.

Akutagawa glares at him, and Atsushi stares back, but only because he can't stop thinking about the glasses. Does he think they look cute? Stupid? He doesn't know, but he's staring, and Akutagawa doesn't like it. The way he looks at him almost make it seem like he's taking it as a challenge, like a dog would.

“Glasses?” Atsushi just says.

Akutagawa tilts his head, confused at first. He rolls his eyes, visibly annoyed, before lifting his book back up. “I have terrible eyesight.”

“You do?” Atsushi says. That's new. He's never realized that. Does he wear contacts? Akutagawa doesn't seem like the time for that. Maybe he only needs them to see close up. Why does he even care?

“Must you always bother me? If you refuse to leave I'd rather not have to interact with you,” Akutagawa grumbles. Atsushi's realized over time that when he says stuff like this it doesn't sound genuine at all. Akutagawa thinks it does, that's what he's trying to put on, but Atsushi doesn't think he wants to be alone. But Atsushi doesn't have any idea how to call him out for it.

“Just shout if you need me, then,” Atsushi says, feigning indifference, nonchalance, he doesn't know, he just doesn't want Akutagawa to know it doesn't bother him.

“I will not,” Akutagawa says in some feeble attempt to defy him, but as if immediately struck down by karma, he suddenly groans from some intense pain, painful enough to make him drop his book and wrap an arm around his middle, painful enough to catch him off guard like that.

“Are you okay? Atsushi asks him, cautiously approaching the bed. “Is it your stomach?”

Akutagawa nods with a little noise of discomfort. He has a feeling this is a result of him eating, and he's got a lot more to be concerned about if Akutagawa throws up.

“Please just - leave me be,” Akutagawa groans quietly, his book already forgotten and off to the side as he doubles over, clearly in pain. Atsushi doesn't want to leave him. He is a little afraid of the backlash he'll face by ignoring him, but he thinks Akutagawa has other problems to worry about right now.

Atsushi wonders for a moment if maybe he has a heating pad somewhere that would help the pain a little bit, but Akutagawa derails any of Atsushi's mental plans to prevent him from getting sick when he gags.

Atsushi is fast enough to get the trash bin under his chin just as Akutagawa shifts to the edge of the bed, presumably to vomit on the floor to avoid the bed. He has his mouth covered and he's breathing fast and heavy, staring forward like he's too focused on avoiding throwing up to see Atsushi has the bin for him.

“Here, use this,” Atsushi tells him, fairly certain that whatever Akutagawa is trying to do to breathe around his nausea isn't going to work, and he's right. As soon as Akutagawa is aware of the bin, he coughs and retches, and a rush of vomit splatters into the thin bag.

It's not much at all, just a few bits of rice mixed in with saliva. Atsushi is fairly certain that there's blood there too, but he's not sure if it's a result of

his cough or how poor his health has been the past several days. He bites his lip, trying to stay as still as possible as he holds the bin.

He breathes heavy, shaky over the bin, strings of saliva caught on the sides, his lips shining from it. He spits to break them off and tucks the side piece of his hair that's facing Atsushi behind his ear. Atsushi holds his breath. That was weirdly attractive.

He groans quietly, gagging one more time over the bin, catching him off guard. Atsushi reaches over to lay a hand on his back to give him some comfort, but before he can, Akutagawa shifts himself back to the center of the bed to lie down, arms wrapped around his abdomen.

Atsushi sets the bin down on the floor, assuming he doesn't need it anymore, but he doesn't look any less nauseous.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Akutagawa grumbles. Atsushi didn't realize that he was making a face. “I'm not…a stranger to this.”

Atsushi feels his stomach sink. He knows that. This isn't even the first time he's seen Akutagawa throw up, but seeing him in so much pain and discomfort without much of a way to help him still makes him feel awful. Atsushi really wants him to see a doctor.

“I think you should -”

“I'm fine,” Akutagawa mumbles, now letting Atsushi even finish his suggestion, “let me sleep. I'll be fine.”

Atsushi doesn't believe him. He's still visibly nauseous. He thinks Akutagawa just wants him to leave to save him some embarrassment, but really, Atsushi has no real power over him there, as long as he's not actively throwing up right now.

Atsushi takes the comforter and shifts it around a little before laying it halfway over Akutagawa, who pulls it up closer to his shoulders. He doesn't say anything, doesn't ask Atsushi to leave or to do anything else, he just shuts his eyes and pretends he isn't there.

Atsushi supposes that's better than pushing him away.

…

Atsushi thinks it's around one in the morning when he hears Akutagawa's bathroom door shut.

He hopes for a few seconds that maybe he's just gone to use the bathroom, but the coughing and retching that follows is enough to get him off of the couch and headed that direction.

It's dark. It's probably midnight now, Akutagawa somehow slept for longer than expected, at least as far as Atsushi is aware. He left Akutagawa’s bedroom door open just enough for him to still hear anything, but even so, his enhanced hearing helps as a backup.

Unfortunately, though, it makes him extra sensitive to the thunder roaring overhead and the needle-like raindrops flying against the windows, too.

Atsushi sneaks into Akutagawa’s bedroom, peering through the first door and allowing the dim light from the living room to spill into the bedroom. Akutagawa isn't here, of course, he can still hear him coughing in the bathroom, but his sheets are strewn across the bed as a sign of a very restless sleep. The sweatpants he wore are tangled in the sheets, too.

He opens the bathroom door now, carefully, and flips on the light switch because it's far too dark for him to see anything right off the bat. Akutagawa is on his knees in front of the toilet, his forehead pressed against it for a moment before he lifts his head to hiccup, and gag unproductively into the bowl. He's just wearing the long sleeved shirt and a pair of boxers now. He must've gotten too hot and taken his sweatpants off.

“I don't need you in here,” Akutagawa grumbles, whipping his head to the side and attempting to glare at him, but the light is too much. He hisses through his teeth, like he didn't realize it was on to begin with, turns his head back and presses a hand up against his forehead.

“Does your head hurt?” Atsushi asks, his hand on the light switch.

“Turn them off,” he mumbles. “Please.”

Atsushi shivers as thunder roars over head just as he turns off the lights, and he swears he sees the same reaction from Akutagawa, barely lit by the plug-in light near the sink.

“I didn't know you knew how to say please,” Atsushi teases, trying to keep his voice quiet, now that he's aware of his returned headache - if it ever even left in the first place.

“Leave me alone, Weretiger. I don't need you to sit here and watch me vomit,” he mumbles back, his tone weak and desperate, almost, the bite from his tone completely gone now.

Atsushi's heart sinks. He sounds miserable. He really sounds like he's in a lot of pain, and Atsushi can see it, too. He moves and sits beside him, close enough to be useful but not too much in his space, and watches him wrap an arm tight around his stomach, groaning quietly from the pain. His skin is paler than before, in a harsher contrast against the dark circles under his eyes, and there's some shine against the sweat collecting on his forehead. He’s certain his fever isn’t any better.

“You don't wanna try taking anything for your stomach?” Atsushi asks, clicking his tongue. He knows anything Akutagawa swallows will just come right back up. There's injectable medications for nausea, but he doesn't exactly have those resources in this situation. He thinks Yosano would kill him if he even attempted asking her.

“There's something I have that -” he stops, his body tensing up sharply as his stomach cramps,  but his mouth stays closed through grit teeth and nothing seems to come up, “in the mirror…that can melt under my tongue.”

“The mirror?” Atsushi repeats, standing up and headed for the absurdly large sink counter where the mirror, three times the size of his own at home, stands. He didn't know such a medication existed, but Akutagawa certainly would, considering how often he's sick.

“Just press the corner of the left panel,” Akutagawa mumbles, laying his head against the porcelain with a shiver and a defeated sigh.

Atsushi does so very gingerly, not entirely sure what that will do, but the panel pops out at an angle, like a cabinet would. He takes the corner and opens it all the way, revealing six or seven shallow shelves filled to the brim with various medications. Most of which are in prescribed amber bottles.

Atsushi's stomach twists at the sight of all of them. He doesn’t think that even Yosano has this many in her in-house supply. They all have his name. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke. He catches sight of various dates, ranging from a month ago to two years ago, and so many medication names he doesn't recognize. Doxycycline, Azithromycin, Prednisolone, and dozens of others, some unfinished and some empty. There's over the counter stuff in here, too - Midol, Theraflu, extra strength Tylenol, and more - some of which he's never seen before.

“Which…one?” Atsushi asks, overwhelmed by what he's looking at. He had incorrectly assumed it would be easy to find.

“Zofran,” Akutagawa murmurs quietly. Atsushi can barely hear him. “Or…Ondansteron.”

Atsushi scans over his collection and finds it labeled under the second name, carefully removing it as not to knock over the others, one hand splayed out just in case they happened to fall. He’s tempted to make a joke about it to lighten up how he feels seeing this collection, but he doubts Akutagawa wants to hear any of that, being this sick or not.

“I need to sort through those,” Akutagawa mumbles when Atsushi kneels down next to him, crossing his legs just a foot or so away as he opens the box and pulls out the silver packing. “It’s…it’s not as much as it seems.”

Weirdly enough, Akutagawa seems to be saying that to make Atsushi feel better about it. He doesn’t think that it’s true, and that makes him feel worse.

Akutagawa twists up in pain again, breathing out a pained groan as his eyes screw shut. He shifts to gag over the toilet bowl, an arm still wrapped around his abdomen, but he still can’t bring anything up. Atsushi doubt he has much left anyway with how little he’s had to eat.

Akutagawa breathes heavy over the bowl, very visibly nauseous now, having trouble focusing, it seems like. Atsushi hears more thunder, louder than before, and Akutagawa shakes at the sound of it, this time, apparently not caring much to hide that fact from him right now.

Atsushi bites his lip. He scoots a little closer and lays a hand between his shoulder blades, surprised to not see him lash out considering how much he wanted him gone.

“I’d be surprised if you had anything left to throw up,” Atsushi says with a quiet sigh.

“I don’t think I do,” Akutagawa mumbles back, “that’s - the problem.”

Atsushi tries to shift his hand a little in attempt to rub his back, give him some comfort, but he fliches at the sudden movement and Atsushi takes his hand back. It’s strange, how he won’t allow this despite the fact that Atsushi bathed him not too many hours ago. Maybe the fever was subduing him. Maybe he’s a little more with it now.

That’s good, he thinks, but it means Akutagawa is pushing him away.

Akutagawa lays down on his side in front of the toilet, slowly. almost holding his breath. He wraps both arms around his middle with a quiet groan and almost relaxes on the floor. Atsushi would rather he realx in his bed, but he’ll let him rest here for a moment before he makes him move.

Atsushi's pained to see how battered Akutagawa’s thin legs are. There's awful scars of all shapes and sizes - Atsushi can pick out several from bullets, he's able to recognize those fairly easily. There’s newer injuries, too, as new as the one on his shoulder, but none nearly as bad.

He doesn’t often think about the kinds of things Akutagawa has suffered through. He’s sure bullet wounds are just the surface, even despite how long something like that must take to heal, and the nasty scars they leave behind. It’s no wonder Akutagawa’s body can hold up long anymore, illness or not.

“Do you wanna go ahead and take it?” Atsushi asks him quietly, trying to ignore how loud his own thoughts are. “You can lay here for a little to see if it works. But I don't think you should sleep here.”

Akutagawa lets out a quiet, defeated groan, and reaches a hand out to take the pill from Atsushi. He watches him take it, but he can’t use that to ignore what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t think he could ever convince Akutagawa to leave the mafia, but he’s worried he won’t survive through it much longer in his condition.

Why does he care, anyway?

[professionalranter31]

I have a special set of headcannons regarding some of the Overwatch heroes and how they do in bar fights, the last one is the one that is most dangerous

Cole is the only who tries to calm everyone down during the fight, until he gets hit by someone and then he loses all composure, then he just starts punching at everyone, he usually doesn’t end it but he doles out a lot of black eyes and bruises

Ashe won’t get involved unless one of her people is involved, she gets hit, or she started it and there is no in between. She will end it most of the time, so long as she is very very drunk, otherwise it’s a toss up if she wins or not because she’s trying to be strategic during the fight if she’s even somewhat sober and there is no strategy in a bar fight

If Mauga is in a bar and he’s not on business hours then he is the one who either causes the start of the fight or is the one who just starts it and he is terrifying to fight in a bar fight purely because with two hearts he has a way higher alcohol tolerance and that means he either has drunk way more alcohol than everyone who drunk way stronger stuff than everyone, usually both. If he’s on business hours then he ensures no fights start and he will immediately break them up if they start because he doesn’t like it when something gets in the way of his fun. If he’s working as a bartender for a mission then unless the bar fight would benefit his mission then he won’t let any start

Reinhardt in a bar fight is like trying to imitate David going against Goliath but without any weapon, a dumb way to die. Because when Reinhardt starts drinking he really starts drinking and then the next thing you know several tables are broken one of the windows is shattered and the door is hanging on by one hinge

Brigitte started drinking to imitate Rein but then it turned into her loving to drink people under the table and winning bets for it. If she starts fighting pray she doesn’t have any tools nearby because when Brig is drunk she starts making the weirdest things from scratch (that would fit right in among the junkers seriously why don’t Brig and Torb have Junker skins?) and not even she knows what they do and by the end of several people are in what they assume are supposed to be nets and other got a rope tied around one leg but it never pulled them down and one guy somehow got his prosthetic eye upgraded and it now shoots lasers

Mercy and Moira both have similar styles in a bar fight. While they do drink they rarely go to a bar as they don’t like being far from their work, but when they do and a fight breaks out they will use their expertise the anatomy to incapacitate everyone who comes at them, they will always be some of the last few standing, then they’ll start healing people up while giving them sass

Torbjorn will go for the shins and the drunks keep missing him because of his height until he hits them in the shin or the crotch, he will fight dirty and all will fear the drunk dwarf, I cannot explain this any better, the others have some sort of code when in a bar fight, Torbjorn doesn’t he will just fight like a possessed Chihuahua, in one bar fight he actually bit Rein’s crotch he has no limits when in one

But who among the roster is the most dangerous in a bar fight? Who causes the most damage and has absolutely no limits when fighting? It’s Tracer, no look Lena loves bar fights and she fights dirtier than anyone could possibly think and that’s before the Slipstream Incident. Before she went off to join Overwatch she was known as Earbiter because she was known to bite people’s ears, sometimes if she was drunk enough she’d almost rip them off. She won’t start one but she will be the only one left standing when it’s done. But what makes her so dangerous in a bar fight is the fact that unlike the others, she can escalate it to something bigger. If she gets into a bar fight then other bars start fighting and before anyone realizes the city is in one giant brawl. A good example of how much she can escalate is if Doomfist had been in London instead of Singapore when he was captured then Lena would’ve gotten thrown into a bar, taken someone’s shot while having lost her guns somewhere, and then things just go from there and suddenly there is fire everywhere and someone ripped the gauntlet off of Doomfist and someone else used it against him and he keeps getting attacked by everywhere and he can’t predict it and then people realize that Earbiter is back and suddenly even more people are joining the brawl and Doomfist is embedded in a wall somehow by a big guy with a scar on his ear and the Prime Minister just broke a chair on Doomfist trying to hit Lena cursing her out for a bar fight they had several years ago and suddenly all of London has gone brawl happy. By the end of it Lena is the only one left standing and she’s dragging Doomfist’s battered body over to the drop ship and no one knows if she was the one who knocked him out she was blinking everywhere. Essentially, the people of London don’t know Tracer as Lena Oxton the plucky pilot, they know her as Lena Oxton the Earbiter, alongside a few more colorful names