#whose prices just dropped

[serpentface]

FAMILY TITLES AMONG THE HILL TRIBES

(ft. various linguistic notes and tangents)

In-universe Brakul’s self-given title of ‘Red-Dog’ is Brakul 'ne-Dainh' in his native language (Bict-Urbinnas dialect of the Highland language group) and Brakul 'Chin-Reyla' in Wardi. Ne-Dainh/Chin-Reyla is not something he treats as or considers an actual surname or identity, just a self-styled nickname. He already has a title.

Family names/surnames are not a native practice among the Hill Tribes (though some clans or individual families have adopted this practice), and all traditionally use titles that designate immediate ancestry, clan and tribe. These full titles are officially given when one comes of age and are spoken aloud in ceremony (with the entire direct male and female lines listed by name, with most traditions expecting 12 generations of each being named).

The function is to cement one’s sense of place in the world, and their place in a direct ancestral line, which puts the person under the full watch and guidance of their ancestors. It's also a critical method of recording lineage- the long held practice of each person memorizing at least 24 total direct ancestors allows for very long, largely accurate records of family history to be kept, with some people able to trace their ancestry all the way back to initial settlement of the Highlands (or even beyond).

Brakul’s full title is:

“Brakul virsum Kuligan et Borunil an Briyonis ne-Taig an Bict-Urbinnas”

Which dead literally translates to “Brakul son of Kuligan and Borunil of the Foothills (of) Red-Cattle, of the North (Urbin/Erubin) River Valley” but has a much richer meaning in the original language.

"BRAKUL VIRSUM KULIGAN ET BORUNIL"

The actual meaning here is closer to ‘Brakul, son of Kuligan and his father’s fathers, and Borunil and her mother’s mothers’.

“Virsum” means ‘child (son/daughter) of’ (the gender is contextual), but implies the person’s status as a descendant of a full male and female line of ancestors. A different word is used if you’re just saying ‘I’m so and so’s son”. The title describes him as a son of his father Kuligan and of Kuligan’s male line, and of his mother Borunil and Borunil's female line.

All ancestors (within this particular system of kinship, divided into one direct male line from the father and one direct female line from the mother, and not including husbands from the female line or wives from the male line) are invoked and credited with the word ‘virsum’. Speaking it as part of the personal title is part of the routine and necessary honoring of one’s ancestors, who watch over their descendants from the afterlife and can temporarily return to the land to guide and protect (and sometimes punish, or teach sharp lessons to) the living.

"AN BRIYONIS NE-TAIG"

The actual meaning here would be understood as ‘clan/people of the foothills where cattle are lit red by the setting sun'.

‘Briyonis’ is the word for ‘foothill’, citing his clan’s specific location being the foothills that form the slopes of the north Urbin river valley. He is of a lesser clan within the powerful North Urbin River tribe. His clan benefits from close affiliation to their more powerful ruling clans located directly in the river valley, which grants them access to a greater variety of cultivated foods, but their actual position in the foothills still renders them predominantly reliant on cattle for subsistence. Clan names referencing cattle or horses are very common, given their frequent centrality to life.

The ‘ne-Taig’ literally means ‘red cattle’, but the ‘ne’ color word for red specifically invokes shades of red seen in and cast by a rising/setting sun. This red cast is culturally regarded as a unique beauty and evocative (and part of the name) of the solar god Hraighne. The foothills his clan is physically located on are a vantage point from which the western horizon is not fully obscured by mountains, and they experience very striking sunsets and are directly touched by the light. This is fairly unique to this location, and is invoked in the clan name and identity. ‘Ne-Taig’ here suggests a visual of grazing cattle illuminated red by the sun as it crosses the horizon.

‘Ne-Dainh’ carries the same implication, a dog illuminated red by setting sunlight. The Wardi language does not have a comparable word for a sunlit red and ‘Chin-Reyla’ really does just mean ‘(orangeish) red dog’ (‘reyla’ is specific to orangey-red colors, which is the closest match he could get. There’s no way to impart the meaning of ‘sunlit-red dog’ in Wardi that is non-clunky enough to be appropriate for a name).

"AN BICT-URBINNAS"

‘an Bict-Urbinnas’ is fairly simple, Bict means ‘north’, and 'Urbin' is the name of the specific river that stems from a northern and eastern tributary. This river has a very ancient name (or a derivative of one) that predates settlement by the Hill Tribes, and its exact meaning is lost.

The root -(n)nas designates a river valley, but has strong implications of being an esteemed and bountiful place, rather than solely a literal geographical descriptor (as the river valleys are centers of power and trade in the highlands). It may be a loanword from the Wardi language family, as its usage is VERY similar in form and function to the Wardi -(n)nos, which also suggests a place of esteem and bounty (more specifically having connotations of a kingdom).

’An’ literally means ‘of’, but in the specific sense of describing the place and identity of a collection of people. ‘an Bict Urbinnas’ would be understood in speech as ‘of the north Urbin River Valley (people)’. The clans historically settled in and around the valley of the North Urbin River form the totality of the Bict-Urbinnas tribe.

The ‘Urbin’ word predates the contemporary Wardi name ‘Erubin’ for the river, the latter of which invokes the semi-mythological founding figure Erub, who himself was of a Wardi tribe located downriver to the south of the Highlands. The real historically extant ‘Erub’ was most likely named Urub after the river, with his cited name shifting over the centuries in folklore, and the Wardi name for the river shifting with it.

‘Erubin’ as a corruption of ‘Urbin’ functions very well in Wardi language due to ‘-bi/bin’ denoting something as a ‘gift’, usually in a more metaphorical sense. ‘Erubin’ is understood as meaning ‘(The river that is) Erub’s gift’, and the Erubin/Urbin river is a key tributary to the much larger Black river, one of the key rivers that feeds the region's wetter and more fertile west. This 'gift' meaning also occurs in the name of the southeastern Imperial Wardi city-state Erubinnos, which is understood as meaning ’((The kingdom that is) Erub’s gift’. He is considered to have conquered and taken the land (from the core city's actual founders, the Wogan people) and established a kingdom there in the early days of warring Wardi tribal monarchies.

[buttercuparry]

In less than two months it will be October 7th again.

In less than two months, it will be a year of genocide. 

In light of this, I just have only one request for you; please do not give into whatever you are describing as “compassion fatigue” right now.

Realize that this is exactly what the colonizers conducting this genocide want you to feel. Realize that apathy during a genocide is what leads to the normalization of atrocities. Realize that this is a tried and tested method found throughout history; that now when the genocide is been widely documented by Gazans themselves- the only way the colonizers can get away with it is by running you down and making you feel hopeless!

They want you to stop caring about their victims and this is why you need to fight harder now more than ever!!

I request you to fight harder for every Gazan! And therefore request you to fight for my friend Siraj Abudayeh too, whose family recently faced another assault. His parents and siblings had to flee to him for protection, because their areas ( Hamad, southern Khan Younis) were marked for assault from occupation forces. With the number of people depending on him increased now, Siraj has a much heavier responsibility on his shoulders to raise enough funds to support all of them and their needs, when prices of food water and other essentials are already skyrocketing.

With the coming of the rainy season, there comes the danger of epidemics spreading from open sewers as well! Siraj’s son Amir has already fallen ill, and his other two sons are showing symptoms too- they are in dire need of medical treatment! I cannot overstate how badly Siraj and his family need these funds!! How badly he needs your continuous support.

There has been a significant drop in engagement with fundraising posts and I very clearly remember, someone tagging one of my posts with compassion fatigue. It shocked me to my core to think that the cries of Free Palestine could fade so suddenly; that after only a year some of you have begun to feel fatigued, from having to care about this.

Do not give in please; do not let the colonizers make you complicit in this horror! They know that if they can overwhelm you enough, then one day the videos and posts would stop hitting as hard and sooner or later everyone will stop talking about Palestine. This cannot happen again! Not when your attention can literally save a life! This is the power you hold- especially if you are living in the Imperial core. The colonizers are afraid of it. You have to know this and believe this!

So please do not turn away and help Siraj get to 50k as soon as possible!

He is currently only at $45,044 / $82,000 CAD

[ GFM LINK ]

[ Vetting at 219 on Hussein's spreadsheet]

And if you are having trouble donating to Siraj's fundraiser through Paypal, please get in touch with @malcriada .

[writersdrug]

I need the bartender Simon having to escape upstairs for a few minutes just to control the monster in his pants just because of a more direct provocation from the reader

I was saving this ask and I think this is the perfect moment after Simon sees reader in his shirt, no?

Warnings: NSFW, masturbation, sex toy, pining, daydreaming about p in v sex

He doesn't dare go up to his room - even after the bar is closed, after you and Johnny are both gone, after his tasks are complete. His mind has been scrambled ever since you came down in his shirt, looking like you'd just woken up from having a nap in his bed. He knew that wasn't the case, but it was so easy to pretend. You made it easy, looking like wearing his shirt was just your typical Friday outfit. If he tried hard enough, sitting at the bar after hours, sipping on an Old Fashioned- he could imagine you were up there right now, lying stomach-first in his bed, wearing his shirt, with "LT RIELY" on your back - you weren't objective, he certainly doesn't think of you like that - but having his claim on you aroused the most primal part inside him. If only you could see what you've done. Did you even know it?

Price comes lumbering down the stairs. Simon doesn't bother to look at him; he sits at the bar, his Old Fashioned long gone, with an empty whiskey glass and the mostly-full bottle next to him. He was hoping to replace the thought of you with drinking, but he didn't have the stomach for it.

"I'm plannin' to see if Garrick wants to join the team." Price says, shrugging on his jacket. "I know he wanted to be his own man, but we could use him. Our girl's made this place quite popular."

Simon wants to spit out the words he'd just heard. Our girl. Whose girl? John's? Soap's? The entire pub? It was his name on your back. Not Price. Not MacTavish. He was the one you came to with all those receipts, numbers scribbled in the margins, trusting him to help you ward them off. Sure, you have fun with everyone, asking them all for help - but you go to him the most easily, whenever you need to feel safe. Bad customers, bad situations - you looked to him. Didn't that mean anything to Price?

He doesn't respond to his captain, choosing to stare at his empty glass instead. Price looks at him quizzically.

"Feelin' alright, there?"

Simon grunts. "Long day."

Price knows he's bullshitting him. He knows exactly what this is about. He sighs, pulling his beanie on and tucking the money pouch into his jacket. "If you want 'er, Simon, tell me to back off. Can't read your mind."

That has him pursing his lips, grip tight around the sides of his glass. He would have punched John, was he any other man. He knows exactly what Simon's thinking, yet he makes him work for it. Typical. His pride and his jealousy are fighting tooth and nail against each other, but he can barely say a word.

Price stands there a moment, waiting for Simon to speak - but he doesn't even spare the owner a glance. Bastard's always punishing himself... he thinks, sighing again.

"Bright and early tomorrow, lad." He says, heading towards the kitchen. "Lights off when you're done here." He knows Simon's capable of closing, but he repeats it every night regardless.

"Sir."

Price stops, halfway through the kitchen door. He looks at Simon, who's now staring directly back at him. There's a look in his face, something that reminds him of Ghost - the reason he became his right-hand man.

"Respectfully..." he says slowly. "Back off."

Price almost finds it comical. Like an animal staking its claim, staring at its rival - except they’re not rivals. The only reason Simon is bothering to play his captain's game, asking for permission to have what Price would happily hand over, is because he's his superior. Even if they're all retired from the SAS, no one ever really dropped the dynamics of the team.

He smiles, nodding his head once. "Understood." He says, shoving himself through the kitchen door. "But hurry up and say somethin' to 'er. I'm sick of you losing your mind during the rush."

With that, Simon hears him leave through the back door. He stays there for a moment, his mind reeling - he feels both satisfied and angry at the same time. It was a bit humiliating to tell Price to leave you for himself - you don't belong to him. But that was a problem he was going to fix. You had his name on your back-

For Christ’s sake, he’s got to give it a rest. You wore his shirt, that was all. You wore it – with no bra. Bare. Naked underneath the 141’s insignia, under his title.

And that damn bra is still in his room.

He can’t take it anymore. He unscrews the whiskey bottle and takes a few swigs, before slamming it back onto the bar top. He leaves the bottle and the glass there as he gets up, making his way across the floor, up the stairs, passing the office, and continuing up to his studio flat.

Nothing seems out of the ordinary. If you’d gone snooping, you either did a good job of hiding the evidence, or you didn’t really rifle through too much. His bed was untouched, his books and items where he had put them last – he goes into his drawers, checking to see if you had gone through anything other than his shirts. Considering everything is still where it should be, he assumed not. Though you did leave a mess in his shirt drawer – you’d been digging around in there until you found his old SAS shirt. Did you mean to do that? Were you looking for something with his name on it, just to drive him insane?

He goes back into his top drawer, muttering a curse as he pushes the contents aside. His cock is pulsing in his pants as he grabs his pocket pussy, slamming the drawer shut and heading towards his bed. He doesn't want to draw this one out - this is nothing more than a wank, just to get you out of his head. He sits at the foot of his bed and unbuttons his jeans, pulling his hard length out of his briefs – it bounces up and slaps against his abdomen, precum already smeared across the tip. He’s been hard for hours now, trying not to cum in his pants at the thought of your tits rubbing against the inside of his shirt. Do you have small, pebbly nipples? Or ones that are soft and pliant? He growls as he smears the tip of his cock against the lips of the toy, rubbing up and down the slit. He sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You’re there, rubbing your lips on his cock, your hand wrapped tightly around his shaft as you stare up at him, licking and kissing his tip like a good girl…

He scowls and opens his eyes, sitting upright – he sees your bra hanging off the back of his chair, and he nearly passes out form how quickly the blood rushes to his cock. Pink lace, delicate and kinda skimpy… and your shirt, crumpled on the seat of the chair. You’d forgotten to shove them into your bag before you left. Or did you do this on purpose?

He's reaching out before he realizes it, slowly standing up and heading towards the chair. He wants to grab your bra, rub his cock in it until he stains it with his thick cum – but something in the back of his mind keeps him from touching it. One, it’s purely you, and he doesn’t want to ruin that. Two, he’s trying to cum. Not to cum to you. He’s doing this to get rid of your image in his head.

So, he goes for the next best thing. He grabs your shirt and sits back down on the edge of the bed. He lines himself up with his fleshlight and brings your shirt to his face; no wonder the drinks had turned it translucent, it was the thinnest fabric he had ever felt. Practically skin.

He presses it against his face and inhales: the scent of you, sweet, floral and spicy, fills his mind. It makes it all to easy to imagine that you’re sinking down onto his cock, and not that he’s stuffed it as far as he can into the toy. He groans, his eyelids fluttering shut as he pumps his hips once, then again… the tightness of the fleshlight slides over him easily, offering no resistance with the precum acting as a lube while he grinds up into it, heat knotting in his gut. The waist of his jeans hugs his thighs as he slowly and steadily pulses towards the ceiling, taking deep breaths of your scent.

He feels like an animal. Dirty, cheap, and desperate. He has to remind himself that it’s not about you, it’s about having a good wank and getting you out of his head. He drops your shirt on his chest and uses his free hand to cup his balls, groaning as he massages them. The schlick of the fleshlight around his dick is loud, the sensation borderline painful as he quickly fucks into it, curses spilling past his lips as he slams the thing down to the base of his length, catching on the Jacob’s ladder piercing on the underside, then back to the tip.

He shouldn’t, but he lets his mind slip elsewhere. What would you be doing? Would you have your hands on his chest, lips parted in a moan as you drop your hips onto his thighs, your cunt dripping and squeezing around his member…? What are you doing now? Are you still wearing his shirt? Are you lying back on your bed, playing with your breasts under the fabric and using your other hand to toy with your pussy? What do you sound like? Are you saying his name, or can you make any sound at all?

He falls back against the bed. “Fuck fuck fuck-“ he mumbles. He’s caught himself in a trap here – he can’t allow himself to indulge in the thought of you, begging him to take your hips and buck up into you – but it’s impossible to get you out of his head. Even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d be able to cum without you. He squeezes his fist around the fleshlight, groaning loudly from the pain, trying to drown out the sounds of your moans in his head… you’re always there, ever present, leaning over him and whimpering in his ear, need you, Simon, wanna cum on your cock, want it inside-

It's all too much for him, but not enough. He turns himself over, climbing up to his knees on the bed. He props himself up on his forearm, holding the fleshlight with his other hand as he ruts into it, stuffing his cock in as far as it will go, until the lips are smashed against the base. He pants and groans, mouth hanging open as he hovers over the bed; over you, holding one of your thighs up, touching his forehead against yours, watching as you’re covered in a layer of sweat, tits bouncing with each violent thrust of his hips. Both wrists secured above your head with one of his meaty hands, whimpers and whines spilling from your mouth as you struggle to remain coherent. Your cunt swallows him greedily, hugs him tightly, pulses around him, coaxes him to pound into you harder and harder, your walls twitching as slick gushes around him, your fingers digging into the back of his hand as you cry out his name, “Simon, Simon, Simon”-

He hisses through his teeth as his balls seize up, his abdomen going taut and his dick twitching in the toy. He rips the fleshlight off and grabs your shirt without a second thought, wrapping it tight around his cock and pumping it. “Gonna cum, gonna cum- fuck- oh, fuck-!” He mumbles to no one as his orgasm is ripped from him, hips canting repeatedly as cum spurts into the fabric of your shirt, leaking out around his thighs as he thrusts into it, thighs aching from the exertion. He bites into his hand and growls as he continues rutting, fighting through the overstimulation to chase what remains of his high – but he soon collapses on the bed, huffing and groaning into the mattress.

His orgasm fades slowly, his heart ramming against his ribcage and the fog clearing from his head. Realization sinks in as he’s hyper-aware of your shirt, still wrapped around his dick, now soaked in his cum. He'd have to wash it, now. Filthy doesn’t even begin to describe how he feels, but he doesn’t find it in him to care anymore. He rolls onto his side, clutching your shirt in his hand. Fuck. One quick tug was all this was supposed to be, and now, he’s picturing you lying across from him. Face flushed, lips swollen and eyes hazy, smiling at him and panting. Telling him you love him. He’d say it back a million times. Listening as you breathe, as you talk about your silly little ideas for the pub, for redecorating his room… craving the moment where you drag yourself closer to him and snuggle into his chest for the rest of the night.

He hasn’t gotten rid of you, like he hoped for. He’s only made it more clear: he wants you. He wants his life to be threaded with yours, he wants to wake up next to you, he wants you to change his routine, to pick up his broken pieces and make a mosaic – and he wants to be there when you need someone, he wants to give you everything you want and more, whether that’s a life up in the clouds or down here, in his arms, in his small bed and lackluster apartment. You’d make it better; you’d make anything better.

He sighs, slowly sitting up and on the edge of the bed. Price was right – he’s got to hurry up and say something to you, or else he’ll be drowned in his obsession. You’d either agree to take this fucked-up giant on a date and end his misery, or you’d reject him, and he could force you from his thoughts and replace you with misery. It’s worked before.  

He pulls off his jeans and shirt and grabs the fleshlight, standing with a grunt and walking into his bathroom. He’s planning to clean the toy, but if he waits long enough, he might just be fucking it again in the shower.

[oceantornadoo]

“captain john price. surely you’ve heard of him?” the secretary blinks at you, faking a smile. “oh, that john! and who are you?” you want to rip her lashes off one by one. “his wife.”

that gets her to stop blinking, to actually look at your ID. “your last name isn’t price.” the gall. “it’s the twenty first century, sweetheart. now check the list and let me through.” she diligently checks the list, nodding at the match. seemingly gone mute, she gestures at you to follow her as she walks down the base hallway, passing countless doors and plaques. she stops outside of his door, doe eyes locked on the name plaque. one knock, then two. “sir, there’s someone here for you. your wife.” a pause and then. “send ‘er in.”

she opens the door and gestures you in. you can’t help the smile that grows on your face as you take in the sight of your surly man, a cigar in hand as he overlooks paperwork. he looks up at the click clack of your heels with a smirk matching your own. dropping your bag on the nearby couch, you round the very large wooden desk to stand in between his legs, john already having turned to welcome you in. there’s just one thing missing. “you can go now.” you turn your head owl-like to meet the secretary’s eyes, noting the shock on her face. she closes her gaping mouth abruptly, then shuts the door with no further ceremony.

“wasn’t aware we got married.” you turn your attention back to john, whose hands are already trailing down your calves to take off your heels as you stand on his comfy office rug. you hum as he removes them one at a time, callused hands brushing the frail bone of your ankle, the arch of your foot. once that’s done, your hands slide into his beard on instinct, settling yourself in his wide lap and thanking the ikea gods he has a humongous chair. “your secretary is pushy.” he snorts, leaning a weathered cheek into your touch. “she’s new.” you cut him off with a kiss, lips brushing his like you’ve been wanting to for days. missing the feel of his skin, the scent of cedar and cigars, lonely and pining for him in bed.

“you haven’t been home in three days, johnathon.” the full name comes out when you’re mad or playing at it, a sly trick to make sure he doesn’t know which is which. unfortunately he can read you too well and ignores your schemes anyways. “mission’s movin’ fast, lovie. been only sleepin’ a couple hours here and there.” you steady yourself on his lap, pushing closer and closer until your pelvises meet. “where?” his eyes flick to the office couch and you hum.

“i’ve missed you.” it rushes out like a wave, too intimate to take back. you shouldn’t be showing your cards so soon but he smiles anyways, blue eyes gleaming. “that why you’re terrorizing the office staff?” you nod against him, too choked up for a proper answer. can’t describe how cold and desolate you are without him to warm you up, inside and out. “i’ve missed y’ too, sweetheart. your feelings aren’t too big f’ me, don’t worry.” he always gets you, unfortunately. you lay your head down on his heartbeat, purring as his hands caress your ass and thighs. “i’ve missed my big strong man taking me to bed.” you emphasize it with a hip roll, grinning at his groan.

“ yeah, baby? missed daddy treating you righ’?” you groan at his embarrassing words. “johnnn, you can’t just say shit like that.” he laughs again, beard brushing the top of your head. “can if it’s true.” you sigh, planting a kiss on his collarbone. “hav’ to get used to that talk if you want the wife excuse to be real one day.” you freeze at his words. surely not. but…maybe? you have to check. “your wife?” the hands that have been exploring pinch your ass, sending you further into his arms. “tha’ alright?” you contemplate it. mrs. price. nice ring to it. “yeah,” you nod, and that’s that.

—

slight misogynistic undertones at the bitchy secretary but it’s fiction oops

[warandpeas]

So, here’s the deal: after we dropped this comic and it turned out to be a success, we felt this itch—an almost physical urge—to revisit it. Not to remake it per se, but to refine, to tweak, to smooth out those minor imperfections that only become visible in hindsight, like hairline cracks in a mirror that otherwise reflects something whole.

Then, along comes this offer from a print studio, and not just any print studio but one with three locations across the globe, which is kind of a big deal if you think about it. Their whole operation is basically the dream scenario for anyone who cares about what they're producing: colors that aren’t just bright but seem to vibrate on some kind of metaphysical level, like they’ve bypassed your retina and gone straight to the part of your brain responsible for wonder. And let’s not forget the paper. This isn’t your run-of-the-mill, office supply store stuff. We’re talking thick, textured, almost sinfully durable paper. Like, you could probably frame this without glass, and it would still hold up against the minor apocalypses that tend to occur in your living room.

Selected Funnies

Speaking of frames—another thing. They’ve got this black one that’s absurdly high-end, so good that they don’t just frame the print, they frame you, like they re-contextualize your entire existence as someone who actually cares about aesthetics. Which, if we’re being brutally honest, is part of the reason for the price, and we get it: some of you have raised an eyebrow or two about the cost, and we don’t blame you. But here’s the thing: The price isn’t arbitrary. It’s a function of the quality and the ethically sound supply chain. Yes, it’s on the higher end of the spectrum. Yes, it’s an investment. But imagine this: your artistically disaffected friends and the snobbish dinner guests whose approval you secretly crave? They’re going to stand in front of this print, struck dumb, maybe for the first time in their lives, because they’re faced with something they can’t cynically deconstruct. And isn’t that worth it?

Selected Funnies

[muchosbesitos]

YOU CAN’T RUN BUT YOU CAN (S)CREAM

innocent trip to a cabin in the woods with your friends. what could go wrong?

pairing: slashers! geto suguru & gojo satoru x fem reader

contents: horror au (non canon compliant), tongue piercing geto, dubcon (?), use of knives, blood play, unprotected p in v, spanking, nipple play, anal play (fingering and ass eating), fingering, oral (f & m receiving), face fucking, cum eating, and pet names (sweet cheeks, pretty, etc.)

author’s note: happy october :p

word count: 6.5k

This truly was something out of a cliché horror movie.

Missing poster after missing poster of people who stirred the nation in the past thirty years hung on every tree bark that the group van passed by, crows circled around the questionable looking cabin that you'd rented for the week (at a decent price, so you supposed you couldn't complain much), and rumors of two slashers followed you since you'd stepped foot into town. Gas clerks giving you puzzled looks when you mentioned your destination, wishing you the best of luck.

You were almost sure that you'd heard one of them whispering a quiet prayer after the five of you left the store, clutching a rosary in between their fingers.

The camp counselor that looked like they wanted to be anywhere but here, somehow seeming to have a stable connection despite the fact you couldn't get any more than one bar. "So, these are the bathrooms. Wouldn't recommend using them since they haven't been cleaned in like the past decade," they didn't even bother to look from their phone, smacking loudly on a piece of gum. This tour was really making you wish you hadn't cheaped out on the cabin.

"And finally, here we have the beds. They probably have fleas on there so just watch out," the camp counselor finally looked up from their phone to face you all. "And what about the rumors that are floating around about the two killers?" One of your friends asked behind you, forming a distance between themselves and the unsteady looking beds. "Probably just rumors. Dunno, don't really stick around after I collect my check."

And you already knew that they didn't exactly care about being reassuring, your suspicions only confirmed by the next words that came out of their mouth, "But just in case, you guys should probably get your affairs in order when you get a stable connection though."

The five of you were left alone to your own devices—having a compass (that you weren't even completely sure still worked properly) and a map hung up on a bulletin board outside the cabin, the edges fraying and the paper seeming like it was just one rain drop from falling apart. "Maybe we should go exploring in case that there is a killer roaming around. Get to know our surroundings," you suggested, hoping that it'd ease the already tense mood.

"And what if the killer's roaming around right now just waiting for the perfect opportunity?" One of your friend's boyfriends, one whose name you didn't really particularly to memorize, was the first one to respond. Like you were the one being stupid in this situation. You decided to bite back your tongue, looking over at the rest of your friends, "Anyone else want to go?"

You ended up going on your little exploration of the woods alone.

What you assumed was supposed to be a pond, only the hole remaining after the water all but evaporated, remained outside of the house. The stench of dead fish welcomed you when you took a couple steps closer to it, a few traces of dried blood on the sides. Probably just animal blood. Or at least, all you could do was hope that it was just animal blood. You continued walking through the rocky trail that the map indicated, spotting a couple of the landmarks highlighted.

While you walked, you couldn't help but feel as if something was lurking behind you. As if something was keeping eyes on every movement that you were making. But every time that you turned around, the most that you'd see would be a squirrel running through a patch of grass. "Hello?" You called out, your voice echoing through the leaves. Disappearing into nothing. And despite receiving no response, that uneasy feeling inside you refused to simmer.

You followed the map for a while—nothing that was really worth writing home about. Maybe the rumors had just been to attract more attention? Because it truly did look like just a basic campground.

A public bathroom that you could practically see the green fumes coming out of, dead flies scattered across the floor from the stench. A well that met the same fate as the pond, a small pool of water at the bottom. The only thing that seemed to be of aid if the rumors did turn out to be true was the camp counselor's cabin, the building in slightly better shape than the other one. A landline phone hung off the wall, though upon further inspection, it really only served as decoration.

A good enough hiding spot if needed, though.

You decided to go back to the cabin before the sun went down, since you were vastly unprepared when you'd made the decision to come out here. Your mosquito bitten legs being the stellar witnesses to that. A fire crackled in between of three logs set up, marshmallows and chocolate set on the side while some of your friends went out to gather a couple sticks. "Hey, I'm really sorry about the way that Logan acted earlier, he's just being a dick." So that was his name.

"You don't have to apologize, don't worry," you shrugged her off, getting the graham crackers that you'd packed in your bag beforehand. The man in question brought out a cooler of beer, and if you had to guess, he probably put more effort into packing that than his actual clothes. Bottle after bottle of vodka, tequila, and cheap beer stuck out from the sides once he'd set it down. And you hadn't seen him change out of the sweat stained shirt he had on just yet.

That effectively marked the end of that conversation, the rest getting distracted with getting a drink off the cooler. "You don't wanna get one?" You heard from behind you, their voice already starting to sound the slightest bit slurred. In less of a span than five minutes. "No thanks," you assured, sticking with just the s'more you had at the end of a stick. Last thing you needed to be was uncoordinated if you needed to run. Just in case.

They didn't seem to mind it too much either, shrugging it off and muttering, "More for us, then." Conversation flowed easily between the group, ghost stories being shared just for the sake of it with loud laughter bustling from drunken antics. "Apparently they're supposed to take virgins as a sacrifice or something," Logan blurted out, slapping a hand over his knee as if it were the funniest thing he could've said.

"No way, man. I heard that they're the ghosts of these two kids that drowned in the river down the path." Conversation and drinks kept flowing much after the sun went down, with only crickets chirping around. Begrudgingly, the group managed to make inside after a while and got out a couple sleeping bags to place on the floor. Last thing any of you all needed was to have to endure this trip out with fleas.

Loud scraping on the side of the wood woke you up from your slumber, wind whistling almost furiously. Almost as if a knife were being dragged across the surface. Your friends were already sitting up when you got up from your spot, their bodies seeming too tense for it to just be an innocent prank. "Maybe it's just the wind," you tried to rationalize this just to being paranoid, but even you couldn't lie about the two shadows that appeared on the side of the window.

"If the wind wanted to kill us," one of your friends muttered from underneath the comfort of her pink heart covered blanket.

"Since you went on that little trip earlier, tell us where to go," The same man that had treated you like you were stupid before now sounded like he was on the verge of peeing his pants, his voice raising up to almost a squeak. The group's movements were slow, the alcohol having taken a toll on them pretty quickly. "We're supposed to run this w—" and before you even had the chance to finish, the four of them took off running.

And every rule that had been memorized during horror movie nights was completely discarded in a moment of panic, the group splitting up almost immediately. You took off running where you could see the faint outline of a path, your footsteps pounding into the ground with every rushed step that you made. You were running off pure adrenaline, the burning sensation in your chest after running for what seemed to be an eternity almost didn't seem too bad. Just keep running.

Every breath that you took almost seemed to be too loud, your chest heaving with every sharp intake you took. Clasping a hand over your mouth, you took the opportunity to gauge your surroundings. You could barely see past a couple feet, most of the trees just blending together in the far distance. You figured that maybe you'd be in the clear for a couple more minutes before you had to find another spot. Get the ache in your legs to go down enough for you to keep running.

Or at least that's what you originally figured.

Until you heard the crunching of leaves echoing all too close, the whistling of a familiar tune you just couldn't put your finger on (not while you were too busy trying not to die, anyways). "Don't even bother running now, it's just gonna make our job harder," the voice came from somewhere way too close, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling up. He almost sounded like you were the one inconveniencing them by thinking about running.

Your heart pounded beneath your chest with every bated breath you took, your own traitorous lungs betraying you with every noise they had you make. Every step that you took almost seemed to be too slow, every ache in your muscles holding you back. "You can't get that far, y'know," a separate voice echoed through the depth of the woods, only confirming the rumors that it was two killers. "Just trip over thin air already," the other whined, the sound of the knife scraping on the ground following.

You willed yourself to keep running—even if you weren't too completely sure where you'd go if you did manage to escape. The nearest town that you'd seen on the way down here was close to two hours ago, you were bound to be dead meat by the time you got there. You shook off those thoughts, trying to keep yourself from making too much noise while you ran. And you'd almost succeeded until you bumped into something firm. You almost didn't bring yourself to look up, not wanting to face the possibility that it wasn't a tree.

"Please be a wall or something," you muttered to yourself, your eyes flicking open to see what exactly you'd bumped into.

You were met with a masked figure in front of you, a cheap hockey mask with dried blood clinging onto the sides. "Not a wall, sorry to disappoint. Just got yourself all sweaty after I told you not to run, sweets," he clicked his tongue, shaking his head in faux disappointment. Teasing you even further.

Another masked figure came into your line of vision, each one carrying a knife with blood dripping down to taint the forest leaves below. And every muscle in your body was begging you to move—to continue to keep moving, but you couldn't bring yourself to get unstuck from the position you were. The lankier one of the two approached your left, hooking your chin up with his knife. "Don't get mad at her too much. She was better fun than the guy who just fainted."

No ghosts or virgin sacrifices so far it seemed, at the very least.

"Much prettier too," you weren't even aware when tears started to roll down your cheeks, only becoming aware of them when the other guy approached your right. Using a gloved finger to swipe underneath your eyes, barely pushing the mask up to reveal his mouth. A silver tongue piercing illuminated by the pale moonlight flickered out when he went to lick it away, shamelessly tasting your salty tears. Seemingly reveling in how scared shitless you were.

"Those friends of yours gave away your location pretty quickly. Something something, kill you instead of kill them. You might have to consider who you get as friends, sweet cheeks," the knife was pressed deeper into the column of your throat as he spoke, the motion almost seeming way too gentle for a man threatening your life. That was until you felt a sting a couple seconds later, drops of blood dripping onto the collar of your shirt.

The man on your left pulled his mask up in a similar fashion as the other one, barely exposing his lips before he leaned in against your neck. You didn't even get a chance to react before his tongue darted out, licking a stripe up your throat and cleaning up the blood in return. "We can be your new friends, sweetheart. You're not half bad after all," he licked the remaining blood off his lips, toying with you all the much more than the other one.

"Not really looking for new friends," you uttered, the sting from the cut almost combining with some sort of sick pleasure? Maybe the adrenaline was starting to get to your head, because there was no way that you almost started to enjoy it. These men were still trying to kill you. The words reverberated through your head like a mantra, willing for them to stick long enough that you'd get away. Kick them, run away, do something. Anything.

And you could've sworn all the blood in your body went cold, your eyes widening to the size of saucers when you felt the cold edge of a knife digging into the side of your arm. "That's if she manages to escape," the other drawled, pressing the knife just hard enough for it to leave an indent. "I doubt it though, Satoru. She's run all out of adrenaline."

"Please," you weren't even sure what you were begging for at this point, if you were asking them to take it easy on you or if you were asking for them to let you go. Probably the latter if you were in a better condition. "Shh shh, me and Suguru are gonna take care of you. Just let us play for a while first," Satoru whispered, running a finger through the cut that he'd made. Wiping away the excess blood dripping down, sticking his finger in his mouth.

And it was almost sinful how pretty the man looked despite the circumstance, a light flush on his cheeks when he pulled the mask up just to expose his face. His shirt pulled up enough to show sweat covered abs, a white happy trail leading down to his pants. "Don't tell me you liked me better with the mask on," he almost seemed to pout as he spoke, cupping your cheeks between his hand. And from here, you could practically feel just how long they were.

Before you let your mind wander into more shameless places, you frantically shook your head. "No, no, you look fine, I swear," you let out a nervous laugh, trying to avoid having your voice shake too much. "You don't gotta lie to him, pretty girl," his partner, Suguru, brought your attention back over to him, taking off his mask as well. And the predicament you found yourself in suddenly seemed all that much unfair.

A little voice in the back of your head kept reminding you that the two of them were psychopaths who were just running after you with a knife a couple moments ago, but it was quickly pushed over by just how attractive the two of them were. The white haired man's partner was just as handsome as he was, long black hair cascading past his shoulders. The two of them contrasting each other almost to perfection.

You were broken out of your stupor when Satoru (if that was even his name) grabbed your chin, letting out a laugh as he analyzed your expression. "Nah, she's not lying. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was turned on," he noted with a laugh, his fingers moving down to the front buttons of your shorts. "You don't mind if I test his theory, do you?" Geto didn't wait for a response before unbuttoning your shorts in a haste, dipping his fingers into your cunt.

And the traitorous squelch your cunt gave out when he dipped his fingers inside you spoke more than you could. Suguru brought his finger to his lips, wrapping them around them as he seemed to savor the taste of you. "Don't hog her, asshole," Satoru muttered next to you, walking over to where Suguru was standing. The white haired man tangled one hand around the other's hair, coaxing him to part his lips. The two of them exchanged a needy kiss in front of you without second thought.

Which would've been the perfect opportunity for you to run. If you weren't frozen to your spot as the two of them intertwined tongues, their kiss almost seeming more spit and teeth than an actual kiss. A string of saliva connected the two of them when they pulled away, a pink flush to each of their cheeks. A little more prominent on Satoru, though. "Taste so sweet," Satoru murmured, facing you with his hands on your hips. The knife seeking to have been discarded.

Suguru moved to stand behind you, leaving you sandwiched between the two men. "You want us to take care of you?" Suguru questioned, moving to the side of your neck. Licking up the column of your throat in a similar fashion that Satoru had done, nibbling down on your pulse point. Leaving you marked in more ways than just the cut from before. You nodded, your back almost arching into his touch. A light shudder ran down your spine when you felt Satoru's hands on your breasts, circling your nipples.

Except you weren't shivering out of fear this time around, but rather out of sheer arousal. Your perked up nipples and the wet patch on your panties only serving to prove that further. "Come on, I wanna hear you say it," Satoru flicked both your nipples between his pointer and thumb, his touch making you arch further into Suguru. "Please. Need you to take care of me," you breathed out, your body almost falling lax underneath their touch.

"Need, huh?" Satoru had a cocky grin on his face, pulling your shirt up and over your arms. "Yes, need," you reiterated, your hand immediately going to his fluffy white hair when he leaned in to press open mouthed kisses to your collarbones. You could feel Suguru's cock straining in his pants behind you, the tip of it rubbing against the back of your shorts with every movement of his hips. "Even said please and everything," Suguru sounded just as breathless as you, if not even more.

Satoru's tongue swirled across your left nipple, his fingers rolling the other one in sync. All the while he kept looking up at you, cerulean eyes almost seeming to glisten under the moon as he did. Your eyes closed in bliss, your hand pushing Satoru's head even further into your breasts. Needing everything that he was able to give. Euphoria quickly took place in exchange for the fear that coursed your body earlier.

Suguru's hand trailed down your stomach down to the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down just enough for your panties to be exposed. A light breeze hit your cunt when he swiftly pushed them aside with two fingers, dipping one inside of you. Your slick coating his fingertip, glistening under the light when he pulled it away from you. Your breathing grew heavier, your chest heaving for completely different reasons. All the aches in your body had almost seemed to go away.

Though you were pretty sure they'd come back by the two of them were finished with you, if the feeling of Suguru's cock behind you was anything to go by. Satoru pulled away, leaving your breasts with teeth indents and your nipples covered in his spit. "So pretty," Satoru noted before slipping your shorts down, letting them fall down to the dirty floor below. You made no move to move when they pooled around your ankles, Satoru already moving to take your panties off.

"Let me taste her first," Satoru spoke up before Suguru could, licking his lips as if he were about to taste a delicacy. Suguru didn't make any noise of protest, simply shifting to take Satoru's earlier position. The white haired man placed his hands on your thighs, forcing you into a half bent position before spreading your legs apart. "Oh fuck," a low curse escaped your throat, Satoru's tongue wasting no time in licking your folds.

You pushed your hips to meet his tongue, Satoru's tongue darting inside of you. His mouth making out with your dripping cunt like it was something that he was made to do. You weren't even sure which of the two you was being louder, moans escaping the two of you. Suguru placed his hand on your chin, pulling your attention back to him. His cock stood in front of you, your eyes almost widening at the size. It wasn't too big, but the girth.

"Not the scariest thing you've seen tonight," Suguru snorted from above, the tip of his cock rubbing against your lips. Precum coating your bitten lips like a lip gloss. You opened your mouth, taking the tip inside your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the sensitive skin, licking down to his frenulum. "Fuck, Satoru," you words came out muffled, his tongue flicking at your sensitive clit. His tongue swirling around the nerves with no particular pattern.

You let spit dribble down Suguru's cock to make this all the much easier to you, looking up to see him already staring at you. He placed his hands on your cheeks, catching you off guard when he thrusted in your mouth. "Don't bite it off," he warned, his thrusts starting off slow to get adjusted to it. To get you adjusted to simply being a hole for him to fuck. Your cheeks hollowed out in an attempt to fit more of him inside with ease, each thrust having his cock further down your throat.

A thick finger circled around the tight rim of your asshole, the gloves from earlier quickly discarded of. "Sucking me in so good," Satoru let out a groan behind you, slowly pushing a finger inside of your ass. Whether the tears prickling in your waterline were from how Suguru was using you as his fleshlight or from the sudden stretch, you weren't completely sure. "S-So tight, fuck," and the man behind you almost sounded entranced, starting to pump his finger into your asshole.

"That's it, there you go, good," murmured praises behind you completely contrasted the harsh thrusts that the man in front of you was giving, his cock nearly touching the back of your throat. His heavy balls slapping against your chin when he pushed it to the hilt. "Taking us so well, this what you wanted?" Suguru questioned, looking down at you. And you just nodded, not completely sure if he did want an answer. And that only made him laugh.

"So sweet, so good," And just from a couple minutes of having his nose deep into your cunt, Satoru already sounded drunk off your pussy. The rhythm of the fingers inside your ass fell out of sync, your hole being stretched out more than you planned for this trip to this cabin (which admittedly, had been not at all). Satoru switched the two, his tongue flicking inside your puckered hole while two fingers pushed inside of your cunt with ease.

Satoru's fingers curled to hit your g-spot every time he pushed them inside, his long fingers reaching spots only your toy back home had done. His tongue flicked around the rim of your ass before he spat a thick glob of spit inside of you, vibrations shooting up your spine with every moan that he let out. Which turned into a chain reaction of sorts—the sensation of those vibrations having you moaning against Suguru's cock.

Suguru's thrusts got faster, the tip of his cock pushing against the back of your throat. Almost hitting your uvula with ease. And in comparison to his sharp thrusts, he reached down with one hand to wipe your tears away. Sucking them away like he did earlier, the gesture almost too tender for the way he was making you take his cock. "Taking us both so well, practically made for it," he cooed, your tongue running down the underside of his cock.

With one final flick of his tongue, Satoru pulled away from your ass. You didn't even have to look behind you to know he was cleaning your slick off his fingers before he delved back in, his nose prodding against your cunt when his mouth latched onto your clit. Rolling his tongue along the hood, his fingers spreading your walls open with ease. Especially when he added one more, the slight sting in between your legs slowly started to become pleasurable.

You rocked yourself back to meet Satoru's tongue, your nails almost digging into Suguru's thighs to maintain your position. And if you didn't know any better, you'd almost say that Suguru was enjoying the small sting—his thrusts starting to get sloppier. "Don't stop, don't stop," muffled whines escaped from your lips, vibrations shooting up the other's cock in the process. Your hand went down to Suguru's balls, rubbing the sensitive skin with your fingertips.

And that was enough to send him over the edge—a loud groan escaping from his lips. "Gonna make me cum," he uttered as a warning, pulling his cock out of your mouth before he had a chance to. Changes were he didn't want to blow his load just yet. Suguru let you maintain yourself up by holding onto him, your hands starting to shake as you got closer to your orgasm. "There you go, take it princess."

"Mhm, yeah, almost there," you moaned out as a response, your eyes rolling back the more desperate that Satoru's flicks got. Like he needed you to cum for his sake more than yours. "Yeah? Satoru's gonna take care of you, just gotta let go," his fingers stroked your cheek with such a tenderness, almost like the fact he didn't want to kill you a mere moments earlier didn't exist. A fact that you yourself had forgotten, the only thing running through your head being how much you needed to cum.

Every flick of Satoru's tongue had you dripping onto his mouth, your walls clenching around nothing. Every sweet word that Suguru whispered to you making you get all the much closer. "Right there, right there, please," your voice came out hoarse, your hands balling into fists against Suguru's thighs. "Ah ah, fuc-" You were only able to get fragments out, unsure of what you were even trying to say. And even then, the two of them seemed to have an understanding.

All decorum that Satoru seemed to show earlier quickly flew out the window—too enamored with the taste of your cunt. He spat into it with a fervor, savoring the taste of you like one would their favorite candy. "Gonna cum," you managed to get out before your jaw fell slack. "There you go, that's it, take it," Even if the sweetness Suguru was giving you might've been fake, that combined with Satoru's fervent fingers and tongue had you reaching your orgasm with ease.

Soundless moans came out of you, your pussy doing most of the noise for you anyways. You came in a manner of a couple seconds, your release dripping onto Satoru's expectant tongue. And it was almost like he hadn't realized it just yet, continuing to push his tongue inside of you with a needy fervor. "Shit, too sensitive," you let out a whine and that pushed him out of his stupor, his hands letting go of your thighs. Albeit reluctantly.

You looked over at Satoru through a dazed expression, your slick glistening around his mouth like a trophy. He only licked his mouth clean, wiping the rest off with the back of his hand. The two of them switched positions, Satoru's cock standing erect in front of you. It was slightly longer than Suguru's, albeit not as thick, but just as pretty if you had to say. His angry mushroom tip leaked drops of precum, practically twitching in anticipation.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, looking up at Satoru as you did so. Watching him already start to unravel from just the simplest bits of stimulation. All the while, Suguru dragged the tip of his cock along your folds, coating it with a mixture of your slick and Satoru's saliva. A muffled moan escaped from your lips when Suguru stretched you open, none of the prep that Satoru had done earlier proving to be effective.

"Fuck, tight, so tight," Suguru let out labored breaths, pushing his cock deeper inside of you. Up until the point where his balls were hitting your ass. His hands gripped your hips, your own gripping onto Satoru's to maintain whatever semblance of balance you had left. The man above you was quickly turning into a mess, as much as he tried to hide it. "Take it, just like that, f-fuckkk," loud groans escaped from his throat, his head thrown back.

Your tongue ran across the veins running on the sides of his cock, your hand pumping his shaft at an unsteady rhythm. You took Satoru's cock in your mouth, bobbing your head to what you could reach. Your hand making up for what you couldn't, the two almost working in tandem. Spit dribbled from the corners of your mouth, some of it mixing with the drops of precum. With every push of Suguru's hips, you were only pushed deeper into Satoru's cock.

Satoru placed a hand on your cheek, keeping you in place as you slowly began to bob your head to take him even further. Not that you managed to take much of him in, the man too big for you to take all his cock in your mouth. Your hand wrapped around what you couldn't reach, jerking him at the same time the tip reached the back of your throat. "S-So good, taking me so well," and his voice came out in almost a desperate whine, none of the teasing from earlier showing.

If you had to guess, he was probably needier than you were in the moment. Your tongue ran alongside the underside of his cock, licking along his frenulum and swirling around his dripping tip. His hips moved to meet the movement of your hand, his thrusts slower than Suguru had done earlier. Satoru didn't complain when your nails dug further into his thigh, almost seeming to enjoy it. The two of them had a thing for pain, from what you could tell.

"Just a masochist, hm?" You quipped, taking advantage of the fact that he was much too stimulated to give you a teasing remark in response. A moan escaped from your lips when you felt a sharp sting to your ass, the flesh jiggling from the smack that Suguru delivered. "Be nice, you're not exactly in a position to be making little quips," he warned, though his voice didn't hold much bite to it. His thrusts got deeper, your walls stretching to fit his girth.

"Y-Yeah, be nice," Satoru tried to add onto Suguru's words, but all he managed to do was let out another whine. If the other didn't sound intimidating, Satoru just sounded downright pathetic. Your hand went down to his balls, holding his sac in your palm, grasping it gently. Satoru's mouth immediately opened, his eyes closing in pure bliss with needy whines slipping out like water.

Suguru was much quieter than Satoru, though a low moan escaped through his lips on occasion. When he figured no one was listening. His thrusts were almost punishing, the tip of his cock hitting your g-spot every time that he thrusted into you. "Oh fuck!" A loud needy moan escaped from your lips—the very same thing you were making fun of Satoru of, when you felt his fingers go down to your clit. Rubbing against the nerve with just enough force for it to be pleasurable, rather than just overstimulating.

Your walls clenched around Suguru's cock, practically milking him for everything that he had to give. "Ah! Ah! Don't stop, Suguru! S-So good," you whined out, vibrations shooting up Satoru's spine in the process. "D-Don't. Tell. Me How. To. Fuck. You," each word was punctuated with a thrust of his hips, "Fucking brat." And despite his words, you couldn't help the way your slick coated his shaft with every movement of your hips.

You felt it dripping down your thighs, the ground beneath you a mixture of fluids and blood. "Don't forget about me," Satoru let out a whine, your head bobbing to take his shaft deeper than you'd taken him before. "You make it hard to forget when you're so needy," your muttered words turned into a moan, at another smack to your other cheek in return. "S-Said be nice to him," Suguru tried to sound imposing, but the way his voice cracked gave him away almost immediately.

"You're just as much of a masochist as he is, letting two psycho killers fuck you like this," he added, the loud slapping of skin against skin only proving his point. You spat against Satoru's shaft, your chin and mouth covered in a mixture of both of their precum and your spit. Your hand continued to roll his balls the way one would marbles, your thumb running across the sensitive skin. "'M sensitive there, not too much," Satoru moaned out, but the way his hips jerked to meet the movement of your tongue betrayed him.

The two of you were more similar than you would've originally thought, really.

Satoru was the first one out of the three of you to cum, his chest heaving and his abs tensing up when he felt himself getting closer. "I'm close, so so close," and you guessed that his words were supposed to serve as a warning, but you made no move to take your mouth off him. "Fuckk, take it. Just like that," he cooed, his mouth open in an o-shape. Watery spurts of cum shot onto your mouth in a manner of seconds, the taste of him pretty neutral. Better than battery acid cum, you supposed.

Your walls clenched around Suguru's cock, leaving him with little space to move. Your grip was like a vice, milking him the closer you got to your own orgasm. Your nails dug into Satoru's thighs in front of you, crescent indents marking his pale thighs almost instantly. "So tight, you gonna cum?" Suguru maintained the same rhythm to his ability, his fingers rubbing at your clit in the same manner as before. "Y-Yeah, please lemme cum, please, please," your moans came out more and more incoherent.

"Not sayin' no, take it when you're ready," and with one final thrust of hips, your orgasm pooled out of you to form a creamy ring around the base of his shaft. You eased the grip that you had on Satoru's thighs, looking up to see him still coming down from his own orgasm. Suguru's thrusts only got sloppier the closer that he got to his own, his balls slapping against your ass in his fervor to cum. And if he had any intention to pull out, the way your cunt clenched around him would've made that all the more impossible.

"Shit, shit, gonna cum," Suguru, who seemed to have more composure than his partner, groaned out as he reached his own orgasm. Spurts of cum shot inside of your cunt, your walls clenching rhythmically against his shaft. Even if you couldn't see him from where you were standing—you didn't need to just to know that his load was much bigger than Satoru's. His orgasm lasted much longer, leaving the man behind you spent. A couple seconds passed by before he pulled his softening shaft out of your cunt.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," your moans echoed across the forest, your hands resting against the cabin walls next to you. The two of them didn't seem fazed by the fact they were licking Suguru's cum off your cunt, if anything, you'd say that Satoru seemed to enjoy it a bit too much. "So good," he moaned against your cunt, his tongue flicking against Suguru's when he pushed inside of you. You turned your head to look over at the two of them, the two of them exchanging the combined taste of you and Suguru in a needy kiss.

"Goddamn greedy," you heard Suguru mutter from his side when he'd pulled away, the silver piercing that you'd felt earlier flicking against your clit. Once the two of them had deemed that you were cleaned up enough, they stood up from where they crouched behind you. Satoru dangling your shorts in his hand, taking advantage of your slowed movements to dangle them even higher just when you were about to reach them.

"Come on, we'll give you a five minute head start. If you can stand properly, that is," Satoru spoke up once he'd pulled his pants up, zipping them back up. And as much as you wanted to take advantage of it, you could hardly move a limb without it shaking like a leaf. "Look at her. Think we'll have be nicer than that, maybe ten minutes," Suguru let out a laugh as he zipped himself up as well, wrapping an hand around your arm to help you stand up properly.

It was only then when the sound of a bell echoed throughout the space, bright lights shining above the three of you. Bringing you back to the fact that this was just another cliché horror movie. "Alright, cut. Let's take fifteen before we start on the next scene," you could barely make out the shape of the director as he spoke through the megaphone, the lights above blinding everything that wasn't in close proximity.

What you'd mistaken as the taste of iron had been the stench of corn syrup and ketchup filling your senses, Suguru and Satoru completely covered in fake blood. The two of them waited until no one was facing the stage, Satoru hooking his fingers around your belt loops from behind. "Those moans of yours didn't sound too realistic. Good thing we're very willing to help," Suguru whispered in your ear, your slick coated panties hanging in between his fingers.

"We'll even keep the masks on this time if you're into that."

All you could hope for was that the rest of your cast members would think you were screaming and not creaming. Again.

[c4teyezz]

my fav jjk men with babies lol

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my fav jjk men x afab!reader

i kept the baby gender neutral for yall in case, i dont want ppl coming to me like “nO hE wOulD dEfinEtly hAve a-“ shut.

note: on nanamis part it mentions reader being pregnant 🤰

characters: gojo saturo, geto suguru, sukuna ryomen, higuruma hiromi, nanami kento, kusakabe atsuya, toji fushiguro

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Gojo Saturo

- spoils the baby 24/7 and the things the baby has are the best of the best, the price doesnt matter to him

- idk why but he likes taking a big whiff of the babies hair then going like “ahhhh!” after and then kissing their scalp

“look babe i just bought some new clothes for our little one” gojo said smiling up at you as you entered the room. gojo is sitting on the foam rug thing with the baby laying down on it

gojo held up the baby carefully while supporting their neck at the same time to show you their fit. “thats so cute!” you responded then sitting down with him, you look at the tags that gojo ripped out from the clothes “saturo what did i say abt rubbish- $200!? WE SHOULD BE USING THAT MONEY FOR THEIR FOOD”

Geto Suguru

- i feel like hes gonna be a fairly strict but not too strict of a father

- he loveeessss wrapping them up in his robes, hugging/carrying them around like that wherever he goes in the house

“ah-! let go of my hair!” suguru demanded but not doing anything to stop it, the baby just giggles at their fathers reaction not knowing that their lowkey hurting their dad bc obviously theyre just a baby…

you take a quick pic of the sight thats in front of you, giggling along with your baby

“damn this thing is strong!” he said

“dont call your kid a thing!”

Sukuna Ryomen

- he mostly watches you take care of “the brat” he calls them, but is willing to help as long as you give him clear instructions on what the hell hes supposed to do with “it”

- i can see him holding his kid upside down with their legs when theyre like 6 or something and sometimes he drops them on purpose before quickly and successfully catching them, he has no intentions of hurting them, hes mostly doing it to fuck with you. i mean he made the kid laugh so lol

“what the fuck its crying” he pointed out to you as you rock the baby gently in your arms

“yeah i can see that… and stop calling them ‘it’, theyre not some sort of rare space specimen”

Higuruma Hiromi

- even tho in the manga hes portrayed as the classic “no humor, cold, tired man in a suit” kind of guy, i honestly dont think hes just that, hes just like that in professional settings and when things are serious. i can see him make light jokes, like he did with itadori, so he’d definitely do the same with his baby

- he likes gently scratching the babys back, as he knows its relaxing i mean who doesnt like a good scratch on the back sometimes. he doesnt mind when the baby starts fiddling with his tie, but when the baby chews on if he definitely gets a bit grossed out

“bah!” hiromi jokingly surprised the baby which made the baby flinch and cry at their father, hiromi laughed at the baby’s raction “sorry” Hiromi gently apologised while smiling at them, then went back to scare them one more time by covering his face then quickly uncovering his face “boo!”

this time the baby laughed with their father and you recorded the fun moment

(this is also inspired by a reel i saw on instagram, it was so cute 😭)

Nanami Kento

- HANDS DOWN THE BEST FATHER DUH WTF??? do we even have to argue???? since the baby hes been cutting his alcohol drinking as he doesnt want the baby’s sensitive lungs to suffer from the smell. he also lovessssss skin to skin, when the baby popped out and it was his turn to hold the baby in his bare chest, he was over the moonnnnn

- ngl he would mostly take care of the baby more than you, his excuse is since you carried the baby for 9 months, so its his job to support and deal with the baby most of the time mwah mwah

you stare at him feeding your baby their bottle, whose also safely tucked in his loving arms

“kento can i feed them now?” you asked him

“go rest honey, you deserve it” he responded, kissing you on the forehead

“thats my baby youre hogging!”

Kusakabe atsuya

- omg he likes making the baby dance, the baby cant walk yet, so he’d hold them up and make them look like theyre dancing by making them look like their doing that default baby dance toddlers do or gently swing them side to side

- loves placing them on his chest as they sleep as he fiddles with their tiny hand. also he strictly calls them by their shorter version of their name or a random nickname that suits them

“mmph! stop trying to grab my lolly!” atsuya told the baby as it tried reaching for it, eventually the baby caught the stick of the lollipop and forced it out of their dads mouth and putting it into theirs

“hehe gross”

fushiguro toji

- he plays with them by making them pretend that theyre boxing with their hands

- naps naps napsssssss, he always puts them on his chest so that they can nap together on the couch. but sometimes when toji snores, he lets out a loud snore which scares the baby into waking up crying lmfaoooooooo

“hell nah”

“toji just wipe their ass already, im trying to show you how change their diaper”

“fucking hell…” toji muttered as he slowly lifts the baby by their legs

okay maybe hes not the best when it comes to helping sometimes, but at least hes willing to try

༶•┈┈┈┈┈୨

maayong gabii lahat!!! (good evening everyone!!!)

hehe i just wanna say thank you guys for the likes, reblogs, comments, and followers so far :))))

damo nga salamatttt (thank you so muchhhh)

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐩𝐫𝐞-𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

P.s. this is pre-relationship, when your feelings are still untold...some of the guys are still awkward and some are not :')

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐄

Visiting Price in his office was a common occurance. Sometimes you brought a drink with you, other times you just brought your old tired self.

This was one of those times.

And without looking up, he patted his knee and you hesitated. But only for a moment because as soon as you saw his pen stop scratching on the paper, you stalked over to him.

You rest your head on his shoulder, trying not to think about the goddamn awful day you had. You knew John would want to talk about it when you were ready. It's one of the things you love about him. He wants to help you no matter what.

As if on Instinctive John wraps his arm around your shoulder and brings you in closer. Your face was flushes against his neck and your hands cling to his other arm.

John is so warm, and makes you feel so safe. Everyday is a battle for you; because you just want to fall into his arms and kiss him until you can no longer breathe.

But you can't, because he's your superior and you don't want to jeapordise anything.

𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

Wide-eyed and trying not to move. Even his breathing becomes shallower. It's lucky he's wearing a mask otherwise there would've been a bright red Ghost for everyone to see.

Continues to death glare the others, placing a firm finger in front of his lips. Reminding them to SHUT UP.

No one is allowed to talk when you are asleep in the common area. On Ghost's literal orders.

But he never thought you would actually fall asleep on him.

It was a nice feeling. One that made him giddy inside. Like ... he had been chosen for something important.

And maybe he had. This could be a way for your body to tell Ghost that "I WANT YOU!" But unless you actually tell him, he isn't going to get it - or believe it.

𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊

Warmth travels to his cheeks as he realises that you've practically clung yourself to him and fallen asleep.

He had taken you to the movies because you had some spare time on your hands and wanted to feel like normal people for once.

But halfway through, drowsiness had overcome you, and consciousness faded away.

It was easy to fall asleep next to Gaz, whose smell and gentle heartbeat felt like heaven.

You hadn't wondered if this was going to far, you trusted Gaz enough to tell you if it was. But he would never tell you that.

Because there was no 'too far.' He would do anything for you. He just didn't know how to get you to see that.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇

Oh our sweet boy Soap, he would become so goddamn giddy. His cheeks turn red as he moves ever so slowly to look at you.

Watching movies together was a common occurance. Your place or his, it didn't matter. Even the movie didn't matter - though you both argued over it relentlessly. It was a way for you both to spend more time together. A reason to say why you were late for ___

Your head had dropped a little and his eyebrows flew upwards. He would never live it down if you fell straight into his crotch area.

So he moved his arm around your shoulders and let you turn fully around to hug him.

Your face pressed against his neck, breathing in his scent.

"Tha gaol agam ort," he whispers into your hair. You only barely heard it. It means (I love you).

He only ever says it when you cannot hear him. But litte did he know you were catching on to certain Gaelic words. Maybe not at that moment, but you had better hearing than he thought you did.

𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐆

Did not know what to do, and in the midst of his panic, he had accidentally wriggled his shoulder. Which meant you curled up on his lap.

"Oh maus..." Konig whispered, afraid that you would wake up and freak out. But if he truly believed that, then he hadn't been paying attention to your friendship at all.

After ten minutes of the movie playing but Konig couldn't stop staring down at your curled form in his lap, he slowly and gently moved the hair from your face. Stroking your cheeks, running his fingers over your nose and forehead.

It was right then that he fell in love with you. Truly fell in love with you.

A monster and his love. That's how Konig saw the two of you.

𝐍𝐈𝐊𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐈

Charming, suave, flirtacious and utterly awkward when it comes to you.

He makes as much spare time as he can to spend it with you. And curling up on the couch seemed to be the best idea for today.

His large hands wrap around your form and pull you closer.

"Иди спать, малышка" (go to sleep little one) he says quietly, watching you intently as you drift into a deep slumber.

Maybe there is a gun wedged between him and the armrest, but he knows his lifestyle, and how many people want to kill him.

But that is nothing compared to spending time with you.

𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍

Coughs; yes he actually coughs and a few times at that. Why did he cough? He has no clue. Was he trying to wake you up? See if you accidentally forgot he was there?

In all honesty he was panicking - this wasn't the type of friendship that you had. It was all banter and poking fun at each other.

Someone actually asked if Keegan was being bullied a few weeks ago.

He snorted and just walked away. It was probably the best thing that recruit could've said.

It was after a long mission and you barely had time to undress from your military clothes, when Keegan barged in and held up two family sized bars of chocolate. "As a thank you for having my back out there, kid."

You couldn't deny the fluttering in your stomach. But saving face was what you two did. So you took both of the offerings and laid down in bed. "If you're having all the chocolate, I'm not leaving" "I'm not giving it back Keegan." "Looks like you have a bunk buddy then."

And the tall man climbed into bed beside you awkwardly trying to get comfortable. "Jackass," you mumbled. But a slight smile was on your lips. And within an hour you fell asleep.

When you woke up, Keegan was practically ontop of you, melted chocolate on his lips and slight snoring coming from his nose.

𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒

"What the fuck," he mutters to himself as you rest your head on his shoulder on the plane.

You had both been placed on a mission for months and now that it was over, you were exhausted (to say the very least).

The whole time you were together, there had always been bickering. Especially when you were undercover as a married couple.

So you were used to the hostility of Graves (even though he barely had any anymore when it came to you).

Hence, you were way too tired to give a shit. Honestly, if he were to wriggle you off, you would clutch his arm to keep him still.

But he didn't do that. Instead he feigns annoyance and rests his head against the back of his chair. His eyes flickering over to you every few seconds to see if you were okay (if that were to be brought up, he would say that he was looking out the window).

As the time went by, and you woke up, you found that Graves had found your hand and was clutching it.

𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐉𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎

Sinks into you as well. His culture isn't so rigid as others. And showing affection means multiple things, but the main thing is that it means he cares.

Where your head lolled on his shoulder, he moved back on the couch, yawned, and pulled you down with him. Your sleeping head was rested gently against Ale's chest.

He knew about your feelings for him, and you knew about his, so this situation was awkward. He knew he had to step up and say something, but it had turned into a game of sorts. As if the first person who spoke up would lose.

But having you on his chest, smelling your hair, feeling the weight of your body on his, he decided that he would happily be the loser.

[loveindefinitely]

02 — 𝘞𝘏𝘈𝘛 𝘐'𝘔 𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘕𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛

༊*·˚ LUST FOR LIFE — task force 141 x reader

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, legal age-gaps, inexperienced reader, angst, graphic violence, slight power imbalance, enemies to lovers, slow burn, betrayal

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

"You assaulted two Special Forces Operators, kid," Price says, a barely veiled grimace contorting his features. "That's not a good look."

You tug against where your hands are cuffed to the metal bars, your brows furrowing. "Kidnapping the girl -- whose dad you killed after taking her virginity -- isn't a good look either."

...Alright.

So, if you could go back in time, and never eavesdrop on the four men who have completely ruined your life, you would take up the offer in a heartbeat.

Between landing your fist to Gaz's jaw, and where you are now, your life has become a total shit show.

Like, complete, this might just be a fever dream level of crazy.

It started from the moment you saw blood trickling from your now late father's forehead, and in the glint of the moonlight, seeing Ghost holding the gun.

Then, you'd turned, without another thought, and landed a punch right to Gaz's jaw. The man who had taken your first kiss no more than two hours ago.

You can relive the moment even now, under the harsh neon lights of an interrogation room, as if you're experiencing everything for the first time once more.

༊*·˚

Gaz hisses, wincing as he brings a hand up to the aching pain radiating from the bone that'd taken the brunt of your punch.

"You guys -- what the fuck --" You stammer out, eyes wide and borderline manic as you gape at the man before you. "You guys just killed my dad!"

"Yeah, but," Gaz starts, before backtracking. You figure he has enough braincells to realise that 'rationality and reason' isn't going to work with you, not in this state, and especially not after you just witnessed the murder of your only living family member. "Ah. Well. He wasn't a good guy."

You really, truly, cannot believe the audacity of this man.

Your mouth opens.

Gaz grimaces.

Your mouth closes.

He takes a step closer, hands raised in a placating gesture.

"Take another step near me and I'll punch you again!" You threaten, with an aggressive point of your finger.

You're extremely aware that your punch had done next to nothing, and Gaz's reaction to it was more one of sympathy, but the threat lands nonetheless.

"Alright, alright, we're not gonna hurt you," he raises his hands further, eyes bouncing between your own. You're not sure what he sees -- maybe resentment, or horror, or fear.

Whatever it is, it makes his frown deepen.

He goes to say something else, when your bedroom door opens with a soft click. "Finishin' up, ya read--"

Soap pauses his whisper, ice-blue eyes meeting yours. His grimace isn't unlike the one Gaz is sporting, and it only worsens your mood. If looks could kill, he would be lying on the grass beside --

Oh god. Your dead dad.

"Steamin' Jesus," Soap mutters under his breath, looking up to the roof in some semblance of a last minute prayer.

There's a moment, then, for a decision to be made. It's as if your brain can only come up with two options, and one of them will lead to your untimely death.

So, really, it's not entirely your fault when you pick up the salt lamp sitting on your bedside table and throw it right into the arrogant Scot's face.

"Holy shit," Gaz's eyes are comically wide as Soap cries out, the heavy pink rock slamming into his nose. He stumbles back, and the sound of your lamp hitting cartilage even has you wincing, panicked state or not. "How the fuck have you survived this long with those kinda reflexes, Soap?"

Soap drops into a squat, cradling his nose in his hand as he tilts his head back, squeezing the ridge between two calloused fingers. His voice comes out nasally as he mumbles, "Mighta' broke 'gain."

Your entire body is trembling, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you creep to the window with soft, quiet steps.

Maybe, you think, in the back of your mind, I can make the jump into the garden.

It's not to be, however.

"You're smarter than that," Gaz directs an unamused glare your way, before grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you towards your door.

Digging your heels into the carpet, you attempt to wrestle out of his grip -- but a trained military expert and you are no match, not even with the energy overtaking your body.

"Let go of me!" You grit out, tugging and displaying your weight in the opposite way to his goal. He doesn't even turn around as he drags you out of your room, slamming your door shut behind you.

"What the fuck is goin' on," Ghost's growl comes from the stairs, heavy bootfalls following until he's standing, gaze drifting from you, to Gaz, to Soap, back to you again.

"Fuck, man," Soap whines, squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps his head tilted back, blood running down his lips and chin. You somehow find it in yourself to feel slightly bad. Not enough to apologise, and certainly not enough to stop fighting back.

They were going to kill you. Probably. Or, like, what's the skin trade like in your area? Oh god. Fuck. Shit.

"She saw," Gaz mutters to Ghost, and his eyes narrow, black face paint crinkling where it's been put on the upper half of his face, skin not covered by the balaclava.

There aren't any lights on, and it's the lights on downstairs that cast shadows and highlights over the men's' faces.

"Fuckin' christ," Ghost groans, before turning and walking back downstairs without another word.

You continue to struggle against Gaz's hold, but both of your wrists have been collected in his hand, and he's pulled you so your back is to his chest. If it were any other circumstance, you'd be blushing, most likely turned on from such an embrace.

Right now, however, you're questioning every possible decision you've ever made.

"Ye Dad treated ya like shit 'nyways," Soap says, too loud to be under his breath, but too quiet for it to be conversational. "Dinnae why yer freakin''."

"You're murderers!" You hiss back, lips pulled back into a snarl. Your muscles ache from the punch, the hefty throw, and now from struggling against Gaz. "And I don't exactly have any other family, do I?!"

Gaz makes a sound of agreement, before shaking his head and countering. "We're not murderers, not really."

You choke a laugh, but it's entirely too wet and sad for it to be threatening or cruel. "So you guys didn't just shoot my father?"

"Si pulled th' trigger," Soap pouts, almost like a child would over a lack of candy.

"Soap," Gaz exasperates, and although you can't see his face, you're sure it's dismayed and annoyed. "Seriously?"

"What?!" Soap counters, and when it comes out high-pitched, he squeezes his eyes shut and holds his nose tighter. "Jus' tha truth, dinnae why yer so shitty. Yer not tha one bleedin'."

Speechless.

You are fully, unbelievably, speechless.

What the actual fuck was wrong with these... men? And what was wrong with you for being more than ready to spread your legs for them not too long ago?

You needed therapy. And coffee.

And a time machine, preferably. If one was made available at this given moment.

"Get down here," the final man of the hour shouts up the stairs, and your blood runs cold. There's something about him that's not quite as threatening as Ghost, but somehow makes you even more fearful.

Gaz, with surprisingly careful and gentle movements, guides you down the stairs. The parallel of how Ghost's hand had been at your lower back as he invited you to the lounge room, mere hours ago, isn't lost on you.

His hand doesn't move from the tense grip it has on your wrists. You can't help but feel like it's a completely unnecessary gesture, considering the fact that any of them could take you down within seconds if they really needed to. Hell, they all had actual, military-grade weapons.

"Seriously, Gaz?" Price huffs, looking entirely like a disappointed dad in this moment as he stands, leaning against your kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed over. "One job, mate."

"You lot weren't exactly quiet," he retorts, but he slowly releases your wrists.

At this point, you know it's a lost cause to try and escape this situation, so you just ball your hands into wrists at your sides. You can't imagine it's an overly threatening position, considering how your entire frame trembles, and your lips wobble.

Your father was dead.

And the men that had made you feel so comfortable, so cared for, are the culprits.

Stupid, stupid girl.

They are dangerous men who do dangerous things.

"Peas," Soap's voice is practically a beg as he stumbles into the kitchen, opening the freezer door with no preamble as he scours it for... peas.

They're in the far right of the bottom shelf.

You don't tell him that.

"Have some water," Price encourages, holding out a glass cup full of chilled water.

Your eyes narrow, standing your ground. "Not accepting drinks from murderers. Dad taught me that, y'know?"

Gaz chokes a laugh, before covering it up with a fist to his mouth and a clearing of his throat. It fools no one, and you allow yourself the tiny bit of pride that fills your chest at the reaction to your taunt.

"Ghost," Price mutters, resigned and almost frustrated as he looks at you.

You understand why, as soon as the feeling of a needle imbedding into your neck has you flinching, pain prickling at the intrusion in your muscle.

"What --" you begin, before your legs fall out beneath you, your eyes falling to half mast as Price hefts you up, beefy arms holding you beneath your armpits as your body becomes dead weight.

"Sorry, kid," are the last words you hear, before black overrides all of your senses as drugged sleep takes you.

༊*·˚

Sometime between then, and now, you've found yourself in a white-walled room, blinding lights turning the throbbing in your head from a low pound to an echoing boom of a drum.

"We didn't plan for... any of it to happen the way it did. This was our only choice." Price shakes his head, hands resting at the top of his vest as he studies you.

Right. The virginity, kidnapping and assault thing.

...Great.

"I must've forgot the part where I resisted arrest," you retort, forcing your eyes to remain open, despite the heaviness to them. It's as if a weight has been hung from your eyelids, and every blink drags them down more and more each time.

"Jesus -- you're not under arrest," Price rubs at his eyes, head dipped down as if he's recollecting his thoughts. You're not sure if he's had any sleep, although your sense of time has been completely thrown out of the window.

"Then release me," you say, voice softer than you'd intended, more pleading -- a truer reflection of your current state of mind.

The air is crisp, cool, like that of a hospital. Chemicals and bleach are a potent undertone to the clean scent, and it makes you question what could've previously been done in this room to warrant them.

Your heart pounds almost weakly, and you know if there's any more heartbreaks to come, it might just give out.

How you've resisted a complete mental breakdown is beyond you, and frankly, you'd give yourself a pat on the back if you could. Although, that act might in itself be a sign of insanity.

"Not until we can be assured you're safe," Price insists. "And not until we can clear your name from the books. We have enemies, sweetheart, and those enemies were also your father's. They are not above punishing you for your father's sins."

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and it takes everything in you not to just burst into tears and pray. Pray that this is all some sick joke, some terrifying nightmare that you haven't woken from yet.

But you know it's a baseless hope. You know that this is real.

You're in a military base, somewhere, surrounded by the country's most dangerous men. The most dangerous men on their side, at least.

"So I'm not getting charged for assault?" Your voice is entirely too small for the situation, not for someone who's still cuffed to a bed, going through grief in the most ruthless type of way.

The worst part is that you don't entirely miss your father. You miss the comfort of having a family member, that's true, but he wasn't a good parental figure, and his treatment of you could be classed as abuse to most people.

And from what these four are saying, he wasn't a good man either.

People didn't often talk about how separate the two things were. It was possible to be a great man, but the worst of fathers, and the opposite could be true, too.

Fate had dealt you a bad hand, in giving you one who was terrible on both sides of the coin.

"Technically," Price leans back into his chair, his voice littered with exhaustion, "We... should report it."

Your stomach drops.

Price's eyes meet yours, and somehow, he must see the turmoil battling inside of your head, because he lets out a deep breath, deflating just a bit.

"No. You're not getting charged for assault, sweetheart."

"Don't call me that," you reply, too quick for your brain to catch up. The endearment is entirely too wrong, smarting on a chafing wound, a reminder of the mistakes you'd made, and the deception these men had pulled on you. "...Please."

You refuse to meet his eyes as he nods, slowly, as if in understanding.

"What did he do?" You don't mean to utter those words, to ask that question, but after you do, you can't find it in yourself to regret it. "What made him worthy of death?"

Price rubs a hand over his face, and for the first time, you register the lines of his face. Lines of a story having been told, proof of a life lived. It makes you want to learn, to find the origins of the small scars you can see, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

"He broke many promises. Betrayed his team," Price states, and you can tell the millions of words he leaves out, the context better off left unsaid. "He did terrible things. Killed people who had made no faults."

Oh.

For some reason, it hadn't truly hit you, not before now, the truth behind his death. What hadn't you been told?

How hadn't you been made aware that he was -- he was part of the special forces. He was a dangerous man -- he was one of the men he'd warned you about. How blind had you been? For so long? Those business trips, when he'd come with bruises, brushing them off whenever you gained the courage to make attempts of caring, of forming a relationship with the man who raised you.

They weren't business trips. They were missions -- ones with impossibly high death rates.

And he just.

Hadn't said a word. Just continued to treat you like you were worthless, a nuisance, a pain in his ass. Something worth protecting, if only so your weight in gold wasn't minimised.

What were you to do, if he just. Didn't come home after a mission gone awry? If he died on the field. If you woke up one day without a single living family member left.

You only realise that tears have fallen down your cheeks when Price's thumb brushes them away, your nose scrunching with a sniffle.

Jerking back, as if electrocuted, it takes everything in you to glare at the man whose gentle hands had led you to this position in the first place. "Don't touch me."

He backs away. Doesn't argue.

It hurts your heart in a way you don't want to touch with a ten foot pole. Not right now. Not ever, maybe. Preferably.

You let out a deep, stabilising exhale, before weakly meeting Price's gaze. "Can I sleep? Feeling kinda shit after the drugs," you mumble.

Price's lips twist into a grim line, but he nods curtly. "'Course, kid. Call out if you need 'nything."

You just lay back, turning on your side, facing the white wall as the lights turn off, leaving pitch black in its wake. Your wrist smarts where the handcuff has left a red mark, your free hand rubbing at the small patch of visible skin.

If you were more aware, more... ready for the conversations you needed to have, you would've demanded all four of them speak to you right this moment.

But your head is heavy, and thoughts are few and far between.

Grief and confusion cement in your brain like a thick fog, your emotions like cars without lights in the thick mist.

No directions, no ability to brake before crashing into one another.

You're an absolute mess, and you have no one to blame but you and your sick curiosity, your reckless decision making.

But, you realise, this was a long time coming.

Because there's one thing Price -- nor the other three men -- don't know.

Your father wasn't the only one who held secrets.

And it was you who held the key to this force's undoing.

a/n. lol so like. who's ready for some enemies to lovers? sorry to everyone who wanted immediate hurt/comfort!! for some reason plot lines and depth hit me and i was like. i need to do it justice. so here we are!!!

thank you all SOSOSO much for the reception of the first part. it genuinely means a lot to have people excited about my stories??? like omg youre all SO kind. comments and reblogs make my absolute week!! mwah mwah mwah

taglist comment/msg to be added. @captainjamster @alfa-jor @simp4miguell @yaboibauldano @dreamaboutpinkk @guyser @lovewithasideoflust @redz0mbie @ghost-is-my-bbg @astro-ghoul99 @the-faceless-bride @casterousaudrey @cutiecusp @kit-williams @lilpothoscuttings @florabelll

[prettyboykatsuki]

on deaths door | s. gojo

✮ tags ; dark content ahead, afab + gender neutral reader, dark comedy / black comedy, attempts of suicide, the use of the word rapist in text, mentions of self-harm scars, penetration, intense but not rough, gojo is doting, no curses au, ceo!gojo 18+

note: this fic is mostly intended to be a dark comedy and have an unserious nature. it is very absurdist and it makes light of both suicide and assault. please proceed carefully if you find this might be triggering to you.

PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED.

✮ wc ; 2.6k

✮ a/n ; i actually really really enjoyed writing this and would love to expand on it potentially. KJSDFJSKD.

reader has been through a lot so they are super nonchalant about everything just as a precaution

"Uwah," A voice startles you from your place on the roof. You gasp, amidst tears and sobs from shock. "Are you about to kill yourself?"

You whip your head around to see who could be beside you at this hour. It's a deliberately obscure location, too so it's extra weird. You were hoping to die in peace in a place where it'd be hard to find you, after all.

But there's a strange man interrupting your plans. Very strange. He's speaking Japanese rather clearly but his hair is a shock of white and his eyes are blues as saphhires. Despite the situation, his voice is light and cheerful - almost amused.

You can't tell if he's just a figment of your imagination. He's so unusual it stuns you out of your tears. You can't find your voice to respond for a moment.

"Yes," You reply, unsure of what else to say. He smiles at you.

"Hm." He looks contemplative. "Well... if you don't want it, can I have it?"

You stare on, confused.

He grins. "Your life, I mean. Can I buy it off you?"

Starting to wonder if you've already died, you stretch your hands up to wipe the tears off of your face just to see if any of it is real. The touch makes it gasp. You're definitely still alive. So, that means this strange man is also real and asking to buy your life.

"What?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not a cheapskate or anything, the price will be fair." He walks closer to you from where you've been standing all this time. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, picking you up and setting you down further away from the ledge with a harsh yank.

Like a kitten whose mother is dragging it by the nape, you fumble onto the rooftop concrete. As soon as you're moved, you drop down to your knees - unable to find anymore strength.

"Are you... trying to traffick me?" Your voice is coarse in your reply as you stare up. It's a genuine question. You aren't sure what else to call this. The strange, unusual man just laughs in your face.

"Mm, well - not really. Though, if you say yes I'll make good use of you in all ways." The last part makes your skin crawl a little. "You were weeping so pitifully when I came up here... super pathetic. I just thought it'd be a waste if you died since I got to see something interesting."

There's something really wrong with this guy, you think. But this is such a common thing in your life, you aren't sure how shocked you should be.

There's also something equally wrong with you, because you're so fucked up - you're considering it. If he paid you enough to cover all of your debts, you could cut ties with all the bullshit your fathers debt has put you through. You could run away. Not there's anywhere for you, even after that. But at least you'd be unshackled from what makes you most miserable.

You don't want your life, but if this guy wants it so bad then...

"...How much will you pay me?"

His eyes light up when you ask this and it unsettles you further. "As much as you want. And you'd have to live with me at my beck and call."

"Like a pet." You reply easily.

Instead of denying it, he snaps his fingers and grins. "Exactly! Or maybe more like a plush toy that I take every where?"

Either way, you're not any kind of human. You're barely human now though with how much you work, so you aren't sure it makes a difference. You stare at him. And he looks back at you with a smile - all pearly white pristine teeth.

Who cares anymore, anyway? Even if he were to mistreat you, you're not sure you'd even feel it. It's all numb. He can have your life if it means you can escape what you're running from.

He looks rich, so maybe.

"Don't worry," He hums, and he reaches over to pat your head while your face is covered in tears. You don't flinch for some reason. "I don't like breaking things I've bought unnecessarily."

Something is wrong with you. Your self preservation is in total fucking tatters. But still, you want to say so you do. Maybe it's the absurdity, or the fact you truly don't have anything to lose. Nothing could make your misfortune any worse.

You sniffle and shake your head. He's dangerous and weird, but at least you could pay off your debts.

"Okay," You say weakly.

His smile gets impossibly wide.

You're wonder if you'll regret your decision.

__

He's filthy rich.

You should've expected that. You did, kinda. Because only rich people would think to do or ask something so absurd like ask to buy another persons life. Still, he had a driver waiting for him downstairs and his car is definitely a sports care. A McLaren, you think. One of the places you catered for ages ago was full of rich people with flashy cars and you remembered some of them.

He sits with you uncomfortably close in the back seat but doesn't speak to you at all during the ride. Not until you arrive at the destination, which is a giant building where the strange man certainly lives.

The driver (named Ichiji) calls the strange man Gojo-sama, which makes you feel extremely on edge. They whisper about something when you're out of ear shot, and Ichiji gives you a sorrowful look that you can't place.

The name Gojo is familiar to you, but you aren't sure where you've heard it.

After taking a long elevator ride to one of the upper floors, you end up in the strange mans condo. When you get there, he tells you take off your shoes and gives you nice slippers.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says, still frivolous and speaking to you in what feels like a foreign tongue. "And also yours. I'll set you up in the guest room later, but you'll be keeping my bed warm mostly so keep that in mind."

The size of the place is absurd and so is the decor. What have you gotten yourself into? You must've gone insane. You're too afraid to touch anything.

"Am I like... a sex slave?" You ask curiously.

He frowns at you. "You make me sound like some kind of rapist. I guess now that I own you....it might make me one... but you agreed to come here so don't be like that!!" He huffs, childishly.

His response is somewhat incomprehensible to you. He's stranger by the minute and completely tactless - but for some reason, it's hard to distrust him. He doesn't raise any immediate red flags aside from being unusual.

You almost want to say it wouldn't matter if he was, as long as he pays you but decide not too.

"Okay. Do you want me to take my clothes off?" You reply, nonchalant. He stares at you.

"...I know your heads pretty fucked up, but don't you think you're being too blase about all this?"

Your brow furrows. A weird response for a guy who willingly understands this is a less than ethical situation "Would... you prefer I struggle and refuse you? Is that your fetish?"

"No! Well..." You look at him flatly as he thinks on it, almost blushing at the thought. You make a face of disgust "Not in this case, alright! It's just too pitiful and I'm not that type really.... Be more cautious."

"But you were planning to fuck me from the start, right? Or something."

He nods. "Well, yes. As a way to earn your living and for me get my urges out whenever. Finding people to have sex with is a hassle."

You shrug.

"Right. I can cook and clean too. I've done pretty much every job you can think of it,"

He waves a hand at you. "We can discuss it later." He puts a hand in his necktie and pulls on with a small smile. "Right now, I want to test out my new toy so..."

You should feel more disgusted by how he refers to you, but you don't have it in yourself.

"Can I shower first?"

He looks surprised but nods. "Uh-huh. Just wear one of my shirts when you come out. Everything else is in the bathroom. It's upstairs, first door on your left."

You stand to your feet, nodding.

__

It takes you ten minutes to figure out how the shower works.

His shower is nice. The whole place is nice. Nicer than any shithole you've ever lived in. He has a lot of nice bath products, though you aren't sure how you feel about smelling like him since you're borrowing his.

You examine your body a bit in the shower, looking at old scars as you wash and rub yourself clean. Thankfully, you gave yourself a trim downstairs not long ago.

It's embarrassing in retrospect but you've not had much of a choice in the first place. You're sensitive, unsure of the last time you've touched yourself given how much you work. You think of your job and feel guilty for how you're going to miss it. But you recall that you were preparing to die not even two hours ago and feel less bad.

You whimper a little as you finger yourself open under the water - getting wet easier than you thought. You have to lean against the wall, but with enough coaxing you get three fingers in. You're still horny when you shut the water off and step out.

You dry yourself and put on lotion - staring in the mirror. As told you borrow one of his shirts, but it's too big on you and you can see your nipples too clearly which makes you embarrassed.

You reason you're about to go fuck a stranger anyway, and decide to step out right after.

__

You decide against wearing underwear since his shirt fits on you like a dress, but regret when you come back down stairs feeling aware of the breeze on your went cunt.

He's sitting on the couch with his legs spread, dress shirt unbuttoned but still in his clothes. He hears you before he sees you, eyes widening. You suddenly get self-conscious under the weight of his stare.

"Better than I thought," Is his only assessment. Your skin grows hot.

He beckons you over to him and you go, unsure of what to do until he pulls you into his lap. Forcing you to straddle him, he wastes no time in feeling you up. His hands at your waist and chest. His face lights up in pure amusement when he sees you bare underneath.

He stares at your pussy for a long time.

"It's good," He hums, his hands brushing against it. Your nipples pebble in response to the arousal, a pathetic moan leaving your lips that makes him laugh. "Pretty."

You don't have anything to say to that so you keep quiet. Gojo slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt to asses your wetness, surprised surely by how wet it is. Without warning, he plunges a finger in. He looks up at your face, your hand covering your mouth so you don't moan.

"So wet," His voice can't contain his amusement. "What's this?"

"I was," You shiver half-way through as he plunges in another finger and it goes in smoothly. "I p-prepared in the shower and masturbated. I thought you'd just want to stick it in and I didn't want it to hurt.

"Haah," His voice is sharp, suddenly breathy. Something hard and big presses up against your leg. "You're talented in seducing me. I'm not so ungentlemanly, but I'll let it go this time, alright?"

You nod. He uses a sticky hand to unbutton his slacks and push his boxers away. You gasp at the size of his cock. You're not a virgin exactly, but you haven't had sex with anyone this big ever. He chuckles a little, pressing the head of his cock against your stomach and cunt as if measuring it up to you.

More wetness pulses, shame filling you - because you're almost excited to be fucking this strange man you've only met today. Weirdly, you don't feel unsafe around him. Your eyes glass over from lust.

He sticks his fingers in your mouth and you suck automatically, instinctively. His smile is predatory all of a sudden, teeth glimmering.

"So obedient," He says, sharply. "Ah, I have a good eye. It really would've been such a waste."

You're content to throw yourself at him, chasing the pleasure. His fingers taste of salt and skin, making you want something else entirely. It's not long before he pulls away though, wrapping his hand around his shaft and making it shiny. You blink down at where he fists his cock - your spine tingling at the sight.

"Look at you," He mutters, amused. "Do you always get this excited? Is it normal for you to fuck strange men or am I special?"

You shake your head. "It's only been two people."

"Then I am special," He replies. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his cock pressing against your hole - fluttering. "We have good compatibility."

Before you can say a word, you feel his length push inside of you in one swift motion and gasp. It's so big, so impossibly big - and even with how much you stretched, there's a touch of resistance that's making your entire lower half feel like it's jelly. Almost numb from the sensation. Buzzing from adrenaline and want.

You feel full. In your stomach, in your chest - your whole body feel complete. When you manage to open your eyes, you look at Gojo and find yourself taken aback. His hair is pushed back from his hand and he looks... different. He's handsome now that you realize. His face looks...pleased.

You talk before you can think about it.

"Do I feel good?"

He laughs sweetly, before pressing a kiss to your temple that feels to affectionate for people who barely know each other.

"Uh-huh," He says. His hands are strong, tight on your ass as he bucks up into you - causing you to collapse forward. The pleasure makes you shake, sensitivity through the roof. "Feel so good. Hahaha, how lucky."

You cling onto Gojo's shoulder and bury your face into his neck. He doesn't stop you. A large hand comes around the back of your head - the other one at your hips as he thrusts up into you with alarming force and precision. He feels so good it's a little scary, and you can't keep the noises from slipping out. You moan and whine each time the tip rubs against you inside, soft walls barely able to accommodate the size.

Your body feels hot everywhere he touches. It's been so long and Gojo is so careful but so intense. His expensive dress shirt rubs up against your nipples each time he moves. It's so good, so good - makes you want to cry.

"You're so sensitive." He laughs against your shoulder. "Gripping so tight every time I move. Do you want to cum so bad?"

"Yes," The words are a sob. Just a little more.

"Uh-huh. Tell me where to touch you. How should I make you cum."

You're too shamelessly pent up to feel shy anymore. "Touch my c-clit, please, please."

"Got it, got it - don't cry."

Gojo listens to you well. Thick fingers and an angled hand find your clit with ease as he bounces you on his cock with no regard. Your eyes roll back instantly, immediately - as an orgasm washes over your entire body. Back arching, you cum hard around the base of his cock - but Gojo just keeps fucking you through it. He doesn't stop even when you come down, only moves you both so you're laying on the couch on your back.

He kisses you then, and you meet his mouth with sloppy tears running down your face from the pleasure.

"Let's see what your stamina is like, yeah? See if you can keep up with me."

__

He fucks you unconscious.

Essentially. Though you take with enthusiasm even during your exhaustion because the sex is phenomenal - you have no idea when you stop.

You wake up in a bed, and you wake up completely clean. You don't know whose bed, but there's a large figure besides you. Half-asleep and fully exhausted, you feel shy thinking about the fact he probably bathed and dressed you while you were out.

What a strange man, you think - to do that.

He's talking to someone on the phone. You don't really make out much of the words, though you do hear your name in bits and pieces.

"...A college student.......- young then -...... open a bank account for.... - debt...- pay it all off before it becomes annoying.... look into -."

You shift under your blankets half asleep. A hand comes up on top of your head on the pillow, pushing hair from your face.

"Did I wake you?" His expression is hard to read in the dark with your eyes barely open. "Sorry. Almost done. Go back to sleep."

So you do, because you can't find strength to do much else.

The bed is warm, but your sure the heat you feel is from the strong, gentle head petting your head as you rest.

[mikichko]

continuation of caretaker!price cw: afab!reader, nsfw, descriptions of sexual acts, plus-size/size-neutral reader <3 a/n: first smut piece? oh boy...

when he spots you across the pub he can’t quite believe his luck. most gorgeous thing that’s ever set foot in this lousy excuse of a pub just happens to be sitting in his direct line of sight. if john was a better man he’d have the decency to at least pull out his phone, a newspaper, or even a book to feign some sort of distraction. but he’s old enough now, he’ll leave being coy to the boys still getting their bearings.

he stares, openly and unabashedly at you, drinking in every feature of you he can.

you’re tired, exhausted even. can tell by the drop of your shoulders, the tired edges of your eyes, and the constant rubbing of your temples as you try to flag down the bartender for a drink. he’d write this off as a one-off, maybe a bad night of sleep, if john wasn’t so familiar with what a body looks like when you push it to a state of near exhaustion. he sees the signs, sees the lack of a ring on a finger, more than willing to bet there’s no one waiting for you at home. 

it makes him ill. to think that a pretty thing like you is carrying around such a heaviness without someone to help them. he takes a sip of his beer, letting the liquid coat his tongue completely as he thinks. there’s really no reason that has to continue, right? he downs more of his drink, adding to the alcohol already in his system.

what kind of man would he be to let a sweet thing like you continue to endure life like this? no. you need a good man, a strong man, to keep your hands soft. to care for you and lift the burden off of you. there’s nothing john would like more than to have you unravel beneath him with the knowledge that he’s the one whose eased your worries so much you grant him this. to have you so pliant below him, the lines of your body soft and stress free thanks to what he gives you.

what john doesn’t expect is to learn that he doesn’t need to die to see heaven. not when heaven lives between your thighs. he’s baptized by the nectar that drips from you. lets it coat his lips, nose, and chin as he devours you whole. tries to consume you like a dying man would his last meal. relishes your taste with long languid stripes where you open so sweetly for him. swirls his tongue around your entrance, loves the feel of you clenching around nothing, needy and longing for him. he flattens his tongue, licking upwards until he meets your pearl and twists his tongue around it. polishes it like a revered treasure. can’t help the groan that escapes him as your hands curl into his hair, pulling him to you. as if he would ever be willingly removed from between your legs. he’s here to worship, at the altar of your desire, devotedly kissing, caressing, and licking until you melt away for him. the soft plush of your thighs warming his ears as you clench around him, waves of pleasure rolling through your body. he doesn’t let up, even after your peak, savoring the taste of your sweet release.

but you’re not pliant, not like he wants you to be. your body still carries some semblance of stress, one that john is more than happy to dissolve for you.

he has you on your knees next. laid bare and open, presenting yourself only to him. he thanks whatever god exists for blessing him with such a beauty. for forgiving all of his crimes, placing such a treasure right within his grasp. you’re meant to be enjoyed, unraveled at a leisurely pace, one that john maintains by a thread. it takes all restraint he has not to sink into you, focusing instead on the feeling of your wet folds around him. it’s heavenly, the way your lips part for him. how he slides so easily between them, the tip of him kissing your sensitive bud, pulling beautiful cries from you. he does it over and over and over again, already drunk on the feeling of you, pulling more delicious sounds from you. he wonders what other pretty noises you’ll make. maybe you’ll beg.

you’re nearly there, pushing yourself back on him, trying to catch him, ensnare him before you’re even ready. “easy love,” the deep baritone of his voice makes you shiver. you whine as your body flushes with heat, the tip of john catching at your entrance. you keen as john pushes the head in, just til the underside is sheathed before he pulls himself back. bastard that he is, he continues to slick himself up between your lips.

you’re so whiny, begging him for more, that you can take him. so sweet, pleading with him to give you more, that you want him so bad. it takes every bit of strength john has not to sink balls deep into you then. to restrain himself from grabbing your plush hips and pulling back until you’re flush against his tummy. until you can feel him in yours. he uses every ounce of military training to stand strong. “told you to take it easy love. you’re not ready yet.”

he doesn’t last long. john thinks you could break the most hardened, well-trained men if they simply had you the way he has you now. open and wanting, with such a needy look thrown back at him john thinks he’ll cum right there on the spot. like a fucking teenager. he caves, dipping his tip back into the entrance. you groan simultaneously, the intrusion, the heat, it’s so much. clenching around him, he groans, nearly falls over you. 

he dips in and out a handful more times, stretching you out for what’s to come, before he finally sinks himself slowly into you. pulsing when he bottoms out. john sucks a breath through clenched teeth, losing his mind for a second as he grinds himself into you. there’s no better feeling in the world than this. than having you clenched around him, warm and wet, a perfect fit just for him. he carves a space for himself in you, rolling his hips into you, spreading your knees further apart to drive as far into you as he can. he wants to reach as much of you as possible, leave his mark on as much of you as he can reach. 

“fuck love, were made for me, yeah?” he rolls his hips into you, a moan the only response you’re able to muster. he’s a devil, draping himself over your back as he fucks you. presses soft kisses into your shoulder to compliment the bruising pace of his hips. a pace that leaves you drooling, eyes glassy, as you grip the sheets and cry out with every stroke. 

fucking hell, men would kill for cunt like this. he’d kill for this cunt. knows now that he won’t ever leave. understands that his rightful place is here, between these beautiful legs.

tells you as much as he pants next to your ear. swirls his fingers around your clit begging you to come for him. to bless him with your release, reward him with the delicious feeling of the vice grip around his cock. it’s all deliciously timed, your body jerks just as john sinks his teeth into your shoulder. your eyes roll back and you squeeze john so deliciously he’s reminded of the nights he savagely fisted his cock.

this time it’s your walls that milk him. clenching and pulsing around him coaxing as much of his seed as he’s able to give. he’d give it all to you if he could, drain himself in you every moment possible. his to fill, his to fuck, his to love. he’s thankful, as much as one can be, for the thin latex barrier that surrounds him. riding out his orgasm inside of you, groaning uncontrollably at the heat that surrounds him. for a moment, he can pretend his seed is spent inside you. painted your walls in milky white, marking you as his own. 

[romanoffsbish]

Kissing Booth

Natasha Romanoff x F!R (College AU)

Tired of your girlfriends on and off kind of love, you set off to see just how invested she is in keeping you | WC: 2,848

Warnings: Toxic-Ish themes | Jealous Nat | Blood

Smut: Public | Jean-Riding (R) | Oral (R) | Degradation (Slut)

18+ | Minors DNI

"Y/N Y/L/N's pledge to the campuses first ever, Mental Wellness Festival is: a one woman booth meant to stimulate your joy receptors; a smooch of serotonin. Fellas, swing on by and steal a kiss, from the palm of my hand, and enjoy your sweet treat. Ladies and They's lean in closer love, if you set the right price, you can take the grand prize—a kiss of your choosing; my lips taste like artificial cherry and melted chocolate if that's of any interest to you. All proceeds go to a fund set in place to create better avenues for those suffering to cope with their hefty course loads as they manage heavy thoughts too." Natasha read the words over and over again in her traumatized mind until her pure feelings came to a boil as she huffed and ripped the paper off of the wall of every place she'd found it.

———

It didn't matter though. Because even though she took them down within the same hour they'd gone up, when she stepped onto the quad lit up by stadium lights she saw that your booths line had wrapped around the diamond twice in the five minutes that it was open.

Her fists clenched briefly as she saw Wanda and Carol, her sorority sisters, eagerly stood in line. Then she shook her head with a near manic laugh. The redhead truly felt bad for the other people here who thought that you'd actually kiss them on their mouths. Foolish to even dream of it really, because you knew better than to let them taint your sweet lips with their lust.

Theirs was carnal; vile another way to express that they wouldn't care for you like she would. Hers was soul crushing, but in the euphoric sense, because you knew no matter what happened between you two, that you were never alone. Natasha might be away, or distant, but she'd never leave you to become another's prey.

Far too perfect for her to lose to her traitorous sisters. They'd be dealt with later, but right now, your (ex) girlfriend had to focus on creeping in the shadows. Watching to see just how far you'd push her buttons.

All Natasha needed was your patience for a month, not even the full thirty days honestly. It was only meant to be a break so that she could focus on her studies, the way her A+'s, and full marks had dropped to A-'s had scared her into thinking that space would help fix it.

It didn't, but she pretended it did because she could not psych herself out of sticking to her desired path. You clearly lacked the patience and respect only your mommy could teach you. The exams are literally next week, you've been so good up until this final stretch. Not bothering her with physical ambushes, or even texting her, which she actually scolded you for, to which you re-shared your location with her just to limit the contact you'd have to make with her through text.

That hurt her feelings a bit, but she refused to wallow in the mess that she'd made. Your feelings were hurt first, and the aftermath treated hers no kinder, and lord knows this wasn't the first time she's done this.

That was in high school, junior year, and you were distraught by the decision. Then Summer came with apologies, and forgiveness. Now, in your fourth and final year of undergrad, you're just used to it. For some reason she just kept getting away with it unscathed...

Until now at least.

The woman you craved watched you with dilated eyes that caught everything. She's only hiding to see who you flirt with, genuinely, and consequently putting them on her list of people whose life she must now ruin in relation to you. Her mind raced when you let an older woman peck your cheek, she had only given you $500, and yet you let the corners of your lips brush.

Natasha growled in place of a whimper, she couldn't get the infuriating image out of her mind, her eyes burned with frustration as she pictured you and the football captain's girlfriend leaving the field together.

The redhead wouldn't let that happen. Darcy Lewis, the gifted scientist, and lover to a Mr. Sam Wilson, would leave here sooner in a body bag than with you.

Natasha pictured shoving the overzealous woman off of a cliff, then she'd return so she could approach you as she dug in her deep crossbody fanny pack, to then slam her wad of cash into the full jar, pull you up into a bruising kiss, and lift the bowl as she kicked the table over, helping flip to the red closed sign for good.

It was $4,000 in hard cash, money she'd just pulled out this morning to get a cashiers check for rent and to pay her other bills; Natasha was pissed, you sure felt that in the way that she harshly nibbled on your lips, cracking open the silky smooth skin; bright red blood smeared your coffee stained teeth. Everyone's whispers of fury and shock were drowned out as your heart pounded wildly in your chest. Natasha hungrily sought out this elevated moment where she took a chance and recklessly guided your body around the corner until she could slam you up against a random concrete wall.

.... It paid off.

"Oh fuck," you huffed as your exposed upper back brushed against prickly vines, the crisp chill in the air instantly solidifying your blood against your skin. You could hardly care about the pain though as Natasha's thigh brushed against the bare cunt you'd sported beneath your skirt the entire night. That shiny metal chair was dripping with your essence as you saw your soulmate (ex-girlfriend) watching you with fury.

You were drenched, painfully needy, and screaming: "Natasha please—god I'm so fucking wet right now!"

"I know you are slut," she growled as her sharp canines grazed over the throbbing veins of your jugular. "I can feel your sticky mess through my jeans." You mewled at the rough press of your slick cunt to her pants, it had you seeing staticky stars. If she kept up a steady pace you were certain to be discovering galaxies. "Mmm, I need to cum mommy, need to cum so bad, please!"

"Yeah?" She scoffed, and you nodded frantically. "Well I need my money back, but instead I've donated it to do with these lips as I please so how about you shut it."

You didn't heed her warning, "Please, I'm sorry..."

"So fucking greedy," she growled, the glare she held as she pulled away from your neck sparked a thrill of fear to run straight to your core, your pretty eyes plead for reprieve, and naturally, the redhead gave in. "Go ahead slut, but make sure to let them hear you." Natasha's arms flexed as she expertly guided your core against the rough material of her jeans, and so you moaned out into the world her outwardly embarrassing title, letting everyone know they never stood a chance, it was a beautiful symphony to your on and off again lover that ended on a high note when she heard a familiar gush.

While you heavily panted, desperately breathing in the crisp night air that chilled your lungs into a hitch, she reveled in how the delicate rumble felt against her lips that were spread against the thin skin of your throat. Her tongue darted out, licking up the salty layer atop of your tacky skin, her teeth brushed back down, going the opposite way her tongue just had. The redheads goal of an endgame was etched into your exposed skin.

Your collarbones now decorated with her marks; ones that spoke of jealousy, and paired with a fragile love. You whimpered softly, the way her wet lips suckled on the already marked skin of your thudding pulse point bled off into the more painful side of things. Her wet tongue slid over the same spot in apology, then her lips founds yours after she kissed up the side of your neck.

Natasha's lips pressed against yours much softer than before, but you could tell she was frustrated with you. Which was fair, and matched as you stewed yourself, a part of you did feel guilty, but mostly, you felt broken.

But you weren't about to cry, no, you'd rather get mad.

It was what the naive asshole had earned. Natasha was great, a caring girlfriend who looked to you to smother with all of her love, the last six years together were a dream come true. A dream that faded into a nightmare whenever she becomes stressed, becoming someone you hardly recognize. She'd become dismissive, cold and quick to call for a blip; a break in your sacred union. Each time she said the same thing, "Just a bit of space is all I need, we'll be okay, mommy promises."

It was what she needed—never you, but she made it seem as if you'd happily agreed to her conditional love. As if letting you feel like her life could only improve if you were to leave it was something you took positively.

You were young, and carefree but not dumb enough to not know this wasn't healthy and maybe for your own petty thrill, you wanted to test her very limits. To see if she might just see what she risks losing, but you feel like all she got from this was more frustration. It only took a moment for her to huff that angrily against your chapped lips. "All I asked of you was for time Y/N."

You leaned your head back and pouted, eyes soft like a wounded puppy's. "We're better together Tasha."

Natasha sighed, "I know detka," she conceded with ease, her guilty face falling into the crook of your neck as she took in a calming breath. "I've been miserable without you honey, but we had to know that this could work. I'm going to have to travel for work, and I don't want to have to worry about you entertaining others."

"I'd never cheat," you hissed, "You asked for a break, that means we're no longer in a relationship Natasha."

"That's not what I meant and you know it Y/N," her nails dug into your sides. "Never have we ever ran a kissing booth during one, now stop being so difficult."

"I'm not being difficult Natasha, I'm doing charity work, and having a bit of fun as I do it." You shrugged and she frowned. "So breaking my heart is fun?"

You sighed softly, unwilling to unpack the hypocrisy of her words, "The only way this works out is if only your body leaves me in those times, but if you're saying random bouts of silence is the final answer th—." Nat cut you off, "You stopped texting Y/N, not me."

"Yeah, because you just wanted a 'good morning' and 'night' or an 'I'm home' after my classes got out, and you'd simply like it. Not even a 'morning love' or a 'glad you made it home safe' or an 'I love you.' in response."

"I needed to focus on school," she tried to defend, it was a pathetic excuse, and you both knew it. "Then you can do that Natasha, but I won't be waiting for you anymore, these breaks in affection are killing me."

"What? I-." You pressed your hands to her shoulders and attempted to push her away but she fiercely stood her ground. "What are you saying Y/N? Because I—."

"Need to let me go," you tiredly replied, "If I, um, if our relationship is too much of a problem for you on your journey to success then it's best we end this now."

Natasha's heart froze in her chest, the idea made her ill. "No!" Natasha fell to her knees, lips brushing over your abdomen before her hands lifted your skirt, and then her nose was nudging the wet skin of your thigh beside your cunt. "I'll do better honey, I swear to it." Her lips trembled, "No more breaks," her voice cracked and your heart sank. Your hands fell to the outline of her head that was buried beneath your skirt, her erratic breaths fanned across the sticky mess between your thighs and your body shivered. "Natasha, get up."

You felt the godly crafted curve of her nose nudge your clit as she shook her head, your mind was reeling with desperation, the same as her words. "I'm insane Y/N, clearly, because my reckless hypocrisy nearly lost me you, but I'm not so crazy that I'd actually let you go."

"Nat..." your muttering of her name cut off in a shaky breath as you felt her shake her head again, the thin twigs snapped as you threw your head back. "No," she murmured against the slick curve of your labia, a wet kiss made your hip jolt off the wall and slip more of her face between your folds. "You are my home Y/N."

Your heart stuttered as you heard her sniffle, her warm tears cascaded over the slick of your thighs and soaked into the cracks of your kneecaps. Hurting her wasn't something you relished in, but it was also necessary.

You knew that up until now things had been toxic, but you also knew your threat of dissolution wouldn't be dismissed. Natasha wouldn't let you go, she'd fell for you way back in middle school, she had the diary's in a locked drawer outlining your future together, the stars were aligned well before you knew, and they officially clicked when she made her move sophomore year.

After puberty gave her a much needed confidence boost she'd asked you out, using homecoming as an excuse, and you didn't hesitate to say yes. She kissed you after walking you home, her mind shifted when her lips pressed into yours, giving her a taste, and from that moment forward she has held on possessively.

Which is why you knew the moment your flyers went up that she would be all over you. A minute part of you lived for these raw moments where the insecurities her distance had created are edged out of your wary mind. Natasha wasn't a fan of breaking your heart either, but with who her parents are you can show her some grace, her expression was clearly a byproduct of their neglect.

Especially when she worked your body so perfectly. "Mmm, fuck," you gasped abruptly, mind exceptionally fuzzy as her despair had turned into the sloppiest head you'd ever received in your life. The noises were lewd, not even the school's festival could drown her out the more her tongue lavished away at your oozing cunt.

Natasha forgot what it was like to breathe for a long moment, her nose and mouth too busy working together to keep your mind fuzzy from pleasure. It was also her way of relishing the time she spent with your intimacy, fear clawing at her heart that this could be it.

The final time she was able to make you cry out her name, to make you feel this good, to love you as she always should. Her mind ran wild with the thought that you might've been scoping out your next lover tonight—could Wanda or Carol be better suited for you? No! She shook her head again and you came, crying out for her—you needed her, and her alone.

Natasha's nails dug into your ass, spreading your cheeks so that she could delve even further into your core with her tongue. Intent solely on drinking you dry, not that she ever really could, no matter how much she lapped away you never failed to become wet again. It was a vicious cycle that she endured with glee.

Your essence was something she always savored, but in this exact moment she found herself rushing to clean it up, her body now plagued with a persistent urge to cry.

Tears and slick intermixed on your thighs, creating their own slippery consistency that led to the redhead falling further into you as she tried to push herself up. You chuckled slightly before reaching a hand down to help her to her feet, the humor dying as soon as her face was leveled with yours. It was hard to feel joy when the love of your life looked so damn despaired.

"Oh Tasha," you coo'd, hands gentle as they cupped her  wet cheeks. "Please, don't leave me detka," she sobbed, her slick hands laid over yours, attempting to keep the comfort of your touch on her, even if it was forced. Fortunately, your intent was only to bring her closer as you pulled her face forward and into a sloppy kiss. The way she whimpered at the affection solidified your choice to stay and fight for the love you knew existed.

"Take me home baby, these lips are yours to keep."

[b1rds3ye]

hi!! this is my first time doing a request so idk if I'm doing this right haha but uh, I was wondering if you could do like. yknow the masked one you made for the 141 (I can't remember the name rn💔)? I thought of like, a sequel idea. like, what if during combat an enemy manages to take reader's mask, and so reader panics and like, rips the enemies throat out with their teeth (or if that's too violent, just goes basically rabid on them lmao) and how they would react?? if this is too violent or specific dw you don't have to!! anyways, I love your content it's totally awesome ur writing is amazing! have a good day!!

YES I LOVE THE BADASSERY AND THE UNHINGEDNESS!! If I'm your first request I'm so flattered anon pls do feel free to drop by again <333 Also just going to do general rabidness because ngl the throat thing sounds like an infection speedrun and we want our masked reader to stay nice and healthy <333

Word Count: 1.2 (it got a little long WHOOPS)

Warning: Canon typical violence, reader does get a lil sadistic and unhinged <333

Beyond Task Force 141 and Laswell, many - if not all - allied soldiers wondered about what lay under your mask. Obscuring even the eyes, your visage was more unreadable than Ghost's. Larger than life, a soldier among men.

There was a running joke that there was just nothing under your mask, perhaps an eldritch horror of sorts. You let the new recruits entertain the thought, it kept morale up as they conjured more myths of you. They said that no one has seen you without your mask. They were partially right.

It simply was that no one lived to tell the tale.

You were never one for close combat, but fighting terrorists was never smooth sailing. The chaos of battle had all of the 141 separated against the tight streets of Las Almas. How uncanny that you could not see your allies but hear their gunfire. Running out of ammo, you couldn't lament at your misfortune as a shoulder pummeling into your chest, sending you to the ground and the air out of your lungs. Head bashing against the floor you groaned as you furiously clawed up to whatever heavy weight was crushing your body. You were starting to make up the figure of a man hovering over you through the blurry haze of a concussion that filled your sight. The distant static of Price's voice through the radio, probably asking where the hell were you but you had more pressing issues at hand.

Through your struggle and flailing limbs you managed to wring the enemy's pistol off of them with a painful twist of their wrist. And they retaliated tenfold, a large sweaty hand reaching down and pressing your head back against the ground. Your adrenaline makes you writhe further, he was going to suffocate you, or worse, poison you with how fucking awful his hand smelt as the stink of burning gunpowder replaced any of your oxygen. But no, he committed a far worse crime.

A singular pull and the grating tear of fabric as your mask is pulled off of your face.

A heavy moment where your enemy looks down at you and his gaze is not like before. It's clear, it's deep. It is not looking at your facade but at you and you are no longer a soldier. You are merely a human, so fragile, so weak. One that is on the verge of death in a foreign land surrounded by bodies of fallen comrades and enemies alike. One whose mythos is all but lost at the victorious and leering smirk of an enemy as they take in your face.

That simply won't do.

Pulling your knee up to create space between you and the man, you pull out your tactical knife from your waist and drive it into his torso. His smile falls only to land at settle on yours below him, just like his blood that trickles as forbidden crimson down your hands and seeps into your uniform. It's disgustingly warm. He grows heavier as he loses all control over his body and you heave to throw his figure off to the side. You stab him once again for good measure. And then again. And again. Quick, short jabs down with a sharpened blade that cuts through uniform, flesh and bone alike. You did not count how many times you drove your blade down, numbers were too complex when your mind was running faster than any comprehensible speed. There was only one goal. To make sure no one knows what happened.

A harsh grip on the shoulder yanks you back up and you swipe with your armed limb to cut your new assailant's neck but they were onto you. Catching your arm, they pull it up as they hold onto your shoulder once again with a tightening grip that digs into your uniform. But they do nothing more, no matter how much you thrash and kick.

"Wake up, Sergeant," your opponent seethes and that voice makes you still, a buoy that floats across through your rage. Deep and grounding and your captain's.

You nearly stumble back but Price catches you before you crumple to the ground in exhaustion. The adrenaline was escaping your body leaving you with barely the energy to stay upright. Your head lolls back for a second before you bring it to the side to look at your direct superior, the remnants of a concussion making your vision blurry.

"You broken?" he asks.

"Negative, sir,” you respond immediately but he looks a little doubtful, a singular eyebrow raised as he inspects you. Not your body, but your face. The dilated pupils and the taut muscles told more than any wound.

"Can't say the same about your wee friend over there," Soap whistles as he tilts his head to behind you. “Christ, you did a number on him.”

You dare turn to look over your shoulder but Ghost already situated himself in front of the body. But between his feet you could already make out the indistinguishable mass of tattered fabric and discoloured flesh. Fresh blood filled the rivets between the cobblestones, the remnants of the body inching its way closer to you-

"Was it the mask?" Simon brings your attention back to him. You nod dumbly. He only dips his head in what you can only describe as understanding as he folds his arms, fortifying his stance in front of the mess you made. You weren’t going to see your handiwork, he was too kind to ever let you.

John drops his hands down to his sides as Gaz approaches you with your mask.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," Kyle offers you a sympathetic smile.

"Learnt that the first day I saw 'em on duty," Johnny retorts and you instinctively smile as you take your mask from Kyle. The hardened plaster of your mask had cracked, the fabric that hugged your neck had become torn but it'll do for the remainder of the mission. Slipping the mask back on, Simon offers a nod of approval while Johnny tugged at the fabric for a few finishing touches.

Ultimately the mission was successful. The task force returns to base and although none of the boys mentioned the carnage you left, there are still whispers of it on base. You had hurried to debrief and get your mask fixed but it seemed some privates caught sight of you and that was enough to spark rumours. Your mask had gotten so fractured that a shard was left back in the streets of Las Almas and revealed one of your eyes to the rest of the world. Such a small organ but so vivid. The privates saw, and more was added to the myth that was you. There was now no question about what was under the mask. No lovecraftian horror or empty space, no monster beyond comprehension. No, what was under your mask was terrifyingly human.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[oceantornadoo]

you: an absolute teeth-aching bone deep want to be loved and to give love. that hollow feeling behind your chest is too familiar and you want it gone. you just want to be in love, to treat someone with gentleness and to be wanted.

your 141 bae who has been in love with you since the moment he met you: ...i'm right here

gn!reader headcanons below the cut:

childhood best friend simon: let's say you knew him before he lost his family. a scrawny-limbed blond, always willing to extend a trip to the park or a cigarette behind school - anything to not go home. you'd visit him when he started part-time as a butcher in high school, wrinkling your nose at the smell of bloody meat but staying anyways, doing your homework at the singular table in the shop. he was there when you moved away from town, for college or a new job or any life-altering decision that he was secondary to, something simon could only hope to grasp. once he leaves for the military, you mourn your relationship and move on. simon is a blur in your mind, a reminder of snow days and sweet tea summers and leaf piles and dandelion picking, on a nostalgic shelf in the untouched corners of your brain. ten years later, you've finally made a name for yourself and truly gotten out; grown roots. but you still have this soul-deep yearning, some unfamiliar-shaped hole in your chest that miraculously fills when you open your door to simon, a grown man who's tired of wanting you from afar. tired of stalking your social media and writing fantasies in his head. tired of picking people to fuck just because they look like you, then going soft halfway through because their voice isn't the right pitch. he's here, and he's ready to do whatever it takes.

best friend gaz: now this is different from a childhood best friend, so keep that in mind. gaz is always this guy-next-door type with a panty-dropping smile and impeccable manners. this notion does him some good, helps him avoid some deep-rooted british military prejudices, but it also turns you away. you check him off as nice and place him in the best friend box. you don't understand how he tracks your every move on a mission, almost always getting caught by johnny or price. you miss how he grips his pint ten times harder when he sees you on the pub floor, dancing with some stranger whose hands are a bit too low. he tells you he gets rejected for being "too nice", but really, he ignores his 27 unread DMs and flirty cafe eye contact in favor of movie nights, prank wars, your shitty reality shows. he's grasping onto straws, can't you see sweetheart? when you're drunk and turn into a cuddler, he can pretend just for a second that you truly mean it. gaz lets your hands wander under his shirt, lets you murmur your darkest fear of never being loved into the quietness of your room, leaving you to sleep on top of your covers with a kiss to the forehead. he doesn't know what's pushed him over: you almost dying on that last mission, you making out with a stranger in a bar, you you you in those pants and that shirt and that's it. he has to say something. has to put it all on the line because gaz can't live like this anymore.

best friend's brother price: it was some one-sided crush, your best friend's brother with his suave teenage ways as compared to your brutal tween phase, acne and braces on the way. it had dissipated quickly, john never the wiser, his presence substituted with trendy band obsessions and first kisses. instead, it happened at your best friend's wedding. you were both in the wedding party, some object of fate throwing you together as your best friend forced you two to dance. you were tipsy on champagne, on the happiness of marriage, that you giddily admitted your fleeting childhood crush and how much john had grown since then. and that was it. john was always going to settle down, always going to have a pretty thing waiting for him back home, he just didn't figure out until right now that it would be you. he tries to hide his affections under friendliness, not wanting to ruin your friendship with his sibling, but john has never been discrete. he's suddenly invading your life with offers of fixing your kitchen sink, painting that one spot you can't reach, moving your couch to fit your latest pinterest board. you're practically family, love - which kills all your hopes for something more, feeling like a familyzone. but john means it differently, means you're predestined to be his, already accepted and loved by his loved ones and how could he not see it before? you refuse to accept his kindness and it absolutely kills him, so he scares off potential dates and any chance of meet-cutes with an arm around your waist and why can't you see him the way he sees you?

friends with benefits johnny: it was just sex, right? you'd been the one to say it, the one to set that boundary with your fellow sergeant. you didn't think johnny was capable of more, mistaking his cheeky smirks and booming laugh for being unserious, when in reality, johnny is as serious as it gets. he tells himself he can fuck you because he'll marry you one day, that cross sitting heavy under his shirts. he doesn't wash his sheets for weeks after that first fuck, too busy inhaling the scent of you cumming around his mouth, his cock. that is, until, you tell him his sheets stink and refuse to fuck him and he pretends you're having an argument as a married couple, all intimate and bored. johnny sees a recruit getting too flirty and pulls you into a supply closet using his best distraction methods. he sways you from joining a month's long solo mission, some stupid excuse about missing your lips too much when really he knows it's a suicide mission. johnny forces you to stay over after a midnight fuck, some bullshit about simon being up at that time and seeing you in the hallway on base. in reality, he treasures cuddling you with his brawny arms, pretending you're his willingly. pretending he's made peace with you, this wild creature, never tamed but understood. he can't force himself to ask for more, too scared to lose the crumbs he's holding onto. johnny tries to hide it with a fiery personality and a thick accent, but inside? he's a complete goner.

[thelaisydazy]

I saw your firefighter post! And I didn’t know if it was recent!! So I’ll drop one in! Firefighter141 x reader. Where captain price leads his team on a call for a burning down old run down cottage! And that’s when they meet you- a sweet southern girl! Whose food she cooks and words are TOOTH - ROTTING. I like to think firefighter141! Live in like a sorta deserted town. With a diner here and there and cottages! So a burning Down cottage is a BIG thing! And they’re so caring and protective of you! I hope you enjoy this asks as much as I am! - 🎀

I love the idea of them in a little middle-of-nowhere town with just a few things around. I'm mandating a forest as well though.

Not sure if this is exactly what you're looking for, but this made me want to write Price comforting the Cottagecore Cutie.

---

You're shaking. Your world is crashing down, and all you can do is stand in place in front of your perfect little cottage, watching uselessly as it burns down. 

You don’t hear the sirens. You don’t acknowledge the arms that wrap around you, leading you away from the footpath leading to your front door. You sit on the cool metal of the fire engine.

“You’re alright luv,” the firefighter says. Behind him, the small brigade starts in on your home, fighting the blaze that ruins it. A gloved hand gently touches your cheek, drawing you from your catatonic state and to the man in front of you. 

Captain Price. 

“Stay with me sweet thing,” he says. “Is there anyone else inside?” You shake your head and he reports into his radio. “What happened?”

“I.. I don’t..” you start, trailing off. You’d been baking. You were always baking something. Tears sting your eyes as Price shushes you gently. 

“Just breathe,” he coos. Seeing you still shaking, he shrugs off his massive jacket and drapes it over you. It smells of cigars and something woodsy, it’s comforting. 

“I was making cookies,” you finally say. “I left the room for just a minute, and there was a boom and-”

“Your gas line broke,” Price supplied. Your cottage was outfitted with old appliances, it wasn’t surprising something failed. He reached for his radio. “Johnny, find the gas main and shut it off.”

Tears stung at your eyes. “I.. I’m sorry,” you hiccup, guilt weighing in your chest. Everything was gone. Your home, all your belongings, everything. Before you can say much else, Price’s strong arms pull you into his chest, wrapping you in his warmth. 

“It’s not your fault luv,” he says. “You’re safe and that’s all that matters.”