#what the fuck is this two armed bastard doing on the fucking ceiling

[cloudn9neofficial]

YOU KNOW WHO THIS MF LOOK LIKE LOW KEY???

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..... LOOOOOK.

No I will not elaborate

[ryndicate]

Double Down ⨳ Yoshida, Denji

“Didn’t know you were into that stuff.”

warnings: fem body/pronouns, nudes posted without permission, drug use, exhibition, creampie, videos taken with permission, stepcest, infidelity, masturbation, handjob, some spit mentions, premature ejac, implied fuckery, implied theft, if there's more i am just too wacked out to see it so lemme know!

event: @bastardblvd 's slimeball alley collab !! my first submission of who knows how many to come, im gonna try to not go crazy with it, promise

notes: didn't realize until it was done that I could've made it much more slimy but its okay. We'll get 'em next time babes 😩 this idea is expanding on a little blurb I put in cassie's inbox once, i included it in the fic itself with some itty bitty changes

By expanding, you are consenting to viewing adult/dark content, and all warnings listed above. 18+ Minors DNI

Blog Rules/DNI

Your fist slams on the bathroom door. “I swear to god, Denji! Where the fuck did you get those! Delete them now!”

“I already told you, Power found them online!” Your stepbrother yells back through the door, keeping his weight against the handle so that you can’t force your way in.

“You’re full of shit you fucking perv! You took them off my phone or something.”

“Wanna fucking bet? The real perv is that prettyboy bastard you call baby,” Denji sneers back, yelping as you get a good shove in on the creaking wood.

Your efforts to break the bathroom door pause. “The hell’re you talking about?”

“I told you he was trouble the day you two met. What—you think I was lying?”

You growl under your breath at the barenecked taunt in Denji’s voice. Yeah he told you, one time before he got high out of his mind. The only reason you even met Yoshida Hirofumi was because he hooked your stepbrother up a couple times, and you begged to tag along once. That situation ended with your brother counting stars on his buddy’s ceiling while you saw them on the backs of your eyelids with the guy’s lips wrapped around your clit. 

One thing led to another, and that “prettyboy bastard” became your boyfriend. He’s a bit of an ass, but Yoshida’s also sweet and funny, doesn’t roll his eyes at your music choices, doesn’t bat an eye when you want to go out with your friends, and is full of sexy, smirky sass that makes him so fun to be around. Sure, you sent him some photos, but he wouldn’t have put them out anywhere.

Your anger deflates, but your indignance does not. You step away from the bathroom door. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

Denji throws the door open with a toothy grin, repeating himself. “You wanna bet?”

“You know what, yeah!” you snap at him, crossing your arms as he leans in the doorway, still looking smug. 

“Your boyfriend put your pics up on OnlyFans, and he’s using the money to pay for his xanny. If I’m right, you two gotta upload a video. Together,” Denji states, his eyebrows furrowed in twisted delight that makes you sneer at him.

“You’re disgusting!”

“Yeah? Tell me what you get if you win.”

Caught up in his childish bullshit, you push at his shoulder. “You gotta start an OnlyFans if you’re wrong, which you are. And you gotta wear lingerie.”

His smirk full drops at that, and he glares at you, cheeks darkerning. “Now who’s a perv.”

“This whole shit was your idea!”

“Lingerie?”

“How is wearing lingerie worse than telling your stepsister to fuck and post a video about it?!”

“Shut up!”

“And since we’re on the topic, I swear to god if you don’t stop taking my shit out of the laundry I’m gonna tell that redheaded lady at the DMV that she’s at the very top of your fap list.”

His blush deepens and he palms your face backwards in a light push. “The fuck she is. Shut up.”

“Yeah well, me and the thin fucking walls in this apartment would have to disagree.”

“Go find your boyfriend.”

“‘M gonna.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck him,” you hiss in barely supressed rage, gripping your boyfriend’s phone so tight you’re disappointed when it doesn’t crack. 

You’d waited for his high to hit him and let him drift off before going through his phone—what’s the point of asking him outright if it’s not true, right? No reason to stir the pot. But your stomach had dropped with unease when the account site was in his search history; you tried to brush it off as maybe he gets off to a set of camgirls, but the moment you saw the login info presaved—as in frequent entry—you began to forget the bet altogether.

Now your jaw is clenched, seething as you scroll through every racy picture you ever sent him. Each have thousands of views, hundreds of comments and jeez—so many subscribers. The heat of betrayal simmers through you. Your jaw drops at the total that’s set to drop into his account at the end of the week and resist the urge to slap Yoshida awake, but instead you set about trying to change the banking and login info, only to get halted by an infowall. Frustrated, you slip off the bed and call your stepbrother, edging into Yoshida’s bathroom so you don’t wake him up.

“You were right, and you fucking knew it, didn’t you? You set me up.” you hiss into the device as soon as he picks up with a mumbled ‘sup. You can hear voices and music in the background, paired with light explosions. You assume he’s out with his friends, probably gaming like usual. 

“You didn’t have to agree. Wait—” there’s the sound of the phone moving around and suddenly the music is gone. “Does that mean you’re gonna do it?”

“That’s besides the point, Denji!”

“Oh fuck, you are!”

“Chill your boner,” you snap, “‘m not gonna do it unless you help me!”

“Help you? What, like you want me to hold the camera or something?”

“Denji, I swear to god—”

“I’m kidding, jeez.”

“I can’t change the account info. They’re my pictures, and they’re already out there! He shouldn’t get to make money off of me.”

“Wait, so you want to keep the account?” He asks curiously. You hear a door slamming and wonder if he’s still moving, or if his friends are.

“Dude, we’ll have rent and anything else covered for the whole month with a single week’s drop from this thing. I don’t see a reason not to. I can quit Mcdonald’s!”

“Shit, for real? Lemme talk to Denki, ‘m pretty sure he knows a guy.”

“Thank you,” you coo into the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, just make sure you pay up.” You can hear his pervy smile, and you grumble a sulky fine at him.

“Ok. But he’s gotta do it soon. It pays out in a couple of days.”

“I’ll give him some cash to see if he can do it tonight. Don’t see why he’d say no—" Denji sounds a lot further away from the phone now, "—Oi! Don't bro! Give it back."

A familiar voice purrs into the receiver and you roll your eyes. "Heyyy, princess. You with that Yoshida guy still or are we allowed to hang now?"

"Byeee, Kiri. Tell Kat hi f'me." You hang up with a smile and leave the bathroom, glaring at your supposed boyfriend still sleeping. You never heard him say he was working and you always kinda wondered where he was getting his cash, but you always just thought he was dealing or something. Not the kind of think you ask about. You obviously should’ve asked.

You crawl into his lap and begin sucking on his exposed throat, admiring the sharp lines, the bob of his adam’s apple as thick lashes flutter open. 

“Mmm,” Yoshida moans. “Damn, was I out long?”

“Nah,” you hum, slipping your fingers up his shirt, smoothing over his waistline. “Got bored without you, that’s all.”

“Yeah, baby?” He grins up at you, dark eyes fuzzed out and sultry, and his hands come up to settle on your hips, easing you into a slow grind. “Wanna do something?”

“Mm. Maybe,” you tease softly, pushing his shirt up his chest and leaning down to wrap your lips around his nipples. He groans at the warm, slick suction, arching into your touch. 

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes out, his cock swelling beneath you. 

“Maybe I wanna do something…different.”

Yoshida grins up at you, half-lidded. “Yeah? Like what?”

Your nails make pink lines down his chest as you lean in to whisper in his ear. “What if you fucked me, and we let some people watch?”

His fingers dig into the fat of your waist, his dick thumping beneath you. “Anyone I know?”

Yoshida’s pupils have overtaken his coal irises, and you give him an inviting smile. “No one specific. I was thinking more like…a video or something. I wanna be able to see it later.”

“Holy fuck, baby. That’s sexy,” Yoshida grins up at you. “Didn’t know you were into that stuff.”

“Me either,” you breath softly, rocking yourself over his covered erection.

You’re left to yelp as he displaces you from your seat on his lap and pulls you out of the bed by your wrist with a wide smirk. “Come on.”

“Wait, where are we going?”

“Don’t worry baby, I just wanna pick something up at the Malmart first.”

“Fine, I guess,” you pout at him and his smirk only grows.

“‘S okay, baby. I’ll give you something too.”

“This is not what I meant when I said video, Hirofumi!” you gasp out. Your fingers are splayed out on the hood of his car as you try to stay upright. “Someone could actually see us!”

"If you don't wanna be seen, you gotta cum. Cause I'm not stopping til you cum."

"Fuck, fuck please, just hurry up!" You plead, half your words caught between whines and whimpers as he pounds into you from behind, your skirt flipped over your back.

"You think I'm not fucking you like I mean it?" There's so much smile in his voice that you want to call him on his bullshit for once, but the solid smacking of his hips into yours, the head of his dick pressing as deep as it can go with every thrust quickly makes you forget what you're snapping at him for.

"Just‐just, fucking make cum– ‘fumi!" You're desperately telling yourself you don't want to be seen. It's the middle of the night, so even here, parked under the one of the many lightposts that don’t work in grimetown's 24-hour walmart parking lot, the risk of anyone seeing is slim.

But not zero. Especially with the light from his phone camera shining down on your exposed lower half. You’re like a slutty beacon for whoever might be looking this way.

"I'm working on it baby, you gotta relax." His fingers slide around your waist, brushing past your clit and forcing a frustrated whimper past your lips at the neglect, to drag them through the slick dripping obscenely from your pussy lips. It's dripping to the rusted black hood, making it glisten. He aims the camera down at them before moving it back to the way your pussy clings to his cock. "You're so fucking wet for this, you'd think the whole thing was your idea. Well, most of it was."

You don't answer him, trying to work yourself back on him, chasing that fluttering heat twisting itself tighter and tigher with each passing second.

"Good girl, look at you. Fuck, look how bad you want—"

"Oi! Get the fuck out of here before I—"

Your whole body locks up at the tired but authoritative voice that rings across the lot.

Your boyfriend calls back. "C'mon man, have a heart. Let me finish her off and I'll give you a look." Except his last syllable staggers off with a groan, broken with a laugh as his grip on your hips tightens to a bruising pressure. The vice grip of your cunt has him looking down to sees your juices gush around the girth of his cock, dripping down your thighs to dirty the hood of his car even more. The sight pushes pushes him over and he calls out again, his voice tight but smug.

"Nevermind, we're done here."

He gets one last shot of his cum dripping out of you before closing out the livefeed.

“It’s like four in the morning,” Denji grumbles, rubbing one of his eyes as he cracks his bedroom open further at the sight of you. “Thought you were Power or somethin’, jeez.”

Denji blinks the blur from his eyes, zeroing in on your screen, and you just about hear his pupils expanding. He pulls a shaky inhale and you roll your eyes.

“Done. Bet over, and here’s your damn proof,” you grumble right back, slamming your phone against his chest and shoving your way into his bedroom to flop down into his bed. It had taken over an hour to convince Yoshida back to his place and get him to fool around enough for him to pass out and you to sneak back home.

"Also Kiri wants you to call him back. He's mad you hung up on him."

A small grin curls your lips but you don't respond, wiggling deeper into his mattress until you're comfortable.

He throws himself down in the bed next to you. “Turn on my speakers.” 

“Or you could just wear headphones, you freak.”

“Nah. Turn ‘em on.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you stretch out to reach up to his desk, turning on the bluetooth speakers that he usually uses to be a nuisance when he’s smoking. “If your dad was home, I’d kill you for this.”

“You’re not even breaking up with him, are you?” Denji chortles, ignoring your bickering. His eyes are glued to the screen as he shoves a hand into his loosened shorts. “What the fuck, you guys were outside?”

You shrug. The video’s only been up for a couple hours and it already has triple the views and donations of all the photos Yoshida has put up so far. “Looks like he’s gonna be making me lots of money, so why not? It’s the least he could do to pay me back.”

Your stepbrother doesn’t answer you, his breathing getting heavier. You close your eyes and sigh as the sounds wet sounds and your own whiny moaning starts bouncing off the walls of his room, wondering to yourself if you really sound like that or if part of you was exaggerating because of the camera. The mattress creaks every now and then as his hips jump, his arm brushing your side as he grinds into his own fist. 

You roll to face him, taking in the sound of his stuttered breaths, the muted slick sound of his fist pumping in his shorts. “So what about this gets you so riled up?”

Denji groans, stomach rippling where his shirt is pulled up around his midsection. “I’nno, it’s hot, isn’t it?”

You keep prodding, “What is? Yoshida? Or me?”

He gives a small whine that has your pulse picking up in sick interest, so you continue. “Was Power really the one to find it? Or…you were subbed to the account, weren’t you Denji?”

“Mm- maybe?”

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, listening to your own voice begging to cum, shifting your weight onto your arm so you can look at him. A strange curiosity has taken over your body. He looks wrecked but his eyes are still on the screen. “Denji, look at me.”

Your body tingles as his eyes tear towards you, but he’s still got a hand around himself, hidden from your eyes. “Can I touch it?”

“You wanna what?” he moans, just barely, teeth digging into his lip.

“Can I jerk you off?”

You’re a little surprised when he actually hesitates. You’ve tolerated it all this time; as much as he pervs out on you, and your stuff, yet somehow he’s got a little crumb of morality left in there somewhere. And right now…you wanna kill it.

“My panties, my pictures…is this really any different?” you ask softly, sweetly, as you run with this electric current, placing your hand over his covered groin. You grin as his hand immediately goes slack at your touch and slips out of his shorts, and you get to feel for the first time how hard he is, rubbing over the smooth fabric, feeling out the shape of him.

“I mean…I guess not.” He sucks in a breath as you grip him over his shorts and give a couple experimental strokes. “B-but what about—?”

Denji’s head drops back to the pillows with a groan, phone in a death grip as you tug his waistband down, his dick slapping free. It’s pretty and slender, flushed deep red.

“What about what?”

“What about prettyboy, huh?” He finally gets it out as you spit in your hand and take him up again, stroking him steadily from base to tip, squeezing at the top with a gentle twist of your wrist. Yoshida always seemed to like it, seems like he does too. 

“That’s what you’re worried about? Not the whole stepsister thing?” You shrug. You’re still stung about Yoshida’s betrayal, so this feels like a little bit of retribution. A little bit. You still need to find more ways to make him pay first, but this is a good start. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend, but ‘s not like you and me are dating, Denji. It’s a handjob. What’re you gonna do, marry me?”

Denji splutters and his dick throbs in your hand. “Don- Don’t say stupid shit!”

You coo at him and his lips part, panting hard as you work him faster. 

“What– haa, what if it wasn’t just a handjob? What then?” Denji gives a low moan as you settle over his lower thighs so you can gently cup his balls. They seem to tighten under your touch, before he relaxes and he tries to look at you. 

“What, like my mouth or something?” you ask playfully, leaning over and showing him your tongue, letting a strand of spit drip down to his dick.

A litany of curses tumblr from his mouth as Denji squeezes his eyes shut, fingers twisting into the pillow beneath his head as his cock jerks and shoots a load of hot sticky white into your palm, getting smeared down his throbbing shaft as you slowly work him through his high until only a couple dribbles get pressed out by a final pass of your thumb over his slit.

“Wasn’t expecting you to finish already.” You wipe your hand off on his comforter and try to ignore the throbbing in your panties. You feel like you can still imagine the slick from earlier tonight seeping out of you, but it’s as if it’s no longer enough.

“Holy fuck,” he mumbles under his breath, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as he calms his breathing enough to raise himself up on his forearms. He watches you as you take your phone and flop down next to him. “I didn’t even get to see the rest of the video.”

“It’s online now, freak. You can watch it whenever.”

“Yeah...” 

You’re too busy trying to go through the account settings to notice the way he’s eyeing up your thighs; he hasn’t even put his dick away yet. 

“Hey,” he mutters softly, ignoring your glare when he puts a hand on your thighs and pulls them open. “If you can touch me, does that mean I get to touch you?”

Your pulse jumps and you try to keep your true thoughts hidden as you hide back behind your phone. “I guess that’s fair. If you wanted to.”

You can hear the click of Denji’s throat as he swallows, and you can’t stop the low whimper as his calloused fingers brush your inner thigh, right at the edge of your panties. 

They’re warm as they brush over the seat of your panties, timid but curious as they explore the surface, stroking over the tempting warmth and wet seeping through the thin fabric. A bolt of pleasure bursts and has your gut clenching as he swirls over your clothed clit

“H-hey, wait,” you say suddenly, nerves getting the better of you as you try to make sense of Denji taking control of your body. “It got switch but this isn’t my banking info. Is it yours?” You flip the screen towards him, and his brown eyes squint in the pale blue light.

“Uh, nah, that’s not mine.”

You mewl as he pulls your panties to the side and traces a finger through your folds, delicate, hungry. “Who did you say– mm, h-hacked the account for me?”

“I told you. M’friend Denki, his buddy did it. That purple-haired guy who works at the smoke shop.”

“The one wi—” you suck in a breath as he sinks his index finger into you. “With the tattoos?”

“Yeah him,” Denji mumbles, hardly paying attention to your words. He’s grinding against the bed as he pushes his middle in alongside it, imagining the tight squeeze around his dick instead.

Your groan is part pleasure, part dismay as you realize just who he’s talking about. “Oh fuck me.”

Denji bullies his way between your thighs in an instant.

“N-no, Den– that’s not what I meant!”

[lethalchiralium]

Twice A Question, Once An Answer | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: YOU THINK YOU CAN KEEP ME FROM MY STREAM OF SEROTONIN? ABSOLUTELY NOT. THIS MAN DESERVES LOVE AND A FAMILY AND A LOVING FAMILY. this was also just an entire dialogue i wrote when i got home from work at 3:30am

connected to tonight, tonight, tonight and a little more!

warnings: talks about babies, talks about simon’s past, domesticity cause simon deserves it, mentions of nudity

summary: Two times you asked your husband a question, and the one time he had the answer you needed.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT

“Thought about having a boy?”

Simon’s eyes had just closed, sleep calling him like a siren. His arm was rested over his eyes. “Mmm.”

“Have you thought about having a boy?” You asked again, voice quiet as you stared at the ceiling in the dark.

“Are you pregnant?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

Your head moved to look to the left, to look at him. “Not even once? Even if we try again?”

He sighed a little, his other hand coming to scratch his neck. “I make girls, love. I’m two for two right now, not sure if I would be okay with losing my winning streak.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at his silhouette, almost wanting to reach out and touch his arm. “So you only want girls?”

“No.”

“Then you want a boy?”

“No.”

You scoffed, moving to rest yourself up on your elbows. “Well Jesus, Simon, which one is it? Boys or girls?”

He moved his arm down to his side, moving to lay on his side to face you. “I want healthy babies. Want ‘em to live happy and long lives. And I want whatever you want.”

“Simon, I’m asking your opinion.” Your hand reached out and rested on his chest, your fingertips grazing above his heartbeat.

“Yeah, and I gave it to ya. Whatever you want is fine by me.”

“You only wanted Winnie. Just Winnie.”

His hand settled on yours, thumb gliding across the back of your hand. “If I knew about Mellie when she was in your belly, trust me, I would have wanted her too.” His other hand came to rest on your bare lower stomach, fingers tracing your stretch marks. “I want you to be happy with however many babies you want.”

“So you’d be okay with twelve?” A giggle left your lips.

He grunted. “Now you’re pullin’ my leg.”

You snaked one of your legs in between his, moving to your side and now feeling his breath on your skin. “Simon, do you want a boy?” You leaned forwards and pressed your lips to his collarbone, then rested your forehead against it. “Would you be okay with a boy?”

The hand on your stomach traced your skin to your side, fingers massaging the marks he had left only an hour before. “…He’ll be loved all the same as his sisters. Just don’t be pregnant right now.”

“Trust me, I’m not. I just realized I never asked what you wanted kid-wise.” You cleared your throat. “I wanted two girls and two boys when I was a kid, but now, I just want this. I want us, and however many babies come next. But I want to know when we should stop. You need to be comfortable with it too.”

You felt his lips against your head. “…Just the girls for now. Ask me again when Mellie starts to talk back.”

“Which, at this rate, will be next week.”

Your husband chuckled a little. “Good, she’ll need to so she can bully Soap for me.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Well? I can’t do it forever - Lord knows that Soap will cockroach his way to outlive me like a spiteful bastard.”

You smacked his chest gently, moving your head back to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Don’t say that, you and Soap are gonna be neighbors and have old man fights.”

He smiled. “Yeah, so I need my daughters to back me up when he needs to get smacked the fuck up.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. “Go to sleep.”

—

“Simon.”

“Mm.”

“Why don’t you want a boy?”

He looked down at you, back curled into his chest. “Baby, go back to sleep.” He pressed a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder.

“Just one question and then I’ll sleep.”

He let out a sigh, curling his arm a little tighter around your waist. “I want a boy if you want a boy.”

You shook your head, turning your head to look back at him. “No, that’s not it, Simon. Why don’t you want a boy?”

“…Girls are different creatures all together. I don’t see me when I was a kid in their little faces because they care about their dollhouses, fire trucks and that dumb little astronaut toy, they love each other. If we have a boy, I don’t want him to end up like me.” He rested his cheek on your shoulder. “Or be as mean as Tommy was when we were kids. My girls have love for each other I didn’t have with my brother until three years before he was killed.”

“Simon…” Your hand went to rest on his arm, squeezing it.

“If we have a boy, he’ll be loved just the same. And by sisters who will cherish him like they do each other. He’ll be different than us. Me. He’ll be different than me.” You felt his nose settle into your hair, as he whispered, “So if you want a boy, we can try for one.”

“What would we even name him?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Simon- I’m serious. If we have a boy, what would you name him?” You gently pet his arm on your side.

“Grant Thomas, after my nephew’s middle name.”

A smile on your face. “Perfect.” You turned your head back around, settling your cheek onto your pillow again.

“You’re like 600% not pregnant?”

“PMS-ing.”

“Ah, okay. Hormonal.”

“Yes.”

There was a small moment before he whispered, “What if we have another girl?”

Your arms moved to settle on top of his that were around your waist. “We’ll name her whatever you want, Simon.”

“We’ll name her whatever you want.”

“Simon.”

“What?”

“You give me all your name choices and I’ll pick one. I named Mellie, it’s only fair.” Your eyes fluttered closed again.

He grunted in protest. “Doesn’t matter what’s fair, you’re birthing our imaginary third daughter.”

You let out a huff. “Simon, I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

Your eyes opened and you looked over your shoulder, forcing him to make eye contact with you. “Then why are you arguing with me?”

“I’m not arguing.”

“Are you scared to name our imaginary third daughter?”

“No.”

You turned your head away, smacking his arm a little. “Then give me a name or something, since you don’t want to have a boy.”

He held out his hand, pinching his fingers. “…I am this close to sleeping on the couch.”

“Please?” You grabbed his hand and pulled it to your lips.

“Let me sleep on it, love.”

—

“Baby.”

“Mmhm.”

“Lyra.”

Your eyes didn’t open, sleep still claws deep in your brain. “…Hmm?”

“Lyra.” Your husband whispered right by your ear, his cheek rested just above it. “I like the name Lyra.”

“Mmm.”

“Do you like it?”

You pondered the name, letting it settle on your sleep-drunk brain. “Yes.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Go to sleep, Simon.”

———

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[cobaltperun]

Genius (11) - I Love You

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next Part (Finale)

Word count: 3.2k

-Please say you love me too, these three words, they could change our lives forever-

This isn’t censorship, this is just a dose of reality you needed to get a long time ago. That was what Miller told her, those were the last words he said to her before he demanded the essay, that was his rejection of her writing. Deep down she knew she shouldn’t let it affect her, that she latched onto a few lines of his writing, reaching into the depths that may have never existed to begin with, and that at the end of the day his writing overall wasn’t special or outstanding.

She was tricked by the few gems in an otherwise mediocre work, but she still admired him. He was the only writer she met, and he rejected her writing. She thought he saw her, she thought he understood her, sure, her initial intentions weren’t innocent, but she hoped for a better outcome than this. A thought came to her mind, a one much darker than the ones she considered on the surface.

Did he plan this?

Did he see her admiration or his writing, her own passion for writing, and used that? Cairo hugged herself, trembling and squeezing her body as hard as she could. The occasional touches, the gradual way he got closer to her, his invitations to spend time alone. She decided to pursue him, but was that decision entirely hers or did he make her feel seen so he could…? She bit her lower lip, feeling the cold seeping into her bones as the doors of her room opened and she turned to look at you, her eyes wide.

“Cairo?” you rushed to her side, pulled her into your arms and she felt a bit warmer. “Talk to me, what’s going through your mind?” you asked her as you gently brushed her lower lip with your thumb to make her let go of it before she could make it bleed.

But she didn’t say anything. Two questions kept repeating in her mind. Did he praise her writing because it was actually good, or did he praise it because he wanted to use her? Was his decision to fail her a professional assessment of her skills, the reality she apparently needed to face now that she wouldn’t let him fuck her, or was it just his anger?

“Y/N?” she whispered, clinging to you, craving your warmth as her doubts clouded her judgment. “I’m not sure I can write anymore,” she barely realized she was crying, the only reason she noticed was because your shirt was getting wet right in front of her eyes.

“What are you talking about?” you asked frantically, yet your voice felt distant as she grasped at your shirt, dug her nails into your back, clawed, fearing you were about to slip out of her hold especially as she felt it getting weaker. “Cairo?!” your yell sounded muffled as her vision narrowed and she felt like all she could hear was the buzzing in her head. “Cairo!” she let go of you and lost consciousness.

~X~

You sat by her bed, your foot on the chair and forehead resting on your raised knee as you waited for Cairo to wake up. From the corner of your eye, you saw a spider on the ceiling, unmoving despite a fly struggling in its web. You kept watching, wondering what would happen and the fly kept struggling, again and again flapping its wings until it fell off the web, all because the spider didn’t move from its spot.

You felt anger coursing through your veins, you wished you could have punched the bastard again, not that it would fix anything. Cairo would still be in this state, unconscious, under so much stress and with nothing you could do for her right now. Even now, unconscious, she didn’t look at peace.

You clenched your fists as you became consumed by the feeling of helplessness. She didn’t deserve any of this, she was eighteen, just barely eighteen and she was hurt by someone who was supposed to be her mentor and now she… Cairo of all people doubted her ability to write?!

The doors to Cairo’s room opened slowly as Winnie came in. She’s been with the two of you since you called her. “She’s still not waking up?” she asked as she sat down on the chair next to yours.

You just shook your head, you didn’t even glance at Winnie, as you kept your entire attention on Cairo. “Has this happened before?” you had to ask.

Winnie remained silent for a couple of minutes, but you didn’t push her to answer you. “Never like this, but she did have a tendency to lose consciousness every now and then after her parents made it clear they didn’t give a fuck about her,” she revealed and you nodded, taking that information and locking it away for later. “Maybe you could read to her? Something important to both of you?” she suggested, and it wasn’t that it didn’t cross your mind, you just didn’t want to disturb Cairo.

“I’ll give it a shot,” you figured it was worth a shot, books always were Cairo’s escape, and if telling her a story could help her even a little bit, you’d gladly do it. So, you began telling her ‘Around the World in Eighty Days’ from page one.

~X~

She woke up disoriented, and though she could recognize her own room she somehow felt like it was unfamiliar to her as her brain caught up to her being awake. She felt an arm around her waist and relaxed, remembering the feeling and weight of your arm before she remembered her own room. And indeed, when she looked to the side she saw you sleeping next to her. You looked tired, as if you just recently fell asleep and Cairo remembered the last moments before she lost consciousness.

She remembered you calling, yelling, her name, the worry in your voice. And she was sorry she put you through this. When was the last time you ate? Cairo knew you, knew it was entirely possible that you were so worried you couldn’t eat, and she could only hope Winnie made you eat something. So, as her head began clearing from all the confusion and cacophony of different thoughts she turned to her side and moved closer to you.

You gasped, your eyes widening the moment you felt she was awake and Cairo felt guilty for that. “Are you okay?” you immediately asked her and she was sure you would have sat up if she didn’t quickly put an arm around you.

“I am now,” she assured you, the heat of your body as she pressed up against you helped, chased the doubts and horrible thoughts away and she took a deep breath when you hugged her, your hold on her tight and firm. For a quick moment she thought that this was what she craved her entire life. Someone holding her like this, holding her so that she doesn’t turn into a ghost, holding her so that she would feel like she had something worth staying for, and you gave that to her. “Just hold me like this and I’ll be fine,” she whispered, certain that just this much would help her get through most of her doubts.

And you nodded, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll hold you for the rest of my life if you’ll let me,” her heart drummed even faster against her chest at those words, and she allowed herself a smile.

“I’ll hold you to it,” she snuggled even closer to you. “And I swear I’ll be yours for the rest of my life as well,” she promised you, at the moment uncertain of many things, but not of that one. Until the rest of her life she would be yours.

~X~

But while your touch and support, and especially your love, helped her immensely. While it snapped her out of the stupor she was in and she managed to move on, to take everything happening in school and maintain her score, the was one thing that she couldn’t fix. For weeks now she couldn’t write a single word and she just barely managed to hand in the assignments that required any creative writing whatsoever.

She kept staring at the blank page, willing her fingers to move and type, but she kept going back to her essay, to those comments, and she felt it ruining her, tearing apart one bit of her identity she created herself, without anyone else influencing it. She was a writer, it defined her, unlike many other things she tried or did, and it was broken. Shattered into millions of pieces and no matter how many times she told herself he had no right to break her like that. That he was mediocre, unable to reach the heights of success, that she misjudged him, it still affected her.

She tried to type, she tried to write in a notebook, hoping that maybe a physical pen and paper would get her to write something, anything. Even when something would spark her motivation to write she just, plain and simple, no longer felt like it was good enough to put on the page.

You inspired her, way back when you drove past her house that night you arrived, and now she felt as if she was too arrogant when she thought she could capture that moment in a remotely acceptable way, let alone write anything worth reading.

You came into her room, carrying a cup of coffee in one hand and a bowl with sliced fruits in another. She has been neglecting proper nutrition lately, and she felt her mouth watering as you set the fruit and the coffee on her nightstand. You bent over her chair and kissed her on the cheek. “Take a break for me?” you asked, kissing lower as Cairo leaned her head back, sighing softly as your kisses trailed a path to her neck.

You still loved her, even as she felt like she was a sinking ship, unable to pull herself fully together. And Cairo felt her heart soaring at that, at the way you stood by her side unconditionally. How many times did you have to skip class to pull Cairo out of her despair-induced thoughts and take her away from this damn place? Way too many, it wasn’t fair that you had to pull the pieces of her back together, yet you still stayed. “Y/N,” she moaned, her eyes closed as you hugged her from behind, your lips latched onto her neck. And all the tension in her body faded away as she relaxed.

“Come on,” you whispered in her ear and pulled her to her feet, and she got up, curious.

Especially when she saw an envelope on her bed. “What is this?” she asked as she picked it up.

“Your award, you won a writing contest,” you said as you got comfortable on the right side of the bed, where you usually ended up sleeping whenever you slept next to her.

“What?” she didn’t compete in any writing contest, not recently, not ever in her life. She looked at you, now more puzzled than ever, but you just patted the spot on the bed next to you.

You cleared your throat and scratched your cheek a bit, refusing to meet her eyes. “I sent your most recent essay, you left your laptop on and I felt like I had to do something. And I knew you wouldn’t let me if I told you,” you explained, finally looking at Cairo as she sat down next to you. “I’m sorry for going behind your back, I just couldn’t sit back and do nothing, and my words weren’t reaching you.”

Cairo remained silent, indeed, she won the first place, and the judges were well-known, recognized writers, and they deemed her writing to be the best essay that was sent in. You were right about your words not reaching her. As hard as her heart tried to believe you, her brain kept repeating that writing, just plain and simple, wasn’t something you knew all that much about. She reasoned that it was support born out of love, not out of reasonable, critical judgment of her word.

And now you did this and Cairo felt tears filling up her eyes. “What if everyone else just wrote something atrociously bad and this was the only relatively mediocre thing?” her doubt still spoke, making you hug her. For a bit all Cairo could hear was the chirping of the birds near her window, and that frightened her as much as the combination of your scent and the fruit from the bowl calmed her nerves down.

“If it was just this village, I might be able to believe that, but not when it’s a contest anyone in this entire country below the age of twenty could enter. Take a win, Cairo. People that succeeded where he failed recognized your writing,” you told her eventually and she desperately wanted it to be true, she was starting to believe it.

“You really believe that?” Cairo asked, feeling her doubts still clouding her judgment.

“You were unfortunate, not allowed to thrive, with no one there to nurture your talents, yet you got this far,” she remembered the wild roses and the old trees, constantly falling on top of them, crushing them, breaking them. She ended up being such a rose, in more ways than one, and you, much like you saved her that day in the rain, kept shielding her through the storms.

With you she could weather any storm, she was sure of that.

“I wasn’t unfortunate. I got to meet you, to fall in love with you,” she argued, turning to kiss you on the lips. She’d leave this place, start a new, better life, she would get over this hurdle, and with you by her side she would be truly happy.

“I love you,” somehow you both said it at the same time, and Cairo laughed at how ridiculous that was. You just grinned, before her laughter infected you as well and you both shared a laugh. And maybe, just maybe, that was an adult, someone capable of pushing through obstacles, someone whose will couldn’t be as easily broken by an unfulfilled failed writer that temporarily had power over them.

Or maybe it was marked by finding someone who would stay by you, that would keep you standing even when you doubt yourself, and providing that in return when they need you. Maybe she still didn’t know what was an adult, but what you had certainly felt like love between adults, and not teenagers

It felt stronger, it felt deeper, it was already tested as Cairo hit her lowest and was slowly rising from it once again. And she thought that maybe individually the two of you weren’t yet as mature as adults, but that together you made up for each other’s weaknesses, making a whole that was better than just the sum of your parts.

“I love you, Y/N,” she said once more, looking into your eyes and finding that same love reflecting back at her.

It wasn’t madman’s love. It wasn’t desperate, it was just passionate. A madman’s love would eventually fade, give into time because one thing or person couldn’t maintain its attention for years to come. Eventually something would come along and take that mad love away. No, your love for her, and her love for you, neither one was madman’s love. Though she thought that was what she desired.

It was something different, something she still couldn’t properly describe. Maybe she would never be able to give it a definition, but she knew there were no ruins, there was no romanticized decay of either of you as you got burnt by the madman’s love. It wasn’t a fall, but a rise of an empire you were creating together.

~X~

You joined Cairo in her backyard as she watered the wild roses, she looked much better now, happier, satisfied once more. She even wrote this morning, as evidenced by the open word file that wasn’t empty, by the way, that she left on her laptop in the bedroom. She turned to you when she heard you approaching through the soft grass and fallen leaves.

“Hey,” she said softly lowering the garden hose to the ground and meeting you halfway between her house and the roses.

“Good morning,” you smiled at her and let her pull you down into a kiss. It was soft, much different than the hungry kisses you got used to at the start of the relationship, and it felt perfect for the morning kiss.

Cairo pulled away first, but she quickly pecked your lips once more, her arms were still wrapped around your neck and you found yourself hugging her and pulling her close to you. “Just a bit more and we’ll graduate high school,” she buried her face in the crook of your neck. “I still don’t know what to do for my Yale essay, what did I even achieve?” she asked you.

You’ve given it a lot of thought actually. This was important to Cairo, this was her goal, the one thing she was looking forward to even as she cursed her mundane, mediocre life in this village. At the same time you knew she was still shaken by what happened, as she was you feared she wouldn’t be able to make the most out of it, that she would fall behind simply because of how much what Miller said and did affected her. And you only thought of one solution that might work in these circumstances. “Take a year off,” you told her as you pulled her along to sit on the grass where it wasn’t wet.

“What?” Cairo was genuinely, and reasonably, confused by your suggestion.

“Let’s travel the world. Experience it all, the different cultures, different lifestyles, see for yourself the world outside of this village, and then decide what your greatest achievement is. Measure yourself against the world, and take what it has to offer you,” you said as you held her hand, hoping she would see the logic in your suggestion and accept.

You’ve long since decided that you’d go with Cairo wherever she goes, if it was straight to university, you’d go with her, pursuing your own career in music, if she chose to stay here, you’d do so as well, and try to build a career from here, and if she chose to travel the world, you’d be with her.

“And you’ll go with me? We’ll do it together?” she asked, her eyes bright and filling with life and you knew right then and there that she loved the idea.

“We’ll do it together,” you assured her and laughed as Cairo lunged at you, kissing you in that deep, hungry way you were so used to as the two of you fell down to the grass. Not that being on the grass bothered Cairo as she kept kissing you, her tongue already deep inside your mouth as you sucked it gently.

“I love you,” she said, stopping the kissing just enough to take a deep breath and say that, and then, before you could even respond she once again kissing you.

A/N: And that is the long-awaited chapter 11. Chapter 11.5, Biker Girl is set a few weeks after this chapter.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next Part (Finale)

Taglist: @deimaisgail @bee-keeping @marvelous-disaster @jmwetterlund @tekanparadiae

@alexkolax @ioveyouyouloveme @aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh @autorasexy @lifeforsimp13

@puta1 @minnyyminny

[maerinhearts]

Anything For You

Your boyfriend gets some wild advice from his closest friend and decides to bring it to fruition. Only it's incredibly embarrassing and not at all what you're into... Or so you thought...

Warnings: dom!bokuto, fingering, masturbation, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, creampie, fem!bodied reader

Minors DNI.

All characters are 18+.

2100+ words.

Smut is below the cut as always.

A/N: I've never written for Bokuto before, so I'm a little nervous putting this out there. Please let me know if y'all like it!

 “I want to watch.”

Your hands stop their ministrations in his hair, eyes peeling away from the movie you were watching together to glance down at the man between your legs, his eyes wide and curious. You must have had a funny look on your face at his statement because he turns around, kneeling before you and sliding his hands up your outer thighs, resting his cheek against your right knee.

“Watch me what?” you ask, genuinely confused and curious as to what the actual hell he was asking for. Watch you cook? He did that already. And you were already watching a movie together. What could he possibly want?

He inhales deeply, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I want to watch you,” he answers.

You feel yourself getting annoyed with how vague he is being. You narrow your eyes at him. “Why are you being so weird about telling me the answer? Just tell me what you want to watch me do.”

He sits back on his knees, hands leaving your body briefly before he’s grabbing your knees and shoving your legs apart. You yelp in surprise, heat rushing primarily to your core at his roughness, but a touch of pink dusts your cheeks.

“I want to watch you touch yourself,” he says softly. He peeks up at you through his eyelashes. “Can I?”

You stare at him blankly, cogs turning rapidly in your mind. Watch you? Touch? Yourself? He… wants that? But why? Where is this even coming from? Now that you think about it, him and Kuroo had gone to dinner the other night to catch up while they had the time. Were they talking about their girlfriends? Did this come up during dinner? Only Kuroo would tell your boyfriend how hot something like this was. And he would soak up every single word that bastard spewed at him. Kuroo and his girlfriend were notoriously kinky. You knew this because his girlfriend was a close friend of yours and you heard all about it every time the two of you got together.

Anyway, there was no possible way you were going to let him watch you touch yourself. No way in hell. How embarrassing…

Is what you thought…

So why…

Why are you sitting against the arm of the couch with your legs spread wide, your bare pussy on display for him? He sits across the couch from you, leaning back against his own armrest as he watches your fingers dance across your clit.

“Slowly, Y/N,” he says softly.

You lean your head back to stare at the ceiling, tears fogging your vision. You slow your fingers to a snail pace, groaning in frustration as your body starts to calm down from a steady build up. This bastard… He isn’t even touching himself! Even though he is clearly hard as a rock. You lift your head back up to glare at him, fingers stopping altogether.

“Don’t stop,” he snaps, making direct eye contact.

You bite your lips, a tear making its way down your face as your fingers begin circling your clit again. You moan as you make eye contact with him, fingers dipping down to collect the essence that was leaking out and rubbing it back into your swollen clit.

“One finger,” he says now. “Put one finger inside of you.”

You listen so well, he thinks, as he watches you slowly slide your middle finger into your hole. You whimper as your finger disappears completely inside you and your head falls back. He wants to fuck you so bad right now, but watching you obey his every command while you touch yourself is so hot, he wants to drag this out for as long as possible.

You stay still, walls fluttering around your finger as you try to dial your orgasm back.

“If you come without permission, don’t expect me to fuck you,” he had said when you started.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you attempt to calm yourself.

“Finger yourself,” he instructs you. His voice is firm.

You meet his gaze again, eyes pleading to just either let you come or to come fuck you already. Nevertheless, you slowly begin thrusting your finger into your pussy, moaning freely now as you feel your finger enter and leave your body. Every time you pull your finger out, you can feel your walls suck it right back in. As you pick up your pace, you begin to hear just how wet you are.

“Ko, please,” you beg, voice breathless.

“Slow down,” he says simply.

You whine as you still your finger inside of you, orgasm floating away from your grasp once again. You nearly cry as your body starts shaking.

“Please,” you beg again. “Ko, please come fuck me.” Your face is covered in your tears with more threatening to spill out.

He wishes he could take a picture of you just like this. Your finger buried knuckle deep inside your own pussy, your face wet with tears, it’s so sexy.

He smirks at you. “Add another finger,” he says, ignoring your pleas.

You nearly begin sobbing as you pull your finger out and shove your ring finger back in with it. Your brain is pure mush as you begin fucking yourself with two fingers now. You can’t think straight as squelching noises fill your ears. It feels so good, body shaking as your orgasm begins building up once again. You cry out, head falling back once again.

“Please, let me come,” you try again, words barely leaving your lips.

“No,” he replies sternly and like the good girl he knows you are, you pull your fingers free from your sex to stop yourself from coming.

You ball your hands up into fists, chest heaving as your orgasm gets further and further from your grasp.

“Y/N,” he calls out to you softly.

You lift your head up, nearly jumping out of your skin when you see how close he is to you. Your heart was beating so loudly in your ears, breathing so heavy, that you didn’t hear him move closer to you.

He cups your face in his hands, thumb pulling at your chin to open your mouth as he leans in to devour you. His tongue dives quickly into your mouth, stroking against your own. You sob into him, fingers tangling into his hair to hold him against you. Not that it did any good, the beefy asshole. He pulls away from you easily.

“Fuck me, please,” you beg as he looms over you. Without thinking, you shove your hand into the waistband of his sweats, fingers wrapping firmly around his cock. He stiffens above you. “Kotaro, I’m begging you, please. Fuck me.”

He presses his forehead into yours as you slowly stroke his cock. “How bad do you want it?” he asks. He was really dragging this out.

“So bad,” you tell him. Your mouth was moving of its own accord. You were saying anything just to get his dick inside you. “Please.”

He pulls away to yank his shirt off and pull his dick out. He doesn’t even bother taking off his pants.

“Since my baby has been so good, I better give her what she wants,” he says simply before he fully sheathes himself inside you.

You gasp out in surprise as an orgasm rakes through your body just from him entering you. You cry out, hands wrapping around his wrists as more tears fall from your eyes. He grunts from above you, closing his eyes as he feels your pussy convulse around him.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He stays still until he’s sure you’re done coming, not wanting to overstimulate you so early. As you calm down, the smirk returns to his face and you know the teasing is about to come full force. You cover your face with your hands. “All that just from me shoving my dick into you? What do you have to say for yourself, angel?”

He grabs you by your waist and pulls your body down so your back is flush with the couch cushions. He pries your hands away from your face and pins them to the couch.

“Hmm?” he hums, kissing the underside of your jaw.

You don’t answer, opting to turn your face away from his gaze. In response, he pulls all the way out and slams himself back into you. You cry out as the head of his cock grazes your cervix.

“Too deep,” you gasp out.

“Answer me,” he demands as he begins thrusting his cock into you.

You moan out as he thrusts repeatedly into the spot that has you seeing stars, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the immense pleasure he was giving you. You aren’t sure what kind of answer he is looking for and you aren’t sure how you should even answer his question. Especially when he is fucking you so relentlessly like this.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, Y/N,” he groans. “Feels so good.”

You moan out in response, pussy involuntarily clenching around him at his words and he sucks in a breath at the feeling.

His hands find their way underneath your knees, pressing them into your chest. In this position, he reaches a new depth inside of you and you throw your head back in pleasure, mouth wide open in a silent scream as he continues to relentlessly fuck you.

“You take me so damn well,” he praises. “Your pussy keeps sucking me right back in.”

His thrusts turn sloppy, moans picking up as his orgasm quickly approaches.

“Look at you,” he grounds out. “So fucking sexy.”

“Come,” you squeak out in warning, hands pushing at his shoulders as pleasure overwhelms you.

“You gonna come again?” he asks. “Come for me. Open your eyes and look at me, I want to watch you come.”

You pry your eyes open to find his heated gaze. As your eyes meet, your orgasm washes over you again, body shaking as he continues to fuck you. His moans pick up before he follows with his own orgasm, spilling his seed right into you.

You both try to catch your breaths as he lets go of your legs. Your body feels like jell-o, you’re not even sure how you’re going to move from this very couch.

Kotaro leans down to kiss your forehead before pulling away from your body. You feel his come start to slip out of you and you hurriedly cover yourself with your hands to try to catch it before it hits your couch. That would be a hard stain to remove, and an embarrassing one for someone to see.

He comes back with a warm cloth and gently moves your hands out of the way to clean you up. You smile tiredly as he takes care of you, gently wiping your sex and taking the utmost care to thoroughly clean you.

Then he’s hoisting you up into his arms and carrying you to bed. He disappears to dispose of the rag before silently climbing in beside you and pulling you to his chest.

You sigh contentedly before he breaks the silence. “We should do that again,” he comments.

“What?!” you exclaim, sitting up to look at him. “Did you like it that much?! It was so embarrassing!”

He grins at you. “You seemed to be into it,” he says as he brushes your hair out of your face. “Am I wrong?”

You feel your face heat up and avert your gaze.

“That damn Kuroo,” you mutter as you lay back down and turn away from him.

“What about him?” Kotaro asks as his arms snake around your body.

You glare at the wall. “I know he told you about doing that with his girlfriend and that’s what gave you the idea.”

He’s silent behind you.

“Look at you, can’t even deny it,” you mumble.

“Well, he was damn right about it being the sexiest thing ever,” he admits with a shrug.

“How was that even remotely sexy?!”

He hums from behind you, lips pressing into the back of your neck. “You were so wet, I could hear it just from your fingers,” he murmurs into your ear. “And the look on your face? The way your eyes begged me to just fuck you, your little eyebrows furrowing in pleasure. Your body tense as you waited for my next command.” His hands begin fondling your breasts, fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples. You begin panting. “The way your pussy glistened in the light. Fuck.” He presses his hips firmly into you and you can feel he’s hard again. “It was so hard not to touch myself.”

Your brain is reduced to mush once again, face hot as you ask him to fuck you again. He chuckles from behind you as he pulls himself from his sweats and enters you from behind in one thrust.

“Anything for you.”

[tieronecrush]

seven minutes in heaven (the bathroom)

frankie morales x f!reader

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

summary: it's your roommate ben miller's birthday and he's invited the special forces guys over and asked you to invite some of your friends. the night comes down to a throwback game of seven minutes in heaven. you've been into frankie for months, so when your name and frankie's are pulled together, you can't help but wonder what can happen in seven minutes?

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of a break up, alcohol use/drunkeness (benny), grumpy frankie, use of pet names (mariposa, hermosa, cariño), dirty talk in spanish (i hate conjugations so pls let me know if anything is wrong lol), mirror sex, unprotected sex, breathplay? (mouth gets covered), pls let me know if i am missing anything

“You gotta be kiddin’ me, man. Why are we playing this shit? We’re all grown adults,” Frankie huffs to your right in the small circle in yours and Ben Miller’s living room. His arms are crossed over his chest, gray t-shirt pulling taut at his shoulders. Warm brown eyes are rolling up to the ceiling under the brim of his Standard Oil hat that you swear is glued to his head — you’ve never seen him without for as long as you’ve lived with Benny — and it works to hide the luscious dark curls that fight to peek out around it.

“Oh, loosen up, Fish! We’re all here to have fun, so just play the game. Everyone here’s agreed to it, and it’s my fucking birthday so you have to do what I say!” Benny leans forward next to you on the couch, projecting his voice toward Frankie and gesturing vaguely around with his hands while his words start to slur together.

You laugh softly, patting Ben’s shoulder and nodding your head to get him to lean back on the couch again instead of trying to get in his friend’s face. Truth was, the prospect of this game did stir up some nerves in your stomach, even as an adult, but you wouldn’t dare go against Benny’s birthday wishes. So, you’re stuck playing Seven Minutes in Heaven with his Special Forces buddies, his brother, and a good mix of your friends that Benny has…taken a liking to.

It was one of the perks he got excited about when you’d come to him, a bit desperate, needing a place to live when your long term boyfriend of four years broke it off with you and asked you to move out. He agreed to have you in his guest room for the foreseeable future until you could scrounge up enough for rent somewhere on your own, and that first weekend he begged to throw you a “welcome party”, which was his ploy to get a bunch of your friends over for him to chat up.

That was a few months ago now, and it happened to also be the first time you met Frankie — Catfish to the Special Forces guys.

And since then, it’s been months filled with tension between you two, awkward interactions and quick touches to pass him drinks or him scooting behind you in your tiny kitchen when he was over. It was always heated with you two, electricity flowing with a current and waiting for a spark. But Frankie was a gentleman, never assuming or overly forthcoming, and you were, well, rusty. Not dating in four years really throws you for a loop when trying to hook up with someone.

Frankie’s eyes meet yours when your laugh reaches him, a flash of excitement evident in the widening of his pupils. A smile stretches across your face at him, shaking your head.

“Probably don’t want to go against this birthday boy, Frankie. He’s not afraid to guilt you into things, or worse, just bother the shit out of you until you do what he wants. Plus, nobody has to know what does or doesn’t happen behind the door.”

Ben whips his head towards you with an exaggerated shock in his face, Frankie’s chuckle low as everyone else laughs.

“Don’t give him any ideas about not fully immersing in the game. He’s just bein’ a grumpy old bastard.”

Benny turns away from you as Frankie rolls his eyes again, the birthday boy pulling out two names from the bowl in the center. It ends up being one of your friends and Santiago, which earns a cheer knowing his suave reputation. Once the two are back in the bathroom, the younger Miller brother sets a timer on his phone and everyone gets to chatting and drinking again. You and Benny argued back and forth before the party about using the other’s room for the game, finally deciding to use the hall bath for sake of neutrality. And clean sheets.

A handful of rounds have come and gone, people returning with smirks or poker faces, everyone trying to pull out any information from the participants. You have yet to go, and it’s the same case for Frankie. Benny’s been choosing the names for everyone, hiding them close to his chest and throwing them back in the bowl to be selected again.

You watch Ben pick out two new slips, reading your name off of the first one. Echoes of your quickening pulse thud in your ears, heat rooting across the nape of your neck. Ben’s eyes dart to Pope as he looks at the second slip of paper, and your stomach drops with disappointment from the high hopes you didn’t realize you had. Your own eyes fall to your lap as you wait to hear Santiago’s name out loud, molars biting the inside of your cheek to attempt to swallow your small pill of upset.

“And Fish.”

Your vision fills with Ben’s side profile, your stomach now doing somersaults as nerves begin to take over. Your mouth dries, tongue pushing against the roof of your mouth and sucking in your cheeks to try to conjure up any saliva. Frankie seems nearly as surprised, or is it nervous? Contempt? He’s hard to read at the moment; the only clues into his reaction are the split second of widened eyes and rubbing his palms up and down his denim-clad thighs before he stands and looks at you.

The hooting and hollering start when you get up from your spot on the couch, small steps leading Frankie and yourself down the hallway away from the party and into your bathroom. Nothing is said as he closes the door and locks it, his large frame turning back to face you across the small tiled floor while he leans back on the door’s surface.

His eyes lock on you, pinprick shocks following their wake as he takes you in from head to toe. There’s still a neutral expression on his face, hands slipped into his front pockets. Your own gaze fixed on your tray of makeup at the side of vanity, anxious fingers reaching out to fidget with a lip gloss. The silence in the room is deafening, the muffled sounds of the group only filling the dead air so much. After what feels like an eternity, you can’t take it, clearing your throat and speaking up.

“We don’t, um, obviously don’t have to do anything.”

You’re still not looking at Frankie when you hear his gruff voice respond.

“Is that what you want, mariposa? To do nothing?”

He grabs your attention with the nickname, a swirl of butterflies batting their wings wildly in your gut when you take in a new expression on his face. Tender eyes with a flirty smirk. Pushing off of the door, his strides take him only two steps before he’s in front of you, hand pulling his hat up and the other raking through his hair in a nervous twitch. Your lower back presses into the edge of the countertop, mouth blubbering like a fish as you try to formulate a sentence.

“Cause, if I’m honest, I don’t want to do nothing,” Frankie’s hand finds the counter at your side, one arm brushing against your shirt. His other reaches for your cheek, hovering over close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating off of his palm, “I’ve really wanted to kiss you since I met you. Can I please do that, hermosa?”

“Yeah, you can, Frankie,” comes out breathy and pathetic from your mouth, half a whimper as you wait for the moment you’ve thought of since you saw him in your kitchen.

In an instant, Frankie’s lips are on yours in a gentle but confident kiss. His hand has found your cheek finally, laying passively before it grips tighter and tilts your head back to give him more leverage over you. The embrace turns heady, his mouth slanted into yours as the two of you move together quickly to make up for all the lost moments from months prior.

When his tongue melds against yours, a soft moan slips out and is swallowed into his mouth. The noise pushes Frankie toward you, close to the point that his front is pressed entirely against you. You can feel how hard he is, the way his bulge digs in against you sending another moan out of your mouth. His large hands leave their places on your cheek and the counter, grabbing fistfuls of your hips and your ass. Frankie pulls away enough to speak against your swollen lips, short and demanding.

“Up.”

With one effortless lift as you jump, you're seated on the countertop, and Frankie’s kissing you hard again. Your own hands rest one on his shoulder, the other reaching to take his cap off and discard it on the ground, fingers combing through his hair. An arm wraps around your lower back, tugging you across the cool stone surface to the edge. His other hand grips the back of your thigh, pulling your legs further apart to slot himself between them, grinding himself against your clothed center. The feeling of pressure on your clit makes your head fall back from his kiss, a whimper pulling out of your chest as your hips work to catch more of the feeling.

“Y’know, I’m pretty sure we don’t have much time left before someone’s gonna be banging down the door, but I want you so bad right now, hermosa.”

Your head drops forward again, staring into Frankie’s eyes that are very clearly blackened with desire even in the low lighting of the bathroom. Licking your bottom lip, you nod quickly and mutter out.

“Fuck me, Frankie. I don’t care how fast or rough you need to be, just please fuck me.”

A groan comes from him at your words as he grabs you again, dragging you off the counter to stand on your feet again. His hands on your hips turn you around to face the mirror, making eye contact in the reflection.

“Take your shorts and panties off for me, cariño. Gotta be quick.” He winks at you, a light smack to your ass before he pops the button on his jeans and drags the zipper down. You do the same with your denim shorts, dropping the material along with your underwear to your ankles, stepping one out.

Behind you, Frankie has pulled his pants and boxers halfway down his thighs. One of his hands finds your lower back, gently coaxing you to bend forward on the counter. His other set of fingers prod through your folds, a breathy moan coming from him as he feels your wetness.

“This all from me kissing you, hermosa?”

“Nah uh. It’s from just being in the same room as you all night.”

“Mmm, you’ve wanted me that bad, angel? Should’ve said something. We could’ve been having lots of fun these past few months.”

“I was—I was shy.”

Frankie shakes his head as he looks at you in the mirror, a devilish smirk on his face.

“Don’t think you’re shy now, cariño. Eres una chica traviesa (You’re a naughty girl),” his fingers slip into your entrance for a few ticks, a gasp fogging the glass in front of you as he pulls them out, “You ready for me, mariposa? Might be a lot to take.”

He winks with a smug look on his face, messy curls hanging over his forehead and framing his face.

“Francisco, just fuck me already. We’re losing time that you could be inside of me.” Your frustration bubbles over out of impatience. He waits for another beat to tease you, and when you open your mouth to complain again, he drives his cock into you.

His smugness was granted — the way he’s filling you up completely is unlike anyone you’ve had before.

As if he knew your reaction before it happened, his hand covers your mouth to muffle the loud moan that jerks out of you. Frankie wastes no time, his thrusts starting fast and hard from behind.

“This what you wanted, mariposa? Wanted me to fuck your hard and fast? A mi chica le gusta sucio, no? (My girl likes it dirty, right?)”

Your response is stifled by his hand, the only sounds in the room Frankie’s low voice and the slap of his thighs against your ass. Your eyes screw shut at the feeling of his cock dragging in and out of your walls quickly, the head of his length brushing that extra sensitive spot inside of you.

“Nah uh, cariño. Eyes open. Want you to watch me fuck you like the dirty girl you are.” Frankie’s hand squeezes your ass tightly, a yelp coming out of your mouth from behind his hand. You open your eyes and look at him in the mirror, sweat building on your forehead and your exposed collarbone. He makes eye contact with you in the reflection, his hips fucking into you rougher.

“Fuck, don’t you look pretty taking my cock? Es todo lo que soñaste, hermosa? (Is it everything you dreamed of, beautiful?)”

Your tongue pokes out of your mouth, licking the salty skin of his fingers. Frankie groans quietly and shifts the position of his hand, two of his thick fingers pressing in between your lips to fill your mouth.

“Chupa, cariño. Suck.”

Following his demand, your cheeks concave and your tongue swirls around them in your mouth. Frankie’s eyes darken further as he watches in the reflection, thrusts becoming sloppier.

“‘M so close, cariño, don’t think I can last much longer. You gotta be quiet while I take care of you, yeah?”

Without an answer, his fingers slip from your mouth. His other hand finds your lower stomach, pulling you up to stand with your shoulders against his chest, cock filling you up with each drag of his hips. The fingers wet with your saliva are quick to circle your clit, the extra stimulation barreling you towards the edge.

“Oh fuck, Frankie! Yes, yes, yes!” Your whines are as quiet as you can make them, the back of your head pressing hard into his shoulder as his next thrust sends your vision black and muscles taut. Every thought in your brain seeps away, pleasure filling every crevice of you.

Your walls squeeze around his cock, nails digging into his arm around you as he fucks you through your orgasm while chasing his own.

“Fucking hell, mariposa. Pussy’s fucking milking my cock, god. So tight. Eres tan perfecta para mi (You are so perfect for me).”

He thrusts his cock one, two, three more times before he pulls out quickly, replacing the feeling of you with his fist and repeating your name over and over under his breath. The sound of your come around his cock nearly drops you to your knees to take him in your mouth, but the looming pressure of time keeps you standing, compromising by bending over the counter again. Ropes of his warm come paint your ass and your wet cunt, a whine falling from your lips as his own soft, melodic whimpers fill your ears.

It’s quiet in the room except for the gasps of breaths you both take to calm down, eye contact made through the mirror as you both smile widely at each other. Nothing else is spoken as Frankie grabs tissues from the shelf above the toilet, wiping his come from your skin. Before he clean it up entirely, you swipe a fingertip through one streak, bring it to your lips to suck it clean. His mouth hangs open at the sight and you smirk satisfied, winking before you pull up your underwear and fasten your shorts up again.

Both of you are buttoning as a fist pounds on the door, the sound of a phone alarm following it. Benny’s voice booms from the other side, a cackle evident in his tone.

“Time’s up, boring fucks!”

Frankie looks at you with a sweet smile, nodding toward the door, “Ready?”

You exhale a chuckle and nod, taking a look in the mirror and making eye contact with Frankie as he looks at your reflection tenderly. Your hands brush at your hair, tapping the sweaty makeup back into your skin. Frankie shakes his head behind you, tugging you around by your belt loops. He leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Ladies first, mariposa.”

You step ahead of him, swinging the door open after twisting the lock undone and being met with a stumbling Benny on the other side.

He looks between the two of you, suspicion on his face as he tries to read your minds. Both of you have a poker face on, and he groans, shaking his head.

“Took you both long enough. What, were you fixing your clothes?”

“No, Frankie was just watching as I fixed up my makeup and had a catch-up. Nothing exciting for you to gossip about, Benny.”

He groans, marching back to the living room, “They didn’t do anything! Just fucking talked like losers.”

Frankie chuckles behind you, his warm palm rubbing against your lower back as you walk down the hall in front of him. His touch drops from you when you enter the party, both of you returning to your original seats and falling back into the conversation as the game switches to Truth or Dare.

Santiago glances at Frankie sitting next to him, chuckling to himself, “Zipper’s down, Fish.”

IF YOU WANT TO BE ON THE TAGLIST, PLEASE FILL THIS FORM OUT! thank you!

taglist (everything/frankie): @vee-bees-blog @joelsflannel @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @fishingforpike @msjarvis @swiftispunk @northernbluess @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @yazsos @addictedtotlou @cannolighost @atinylittlepain

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Can I get sunflower for Frank, reader gives Frank a massage?

Frank Castle was one stubborn bastard. You were starting to think he might be playing it up, giving you an ulcer just for the hell of it. Usually, you’d force him to sit the fuck down and shut his big mouth until you’d treated whatever ailment he refused to admit to. But you’d had a long week, and Frank had been monumentally grouchy the past few days, brushing off all of your questions and refusing to obey your commands–so it hadn’t quite happened that way. 

Instead, the bastard kept groaning when he thought you weren’t listening; releasing this barely audible rumble from the back of his throat, a cross between a hiss and a growl, while he rolled his right shoulder three times. Always three times. 

About a week ago, Frank had disappeared for two days–returning with blood-covered clothes, an obviously strained muscle, and a contagiously bad attitude. Since then, he’d been favoring that same shoulder, and driving you crazy while doing it. 

Currently, you were sitting on the couch, curled beneath a blanket while you did sudoku puzzles in a well-worn booklet. Frank was seated in an armchair across the room, clearly annoyed that you had been cold to him today, yet unwilling to go back to his own place. Ridiculous man. The TV buzzed quietly, the dialogue of some single camera sitcom rasping through the speakers. It was calming..but not enough to cover the aggravating noise Frank made when he raised his arm to stretch it again. 

“Alright, that’s it!” You snapped, tossing your book to the edge of the couch and lurching toward him, accusing finger outstretched. “You have two options, Frank. You can let me see what the fuck is going on with your shoulder, or you can get out of my goddamn apartment so I don’t have to listen to you moan about it. What’s it gonna be?”

Frank’s dark eyes widened, his mouth falling agape at your icy tone. His arm was frozen an inch from his head, slightly bent so he could roll the irritated joint. Scoffing as you crossed your arms expectantly, Frank scowled at you. 

“I’m–”

You squawked out a laugh. “Don’t you fucking start.” Rounding the armchair and taking the hand attached to his good arm, you yanked him toward the couch. “The decision has been made for you, tough guy. Shirt off. Get your ass over here.” 

“You ain’t givin’ me a say anymore?” He snorted, tugging his shirt off with one hand as he trailing after you–finally finally letting you force him onto his stomach on the couch. 

“Nope! Honestly, you should’ve lost that right three ‘I’m fines’ ago.” Kneeling before his torso, you gently placed your hands around his bicep, straightening his bulky limb so you could take a proper look. As you pulled at his arm, Frank grimaced, drawing a breath through his teeth. “Sorry, Frankie.”

He gave a shrug with his other shoulder, eyes drifting down as you worked. Your fingertips brushed over his tan skin, admiring the faint splash of freckles dotting his skin. “No bruising, that’s good. Does it hurt if I put pressure on it?”

As you asked, you let the pads of your fingers dive into his skin with a touch more force, ready to withdraw if it caused him pain. Thankfully, he shook his head. “Nah, feels nice.” 

“Probably a strained muscle then. I’ll grab you an ice pack in a second, I have something else I want to try first.” 

“What’s that?” Frank asked, slowly peeling himself off the cushions and into a seated position as you bustled about the apartment. 

“I’m not telling you, because you’d fight me.” You called from the bedroom, between the clatter of you looking through drawers for some unknown item. 

Staring at your ceiling with a knowing smirk, Frank shook his head noiselessly, fighting the urge to mess with his sore muscle. Rolling his head from side to side, he mustered all the patience he had in his body, lingering on the couch until you returned…with a bottle of lotion?

With a smug grin, you slid behind him, slipping your leg into the curve of his waist bordering the back of the couch. Lotion squelched through the pump and into your hand as you wriggled your way around Frank, tilting him forward slightly. “If it starts to hurt, tell me and I’ll stop. But you’re getting a massage, Castle.”

Before he could protest, cool hands dug into his aching shoulder, drawing a relieved moan from his lips as they worked at the giant knot beneath his skin. He could practically hear your self-satisfied smile. “Yah, feels nice, doesn’t it? Could’ve done this for you days ago if you’d admitted to the pain, tough guy.” 

“Didn’t hurt then.” He retorted, lips twitching with amusement when you huffed in annoyance. In retaliation, you kneaded at the junction of his neck and shoulder, humming pridefully when his chin dropped to his chest with relief. 

The motions were soothing, repetitive. Your warm fingers circling the various points of tension along the corner of his upper back, slowly unraveling them with short, sharp movements. His body was becoming more pliable by the minute, melting into your lap as you lovingly rubbed at his injured arm. Once he was fully slumped against you, eyes closed and breaths heavy, you set the lotion aside, tangling your fingers in his hair. 

“Feeling better?” You murmured, brushing your nose over the shell of his ear. 

“If that helps ya sleep at night,” Frank teased, unable to hide the immense gratitude from his voice. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Anytime, love.” Planting a gentle kiss on his left shoulder, you resumed carding through his hair, leaning back against the arm of the couch with Frank supported by your torso.

[ectologia]

Can I please make a request? Instead of being told to kill Best Jeanist to prove himself to the League of Villains, Keigo is taken to a room with an innocent civilian and told to rape her. He goes through with it and feels guilty but ends up enjoying it a lot more than he’d like to admit. The nastier the better!

I love this idea! hope it’s nasty enough for you anon ♡

BAD GUY

KEIGO TAKAMI X F!READER + FEATURING TOUYA TODOROKI (DABI)

𝐂𝐖 ♱ DUBCON/NONCON, KIDNAPPING, SHIBARI, CHAINS, VAGINAL BLEEDING, GAGS, BLINDFOLDS, ABUSE, PROFANITY, CREAMPIE

“The fuck you mean change of plan?”

Keigo shifts in his rigid stance, his fingers twitching in anxious waiting.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it pretty boy.” Dabi slings an arm over Keigo’s tense shoulders, hooking the heavy appendage around his neck to tug him along.

The moment the door is swung open, he’s met with the foul stench of stale air and oxidised blood. His nose twitches and curls at the numerous metal chains clinging to the crumbling walls of what he can only assume is some kind of dungeon or torture chamber. His eyes squint at the distorted figure hung against the back wall.

Your broken, bruised wrists twitch in their rusted confines, cuffed to the ceiling where your ankles are collected with them, legs spread and strung open like a dirty fuck-puppet.

Keigo’s eyes follow as he watches Dabi saunter towards you, slapping your inner thigh and jolting you awake. “Got this one special.” he jiggles the ripened flesh, swinging you back and forth in your restraints. “Stretched her out for you ‘n everything.” Keigo’s top lip raises in disgust as Dabi brings two fingers down to press against your swollen pussy lips, spreading the delicate flesh open to give an informative view of your gaping hole, already stuffed with blood and a not so ominous white fluid, dribbling down your puffy slit all the way to your taint.

Keigo stares wide eyed and somewhat disturbed, blinking down at the miniature puddle of semen, tinted red.

Dabi clicks his tongue, sighing. “Well, come on then. This bitch ain’t gonna fuck herself.”

A blond head snaps up, eyes slitted and narrowed. “What?”

A dark chuckle resounds throughout the dimly lit vault. “You heard me, hero.” Dabi circles Keigo like a sickly vulture with a wicked grin, shuffling through his pocket. “You wanna’ prove your loyalty to the L.O.V?” He fiddles with the wheel of his lighter until the wick ignites.

“Fuck her.”

“Who is she?” Keigo snaps back in an instance.

Dabi snickers, eyeing the swiftly burning embers of his cigarette. “How the fuck do I know? She’s just some random chick we picked up. Who cares anyway, don’t gotta know her name to stick your dick in her.” He reasons, smirking behind the smouldering stick tucked between his fingers.

Keigo snarls through grit teeth. “Is this what you meant by change of plan? you want me to ra—”

“Rape her?” Dabi cocks his head with a mocking pout. He takes another lengthy drag of his cigarette before pivoting to face Keigo, allowing the murky tendrils of smoke to encase him in a cloud of grey. “Yeah, I do.” He tuts. “But that shouldn’t be a problem for you, should it Hawks?”

Against his will, Keigo is shoved towards your limp body, flinching. He grimaces as a sloppy string of drool slides off of your tongue, slipping through the metal ring of the gag fitted between your teeth, prying your tired jaws open.

“If you’re worried about your lil’ reputation, don’t. She can’t see you.” He juts his chin towards the stained cloth tied over your eyes, used as a make-shift blindfold.

“You’re a sick bastard, you know that?” Keigo huffs, refusing to acknowledge the pebbled nipples and perfectly vulnerable pussy spread out in-front of him like a fucking buffet.

“You wanna be a villain? Then you gotta’ fuckin’ act like one.” Dabi slumps against the wall, folding a thick arm below his chest.

Keigo scowls, thumbing the leather of his belt. “Alright, you gonna get the fuck out, or what?”

“Nah, boss wants me to watch. Make sure you don’t try anything funny.”

A bitter chuckle escapes Keigo, shaking his head. “Or you’re just lookin’ to get off to this shit?”

“Hey, I’ve actually got better things to being doing then sitting here and watching you fail at lasting more than 2 minutes.” Dabi frowns, flicking at the brittle ash clinging to his cigarette.

The situation isn’t funny, so why does he feel like laughing?

Your ears perk at the taunting clang and zip of a belt buckle being dropped to the ground. Your frantic attempts to pull away prove futile the moment two thickly gloved hands wrap around your thighs, cupping the domes of your ass to bring your pulsing slit closer to his already pumped and steaming length.

“Look at you.” Dabi whistles at the scene. “Already got a nice little boner going on, ready to pound some pussy blondie?”

“Shut up.” Keigo barks over his shoulder, fisting his bobbing cock as he decides the best way to approach.

Does he go in slow and let you adjust?.. Or does he just shove it all in at once and get it over with? short and sweet.. Well, not really sweet but you get the gist.

Is there really any nice way to rape somebody?

He goes for something in between, sheathing himself all the way inside until the chubby tip of his prick prods at your cervix. Your screams are muffled by the silver o-gag separating your tongue from the rest of your contorted mouth, only allowing slips of guttural hums and cries. It’s difficult to fuck your pussy comfortably given how you’ve been practically pinned to the wall, so Keigo makes do, using the stringy chains wrapped around your limbs as a handle to pull you back and forth on his dick while he juts into your swollen cunt.

“Mmh.. Shit.”

He doesn’t want to admit it, but it feels damn good fucking you like this. Completely helpless, hanging from the ceiling with your legs bent backwards all for him to rape and hurt. His rhythm increases in tempo, no longer shy, shallow thrusts but deep, meaningful, powerful ones. He leans backwards, using one hand to tug on your restraints while the other fondles your fat tits and nipples. The flimsy nibs are picked and flicked at, twisted between the rough pads of his leather-clad fingers.

“There you go.” Dabi hums, almost raising a hand to applaud him in his endeavour. “That’s much better. Now slap her around a bit.”

Keigo’s hips falter as he turns his neck to Dabi.

“You heard me bird boy, spank that bitch.”

Keigo huffs. With every sharp blow, a new red and purple mark seeps through the canvas of your delicate skin. Your tits and thighs jiggle against the harshness of his hand, twitching and flinching away from his abuse.

“Holy fuckin’ shit.” he hisses, turning white knuckled as he clamps down harder on the ringing chains holding you above him. “She’s fuckin’ clenching man.”

Dabi nods in agreement, nursing on the damp end of his cigarette.

“Can I nut in her?”

“You do whatever the fuck you want, I ain’t gonna say no.” Dabi laughs. “And she sure as hell ain’t either.” He jabs the smoked pick in your direction before dusting himself clean of it, crushing the paper beneath a thick rubber sole.

“Fuck sake, I’m gonna cum so hard.”

He howls, throwing his head back the moment his cock spurts, pumping your pussy full of hot jizz. He hooks his elbows below your knees, pressing himself into you while he empties his heavy balls into your womb. “Take it, oh yeah, take it girlie. Take it all in that tight little fuckin’ twat.” The rapid shiver of your legs does well to encourage him.

Ropes of sloppy, bubbling white cum spew out onto the floor as he retracts, dripping down with a wet pap.

Keigo turns, gasping and heaving like a wild animal, his red raw cock bouncing against his balls as he moves. “Am I done here?..”

Dabi taps a finger against his chin, blinking up at the ceiling as though deep in thought. “Hm..”

“I think you can go another round.”

[xsommeee]

BEAST SKK HEAD CANON~~

Dazai's room is an exact replica of what Mori had in his. Nothing touched everso slightly, he rarely sleeps at night, sits glued to a chair in the corner and states in the dark. Talking to himself at various moments, arguing passionately against tall red drapes. In a Victorian era styled rooms with bedded pillars and purple soft carpet floors. Multiple grim artworks hung on the walls with heavy embellished frames.

If you asked Dazai what the model number written under the gun of a goon who walked past him this morning, he'd tell you with absolute certainty. However he had no idea about the bedding in his room, or the couch, he didn't even know the curtains were red. He simply never looked at them, he only saw the high void like ceiling.

“Comment était votre petit voyage?” Dazai remarked without moving. The room was completely silent before this, a normal person will say there wasn't a person there either.

“Il n’y a jamais de voyage.”

“Then where were you this whole week? Trying on better dog collars?” Dazai says glaring at the other. There was light illuminating a scowling slime face.

Chuuya Nakahara was missing from the Port Mafia quarters, the second in command had performed none of his duties for over two weeks “I need to talk to you, with sincerity” Chuuya breathes in “You- you delivered a box filled with over 200 hearts to the place I was in today.” Chuuya crosses his arms, visibly uncomfortable.

“Two hundred and thirty three for the fourteenth day of you not coming back. The Fibonacci sequence you know, I recognise your love for math and physics.” A horrific grin plastered on Dazai. Chuuya opens his mouth but falls short of words only to get interrupted.

“You wanted to avoid this outcome? I had warned you, Chuuya. You could have filed a leave application instead of disappearing, why didn't you? Did you really think I was bluffing?” “Bastard!” Chuuya grits, “you knew where I was!”

“Yes, and that doesn't excuse your absence.” Dark eyes cut into crystal blue ones. There's a surge of pain in the latter.

“Dazai,” Chuuya walks towards him half bowed with a desperation and uncomeliness he'd never felt. Wildly gesticulating every word and eyes blown wide. He screams, abuses and cries all through the same words and speaks without breathing. “I’ve had nothing, nothing to do for more than six months. I know batshit about whatever you're doing, hell that white hair kid who's been here two days knows more than I. A shitty goon with no use but to die first is more useful than me. Hell Dazai I’d fucking go out there not use my powers and fight like that recruit. But all, all that I do is come to this goddamn building and sit in an office she used to sit in. Watching people I used to know and respect deride me. Spit on me for the traitor I am! You wanted revenge over me not supporting your accession.”

Chuuya fists Dazai’s shirts shaking him with his own trembling body, “You’ve had it. I don't think you could have more. I'd say whatever you want, do whatever you say. Just- just let me peace, some peace. Stop torturing me like this. Like you’re unaware, behaving like this is alright, I’m tired. I’m sick. I’m already crazy! There's nothing left, nothing, nothing, nothing!”

Dazai had gotten up during this tirade, holding the hand fisted in his shirt, rubbing Chuuya's back soothingly with the other. By the end of it a heavy silence ensued. Dazai stared at his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

He started speaking calmly as if Chuuya was upset after seeing a rat get run over by a car. “Shh, don't be like this. Walls have ears, if someone heard chibi right now, you want something to do that's all? If that's it, I want you as my bodyguard. I had proposed it multiple times. You don't need to go anywhere, not the office or meetings, just stay.”

“Stay with you?” Chuuya murmurs under his breath. Dazai moves in closer, pushing Chuuya into his chest, trapping him with his arms. A dark room with two figures towered inward, they're two worlds colliding, obliterating each other.

From an outsider's perspective the Port Mafia's boss and his second in command are such dynamically different people. A different species altogether Osamu Dazai with his cold antipathic gaze, he can scare people with his mere presence in a room silent, still and unfeeling. There is anger in him too, unlike what appearance states, but it is reasonable and calculated, a white freezing fire. Chuuya Nakahara on the other hand is scalding hot, even to Dazai, burning himself from within like an amber ignited orange and red. He is simplehearted and straightforward to most, nevertheless complexities lay buried deep within him, in their presence he begins to think of everything as an act, a heinous disgusting lie. Dazai pokes that part of him, a place where they align the most perfectly in his eyes.

Dazai smashes his lips over Chuuya's, holding his nape in his hand to bend him up. The energy that possesses him while doing this however leaves him instantly, he backs just a little but their lips still touch, feeling each other's breaths fan over.

A few tense moments pass like that. Dazai stirs first, he knows the reason why Chuuya wants to leave. He moves backwards with such slowness as if moving away is excruciatingly painful. Chuuya doesn't let him move too much though, kissing Dazai full and tender, breaking it at times to look into his dilated eyes as if to read some unknown secret. Dazai holds him tighter than a drowning man stuck in a storm with only a log to float.

Read the rest here? Idk I really like this fic, like really I hope people read it, I'd write like one chapter more :

[river-bottom-nightmare]

There have been times when Cassandra’s ribs have felt rather like kindling. Bruised, weak all over, a flick away from splintering into shards and puncturing her lungs and her heart and the very diaphragm that powers her breath. Right now doesn’t quite muster up the same level of agony, but Dick sure is trying his hardest to get her there. 

“You have to roll into it, Cass,” he says, for practically the hundredth time. 

She grits her teeth and replies, “I’m trying. It’s a metal circle.”

“And you’re treating it like a weapon to use in a fight,” Dick says, loping beside her with an exasperated sort of grin, one that settles comfortably in the years of his hard-earned patience. He’s only wearing a simple t-shirt and joggers, which she cannot understand for the life of her. Cass is bundled up in two layers with socks and has thick leg warmers covering her knees—or more importantly, the backs of her knees. (She can still somehow feel watercolor bruises painting on that tender skin.)

She taps out, hooking her legs over the bottom of the lyra before flipping out. Moving slightly to the side, she sinks onto the plush mat on the floor of Dick’s studio, arms stretched back and basking in the low sunlight coming from the large windows. Or possibly just basking in the air conditioning.

Dick slips down beside her and hands her a bottle of water, which she sips gratefully. “I’d say you were close that time, but…” Cass glares at him and he chuckles, hands up in mock-surrender. “All right, all right. But you want a word of advice?”

He says this casually, throwing out the words as if he doesn’t expect his siblings to take him up on the offer. Like he doesn’t realize his life is a masterclass in performance, the sort of thing a symphony orchestra proudly tunes before a miraculous, miraculous song. Like the years of his experience he’s so laboriously built doesn’t make the rest of them froth at the mouth, beg with open palms for Dick to plant his knowledge in their grasp, as much as they may deny it. Hungry dogs, the lot of them, gazing up at Dick’s flawed perfection. The brilliant bastard. Fucking prince amongst men. 

As if Cass wouldn’t want his advice.

“Sure,” she says.

“You shouldn’t be fighting the lyra every second to be exactly where you want it to be,” Dick remarks. “Not to be a bit obvious, but—I mean it’s a metal hoop suspended from the ceiling. It’s gonna spin. It’s gonna move. Your balance is perfect, better than mine, but you have to carry that momentum through. You can’t just stay still. You have to flow with it.”

In half confusion and half accusation, Cass tells him, “You do not ‘flow with it.’ I see you. You plan every move.”

At that, Dick snorts. “Yeah, okay. Every part of me is in control when I’m on the lyra, sure. But I’m not—well, I plan the things I can’t plan.”

Her brother has said many nonsensical things in the years she’s known him, but this one completely boggles her brain. She makes sure her face conveys as such to him.

“The hoop’s gonna spin, no matter what, right? But I can control how fast it’ll move with how I move, and can even set the spin myself if I touch down,” Dick explains, fingers gesturing in the air. She can see he’s buffed his calluses recently. “You’re in the air, so of course the places where you’re keeping in contact with the hoop are gonna feel pressure. But you move with the hoop so that you’re not just balancing against one spot for too long and bruising yourself. You should roll along the curve of the hoop however fast or slow you need to land exactly where you want to be for the next part. Does that make sense?”

Not…completely. Cass is someone who needs to do something to fully understand it, needs to get up and feel the lyra in the way Dick is talking about, let it kiss her bones and ripple out to the tips of her fingers. But what she does have down for memory, imprinted into the backs of her eyelids and carved into the grooves of her brain, are fights.

And when Dick fights, he’s well-trained and disciplined. Every move is calculated, but within those calculations are measures of uncertainty. Like a window fogged with potential or a drop of ocean water straining to reach the topmost peak of a jetty. Dick’s not averse to improvisation, builds it into the many layers of his plans. It’s what makes his combat style the most infallible of all of them, in the long run.

“You fight like jazz,” Cass tells him.

And he throws his head back and laughs, like he knows exactly what she means. He probably does.  “Thanks Cass,” he says, eyes twinkling. “Now c’mon. Let’s try again. Remember: roll with it.”

--

i am incapable of not praising this man at every given opportunity. goddamn. anyway

@dickgraysonweek dick grayson week day 5: everyone's favorite brother | harem of older men | aerial sports/arts

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[unforgivenn]

16th HOUR — #5: Marked for sale

Masterlist/ Previous

CW: dehumanization, captivity, non-con medical procedures, implied threats of sexual violence, physical restraint, psychological torment

The room was stark, bathed in harsh white light that bounced off the gleaming surfaces and sterile instruments. The antiseptic smell was overpowering, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood that Samuel had begun to associate with his new reality.

Two technicians, masked and gloved, awaited him with cold, clinical efficiency. They moved with practiced precision, their expressions hidden behind masks, their eyes detached and impersonal.

"Strip," one of them ordered, the command devoid of emotion. Samuel hesitated, a flush of humiliation rising in his cheeks.

"W-What..?"

The technician's eyes narrowed, a flicker of impatience crossing his face. "Now."

When Samuel only returned a glare, the technician sighed. He flinched as his hands were seized and his clothes were roughly removed, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. He tried to shield himself with his arms, but the guards were relentless, their hands unyielding as they forced him to the table.

"STOP! LET GO!!" His lips were trembling, his mind going insane with the thoughts of what they were going to do to him. "D-Don't do it please..."

This was it. They were going to do the thing he had been fearing since the moment he got here. He was going to be raped. Or maybe even worse.

The men laughed only adding to Samuel's confusion and his tears. "Hey now. There's no fun in having a used toy y'know. Your owner could do those things you have going on in your dirty little mind later."

"N-No.. I wasn't- I.." Samuel's cheeks flushed in embarrassed and he only continued struggling wishing that would somehow fit the hole of what he was trying to say.

One of the guards were going to smack him on the face, before the other stopped him. Samuel flinched, kind of surprised there was someone with even a tad bit of humanity left in them.

That innocent thinking was gone soon enough though when the other spoke to the guard.

"We need him to be in his best condition. I don't think he'll be looking presentable with a damn bruise on his face." He said with a scowl, which Samuel could make out was half directed towards him. The guard only rolled his eyes before forcing him on the table.

Restraints snapped around his wrists and ankles, pinning him down. He struggled, panic surging through him, but the bonds were unyielding.

The other technician approached with a handheld scanner, its screen flickering to life as it passed over Samuel's body. "Subject 42, S class," he read aloud, his tone monotonous. "Begin prep for auction."

Auction. The word sent a chill down Samuel's spine, a reminder of the dehumanizing fate that awaited him. He would be paraded before the highest bidders, reduced to a mere commodity in a world that saw him as less than human.

He had wanted nothing more than to kick these bastard's faces and ask them what the actual fuck was wrong with them? But now he was the one being asked these questions.

As the technicians began their work, Samuel's mind drifted back to his life before the classification, when he was simply Samuel—a boy with dreams, friends, and a future. The memories felt like fragments of a distant past, slipping through his fingers like sand.

One of the technicians roughly grabbed his arm, inserting an intravenous line with ease. The cool rush of fluids coursing through his veins brought him back to the present, a stark reminder of his reality.

"Hold still," the technician muttered, adjusting the flow. Samuel winced at the sharp sting, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he fought to suppress the rising panic. He was determined to retain some sense of control, even in the face of overwhelming fear.

The other technician approached with a tray of instruments, their metallic surfaces gleaming ominously under the fluorescent lights. Samuel's breath hitched as he recognized some of the tools—restraints, measuring devices, and branding irons.

"Prepare the restraints," one technician instructed, his voice cutting through Samuel's thoughts. They moved with efficient brutality, securing his limbs to the cold metal frame that dominated the center of the room. Samuel's skin prickled against the unyielding surface, the restraints biting into his flesh.

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his breathing steady. The technicians worked in silence, their actions methodical and detached, their faces masks of indifference.

"Subject 42, ready for inspection," one of them announced, stepping back to assess their work. Samuel lay splayed on the table, his body exposed and vulnerable, a living testament to the cruelty of the system that had condemned him.

The door to the room opened with a hiss, and a figure entered—a man in a tailored suit, his presence exuding an air of authority. Samuel's pulse quickened as the man's gaze swept over him, appraising him with a calculated detachment.

"Excellent," the man said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "He'll fetch a high price."

Samuel's stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. He was being evaluated like livestock, his worth determined by the whims of those who saw him as nothing more than property. The indignity of it all burned within him, a simmering rage that threatened to consume him.

The man approached, his fingers brushing over Samuel's branded skin, tracing the letters that marked him as property. Samuel fought the urge to recoil, his muscles tensing under the man's touch.

"Don't worry," the man said, his voice a mockery of reassurance. "You'll find a good home. Someone will take care of you."

Samuel's eyes blazed with defiance, a fire that refused to be extinguished. "I'm not a pet," he spat, the words laced with venom. "I'm a person."

The man chuckled, a low, condescending sound. "Not anymore," he replied, his tone dripping with arrogance. "You're whatever we say you are."

The technician injected something into Samuel's IV line, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. His vision blurred, the edges of the room growing hazy as the sedative took effect. He struggled to hold onto consciousness, to maintain his grip on reality, but it slipped through his grasp like water.

As the world faded to black, Samuel clung to a single, burning thought—a promise to himself and to the others who suffered alongside him. He would survive. He would endure. And one day, he would reclaim his humanity from those who sought to strip it away.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Samuel awoke in a dimly lit room, the sterile white replaced by a more subdued, yet equally oppressive, atmosphere. His head throbbed, the remnants of the sedative lingering in his system. He tried to move, but the restraints held him firmly in place.

He was no longer alone. The figures whispered among themselves sending shivers down Samuel's spine.

"Look at this one," one of them said, his voice dripping with curiosity. "Quite a specimen, isn't it?"

Another figure approached, leaning over Samuel with an appraising gaze. "Indeed. It'll be a popular choice."

He didn't know what was more scary. The fact that these people were calling him an 'it' or the fact these people were staring at him like they were ready to tear him apart.

Samuel's heart raced, panic rising in his chest. He was being inspected, evaluated like a piece of merchandise. The reality of his situation settled over him like a suffocating blanket, each breath a struggle against the crushing weight of despair.

The figures moved with unsettling precision, their hands tracing over his body, noting every detail. Samuel clenched his jaw, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing his fear.

"Prepare him for display," one of them ordered, stepping back. "The auction is about to begin."

Samuel's stomach churned at the words. Display. Auction. He was about to be paraded before a crowd of potential buyers, his fate determined by the highest bidder. The thought made him sick, a wave of nausea washing over him.

They worked quickly, removing the restraints and lifting him onto his feet. Samuel's legs wobbled, weakened by the drugs and the strain of his ordeal. He stumbled, but a firm hand caught him, steadying him with a rough grip.

"Stand up straight," the figure commanded, their tone harsh and unforgiving. "You need to make a good impression."

"And if I don't?" The words slipped past his lips before he could realize. The man only leaned in close to his ear, and Samuel couldn't suppress the flinch that went through him.

"Well then, we have some other measures to make you listen as well. Surely you wouldn't like your head to be dipped underwater continuously until you become obedient, would you?" What scared Samuel more was the smile maintained on the man's face while he spoke.

Samuel gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand tall despite the trembling in his limbs. Just how sadistic were each one of these bastards?

They dressed him in simple, clean clothes and moisturized his skin making it glow. The fabric felt foreign against his skin and the moisturizer only itched him. They groomed him meticulously, every detail attended to with an almost obsessive precision.

His hands were tied behind his back, and his ankles were snapped with cuffs tight enough so that he could walk but wont be able to run.

"It's ready," one of them said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

"I'm not an 'it'"

"Shush. Now listen. You will keep your head down throughout the auction. You will only speak when spoken to. You will not struggle or fight. You will not be defiant. And you will behave. If we get any trouble because of you, I swear to gods I will make you regret it."

What the lady said basically went through one ear and out the other. Before he could question anymore, he was pushed to a large wooden door.

What was up with these people and their obsession with pushing?

The door opened, and Samuel was led down a corridor lined with ornate decorations that seemed out of place in such a grim setting.

They reached a set of heavy curtains, the barrier between Samuel and his uncertain future. He could hear the murmur of voices beyond, the eager anticipation of those who awaited the auction.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the blood rush to his ears. He was on the bound of a panic attack. After going through so much, now he was scared?

The man beside him gave a final, appraising look before nodding. "Do as you're told, and you might just survive."

Samuel swallowed hard, his mouth dry with fear. The curtains began to part, revealing the crowd beyond. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his breathing steady steeling himself for what lay ahead.

As the curtains fully opened, the auctioneer's voice boomed through the room, welcoming the eager bidders. Samuel stepped forward, the weight of a thousand eyes upon him, each one assessing, judging, determining his worth.

One day, he would reclaim his freedom from the chains that bound him. For now, he would play their game, but he would never forget who he truly was.

The auction had begun, and Samuel's fate hung in the balance, but his spirit remained unbroken, a beacon of resilience in the face of overwhelming darkness as bids began storming in.

Next

Reblogs are appreciated

PS- Guys, I'm actually really busy nowadays, and my writing asks have been storming in. Especially for BTBH. Asks are still open, and I will be answering those asks, but I can't confirm that it'll be soon.

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[rrennie]

gojo satoru x reader female !

single part

one shot ! English

warnings: age difference, gojo cheater, sad end(?), violence.

LONESOME QUEEN.

I sighed looking at the ceiling of my room. How long have I been like this? I don't know, but I can't stop doing it either. I know it's wrong, but I can't control it, I love him.

I wish I had never met him, he is a man with his life resolved, why doesn't he let me go? I want to stop suffering, waiting for him when I know he won't reach my arms. He is not mine.

When I was little I was warned about not trusting strangers. Damn the day where I trust that stranger with white hair, the most beautiful I have ever seen in my life. But I was only 19 years old. I hate him, why did he lie to me? I thought he loved me.

I see him every day with her, she is so beautiful, she has big breasts and her face has no blemishes. Her hair is pretty, her natural blonde color doesn't match mine, black as night. It's so silky, I can tell from here. Congratulations, you will be a father. A dream I thought I would have with you.

I yelled at you once because you told me you were separating, but two months later you married her. The only thing I could do was cry, break down in front of you... But you just laughed and told me "You're so pretty when you cry."

I wanted you to love me, I wanted you to be mine, like I was yours. I thought you belonged to me, but in reality you were always hers. The times they fought you came to me, I always welcomed you with open arms thinking that something would change. I thought you would stay with me at dawn.

Every time I close my eyes, the most beautiful memories of us come back, but then I remember that you ran the moment she called. And I know I shouldn't say this, but she knows I'll be there when she kisses you and I know you know it too. Because I left that mark on you.

A message came to my phone.

I left the phone next to me on the couch, sighed and brought my arm to my eyes and threw my head back. Tears slowly came out of my eyes. I'm so tired of this, I hate it so much.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. I went to the door walking reluctantly, so slowly that Satoru had to ring the bell again. Although I know him, he is very impatient.

Upon opening, his bright smile makes my heart pump harder. But I hate it, I don't want to feel this anymore.

─ Love. ─ he said and hugged me. ─ I missed you. ─ His words resonate with me so empty and monotonous. When I put my nose on the collar of his shirt, the smell that emanates is not the same as always. It's a woman's. She knows it, she knows she came to see me.

And I felt terrible. I frowned in pain. Satoru was a bad person, leaving his pregnant wife behind for a college student who was just starting out in the real world.

He, worried that I hadn't hugged him back, placed his arms in mine and pulled me away a little.

─Are you okay, darling?─ I looked at him without responding, did he call her that too? I sighed with my tears starting to fall.

I shook my head before answering. ─Nothing is right, Satoru! Nothing!─ I separated suddenly. ─What don't you see? Aren't you seeing what I'm suffering?!─ I hit him angrily on his chest.

He looked at me dumbfounded. He frowned. ─ I don't understand, what do you mean, n?

My anger grew. He couldn't be that idiotic. ─ I'm tired of being your stupid mistress, that's what happens, damn it. For so long I wanted to be the official. For so long I wanted you to see me the way you see her!─ I could only scream and moan under my tears.

─ Don't just blame me. We both agreed and you knew I had a girlfriend.─ he muttered under his breath. I laughed sarcastically.

─I was 19, you damn bastard! I was just a girl coming out of adolescence and you took me like a fucking bitch and I stupidly fell in love! I believed all the fucking lies you told me because I loved you!─ I felt like my throat was tearing. I collapsed in front of him.

He didn't say anything but crouched down next to me and hugged me.

─ I know, baby. I know and I'm so sorry, I'm sorry I can't give you what you deserve.─ I kept crying. ─ Forgive me, my love.

I stared blankly at nothing, thinking about the drastic decision, but one that I should have made from the beginning, and I looked him straight in the eyes. Without hesitation, I spoke.

─ We must break up.

[captain-mj]

I live for monsterhandler! The tentative way ghost comes closer? Gives me life. Can I request the next part :)

Of course!! They sparring in this one

"Uh, Soap, you sure about that?" Gaz called, watching Soap bind his hands and get in the ring. "Soap. Soap." He sounded concerned, which was fair. This wasn’t the finest moment of thinking. 

"I'm fine, Gaz! We're just going to be doing some friendly sparring." He reassured him. Soap watched Ghost stretch and then pull on some sparring gloves. They had extra padding to prevent his claws from knicking Soap. He looked up at him, really taking in how big he was. He didn’t think Ghost’s claws were going to be his biggest problem here. "This is friendly, right?" Soap glanced over him. Ghost’s thighs were the size of his head. 

Did Ghost look human under there?

"If that's what you want." Ghost growled, though he didn't think it was meant to be threatening. It still rattled Soap out of his thoughts. He rolled his shoulders. "Don't some handlers do this? They beat their charges to prove dominance or some dumb shit?" His gaze looked playful, but his stance was perfect for sparring. Taunting Soap. Trying to get him to take the bait. Sneaky bastard.

"Maybe. Some of them do." Soap thought it was dumb. Besides the fact that he literally could not beat Ghost without handicapping him in some way, it was pointless. He really doubted if he managed to pin Ghost, he’d get any more respect than he did currently. And their current professional relationship was just fine. 

"Think you could beat me?" Ghost asked, the two of them starting to circle the ring.

"Absolutely, sir." No, not really. Soap was sure he’d get a few good hits in though. 

Ghost knocked him on his ass almost immediately. "Widen your stance. You're so off balance."

Soap stared at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. "Yeah... Yeah okay. Just caught me off guard."

"That happen to you a lot, Johnny?" Ghost watched him get up but didn't help.

Soap got up and dusted himself off. He slammed into Ghost and he barely moved. "You are solid."

Ghost laughed and shoved him back just a little. He looked down at him and Soap noticed the tiny bit of red over his nose.

"Just very muscular." Soap pointed out, dodging Ghost's strike. They danced around each other.

"Fuck off Soap." Ghost snapped at him and made a clumsy strike.

"You're very skilled."

"What the fuck are you doing??" Gaz called to him as he watched.

"I'm just complimenting my -"

Ghost knocked him into the ring ropes and his hand ended up around his throat. "Your what?"

"My Lt, of course." Soap quickly grabbed the ropes and yanked up, slamming his feet right in Ghost's stomach. Ghost gasped softly and let Soap go.

"Dirty hit, good job." Soap grinned when Ghost said that. He sounded proud.

They went at it again and Soap couldn't deny that Ghost was very skilled. So he told him so. Repeatedly. Until Ghost tried to shove his shoulder at a comment and Soap managed to flip him. Despite how heavy Ghost was, Soap was well aware of exactly how to overthrow a taller opponent.

Ghost hit the ground and Soap moved to pin down his arms. He was thrown off almost immediately and pinned on his stomach, Ghost's knee right at his back. His wings fell on either side of Soap, caging them in. Soap breathed in and all he could smell was... cologne? Did Ghost wear cologne? He had never caught it before but the smell of bergamot and a masculine soap like scent surrounded him. Soap found he rather liked it.

"What are you doing? What's your strategy here?" Ghost growled and it vibrated through Soap's body.

"Just want to build your confidence." Soap said cheekily.

Ghost huffed and got up. "I'm done. I'm taking a shower." He did help Soap up this time by picking him up easily. 

Soap watched him as he stepped away. “Hate to watch him go but I love to watch him walk away.”

Ghost’s tufts twitched like he heard him. 

Gaz stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“I need to bond with him and I didn’t want to say no!” 

Gaz shook his head. “I’m so glad I have Alex. I like Ghost, think he’s cool, but I don’t think I could handle him.”

“See, there’s your problem. I don’t think of it as I’m his handler and he’s a vicious beast. He’s my friend and I’m his. That easy.”

“You’re like one of the dogs that zoos keep in cages with cheetahs to prevent them from going insane.” Gaz handed him water. 

“Well. You know. I can learn to bark.” Soap grinned. He thought of Ghost in the shower, and by extension, Ghost undressed and felt his face flush. He rubbed it and hoped it wasn’t noticeable against the flush from exercising. 

“What are you going to try next?” 

“I don’t know. I think we’re doing okay. I just… he has a hard time letting me in. And he deals with…” Soap paused, deciding he didn’t want to put Ghost’s business out there. “We have things we need to work on, ya know?” 

“Right. You could always try more extreme stuff.” 

Soap frowned. “Like what are you suggesting?”

“We went through the same training. They said if you have trouble getting your ESU to work with you, there’s a couple of methods. You could try wing binding. Properly, not what Price lets him get away with. Or threaten with punishments. You’re not Price. I think trying to have the same relationship with Ghost as he did is doing both of you a disservice.” 

Soap looked at his hands. Gaz had a point. While Soap would never, ever hurt Ghost, maybe trying to emulate the same friendliness Price had was a mistake. 

But he hadn’t failed yet. They were friendly, even if they weren’t friends, and within a few weeks of knowing each other, Ghost gave him a head pat when apparently he never touched anyone else. 

The wings. Fuck. Soap had an opportunity. He could’ve scratched them. 

-

Ghost finished cleaning up and started to dry himself off. He avoided the mirrors and stayed in the last stall, keeping the shower curtain carefully pulled. The last person to try to peek in on him mysteriously went missing so he doubted anyone would try it. 

His wings stretched out before he loosely wrapped the rope around them and redressed. The bones in his leg popped lazily as he stepped out. 

Ghost hummed as he went back to his room. It didn’t take long for him to notice his tail. 

Soap followed him like a lost puppy sometimes. This time, he walked with purpose so Ghost decided to just wait to see what he would do. He was too short to take his mask off and there wasn’t much else he could do in the hallway that wouldn’t take time. Plus, he really doubted Soap was the type to use public humiliation against him. It just… seemed a bit crass for him. 

The moment Soap’s fingers touched his wings, all of that went out the window. Clearly this little fucking pervert was like that. How da-

Soap scratched him, a bit like you would do a cat under their chin or a dog behind their ears. It felt blissful. Pleasure running down his spine to his toes and that up to his ears, making the little tufts poke up again. 

He purred. 

How fucking embarrasing. 

Ghost purred softly, stopping in his tracks. A trance like state fell over him as Soap continued the gentle scratching. 

“You like that, Simon?” 

Ghost growled immediately, but he didn’t move. Soap used both hands now and worked over the spots, almost massaging instead of scratching. He leaned his head back until purred louder. 

“Huh. I kinda thought Price was bluffing.” Soap let go. 

Ghost immediately pulled away from him. “You… bitch.” He felt fuzzy. It had felt so nice though and it clouded his thoughts, making it a bit hard to stay mad. 

“You really are just like a big cat.” 

Ghost hissed at him and Soap laughed. The bastard. 

“It’s okay, Ghostie. Won’t tell anyone, yeah?” Soap leaned in, like they were telling secrets. “You really did so good for me out there.”

Ghost bristled, feeling himself flush again. He didn’t handle compliments well and Soap was being too nice to him.

“Go get some rest. Price told me we’ll have another mission soon. This time, I’ll be setting up bombs.” He smiled, very excited about the prospect apparently. 

Ghost gritted his teeth. “Can’t fucking wait. Don’t ever touch me like that again.” Please do. Please be nice to me. 

“I’m sorry, Ghost. I shouldn’t have snuck up on ya like that.” Soap did not seem very sorry at all. 

~~~~~~

This was written before the poll so if you guys made it fox, they’ll Fuck in the next one

Taglist: @nalawayward @joltom @azure-winter-crow @korym @cod-hyperfixation @thychuvaluswife @revenge-of-the-bucket-demon

[milestonekestrel]

Poetic Justice (written version! <33)

Fandom: Still Wakes the Deep

Warnings: Drowning

(Story under the cut)

The rig shook again, and Caz lost his balance. He fell backwards, slipping over the edge of the helipad, and plummeted straight down towards the sea. He smacked against the waves and sank like a stone. Of course, he wasn't conscious enough to see it. 

But Addair was. 

He had fallen to his knees after the rig jostled, and he was recovering his balance when Caz´s screams drew his attention. He saw Caz hit the water, and spray from the splash hit him in the face.

Shit. No wonder Caz was knocked out, stuff was frigid. Not too long in there and he'd die, even if he got out.

Addair should probably save him, huh?

He snorted.

Fuck no. 

He was no gonna bust his ass for that fucker. Caz never belonged on the rig anyway— he had no experience. Falling off the rig just proved it. 

“Serves ya right, ya cunt.”

And he stood, watching bubbles trickle to the surface. And he turned and left. 

And as he did so, Brodie and Douglas took his place. But they dove in and hauled Caz out, and they tried frantically to rouse him. 

And from the back, watching them with arms crossed, was Addair. 

Worthless effort, he thought. Worthless effort.

Worthless effort… worthless… effort..

Worthless effort..! 

Worthless electrician!

¨GET BACK!¨ Addair howled, scrabbling over the stack´s ceiling, ¨GET BACK!¨ 

But Cameron McLeary kept running- it was what the bastard did best, after all. Addair dragged himself further, propelled by his many limbs. He saw Caz´s legs disappear up a flight of stairs, and he dropped low to scramble across the underside of the stack. When he popped back up, he saw Caz stood at the edge of the floor, facing the tower with a relighter in his hand. 

¨STAY.. AWAY!¨ Addair shouted, racing towards the tower. 

Caz glared at him defiantly, ¨I´m doing this!¨

He tore the cap off the relighter, blinking as sparks erupted from it, the flame surging upwards hungrily. He wound back, and then threw it towards the tower. Addair scrambled up the tower´s side and jumped into its path. It collided with him, and–

BOOM!

Flames erupted from him, all across the stack. The force of the explosion sent both him and Caz flying. A shrill screech tore itself from Addair as the fire ate at his oil-slick flesh. Caz tumbled down the stairs and landed on his back, and Addair hastily reached out a hand and grabbed the outer wall of the stack, holding on for dear life. His limbs trembled as he gripped the stack with the front two, flailing the others wildly, trying to shake the fire off of him. 

Panting like an injured animal, he nearly slipped when the stack shifted beneath him. 

¨Caz!¨ that was Brodie, ¨For fucks sake– move! It's about to collapse!¨ 

Addair shifted and tried to crawl forwards, but it just made the fires burn hotter. A second later, Caz stumbled by. He saw Addair and grimaced. 

Addair let out a hiss like steam as he struggled to keep ahold of the stack. The ground lurched, and Caz fell. One of Addair´s hands slipped, he met Caz´s eyes. 

¨McCleeeaaAAARRRRRYYYYY!¨ He screamed, falling from the stack and plummeting straight into the ocean. 

The water felt like falling into a pit of knives. The fires were put out, but the salt stung his singed flesh. He began to sink. 

¨CAZ!¨ he shrieked, bubbles erupting from his mouth as he did so. Addair did not hold his breath. He thrashed like mad, but he could not kick to the surface. Too many limbs– worthless– worthless–

He tipped his head back and gave a last, bubbly howl as he drifted further and further from the surface. And when the last of his air was spent, he sagged, and sank and sank and sank, all the way down to the bottom of the ocean. 

And above the water, Caz stood, watching bubbles trickle to the surface.

And he turned and left.

[wynnyfryd]

By the time Eddie gets Steve up the stairs and down the hall to his horrible plaid bedroom, the flood of excitement has fizzled out and left bone-deep exhaustion in his wake. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t felt this fucking tired since he woke up in the hospital all those months ago. “Okay, Stevie,” he sighs as he throws himself onto the bed, starfishing across the mattress. “It is possible that I have overestimated my stamina here.” 

“Oh, you think?” Steve grins playfully as he crawls onto the bed beside him. His hand comes to rest on Eddie’s happy trail, fingers skating over the soft hair beneath his belly button.

“Fuck!” Eddie squirms. “That tickles!” 

“Does it?” Steve asks with a glint in his eye that Eddie does not appreciate, but before he can do anything to defend himself Steve is throwing a leg over his lap, straddling him and holding him down while he tickles Eddie within an inch of his life. 

“Stop! Stop!” Eddie gasps, pawing ineffectively at Steve’s chest as he shakes with teary-eyed laughter, “Oh, my god, three taps, red, et cetera, you little monster.”

Steve stops immediately. 

“You’re an actual demon,” Eddie pouts as he sinks into the blankets.

Steve tips forward, laying his weight over Eddie’s chest, and the bastard’s still laughing when he presses an apologetic kiss to Eddie’s neck. “Sorry. Can’t help it if you look cute when you’re flustered.” 

“Jesus Christ.”

Steve sits back up, resting his palms against Eddie’s chest. “What does ‘red’ mean, by the way? Like, I get the gist, obviously, but, uh...”

“It’s a color system people use in kink. Like traffic lights. Basically the same thing as the tap-out system. Which, I still don’t understand how the hell you knew about that if you don’t know about BDSM, but—”

“BD what now?”

“Oh, my god.” Eddie looks up at the ceiling. Where to fucking begin? “BDSM. It’s an acronym. Bondage, Discipline — or Domination, take your pick, Sadism, and Masochism.” 

Steve makes an adorably confused face, his eyebrows drawing down. “Okay, I think I understood, like, three of those words.” 

God, he’s cute. 

“God, you're cute,” Eddie sighs, and okay, guess his filter’s out of commission for the evening. “Don’t worry about the last two for now. Those are more about pain play” — Steve’s eyes widen in alarm — “which, no shame to anyone who’s into that, but I’m not sure how much interest I have in that particular arena ever since, well...” 

Ever since bats used me as a fucking chew toy, he thinks, gesturing at his fucked-up torso. 

“Cool,” Steve says. “Me neither. I mean, I don’t think. I haven’t tried it, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You might,” Eddie smirks. He leans up on an elbow, kisses the soft skin of Steve’s inner arm. “But you don’t have to, sweetheart.” 

“Cool,” Steve says again, his shoulders slouching in relief. “So, the other two…?” 

“Sure. Bondage is pretty self-explanatory, but there are different degrees of it. The more, uh, extreme side of things usually involves shit like ropes and handcuffs, but it can be more mild. Like tying my wrists up with a scarf, or even just pinning them over my head with your hands.”

Steve’s eyes light up at that suggestion. He leans forward, pressing Eddie flat onto his back, and he scoops up Eddie’s hands and stretches them above his head, crossing his wrists and holding them there with just one hand. Jesus, his hands are huge. Eddie gulps and bucks up into him a little. 

Steve moans, leans down so their lips almost brush. “Something like this?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, his voice rough and raspy and wanting. 

Steve presses in, kisses him hard, his hips grinding down as he licks against his lips. Hot and filthy and wet. Eddie parts his lips eagerly, swallows the moan that passes from Steve’s mouth to his when Steve shoves his tongue inside. Licks behind his fucking teeth.

“Okay,” Eddie pants when they part; he smiles up at Steve, pupils blown wide and face flushed red. “So we like that one then?”

“Yeah,” Steve grins. “Yeah, we like that one a lot.”

[littlegaybean1]

So I had a dream a few weeks ago and I thought you good omens Tumblr people would want to hear about it.

What was this dream, I hear absolutely none of you cry?

Good Omens Season Three of course!

It begins with Crowley, with his hair just above the shoulders and wavy, very similar to the 2000s Crowley hair. He's in his house, wearing sunglasses and dressed in his final fifteen outfit. Somehow my dream self knew that this was a month or two after the final fifteen. Crowley is lounging in his chair, looking depressed, with a glass of wine balanced on the arm somehow.

Then, we cut to Heaven. Aziraphale is sitting at the desk that Michael is seen at in S2, with stacks of paperwork on the desk. He's smiling, but tears are pooling in his eyes. The Metatron comes over and says something that I can't remember, to which Aziraphale says "yes of course" in his polite way with a smile. He shuffles the papers and then gets up and walks away, the Metatron looking on with an expression that I can only describe as villainous.

Then, we cut to... Hastur? Who is narrating? Subconscious brain, what are you doing? He stares straight at me (which is basically like staring at the camera) and monologues, which boils down to

"Our great heroes are separated, grieving the loss of each other when neither are dead" (sarcastically)

"Well," *chuckles* "neither are dead yet."

Cut back to Crowley. He's angry, tears streaming from underneath his glasses. He throws his wine glass at the wall before collapsing on the floor. Looking up at the ceiling, he speaks to someone above, we all know who.

"Why did you go? Why'd you have to go and leave me you adorable little bastard. You left me, I needed you! I still... I still need you. Come back. Please come back." Or something similar to that. His voice breaks and he just lies there crying.

Up in Heaven, Aziraphale can't hear him but something upsets him. He buries his head in his arms, crying.

Then, back to Crowley's flat, but this time he's not alone. Hastur, Dagon, Shax and Eric burst in through the wall, grab him and drag him out of the door whilst he's screaming and cursing at them.

Cut to Hell, in the room that Beelzebub teleported Crowley to in S2. Crowley's on a black throne, but he's chained down and his head is forced into a bowed position. The four aforementioned demons stand before him, cackling. One of them holds a sword to his throat.

Cut back to Heaven, and Uriel comes over to Aziraphale and says that they've been sent a message from Hell. The message is a live video call, showing the previous scene. Aziraphale gasps, suddenly going from mildly confused to purely terrified. His eyes flood with tears and he appears paralysed, standing stock still and eyes glued to the image before him.

The demons laugh and hiss, before burying the sword in Crowley's shoulder. It glows brightly and Crowley screams in pain. A bucket is seen next to them, and I somehow know that Aziraphale is certain that it's full of holy water. Aziraphale seems to break out of his daze, stutters a bit then says, to nobody in particular

"I'll just be two ticks"

The demons are visibly confused, as is Uriel. None of them really know what to make of this. Then, still on the video, Crowley starts to shake, and is suddenly not chained. He collapses and rolls off the chair. One of the demons shove him onto his back, where we see that Crowley is... Laughing???

"Oh, we're all seriously fucked. That's his 'I'm going to pretend that everything is fine then turn into an absolute raging maniac' voice."

He then starts laughing even harder. The demons exchange worried glances. Has he gone off his rocker?

One of the demons is getting seriously pissed off by the laughing, and stabs Crowley in the other shoulder. But this time, he doesn't scream, he just keeps on laughing.

Suddenly, the room rumbles and an extremely pissed, immaculately dressed Aziraphale appears, wielding his flaming sword. His eyes are glowing the purple of Arch-Angelic power. With two strokes of his sword, Eric discorporates and the sword pointed at Crowley is knocked away. Aziraphale stands over Crowley's bleeding form and growls in the same tone as in the bookshop

"Stay back."

He waves his hand over Crowley's body, and a shield of light splits him off from everyone. Somehow my dream self knows that Aziraphale isn't only protecting Crowley from the demons, he's protecting Crowley from him. With that, Aziraphale thrusts his sword deeply into the ground, the room shaking violently and filling with pure angelic light. When it fades, Aziraphale is covered in soot and bears several burns, and is carrying Crowley through the light, up and up back to

The bookshop.

Crowley looks up at Aziraphale in a bit of a daze, and weakly says

"Did you... Stop to change before charging down to hell?"

"I wanted to be dressed appropriately! It's not every day one fights off demons in their home territory." Aziraphale sounds defensive, but also worried.

"You idiot angel." Crowley smiles at him affectionately.

"Yes, he very much is."

DUN DUN DUN!

The Metatron appears in the bookshop, an expression of fury on his face.

"I gave you power, I gave you status, I gave you a name for yourself. But still, you throw away all this for some, failed angel who couldn't even be a demon right! I won't have it!"

The Metatron snaps his fingers, white light flooding the bookshop and Crowley cries out in alarm. The husbands grip each other tightly, refusing to let even the Metatron's power separate them.

My dream ends with Hastur's laughter, as the two wake up in Heaven, still clutching each other.