#wire bar link

[srjsteel]

From Foundation to Finish: How Binding Wires Support the Strength of Super Rings and TMT Bars

Every structure relies on strength beneath the surface — and that starts with binding wires. Found wrapped tightly around TMT bars and Super Rings, these seemingly minor components play a pivotal role in reinforcing core elements and maintaining load distribution from foundation to finish.

While much attention is given to choosing the best TMT bar or high-performance Super Rings, the true stability of a reinforced frame depends on how securely it's tied together. Binding wires aren’t just accessories — they’re structural enablers, linking the skeleton of a building into a singular, high-resilience unit.

Awareness Stage: Why Binding Wires Deserve More Attention

Binding wires act as the invisible threads holding together the very framework of reinforced concrete structures. They tie intersecting TMT bars at junctions, ensuring no displacement occurs during the concrete pour. A poorly tied bar can shift even a few millimetres and compromise the structural geometry — a risk that multiplies in multi-storey and seismic-prone constructions.

These wires, when correctly chosen and applied, maintain the spatial arrangement of Super Rings and TMT bars, guaranteeing structural accuracy and load-bearing performance as intended by the design.

Technically, binding wires are made from soft annealed steel, allowing flexibility without compromising the grip. Their ductility helps them twist around the intersection of bars without snapping, which is crucial during dynamic movements like concrete setting, vibration, or formwork removal.

Consideration Stage: Binding Wires in Sync with Super Rings and TMT Bars

The introduction of Super Rings into reinforcement systems has transformed structural integrity — their high tensile strength and precise shape improve load transfer at critical junctions. But without precise binding, their advantages are diminished. Proper tying ensures that these rings remain in exact placement during installation, preserving the intended reinforcement density.

Similarly, the best TMT bar — known for its strength, elongation, and bonding ability with concrete — depends on its correct alignment and spacing. This is where binding wires silently take control, anchoring bars to each other and to Super Rings. Consistent tying maintains design clearances and ensures the cage structure doesn't distort under pressure.

Choosing poor-quality or inconsistent binding wires can result in slack ties, rust formation, or even structural failure over time. On the other hand, high-carbon content wires, correctly annealed, provide both the strength to hold and the softness to wrap efficiently.

Site engineers often note that stable reinforcement cages reduce errors during concreting. This directly improves the bonding between concrete and steel, enabling the best TMT bar to deliver its rated performance in terms of ductility and stress management.

Decision Stage: Why Quality Binding Wires Elevate the Entire Framework

In large-scale construction projects, every material must justify its presence. Binding wires, though inexpensive compared to TMT bars or rings, affect the precision, safety, and longevity of the entire steel framework.

High-quality binding wires resist early corrosion — which is critical since rust at the intersections can reduce grip and lead to premature degradation. Their uniform gauge and tensile strength ensure equal pressure across ties, reducing the risk of partial displacement during formwork handling or vibration.

When paired with the best TMT bar and trusted Super Rings, these wires enhance the lifespan and resilience of the structural skeleton. Projects that overlook their importance often face reinforcement misalignment, uneven stress distribution, or compromised seismic performance.

On sites where quality control is rigorous, binding wires are selected just as carefully as other reinforcement materials. Their performance under wet concrete load, resistance to environmental stress, and compatibility with various bar diameters directly contribute to the overall integrity of the build.

Binding wires may not carry the load, but they hold everything that does.

[standfucker]

Rotation

Characters: Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire

Reader: cis fem

Word Count: 24k

CW: explicit NSF.W content, recreation drug use, aphrodisiac, gangbang, oral (giving and receiving), double penetration, triple penetration, anal, voyeurism

Summary: After finally opening up to the crew, a recent personal victory has you all sailing to your home island to celebrate. However, you accidentally smoke the wrong strain, one thing leads to another, and you become the next object in the rotation.

Ao3 Link

Mesiba Island was famous far and wide for being a party island. Casinos, clubs, bars, brothels, even a natural hot spring–there was something for everyone. Liquor flowed like water, and drug laws were the laxest in all of the Grand Line. As your homeplace, you were used to the chaos and violence. Crimes of passion were commonplace, and death was regular news. 

Still, somehow you never expected it to happen to you.

A visiting pirate killed a close friend of yours, and by the time you’d heard about it, he’d fled the island. You were able to find out two vital things: He was heading further into the Grand Line, and he had a crew.

You were going to kill him. Of that, you were certain. But you also knew you couldn’t do it on your own. So, only hours after you’d learned of your friend’s death, you’d looked over the pirate crews that had currently docked on the island and approached the strongest one there.

“I want to join your crew.” You spoke firmly, standing tall, trying to show how serious you were.

“Oh?” Eustass “Captain” Kid looked down his nose at you. “Why should I let you?”

You gritted your teeth. “I want to kill someone who’s traversing the Grand Line. He’s got a crew. So I need to travel with one, too. And it needs to be a crew who’s not afraid to get dirty. The meaner the better.”

Kid wasn’t impressed. “And what makes you think you can handle sailing with us, pipsqueak?”

“I’m strong.”

“You’re puny,” Kid scoffed. He did have over a foot of height on you, but it didn’t scare you. Size difference was rarely an issue for you in fights. “And you use knives,” he continued, gaze falling to the rows of short blades strapped to your hips, “meaning you have to get in close range to your opponent, where you’ll get torn apart.”

“If they can keep up,” you argued. What you lacked in brute force, you well made up for in speed. “I can fight, Kid.”

The man cast a shadow as he leaned over you, narrowed eyes taking in your determined expression, assessing something–you didn’t know what. Then he smirked and stood up straight.

“Tell you what,” Kid jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward a man in blue who was almost as big as he was. A blue and white mask entirely concealed his face, thick blond hair spilling behind it that reached the back of his knees. Large hands curled around heavy metal gauntlets that were attached to wicked-looking scythes, currently folded back out of the way.

“If you can survive three minutes with Killer, I’ll let you join,” Kid said, looking smug. Like he thought you would be intimidated.

“Masquerade Rapunzel over there?” You glanced at the masked man. He was built a little leaner than Kid, but still impressive. Nothing you couldn’t handle, though. And if you couldn’t do this much, then how could you avenge your friend? You raised your chin confidently. “Bet.”

Killer ended up surprising you with his speed, but you were more agile. As a bigger target, he had to block your strikes while you needed to dodge his. The swings of those scythes packed a lot of force behind them, it was too risky to attempt to block. You were certain it would only take a single, direct hit to mortally injure you. But you were very good with your knives, and you were efficient above all else: your knowledge of anatomy taught you the best points to aim for on the human body.

Three minutes later, you’d stabbed Killer right below the chest. He almost decapitated you afterward, though, suddenly moving far more quickly than before. You jerked back at the last moment, and his blade tore you open to the bone, from your clavicle to your shoulder. Now second-guessing your chances of survival, you nonetheless prepared to strike back–and Kid called time. You and Killer were both hurting, but you were alive.

You expected them to be angry, but neither Kid nor Killer seemed bothered about either of the frankly concerning injuries. Moreover, Kid was impressed enough by the fight to honor his word. Their ship’s doctor patched you both up, and that night, you became the newest member of the Kid Pirates.

You didn’t open up for months.

You didn’t talk, much less hold conversations, and you mostly kept to yourself. Part of it was the fresh grief of losing your friend. Part of it was difficulty adjusting to the new lifestyle, having never sailed before. But mostly, you figured there was no point–after you got your revenge, you’d be parting ways with the Kid Pirates. It stayed in the back of your mind the entire time: This is temporary.

“Hey, Y/n, watcha doin’?” House paused by where you sat against the mast, your weapons laid out on your lap.

“Sharpening my knives,” you responded without looking at her.

“Didn’t you do that yesterday?”

“I like knowing they’re sharp.”

House glanced to the side, fiddling with her fingers. “...Oookay. I’ll leave you to it, I guess…”

And so it went. But months slipped by and turned to years, and living and fighting with the same people for that long had an effect that even your stubborn self couldn’t resist. It was in the way Wire dropped his coat onto you when you were shivering from an unexpected cold front, the garment gigantic and more like a blanket in comparison to you. It was in the way Killer found out your favorite food and served it for dinner after catching you crying one afternoon in the crow’s nest. It was in the way the girls in the crew drew you into their group (“us pirate girls gotta stick together!”) and let you jam with them on your off hours. Slowly, like a flower growing after the last winter, you opened up to the others’ warmth.

And heaven help them when you did, because once you got comfortable, you stopped censoring yourself. As you became friendly with the crew and got past your grief, your original personality started to shine through, and whatever thought came to mind was fair game. You started talking to the crew like you did to your friends back home–which, for Mesiba Island natives, typically meant being crass and lewd. You couldn’t help it, it was just in your nature. Maybe your original friend group took it too far, though.

Case in point: Heat looked over your shoulder at a letter you were writing one day, and commented on your (admittedly awful) handwriting.

“Can your friends back home even read what you send them, or do you all write like that?”

You replied without thinking. “Don’t bully me, Heat, I’ll cum.” 

Heat’s entire body flinched like he was hit, and he blushed all the way down to his neck, contrasting brilliantly with his tattoos. Completely disarmed, he opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t find the words.

Oops, that might have been a bit much for him. For all that his appearance might suggest, Heat was one of the most reserved members of the crew. You just returned to your letter, adding the exchange to the list of things you were writing about. You’d leave out how cute the blush looked on Heat, though, saving that thought for yourself to enjoy privately.

Then there was the time Kid was having drunken arm wrestling matches with some of the guys. You slid into the seat across from him and propped your elbow on the table, equally inebriated and mostly joking–his arm was three times as thick as yours, after all.

Kid shot you a lazy smirk. “Don’t even bother. You’ll just be a disappointment.”

“You sound like my father,” you joked. “Careful there, Captain. I might develop a complex.”

Brow raising, he grabbed your outstretched hand, dwarfing it in his. “Sounds like you already have one.”

“It is what it is.” Your gaze dropped to his arm, to the flexing of the thick muscle rippling underneath the skin, a little too intoxicated to catch yourself checking him out. Kid didn’t miss it, looking smug.

He squeezed your hand, the strength behind his grip setting butterflies free in your stomach. “Give it your best shot, then, pipsqueak.”

You pushed with all your might, straining and struggling, even leaning your body weight into his arm like you weren’t supposed to. You barely made any headway, Kid’s arm only moving back a little bit. He just watched you through half-lidded eyes, unbothered, a small smirk showing his amusement at your feeble attempt.

Maybe it was just the alcohol warming your blood, but the struggle seemed to affect you a little more than it should have. You could have chalked up the pounding of your heart to the physical exertion of the attempt, and not the stark power difference so obviously displayed between you and Kid, but it would have been a lie. The way your gaze kept ending up on his massive arms was proof enough of that.

“Hmph.” Kid waited another minute, then slowly and easily pushed your hand down until it pressed into the table. He did not let go. “Weak.”

“Bleh,” you stuck out your tongue, even though you had fully expected the result. “Well, you don’t need a lot of force behind your attacks if your knives are sharp.” You patted the knives at your hip and smirked. “Flesh parts easily for the sturdy blade.”

Kid’s grip on your hand tightened a little, and you went rigid at the way his voice dipped low. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Y/n?”

“Intimately so,” you shot back, feeling your cheeks getting warm, the sensation of his hand over yours suddenly overwhelming. Unused to feeling shy, you quickly covered it up with banter. “While I also enjoy holding your hand, Captain, I’ll be needing mine back.”

Kid’s eyes widened before he let go, drawing his arm back a bit too fast. Got him.

You stood, deciding tactfully not to point out his reaction, instead offering him a sheepish grin. “Thanks for indulging me, anyway. G’night, Captain.”

Maybe you had imagined the faint dusting of red on his cheeks, but as you walked away, you were determined not to think about it. Teasing was fine with you, so long as it stayed strictly verbal–you had no business getting close in that sort of way with anyone, no matter how drawn you felt to them. There were a few people in the crew that you liked being around a little more than you should have. It probably wasn’t a coincidence that they were the only ones who could kick your ass, your brain immediately going to unsavory places whenever they bested you while sparring.

Technically it made sense, given that they were the strongest four: Kid, Killer, Wire, and Heat. You ranked fifth in terms of combat ability (though other crewmates had seniority over you due to experience,) earned one day after a long, exhausting match with Gig. You had barely come out on top, literally, by perching on his back and strangling him with his own necklace. You were certain you could at least handle Heat after that, but when you later challenged the fire-breather, it only took a short while before he had you pinned to the floor with a hand wrapped around your neck, your knives knocked out of reach.

Heat opened his mouth, curls of smoke rising out in threat, and you tapped out, trying not to think about the feel of his fingers around your throat.

“Okay, okay, you win,” you sighed in defeat. “Hurry up and let go before you awaken something in me.”

Heat pulled away quickly, blushing, though it could have also been from exertion. It looked good on him either way, even combined with the annoyed look he gave you. 

“You don’t even need to fight your opponents. You could just run that colorful mouth of yours, and they would run away,” he grumbled, offering you a hand.

You took it, and Heat pulled you easily to your feet. He must have still felt flustered, though, because he pulled a little too hard, making you stumble into him. He caught you, steadying you by the arms, and when your gazes met, you both froze, realizing how close you were.

Heat’s eyes flickered back and forth across your face, his blush deepening when he glanced at your lips. Suddenly the pounding of your heart had nothing to do with exercise. Caught off guard and anxious, you played it off the only way you knew how. “You gotta at least buy me dinner before talking about my mouth, sir.” 

Really, you weren’t trying to make it worse. You just couldn’t help yourself, always talking too much whenever you got nervous. The words only served to thicken the tension, the feeling of his hands on your arms exceedingly hot all of a sudden. His entire body seemed to give off heat, more so than usual, and your stupid mouth kept going, revealing every stray thought in your brain. “Oh, wow, you’re really warm. You’d make an excellent bedmate on a cold night.”

“I…” Heat found himself at a loss for words. He let go of your arms but otherwise remained frozen, and you wondered if he was picturing the same thing you were–the two of you curled up together, bodies pressed close, lazily breathing in each other’s scent. Maybe your hands would start to wander…

“Sorry. Forget I said anything.” You looked away, unable to harbor the thought while also meeting his eye, nervously rubbing your arm where he had been touching you. “Um, good fight, yeah? Maybe I’ll pin you next time. That would be an exciting change.”

Again with unintentionally making things worse. The sight of Heat’s Adam's apple bobbing with his swallow finally spurred you to leave, not wanting to twist yourself up in unnecessary desire any further if you could help it.

You were, to be honest, caught off guard by your attraction. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise–you knew what you liked, and they all fit the bill in their own way–but you had joined the crew during a grieving period. At the time, and for a long while after, you had felt nothing toward the crew, much less interest. The feelings snuck up on you as you came out of your shell, and they were getting increasingly harder to ignore.

The Victoria Punk anchored in a secluded cove one hot day, and most of the crew opted to go for a swim. You kicked off your shoes carelessly in your eagerness to join, each one landing on a different spot on the pile the crew left behind. Killer went to retrieve them, going to line them up neatly with the rest–one of his odd, compulsive habits–and the rare sound of his huff of suppressed laughter made you pause, his deep voice speaking up a second later. 

“What the hell is this?”

You turned around to see him holding up one of your shoes. Killer had bulked up significantly in the time since you’d set sail with the Kid Pirates, and the sight of the comparatively small item in the palm of his hand was, to be fair, a little ridiculous.

“My shoes?” You narrowed your eyes, having a feeling you knew where this was going and not caring for it at all.

“No way your feet are this small.” His head turned to you, mask tilting down, and you knew he was looking at your feet. You felt a strong urge to cover them, which was dumb–why should you feel shy about your feet, of all things? But Killer had inadvertently found something you were self-conscious about.

“Whatever! Stop looking, you weirdo.”

Killer was usually hard to read, even after knowing him that long. But right then, you couldn’t help but feel like he was enjoying getting a rise out of you, because he continued. “These are shoes for ants.”

“Shut up, Killer!!” You snapped, face flushing warm. “They are proportionate to my height, thank you very much! F–” You stopped yourself before a ‘fuck off’ slipped out, mindful of your rank. He wouldn’t appreciate the disrespect.

Killer noticed, though, as astute as ever. “What was that?”

From the tone of his voice, you could tell he was only messing with you, not actually upset. That only made it worse, though, your chest getting tight in response.

“Nothing! You didn’t hear anything.” You crossed your arms in a subconscious attempt to cover yourself, feeling exposed even though your swimsuit wasn’t revealing.

Another brief huff was audible from under his mask, and then Killer set down your shoe and approached you. He didn’t stop until he was fairly close, only a few inches separating your bodies, and you resisted the urge to step back, heart thumping in your chest as you looked up at him.

Killer rested a hand flat on top of your head, like he was measuring your height. You barely reached the top of his chest. In fact, you were at the perfect height to shove your face between his giant pecs, a thought that your brain took off with at an alarming speed before you could hope to suppress it. 

You made a face at him, trying very hard to look annoyed rather than affected.

“I suppose it makes sense,” Killer hummed, “given you’re so tiny.”

“I am not! I’m not even the shortest one on the crew!” you protested. “Of course everything would seem small to you! You’re stupidly huge.”

“Stupidly huge?” Killer repeated, that edge of amusement never leaving his voice.

“Yes,” you grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand off your head, and paused at the sight of it. It was as big as Kid’s. Without thinking, you raised your other hand to press against his, comparing the size directly. “S-See? Look at these–these flippers of yours.”

Killer huffed again. You wondered why he never laughed outright, but it still made your heart pick up speed. Your hand looked like a child’s compared to his, each of his fingers an inch longer and far thicker–do NOT think about that right now, you thought sternly, desperate to keep your imagination under control. You could not ignore how the rough skin of his palm was pleasantly warm, though, nor how he curled his fingers over yours, calloused fingertips covering your nails.

There was a heat on your skin now that had nothing to do with the weather. You were quite literally in the process of losing your cool, which naturally meant running your mouth further. “I can’t believe the oven mitts in the galley even fit you,” you jabbed, drawing your hand away. “Were they custom-made?”

“You sound jealous,” Killer retorted, lowering his hand. “I think you just hate being short.”

You looked him up and down, and–heaven help you–before you could stop yourself, your gaze settled between his legs as you audibly stated, “Not always.”

Killer went quiet. You went quiet. The silence hung between you awkwardly, while you felt like your brain was coming to a rapid boil.

It was suddenly far too hot.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. And then turned, bolting straight for the port side of the ship and flinging yourself into the ocean, nearly taking out a crewmate because you didn’t look first.

Even with Killer’s face perpetually concealed, you couldn’t look at him for a week straight after that.

Your filter never really returned, which wasn’t usually a problem for you. The Kid Pirates were as crass a crew as any. You didn’t care about being suggestive, normally finding it funny more than anything else–but when it happened around those four, you would get uncharacteristically flustered, and attempting to hide it often led you to digging the hole deeper. Alcohol only made it worse, and there was enough of it going around each night to keep leading you to compromise your plans of keeping your distance.

When a party on the deck threatened to overstimulate you, you retreated to the crow’s nest, ascending carefully to minimize the loss of rum from your mug. Some still spilled out, but by the time you made it inside, you were pretty satisfied with your achievement, especially considering your current inebriation.

Unfortunately, the crow’s nest was already occupied. Fortunately, it was only Wire–one of the more preferable people to run into at the moment, considering his laid-back attitude and soft-spoken manner. He was bent over slightly where he sat in order to fit into the small room, his head grazing the ceiling, the horns of his hood folded down cutely.

“Ey, Wire,” you greeted. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” Wire looked at the mug in your hand and chuckled. “You know, climbing the mast drunk, while clinging to your booze, and not falling off–that, more than anything, really brands you as a pirate.”

“Who says I’m drunk?” You crossed the room, only swaying a little bit, and plopped onto the bench next to Wire. 

Wire paused. “Actually, you always speak so freely that I can never tell. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Hm. Probably not a good thing,” you mused.

“Is it? I kind of envy the way you so openly speak your mind.”

“Don’t. It’s a curse.” You grinned despite yourself. “But, for the record, I’m good and sloshed right now.”

“As am I,” Wire said, lifting up his own mug from where it rested on his other side. It was proportionate to him, the size of your head, large enough to hold over a gallon of liquid. “What brings you up here?”

“I could ask the same, what with you drinking alone.” You nudged his leg with your foot. “Things were getting a bit loud, so I needed a break, that’s all.”

“But you jam with the girls all the time?” Wire asked.

“Music noise and crowd noise are different,” you explained. “I don’t really know how to describe it.”

“Fair enough.”

“I usually don’t mind a little overstimulation,” you said thoughtfully, completely oblivious both to what you implied and to the way Wire subtly leaned toward you in interest, “but it’s worse when I’m drunk or high, so.”

Wire peered into your mug to gauge its contents, an easy task from his vantage point. “Are you that drunk?”

“Triple basted, as my friends back home would say,” you swirled the rum in your mug idly, “but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m a Mesiban native, after all. Chaos is in our blood. We call ourselves ‘Messy’ for good reason.’”

Wire reflected your wry smile. “Do you miss them?”

“Of course! I think about them all the time.” You paused, smile fading as your fingers tapped on your mug. “When my friend was killed… I probably should have stayed home and grieved together with all of the rest. Have their support and support them in turn. And not, you know, impulsively join a pirate crew and wallow alone in misery for months.” 

Wire watched you stare into your mug for a moment, and then your smile returned full force as you looked up at him.

“But that’s okay!” you said cheerfully, “I would have never met all of you otherwise, so things worked out just fine in the end. I really feel like–and don’t laugh–I really feel like every person on this crew’s my friend, too.”

Wire’s smile widened. You certainly had come a long way over the last few years. He held his mug out to you. “To good friends.”

“Old and new,” you added, knocking your mug against his.

“Aye.” 

The thunk of the wooden mugs hitting each other was satisfying, and the deep drink you both took was even more so. You drained the rest of your drink in one go, then chucked the empty mug across the room.

“Ah, that’s good stuff. I feel fucking great,” you sighed, “now I just need a great fucking.”

Wire nearly choked on his drink, managing to get it down safely before he laughed. “Yeah?”

“Mm. Perfect way to wrap up the night. Drunk sex isn’t as good as high sex, but it’s better than no sex. Words of wisdom!” You waved a hand nonchalantly as your words slurred. “But I’m used to not getting any. Haven’t fucked anyone since I became a pirate. At this point, I’d be satisfied with the simple pleasures of a comfy blanket.”

Wire took in that information slowly, realizing that, for all your lewd dialogue, he had never actually seen you go hunting for flings when they were docked. He perked up at your last sentence. “Oh, are you cold?”

“Yeah.” Despite the alcohol in your system, you tended to run cold, and now that you had settled, you could feel the light chill in the air even from within the crow’s nest.

Wire wordlessly held open the side of his cloak, offering to share in his warmth.

Ordinarily, you would have hesitated, double-checking with him if it was okay. With your current blood-alcohol content level, however, there was no shame nor shyness to be had. You scooted over until you were sitting right up next to him, thighs touching, and he closed the cloak around you, enveloping you in the comfort of both his warmth and his scent.

“Better?” He asked.

“Much,” you leaned against him. “Thanks.”

His arm around your shoulders was solid and soothing, and you felt yourself melt into his body heat. He had a lot of it to go around, given his size. Your drunken thoughts began to charge away from you now that you were snuggled close to his body. As the tallest member of the Kid Pirates, he made even the biggest guys on the ship look tiny, much less yourself. Wire absolutely towered over you, easily twice your height. When you were both standing, you were at eye level with his crotch. You could have sucked him off while standing, a thought that occurred regularly, even after all this time. You never got used to it. But, god, would it even fit in your mouth? Was he proportionate? What if–

“You’re staring,” Wire noted, though he didn’t sound bothered.

You realized you had been staring at his crotch for a solid minute now. However, once again, all traces of shame had been replaced by booze.

“Women get objectified all the time. Now you know what it feels like,” you joked. “I’m evening the playing field.”

You could feel the rumble of Wire’s chuckle through his torso.

“Also, I bet it looks nice,” you continued. “I bet you got a job-hunting dick.”

Wire paused. “Job-hunting?” 

You pulled your gaze away from his crotch to meet his eye, a mischievous spark in yours. “Yeah. You know… Because you fill someone out, like an application.”

Wire laughed, accidentally hitting his head against the ceiling with how he threw his head back. He winced, still giggling, rubbing the top of his head while you apologized.

“Don’t apologize. I like that. ‘Like an application…’ Is that something your friends back home say?”

“Actually, House said it,” you grinned at his look of surprise, “and it’s stowed away in my head ever since.”

As Wire finished his drink, he wondered if he knew less about his crewmates than he previously thought. Setting the mug down on his other side, he looked down to see that you were watching him, focused on his eyes this time. 

“Have you really been celibate this whole time?” he asked.

“Yeah. I don’t like hooking up with strangers.” You shifted, settling further into him. “It was easier back on Mesiba. Had a small network of fuckbuddies, and people could vouch for their acquaintances. Mesibans have a reputation for promiscuity for good reason, but we took care of each other.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“It wasn’t perfect, but I had my needs met,” you shrugged. “There are downsides to a culture like that, though. I lost my virginity earlier than I probably should have. And I might be a little too used to going out of my comfort zone in bed. But it’s fine, no big deal. Most of the memories are good ones.”

Wire hummed, but didn’t respond. His gaze shifted upwards in thought, and didn’t come back down until you nudged him again.

“What about you?” You asked. “I mean, a guy like you? Mr. Tall, dark and handsome? I bet you were rolling in bitches on your home island.”

“Rolling in ‘em?” Wire smirked to himself, and you wondered if he was also thinking about past dalliances. “I guess I’ve had my fair share of encounters. Enough so to consider myself experienced.”

This time, you went quiet in thought, and the silence that stretched between you was relaxed and cozy. Despite the myriad of unholy scenarios now running through your head, you still could have fallen asleep right there, wrapped in his coat and cuddled up close. A minute later, his deep voice broke through, something you could feel as much as hear with your head resting on his torso.

“You think I’m handsome?”

The question had an immediate effect on your body, your stomach doing a funny little flip while your heart picked up speed. It skipped a beat entirely when you peered up at him and saw the way he was looking at you now, eyes somehow both dark and burning.

Would you have lied if you were sober? You weren’t sure. You were never the shy type–until those damned four–but you were trying not to get too close. Alas, you were currently as drunk as a fish swimming in a lake of booze, and could be nothing but honest. 

“Yeah, I do,” you admitted.

Wire glanced away for a moment, smiling. “What a coincidence.”

“Hm?” You relaxed somewhat when his eyes left you, only to tense up when they met yours again.

“I think you’re cute.”

The heat that flushed through your body could have been blamed on the alcohol, but the force with which your heart was suddenly hammering against your ribs could not. You were almost afraid that he’d be able to feel it. Not that it mattered–you were sure your face was an open book. His thigh, as big as your entire torso, pressed lightly against yours. For a second, you didn’t know what to say. Then you returned his smile, though yours wasn’t nearly as confident.

“That’s a relief. I get self-conscious sometimes.” You looked away, now shy even in spite of the alcohol–he just had that effect on you. “Hopefully I’ll remember that in the morning.”

With one massive finger under your chin, Wire gently turned your head to look back up at him.

Your breath caught in your throat. Wire leaned over you, filling your vision, probably not intending to block out the rest of the room, but unable to help it with his size. It meant you could see nothing but him now. Smell nothing but him, with his cloak wrapped around you. He bent further, getting closer, and you vaguely wondered if it hurt his back given the distance between the two of you, but if it did, he didn’t complain. He just kept getting closer.

“Really cute,” Wire murmured, his face now inches away.

You could barely hear him over the sound of blood roaring in your ears. Wire’s other arm was still slung around your shoulders, and he rubbed your arm slowly, leaving goosebumps. His finger never left your chin as he closed the distance.

Wire’s lips pressed against yours softly. Your entire body seemed to ignite, every cell alight and buzzing all at once. His lips were as warm as the rest of him, but what struck you was how gentle he was, kissing you so delicately it made you dizzy. Overwhelmed, your eyelids fluttered shut, and when you felt him start to pull away, you followed. Now certain you wanted it, Wire found your lips again.

Your hands came up to hold his face, just in case he was thinking of pulling away again, your thumbs tracing the markings on his cheeks. Wire sighed into your mouth, and the tiniest moan escaped yours. He hadn’t even used his tongue, but you were suddenly aware of the growing wetness between your legs–something that never happened to you from just a dry kiss.

The realization was sobering, a voice screaming in the back of your head now: Stop! You’re too close! This is all temporary, remember?!

You broke away from the kiss, eyes opening to see that Wire had never closed his. Had he watched you the whole time? There was a slight panic in your mind now, along with two certainties now made clear: 1. It was too late to deny it–you had feelings for your superiors, and 2. If you stayed there, you were absolutely going to fuck him.

That was a line you couldn’t let yourself cross. It was in the interest of protecting yourself: Getting too close only to have to leave would have hurt, simple as that. But, god, the way he was looking at you now, with a slight sense of awe and pupils blown wide. He wanted you, maybe as badly as you wanted him.

Before you made a decision you’d regret, you stood up, taking a step back. Now away from the cover of his cloak and the warmth of his body, the coolness of the air only contributed to the prickle of goosebumps on your skin. Your hand came to touch your lips, still tingling with the sensation of his.

“Um,” you said dumbly, then tried again, “Wire... Thanks for the chat. I have to, uh. Go to the bathroom...”

It was with the willpower of a thousand Buddhist monks that you forced yourself to leave, not looking back, afraid to see his expression.

You could only pray that he had drunk enough that he would forget about it the next morning. You certainly didn’t, the memory of the kiss fresh in your mind when you next opened your eyes. But Wire never brought it up again, nor did he treat you any differently, leading you to think that he must have. You tried to ignore the disappointment that arose–it was for the best, you told yourself.

You put more effort into staying emotionally distant after that, but it was difficult. Staying in an enclosed space for weeks at a time meant there was no avoiding those four. And aside from them, there was no doubt that the rest of the crew considered you a friend as much as you did them. Vicious battles with other pirate crews or Marines, perilous weather, long hours of work–nothing was able to drag down your mood for long, because at the end of the day, you had fun. It was just fun to sail with them, simple as that. 

You were enjoying yourself enough that you almost forgot about your revenge, your reason for joining Kid the first place, until the day came when it stared you in the face. You heard from the natives of the island you had docked at about the other crews currently there, and the name spoken of that pirate, your friend’s killer, was like ice on your skin and in your heart. Finally, after all those years, you would have your opportunity.

You found him. Both crews were there, but this was personal–you wanted to face him one-on-one. He agreed, the cocky look on his face a familiar indicator that he was underestimating you. That was fine. It would only make things easier. You didn’t need an epic battle, you just needed him to die.

With your trusty knives sharp and ready, and your heart crying out for blood, you fought him. You were far stronger and faster than you had been when you first left your home island, a result of the frequent training with the Kid Pirates. The pirate was strong, but not nearly strong enough. When it became obvious he was going to lose, he cowardly called out for his crew. For a moment, seeing the swarm of pirates rush to his aid, you thought you would die there. Then, to your surprise, the Kid Pirates surged forth to intercept them, letting you finish your fight without interruptions.

You slayed the man who killed your friend. Those of his crew that were still standing, now demotivated at the sight of their dead captain, made a hasty retreat. And as you stood there, panting, blood dripping from your knives, you realized that the mission was finally complete. You no longer needed the Kid Pirates. It was over.

Kid approached you. And you? You cried like a bitch, tears streaming down your cheeks at the thought of finally saying goodbye. It was the first time you’d ever cried in front of them like that, and it was not a pretty cry, either.

Kid leaned over you, like he did when you first met. But this time, he was wearing his unique look of annoyed concern. “You got what you wanted after all this time,” he said gruffly. “Why the hell are you crying?”

“I… I…” You fought to keep your voice steady. “I don’t want to leave! I want to keep sailing with you and the crew. I really,” you sniffed, “really enjoyed spending time with everyone!”

“Then stay, you big fucking crybaby.”

You wiped your face on your sleeve and peered up at him. “...I can stay?”

“Did you think you were getting kicked off?” Kid scowled. “You’ll always have a place onboard the Victoria Punk.”

That only made it worse, a fresh wave of tears pouring out, and you couldn’t find the words to respond, only a pathetic sob.

“So quit blubbering and pull yourself together, alright? This is embarrassing,” Kid said. “You’re a Kid Pirate, aren’t you? Act like it.”

Warmth spread through your chest, light and bubbly, a sense of camaraderie so strong it was almost euphoric. You smiled through the tears, the cry turning into a laugh of pure joy.

“Yeah,” you said, standing up straighter, “I am a Kid Pirate.”

The crew threw a party that night in celebration of your achievement. Seeing the reverie, them all having fun for your sake, made you emotional, and when they toasted to you, you cried again, earning their teasing. It didn’t bother you one bit. This was your life and these were your people now, and you wouldn’t change it for anything. You asked Hip, a former tattoo artist, for a certain tattoo later, once you were all sober, and she eagerly agreed.

As soon as the following day, you bore new ink. Situated in the middle of your upper back, right between your shoulder blades, was the Kid Pirates’ secondary jolly roger: Four inches across, a perfect circle of glittering black ink with a row of spikes, and a skull in the center. It wasn’t visible when you were dressed, as you liked to be able to blend in with the general population, but you couldn’t help smiling like an idiot whenever you looked at it in the mirror. Kid made it obvious that you had been one of them since the beginning, but this made it feel official.

The energy on the ship seemed different after that, but it might have been your imagination. You felt closer to everyone than ever before, after all. Maybe it was the symbol you now carried on your back. Maybe it was the memory of the whole crew rushing in to fight for you. Or maybe it was the fact that there was no more reason to keep your distance from those four, a thought that reared up with increasing frequency nowadays. Still, you kept it in your pants, so to speak, mostly because you were afraid of what you would do if you crossed that line. You weren’t sure if you wanted them to find out just how far your craving went, not wanting to appear desperate.

After circling the first half of the Grand Line, Kid decided a break was in order, and so the Victoria Punk headed for your home island to kick back. You were excited, naturally, eager to show the crew the very best Mesiba Island had to offer, local digs and spots that weren’t as well-known to outsiders. You were also planning something else, something you didn’t get to partake in much since you left home.

“I’ve been in contact with one of my buddies. I’m gonna hook up the whole crew,” you told Kid.

“What makes you think I’d smoke your hometown’s mid-tier garbage?” Kid griped.

You weren’t phased in the slightest, well-used to his attitude. “Oh Captain, dearest Captain. You have no idea what you’re in for,” you smirked. “My friend’s a Devil Fruit user! Some ability affecting plants, I don’t know the specifics. Produces nothing but gold, though.”

“Bullshit,” Kid said. “I bet he says that to drive up business.”

“She actually keeps that part quiet, to avoid trouble. But we’re close. So don’t tell anyone I told you that, okay?” You patted his shoulder.

Kid glared at your hand, but you didn’t move it until he replied. “Fine. I’ll judge it for myself, then.”

“We haven't gotten to smoke in a while,” you withdrew your hand, “same with most of the crew. If you’re not careful…”

“I know what I can handle, pipsqueak. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sure, of course. Whatever you say.”

Kid turned his glare to you, but you were already leaving, needing to write another letter to your dealer friend to get the goods prepared.

The first two days on Mesiba Island were less eventful, you taking the time to visit friends and family while the crew relaxed. On the third day, you had met up with your Devil Fruit-using buddy, and, as promised, returned with copious amounts of the highest-quality weed for everyone to enjoy. The crew stayed at one of your friend’s taverns, and you pulled aside Kid, Killer, Heat, and Wire.

“Listen. There wasn’t enough of this particular strain for everyone, but I wanted to share it. Don’t tell the others, okay?”

You had gotten a nice deal on rooms from your friend, and the crew had splintered into various groups to partake in the drugs. It didn’t take much convincing for the four to join you in a separate room, curious about the special strain. You pushed the bed to the side and dragged out extra chairs, arranging them in a circle.

Almost everything had been set up ahead of time. Bottles of water and snacks lined the small table in the middle of the room, along with a rolling tray, an ashtray, and all the papers and tips you could possibly need. You put on gloves before grinding up the bud, chatting while you worked.

“It’s okay to smoke in here?” Heat asked.

“Remember what island you’re on,” you said, sprinkling the herb on the blunt wrap you were currently working with. “Not only is it okay, but we’re going to hotbox the room.”

Kid eyed the row of perfectly rolled blunts that you had already finished preparing. “You were a regular stoner, huh?”

“Have you considered that maybe I’m just good with my hands?” You glanced at him while licking the blunt wrap, which might have been a mistake, because he stared in a way that made your heart skip. You folded the blunt wrap closed. “But, yeah, I used to smoke all the time.”

“What’s so special about this strain?” Wire asked.

“It’s my favorite! Best of the best out of what my friend grows,” you smiled proudly as you dried the blunt with your lighter. “A well-balanced hybrid with a good flavor. Really nice, lofty high without knocking you out too much to enjoy it. Not that the crew got anything mid! This stuff is just even better, but she only grows it in small batches. I bet it’ll even chill you out, Kid.”

Kid shot you a look that you ignored while Wire nodded, saying, “I see. What’s it called?”

“Magenta Mountain.” You set the finished blunt at the end of the row to finish drying. The first ones were ready by now.

You plopped into your chair, lit the first blunt, and made sure it was burning evenly before taking a small hit to start with, to adjust to the feeling of smoking again. It didn’t take long, the hot smoke in your throat and lungs pleasant rather than irritating, and your second hit was deeper. You exhaled slowly, watching the milky smoke curl and expand, then coughed a few times before passing the blunt to your right, where Killer sat. Next to him was Kid, then Heat, and completing the circle, on your left, was Wire.

You expected Killer to lift his mask an inch, like you’d seen him do occasionally for certain foods. Instead, he stuck the blunt in one of the lower holes of his mask to take the hit, and when he exhaled, smoke came out of all the holes in the mask.

“Once the blunt’s gone around a few times,” you said, “that’s gonna be hilarious.”

“It’s hilarious now,” Heat grinned.

“You’ll get over it,” Killer said, passing the blunt to Kid.

“Just don’t get mad if I laugh,” you said.

“I won’t.”

You debated lighting a second blunt and having two going around at once, but ultimately decided against it. There was no rush, as the rooms were rented out for the entire night. Conversation started to flow, interspersed with the occasional fit of coughs, and by the third time the blunt passed your hands, you were starting to feel its effects. The first thing you noticed was the warmth around your eyes, gradually spreading to the rest of your face, and then to your entire body.

“How’s my hometown treating everyone?” you asked, shrugging off your jacket and tossing it onto the bed behind you.

“No complaints here,” Heat said before taking a large hit off the blunt, and you watched with some fascination. Every hit he took was a huge one, and he never coughed once. It must have had something to do with his fire-breathing ability, being used to smoke.

“I liked the restaurant from yesterday,” Killer remarked.

“Oh, you mean Papa’s? I thought you would. Their pasta rules.” You paused, remembering something, then snickered.

“What?” Kid asked, his tone already far less harsh than usual.

“It’s fucking stupid,” you grinned, “but, growing up, my friends and I would call it ‘Daddy’s’ as a joke. Someone would order spaghetti and meatballs, and we’d immediately pile on about them having ‘daddy’s balls’ and whatnot.”

Kid must have been feeling it now, too, because instead of rolling his eyes like he usually would, he cracked a smile.

“Told you it was dumb.” You leaned back in your chair–no, you melted into it. There was a haze in the air now, thick smoke hanging around the room as you hotboxed it further and further. There was also a haze in your head. Different from the kind you would get from alcohol, this one made you feel light and floaty.

The weed was well established in your system now. There was a slight head rush at first that had since settled, leaving you with a gentle sort of drifting feeling. Your heart rate picked up slightly, even as your breathing slowed. A sense of calm settled over you, both in your head and in your body. Muscles loosening up, you relaxed further, everything seeming to move a little bit more slowly. Your senses seemed to heighten, particularly your sense of touch. You could feel the air itself wrapped around your skin, like you were underwater without the water. A faint, soothing pressure.

You didn’t feel the world around you. You experienced it.

Along with the physical sensitivity came an almost spiritual one. Not in the religious sense, or even in the out-of-body sense, but in the way you felt connected to your surroundings. The pressure of your feet against the floor was grounding, and when you closed your eyes, you felt like you were a part of the entire island. When the others talked, you felt connected with them too, like you were locking onto their energy. That closeness was one reason you loved smoking with friends, so it was nice to share it with them, but it wasn’t your favorite thing about being high.

The best thing, you thought, was the way your negativity seemed to dissolve. Fears and doubts subsided, making way for a simple appreciation of existence. It seemed more important to focus on enjoying things in life rather than lamenting the broken state of the world.

You looked around the room and took in the state of your companions. Everyone except Killer had settled back into their chairs, the latter instead leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. But you could tell that even Killer was unwinding. Your gaze slid over to look at Heat, and when the two of you made eye contact, his eyes widened.

“Your eyes are really red,” Heat said.

“Everyone’s eyes are red, my guy,” you replied, then glanced at Killer. “Well, Killer’s might not be. We’ll never know.”

You and Heat giggled.

“And I’ll never tell,” Killer said solemnly.

That got everyone laughing, you covering your mouth until the fit calmed.

“When I first joined the crew,” you nodded at Killer, “I was dying to know what you looked like under the mask, but I’m over it now.”

“No, you’re not,” Wire accused.

You were a bit taken aback that he read you so easily. “No, I’m not,” you agreed.

Kid waved his right hand vaguely. “You’re not missing out on anything. He’s an ugly motherfucker.”

You gawked at Kid in shock, but Killer burst out laughing, the first time you’d ever heard him do so, head hanging down and shoulders shaking. It was a weird but adorable laugh, and you calmed down–it seemed that sort of thing was fine if it was coming from Kid.

“No way,” you said, relaxing once more. “I bet he’s cute.”

Alcohol made you honest due to a lack of judgment. Weed made you honest because you didn’t care otherwise. You knew what you were saying and it was okay because the world was good, and your friends liked you and all that mattered was being in the moment.

“You sound so certain,” Killer said once he caught his breath, a playful lilt to his tone lingering from his laugh.

“I can feel it in my gut,” you said assuredly.

“I could have a facial scar.”

“Kid has a facial scar, and he’s cute.”

Kid looked at you in surprise, and where you would normally smile back with your high confidence, you now deftly avoided eye contact as you were rapidly becoming aware of a new effect of the weed on your body.

Sometimes weed had the effect of raising your libido, and Magenta Mountain had occasionally done so in the past. Maybe it was the increased circulation, you didn’t know. You had considered that it might happen, but it was never enough to be distracting, so you hadn’t been worried. The rest of the effects of the weed were so nice, it was well worth the discomfort of possibly being a bit aroused in the presence of others, you had figured.

But you were not a ‘bit’ aroused. You were burning up, slowly but surely, tingling and hypersensitive all over until there was a growing dampness between your legs. And the others around you were all men you had a raging, years-long crush on. Beneath the carefree optimism of the high was the dawning sense that something was off.

“This shit is amazing. What did you call this strain?” Heat asked, plucking the weed container from the table to look at the label.

“Magenta Mountain.”

“Huh…” His squinty eyes narrowed further. “This says something else.”

“What?”

Heat tossed the container to you. You fumbled it in your intoxication, bouncing it between your hands until it clattered to the floor. The others laughed, and you did too as you reached down to pick it up. Your laughter died as you read the label.

‘Red Sky At Night.’

A weight settled heavily in your stomach as you realized what’s been happening: your friend gave you the wrong strain. Not only that, but you were very, very familiar with what you–and the others–had been smoking all this time.

‘R-SAN,’ as you and your friend had dubbed it, was specifically designed to increase arousal, focusing on blood flow and sensitivity far more than other strains. You knew this because you were the one your friend used as a lab rat when developing it. The information sank in slowly as it dawned on you–you’d unintentionally given you and your superiors a mild aphrodisiac. And you, as the one it was tested on, would be affected by it the most heavily.

“Y/n?”

Your head snapped up. The others were looking at you with some concern.

“You good, or did we just smoke the wrong weed?”

“We’re good!” You replied a little too quickly, voice a little too high-pitched. “She gave me the wrong strain, but it’s fine. I mean, I feel fine. Do you feel fine?”

Heat and Killer shrugged, Kid grunted an affirmative, and Wire nodded.

“I will admit,” Kid said, “whatever this is, it’s some pretty good shit.”

You lifted your chin. “T-Told you so. My friend grows good herb.”

The others lounged in their seats quietly, soaking in the high. Meanwhile, you wanted to scream. The current blunt in rotation was the third one of the night, and you had already smoked too much to be able to come down anytime soon. Not to mention there were four more blunts left that the others would likely want to go through. That meant a lot of time stuck in your worked-up state. If you rejected any more, would it be suspicious? Especially after you went to the trouble to set all this up? You weren’t sure how much more you could tolerate. Already, you wanted to run off and touch yourself until you had sated the blazing urge inside you.

It was imperative, for the sake of your sanity, that you did not let your imagination run away with you.

You tried to think about tame things, and not how you could feel your pulse between your legs, or how wet you were already, or how attractive the men you were sharing space with were. At the least, it was easy to be introspective when high, so you were able to force your thoughts into the sentimental, rather than the physical. You thought about the warmth of your friends–not that kind of warmth, damn it–but how the way they treated you changed since you first met them. Yes, focus on that. Focus on the beginnings, how initially standoffish everyone was. You considered the time when you first met the crew. There had been something odd about your battle with the First Mate…

“Killer,” you said, “remember when we first met? How we fought?” You pulled the neckline of your shirt to the side, exposing your shoulder to show the scar that ran from there to your clavicle. At 6 inches long, it was your biggest scar, but you didn’t hold it against him. Focused on Killer, you missed the gazes of the other three settling on your bare skin.

“Yeah,” Killer replied.

“You were going easy on me, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Until you stabbed me.”

That was what you had suspected. The sudden increase in his speed during the fight didn’t make sense otherwise. You tried not to sound smug. “Why is that? Why didn’t you try to kill me, Killer?”

“I almost took your head off,” Killer said plainly.

“No, I’m talking about before I stabbed you. You held back,” you pressed.

Killer paused. “...You want the truth?”

“Yes?” You sat forward, intrigued.

“When you approached us years ago,” Killer interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them, “your eyes were all swollen like you’d been crying for hours. I assumed it was over the friend you wanted revenge for–I realized you came straight to us not long after you’d found out. That kind of determination, that kind of love for a friend, it’s something I value in an ally. That’s why I hesitated.” 

“Oh,” you said softly, unexpectedly touched. That was honestly very sweet, so much so that it was making you self-conscious, so you added a playful, “guess that all went out the window after my knife slotted between your ribs, eh?”

“Mostly,” Killer said. “I was kind of into it, though.”

Your eyes widened, and you grinned nervously. “Shut the hell up. No you were not.”

Wire chuckled, a deep sound that practically gave you goosebumps in your current state. “Well, knives are sexy, and Killer has a ridiculously high pain tolerance, so I can see it.”

No matter what you did, it seemed that the conversation kept circling back to indecent places. You mentally floundered for a moment before quickly spouting, “Too bad for you guys. Killer got soft, and now you’re stuck with me.”

Killer’s head snapped to you at the accusation, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the weight of his glare. You met it (kind of) in challenge. Despite the slight sense of warning you were getting, you continued to run your mouth.

“You could have killed me if you really tried, you know–back then, you completely outclassed me.”

“I still completely outclass you,” Killer stated.

Your look of indignant shock sent the other three into a laughing fit, and your face burned in embarrassment. Even high, you still had your pride as a fighter, which was now thoroughly bruised. “Excuse me?” you fumed. “I’m way stronger than I was years ago! I can fucking take you!”

Killer stood up suddenly, the warning in your head becoming a full-on alarm when he stalked over to you. You scrambled to your feet, but the weed slowed your reaction speed, and before you could do anything about it, Killer grabbed you.

Maneuvering you as easily as a child would a doll, Killer pulled you toward him so your back was against his chest, snaked one beefy arm under yours and around the back of your neck, and locked you into a half-Nelson, all in the span of a second. Then he stood up straight, and you were brought off your feet. With your head being pushed down, you couldn’t gain any leverage, kicking and struggling to no avail. He was a solid wall of muscle, and with only one arm, he had you completely helpless. After another fruitless minute, you gave up, going slack in defeat.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you mumbled, making the other three laugh again.

Point now proven, Killer set you on the ground. It took everything in you to keep your legs from shaking. Arm wrestling with Kid that one time had been bad enough. Being locked against Killer, totally unable to fight back? Feeling the firmness of his torso against your back, the power in his arm? You weren’t just wet anymore–you were completely soaked. You only prayed it wouldn’t get bad enough to show through your pants.

Sinking into your seat, you tuned out the others for a minute, all comments fading into the background. You tried to focus on breathing slowly, to ease the frantic pounding of your heart, to ignore the aching need between your legs. Zoning out was impossible with the raging sensitivity of your body, but you could at least ground yourself enough to make it through the evening. After this session, you would duck into a private room and take care of yourself. Just hold out that much longer, you thought.

They must have moved on from ribbing you by the time you focused once more. You hadn’t heard any of it, though you were sure they had. At least, Kid would have. Now he was talking about something else, finishing a story you had entirely missed.

“It was a pain in the ass,” Kid paused to take a hit, exhaling before he continued, “but right now? I don’t give a shit anymore.”

Hearing that, it was hard not to feel smug. That was the exact reason you had brought weed for everyone (and why you were in your current predicament.) All for the opportunity for your friends to relax.

“See, I knew it’d mellow you out, Kid,” you said, coming off a little too pleased with yourself and making him glower.

“You didn’t know shit. Mind your tongue,” he said, though the effect of his words was ruined by how tranquil he sounded. “You aren’t getting any free passes because of this.”

You hid a grin. He may have said that, but you knew him better. One of Kid’s better traits was to pay back what he was given, good or bad. You knew for a fact that he would go easier on you for a while for having set everyone up for the night.

“You don’t scare me, Kid. I know you care. Mr. You-will-always-have-a-place-onboard-the-Victoria-Punk.”

“Shut the hell up, Y/n,” he said with no real venom, although you did not miss the faint tinting of red on his cheeks. “Don’t make me put your valuables on the top shelf.”

“Go ahead,” you shrugged. “Wire will get it for me.” You turned your gaze onto Wire, batting your eyelashes cartoonishly. “Won’t you, Wire?”

It looked ridiculous coming from you, and had the desired effect of making him giggle, his face lighting up in a way that tugged at your heart. He smiled down at you fondly. “Sure.”

“Are you whipped?” Kid grumbled. “Don’t tell me you two fucked.”

“We did not,” you interjected before anyone made a dumb comment. Unfortunately, you thought to yourself.

“You did kiss me, though,” Wire said casually.

Oh–so he hadn’t forgotten. The man had no idea what kind of bomb that was to drop on you now, of all times.

“Wire!” you shouted. “That’s–”

“What?!” The other three yelled in unison.

“–not how it happened! You kissed me!” You tried to shout, but no one was listening because the other three, even Killer, had rounded on Wire for some reason.

“You kissed her?”

“I thought we had a deal, you scumbag!”

“When the hell was this?”

“Wait, hold on!” you cried. “What did you say?!”

They were not listening.

“With tongue?”

“You’re a fucking traitor, Wire.”

“Here I thought you were the one with self-control.”

“Will you morons shut the fuck up!” you roared.

They finally went quiet, all staring owlishly at you now.

“Did you–did you say you had a deal? What the fuck does that mean?” You said hotly, glaring at each of them in turn, awaiting an explanation.

Kid gave nothing away, but Wire was blushing, Heat looked guilty, and who knew what Killer was thinking.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/n,” Kid said lightly, waving it off like it was nothing.

“I’m supposed to pretend like I didn’t hear that?” You were feeling distinctly less chill now, trying not to get swept up by the implications. There was no way. They couldn’t be…

“You’re better off not knowing,” Kid proclaimed. “You couldn’t handle it.”

That kind of pissed you off. He didn’t know what your life was like before you joined his crew, nor all that you had gone through to make it as far as you did. What you had to endure. Even what you were currently enduring. 

You licked your lips, thoughts slipping into the red again. “You have no idea what I can handle, Captain.”

Kid was stunned for a moment, not responding right away, and you could audibly hear the slow breath he sucked in. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

You swallowed and looked away quickly, heart pounding a dent inside your chest. “F-Fine. Whatever. Keep it to yourself. Like I care.”

Kid kept watching you, but you didn’t notice, your eyes fixed on the ground now as your imagination spiraled, thoughts racing a mile a minute. What the fuck had they been talking about? There was no way. No possible way they were all interested. Wire, maybe. He had kissed you, though he had also been drunk, so there was no guarantee he was even attracted. But all of them? All four? It couldn’t be. You had to be reading into it. Right? 

Right?

You pushed your feet into the ground, anxious for a sense of stability, trying and failing to tune the others out this time. Weed affected everyone a bit differently, but there were some constants. How much of what you were feeling was also being felt by them? If you felt a sense of connection, were they experiencing it as well? Could they sense your energy? 

Did they know? 

For a brief, terrifying moment, you had the paranoid thought that they could read your mind. Then you pushed it aside. It was impossible. All in your head. Just make it through tonight, and don’t think about it. Don't think about it.

But the universe was a cruel place, or maybe some god above was playing tricks on you. You were certain some higher being was laughing at your expense, because the conversation turned into a discussion of the mens’ past encounters. You could only sit there as Kid and Wire offhandedly commented on particular dalliances while the more reserved two opted to listen. They weren’t detailed, keeping things vague, but it didn’t matter. Your brain grabbed the barest descriptions and drew out a whole movie in your head, filling in the blanks and imagining the events in graphic detail. At first you pictured a random person as their partner, but then it immediately switched to putting yourself in their place, visualizing yourself getting dicked down by your crushes.

You dug your fingers into your thighs, trying to stay cool. It was a mental chess game to function at this point. You analyzed your every action with militaristic scrutiny, frantic not to give anything away, to not appear like the smoldering ball of lust you were. Was your posture too tense? Were you avoiding eye contact too much? Don’t act off. Don’t stay silent. Say something, join in the conversation.

“You guys don’t know how good you have it,” you said carefully, fighting to keep your tone neutral. “I can’t fuck strangers. I just can’t.”

Kid gave you a look of disbelief, which was fair, considering where you were from. “Wait. Have you really not had any since you joined us?”

“She hasn’t,” Wire answered for you, “she told me.” He shot you a devilish smirk. “Right before devouring my mouth.”

“Not how it happened!” You said brusquely, wanting to throttle him right then. “Shut up, Wire!”

“Why don’t you come over here and shut me up?” He challenged coolly, and the slight drop of his eyes when he looked at you told you he had glanced at your lips.

A fresh wave of heat flared under your skin, and you mentally cursed him. Why did he have to be like that? Why now? You scrambled to come up with a retort, but only managed a lame, “Like I could even reach…”

Wire simply bent over in response, hunching down until he was at your level, cheek resting on his fist and a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

Kid clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Knock it off.”

“What?” you snapped at him, not meaning to lash out but feeling like you were rapidly losing control–of the situation, of yourself, of everything. “Are you jealous or something? You want a kiss, too?”

“Oh, please, Y/n,” Kid said, unbothered. “If I wanted a kiss from you, I would have just taken it for myself by now.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the image his words conjured, and you gaped at him for a moment, for once in your life getting a taste of your own medicine as you were rendered speechless. Losing the mental battle of wills, you found yourself unable to maintain eye contact, giving away your timidity by looking away.

Kid studied your reaction, but by some grace, elected not to comment on it. Not that his choice of words was any better, because he asked, “You haven’t cum at all? For years?”

“Of course I have,” you huffed, “given the shared sleeping quarters, I have to take care of it in the shower like everyone else.”

“Is that why your showers take so long?” Heat stated more so than asked.

It was.

“No, it’s not!” you yelled, further revealing how flustered you were by the conversation. The others dissolved into laughter. Heat was grinning, pleased to see you on the receiving end for once. 

“Besides,” you muttered, “it only helps so much. Even with toys.”

“You have toys on the ship?” Kid asked, surprised for some reason.

“Half the crew does, Kid,” you said. “I bet you do, too, so don’t say stupid shit about it.”

Kid smirked, caught. “And it’s still not enough for you, huh?”

This had to be some kind of torture, because every time you thought you were in the clear, things continued to escalate. You would have fled the room if you could live it down, but alas, the others would never let you forget about it. Stuck in a mess of your own making, all you could do was continue the conversation.

“A toy can’t hold you or kiss you,” you said, ignoring the weight of their gazes. “Can’t talk you through it, can’t bite or suck on anything–oh, god damn it.” You dropped your head into your hands, fire billowing in your body as your thoughts surged into overdrive once again. Your fingers curled in your hair and you pulled lightly, seeking any sort of counter-stimulation to bring down the heat. “Ughhh.”

They all watched as you groused, lifting your head with a hopeless sigh. “Fuck, I need to get laid.”

“Dibs,” said all four of them at once. They all looked at each other in surprise, then burst out laughing, curling over themselves.

You experienced the unique sensation of being stunned silent while also wanting to scream, the burning of your flesh now that of embarrassment as well as need. Their laughs would actually be very nice if it wasn’t at your expense, and everything felt so crushingly unfair right then that you growled at them. “Really, guys? That was not an invitation.”

All bullshit, of course. You would have slept with any of them even without the influence of the weed. And now the pace of your heart kicked up, because they had confirmed what you had suspected, but couldn’t quite believe–they were interested. All of them. It wasn’t your imagination.

“Well then, Y/n,” Kid said, “consider this an invitation.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” Kid took a hit off the blunt, then leaned forward and exhaled the smoke in your face, the rude action only riling you up worse. “You want a big dick to ride? All you gotta do is ask.”

The fire inside you blazed larger and hotter, and you were aware of your breath coming out shorter. You dropped your gaze to the floor, gritting your teeth. After everything–all the years getting to know them, all the suggestive conversations, all the times you had craved them–after all the longing you pretended wasn’t there–now Kid was laying it out on the table, a clear offer to sate your desires. You could have what you wanted. All you had to do was accept.

Every cell in your body yearned for it, and yet a part of you still resisted, the part that still wanted not to appear desperate. You fought not to stay composed, masking your nervousness with attitude. “Who’s got the big dick, though?”

Kid scowled. “Watch it, little girl.”

The words had an immediate reaction deep in your gut, because Kid had never called you that before. He looked you in the eye while he said it, too, and you knew you failed to hide the momentary panic in your eyes. You ripped your gaze away, hands balling into fists.

At that point, you were so worked up and so wet that you couldn’t move without feeling it. The lightest shift in your seat had your lower lips sliding against each other slickly, the hypersensitivity from the high meaning you felt it like sparks. Even the fabric of your bra against your nipples was overwhelming.

“Are you okay?” Heat asked, and you realized you were trembling.

“All good,” you bit out.

“You’re sweating,” Wire said.

“And you were worried about me overdoing it.” Kid tsk’d. “Handle your shit, Y/n.”

“It’s handled,” you insisted. “I’m fine.”

“You sure about that, princess?”

He knows! You thought in a panic. If Kid’s words didn’t make that obvious, the curl of his lip certainly did. Your thoughts descended into near-hysteria, like a beehive had been upended in your head. Through the chaos was also the bemoaning thought that he was such an asshole, messing with you like this.

“Poor little Y/n,” Kid continued, smirking. “So pent-up. So many years without getting fucked.”

“Kid…” You nearly whined, voice quivering as much as your body was.

Movement in your peripheral vision made you glance to the side, just in time to see Killer reaching out to touch your arm, the contact like pure electricity on your skin. You jerked your arm away and grabbed his wrist, fingers unable to wrap all the way around, tightening your grip in warning.

“Do not–do not fucking touch me right now. Don’t tease me,” you hissed.

“You’re a real idiot sometimes, you know that?” Kid griped. Your resulting glare was offset by how you bit your lip, and Kid rolled his eyes. “I know you want it. That you’ve been wanting it. And yet you always hold yourself back. You’ll say the nastiest things while looking us dead in the eye and then just disappear. I don’t know if it’s some sort of pride you’re clinging to, or if you’re secretly shy underneath it all. But for fuck’s sake, Y/n, it’s getting hard to watch. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and just indulge? Let yourself have something nice, for once.”

Your jaw dropped further and further as he spoke, gawking at how he mercilessly called you out. Then you shut your mouth, swallowed a lump in your throat, and dropped your head, covering your face.

“You want to get fucked tonight, don’t you?” You heard Kid say.

“...Yes,” you mumbled into your hands, but the room was so quiet now that you were sure everyone heard.

“Then get over yourself, pick a guy, and go to another room.”

He made it sound so simple. 

Maybe he was right. Why were you making it more complex than it needed to be? Why couldn’t you just let yourself have this? But even if you succumbed to your desires, there was another problem.

“But… But, um,” you stammered. “How could I possibly choose? I lov–I like all of you!...”

A humiliating slip-up, one you expected them to tease you about, but there was only silence. You braved a peek at them from between your fingers. All eyes were on you–the pointing of Killer’s mask in your direction left no doubt–and then the guys glanced at each other, exchanging looks you couldn’t quite decipher, but that made something curl in your stomach anyway.

“Maybe,” Kid said slowly, gauging your reaction, “you don’t have to.”

You felt something change in the room. Like the air got heavier, though it could have been the smoke–although the group’s pace had slowed, the blunts never stopped their rotation. You weren’t sure which one you were on anymore, only that there was something else drifting alongside the undulating smoke, something that tingled like the air before a storm.

You lowered your hands so you could look at Kid clearly, keeping your mouth covered. There was no playfulness in his expression, only an ardent luster to the black of his eyes, the gold of his irises constricted into a thin band.

“Kid?” You only said his name, but the full question was implied. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?

“I’m serious. You could strip down right here, and we’ll figure something out,” Kid said, “if you really think you can handle it, like you so claimed.”

The challenge went over your head. You were too distracted by how your fervent body roused at the notion, every aching cell screaming at you to accept, any opposing thought quickly drowned out by sheer, unbearable need. You had been gradually wound more and more taught throughout the night, and the last threads of resistance were beginning to snap. 

You lowered your hands, so your consent would be fully comprehensible, but you were cut off before you had the chance to respond.

“Wait,” Wire said, the concern in his tone grabbing everyone’s attention. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

The swell of disappointment within you threatened to be crushing. You couldn’t keep it out of your voice. “Oh… You don’t want to?”

“Of course I want to, dummy,” Wire said, “but, Y/n. You’ve never slept with any of us before. To jump into doing something intense like this? While we’re all under the influence? There are risks.”

“I really don’t care at the moment.”

Kid smirked at your eagerness, but Wire wasn’t amused. “Have you ever been with multiple partners?”

“I’ve been in a threesome!” you said quickly. “I can handle it, Wire!”

“Mm… I dunno,” Wire considered. Heat passed the blunt to him right then, and the pause in which you had to wait for him to take his hit was agonizing. Wire watched the smoke he exhaled rise before meeting your eye again. “There should at least be a discussion first. About limits and stuff.”

“Please, I can’t wait anymore!” Keeping your voice down was its own trial. You could have cried from frustration. “I fucked up, okay? I got the wrong strain, and it’s driving me insane. I’ve been practically edging on the spot, and you four are just sitting there, all relaxed and having fun and unfairly hot…” You resisted the urge to cover your face again, but couldn’t help avoiding eye contact while admitting it. It surprised you, then, to hear who spoke up next.

“We could start slow,” Heat suggested, a blush coloring his face, “one person at a time. Discuss anything else as we go.”

You glanced at Wire hopefully, and found that everyone else was doing the same. In the back of your mind, you vaguely wondered why the decision seemed to hinge on Wire rather than Kid, but you didn’t question it in the moment.

Wire passed you the blunt, the mere slide of his giant fingers past yours as he did enough to make you shiver. He watched your reaction, then assessed the other three in the circle, one at a time. By the time he looked back at you, you had taken your hit, and your eyes met as the smoke flowed from your parted lips.

“Tch,” Wire’s shoulders drooped slightly in defeat. “Alright. If you’re gonna look at me like that. But at least choose a safeword.”

“I don’t care,” you said.

“I do,” he snapped, the stern rebuke going straight between your legs, “pick something.”

“Fine...” It was a struggle to come up with anything with the prospect of having them so close by, and you raced to think of something. The reason for your current state flashed through your head. “Red Sky?”

“Works for me. Everyone hear that?” Wire questioned, waiting for verbal confirmation from the other three before he nodded his approval.

You passed the blunt to Killer, pressing your thighs together in anticipation. “Um… How are we going to do this?”

Kid’s smirk widened, as fiendish as you’d ever seen it. “I think we should pass her around like a blunt.”

Once more, you found yourself gaping at Kid, slack-jawed at the lecherous idea. It was depraved, it was objectifying, and you were, truth be told, not the least bit opposed–you would have had them any way they offered at that point. Anything to ease the fever.

“Y/n,” Killer said firmly, making you tense, “come here.”

He had said it like a command, tone no different than if he were giving orders on the ship. You responded instinctively, drawn to Killer like a magnet, feeling as if your body wasn’t yours to control anymore. His mask dipped as you stood before him, looking you up and down.

“Sit.” Killer patted his lap. “Facing them.”

You swallowed and turned, perching on Killer’s knee. He grabbed your hips, making you gasp, and dragged you back until your back touched his chest, situating you directly over his crotch.

Killer’s hands never left your hips, your skin buzzing where he made contact, even through your clothes. His chin rested on your shoulder, deep voice murmuring into your ear. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” you breathed. The other three leaned forward in their seats, making you realize rather belatedly that everything that was about to happen would have an audience. You had never been watched before, and you didn’t know how you’d feel about it. But that thought, and any others, promptly flew out the window when Killer’s hands started their slow slide up your body, curving to the front and cupping your breasts.

You pressed yourself back against his chest, breaths coming out shaky. He was only squeezing and massaging gently, but after everything you had to endure so far, as roiled as you were, it was enough to send pleasant little shocks throughout your entire body.

Little shocks immediately turned into powerful bolts as Killer started teasing your nipples, your body jerking in response. You were sensitive enough there without the weed factoring in–as high as you currently were, it was overwhelming.

“Ah! K-Killer!” You pulled at his hands. “Please, slow down! I’m extra sensitive there, and the weed makes it ten times worse, so you gotta go slow…”

“You are, huh?” Killer hummed, flicking a nipple just to make you yelp.

“I thought you could handle this, Y/n,” Kid taunted.

“Whatever, Kid! You can watch, but I don’t need your lip,” your snarl didn’t sound nearly as threatening when it came between breathy pants. “Wait your turn and–nhh!”

Killer chose to resume touching you right then, rubbing your nipples at an appropriately slower pace. The tingling went straight to your cunt, and you threw your head back onto his shoulder, whimpering.

“Better?” Killer asked softly, and at your hasty nodding, you felt his chuckle against your back.

As incredible as it felt, it only made the need worse, the burning of your flesh intensifying under Killer’s touch. You writhed in his lap, desperate for stimulation between your legs, but you weren’t at the right angle to grind your clit against anything, and Killer was pressing your torso to his to keep you in place. Held against him and unable to escape, you could only take it, able to feel the calluses on his fingertips even through a shirt and bra. Killer let out a pleased growl at the sensation of you squirming over his growing bulge, the sound making you clench around nothing.

“Damn,” Wire muttered. “Look at her writhe.”

The other three were now sporting obvious erections, Wire and Kid idly palming at themselves while Heat elected to just watch.

“It’s the weed,” Kid responded, smirking. “I’ve been half hard ever since the first blunt, but I didn’t think much of it until she got all cagey about the strain.”

“The name is obvious enough,” Heat agreed.

So Kid had you figured out all along. Go figure. You weren’t paying much attention to that right then, though, not under Killer’s cruel assault.

“Please, Killer,” you whined, “stop teasing!”

“Gotta make sure you’re ready, first,” Killer said. “None of us are average, Y/n. I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“I’m ready!” You almost sobbed. “I–ah!–I promise, I’m wet!”

Killer paused, mask tipping down over your shoulder. “You don’t say.”

You followed his gaze (so to speak) to see a damp spot on your pants–you had soaked through both layers. “See? I told you, I’m ready!”

“Soon,” Killer assured, resuming his slow teasing of your chest.

Every time you thought you had adjusted enough to keep from making noise, Killer would switch it up, circling or skimming over the pert buds, drawing more whimpers out of you. He played you like an instrument, a steady chorus of your soft cries in time with his fingers, and the other three were as enraptured as if it was a song. All your nerves ablaze and still being denied what you needed, you looked to your audience for help. Kid and Wire weren’t moved by your plight, but as soon as you locked gazes with Heat, he rose to his feet as if you had called out to him.

Heat crossed the short distance and sank to his knees in front of you and Killer, resting his hands on your thighs.

“What happened to one person at a time?” Kid grumbled.

Heat ignored him, leaning in to kiss you but pausing before he made contact. “Can I–” he started to ask, but you grabbed his face and pulled him in the rest of the way, crushing your lips against his to really get across the kind of state you were in. Just to make sure he understood, you shoved your tongue past his lips. Heat’s small moan of surprise was muffled, but then he eagerly reciprocated.

Heat matched your pace, returning everything you gave him with equal passion, and you quivered in anticipation as his hands slid up your thighs. Instead of going between your legs, though, they went to the hem of your shirt, and as Heat moved to kiss your neck, you realized he hadn’t come to help anyone but himself.

“Heat?” you inquired.

“Lift your arms,” he instructed, ignoring your question.

“But–”

“Lift your arms.”

You clenched at the command, not expecting it from the normally laid-back man. He was still blushing, but there was an intensity in his tone that had you complying right away, though not without an irritated huff. Heat nipped at your neck as a reward for listening before he pulled your shirt off.

Killer’s mask touched the back of your neck like he was kissing it. “Kid’s gonna like that tattoo,” he whispered as he unfastened the clasp of your bra. You barely paid attention to the comment, helping him remove it and tossing it onto the nearby bed.

Heat stared, transfixed, at your breasts. When no one made a move to continue, you started to consider violence. “Heat…”

“You have cute tits,” Heat said.

“Whatever!” You were about to strangle him, and not in a sexy way. “Would you just hurry and–”

Heat cut you off by kissing your nipple, making you gasp, and when he took it into his mouth, your back arched into him. “H-Heat!”

Killer’s prior touches might as well have been through a heavy blanket. It didn’t compare to the wet warmth of Heat’s mouth directly on your sensitive bud, nor the velvety texture of his tongue running over it. You reached to bury your fingers in his hair, but then Killer grabbed your wrists and forced them behind your back. The ache between your legs magnified at the restraint, and you didn’t think it was physically possible to be any more worked up, but then Heat proved you wrong by starting to suck.

You twitched and writhed, pulling weakly against Killer’s iron-like grip, helpless under Heat’s assault. He switched from one nipple to the other, bringing his hand to play with whichever his mouth wasn’t currently on. It felt like live wires had been laid through your body, running straight to your cunt, making you want to cry with how empty you were. You clenched and flexed your pelvic floor muscles, desperate for sensation, and somehow, you felt something start to build, as steadily as if you had been playing with yourself. You had never come without touching your clit before, but now you understood how it was possible, your cunt so sensitive that clenching alone brought sufficient stimulation. But right when you thought you could see the peak, right when you were certain you could make it, the build stopped, leveling off and leaving you stuck. Even the scrape of Heat’s teeth against your nipple, though maddening, wasn’t enough to get you there.

“Please!” You cried out in frustration, on the verge of tears. “Please touch me, Heat, Killer, anybody! Please!”

“You’ve endured it for so long, haven’t you?” Killer said huskily, moving your wrists to one hand, resting the other on your hip and squeezing hard. “That’s okay. We’re gonna take care of you…”

You were about to snap at him that no one was taking care of shit, but your remark caught in your throat when Killer’s hand slipped under your pants and underwear, inching forward until he was finally, finally reaching where you needed it. His wide hand parted your thighs, going straight for your slit, the brush of him over your clit along the way making you buck.

“Wow,” Killer said as he felt the evidence of your need, everything between your skin and clothes down there a thick, slippery film. “I thought you were exaggerating about how riled up you were. But the weed’s really done a number on you, hasn’t it?”

There was no resistance when he penetrated you with a thick finger, and you bucked your hips again with a sharp cry. “Oh! Oh, fuck! Killer!”

“Never seen anyone this wet before,” Killer mused, stroking a few times before inserting a second finger. His thumb found your clit, rubbing in little circles.

Heat’s messy slurps combined with the squelches of Killer’s fingering only amplified the experience. After everything you had gone through, it didn’t take very long, especially with the two of them working together. Killer added a third finger and curled them insistently as he went, and you came hard a few seconds later.

You shut your eyes from the intensity, hips grinding furiously into Killer’s hand as you rode it out, whimpering with every wave that rocked your body. He never stopped probing his fingers against that spot, working you deftly through it until the fluttering of your walls finally stopped and you slumped against his chest, panting.

Heat kept on sucking on your nipple, the stimulation rapidly becoming overwhelming in the wake of your orgasm. “Heat–Heat, Heat!” With your head fuzzy with dopamine, you couldn’t form a better sentence, higher functions temporarily absent.

Luckily, Killer had been able to feel everything. He let go of your wrists to push Heat back by the shoulder, the pop of his lips disconnecting making you twitch. You twitched again when Killer pulled his fingers out.

The residual throbbing of your clit lasted longer than it ever had, aftershocks of an orgasm while high spreading through your body like lightning branching through your nerves. You didn’t open your eyes for a minute, chest heaving. When you did, the first thing you saw was Heat’s look of adoration. Behind him, Kid and Wire were burning holes through you with their gazes, both of them red-faced and awestruck. It dawned on you that you’ve cum in front of four guys. In front of your superiors. Your friends. And yet, instead of shame, instead of self-consciousness, the pulsing within you subsided and left behind a fervent hunger in its place.

Again. You needed it again.

Killer brought his hand to your mouth, fingers glistening with your slick. You parted your lips without hesitation, letting him in. The tang of your fluid on your tongue reawakened spent nerves, making you sensitive all over again. Killer let out a soft curse when you sucked, tongue sliding between his fingers to get every drop. Your eyes fell closed again, focused wholly on the act of cleaning up your own mess.

Killer peered down at your face and hummed. “Open your eyes. I want you to look at them.”

You obeyed, making eye contact with each of the other three while you sucked your slick off Killer’s fingers, fresh heat searing through your body at how they marveled at you. Kid had started stroking himself through his clothes with his flesh hand, his expression in particular full of dark intent.

“There’s a good girl,” Killer praised, “see what you do to them…”

You pulled Killer’s hand out of your mouth. “Killer,” you whined, grinding your ass against him in a clear signal to go further.

Cumming in Killer’s lap and sucking on his fingers had its effect on him, because he was harder than before, pressing stiffly into your ass cheek and breathing heavily by your ear. So it came as a shock when he raised his head and said, “Kid. You can go first.”

“Nah, Killer, you go ahead,” Kid said, waving his metal hand. “According to the sounds she just made, you earned it.”

“You go first. I know you’ve wanted this for a while,” Killer insisted.

“I don’t care who goes first!” you yelled, the revelation of Kid’s interest fading into the background in your desire. “For fuck’s sake, just whip it out!”

They all laughed at that, which only pissed you off further. Then Kid’s voice echoed across the room, sending a pleasant chill down your spine.

“Pass her here.”

Killer scooped you up and leaned over, holding you out to Kid like you weren’t a whole adult. The chairs were close enough together that Kid could reach you without getting up, merely holding out his metal arm and letting Killer drop you onto his palm. His arm didn’t even dip with your weight.

Kid tipped his hand suddenly so you fell into his lap, momentum throwing you against his chest and making you instinctively grab him for support.

“I get it, Y/n. You’re desperate. But you don’t have to grab me over it,” he jeered, and not for the first time in your life, you seriously contemplated striking your captain.

“Hold on,” Wire said, patting his pockets and frowning. “Does anyone have condoms?”

“Not an issue,” you said abruptly, “I’m set on birth control.”

“I thought you didn’t get any,” Heat asked, now back in his chair.

“There are other reasons to take birth control. It makes your menstrual symptoms less severe.”

“I knew that,” Wire said, sounding proud of himself.

”No one cares! Get on with it!”

Kid looked thoughtful, smile faltering as he deliberated over something. “...Wire may be right, actually.”

“What?” You stared at him.

“I mean, four guys, after you haven’t had a partner in years? It’s far too much. You could end up hurt.”

You searched his eyes, trying to figure out where this sudden change of heart came from. It was so unlike Kid that you didn’t even protest at first, bewildered.

“I wouldn’t want you to walk away from this with regrets, Y/n,” Kid said gravely. “You’ve come once already, so that should be adequate. End the night on a good note.”

“No! No, I can keep going! Please, please!” you bid urgently.

Kid’s somber look broke at your plea, his lip curling like he was trying not to smile, and you realized that he was messing with you. Arousal flipped into anger in an instant.

“You’re such a dick!” you cried. “I can’t believe you! I know you want it too, so stop fucking with me and start fucking me already!”

Kid’s infuriating smirk grew wider. “Beg for my cock.”

“Ugh! Fine, you jerk!” You ground your hips into his bulge to help make your point, face flushed hot as you glared at him. “Please, Kid! I–I need you. I need to be violated in the way that only a ruthless pirate captain can.”

It was kind of stupid, but Kid was vain enough that the words got to him anyway, his nostrils flaring with the steep breath he took. “That easy, huh? I always knew deep down, you were a slut.”

You slapped him, hard. The slap echoed as the room fell quiet, and though Kid was momentarily stunned, you felt his dick twitch through his pants.

“You’re the one making me beg–” you started to say, but Kid grabbed you by the neck and pulled you in for a rough, possessive kiss. He wasted no time in claiming your mouth with his tongue, probing it deep to wrap around yours. You moaned into his mouth, grinding on him for some much-needed friction. Kid pulled back, but you followed, straining forward to kiss him again.

The fingers of his flesh hand curled into your hair, gripping tight and forcing you back off of him. The slight pain pulled another little moan out of you, and Kid grinned.

“One more time. Tell me how bad you need it,” he said huskily.

“I think I’m gonna die if you don’t,” you whined.

“Good girl.”

He prompted you to lift your hips so he could reach his pants, undoing them and finally, finally pulling out his cock. You pulled your own pants and underwear down before Kid could think to rip them, not keen on doing a bottomless walk of shame in front of the crew later. Kicking off the garments, you repositioned yourself over Kid. He groaned when you wrapped your hand around his thickness to line yourself up.

“Fuck,” he husked. “If your pussy’s as small as your hands…”

“Wait, Kid,” Killer interjected. “Make her face us.”

“Why?” Kid asked, but you had already started to turn around in his lap to comply with Killer’s wishes. Kid’s voice suddenly dropped low, heavy with interest. “Oh.”

“What?” You glanced over your shoulder, where Kid’s eyes were boring into the spot right below the back of your neck. You realized he had never seen your tattoo before. “Oh, my ta–ahh!”

Kid slid two fingers up through your slit, finishing with a little circle around your clit that made your legs weaken. “Now when did you go and get that done?” he murmured.

“Fewmonthsago,” you slurred. “Kid…”

He grabbed your hips, positioning you over his cock. “I wouldn’t have made you wait so long if I had known. You’ve been dedicated all this time, haven’t you?” He guided you down slowly, thick cock parting you gradually.

You bit your lip and nodded, that aching within you finally eased. Kid’s grip tightened as your hips met, digging into your skin.

“Shit,” he cursed. “You’re really wet. Killer wasn’t joking. Now, face forward.”

You turned your head back to look at the other three. Everyone else had taken their dicks out at that point and were stroking themselves, Heat’s free hand holding a still-burning blunt. You glanced between them–all eyes were on you, making you burn up even hotter. Their gazes felt like a physical sensation on your skin. Your own gaze faltered, though, when a harsh smack landed on your ass.

“Ah!” you yelped, the sting both grounding you and riling you up worse.

“Captain, at least ask if she likes it first,” Wire admonished.

“She got tighter, Wire,” Kid responded, groping your ass cheeks. “I think she likes it just fine.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, starting to move. With your feet unable to touch the floor, you had to use your thighs to squeeze Kid’s lap and lift yourself up and down, but you had plenty of stamina to go at that point and a monstrous, intoxicated desire spurring you on. You set a quick, needy pace, fucking yourself on his rigid cock so he hit all the right spots, making whimpers slip out between your panting breaths. You rolled your hips whenever they met Kid’s, grinding him into your g-spot deliciously.

“Fuck,” Kid groaned, and smacked your other ass cheek, making you moan. “Look at you go, princess. I’m gonna cum soon if you don’t calm down.” He grabbed your hips and dug his fingers in tightly, forcing you to stop. You cried out in protest, your pleasure mercilessly cut off. “Kid!”

Kid leaned in and kissed your tattoo, moving your hips up and down at a cruelly slow pace and ignoring your cries.

“Kid, go faster! Please!” you begged.

“No,” he said, and even without facing him you could hear the grin in his voice. “You have to earn it.”

“How?!”

“By being honest, for once.” He kissed your tattoo again, and this time let his tongue drag over the inked skin, making a shiver run down your spine. “Did I hear you correctly earlier, Y/n? You haven’t just been flirting with us for fun…” He pulled you down on his cock, holding your hips down and rolling his up into you. “You’ve caught some feelings as well, so say it again.”

“What do I say?” you whined, too needy to remember.

“You said you love us,” Wire said smugly, now in possession of the blunt.

“Oh!” you said, both in surprise and because Kid was fucking you slowly and deeply now. “I…b-but…”

“Shy now?” Heat chuckled.

“That’s so embarrassing, come on,” you protested, “just hurry up and go faster, Kid!”

Kid’s lips pressed to your tattoo again, and you could feel his lips curl into a smirk. “No.”

“I don’t think that pace is gonna change until you say it,” Killer mused.

“Fine!” you huffed, then lowered your voice. “I… I love you…”

“What was that?” Kid asked.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Killer said.

Wire grinned, and Heat shook his head. “Me neither.”

Your face burned. “I love you,” you said again, though it was still a bit quiet in your embarrassment.

“Louder,” Kid commanded, slowing his pace even further until tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“Kid, please. I love you.”

“You can do better than that. Tell us how you really feel.”

“I love you!” you whined. Kid picked up his pace ever so slightly.

“And Killer?”

“Y-Yes! I love him too!”

“And W–”

“And Wire and Heat! All of you!”

“Say it again!” Kid smacked your ass.

“Ah-! I love you!” you cried it out, again and again, and Kid did not fuck you properly until you were screaming it. Only then did he give you what you needed, bouncing you on his cock fervently with his metal hand. Everyone watched, enraptured, three pairs of eyes on you, on your bouncing breasts, on the point where your body met Kid’s.

“My loyal girl,” Kid praised, tongue on your tattoo again, “you like getting fucked by your captain?”

“Yes!”

“Wanna be shared by everyone?”

“Yes! I’m, I’m gonna cum-!”

“Who do you belong to?”

“The Kid Pirates!” you cried.

“Good girl. Now, cum on my cock for everyone to see.”

You came hard, orgasm hitting you like a battering ram, making your body tighten and lock up. Kid held you down as you pulsed around him, cursing as he tried to keep himself from tipping over the edge along with you.

For a minute, there was nothing but the soft sound of slapping around you as the other three jacked off to the sight of your bliss. You went limp against Kid, panting.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum,” Heat muttered. “So fucking hot.”

“Have some discipline, Heat,” Kid said above you, “you’re next anyway.”

“Ugh, I hate edging.” Heat let go of himself, holding his hand away.

“It’ll be worth it,” Wire said. “Don’t let the weed make you finish early.”

“Easy for you to say, Wire. You do this kind of thing all the time.”

As your fuzzy brain started to grasp cognitive thought once more, you wondered if that was why Wire seemed to be in charge here. You always knew he was kinky, but never realized just how much experience he had.

Killer, who’d been holding onto the blunt while Kid was occupied, now passed it to Kid, who took a deep hit before offering it to you. You held up your hand in refusal, needing to catch up on oxygen first.

“How you holding up, Y/n?” Wire asked.

“Fucking fantastic,” you said earnestly, making them all laugh.

“Who’s great idea was this, again?” Kid asked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” you said, shifting and dismounting off him, making him grunt from the stimulation. You pecked him on the lips, silently grateful that he had pushed you past your nervousness. “Thanks, Captain.”

Kid smirked proudly as you started to slide off his lap, and he grabbed your wrist to stop you from walking away. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re passing you around, remember?” With that, he pulled you back into him and picked you up, making you squeak in surprise, before stepping over to Heat and setting you down onto his lap.

Heat’s blush deepened as you immediately recovered and hooked your arms around his neck. He parted his lips when you leaned in to kiss him, his tongue sliding over yours, gently stroking and intertwining, making you moan sweetly. He started touching himself again, which you noticed once Heat started to gasp into your mouth.

“Heat, wait,” you said. “Let me.”

Heat moved his hand away, and you replaced it with your own. The feeling of something metallic and hard against your palm made you pause, pulling your hand away to look. Heat had his dick pierced, a frenum ladder–a set of parallel barbells going up the underside and stopping at the frenum.

“Oh, wow,” you said, running your thumb down the underside of his cock to feel the metal underneath. Heat groaned, his dick twitching. “Is it sensitive?”

“Yes,” he hissed, closing his hand around yours and making you start to jerk him off. “Don’t be a tease.”

“Says you! You were the one who tormented me earlier!”

“You look good when you’re needy,” Heat bit out, thrusting up into your hand. “I couldn’t help it. Now squeeze harder.”

“No, I wanna try something else,” you said, stopping. “I want to know what it feels like in my mouth.”

“Nope, sorry. I’ll come too quickly and have to sit out the rest of the session.”

You frowned. “Fiiiine. You’d better make up for it, then.”

Heat’s brows raised, then his eyes narrowed, and suddenly you felt as if you possibly made a mistake in your choice of words.

“Uh oh,” Wire said, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Make up for it?” Heat sneered down at you. “Do you think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Heat,” you tried to placate him, but his tight grip on your hips told you that you were in trouble.

“Come here,” he snapped, pulling you to hover over his dick. “I don’t have a metal arm like Kid to toss you around with–so instead, you’re going to do what I say.”

It was so unlike Heat that you found yourself complying right away, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Or what?” you teased.

“Or we’ll find out your limits the hard way, regardless of what Wire says,” Heat lined himself up with your entrance, “I get the feeling you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

“How should I know? I’ve never tried–oh…” You lost your words as Heat guided you to sink down onto his length. He was thicker toward the base, letting you feel each one of his piercings slide along your sensitive insides. “Oh, fuck, that’s–that’s good...”

Heat smirked. “Like the piercings?”

“Yes!” You rolled your hips to feel them move inside you, your eyelids fluttering shut. “Fuck.”

“Eyes on me, babe.” Heat instructed, and you snapped your eyes open to see him looking at you intensely, the hunger in his gaze sending prickles all over your skin. He slid his hands up your sides to your front, groping your breasts, pulling a moan out of you when he rubbed your nipples with his thumbs. You look down to watch him do it, contracting around him at the sight, and Heat corrected you with a harsh slap to your ass.

“Ah!”

“She does tighten up,” Heat grinned, his arm muscles flexing as he delivered a second firm smack.

“Heat!”

“Eyes up.”

You kept your eyes on him this time, even as he teased and tugged at your nipples. Gripping him tight, you rolled your hips again, the combination of the piercings and your chest being played with nearly making your eyes roll back. “Oh, fuck. Spank me again.”

Heat grinned. “Ask nicely.”

“Please!”

“Attagirl.” Heat smacked your other ass cheek, making you cry out. “What do you say?”

“T-Thank you!”

He chuckled. “You’re cute, you know that?” One of his hands snaked its way up your chest and around your throat, fingers wrapping around your neck.

Wire spoke up, his voice a firm admonishment. “Heat.”

“M’not squeezin’,” Heat said, pulling you in for another greedy kiss. You eagerly reciprocated, sucking on his tongue and making him groan. “Fuck…Come on, ride me.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. You planted your feet on the floor and started to lift yourself up and down on his cock, whimpering at the unique sensation of riding a pierced dick. Heat was already filling you up, to feel the barbells stimulating you on top of it was almost overwhelming in your intoxicated state.

“There’s a good girl,” Heat moaned. “Oh, fuck. Look at you.”

Heat fondled your chest as you rode him at a brisk, even pace, rolling your hips to grind your clit into him. You felt yourself rapidly approach the edge, until he pinched your nipple a little too hard, and the pain brought you out of it with a yelp.

“Ah-! Too hard, Heat,” you whimpered.

“See?” Wire said. “This is why you have to discuss these things. We really should have started by now.”

“Isn’t it too late?” Kid asked.

“No.”

“Where do we start, then?” Killer wondered.

“With what she wants out of this,” Wire said. “If she can even focus right now.”

You could not, especially when Heat chose right then to smack your ass again, which brought you right back to the edge. “Fuck, Heat!”

“Gonna cum, pretty girl?” Heat whispered huskily.

“Yes! I’m close!”

“That’s too bad–I want you to slow down.”

“W-What?”

“You heard me.” Heat lifted his legs so you could no longer reach the floor, your riding stopped in an instant.

“Ahh, no no no, Heat! Don’t stop!” you protested, trying to stretch your legs to reach the floor again, but he was much taller than you were.

“Only if you agree to slow down.” Heat said, massaging your breasts. “Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll do anything, just let me keep going, please!”

“Then ride me, slowly, and pay attention to what we’re talking about.” Heat lowered his legs again, graciously letting you reach the floor. “Otherwise I’ll just stop again when you’re about to cum.”

You nodded, slowly working yourself up and down his shaft. It was torturous to go at that pace after all you had been treated to, but the moment you sped up, he would just stop you anyway.

The blunt was passed to Heat at that moment, and he took a deep hit. With his other hand, he pulled you closer to him by the neck, sealing his lips around yours. You followed his lead, inhaling as he exhaled, filling your lungs with smoke.

Heat didn’t force you to take his entire hit, knowing he could handle bigger lungfuls than you could, and you both exhaled at the same time. He passed the blunt to Wire and placed both hands on your face, pulling you in again for a kiss that tasted of smoke.

“You listenin’?” Heat asked. He was looking at you with adoration now, and you nodded, wanting nothing more than to please him. “Wire asked you what you want out of this.”

He went back to massaging your chest the way you liked, playing with your nipples more gently while you rolled your hips and whimpered, trying to think while being teased. Your brain was already high on weed and dick–what more could you want? If you could do absolutely anything more than this, what would you do?

A mental image suddenly came into your mind. Of course. The only thing better than being used by all of them would be being used by all of them at the same time. You pictured it vividly, taking them in all three of your holes at once, and the thought turned you on so much that suddenly you were at the edge again. It only took one more roll of your hips before your orgasm snuck up on you, making you tremble all over as you choked on a gasp.

“She’s cumming,” Heat announced as you fluttered around him. “Fuuuck.”

“From that pace?” Killer asked. “Is she reaching her limit?”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Kid said.

“I’m with Kid. It’s something else,” Wire said. “Come on, Y/n, use your words.”

You sagged against Heat as your orgasm pulsed through your insides, muttering against his chest. Heat laughed. “She said she knows what she wants,” he said. “I think she just had a nice little mental image to get off to.”

Heat rubbed your back as you came down, then had you dismount him. He picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder, stepping over and letting you fall into Wire’s big arms.

“Well?” Wire said, repositioning you so you were sitting and facing the group. He rubbed your hips fondly. “Tell us what you want, and we’ll make it happen.”

You turned to look at Wire’s dick up close. He was proportional to his height, twice as big as the others at least. There was a single frenum piercing that you immediately went to touch.

“Pay attention,” Wire said, though he made no move to stop you.

 At that point, you had not an ounce of reservation or shame left to be found. “I want everyone at the same time,” you said. “All holes.”

“Ohh?” Wire said. Kid whistled, and Heat chuckled in surprise while Killer leaned forward in interest.

“I’ve…I’ve always wanted to try something like that,” you admitted. “I can handle it.”

Wire bent down to kiss the top of your head. “Alright. We’ll work up to it, but first things first. Sorry to ask, but when was the last time you went to the bathroom?” After you told him, he nodded. “Then we should be fine for anal.”

“And in the meantime…” you said, lifting up on your knees and going to straddle his cock, but Wire turned you back around to face the group, pressing down on your shoulders so you were forced to sit further up on his lap. “Wire?”

“You’re not ready for me yet,” Wire said. “Maybe after another rotation.”

“What?! Come on!”

“Hush.” Wire pulled you back by the hips so you could feel his big cock nestled against your ass, an unfair tease of what you could potentially have had he not been so damn concerned for your well-being.

Before you could protest, Wire ran his huge hands down your body, one of them spreading your legs. Two thick fingers burrowed their way down and penetrated you, the length of them making it easy for him to reach your g-spot with a slight curling motion.

“Oh, fuck!” you gasped, squeezing around his fingers.

“Let’s get this started. For your sake, I’ll condense what we need to go through as much as possible without you getting hurt. Okay?”

“Okay!”

“There’s my good girl.” Wire rewarded you by rubbing your clit with his thumb, making your toes curl. He stopped far too soon as he began his questioning. “Now, what are your hard limits? The things you will absolutely not do?”

“Mm, fuck…Hard limits?” you echoed, trying to think while he had two fingers massaging your g-spot. “Um, um… No watersports. And, no calling me really mean things? ‘Slut’ and ‘whore’ and stuff are fine, though, but I don’t want to be actually insulted.”

“You prefer being teased about what you like, right? Rather than being told you’re only good for sex, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, you understand. I don’t like being called stupid or useless.”

“Fair enough,” said Killer, one hand on his dick while the other held the blunt to a hole in his mask. “I don’t like that kind of thing either.”

“You can call me a dumb slut any day,” Heat muttered, surprising you and making Kid laugh, “but I get it.”

“And I don’t want to be throat-fucked really hard,” you said. “I want you to use my mouth, but only go into my throat at the end to cum. Actually, I’d rather you came in my mouth than on my face–hhn!”

Wire resumed rubbing your clit again as a reward for your honesty, short-circuiting your brain until he stopped. “Deepthroating once is okay, only at the end. No finishing on your face. What else?”

You continued that way, detailing your limits while getting fingered, with Wire teasing your clit every time you finished answering a question. Wire added a third finger inside you once he moved on to asking you about positions, and by the time the safety discussion was done, he didn’t let up playing with your clit, either. His fingers curled and rubbed against your g-spot in perfect rhythm with his thumb, his other hand teased your chest, and, legs shaking, you came hard into his hand a few blissful minutes later.

“Aw, my sweet little girl can’t stop cumming for her superiors,” Wire praised, turning your head to kiss you. “Love how you use that crazy stamina of yours for us.”

“I’d do anything for you,” you said earnestly, a little drunk on the rush of your orgasm.

Wire blinked for a moment in surprise, then smiled, running his other hand over your head adoringly. “All the more reason you deserve this. Now, clean up this mess you made,” he said, holding his slick-coated fingers to your lips, “and I’ll pass you to Killer.”

You held Wire’s hand in your smaller ones as you licked and sucked on his fingers. He probed inside your mouth teasingly, rubbing your tongue and feeling around, working you back up so you’d be nice and needy for Killer. As if that would be an issue–with the Red Sky in your blood, you knew you could go all night. You wanted to go all night.

“Don’t miss a single spot,” Wire muttered in your ear, and you complied, tongue weaving in-between his fingers obediently. “Do you like how you taste?”

“Uh-huh,” you said honestly, sending a noticeable wave of excitement through the group.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Heat groaned, letting his tongue loll out as he stroked himself.

“She sure makes it look good, doesn’t she, Killer?” Kid grinned. “Why don’t you eat her out later?”

“Yeah,” Killer replied, a breathiness to his voice, fisting himself faster. “I intend to.”

Letting you cool down this way gave you the chance to really focus on watching the others, and you never realized how tantalizing it was to watch the three men you crushed on jack off at the sight of you. Thrilled and impatient, you pulled Wire’s hand away. “I want Killer now.”

Killer growled in excitement at your words, sending a shiver up your spine. Wire took mercy on the both of you, deciding you had done a good enough job. He scooped you up, carrying you bridal-style, and handed you off to the masked man.

Killer, eager to have you to himself for a little while, opted to have you facing him. 

“What the hell, man? Face her forward,” Kid complained.

“No,” Killer said, “I want to see her face when I make her cum.”

He didn’t miss how you squirmed on his lap at the statement, a rumble in his chest. You didn’t know which you preferred–both watching the others and having one-on-one attention was elating, but it would have been better if you could see Killer’s expression. You supposed him wanting you this way would have to be enough for now, though you still longed to kiss him. It couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

“Killer,” your purr was just on the edge of a pouty whine, “won’t you kiss me? Please?”

Killer hesitated just a moment, prompting the others to speak up.

“She’s been so good, Kill, don’t you think?” Wire said.

“Go on, we won’t look,” said Heat.

“No pressure,” Kid added.

Killer’s mask tilted down, and you knew he was looking right at you. “If that’s what you really want.”

“I’ve wanted that for a long time,” you told him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance.”

“Can’t say I ever thought I’d get to either.” His large hands rubbed up and down your sides. “Didn’t think any of this would ever happen. You were so…”

“Yeah?”

“Awkward.”

The other three barked out laughs, and you pouted. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“But even before that…” Killer said, one hand tracing the scar on your clavicle, “you were quiet… lonely.” He brought both hands to cradle your face.

Though only faced with the mask, you felt like you could see through it to his eyes. “I’m not lonely anymore,” you whispered.

One of his hands shifted to cover your eyes, and you held your breath in anticipation. A moment later, you felt the soft, smooth warmth of his lips pressing to yours. The kiss was hesitant, uncertain, but heavy with wanting; you parted your lips slightly to give him silent permission to go further. When he didn’t, you poked your tongue out to trace his bottom lip, testing, and Killer responded with a soft groan. He pulled you closer with his free hand, deepening the kiss and finally tasting you, his tongue meeting yours. The touch of the wet muscles released some sort of floodgate within him; suddenly he was kissing you fervently, all that wanting let loose onto you. You felt him pull away, only to press a kiss to your jaw, then your neck, working his way down to your scar, which he dragged his tongue across.

You whimpered, reaching up to dig your fingers into his hair and hold on, core aching with need as he kissed down to your breasts.

Suddenly you felt yourself tipping down, yelping as Killer flipped you lengthwise, your chest in his lap and your legs in the air on either side of his neck. He wrapped his arms around your lower half, firmly holding you in place. There was no warning before he pressed his face into your cunt.

“Ah, K-Killer!” you moaned as he lapped and slurped at the sensitive flesh, tonguing between your folds and into your center. He ate you out with all the fervor of a man starved, his goatee rubbing into your clit as he went.

“That’s one way to cure cottonmouth,” Heat said, prompting Kid to lean over to high-five him.

“Don’t be lazy, Y/n,” Wire tutted, “suck him off.”

“Yeah, suck his dick!” Kid encouraged, tongue sticking out.

“Fuck, o-okay,” you breathed, bracing yourself against his muscular thighs with one hand and wrapping your fingers around his cock with the other. You guided his leaking tip into your mouth. It was warm and smooth on your tongue, the salty tang of pre-cum leaving your head spinning. You couldn’t really bob your head from that position, but you did your best to try and please him, though you felt too distracted by the way he plunged his tongue inside you. Killer, on the other hand, didn’t seem thrown off by the added stimulation, merely moaning into your cunt and continuing his assault on your senses.

“Attagirl,” Heat praised. “Take him deeper.”

“Watch us while you do it,” Wire commanded.

Killer had a slight upward curve to his dick, so from that angle, you found that taking him further into your mouth wasn’t so difficult. As long as you braced yourself, you could handle it without choking. You strained forward, letting him deeper into your mouth, eyes flicking up to meet the others’ gazes as you did. The eye contact tightened the building tension within you even tighter, and your moan was muffled when Killer started sucking on your clit.

“Fuck, there you go, princess,” Kid said.

“Mmff-!” you pulled off of Killer’s dick, gasping. “Gonna cum! Killer!”

Just like that, Killer manhandled you to flip you back the right way up, pulling you down onto his cock all the way to the base. He had his mask tilted partway up, beautiful blue eyes cast in shadow barely visible, but fixated on you. He started bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing, fingers sinking into your hips, the muscles of his arms and abs flexing. Killer gritting his teeth, too lost in the euphoria of fucking you to worry about his face being visible.

“Killer!” you moaned, holding on for dear life, his handsome face in view as you felt yourself climbing to yet another dizzying orgasm. You trembled as it washed over you, and Killer growled when he felt your walls spasming.

“You cumming on my cock, pretty girl?” he said huskily, holding you down and thrusting up into your g-spot.

“Yes, yes, fuck,” you whimpered–somehow, even being the fifth time, it was just as strong as the first. You slumped against Killer, resting your hands on his chest and catching your breath. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before lowering his mask. 

You were still feeling the waves of it by the time Killer lifted you off of him, a rope of slick connecting your cunt to the tip of his dick.

“Do you need a break?” Killer asked, rubbing your back.

“I don’t know? Maybe?” you said. “I’m a bit tired, but it’s weird. No matter how hard I cum, I still want more.”

“At least drink something,” Wire suggested.

“Like cum?”

That earned you a few giggles from Heat and Kid. Wire picked up one of the water bottles on the table and tossed it at Killer, who caught it one-handed and offered it to you.

After rehydrating, you were passed to Kid. Despite his earlier protests to Killer, he faced you toward himself this time. At first you thought this was to torment you more, as he seemed eager to make you say embarrassing things so he could commit the look on your face to memory.

“Who’s your captain?” Kid demanded as he fucked up into you.

“You are!” you cried.

“And who’s your daddy?”

“Ah! Y-You are!”

Afterward, you realized he just wanted to make out while you rode him. Or maybe it was both things, but you weren’t about to complain. It was hard to tell which of you was more greedy; him for offering up this situation in the first place, or you for accepting it enthusiastically.

Heat opted to take you on the ground for his turn in the rotation, pushing you onto your hands and knees and giving backshots that had your toes curling. Finally, Wire agreed to let you ride him, facing you toward the group and letting you lower yourself onto his cock at your own pace. It was a tight fit, he was the biggest you had ever taken, but you had been fucked so thoroughly and came so many times at that point that you didn’t need any extra preparation. It only took a little bit of working yourself down to take him all.

“Theeere you go,” Wire praised as he bottomed out. You shivered at the sensation of being filled so full. He was pressed firmly against your g-spot without even needing to move or angle himself, all it took was you clenching down on him to feel bliss. He chuckled when he felt you doing so repeatedly, bending down to whisper into your ear. “How’s that big dick feel?”

“So good, Wire,” you sighed, resting your hands over his on your hips. The final blunt in the rotation was passed to Wire, and after taking his hit, he held it to your lips so you could take a hit, too.

Wire passed the blunt, then moved your hands to your lower stomach, making you feel the pronounced bulge that was there. You clenched up again at the feel of it. “You know,” he murmured, “I always had a feeling you could take all of me. That you were made for taking cock.”

“Let me see,” Kid said. 

Wire moved your hands away to show off your belly bulge. “You guys wanna take a closer look?” he asked with a lazy smirk.

Before you knew it, the other three had come over to see the spectacle up close, whistling and cooing. You flushed hotter as they felt it for themselves.

“It’s like you were made for us, babe,” Heat said. He stepped even closer so he was right in front of you, then took his cock and rubbed the tip against your clit, making you gasp. It was smooth and slick against the sensitive nub.

“Fuck, Heat!” you moaned, hands twitching, but Wire held them firmly at your sides, not letting you move.

“What?” Heat said. “After everything, you can’t take this?”

“S-Sensitive! It’s–oh god, fuck…”

“Her hands are free,” Wire pointed out to the other two, holding your hands out. Kid and Killer didn’t hesitate, positioning themselves at your sides. Wire guided your hands around their cocks, helping you jerk them off. The group forced you to stay trapped in that position, Wire rocking his hips all the while. Your eyes rolled back; the build was steep and intense, causing tears to form at the corners of your eyes. The others praised you while you whimpered.

“Did you think about us? When you were alone in the shower?” Wire muttered into your ear.

“Yes! I’m, I’m cumming,” you whined. None of them let up, pushing you over the edge yet again.

“How many times is this?” Kid grinned as you gasped and shuddered.

“That makes six,” Killer said.

“About to be seven,” Wire said, reaching around to rub your clit in expert circles. 

“Wire!” You immediately twitched and writhed, but couldn’t get away. “It’s too soon, it’s too soon!”

“You can take it,” he assured, thrusting up harder. Before he was mostly still, this time his massive cock slid in and out of your cunt at a slow pace. You didn’t think you could cum again so soon, but the overstimulation soon went from maddening to euphoric under his experienced touches. Only another minute of you keening, and then you came again.

“Told you,” Wire said as he finally released your hands. “Seven.”

You fell back against Wire, feeling a bit light-headed. Heat patted your cheek and Killer ruffled your hair.

“Still good to keep going?” Wire asked, grinding his hips against yours to draw out your orgasm. You didn’t respond, too fucked-out, still riding the sensation of the little pulses shooting through your core. “I’m gonna need a response if you want this to continue, sweetheart.”

Your voice was small and shaky. “Don’t stop.”

“You heard her,” Kid grinned.

“What do you think, then, Y/n?” Wire asked. “You ready for all of us?”

“Y-Yeah…” you said. “Just…gimme a minute.”

“And everyone else? You all still in?”

The rest of the group gave eager agreements. Wire helped you dismount from him and let you rest against his broad chest. In the meantime, he started directing the others to set up. There wasn’t much to do, just taking the blanket from the nearby bed and putting it onto the floor for some extra cushioning. Everyone took a drink break, and the last blunt was stubbed out on the now-full ashtray. You went to sit in the center of the blanket, and the others followed. There was a brief discussion on how to make the positions work, you were given another check-in to ensure you were okay with the setup, and anyone who hadn’t fully disrobed did so.

Killer laid down on his back, taking your hand as you crawled over him. You mounted his cock eagerly; despite all the prior attention, you were finally getting to try acting out one of your fantasies, and had perked right back up at the chance.

“Nervous?” Killer asked as Kid took up position behind you.

You shook your head. “You know I trust you guys with my life, right?”

“That’s right,” Kid said, pressing a kiss to the tattoo on your back. Then he placed a hand on your back and pushed you forward to expose your cunt to him. He positioned his cock right up against Killer’s, pushing against it and forward to stretch your cunt until it gave way to his, too. You bit your lip as you were filled by both men simultaneously–the stretch was just like taking Wire.

“Who fills you more?” Wire questioned as he took place at your side, taking your hand and putting it on his cock. “Our captain and first mate, or me?”

“I can’t really tell,” you answered honestly, wrapping your hand around the base of him.

“I guess we’ll just have to give you more practice, then,” he grinned.

Heat stepped over Killer, standing in front of you. “Open wide, babygirl,” he purred, and you did so, tongue sticking out like a landing strip for his cock. He eased himself into your mouth gently, cursing when you started to suck on him. The feeling of his piercings on your tongue was fun, a little sensory treat for you to play with.

Kid started to thrust first, Killer waiting a bit to pick up on Kid’s rhythm before he joined him. He timed himself so you were never left empty; if Kid was pulling back, Killer was thrusting in, and vice versa. The two of them were in perfect sync like they’d done this before, and you wouldn’t have been surprised if they had. Between Kid’s grip on your hips and Killer’s hands on your waist, you were held steady so you didn’t rock too far forward, keeping you feeling the full brunt of their combined attack.

“God, I’ve wanted to do this for a while.” Heat said, placing a hand on the back of your head and starting to thrust shallowly into your mouth. Now that you had been pushed to make eye contact so much during the rotations, there was no more hesitation from you as you looked up through your eyelashes at Heat, who cursed at the sight.

“Oh, fuck, you look good like that,” he muttered, “sucking my cock while getting railed. You feel so fucking good, shit.”

“Isn’t she just perfect?” Wire cooed, guiding your hand to pump his cock. “Servicing us all with those slutty little holes of hers, and doing such a good job of it, too.”

Your moans were muffled by Heat’s cock, but the sound made the others’ grip on you tighten, their thrusts increasing in force. It was almost everything you had wanted, their cocks a drug to you as much as the weed was–you didn’t think you could feel any better. But even then, with three of them inside you pounding you into oblivion, you still wanted more. During the discussion, Wire made you agree to show you could take double penetration before trying triple. You had no choice but to comply, but like you had told Kid earlier, they had no idea just what you could handle. 

You gave the safety signal with your trembling free hand, holding up three fingers. Wire immediately barked at the other three to stop, and when they pulled out of you, you felt emptier than when before you had started.

“You okay? What’s wrong?” Wire asked. The whole group was alert and focused on you now.

“I took two, like you said!” you cried out. “I don’t want to jerk you off, Wire, I want you all at once, like you promised!”

Wire started to laugh while the others relaxed.

“That’s all?” Killer huffed. “I was worried for a second.”

Kid smacked your ass. “That’s my girl! A true Kid pirate.” He pulled you up by the neck so your chest was flush with his back, growling into your ear. “You’re just a greedy little thing, aren’t you? Need us all right this second, hmm?”

“Fuck, yes, just hurry up,” you whined.

Kid held his hand in front of your face. “Spit,” he commanded.

You spat into his palm, and he stroked his cock with that hand. “Alright, boys, let’s rearrange. Wire? What do you think?”

“I’ll take her mouth,” Wire said. “Too big for triple. Otherwise, first choice of ‘loot’ goes to the captain.”

“Her ass is mine.”

“I’m good here,” Killer said.

Heat joined Kid and Killer behind you while Wire took his place in front. He had to sit up on his legs for his cock to be at the right height to line up with your head.

“First Killer and Heat start, then Kid, so I can keep an eye on her. Once I think she’s good, I’ll take her mouth,” Wire directed.

Killer and Heat penetrated your cunt at the same time, hilting themselves before Kid pressed the head of his cock against your ass. The weed had relaxed your muscles enough so that there was little resistance, but you still closed your eyes at the unique feeling of him entering you there. It had been a while since you played with yourself anally, so adding it to the mix of sensations was a thrill. As Kid filled you up, Heat and Killer noticeably tensed in pleasure, the space inside you growing even smaller with the third addition.

“Tight,” Kid muttered, pulling out slightly before pushing in even further, making you moan as you were stuffed to the brim.

“But she did it,” Wire noted, looking proud. He stroked your cheek. “Sorry to have underestimated you.” You responded by opening your mouth, and Wire grinned. “Little slut. Alright, here I come.”

You could only really take the first two inches of Wire in your mouth, but that was enough, you swirled your tongue over his frenum piercing as you sucked him off. The other three took that as a signal to start. Kid went at his own brutal pace, steady but harsh, while the other two were more gentle as they figured out a good rhythm. At first it was disorganized and more uncomfortable than you had expected, until Wire directed Kid to slow down, and suddenly the other three fell into the perfect pace. At that point, you feared you had no rational thought left, every bit of cognition fucked out of your body. A warm, thick haze fell over your mind as they ravaged you, some part of you finally feeling relief from being used so thoroughly by your superiors. It was the satisfaction of your deepest fantasies coming true. Every nerve in your body was attuned to the feeling of their skin on you, against you, inside you. 

Their desire for you was evident in their desperation, in their hands all over your body, in their praises and groans and whines of your name. At the center of their carnal affection, you finally felt whole.

Wire dug his fingers into your hair, grunting that he was close. You were, too, but you couldn’t tell them as you were. The other three figured it out when they felt your walls flutter around their cocks.

“She came.”

“Fuck, she came again.”

“Good girl, good girl.”

You could barely tell who said what, but the following curse of “f-fuck!” came from Wire, and a moment later, a salty, slightly bitter taste coated the back of your tongue. You swallowed it down without a second thought, fully in subspace and never happier.

Heat came next; you couldn’t really feel it, only noticing once he pulled out and you were suddenly, tragically emptier.

“Just you and me, Kill,” Kid said.

Wire pulled out of your mouth, and you collapsed forward onto Killer, fingers scraping against the curly fuzz of his chest hair.

“Easy, just–mm–relax,” Killer grunted, hands traveling up your sides. “Fuck, you don’t know how good you feel.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you panted. “Keep g-going.”

You rested your head on Killer’s chest as they double-teamed you, content to lay there and be used. It came as a surprise when you felt fingers rubbing your clit–Kid had reached around to tease you.

“One last one, princess,” he said.

“Ah, Kid! I don’t think–” you started, but Kid smacked your ass hard and made your words end in a yelp.

“Trust your captain.”

“Y-Yes, sir.” You hung your head down, breaths coming out short, putting all your focus on your lower half.

“Just a bit more,” Killer urged. “Just a bit–fuck, I’m at my limit.”

Killer emptied inside you with a low groan. Kid didn’t let up, rubbing your clit between his thumb and forefinger, pushing you to the edge with that sheer, brutal determination that he approached everything in life with.

“I’m almost there,” Kid promised. “Cum for me, Y/n, cum for your captain.”

“Kid!” you cried, “Kid, Kid, Kid–!”

You both hit your peak at the same time, you with a tired whimper, Kid with a throaty groan. You felt like you had dissolved into a billion little sparks, unable to do anything but pulse and twitch. Then you went limp, all energy seeming to drain out of your body at once.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” Wire asked, and you responded with a weak grunt of confirmation.

Kid and Killer pulled out, the latter sitting up and supporting you against him.

“Just rest,” Killer said. “We’ll take care of everything.”

“Wait. One last thing,” Kid said. He spread your ass cheeks, a smirk etching itself across his face when he saw the cum leaking out of your holes. “Yeah, that’s good. Nicely done, princess.”

You just pressed your face into Killer’s chest and grunted again. The four men chuckled.

“Let’s get her cleaned up,” Kid said, holding his hands out to you. Killer picked you up for one final pass to Kid, who stood you on your feet and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You look like a fucking mess.”

“Mm,” was the only noise you made, though it still managed to sound sarcastic, and Kid laughed. He detached his metal arm, setting it on the ground, then supported you with his remaining arm as you walked on trembling legs to the bathroom.

Kid started the shower, stepping inside it with you to make sure you wouldn’t collapse. You leaned against him, sighing as the hot water soothed your tired muscles.

“I guess I lived up to my hometown’s reputation after all,” you mumbled into his chest.

“No one gives a shit,” Kid said. “You should be happy you got to do this.”

“I am,” you grabbed the soap and started scrubbing your front. “I just think it’s funny. After all that time, you know?”

“Yeah.” He spun you around so the water hit your front. “After all that time. You were so cold before. I always figured you’d leave after your business was done.”

“I thought so, too,” you said, reminiscing. It felt like a lifetime ago. 

Kid helped you lather soap on your back, then spun you around to let it rinse off. You looked up at him. He was standing over you not unlike that day all those years ago, when you had marched up to him and demanded to join his crew. Except instead of a sneer on his face, there was only a soft look.

You felt yourself tear up. Kid’s expression changed to one of alarm. “Woah, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. I’m just happy.”

“You sure? You don’t regret this, right?”

“No. It was exactly what I wanted.” You smiled up at him to show you were fine, even as you sniffled.

“Okay. Good,” he said, looking relieved. “It was what I wanted, too.”

You hugged him tight. “I do have a question, though.”

“What?”

“What was the ‘deal’ you guys were talking about earlier?”

Kid snorted. “Ages ago, we talked about which crewmates we hadn’t fucked yet, and all of us agreed that we would have smashed you if we had the chance. So we decided that none of us would make a move until you did.”

“Is that all? Then why did you get mad at Wire?”

“Because we all know that he’s a huge flirt. None of us believed that you made the first move.”

You thought back to when you kissed him. “We were both drunk, but–yeah, he kissed me first. Despite what he says.”

You and Kid chuckled. After getting cleaned up, you wrapped yourself in a towel and went back out. The others had all redressed by then. You were about to flop into your chair until Wire held his arms out to you. You drifted over and let him pull you into his embrace, resting against him while he massaged your thighs.

“If you want to talk about any of it, just say so,” he said. “Questions, comments, concerns.”

“I just want to eat something that’s not cock,” you said.

The others laughed, except for Heat, who shouted, “Fuck!”

“What?”

“I wasn’t hungry until you said something, damn it.”

You and the other three laughed again, this time at Heat’s expense.

“I could eat all of Whole Cake Island,” you said.

Heat started rummaging around the cabinets in the dresser. “There’s gotta be a list of nearby places to eat–huh?” There was a pause, and then Heat turned around. “Why are there a bunch of condoms in here?”

“Amenities, obviously. Remember what island you’re on,” you said. 

Wire’s hands froze where they were on your hips. “Y/n?” he said, the tone making you nervous.

“Now, listen, Wire–” you started.

“Don’t ‘listen’ me,” he said thinly. “You knew there were condoms and didn’t tell me?”

“Well, you know, I’m still good on birth control, and, uh,”

“It still matters–” Wire realized something, then grabbed your shoulders. “Did you fucking lie so you’d get creampied, you fucking slut?”

The other three howled, and you shrank in his lap, even as you squeaked out, “I’m not sorry.”

“I guess you’ll have to punish her, Wire,” Kid grinned.

“Just let us watch when you do,” Killer added.

“What did you have in mind?” Heat asked.

“Oh, I’ll come up with something.” Wire said. He tickled your sides, making you flail in his lap until you begged for mercy.

“That settles it, then,” Kid said. “Y/n? Before we leave this island, make sure you go get a big bundle of Red Sky for us to take with us.”

“Aye aye, captain,” you said, heart already leaping at what the future would hold.

[tyrantisterror]

A Flight of Dragons, I Command It! A FLIGHT! OF! DRAGONS!

doom DOOM DOOM

Hey fuckers, it's February and my Seasonal Affective Disorder is at its fucking PEAK, so it's gonna get REAL weird around here for a while. Luckily, my old ass has spent the last thirty-some years figuring out how to deal with this particular recurring problem, and one of the many tools and tricks I've learned is an age old classic:

I gotta treat myself.

So, ok, I work at a daycare, and one of the things that's very popular with the kids these days are 3-D printed dragons. They're inexpensive, customizable, and pretty easy to transport and store, so it's no wonder kids like them. But, you know, I'm something of a child at heart myself, and I love dragons, so when I saw my kids bringing all these 3-D printed dragons to the center... well, I got a bit envious. And, well... when you're an adult with disposable income... there's no one STOPPING you from buying a 3-D printed dragon for yourself.

Or two.

Or three.

Or... lots. Lots and lots. Because you're an adult and they don't cost much money and you've always loved having swarms/herds/big families of creatures ever since you were a kid, and because it was January when this idea struck you and looking at the estimated time of arrival on etsy for these things you realized most of them would arrive by February, when you might NEED the serotonin provided by having a big ol' flight of dragons.

So let's go on a journey, fuckers. A journey of excess, a journey into imagination, a journey through the marvelous world of people with 3-D printers making a quick buck on etsy. Let's look at some fucking dragons.

I'm going to go ahead and link the store pages for each dragon I purchased, in case you too are deranged and need some dragons in your life, and because I want to give some form of credit to the artists who made these. Granted, that won't always be possible - while a few of these seemed to be unique to the shops I bought them from, many of them could be found from NUMEROUS sellers, which makes it difficult if not impossible to figure out who originally programmed the project files for them to be 3-D printed from.

Case in point is The Crystal Dragon here, which can be found in SO MANY etsy stores. Most of the 3-D printed dragons my students at the daycare had were of this variety, in fact, so it seems to be a very popular pattern for 3-D printing. It's definitely a cute and pretty little thing, and sort of sets the standard bar for a 3-D printed dragon. I wish the face was a bit more detailed, but the rough, angular nature of it does help convey the idea that this thing is made of crystals.

The second most common design, as far as I can tell anyway, is this Chinese Dragon/Loong (oh hey, they used my favorite English spelling!). I really like the face of this guy, and it seems like an excellent rendition of the standard East Asian dragon design - there's even tiny holes under its nostrils where you could insert a wire or thread to serve as its barbells, though most sellers (including the one I bought from) don't make use of it.

While most of the dragons I bought are "realistic," there were some cartoony/more stylized ones for sale that I decided to partake in. This little guy is one such dragon, and I think he's probably the best one to get if you're buying for a kid - the smoother body and smaller, nubbier horns makes it less likely to break, and just a bit more fun to play with in your hands. These things are often marketed as fidgets, after all, so the tactile feel of them is something to take into account.

While on the surface just a variation of the fidgets we've seen so far, this dragon has one particularly clever feat of engineering: because of the way the spikes on its neck are set up, you can get its head in a nice "snake rearing up to strike" position, which, combined with its distinctive short-snouted face, goes a long way to giving it an extra bit of character among the 3-D printed dragons.

While most of the dragons I found seemed to have the same simple color options to choose from, a few sellers seemed to have their own custom ones that were unique to their shop. This mix of bronze and olive greens was unique to this particular dragon, which, along with its painted eyes, really helps its stand out! I will note that the joints of this dragon tend to stick a bit more than my other dragons - perhaps a result of using different plastic colors than is standard? - but if you let gravity do its work they'll sort themselves out, and it's worth it to have such a striking little fellow.

Since this particular style of toy really suits serpentine creatures better than all else, I decided to look for some explicitly marine dragons to add to the group. I really like this sea serpent I found, which comes is very basic crayola-ish plain colors, but has just enough personality in its sculpt (and eyes and teeth in different colors) to stand out.

If you're looking for sea dragons on etsy, though, you're much more likely to encounter this fellow, which almost every store selling it calls Jormungandr and/or the Midgard Serpent. It's got these vaguely Nordic runes carved into it, as well as grooves in its tail designed to fit its prominent fangs so it can make an ouroboros, which makes the Jormungandr connection feel pretty intentional. It's a really distinct design, but I do think it's a little funny that it's far from the beefiest of my dragons. I wonder if there's a shop that sells an upsized model...

While not notable in terms of engineering, paint work, or plastic color options, this dragon IS notable in having heads based on a statue of Quetzalcoatl, who is in turn one of my favorite mythological figures, so I had to get it.

Of course, I also wanted a Quetzalcoatl-style feathered serpent that had the classic "winged snake" look, and this one fit the bill well enough. It originally came with little hair clips attached to its underside, allowing it to cling to your head and/or clothes, which I thought was really clever... but I also didn't like the clips sticking out from under the little thing so I took them off. A lovely little dragon either way, though.

So, ok, I'd been going relatively cheap at this point, but as I shopped I was struck with a sort of passing fancy, an idle thought... what was the most elaborate, fanciest 3-D printed dragon I could get? It's not this one, mind you, but this was very much the start of that rabbit hole. While mechanically it's not significantly different than the dragons we've seen till now, the amount of colors it's printed in immediately make it stand out as a higher quality dragon.

The same store that sold the dragon above also sold this fellow, which may well be my favorite of the many East Asian dragons I found on this little quest. Just look at that wonderfully monstrous face! And he's got a pearl, the little devil!

While the color of the plastic and the engineering of this sea dragon may not seem particularly notable, what has to be taken into account here is the sheer SIZE of this lass. This is one of the biggest dragons of my lot, not only in length but in sheer girth and weight of its joints. The Midgar Serpent needs to move over, this is the REAL leviathan of my 3-D printed dragon collection.

Of course, if you know me, you know I'm a basic bitch who loves the European "four legs and two wings" style of dragon the most of all, so my search for fancy 3-D printed dragons started to focus on finding some that fit this description. I can't actually find the store page for this guy anymore (it's not in my past purchases on etsy for some reason), but it's a pretty solid low budget take on the concept. But we can do better - and we will...

But first, a detour to some wyverns! This little guy is really cute, with a head based on the Peter Jackson Herbit movie's design for Smaug, and a feathery little body that makes it looks like a fantastical archeopteryx.

The same shop makes a more reptile-ish dragon, with leathery wings and scaly skin, which I got in a larger size because, well, you know my preferences. It's like the perfect size to perch on your shoulder, though I'd want something to hold it in place because I'm pretty sure falling off from that height onto a hardwood floor would be the end of it.

There's no shop link for this one or the next because it was a freebie - which is to say I didn't actually order this dragon, but found it in one of my packages as a free gift from the seller. That's the nice thing about shopping on places like etsy and ebay - sometimes the people on the other side of the screen are really solid and decide to give you an extra little treat. This is clearly a Games of Throne-style wyvern specifically, based on the proportions and the shape of the head, and that's pretty cool. The dragons are one of the only things that made it out of that show still looking cool.

The second freebie dragons I got were these little toys of Toothless and Girl Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon. Look at them, they're so cute!

But now... now it's time for the answer to the question:

What

Is the most Deluxe 3-D Printed Dragon

I can get?

The Bronze Medal goes to this marvelous dragon here, which feels like it flew right off of some medieval coat of arms and into my own flesh and blood ones. It's solid, beautifully sculpted, and full of articulation points. However, the method in which it's articulated makes it a bit frustrating to pose, as some of these joints end up bending and twisting in ways you don't want them too. Still an excellent dragon, mind you, but outdone by the next two...

The Silver Medal goes to this marvelous wyvern, which has much tighter joints that are a lot less frustrating to pose. Its wings are a mixture of cloth and plastic, allowing them to flex and bend into a variety of poses (though admittedly the weight of the wings keeps them from holding most of those poses very well). Also, look at that regal face, that sleek sculpt, and those elegant proportions! It's almost a perfect dragon for me. Almost.

My one and only gripe with the previous dragon is that, well, I'm a basic bitch who likes dragons with four legs and two wings the best! And what do you know, they made one of those too! And god, does this dragon look magnificent in person, sporting all of the elegance of the dragon above but with magnificent grasping hands! HANDS! Hands that you'll have to be careful with because the joints are a little loose and like to pop off when you play with them, but still, HANDS!

This is a high enough point to end off on, but there's one more 3-D printed gift I'd like to cover here. My favorite one.

Well, ones I guess. This all started with my students, and well, some of them noted my interest in the 3-D printed dragons they were bringing to school. And a couple of them actually ended up getting 3-D printers of their own (well, their parents' own, ayway) and decided to print off a dragon and a crocodile for me - smaller than all the other dragons here (except the Toothless keycains), but no less dear for it. I guess one of the pros about taking an active interest in the things your students like and letting them gush about it is that they might give you a 3-D printed dragon or crocodile out of the kindness in their little hearts.

[taintandviolent]

Ache ; Roman Godfrey x secretary!Reader

summary: [PART TWO TO THIS FIC!] It's only been a week and a half since secretary!reader and Roman's little interaction in his office, but he's pretending like nothing happened. When reader decides to have a night out, Roman's jealousy gets the best of him and he intervenes.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 4.3K | themes of jealousy and possessiveness, mentions of alcohol, Roman kind of being aggressive for no reason, blood kink, blood consumption, cunnilingus (female receiving), unprotected sex, rough sex, finger sucking, mind control.

a/n: idea/requested by @xxbimbobunnyxx! thank you so much for having thoughts and letting me indulge in my sicko thoughts about this tall Swedish man, baby!! i hope you love this! not really beta-read, as per usual. forgive me. divider by @/strangergraphics!!

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

It had been a week and a half but it had felt like an eternity to you, if you were being truthful with yourself. Business ran as normal; your menial tasks and appointment setting resumed. Roman looked at you the same way he always did, unnervingly, hungrily, with his lips pursed forward and wide eyes following you as you walked past, but he hadn't mentioned it. In fact, it was as though it had never happened at all. There were no secretive touches, no lingering smirks... he'd hardly called you into his office, in fact. Aside from work-related topics, he was all but ignoring you. 

He'd told you not to mention it to anyone, but you thought there would be something, some semblance of recognition in his eyes when your gazes met. If there was, it was masked by his own impassive aloofness. You were frustrated in every way, but most of all sexually. Your nights at home were spent furiously masterbating in your bathtub or your bed, sometimes with a vibrator, sometimes without, trying to reach the same level of orgasm that you had with Roman. Each attempt was futile, and ultimately, a failure. On Friday night after work, you'd decided to go to one of the few bars in town, in hopes that some alcohol would untangle the mess of wires that your nervous system had become.

Still dressed in your silk blouse, tight pencil skirt and heels, it didn't take you long to attract the attention of a guy. You were truthfully thankful for the flirting, and your willingness to chat with him inadvertently turned into a date. He'd bought your first drink, while he nursed his second casually as the conversation naturally progressed. His name was Jacob, he had lived in Hemlock Grove all his life, had a daughter, and worked at the Fire Station. He was handsome, certainly enough to hold a conversation with. He was sweet, you could tell. His fingers brushed against yours delicately as he reached for his glass, sending a shiver up your spine. The way his soft smile curled up on one side, his soft, chocolate button eyes watched you as you spoke... 

With a polite smile, you answered his latest question, bouncing one of your patent leather high heels off the tip of your toe. "Oh, I work at the Godfrey Institute." 

"Wow." He said, impressed. "The Institute? What's that like?" His expression was one of genuine curiosity, which, to you, was normal. Most people wondered about the massive, ominous structure that overlooked their town. You could hardly blame him, you'd been one of them prior to working there.

You blinked. What was work like? Without warning, your mind's eye was flushed with red and you could almost taste him on your tongue. Roman fucking you over his desk, mercilessly, while the blood dribbled onto your naked body. You thought about the way his cock felt as it pushed into you, the swollen, red tip parting your slick folds. You thought about his hands as they explored you, flesh tasting flesh hungrily and the way that he slipped his long fingers into your mouth, forcing you to suck them, to drink someone else's blood. 

"That bad, huh?" 

"What?" You blinked again.

"That was way too long of a pause. It's that bad?" 

"No! No," you stammered, taking another sip of your drink. "It's not bad at all. It pays well. Good benefits. My boss can just be... a lot to handle." 

You had to control your smirk; you handled him just fine. Fighting your own expression, you brought the tiny straw to your mouth and sucked down some liquid. 

"Aren't all bosses a lot to handle?" 

"Yeah," you nodded. "But Mr. Godfrey is... different." 

"Well," he murmured, leaning in closer to you. "He better not be mistreating you. You're too pretty for that." 

A demure, gracious smile crossed your lips as he leaned into you, nudging you with his shoulder. It was playful, but held intention, you could feel it. You took another sip of your drink, staring coyly at the ice cubes.

That was when you felt it; the inviting haze. It held a promise of a command, something you'd be compelled to do. Which, at that point, could be anything. Your cunt immediately responded to the familiar sensation, desperate for his attention again. She clenched and you shuddered violently, gasping aloud.

"You okay?" Concern laced his voice.

"Yes, yes, sorry." 

Jacob took a swig of his own drink, grinning into it as he did. He thought the reaction was from him, and it gave him a boost of confidence to slip his arm around your hips and pull you close to him. 

"I think you're the prettiest woman I've ever seen..." Jacob spoke into the shell of your ear, whispering sweetly. Another shiver erupted at the base of your neck and travelled downwards. His breath was hot, and smelled invitingly like whiskey. For a fleeting moment, you thought about turning your head, brushing your lips against his soft ones. After a week of nothing but iciness, it would’ve been so nice to feel someone against you, wanting you, craving you.  

That was until the overwhelming urge to turn around took control of your body, akin to the sensation of feeling someone's eyes on you. Your skin prickled. Panicking, you pivoted your body and searched the faces in the bar, flitting from one to another. None of them were the face you were looking for, none of them held the gaze that you felt.

You spun around to the other side, your hair whipping around your shoulder. Though smoke clouded the bar, you could see him clear as day. He stood at the other end of the bar, elbows propped up on the edge, a scotch glass loosely dangling from his hand. His green eyes seemed to cut through the haze, locking onto you in a troubling grip. He didn't look happy - he looked the way he did before he yelled at someone at the Institute, his chest heaving with drawn out, frustrated breaths.

Masking your nerves, you turned back to your drink, pinched the straw between your thumb and forefinger and flung it behind you, bringing the rim of the glass to your lips. The rest of the liquid flowed down your throat, stinging as it went. It provided no relief to the tightness in your stomach, unfortunately. 

"Woah, hey, what's the deal? You okay?" Jacob asked, his hand on your forearm.

"I..." You turned around again, expecting to be caught in Roman's gaze again... but he was gone. That was somehow more unsettling. 

"Y/N…" 

"Woah, shit. Where'd you come from?" Jacob jumped, his knee bumping into yours.

Your head turned slowly at the sound of his voice. He stood behind Jacob, a polite smile spread across his full lips. To someone who didn't know him, it would be a convincing one. To you, it wasn't. You'd seen him smile condescendingly at someone before ripping into them too many times. There was malice behind it and his eyes confirmed it.

The reaction that your body had to him was embarrassing and honestly unwarranted. It wasn't like you hadn't seen him in a week and a half; you saw him mere hours ago, but his attention hadn't been on you in the way it was now. Your cheeks flushed, your cunt throbbed in your underwear, desperate to feel him again. 

"Sorry for interrupting." 

Still obviously put off by his sudden appearance, Jacob nodded slowly. "It's... fine..." 

"Jacob," you started, flashing a bright, albeit fake smile. "This is my boss... Mr. Godfrey." 

Being the obvious gentleman that he was, Jacob stuck his hand out first. It seemed Roman was completely content with tightening his smile and giving the man a nod but after a few painful moments, he finally shook the man's hand. 

"Unfortunately, I have to steal her. Very pressing matter at the Institute." Roman’s long fingers wrapped around your bicep, enveloping it. His steel grip hurt, but you didn’t dare say anything. 

"Now, wait a minute." Jacob interjected, standing up from the stool. 

"Get lost." Roman hissed, stepping forward slightly. "Now."

And just like that, Jacob got up from his seat, put a twenty on the bar and walked towards the door. Feeling the warm stream flowing from his nostril, Roman wiped his nose, the blood collecting on the back of his hand. You stared, dumbfounded. Had Jacob really given up that easily? Or was there something to Roman Godfrey that you hadn't considered? You looked from the door back to your boss, who god – really towered over you.

"What did I say?" Roman asked, sternly. 

"Nothing about that." You retorted, shaking your head, your confidence wavering. Though nothing had been exchanged about that, you knew what he meant.

"I told you to..." 

"No," you corrected, cutting him off. "You told me not to tell anyone about what we did. I haven't." 

"Maybe you need a reminder." 

You thought about retorting with something smart, but Roman took a step closer to you, holding his hand up to your face. The smell of iron hit your nose. Instinctively, your tongue flicked out, lapping at the small streak of blood on the back of his hand. As before, the taste of it made you want to gag, but it aroused you all the same. 

"Mr. Godfrey," You cooed, looking up at him with doe eyes. "Am I not allowed to enjoy myself on my own time?" 

Roman raised his brows, as if to ask if you'd been enjoying yourself. You had been... to a degree. Despite Jacob being nice, you knew that fucking him wouldn't be the same as fucking Roman. It wouldn’t satiate the hunger that pulsed deep within your pussy, he wouldn’t fuck you the same way. That was all he needed; he laughed through his nose. He stiffened above you, somehow elongating even more.

"Your cunt is aching for me, I can smell it." 

Fuck. The humiliation had you wanting to whine and throw your body against his, wrapping your arms around his neck like you had a week ago. Writhing, you pressed your thighs together tightly. Roman’s eyes flitted down, watching as you rubbed them together pathetically, desperately trying to alleviate the throbbing sensation.

“What am I supposed to be reminded of? As though I’ve stopped thinking about it.”

“Oh, really?” 

You rolled your lips inward and bit down, closing your eyes. He hadn’t even asked you to say that, you’d just done it on your accord. The drink you’d had must’ve been working – at what, you weren’t sure. Humiliating yourself? You took a breath, pacifying yourself. 

“Remember what I said about not firing you?” He asked, his voice low.

“What? I’m fired?” 

He laughed breathily, rolling his eyes away from you, then back. “No. But if you keep fucking around, I might reconsider.” 

“Fucking around?” You asked, shocked, pain darkening your gaze. “I had a drink with a guy! I wasn’t aware that it was off-limits.” 

“You’re my personal assistant, remember me saying that? I need you available whenever the fuck I want you available. Not fucking some random guy in a bar.” 

Your pussy twinged with heat and the tugging sensation in your stomach worsened. Though he hadn’t said it, his motivations were obvious; he was jealous and he wanted you available for him at all times. Though somewhere, you were sure that you should feel disrespected, you couldn’t find it in yourself to acknowledge it. There was a workplace violation here somewhere. Your tongue darted out, running along your bottom lip teasingly.

Suddenly, you said: “Fine, then. I’m going home.” Partially, it was a test. The thrill of the chase. 

“Probably a good idea.” He flashed his brows at you, almost expectantly.

You turned on your heels, allowing your hand to drift behind you just enough to graze Roman’s swelling cock through his perfectly pleated dress pants. You heard him inhale a breath through his teeth, but he didn’t follow you. As you pushed through the door, he was still standing by the bar, watching you. 

Outside, the cold night air bit at your cheeks, but you were in the car before the frigidness penetrated too deeply. You tossed your purse onto the passenger seat, retrieved your keys from it, and started the engine. Leave it to him to frustrate you, yet again. Now, not only were you unimaginably horny, but you were unable to get your kicks with anyone else, because God forbid Roman needed something. Fine, if he wanted to play, you’d play. Tomorrow, you devised, you’d be as aloof as he was. Your mood would be a mirror, reflecting whatever his was.

Unbeknownst to you, the cherry-red Jaguar pulled out behind you moments later, gravel crunching underneath the tires. You huffed and reached for the stereo knob, turning it halfway. Music filled the car with a peppy and happy beat – something that didn’t match your mood at all.

As you drove, your peripheral was filled with blackness. Hemlock Grove was dark at night. Really dark. The woods that surrounded the town seemed to go on forever, trees looming up around you like soldiers that guarded the population. Then, there was the issue of the wolves… 

You looked in the rearview mirror and squinted, blinded by the headlights of a car – but not just any car. You recognized that car anywhere, having seen it parked at the Institute every day. He was following you awfully close, probably making sure you weren’t trying to lose him. That was the last thing on your mind. In fact, you were silently praying that he followed you all the way home… but, just to test him, you eased your foot into the gas pedal, watching as the speedometer crept higher. For as masterfully as you handled the roads, Roman handled them better. His headlights never left your mirrors. 

As you pulled into the driveway of your modest little house, you switched off the music and killed the engine. You glanced at the rearview mirror again, delighted to find that Roman was blocking you in. Though your address was on your resume, he now had a visual of where you lived, and knew how to get there whenever he wanted. You shivered excitedly at the thought. With a smirk slicing your features, you walked around to the back of your car, hands on your hip. Roman was getting out of his car, elongating. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he closed in the distance between the two of you, and his hands gripped your waist tightly, fingers jabbing into the soft flesh. Roughly turning you around, Roman pinned your hips between his and the trunk of your car. Invading your personal space, he urged his back against yours, forcing you downwards. 

“Jesus Christ, are you insane? My neighbours will see.” 

His expression darkened, as if he was considering doing it anyway. Planting your hands on the trunk, you pushed your back against his chest again but behind you, it was as though he was made of iron. Didn’t move, not even a little bit. Your breath hitched in your throat, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. Fighting against him, you grunted. What was he doing?

“Stop it,” you pleaded, trying to press yourself upwards. “W-we can’t do this out here.” 

As if Mother Nature herself wanted to thwart his attempts, the clouds that had loomed, obscuring the moon all night, finally decided to dump. The deluge drenched both of you within seconds, thunder rumbling above. You twisted your body to glance behind you. His perfectly arranged hair was now mussed; dark, dripping strands hanging in front of his forehead. He was staring pointedly at you, burning holes into your skin.

Finally, Roman conceded to your worries – or maybe just didn’t want to get any wetter – and shoved himself off you with an angry, annoyed huff. With a jerk of his head, he encouraged you to move. He followed you up the small pathway, and you’d hardly put the key in the slot before you felt Roman’s body pressing into yours, forcing you inside. You dropped your bag on the small bench by the door, and turned to the looming figure behind you. 

“Why are you being so…” your voice trailed off, partially afraid to vocalize what you were going to ask him. 

He didn’t answer, again, and instead, his lips found yours, his tongue slipping in past your teeth. He tasted like scotch; warm and seductive. While still kissing you – gentler than he’d ever been – walked you backwards. You were more than happy to blindly let you guide him off a cliff at this point. Abruptly, Roman’s hands met your chest, shoving you hard back against the sofa. It almost punched the breath from your lungs, but you steadied yourself, looking up at him. 

“What is your problem?” You furrowed your brows. “Are you really that upset with me? You never told me that I couldn’t have a drink with a guy.”

“Do you not listen? I said I need you available whenever the fuck I want. For whatever the fuck I want.” 

Roman kicked your feet apart, the spikes of your heels catching on the fibres of the sheepskin rug below you. Slotting himself in between your thighs, Roman got to his knees, his hands cupping your kneecaps. He harshly pulled your legs apart, the fabric of your skirt gathering at your hips as he did. You were exposed to him, the thin strip of your underwear barely covering you. The smoothness of his chin ghosted along your thigh, his lips grazing the flesh just before he reaches where you want him. It takes everything in your power not to push him between your legs, onto your aching cunt, but somehow, you resisted the urge, and dug your nails into the sofa cushions instead. 

He bent his head down, tongue stretching out over his lips and immediately, you felt the hot rush of his breath wash over you, your stomach clenching tightly in anticipation. As the tip of his tongue delved between your folds, you jerked against the soft fabric of your sofa. Your back arched, pressing against the resistance of the cushions. With his mouth still attached to your clit, his bright green eyes flitted to you, brows lifting on his forehead. Long arms unfolded from your legs, reaching up to your breasts like two shadows. His hands cupped them outside of your satin blouse, attempting to thumb your nipple through the layers but quickly decided that it wasn’t good enough. With a quick flash of movement, Roman had ripped your blouse apart for the second time. You bit back a yelp.

As he rolled your nipples between his fingers, pinching them here and there, his eyes drank you in, watching as the shifting shadow pattern of the leaves danced across your bare skin. The storm raged on outside as Roman devoured your insides like one of the supposed wolves in the woods. His tongue flicked quickly at her before he paused to lick a long stripe from your entrance upwards, lingering to drive the tip into your clit. God. The buzzing contact made you scream and writhe and cry. He growled into her as you cried out, never relenting. With pathetic, slutty moans punctuating his every move, you rolled your head back against the sofa, letting your eyes drift shut. Every time he made contact with her, kitten licking and teasing you with intention, you whined. While his tongue stayed busy, one of Roman’s hands drifted away from your hardened nipple, and slithered back down until it found your wet entrance, prodding the slit curiously. Your body convulsed, a desperate whimper falling from your lips. He was going to fuck you. No, he was going to overstimulate you.

He sank his fingers all the way in, to the knuckle, and began pumping his wrist back and forth. Two fingers opened inside you, stretching you out before curling up to hit the sensitive, spongy flesh deep within you. Your nails scraped along the fibres of the sofa cushion, flailing for something to grip onto.

“Oh my fucking god… Oh my god.” Involuntarily, your hips began rolling with his motions, driving his fingers in deeper to you with every thrust. 

“Good girl,” Roman muttered, the humming vibrations sending a shockwave through your core.That cold voice with the slight lilt of an accent you couldn’t place – it did something to you. The first warning clench. Oh no. Your pupils dilated at the feeling, your breath quickened. He was going to make you cum, possibly faster than you ever had in your life. You couldn’t remember how many times you’d tried to make yourself orgasm in the past week, but he somehow managed to do it within minutes. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, oh my god, I’m gonna’...” 

Your breath catches in your throat. And just like that, the sensations were gone. You stammered out some words of displeasure, lifting your head to look up at him. Roman stuck both his glistening fingers in his mouth, suckling them like a greedy child. Your legs were still quivering when he took hold of them, pulling you closer to the edge of the sofa. “Did I say you could cum?” 

You panted, feeling frustrated. Your body screamed in agony over the lack of stimulation, and every time you clenched, you felt the hot burn of an orgasm denied. 

“Did I?” 

“N-no…” 

You collapse against the sofa, shuddering. Agony. Nothing but agony. This entire week had been nothing but an edge-fest, and there he was, edging you some more. You felt your expression contort into a frown, tears welling at the corners of your eyes. The sound of his belt buckle brought you back, snapping to attention. You looked down between your legs just in time to see Roman pull his stiff cock free, a bead of precum leaking from the slit. The tip was blushing, and looked hot to the touch. You squeezed your thighs together, sandwiching the head into the pillowy flesh of your thighs – it was.  

. 

Roman didn’t give you any time to prepare. Once the tip breached your slit, he sank in until your torsos touched. You gasped, leaning forward in slight discomfort. He paused for a moment, letting your body adjust to the girth.

“So fuckin’ tight.”

He began thrusting, quickly. Repeatedly impaling you with his cock, moving his hips back and forth in half circles, Roman’s movements were controlled, hitting you in a spot that made you cry out with each thrust. You suddenly rasped his name, disrupting his rhythm. It was the first time that you’d called him Roman as opposed to Mr. Godfrey, and the intimacy of the gesture had his cock throbbing within your slick pussy.  He leaned forward, clenching his teeth. 

“You’re mine, you fucking know that?” His lips moved against your ear as he spoke, sending a violent chill down your spine.

Between laboured pants, you nodded weakly. He did it so well. He did everything so well – without trying – and it had you in pieces. You couldn’t take it back, the feelings that had been roiling inside your system for weeks had been confirmed. Now he knew it, because you acknowledged it. No going back.

“That’s right.” Roman leaned into you, pressing his cock further into you, grinding down into you until you saw stars. As he chased his orgasm, fucking you hard against the sofa cushions, the head of his cock relentlessly pounded your insides – hammered into a part of you that ached. You held onto his shoulders, pressing yourself up against him just to feel the warmth of his skin against your own. Roman pulled you up further, his long arms winding around your back with ease. His cock slipped out from inside you, bobbing against the inside of your thighs, smearing a mixture of arousals on the hot flesh. After a little bit of rearranging, he hoisted you up into his arms and sat down on the sofa, lowering you back down onto his length slowly. 

As the muscle clenched around his cock, Roman let out a deep grunt, inhaling through his teeth. The feeling of being so full overtook your systems. You were blanking, unable to speak and barely able to think over the heavy thudding of your own pulse. Roman’s hand finds your neck, gripping it softly. Your pulse hammers against his fingers, and groaning, he bucked his hips up into you just a little bit harder.

“Fuck – I…”

“What? Talk. Use your mouth, or I’ll use it for you.”

With a devilish smirk, you almost considered stuttering again, just to see what he’d do. You moaned. “Feels– feels so good. I wanna’ cum.” 

“Yeah? Gonna’ cum all over that cock, you little whore?” 

You nodded, using your leg muscles to bounce faster atop his cock. Every time the tip hit your cervix, you winced,  but it was an ache that you’d been craving for almost weeks. Gasping, you threw your head back, running your hands up your torso. The skin was feverish, your whole body was on fire, it felt like every inch of exposed skin was engulfed at that point. Roman’s hands clamped onto your hips, lifting you up off his cock slightly. Mouth hanging slack, eyes lust blown, he began thrusting up into your sopping cunt. Faster and harder and over and over and again and again, until you came, screaming into his shoulder. 

His own orgasm came shortly after, coating your insides with his blisteringly hot seed. He kept thrusting until your clenching stopped, and the white oozed from your cunt. With a whimper, you rolled off his lap and collapsed into the crook of the sofa. Your chest heaved, sweat dripping down from every place it could.

Roman lifted his hips up to pull his trousers back up, tucking his softening cock into his briefs. He ran a hand through his hair before pushing himself up off the sofa, heading straight for the door. You straightened up, bringing a pillow to your stomach.

“Where are you going?” 

Coldly, he said: “I’ll see you tomorrow. Wear a dress.”

The door shut behind him. Tomorrow was Saturday. What did he mean by that? What was his fucking problem? God, you loved it.

[PART THREE HERE]

[jamesmcalover]

one blink and it's over 2

Hálfdán Helgi Matthíasson (Væb) x Reader

Warnings: fluff, a bit sad but so so sweet

Summary: During Eurovision week in Basel, a contestant from another country forms an unexpected connection with Hálfdán from Iceland’s Væb. What starts as playful flirting turns into something deeper as they share stolen moments, kisses, and quiet confessions. Though she fears it’s just a fleeting Eurovision fling.

part 1

2.8k words - not proofread!

You hadn’t known what to expect when you finally boarded that plane to Iceland.

There had been texts, calls, half-finished voice notes sent while running to interviews or waiting at baggage claim. Promises to visit. Jokes about flights and language barriers and the wrong kind of skyr. You kept telling yourself it might not happen. That it was just something people said when Eurovision ended and everyone floated back into their normal lives.

But then he’d texted:

“Flight details?”

“Don’t make me show up at your country and kidnap you.”

“I miss you.”

And now here you were, squinting through the crowd at Keflavík Airport, and there he was.

Hálfdán hadn’t changed much. Still wearing a hoodie that looked two sizes too big, his hair messy, wire-rimmed glasses perched crookedly on his nose. He lit up the moment he saw you, practically jogging through the terminal, arms out like some chaotic, overexcited airport rom-com extra.

You barely had time to drop your bag before he wrapped you up in a hug that nearly knocked you off your feet.

“I was worried I made you up,” he mumbled into your hair. “You’re really here.”

You smiled against his chest. “Of course I am.”

────────────────────

The first day passed in a blur of cold air, bright skies, and too many inside jokes for one country to legally contain. Reykjavik was louder than you’d expected, colorful and chaotic, and suddenly it made perfect sense why Hálfdán was always beaming. It felt like no one here had a single worry.

He was practically vibrating with excitement as he showed you around, tugging your hand as he dragged you from one street corner to the next like a golden retriever on one too many Monster Energies.

You barely had time to breathe before he was pointing out some mural or shoving a strange pastry into your hand.

“Try this,” he said, already grinning in anticipation.

You took a bite. Immediately regretted it. “What the hell is this?”

“Liquorice. Icelandic delicacies,” he declared proudly.

You made a face so dramatic that two tourists passing by actually laughed. “This should be illegal.”

He just beamed, eyes crinkling behind his glasses. “You’re welcome.”

By evening, you’d barely managed to drop your things off at his place before you were swept back out again. This time to meet up with Matti and Sirry. You hadn’t seen his brother since Eurovision, except for blurry FaceTime appearances, but when you spotted him waving wildly from across the street, it felt more like reuniting with an old friend than anything else.

“Hey! Look who it is!” Matti shouted, pulling you into a slightly too-long hug that smelled like his cologne and faintly of beer. “We missed you, superstar!”

Sirry was already at his side, beautiful and stylish, with an effortless charm that made you like her instantly. She gave you a warm smile and linked her arm through yours as if you’d known each other for years. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

The four of you ended up at a cozy little bar tucked off one of the main streets. The lights were dim, golden, and flickering; the music soft and a little jazzy, just enough to fill the space without taking over. You sat in a booth tucked into the corner, a mix of English and Icelandic bouncing back and forth across the table as you laughed and clinked glasses.

Hálfdán sat beside you, his thigh pressed close to yours, his hand occasionally resting lightly on your knee under the table.

He didn’t say much about Eurovision, not yet, but every so often, your eyes would meet across the candlelight, and something unspoken would pass between you.

You hadn’t talked about what this was. Not properly. But you could feel it building, just beneath the surface.

Later, walking home under a pale summer sky that never quite got dark, he finally asked.

“Was it hard?” he said quietly. “After?”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant.

You nodded. “Worse than I thought. Like, everyone wanted to talk about the performance, but I just… wanted to talk about you.”

He looked over at you, mouth slightly parted, his teeth showing a bit through his slight grin.

You kept going. “I know you've given me so much reassurance but I still kept thinking it would fade. That maybe it was just the glitter or the pressure or whatever. But then I’d get a text from you, and it would all come back. And I’d miss it. Miss you.”

He stopped walking.

So did you.

The street was empty, quiet except for a soft breeze and the distant sound of someone playing music in an open window.

He cupped your face, thumbs brushing lightly against your cheeks. You leaned into him without thinking.

And when he kissed you, it was familiar now. But still new. A little softer. A little deeper.

You stayed at his flat for a few more days, the kind that blurred together in the best way. You borrowed one of his oversized hoodies and never gave it back, curling into it each night like it was armor against the unfamiliar. Mornings were slow and unhurried. Messy hair, mismatched socks, half-drunk coffee cups forgotten on the windowsill.

At 2 a.m., you’d share terrible instant noodles on the couch, legs tangled together, watching chaotic Icelandic reality shows Matti swore were “actual cultural milestones.”

Hálfdán would translate the most absurd moments through fits of laughter, barely able to breathe as you cackled into your bowl.

One afternoon, Matti and Sirry drove the two of you out of Reykjavik, past mountains and moss-covered lava fields, until the landscape opened up into a stretch of coastline so wide and still it felt like standing at the edge of the world. The wind snapped at your hair, the salt in the air making everything feel cleaner, sharper. The four of you sat in the black sand for hours, trading Eurovision behind-the-scenes stories you almost forgot.

That night, back at the flat, you curled up with Hálfdán on his bed, wrapped in a blanket that didn’t quite cover both of you. The window was cracked open just enough to let in the cold sea breeze, your bodies pressed together for warmth.

The room was dim except for the flicker of a streetlamp outside. Somewhere in the building, someone laughed through a wall. But in your little corner of the world, everything had gone still.

You shifted slightly, resting your head more firmly on his shoulder. His arm tightened around you like instinct.

“I’m glad you came,” he whispered, his voice quiet against your skin, lips brushing your temple like a secret.

You hummed softly, shifting to rest your hand over his chest, feeling the quiet thump of his heartbeat under your palm. “Me too. Even if you did make me eat that licorice abomination.”

He laughed under his breath. “You loved it.”

“I loved the look on your face when I spat it out.”

He nudged your nose with his, smiling so close his breath warmed your cheek. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The blanket slipped a little, but neither of you moved to fix it. The room smelled faintly of sea salt and noodles, and the only sound was the occasional gust of wind outside, rattling the old windows.

You played with the drawstring of his hoodie, the one you were still wearing, while his hand traced lazy circles on your hip.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled.

“You’re a furnace,” you replied, sinking closer.

For a long time, you didn’t speak. Just breathed in time, letting the quiet wrap around you both like a second blanket. He rubbed his cheek against your hair, then pulled back just enough to see your face.

“You wanna stay like this forever?” he asked, voice somewhere between sleepy and teasing.

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “Yeah. I really do.”

His lips brushed yours once, then again, slow and sweet.

And later, when you’d both half-dozed off tangled together, he reached for your hand under the blanket and laced your fingers with his, holding on even in sleep.

--

The airport was quieter than you expected. Or maybe the sound just didn’t reach you properly. Not over the thudding in your chest or the knot forming somewhere behind your ribs.

You stood near the departure gate, ticket in hand, coat zipped to your chin. Hálfdán hadn’t let go of your hand the entire train ride here, and now, standing still, it was even harder to think about leaving.

“I hate this part,” you muttered, trying to smile. His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

You looked up. His glasses had fogged slightly from the cold, and his eyes were red at the edges, like maybe he hadn’t slept or maybe he’d already cried when you weren’t looking. Matti had given you both space after saying goodbye, waiting by the coffee kiosk with Sirry, who kept glancing over with that kind, quiet sympathy you’d started to love her for.

“I’ll text you when I land,” you said, trying to make it sound casual, light. It didn’t work.

“You better,” he said, but his voice cracked just enough to betray him.

There was a pause. The kind that stretches out when you’re trying to memorize every last second.

“I’ll miss you,” you whispered.

“I miss you already,” he said. “Like, stupidly much. This is so dumb. Why are airports like this.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Because goodbyes suck.”

He nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah. They do.”

You stepped forward and hugged him, arms tight around his middle, face buried in his hoodie. You felt his breath catch as he held you back firm, like if he squeezed hard enough he could delay time itself.

“I’ll visit soon,” you promised, pulling back just enough to look at him. “Or you’ll visit me. Whatever comes first.”

“I want that,” he said. “All of it. Just... come back.”

You nodded, swallowing down everything too heavy for words.

Then the boarding call echoed over the speakers.

He kissed your forehead, then your lips. Soft, lingering, full of everything he didn’t know how to say out loud yet. You pressed one last look into his face, into those bright blue eyes that had wrecked you since the moment you met him.

And then you turned and walked away.

You didn’t look back until you’d crossed into security. When you did, he was still standing there, hands in his pockets, not moving. Just watching.

────────────────────

You’d only been home for two weeks, but it already felt strange not to wake up to the sound of Hálfdán singing in the kitchen while burning toast.

You still talked every day. At first, it had just been checking in. Silly voice notes, blurry selfies, Icelandic weather reports. But then it became longer calls, quiet ones late at night when you were already in bed, and his voice made you feel like you weren’t so far away after all.

Some nights you’d talk for hours. About nothing. About everything.

He sent you a photo of him and Matti ice skating on a frozen pond near their old school. You sent him one of the coffee place down the street where you’d started writing songs again.

One night, after a particularly long day of press stuff, you called him without warning. Just hearing his voice made the knot in your chest loosen.

“You sound tired,” he said.

“Just a bit.”

“You want me to sing you a lullaby?”

You snorted. “Only if it’s about shark.”

He laughed and started making one up on the spot, voice half-singing, half-choking on the ridiculous lyrics. You could hear Matti cackling in the background.

When it got quiet again, he said softly, “I miss you, you know.”

You curled deeper under the blanket, heart aching in a way you didn’t want to name yet. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I miss you too.”

There was a pause. Then, with a kind of gentle certainty that made your chest go warm:

“Just a few more weeks. Then it’s you, me, and all the Christmas snow in Iceland.”

You smiled into the dark. “I’ll bring cookies.”

“Good. I’ll bring fireworks.”

────────────────────

The Reykjavik airport was blanketed in snow when you arrived. Not heavy, just enough to make everything look a little softer, a little quieter. Your breath fogged as you stepped into the arrival hall, and before you could even scan the crowd, there he was.

Hálfdán practically launched himself forward, coat half-buttoned, grinning like an idiot.

“You’re here,” he said, as if he still didn’t quite believe it.

You didn’t answer. You just dropped your bag and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly knocking him back with the force of it.

“I missed you,” you murmured into his shoulder.

“Missed you more,” he said, squeezing you tighter.

Outside, Matti's Car was double-parked. He leaned out the window, yelling “Lovebirds, hurry up before we get a ticket!” but grinning just the same. Sirry waved from the passenger seat, already holding a thermos of hot chocolate out the window for you.

She grinned when you got in and handed you a gingerbread cookie shaped like a weird little sheep.

“That’s supposed to be a jólasveinn,” she said.

“It looks like it’s seen some things.”

“Yeah.”

You spent Christmas Eve at their place, warm and bright with candles and laughter and strange Icelandic holiday traditions you only half understood. Someone made a weird rice pudding that involved hiding an almond in it, and Matti screamed when he found it in his mouth. Hálfdán taught you how to pronounce “Gleðileg jól,” but you gave up halfway through and kissed him instead.

The days after blurred into each other in the best way. You walked hand-in-hand through Reykjavík’s snowy streets, tried every pastry at the bakery near his flat, and watched terrible holiday movies in mismatched pajamas. You borrowed one of his sweaters, an offensively oversized wool thing his grandma had once knitted for him, and he made you promise never to give it back.

On the 29th, Sirry and Matti took you both to a small cabin near the coast. It was quiet out there, just a sliver of sky and snow and black volcanic sand. The four of you played card games by the fire, made pancakes at midnight, and spent one morning walking along the frozen shoreline wrapped in scarves, laughing at how your breath curled into the sky like smoke.

Then it was New Year’s Eve.

You’d heard Icelanders took fireworks seriously, but nothing prepared you for the view from the ridge Matti drove you all to just outside the city. It wasn’t one central display, it was hundreds. Thousands. Fireworks blooming in every direction, surrounding you in bursts of gold and green and violet. You’d never seen anything like it.

You and Hálfdán stood a little apart from the others, wrapped in the same coat, your gloved hand resting in his.

“God, it’s beautiful,” you said, your voice quiet under the explosions.

“Yeah,” he said. But he wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking at you.

You turned. His expression was unreadable for a second, something behind his eyes, nervous but sure. The cold flushed his cheeks pink, but it wasn’t just that. Something was building in his chest, and you could feel it even before he spoke.

“I was gonna wait,” he said softly. “Till the moment was more… I don’t know. Private. Or calm. Or something less ridiculous. But–”

You looked at him, your breath catching. “But?”

He laughed under his breath. “I love you,” he said, almost stunned by it. “I love you. Not just Eurovision-fling, not just travel-romance love. Actual, annoying, can’t-get-you-out-of-my-head love. Like, I think about you every day. And I want you here– or I want to be there. I don’t care. Just… with you.”

Your throat tightened. For a second, you couldn’t breathe.

Then: “You idiot.”

His face fell slightly, confused. “What?”

“I love you too,” you said, smiling through the stinging in your eyes. “You absolute idiot. I’ve been trying not to say it for weeks. I thought it would scare you.”

He let out a breath that sounded like relief and laughter and something almost like disbelief. “Scare me? I’ve been terrified since you got off that plane.”

You laughed, and he caught your face in his hands, cold fingers against your jaw. The sky above was still exploding, but it felt far away, like nothing else existed outside of the warmth blooming between you.

Then he kissed you.

Not like before. Not like those fleeting, breathless kisses backstage or even in the airport. This one was different. Deep. Certain. Like he’d been waiting months to give it to you properly.

And when you pulled away, he just held you. Right there in the snow, fireworks blooming behind you, the new year cracking open around you like a promise.

“This year,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, “I want you in every part of it.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

a/n: do you guys have any other ideas for esc/væb fics?

[lirotation]

Astarion in Cyberpunk AU

POV: How you met him in Night City =P

You’re just another low-tier merc in Night City's meat grinder, same as any other. Sure, you smoke, you chug whatever synthalcohol gets your synapses sparking, maybe pop a little Black Lace now and then for kicks. But one thing you don’t do? Pick up joytoys from Jig-Jig. Nah, choom. Not your scene.

Until tonight's clusterfuck.

You were on a gig, dressed to fool the corpo crowd—chrome hidden under slick, expensive synth-leather. Playing at being one of Night City's untouchables. Then your optics lock onto him.

A joytoy, but not just any joytoy. Lux-grade. The kind of beauty that made your targeting systems glitch and your tits perk up. Picking him up wasn’t the plan—never the plan—but here you are, trying to blend in, figuring if all these suits are doing it, maybe you should too.

Preem bastard had a silver tongue worth more than his chrome, smooth like pre-War whiskey. He leaned in close, casually dropped the very intel you need - an exclusive corpo mixer, one hosting Kong Tao mid-level procurement officer - your target - fresh from Guangzhou. The two of you hit it off, chatting over overpriced drinks at the bar, and one thing led to another. His place.

Then you wake up.

Your choom on the other end of the link, screaming. Your brain feels like it’s been through a shredder. You’re sprawled out on some piss-stained mattress, butt naked, weapons gone.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

You’ve been played. Conned. During a job, no less. Just your fucking luck.

Gotta escape before they rip you open, gotta figure out where the hell you are. But one thing’s for sure—you’re gonna find that pretty bastard, and when you do, he’s got a world of hurt coming his way. _______

Your head’s pounding, but you’ve been in tighter spots before. You force a reboot, running a quick scan. Typical corpo blacksite flophouse—The stink of blood, sweat, and bad decisions clings to the walls.

You find a rusted shard of metal and grip it tight. Better than nothing. You rigged the lock and slipped out of the room, the sound of your bare feet drowned out by the buzz of cheap fluorescents overhead.

The hall’s empty. Nobody watching the cams—amateurs. You find a storage room with your gear dumped in a corner like garbage. Your Militech pistol? Check. punknife? Check. Even your boots. Slipping them on feels like hugging an old friend.

Now clothed and armed, you should be bailing, cutting your losses. But the faint sound of muffled screams crawls under your skin, pulling you back into the fray.

You creep closer, the door half-open. Inside, him.

The joytoy. Astarion.

Strapped down like a Maelstrom test subject, neural wires spiderwebbing from his temples into some black-market brain-dance rig. The machine's whining like a dying cat, each pulse making him scream. Some chrome-headed ganger's working the controls, grinning like he's watching prime-time BD entertainment.

“Picked yourself a zero, didn't ya? No creds, no dirt—just a fucking merc with nothin’ to give. You are lucky boss is not in town.” the ganger sneers, twisting a dial, “What good’s a pretty face if it doesn’t deliver?”

Astarion convulses, tears streaking his otherwise flawless face, “I—tried,” he whispers.  "Please, give me another chance.”

Something snaps in your gut. You’ve seen people broken, but this guy? He’s built to endure. Still, this is next-level fucked.

Your blade whispers through the air, clean and silent. The ganger drops, and you catch the falling remote and cut the power to the rig.

Astarion slumps, breathing shallow. You free him, pulling the wires from his skin. He flinches but doesn’t resist.

“Can you walk?” you ask, dragging him to his feet.

He groans but nods. “I’ve had worse.”

The two of you fight your way out, bullets and curses flying. By the time you hit the street, you’re out of breath and out of ammo, but alive. Barely.

You lean against a wall, wiping blood off your hands. “I should fucking gut you for this,” you say, leveling him with a glare.

Astarion chuckles, though it’s more pained than amused. “I’m flattered. But I was under orders, if that softens the blow.”

“Doesn’t,” you snap.

Still, you don’t hurt him. Just turn to leave, figuring he’ll disappear back into whatever pit he crawled out of. But when you glance back, he’s trailing behind you.

“What are you doing?” you snap again, tired and still on edge.

“I have nowhere else to go,” he says softly, eyes downcast, his voice a quiet plea.

“Not my problem,” you grumble, turning to keep walking.

“Wait,” he calls out, stepping closer. When you face him again, the vulnerability in his posture is tinged with a familiar, deliberate charm. His lips curve into the barest hint of a smile. “I could… make it up to you.  I’m quite skilled at certain things”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That so? You think I’m just gonna take you in because you bat your lashes?”

“Not just because of that,” he murmurs, tilting his head just enough to catch the faint light. “I can be useful. I wasn't lying before, you know? the mixer? I can get you in.”

You pause, damn it he is beautiful. He shifts closer, his voice dipping into something silkier. “Let me stay, just for a while. I’ll keep out of your way. Or,” he adds, his smile sharpening ever so slightly, “if you’d rather, I could be very in your way. Whatever you prefer.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Fine. One screw-up, though, and you’re out. Got it?”

“Crystal clear,” he purrs, bowing his head slightly. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

As he falls into step beside you, you mutter under your breath. “Already regretting it.”

His soft chuckle is barely audible, but it lingers all the way home.

[oftenwantedafton]

contact | arnold/dispatch

He knows the job pretty well by now; has been doing it for nearly a year. So it’s not that he needs the guidance from Dispatch, precisely; more that he craves it. Another human voice on the line.

It was the dispatcher himself, that velvet rich voice of his issuing commands or, better yet, those infrequent moments of praise. He’s certain it’s all part of a protocol of speech, words that the man has been instructed to dollop like whipped cream on a slice of cherry pie, but he’s far into the delusion that it’s specially gifted for him alone, a concept he allows himself only once he’s home, behind closed doors.

Explicit content, 3.4k words, new 6/22/25

ao3 link

Evenings are the loneliest times for Arnie.

When the staff and customers are long gone and the noises fade from boisterous chatter and bustling commerce to the hum of electrical current through the wires and the creak of metal as it contracts and expands with shifting temperatures; the sharp clack as his fingers input codes into the keyboard and the satisfied little computer beeps that almost sound amused by his repairs.

He knows the job pretty well by now; has been doing it for nearly a year. So it’s not that he needs the guidance from Dispatch, precisely; more that he craves it. Another human voice on the line. Something to counteract all these lifeless alloys and circuits and cables. But that’s not quite all there is to it; at least, not anymore. Intially, maybe, it had been the companionship in general he’d desired. Then at some point that had shifted. It was the dispatcher himself, that velvet rich voice of his issuing commands or, better yet, those infrequent moments of praise. He’s certain it’s all part of a protocol of speech, words that the man has been instructed to dollop like whipped cream on a slice of cherry pie, but he’s far into the delusion that it’s specially gifted for him alone, a concept he allows himself only once he’s home, behind closed doors.

His eyes flick more than once to the communication console, hopeful he’s missed the light signaling Fazbear Entertainment’s lead operator was attempting to speak with him, perhaps when he’d left the security office to head for the vending machines. The remains of that snack are seated beside his right elbow: a can of Fizzy Faz Cola that’s long since lost its chill, and the crumpled wrapper of a Chica Crunch Bar, some of the chocolate still melted onto the silver lining, one forgotten remnant of puffed rice tucked beneath the seam. It’s warm inside the office; the electronics generate a tremendous amount of heat. Other parts of the facility are air conditioned, the patrons well taken care of, but he doesn’t have access to such luxuries. There’s only a desk fan that does little to circulate the stale air inside the office. He wishes he could shrug out of his required coveralls; the top portion, at least. It’s not like anyone would see him clad in the white tank beneath.

But it’s company policy to wear the uniform, and Arnie follows it to the letter, no matter how much it might be detrimental to his own well-being. Case in point, he’s closing on hour thirty six of this current shift. Numerous other technicians have come and gone before him, declaring the task load unreasonable and the overtime monstrous, but he doesn’t complain; at least, not too loudly. The few times he had dared voice a contrary opinion had been met with some very, very thinly veiled threats to terminate his employment without a reference. So he’s gone quiet. A quiet man working in the quiet evening hours. He thinks his eyes must be quite bloodshot by now. He can feel the weight of weariness pressing on his eyelids, his body demanding rest. He nearly dozes off a few times, jerking himself straighter in the swivel chair to find alertness, silently chiding himself for slacking. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner he can go home.

And what waits for him at home? Not much. Whom, you might also ask? No one. Arnie lives alone in a one bedroom apartment in a section of town that’s questionable at best. The kind of place you don’t really want to be caught walking the streets after dark unless you want to part ways with your wallet. Deadbolts are a must. He doesn’t have much to his name in the way of possessions, nothing of any significant quality or value, but that doesn’t mean he wants them stolen, either. He keeps telling himself it’s only temporary. He’ll keep saving up all this overtime and put it towards a nicer place someday. Someday: that distant shining beacon of promise, eternally guiding him forward.

The lie is easier to swallow at certain times; terribly transparent at others. Right now he’s simply too exhausted to care. He’s got an unmade twin bed waiting for him. He doesn’t think he’ll even waste time showering when he gets back, just drop face first onto the pillow and let the blissful oblivion of slumber overtake him.

At last he finishes his work, tossing his tools back into the case and clearing the desk, making sure to dispose of the remains of his meal in the wastebin. He slaps the light switch on the way out the door, dimming the interior of the office as he exits. It’s a decent length walk back to the company van parked at the rear entrance; the building is quite large. But he’s got a little pep in his step now, buoyed up by the knowledge that he’s almost free, his shift finally over.

For one heart stopping moment he almost thinks he’s forgotten the keys to the Fazbear Entertainment work van in the office as he settles behind the wheel, but a further pat down and rummage reveals they’ve worked themselves deep into one of his pockets, poking through a new hole beginning to unravel at the seam. He’ll have to take care of that later. Damages to company property mean fines. Deductions in pay. He certainly doesn’t want that. It’s why he takes such good care of the van, making sure to keep up with the maintenance. Regular oil changes. Balanced tire pressures. A routine thorough cleaning inside and out. It was about due for the latter, now that he thinks of it.

The vehicle engine rumbles to life as he turns the key in the ignition. He adjusts the rearview mirror, necessary with his current slouched position. He can’t quite find the energy to adjust his posture, the newfound burst that had initially fueled his egress already dissipated from his trek to the van. Now he just needs to keep his eyes on the road. There won’t be a lot of traffic at this late hour, but the path winds quite a bit, snaking back and forth before finally straightening once he leaves the establishment far behind. He turns on the radio, met with a burst of static before he finds a clear signal, a contemporary rock tune with lots of electric guitar and thumping drums. Not his taste, but it will help keep him awake.

Dispatch’s voice suddenly cuts through the song’s chorus and he hurriedly fumbles to shut the radio off.

“Arnie, are you there?”

“Yes,” he croaks, his throat dry. He clears it and tries again. “Yes, I’m here.”

“Did you finish up that job yet?”

“Yes, I just left. I’m done for the evening.”

“Good. I’ve had the Uppers breathing down my neck.” Uppers was a shortened form of Upper Management, a term used by those lower on the totem pole to address their superiors. Despite the large divides between employees, this was one that most were united on: a collective sort of deference that sat on the border between dislike and grudging respect.

“There were a few hiccups along the way, but I got them all sorted out.”

“Good job. I knew you could do it.”

Arnold squirms in his seat a little at the praise. It cascades over his skin, warm and pleasant. The man’s voice was appealing to begin with, but when it was combined with words like these…the technician shifts behind the wheel again. He’s never met the dispatcher in person, leading him to wonder just what that face on the other end of the line might look like. Clean shaven? Intense eyes? A strong jaw and sharp cheekbones? Tidy side-parted hair with perhaps just a single strand out of place, dripping down over his forehead, begging to be brushed back?

Oh, Arnie. You really are losing it.

He’s struggled with this one sided sort of crush for awhile now. He’s not even sure how it had started; it had just dawned on him one day after he’d gotten home, standing beneath the spray of the shower. He likes the voice. He likes imagining who might be making those sounds, but he also likes the mystery of it. The versatility. Dispatch can be anyone. Anything he wants, in the privacy of his thoughts. His desires. The first time he works up the nerve to rub one out thinking about him, replaying their earlier conversation in his mind, he comes so hard he has to rest his forehead against the side of the shower stall, his chest heaving. He’d been feeling a little guilty afterwards, especially the next time they’d spoken, but that shame had quickly been erased by a fresh wave of lust. He’s painted that shower wall more than a few times since then. His fist and belly while lying in bed. He doesn’t even know the man’s name, only his title, so that’s the one he pants and moans and curses as he comes undone.

His cock shifts at the memories now, straining against the seam of his work pants. One hand moves off the wheel and squeezes firmly, trying to calm that nagging need. Not in the work truck. He can’t. They’re not monitored or anything, but…no. He has to wait. As soon as he gets home. With those newest lines of praise echoing in his mind.

“Arnie? You still there?”

“Yeah. Sorry. Long shift. Thirty six hours, you know…”

“You’ve got your eye on that year end bonus, I’ll bet.” There’s a bit of smug teasing in his tone. Mocking him. A paltry twenty five dollars. Hardly worth all this lost sleep.

“What? No, I…” He lets his words fade to nothingness, the half-voiced protest dying in his throat. Once Dispatch was convinced of something, there was no point in arguing. He’d never win.

“Listen, there’s some new tech you need to pick up for your next assignment.”

“Can’t I do it in the morning?” He knows how whiny he sounds. He can’t help it. The fatigue. Now this sudden demand for release. Pathetic.

“Afraid not. Uppers want you to get started on this project as soon as possible. This is a big contract, Arnie. The biggest one Fazbear Entertainment has ever had. We need our best on the job.”

Another bit of praise helps soothe his scowl over the request to return to headquarters, but it certainly does nothing to assuage that raging need below his waistline that he’s still battling.

“What is it?” He asks warily.

“A tool you’ll need to access the interior of a building. We’ve ordered some schematics from a contractor who’s gone radio silent. You need to locate them and deliver them back to us ASAP.”

The technician blinks, peering at the display on his wristwatch. It’s so late. He still doesn’t understand why he needs to go right now. Surely the company doesn't expect him to continue working without a break?

“I’m sorry, I just don’t think it’s safe for me to keep working right now. Let me get a few hours’ rest and then I’ll—”

The dispatcher’s tone loses its friendly demeanor instantly. “—Perhaps you’ve misunderstood me. This isn’t a request. It’s an order. Return to HQ.”

“But I—”

“—Now, Arnie. I’ll be delivering the device personally into your hands, so you’d better not keep me waiting.”

He swallows thickly. Wait. Did Dispatch really just say they’d be meeting in person? Face to face?

“Confirm you’re going to follow these instructions.”

“Yeah. Yes, I’ll be there.” He can hear the nervous waver in his own voice. Suddenly his fatigue has been forgotten. His foot drops a little more weight onto the gas pedal and the van accelerates.

“Good. See you soon. Garage twelve. Dispatch out.”

***

Arnie hits the remote switch to raise the garage door as he’d been instructed fifteen minutes ago, pulling inside the bay slowly. The door closes again as soon as he’s cleared it. He usually just chooses one at random to park in, whichever one is closest and has space for the van. He doesn’t think he’s ever been inside this specific one, though.

The lighting is poor; so poor as to be nearly nonexistent, in truth, the back of the garage blanketed in impenetrable darkness. He’s used to working in reduced lighting conditions, due to factors like budget saving methods after business hours or areas requiring repair to the power supply itself, but this is taking it to a whole other level. He steps out of the vehicle slowly, sliding down from the raised step to the concrete below, his work boots landing with a soft thud. Now that the headlights have been extinguished, he can see even less of his surroundings. He should have taken a flashlight with him. There’s one in the center console. Another in the glovebox and several in the back with the other tools. He could still retrieve one, of course, but that means wasting more time. Further delaying this impromptu meeting. So he takes a step forward instead, in the direction of where he assumes a door leading to the inside of the building must be, straight ahead, deeper into that shadowed void, leaving the barely illuminated fluorescents overhead behind.

“Arnie.”

He stops walking immediately, his breath hitching. The size of the garage makes sound travel deceivingly. Dispatch might be some distance away. Or he might be right beside him. It’s impossible to discern with any sense of accuracy.

“Yes?” So loud. Too loud. Clumsy. Not like that dulcet satin that spills from the other man’s lips, coiling around him. His body aches from exhaustion; from dire want.

“Don’t move.”

“Okay.” He closes his eyes. They’re useless anyway. He can’t see anything.

“You got here quickly. Didn’t obey the speed limit, did you?” Oh, he sounds so close. “Wouldn’t do to incur a speeding fine for F.E., would it? Then we’d have to dock your wages. A real tragedy, when you’ve been working so hard.” The last word makes him whimper, a pitiful high pitched keen.

Arnie licks his lips, trying to work some moisture back into his mouth. “You said to get here as soon as possible.”

“That’s right, I did, didn’t I? And you obeyed every instruction. Just like you always do. Such a reliable employee. Faithful. Loyal. Like a dog…”

He hears footsteps then, a sharp click of what might be dress shoes against the concrete flooring, followed by the sound of something being set down, a slight click reminiscent of the handle of an attaché case falling to one side. He sucks in a sharp gasp of air, trying to brace himself, but it’s woefully insufficient. A hand curls into the buttoned coveralls over his chest, grabbing and pushing him until his back collides with one of the cement supports of the parking garage bay. His breath leaves his body in a rush. Contact, at last. Touch. That same hand now snaking down to his crotch, an appreciative little hiss escaping Dispatch’s lips before he crushes them against Arnie’s.

We must be nearly the same height, he thinks absently. The other man doesn’t seem to need to adjust much, their faces aligning smoothly. Clean shaven. He’d been right about that assumption. Full lips. Wet. God, so warm and wet. He drinks from them greedily. Melts into them. He knows his own cheeks are covered with scratchy new growth, the result of that overlong shift. But none of that matters now. He reaches tentatively to touch the other man’s cheeks, stroking past sideburns into hair that’s soft and silky. His own lies in greasy clumps. How wretched he must feel against this sublimely smooth, polished creature.

Yet Dispatch doesn’t seem daunted by Arnie’s disheveled appearance at all. He’s worked open the front of those coveralls with expert precision, diving beneath his briefs to stroke at his leaking cock, smoothing the precum slick over the crown and frenulum, his answering moan echoing loudly in the garage.

“How long have you been stroking yourself thinking about me, hmmm?”

Arnie doesn’t answer. He’s got a mouthful of the man’s dress shirt saturated in cologne stuffed in his mouth as he sinks his teeth into the space between his neck and shoulder, earning a raspy little sigh from the other employee. He smells divine, like he’s just stepped out of the shower. Clean. Fragrant. Notes of citrus and sandalwood. He tightens his fingers in his hair and tugs, painting a line across the arch of the man’s throat with his tongue. A louder sigh this time. He wants to hear more. He wants to know every sweet sound that sinful mouth can produce. Hardly believing his daring, he’s worked up the courage to caress the front of the dispatcher’s trousers. Scratches his nails along the seam, scraping along the bulge beneath it. Another hiss of pleasure.

“How long, Arnie? You still haven’t answered my question. How long…?”

“Weeks. Months. I don’t know,” he confesses, working his lips along the man’s jaw while he tugs on his zipper. “Is there even a device to pick up? Or did you just want…”

A soft chuckle tickles his cheek. “Oh, yes, there is. That’s wasn’t a ruse. You’re going to start that job right after you finish this one. Fuck,” he curses when the technician finally manages to pull his cock free. His hips lurch forward, bringing him closer to the other man’s erection he hasn’t ceased pumping since this encounter began. There’s an awkward collision of fingers and slickened dicks and then oh, they’re pressed together just right, two hot columns of aroused flesh lined up, encircled with alternating cages of first Dispatch’s fingers, then Arnie’s.

The technician feels like he could bust at any moment, but as much as he craves release, he doesn’t want this to end, so he grits his teeth, sucks and worries at Dispatch’s bottom lip, then the thumb of the free hand slotted into his mouth, lapping at the pad and curling around the digit, moving his head back and forth, applying more and more suction. His cock throbs, recognizing these movements, craving the same to be done to it. He wouldn’t last long on the other’s man tongue; not when he’d be whispering filth to him while sucking him off, that voice, that fucking angelic, demonic, rapturous tone huffed against his body, teasing and cajoling and wrenching the orgasm from his body. God, he’s so close right now, he doesn’t think he can take much more…

“Cum for me Arnie. Cum…Good job. Oh, well done, Arnie. That’s it. Just like that…”

A surge of heat pools in his spine before his balls tighten and he erupts over the man’s fingers, then his own, a breathy groan the only warning before he feels another load spilling over his still twitching cock.

Eventually the two men’s hands still. He wipes his off on his briefs, then fumbles to close the coveralls. A rustle of clothing indicates the other man is doing the same. Arnie isn’t sure what to do now. What to say. He needs guidance.

“I have to put the security cameras back on. Raise the lights,” Dispatch murmurs against his ear. So that’s why it was so dark. He should have figured that out sooner. But he’s tired. Not quite thinking clearly. If he’d thought himself exhausted before, he’s bone weary now post-orgasm.

He feels something pressed against his chest. His fingers curl around the edges. Rectangular. A case of some sort.

“There’s a device inside of here called a Data Diver. Take special care of this, Arnie. There isn’t another like it.”

“How do I use it?”

“I’ll issue you specific instructions once you get there.”

“Where is there?”

“That’s right, I haven’t told you yet. Murray’s Costume Manor. You’re familiar with it?”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it.” It was a large factory and showroom that manufactured and displayed animatronics and other assorted high tech products. He can’t imagine what’s so important that it necessitates him going there in the middle of the night.

“Head on over there now. I’ll be in touch shortly.”

“But I…”

“Don’t think, Arnie. Just do. That’s what you’re good at.” Dispatch’s warm breath briefly caresses his stubbled cheek, then vanishes, the sounds of his footsteps receding.

He’s alone once more.

[brineoffire]

Next day of my schedule is a fic update! BTW I'll pin my posting schedule after my poll finishes!

Chapter 3 of Wings and Wires!

Previous chapter link

vvv

Around you many of his guests stare and you all but ignore all of them. You keep your chin up, staring at the rafters once again. Do exactly what you were trained to do. Grit and bare the looks you get and the hands of your owner that trail over your knee and thigh absentmindedly. You've dealt with this over and over again, and you'll continue to deal with it as long as you're here. As long as you belong to Alphonso.

The worst part of it all was still when he allowed his associates to touch you. When he let them line up to get their hands on you. Greedy hands brushing through the fur on your wings and tail. Those closer to him he allows more intimate touches. Those more important guests are able to see you as you strip off your fancy silks and satins. Left in nothing but your tight underwear, lacy tank top and short briefs that lay low on your waist.

He usually leads them, pulling you down to your knees by the chains on your muzzle or collar. Keeping you between his legs he allows them to run their hands over your exposed body. They rub over where scales meet flesh, too many fingers tangling in the streak of fur that follows your spine. A select few would slide eager fingers over and into the edges of your underwear. Those touches still sent a chill down your spine and the sting of bile up the back of your throat.

It's easy to recall the time you first fell into Alphonso's hands. The first few months he kept you all to himself, breaking you in as you fought back. Heavy chains and straps always kept him just out of reach of your claws. In those times he kept your mouth fully covered with muzzles made fully of steels and metals, your teeth would snap behind them uselessly. For two months you fought him, each time your punishments getting worse and worse.

Bindings tightened. Dark rooms where he kept you isolated and hungry. When your fits had been at their worst he'd have you pinned down, your limbs immovable. He knew the slowest and most painful way to remove scales, claws, and fangs. Always pulling from the same spot after they'd regrow, relishing in your extra pain from the fresh growth. It broke you down after the third month. Three months of blood and tears. Three months of sobbing and anger. Three months of being forced into a mold to become the perfect pet for the mafia head.

You had no one to get back to after all. Your family would be the first ones to pay the price if you ever actually escaped. There was no love lost there, but you understood what happened. Understood the bleakness of all of your futures if Alphonso didn't get exactly what he wanted. So you played the role he forced you into. Became his attack dog, his lap cat. Followed every order to the letter ro win his praise.

Now here you are, sitting in his lap like the pet you've become. Answering every one of his demands no matter how outrageous just to avoid his wrath. It's easier now to ignore the eyes, the hands, the cold voices talking about you like an animal. You've spent so long tuning it all out while he totted you around, just like you do now, staring up at the rafters as if they were bars to the cage your life has become.

When everything from your sleep to your exercise has been dictated it's easy to fall into an autopilot. You've gotten to a point where you can tune out all voices but his, can focus only on his scent, but today is different. Somewhere on the edge of your consciousness you feel a pull. A little tug that threatens to pull your focus back to your surroundings and onto something other than Alphonso’s call. More than a scent, or a voice, it's something that tugs on your mind itself, pulling you to look in the direction of the other dragon and his harpy.

Your vision comes back into focus and you can't help but slowly glance that way. When your eyes finally settle on them again it confuses you to see concern from the bigger man, his brow furrowed even more as he watches you carefully. The harpy conceals it well, no one else would notice, but you see anger, though it's not directed at you. Following the line of his vision you know he's looking past you, at Alphonso. You know that sense is somehow coming from both of them, and you're about to give into it, about to turn to look at them directly, when Alphonso clears his throat and has your full attention.

Your eyes shift back to his face as you watch him talk. He thanks the crowd for attending and rattles on about his plans. Letting them know a vague outline of his manufacturing, subtle details and hints mean those who know the plans are reassured and those who shouldn't are kept in the dark. He has your full attention as he talks yet you feel that same odd sense again. That same pulling desire to give your attention to the two men across the dining room. For now you keep yourself in line and focused on Alphonso.

His speech finishes and the crowd claps lightly. In your peripherals you catch a blur of movement, and you know exactly what it is. Snapping your head towards the source you react in a split second. Launching yourself off the seat, using your wings to lift your weight off Alphonso before springing into action. A gunman rushes forward, shotgun in hand as they sprint to get a good shot.

You’re used to these attempts by now, though what you’re not used to is a smaller blur of movement. The gunner stumbles forward, their speed broken as one of their knees buckles forward, a gasp of surprise leaving their mouth as you continue to bound towards them. Grabbing the gun’s barrel you knock it upwards, kicking at its wielder's chest with enough force to drop them backwards. They cling onto their weapon desperately but you slam the butt of their gun into their face hard enough for them to lose their grip.

As they fall you press a knee to their chest, your wings flaring backwards as you drive your weight into them. Your clawed hands dig into their shoulders and they cry out in pain as your thumbs dig into their neck hard enough to draw blood. You hear Alphonso laughing loudly and clapping as you glare down at the would-be assassin.

“Well now ladies and gentlemen! Isn't this nice? Dinner and a show!” You hear mummers mixed with a few chuckles around you as your focus stays on your quarry. They struggle in vain under you, calloused hands gripping at your wrists as they squirm fruitlessly. Out of the corner of your eye you catch something falling from behind the leg they stumbled on. Something thin and pointed, made up of several brown shades with a slight glint of red.

Behind you Alphonso's footfalls ring out as he gets closer to you, his hand falling on your head, patting you.

“Good boy.” He raises his arm, a signal for his regular guards to approach as he laughs again.

“You fucking idiots never learn do you?” Your grip only loosens once the guards have their shoulders, yanking them to their feet roughly. Your tail subtly slides over what you now see is a feather. While the attention is on the assassin you deftly slide it under a scale on your tail, hiding it just under your fur. You can almost feel its owners' eyes boring into you, but you keep your focus on the task at hand.

[cursedwoman1859]

Arm Candy (Silco/F!Reader)

“I need someone who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.” Silco needs a plus-one for a fancy topsider party. You don't really have a choice but to agree.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Words: 5.8k

Content: Resolved sexual tension; semi-public sex; vaginal fingering; dirty talk; dubious business ethics

---

It wasn’t often you got called into Silco’s office first thing in the morning. You were a paper-pusher, not one of the battle-hardened henchmen who usually hung around the Last Drop, and your work mostly kept you at your desk. Calculations came as naturally to you as breathing, and you could crunch numbers faster even than Silco himself. In the few months you’d been working for the Eye of Zaun, you’d made yourself indispensable. You helped keep track of the Shimmer shipments going to and from Zaun, you effortlessly slipped the profits from the drugs business into the earnings from the various factories and bars and properties that Silco owned, and once a week you’d spend the evening alone in the office with your stern, exacting boss while you went over that week’s financial reports. Silco needed someone to cook his books, and you prided yourself on being the best damn chef in the undercity. You kept to yourself, you prayed he never noticed your furtive glances up at him when he was absorbed in his work, and you did not cause trouble.

So it was only natural that your stomach twisted itself into knots as you stepped into his office, and that those knots tightened when he looked up from the paper he was reading, his bicoloured stare pinning you and making your walk to stand in front of his desk feel like miles instead of metres.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you said when you were near, and the way his eyes flicked over you, almost too quickly for you to notice, did nothing to calm you.

“I did,” he said, his chair creaking as he leaned back in it. You’d definitely never wondered if it could hold two people. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You could swear that sentence made your brain fritz like a faulty wire. “I, um—” Absolutely nothing was the real answer, but for some reason you didn’t want to admit that. “I made plans with…Ran and Dustin,” you said, saying the first names that came to your mind even though you’d never shared more than small talk with either of them.

Silco’s eyebrow raised as if he could see right through your lie. Which he probably could, because it was completely transparent. “Then cancel them. I need your help at an event.”

“What kind of…event?” you said, your mind reeling with all the things Silco could be alluding to. Shakedowns, back-alley deals, assassinations…

“Don’t look so frightened,” Silco said, taking a cigar from his ashtray and lighting it. He took a deep drag, letting the smoke billow around him as he spoke. “Are you familiar with Ko Shosu?”

It took you a moment to remember the name from some of the background research you’d carried out on Silco’s competitors. “Doesn’t he own that factory that makes gears or something?”

“The very same. He’s hosting a party at his residence topside tomorrow night and unfortunately, I’ll need to make an appearance. Shosu seems to think we’re acquaintances. And on top of that, I happen to know that one of his associates has run into some financial trouble as of late. His factory makes components that are essential to the Shimmer-tanks we’re developing. Now isn’t that a stroke of luck?”

“You want to get to this associate so you can get him to work with you?”

“Exactly. His name is Rupert Torek and he’s run up gambling debts with some very unsavoury people. I’m sure he’ll be cooperative once he realises I can lend him enough money to get himself out of debt before his wife finds out.”

You decided not to ask how Silco could have information like that on someone he’d never even met. For your sanity’s sake, it was better not to know. “And why do you need me, sir?”

It might have just been your imagination, but you could swear Silco looked you up and down again. Slower this time. “I thought that would be obvious. I cannot exactly show up to something like this alone. I need someone who can distract Torek’s wife so I can get five minutes alone with him, and who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.”

“I, um—” you floundered for a minute – the words look pretty on my arm setting your heart racing, which was stupid, he’d literally just said he wanted you to be his arm candy for a night, it meant nothing – and Silco raised an eyebrow at your hesitation.

“You’ll be paid overtime for your trouble, of course,” he said.

“That wasn’t—thank you, sir,” you said quickly.

“Good,” he said, flicking through some of the papers on his desk, his focus already slipping back to his work. “Meet me outside Ko Shosu’s house at eight sharp. Wear something nice and do not be late.”

It was a struggle to focus on your work for the next two days. The figures that usually came so easily to you seemed to blur together until you had to triple-check your spreadsheets in case you’d made an error while your mind insisted on screeching Silco think’s I’m pretty over and over like a stuck record. You were sure he’d meant nothing by that offhanded comment, but that didn’t help anything.

It was almost a relief when the next evening rolled around just so you could focus on doing something.

But that relief didn’t last long when you realised you didn’t have the first clue what you should wear to a party at a topsider’s fancy estate. There wasn’t time to hit up the markets even if you could justify the expense, so you settled for a black dress that was simple, but showed off your figure without showing too much of anything else, as you could at least guess that anything shorter than the knee-length hem of your dress might not go over well among the stiff, buttoned-up topsiders. You’d had the dress a long time and had to stitch it once or twice, but surely nobody would notice a little thing like that.

You felt strangely buoyant as you made your way through the upper districts of Zaun, where at this time in the evening business was just starting to pick up. Lines were forming outside the nicer clubs, the street hawkers were packing up to make way for the crowds, and the air nearly sparkled with Shimmer residue as you passed the open doors of some of the edgier establishments, where topsiders went to get a taste of the undercity without actually having to venture below. You couldn’t even find it within yourself to be annoyed at the arrogant topsiders who came to Zaun to indulge in all the things they couldn’t in Piltover before returning to their cushy homes and easy lives. Tonight felt like an infiltration, and it was you who would be inserting yourself somewhere you could never belong.

-

You met up with Silco outside the gates of Ko Shosu’s estate. He’d gone straight there from a meeting with some topsider businessman, and he was dressed as elegantly as he always was. As you approached you glanced at the people milling around on the wide driveway, and you suddenly felt underdressed.

“You’re almost late,” Silco said by way of greeting, and the nervous knot in your stomach only tightened.

“Sorry, sir. Border guards held me up. You know how they are.” The Enforcer at the checkpoint on the bridge had made a huge fuss over your ID photo having a slightly different hairstyle than you did now, just being an asshole because he was an Enforcer and he could.

“Hm,” was all he said as his eyes raked over you, and your mind instantly went to those little stitches in your dress. You suddenly felt as if he could see every little flaw in you, and the feeling only worsened when a couple of women in glittering floor-length gowns swept past, arm-in-arm and laughing airily.

“Do I look all right?” you said just to break the tense silence. “This is the best I have.”

“You look perfectly acceptable,” Silco said, and that was almost worse than if he hadn’t said anything. Acceptable. You’d be lucky if you weren’t mistaken for a servant. “Shall we?” he said then, offering you his arm. When you hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “Take my arm. We have to at least appear as if we both want to be here.”

“Do you want to be here?” you said as you curled your hand around his elbow, trying to ignore the jolt you felt at touching him, even if he was wearing a coat.

He scoffed. “Of course I don’t. But needs must.”

As you made your way up the long driveway, you couldn’t help but gawk at your surroundings. You knew this wasn’t even close to being the grandest house in all of Piltover, but at that moment you could have believed it. There were at least four floors, the upper two ringed in balconies spilling over with hanging flowers and vines. The next closest house had to be at least a hundred metres away, and in the dark space between you could make out the open expanse of a lawn lit by a ring of ground-level lamps, and manicured trees on each side. You couldn’t imagine what the topsiders would do with such a space – you could probably fit a whole other house in there, even one as large as Shosu’s.

And when you entered the house itself, you actually gasped. “Someone lives here? It looks like a palace.”

Silco shot you a glare as you stared at your surroundings with wide eyes, barely even registering the doorman who came to take your coats. “Remember how I said you were the only one I could trust not to fill your pockets? Don’t make me regret it.”

But you were hardly listening as your eyes roved over the crowded ballroom. It was a sea of fine suits and jewel-toned gowns, with servants darting through the throngs like the quick little fish that lived in the shallows of the river, trays of drinks and tiny pastry-like things balanced on their fingertips. Music drifted from somewhere you couldn’t see, almost drowned out by the chatter, and diamonds glittered at fingers and throats – and even on the ceiling, you noticed as your eyes drifted upwards, or at least it seemed like the chandeliers were draped in strings of gemstones that scattered the lights in every direction.

“Concentrate, girl,” Silco muttered close to your ear, making you shiver. “Remember why we’re here. Torek is over there,” he said, though you couldn’t possibly guess which of the guests he was indicating. “Do you remember your task?”

You dragged your eyes away from the spectacle before you to meet his mismatched eyes. “Keep his wife distracted while you get him to consider working with you. I’ve got it.”

“Good. We won’t need to stay long – an hour at most, then you can go home and do whatever you’d like. Maybe you can even catch Ran and Dustin.” As he said this the corner of his mouth tilted up, and you realised with some shock that the Eye of Zaun was teasing you.

You shrugged in what you hoped was nonchalance. “It takes as long as it takes. You know I’m not one to rush a job.”

“I’m aware,” he said as you started to make your way through the crowd, weaving through the throng as if you weren’t aiming straight for your unfortunate target. Perhaps it was because people knew he was from the Undercity, or maybe whispers of the things his people did in dark alleys and dingy establishments travelled ahead of him, but the dense crowd of people seemed to loosen before him, as if people suddenly remembered they had other places to be when he approached. If it offended him, Silco gave no sign, but instead he leaned in to you again. “He is close now. Laugh like I’ve said something terribly clever, you look petrified.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, but you did as he asked anyway, and it seemed to help. The tension you had felt in the air around you receded a little, and before you knew it Silco was shaking hands with a tall, portly man. You barely heard as he introduced you as his guest for the night, your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears. Rupert Torek had an open, kind face, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he smiled, and he didn’t seem surprised that Silco had sought him out. You wondered if he had any idea how fucked he was.

“We haven’t met before! I’m Liana, Rupert’s wife,” a voice at your side said, making you start, though you quickly smoothed it over with a smile as you turned to the woman who had appeared next to you, introducing yourself and hoping you sounded like you knew you belonged here, just like she did.

Liana glanced between you and Silco, who had already captured her husband’s full attention. Her brows lowered slightly, and you wondered if she had suspicions about her husband’s gambling. “I didn’t know Silco had a partner,” she said carefully.

“Oh, we’re not…together,” you said, laughing airily. “I’m just accompanying him tonight.”

“I see,” Liana said, though now her smile seemed frozen in place, and you wondered if you’d offended her somehow. But nevertheless she called over a couple of her friends, whose names you quickly forgot, and for a moment you were very pleased with yourself. There was no chance Liana would try to join her husband’s conversation while you had her distracted like this.

It was at this point that things started to go wrong.

In hindsight, you should have realised what Liana thought you were implying when you’d said you were accompanying your boss, and what a topsider would think of that particular occupation. But you were a few minutes into a banal, vapid conversation with Liana and her friends about something that you weren’t really paying attention to before you realised that they all thought you were a whore he’d hired for the night, and apparently found this very offensive judging by the bladed smiles and barbed compliments that started heading your way. It didn’t help that you were inadvertently showing much more skin than any of them – and how you were supposed to know the current fashions topside, you had no idea. Pretty soon your fingers were itching to take off one of your high-heeled shoes and beat Liana’s face in with it, but you couldn’t exactly square up in the middle of a ballroom as if you were in a Zaunite dive bar.

So instead, you just played dumb.

You let the thinly-veiled insults, the insinuations that you didn’t belong among them, glance off you. Nobody spent their whole life in Zaun without growing their own kind of armour. Right now yours was keeping your smile frozen firmly on your face, and so Liana was too busy with you to notice that her husband was making a business deal with the Eye of Zaun himself, right under her powdered nose.

That thought made you glance over at Silco, and the second your eyes met his, you felt a strange sort of calm descend over you. Rupert Torek was still chatting away, not even a hint of discomfort on his round face. Silco gave you a minute, almost imperceptible nod, raising his glass of wine slightly.

It had actually worked.

You tried to keep your face blank. That only became harder when Silco turned his attention back to Torek and you realised that when you’d looked over at him, he’d already been watching you.

-

Soon after, you excused yourself to go to the ladies’ room. You were pretty sure Liana and her friends forgot all about you as soon as you were out of sight – or at least you hoped so. You didn’t want to know what they’d be saying about you as soon as you were out of earshot.

You didn’t head to the bathroom, though. Instead you went out the way you’d come in, not bothering to collect your coat from the doorman as you went down the stone steps as fast as you could without running.

As soon as you were outside, away from the glare of the house’s lights, you felt the tightness that had settled in your chest loosen. You hadn’t even noticed the anxiety creep under your skin with every barb Liana and her friends had thrown your way, but when it finally dissipated you wondered how you’d been able to breathe at all.

You should go back now that you’d got your fresh air. You couldn’t just disappear.

But one glance back at the shadowy figures moving through the ballroom windows had you moving away from the house, into the shadows of the grounds where nobody would notice the Zaunite girl who was hilariously out of place among them.

The pathways were lit by low electric lights, and there was nobody else out here. You chose a path along the edge of the grounds, shielded on one side by a high wall and on the other by a huge rosebush bordering the lawn. You weren’t sure whether you were really supposed to be out here, but nobody stopped you as you wandered further into the grounds. 

Eventually you found a bench and you sat down, tipping your head back to watch the stars in the sky. You’d only ever seen them when Silco sent you up to Piltover on business, and on those nights there was never time to stop and really look at them. Down in the Undercity it was difficult to see the sky at all through the smog, let alone the dozens of stars that shimmered through the haze of Piltover’s lights.

For some reason you couldn’t name, tears sprang to your eyes unbidden, and you tried to blink them away without ruining your makeup.

Of course, that was the moment you heard footsteps approaching.

“Drinking alone already?”

Your head snapped up to see Silco strolling towards you, and it was then that you realised you still had your glass of wine in your hand. You sighed, taking a sip as your boss sat down next to you.

“Just needed some air,” you muttered as Silco slung his arm over the back of the bench. It didn’t escape you that if you leaned back, he would have his arm around you. “How did it go with Torek?”

“I expect we’ll be getting a visit from him or one of his associates in the near future. His wife wasn’t too much for you, I take it?”

“I handled it. But they’re all just so…ugh.”

Silco chuckled as he pulled a cigar from somewhere in his coat, and you tried not to let the sound startle you. You’d never heard Silco laugh before, not even a little, and the sound was surprisingly warm. “Don’t worry, we won’t have to do this again for a while.” You watched as he held the cigar between his crooked teeth as he flicked his lighter, the strange angle of the lights highlighting his sharp cheekbones as he took a long drag.

“You know, I don’t think we’re allowed to smoke out here.”

“I don’t care.” He blew a long puff of smoke out into the crisp night air, staining it with a rich scent of tobacco and spices. “Is something bothering you?”

You searched for words to explain the anger tightening your throat, but came up with nothing that made sense. You were a numbers girl. Words were Silco’s thing. You shrugged. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m asking, so I would say it does.” His voice had hardened, and you glanced over at him in alarm, though he didn’t look angry.

You didn’t want to push it, though, so you sighed and took a sip from your wine to buy a few seconds, feeling Silco’s mismatched gaze on you the whole time. “It’s just…all they did in there was bitch about things. What I was wearing, how I acted, their husbands, their lives. And yet…” you gestured vaguely at your surroundings. The gardens that must have needed a whole team of people to maintain. The lawn that sat empty when it could have grown enough food to feed a whole street of hungry Zaunites. The house. “They have all this, but it’s all they’ve ever had, so they can’t even see how privileged they really are. Meanwhile we have to scrape every penny just to put food on the table and some people in Zaun don’t even get that. If I lived up here I’d never complain about anything ever again,” you finished, and by now you were speaking into your wine glass, your eyes fixed on the ground.

Silco was quiet for a moment, and you didn’t dare glance up at him to see if you could gauge what he was really thinking. You’d never been so candid with your boss before, and you half expected him to leave and pretend tonight had never happened. The very last thing you expected him to say was, “What if I told you that tonight had been something of a test of your loyalties?”

Now you did look up, and he was watching you with that kind of calculated detachment he was so good at, though something in the hard lines of his face had softened. Or maybe it was just the moonlight.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

He took his time answering, taking another long drag of his cigar and releasing the smoke in a ring. “You’ve been with me a short while now, and you’re a very talented accountant. With your skills and some forged papers you could easily find work topside. Something with less risk and more pay.”

You flushed at his insinuation. “You pay me just fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “All wages are higher topside, you know that. You could have walked out of that house with a whole list of people who would pay you far more than I can for the same work, but you didn’t. Instead you stood there and allowed me to work on Torek while everyone in that room thought you were just some girl I’d hired for the night.”

You started to splutter a protest, but it died on your lips when you realised Silco was right. If you’d revealed your real job it would have raised Liana’s suspicions.

“It’s a long road ahead of us until Zaun is an independent nation. The topsiders won’t let us go without a fight,” he said, his voice dropping in case you weren’t alone in the gardens. “There will be times when you are tempted by offers of money, better jobs in better places, employers who won’t ask you to break the topsiders’ laws every day. I needed to know that you were true to the cause, that you would remain loyal to me even when you had the opportunity to make things easier for yourself.”

“You were giving me an out,” you said as it clicked into place. “Why now?”

“Because by now, you know exactly what you’re getting into by staying. Your choice to work for me is a genuine one.”

“So did I pass? Your test, I mean.”

“We would not be sitting here now if you had failed.”

You weren’t involved in the…bloodier side of Silco’s business, but you weren’t ignorant to it, either. You knew what he did to people he suspected of disloyalty. Would he really have let you go if you’d wanted? Or would you have disappeared into the shadows of the Lanes, never to be heard from again? You wouldn’t be the first. But then you realised that you’d never been afraid of that, because you would never give him a reason to doubt your loyalties. Zaun had to break free of Piltover, and he was the only one with the wits, the resources, and the sheer bloody-mindedness to finally cut the undercity free.

A sudden cold breeze blew in off the river, making the hedges surrounding you tremble, and you became acutely aware that you had left your coat inside. Before you could give yourself the chance to think better of it, you leaned back, and as you’d suspected, Silco didn’t move his arm. He didn’t quite put his arm around you, but he traced a circle on your bare shoulder with the back of his thumb, almost as if he was reluctant to touch you in case he scared you off.

“We can return to the party if you wish,” he said, and now he was near enough for his warm breath on your ear to send shivers along your skin that had nothing to do with the chilled night air.

“I prefer it out here.”

“As do I.” He held his cigar between his teeth as he reached into his coat and produced a small metal hip flask.

You couldn’t help but snort as he uncapped it and the smell of whiskey hit your nose. “You brought your own alcohol?”

He took a swig and then passed the flask to you. “Better than the swill they’re serving in there.”

“That swill is probably very expensive.”

“So is this. Drink.”

You took a small sip and were proud of yourself when you didn’t cough, even though the whiskey was strong enough to make your eyes water. A pleasant warm sensation spread out from your chest as you swallowed, though, and you shivered as you licked a drop off your lip. “Definitely tastes expensive.”

You looked up at him, and Silco’s eyes quickly snapped away from your mouth as he made a vague hum of agreement. For a while neither of you spoke, and you only passed the flask back and forth in companionable silence. The music that drifted towards you on the wind picked up in pace, and you heard the occasional drunken shout in the distance. Still nobody ventured into the dark grounds.

“Earlier I told you that you looked acceptable,” Silco said all of a sudden as he tapped out his half-smoked cigar and put it back in the tin. “I believe I should have told you that you look lovely instead.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, and you risked a glance up at your boss – who had told you that you would look pretty on his arm, who had trusted you with this mission and had noticed when you slipped off to be alone. Nobody ever did that.

Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe you were delusional or perhaps just stupid. You didn’t really know why you did it, but before you could think better of it, you leaned over and kissed him.

It was only a quick, chaste press of your lips against his, and you instantly regretted it when Silco stayed completely still against you. You jerked backwards, already apologising. “I’m so sorry sir, I shouldn’t—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence. Silco’s hand was firm on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him and kissed you. Properly this time. It was your turn to freeze in shock, but you quickly got over it as his tongue danced against yours and you tasted whiskey and smoke. You eagerly let him in as he deepened the kiss, shivering as his hand slid up your leg from your knee to your thigh, and for the first time that night you were glad of your too-short skirt.

You gasped in surprise as he pulled you onto his lap, barely breaking the kiss as he made you straddle him, your skirt riding up as your thighs spread. Feeling bold, you ran your hands through his soft hair, and he hummed in approval as you raked your nails through the short hair at the base of his neck. In response he gave your ass a firm squeeze, grinding you down onto his lap.

And onto the hard length beneath you.

You circled your hips against him as he moved down to your neck, holding you in place with a hand in your hair pulling just tight enough to hurt as he bit more than kissed you, leaving marks that would definitely be impossible to hide in this dress. You couldn’t give a shit. No way were you going back into that stupid party after this.

“Tell me how long you’ve wanted this,” Silco said, emphasising his point with a sharp snap of his hips up against you.

“I—” you started, but you could only focus on his hands creeping up your thighs again. Except this time, they didn’t stop.

“Go on,” he coaxed, as if you were supposed to focus on anything except his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. You hissed as he tugged them down and the cold night air hit your pussy, and it faded into a whimper as he trailed his fingers along your lips, pausing to circle your entrance in a way that made your back arch. “And don’t you dare try to lie to me, sweetheart, because you’re already wet for me.”

“Um…” you tried to focus on anything but the soft, barely-there brush of his fingers against your pussy. Every time you tried to grind against his hand he moved away, keeping his touch just a little too soft, the bastard. “I think – maybe…”

“A few weeks?” he prompted.

“Mm – no…”

He raised an eyebrow, but rewarded your answer by pressing his thumb against your clit, though he still refused to give you what you wanted. Needed.

“Months?”

“Longer. Since… I wanted this since my first day working for you.” Finally, Silco slid one long finger into you as his thumb drew an agonisingly slow circle over your clit, and your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure.

“Do you want to know a secret, my lovely?” he said, his fingers moving faster, obscene wet noises filling the air.

“M-hm.”

“I have you beat. I’ve wanted this since I interviewed you.”

Your eyes flew open at his admission just as he sank another finger into you without warning. Later. You could think about what he’d said later. For now you just let yourself enjoy the curl of his long fingers inside you, the expert ministrations of his thumb on your clit that sent waves of warm pleasure up your spine.

Until the bastard stopped.

He withdrew his hand from you, and his fingers glistened in the moonlight from your wetness. Your eyes widened as he licked them clean, then he motioned for you to stand. “Get up. Go and stand at the end of the bench.”

You followed his directions on shaky legs, and Silco followed, casually strolling around to stand behind you. You had a good idea of what he intended. He trailed his fingers up your bare arms, then fisted one hand in your hair while the other held your bicep in a bruising grip. “If you want this to stop,” he purred in your ear, “say the word now.”

You only pushed back against him, feeling his hard length behind you.

“I thought not.” Then he bent you over the arm of the bench, the ornate steel armrest digging into your hips as he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties down to your knees. You weren’t sure if you shivered with the cool breeze or the anticipation as you heard him unbutton his pants, his hand still in your hair. Then you hissed as you felt the press of his cock against your centre, arched your back as he slid it through your wetness before finally sinking into you as his free hand started playing with your clit once more.

Your voice rose in a high, keening cry as he sheathed himself inside you, easing the ache of his entry with his fingers on your clit. He stopped abruptly, pulling you up by your hair. “Hush now,” he hissed in your ear as he let go of your hair and shoved his fingers in your mouth. You could taste the echo of yourself on his skin. “You don’t want them to think you really are my whore, do you?”

You choked around his fingers for a moment before you relaxed your throat enough that you could shake your head and make a garbled nuh-uh sound, which earned you a low chuckle.

“I didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart,” he said as he started to move, setting a quick, urgent pace that reminded you that anybody could come around the corner and see you bent over a bench with the most powerful man in the Undercity driving into you from behind as you gagged on his fingers. Every thrust of his hips ground yours against the metal armrest, and you knew you’d surely have bruises in the morning. “I wish we were somewhere I could fuck you properly. Take you apart piece by piece until you’re nothing more than a writhing, crying mess in my bed. But perhaps you do like the idea of someone seeing you, seeing how well you’re taking me. How wet you are.” His breathing was becoming shallow as he fucked you, but that didn’t stop the stream of filth from his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I would kill to see the look on Ko Shosu’s face when he realises we used his party to lure his friend into our web and then defiled his rose garden right under his nose.”

He said something else after that too, but you’d stopped listening to his words and let the low, rough cadence of his voice be the final push you needed over that peak you’d been approaching, once interrupted and now higher than ever. Even Silco’s fingers in your mouth weren’t enough to muffle your cries as you came, your thighs shaking from the strain of standing while your walls clamped down on Silco’s cock, over and over again in waves of agonising bliss. He followed soon after, and you felt a warm rush as he spilled himself inside you with a groan he muffled in your neck.

For a moment you both stood there, catching your breath. You sighed in relief as Silco removed his fingers from your mouth, and after tucking himself away he cleaned you up with a handkerchief before pulling your panties back up for you. “You felt just as good as I’d imagined you would,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your abused scalp.

“Is that something you imagined often, sir?” you said teasingly.

“Most nights,” he murmured into your hair. “And perhaps some days, too.”

Well, damn. You had no idea what to say to that, other than, “Me too.” Maybe you had actually drank too much. “Take me home,” you said, leaning back against his chest as he straightened out your skirts. You felt him smile against your hair.

“It would be my absolute pleasure.”

[rockscanfly]

@noshirdalal's (Charles Smith's actor from RDR2) response to the prompt: "What do you think would have happened if Jack Marston’s bounty poster had come across Sadie and Charles’ desk post-epilogue? What, if anything, would Charles have to say to Jack?"

I trimmed the video for length (damn you, tumblr), but you can find the full 15 minute version on Cameo (where all y'all should go chuck your Charles questions as soon as you get a chance) here.

As usual, Noshir blew me away with the depth and care in his response. His headcanons are one of my absolute favorite part of being in the RDR2 fandom. Highlight from the transcript:

I like to think that Charles would have—and I imagine Sadie would to, but Alex would know better—I like to imagine that Charles would have taken the time to try to find him. To learn the kind of man that Jack has become.  I can imagine Jack sitting at a bar somewhere, I mean drinking whiskey or something and noticing a really large [laughs]. A really large man sitting kind of also at the bar but much further down just watching him. I think depending on what was going on I’d like to think that if Jack was in trouble at the time Charles would try to help him. Because he, ‘cause he has to.  But I can also see him watching John—I mean watching Jack from a distance. Getting the measure of the man. Helping him when he can, anonymously. You know if there are bounty hunters or enemies that are following him maybe he thins the herd a little bit. Betters Jack’s chances. But maybe he almost doesn’t have the heart to actually say hello.  There’s also something to be said for the idea that a man pays his debts. But also, like Charles has to recognize that Jack is a grown man. And a man also walks his own path. I can’t hold his hand, I can’t change the past. And who am I to know that the path that Jack is on is wrong? Would it be fair for me to try to deprive him of the justice he seeks?  Man, I don’t know. But it would hurt Charles, real bad. I think that would hurt him real bad. That's a wound he would carry to his grave. 

Links to other Cameos and transcripts that Noshir has completed in the past can be found here.

Full transcript of full vid below the cut:

What's up, Rocks? Hope you’re doing well. Sorry, it's getting down to the wire and I’m just, just got back a little while ago from Manchester in the UK and just getting home from VO [Voice Over] Atlanta [2025]. So I’m teaching a performance capture class there so I’ve got like a handful of minutes left to get this in so I’m trying to get it in and not have it fall through. So. 

Rocks always asking the [chuckles], the thought provoking questions. So. What happens when a poster of Jack Marston comes into my possession when Charles and Sadie are—in my headcanon—collecting bounties, kinda working together?

Well, I think the first thing that Charles would do is share it with Sadie. You know, Sadie and Charles are there with John when he—when WE think we’re bringing resolution to all this strife. When we think we’re kind of closing this circle and hopefully bringing the cycle of violence to a close for the Marston family. 

I think Charles and Sadie—I’m not gonna speak for Alex, or Sadie—but I would have to imagine. I would like to think they mourn together and also mourn in their own ways. 

I don’t know if it actually made it into the game, but there was, really early on in my sessions I had, like, hours of performance capture with the young, young actor playing, like, super young Jack. Taking him through basic tracking stuff, you know, the difference between a raccoon’s tracks versus a, you know a bobcat. A mountain lion’s tracks versus, you know, various deer and bear and stuff. And I think a little bit of—I remember I researched, like you know, traps made of like rope and stuff you could find like out in the wilderness, deadfalls and stuff like that. I don’t remember if we actually did that stuff but like. 

I think the gang…Jack is kind of like the gang’s son, right? Hosea like teaches him the importance of knots by like hiding it in, like, teaching him how to fish. I think everyone kind of came together to try to equip Jack with the things he would need to know to survive while still trying to celebrate the fact that he’s a kid even in these hard times. 

I haven’t played either of the games but I’ve seen images of Jack from the end of Red Dead. I didn’t really think much of it but now looking at those images as Charles, like through the eyes of Charles—how heartbreaking, I think that would be for him. 

To know that. To know that John tried so desperately to create, to create a home for his family, right? For Jack to grow up not knowing a life on the run full of violence. He really tried to go legit. And you know, Uncle and I helped him build that house from nothing. 

That house I think was kind of the symbol of the closing of that chapter. The idea that things can begin anew, that if we’re willing to put in the work that we can have a fresh start. That we are not chained, you know, like ouroboros. Like we are not bound to this never ending cycle. If it isn't a life that we want to live. 

And, you know, my best friend…was dying, but his last moments were hard in effort to give John—and through John, Jack—hope for a peaceful life. 

And, I mean the look on adult Jack’s face? He’s so angry. He’s so angry and so hard. And I think these are hard times and there’s lots of hard men and hard women as a result: survivors. [Looks off at a car making obnoxious noise] [quietly] For fuck’s sake. 

But, um. But even if it was naive or wishful thinking or just ridiculous hope—I think Charles wanted so badly for things to be different for Jack. Especially because I think Charles leave the Marstons feeling so good about the work he’s done. And so proud of his brother John for the work he’s done to reinvent himself, you know?

They had built a place with their own hands that is worthy of bringing John’s wife and son home. They’d built them a home. And to see Jack so angry and so alone after everything that’s been done I think would be really, really hard for Charles. 

I wouldn’t be surprised if Charles has to step away and like spend a week out in the wilderness just to get away from the noise of, the noise and kind of bustle of the every day. And grieve, in his own way. And come to terms with it. 

I mean, I wonder like, the idea of like a wanted poster for Jack Marston—I wonder if like, can you imagine if somehow Charles and Sadie were just blissfully ignorant of everything that happened with John. What a way to learn. But even if they werent, I think this is probably the worst fate they could have imagined for John’s son. For Jack. 

I like to think that Charles would have—and I imagine Sadie would to, but Alex would know better—I like to imagine that Charles would have taken the time to try to find him. To learn the kind of man that Jack has become. 

I can imagine Jack sitting at a bar somewhere, I mean drinking whiskey or something and noticing a really large [laughs]. A really large man sitting kind of also at the bar but much further down just watching him. I think depending on what was going on I’d like to think that if Jack was in trouble at the time Charles would try to help him. Because he, ‘cause he has to. 

But I can also see him watching John—I mean watching Jack from a distance. Getting the measure of the man. Helping him when he can, anonymously. You know if there are bounty hunters or enemies that are following him maybe he thins the herd a little bit. Betters Jack’s chances. But maybe he almost doesn’t have the heart to actually say hello. 

There’s also something to be said for the idea that a man pays his debts. But also, like Charles has to recognize that Jack is a grown man. And a man also walks his own path. I can’t hold his hand, I can’t change the past. And who am I to know that the path that Jack is on is wrong? Would it be fair for me to try to deprive him of the justice he seeks? 

Man, I don’t know. But it would hurt Charles, real bad. I think that would hurt him real bad. That's a wound he would carry to his grave.

[yridenergyridenergy]

do you have pictures of all of kyo's tattoos you could make into a master post?

Judging by how long it took me to reply to this (57 days), I didn't hahah.

While compiling all of it into a sort of encyclopedia of each tattoo would have been possible, I just felt that it was slightly cringe? Sure, it's obviously all skin that he has shown us, but... There's something too uncomfortable about it, until he actually does another full-body photoshoot on his own. I opted for a list instead, and I'll give you links to some posts that show examples:

SCALP

Dum Spiro Spero statue

Chrysanthemum flower(s)

Barbed wire

Flames

Eye fresque (?)

(Nape) Enneagram (nine points, astrology-related)

FACE

Uranus symbol

Handwritten "Vanitas" (?)

Small x at external corner of right eye

NECK

Blended female heads (reminescent of Ochita koto no aru sora cover art)

H.R. Giger art

Handwritten "truth"

"Damned" with skulls

Skull with crown

RIGHT ARM

Noh mask with string

Scribbled-over blue butterfly with the Russian word for "To be born"

White/negative space flames

White flower/leaf

Spider with skull etched on back

Jewelry

Queen crown

Skeletal queen with black censor bars over eyes and mouth "GOD KILL THE QUEEN     MAD STALIN"

Leathery gauntlet patch (?) that quickly covered up the Russian words for:  "Eternal" "Sleep" "Mind" "Freedom" "Happiness" and a blue star

LEFT ARM

Chinese-style dragon

Phoenix

FINGERS

Handwritten "Vice" & "Virtue"

"S A V E"

Christian cross covered by longer black triangle

Skull holes (knuckles)

Norse runes (Mannaz, Laguz, Hagalaz) & upside-down Russian orthodox cross

"God" and "Pain" in Russian

Flame tribal mark (?)

HANDS

Anarchist "A" in circle symbol (right palm)

"The Emperor Is Dead"

Thorny ring

ABDOMEN

Ankh cross (with loop) meaning eternal life, with a Noh mask/face inside it

Inner forearms bound at the wrists, palms facing up with at least one showing a lucky square, a W/M of fortune and a long, straight vertical Life line (re: palmistry, or the characters on the second palm form a word)

Tiger with red flames

Handwritten "triginta duo" (32 in Latin) (?)

Skulls

Yokai with two pairs of eyes

White heron or phoenix

Skull ghoul

Oni mask/head with horn and jewelry

BACK

Eye surrounded by illumination lines near nape

Sanjusangendo Kannon

Black smoke swirls

LEFT LEG

"To live and die with a sense of inferiority is all I know."

Flames, waves, clouds

Large sakura flower (?)

"AXIS"

Swirls

Geisha with burnt left side of the face

Large chrysanthemum flower

White spider web (?)

Skulls

Duplicated Noh masks (art by _suzani on instagram)

RIGHT LEG

Large chrysanthemum flower

Rooster

Negative/black space

Flames, waves, clouds

"LOOP"

Noh mask in a triangle (art by dualflow on intagram)

Honeycomb (?)

Koi fish

FEET

Symbols for Mercury, Sun, Jupiter & Venus (toes)

Handwritten "the reckless love"

Most of Kyo's tattoos were credited to nobuisobe666 (Instagram), while Sezuni did his back tattoo and the anarchist A in his palm.

Unknown tattoos:

Hip area

Ankles

Rest of feet

Some pictures:

Rock And Read 115 - Petit Brabançon

Rock And Read 098 - sukekiyo 1 2 3

Rock And Read 087

MadaraNingen x Milkboy photoshoot

Instagram 1 2 3 4 5

Tour24 Psychonnect screenshots

Tour22 FROM DEPRESSION TO________ 25th Anniversary screenshots

Graphic from Twitter

PHY vol.14

Tattoo Tribal vol.65

The World You Live In gifs

Natalie.mu Petit Brabançon

Barks Petit Brabançon

Don't Forget by Petit Brabançon promotional photo 2 3

sukekiyo Tour24 Tsumetai Chinmoku screenshot

[slasherholic]

Disclaimer: This is a repost! I deleted then remade my blog (more on that here) and people have requested for me to repost some of my old fics as they have become unavailable due to my deletion. Enjoy :-)

Synopsis: You learn that Asa doesn't like you touching yourself, or maybe he just likes making you break down and cry on him.

Contains: afab reader, reader wears a dress, cockwarming (m e a n), noncon/forced sex, referenced torture, aftermath of torture, threats, fear play, SM elements, restraining/gagging, fingering, use of an anal plug, dacryphilia/lots of crying and it's getting Asa off, basically heed the warnings this is gross etc etc

Words: 4.2k

Asa Emory / The Collector x Favorite!Victim Reader | Bad Habits

You hadn't thought he was in the room anymore. Truly you didn't.

You’d listened to him leaving and waited until long after there was no sound outside your padlocked trunk, save for the wind battering the old hotel walls, sending dead leaves scraping along the outer pane of the securely barred and bolted-shut window that doesn’t let in any light. Your cheeks were still raw and uncomfortably dry from where the tears had been streaming. He hurt you today, worse than he hurt you all week.

He’d sedated you with something that made your limbs and eyelids heavy, but it didn’t dull the pain. Your dress came off and you were naked on the cold table. He wrapped your body in wire, starting with your arms above your head, working down to your feet, so tightly you couldn’t struggle or move, then hung you by the leather cuffs around your ankles. By the time he came back you had cut yourself from crying and thrashing and the abrasions on your stomach were dripping blood down your face and getting in your eyes. He wheeled in a mutilated, stitched-together body with far too many arms sewn to its corpse-pale torso, arranged it somewhere behind you, warned you not to move, and sat to paint the scene, in which you understood you were a prop. You did your best to hold still, even though your blood was getting in your mouth and you were starting to drown in it.

Some of the deepest abrasions needed stitches. You behaved well for him, and on occasion, he rewards you when his plans go off without difficulties. He numbed the operating area before he pulled the needle through your skin. The little curved hook pinched dully as it went in and out, and your body felt like rubber, but there was no more pain.

His gloved hands were all over you as he bandaged your injuries, caressing you as he wrapped your limbs and stomach. Though you hate it and don’t understand it, a part of you always responds to him when he cares to be gentle. The chain linking the padded cuffs around your wrists to the locked collar around your throat wasn’t long enough to reach your correspondingly shackled ankles, but it was just long enough to rid yourself of the throbbing heat between your legs.

As you touched yourself, you tried to let yourself forget where you were. You imagined you were at home, in your own room, very safe. Discreteness was the goal, but you made a lot of sloppy noise, banging your elbow every once in a while on the wall of the trunk.

You’ve been at it for minutes. Trying different spots, different paces, different numbers of fingers. And you’re not any closer to finishing than when you started.

There are two sharp sudden knocks on the wall next to your head. You jerk back so hard you knock your face on the trunk. Your hand snaps up from your legs like you’ve been burned.

You crack with a broken sob as you listen to his boots shifting on the floor, clutching shaking handfuls of your dress around your shoulders. The fabric tickles where it drapes around your bare feet and rides up over the leather cuffs locked around your bruised ankles.

His fingers scrape along the wooden trunk by your head. He traces down the corner of the lid, to the latches. Your heart plummets and then quickens so fast your temples pound with a deep aching pain; you didn’t even hear him come back in.

You know the jangling sound is his keys unhooking from his belt. The multiple locks unclick slowly, at his leisure, in no hurry to make this a brief ordeal.

The lid swings open. He kneels down, his dark silhouette obscuring the rest of the room, blotting out the harsh light in the background. His face is just out of view. You huddle away from him, cramming yourself against the back of the trunk, blinking back tears, sobbing quietly. For a few seconds that make your heart stutter, he lingers in total stillness. Inhaling, slowly.

He intertwines his gloved hands, and tilts his head down a little bit to study you.

You catch only a brief glimpse of his expression before you’re diverting your gaze to the brown leather cuffs on your feet when you see he doesn’t have his mask on, a second too late; the unreadable frigidness set into his features is seared into your mind. He doesn’t have it off much. Sometimes when he does, he makes you look him in the face.

Occasionally, his face is very stern, and occasionally, he’s smiling at you. His smile is broad and warm and gets more handsome when he flashes his teeth. One that fills out his cheekbones and wears attractive wrinkles into his eyes and the area around his mouth. Which is why you don’t like looking at him; if not for the greasepaint brushed all over his eyelids, and the fact that, somehow, his eyes are so dark you can see your tortured reflection in them like a mirror, he might be a startlingly good-looking, well-groomed man, and that makes you feel nauseous on the inside, though you’ve yet to piece together why.

“Having a nice time in there?”

A shiver runs the length of your body. You say nothing back to him. When he jokes, you find he doesn’t usually expect you to respond. He pats the floor in front of him.

“Out.”

His voice is a command and holds a certain unchallengeable sternness. But his tone isn’t overly cutting or cruel. He’s playing the patient game with you—though you suspect the outcome will be the same as if he went straight to strapping you right back down on his table. He just intends to drag this out. You’re nauseatingly certain he likes it when he doesn’t have to be cruel to make you choke up.

You shuffle slowly closer to the edge of the trunk, the chains linking your cuffs jangling, not looking him in the face, and sit with your knees huddled very tightly to your chest, hugging your legs beneath the tight fresh bandaging. The blood hasn’t eaten through the fabric yet.

“Let me see your hands.” His voice is soft, disturbingly so, growing much warmer.

You’re trembling as you hold out your chained wrists, palms up. He takes one of your hands in his firm hold, not hurting you, and looks at you there. His strong fingers are warm through the gloves. He clicks his tongue, giving your wrist a little squeeze.

You almost jerk as he leans in. He grabs the length of chain on the padlocked collar around your throat, tightening his grip until you feel his wide fist sitting at the base of your head. He leads you out of the trunk firmly, not fast enough that you can’t keep up, but you’re shaking as you slide out onto the cold floor, sinking down in front of him with your hands wrapped around your knees.

He grabs you by the jaw, and makes you look at him. His stare is unreadable at first. As he studies your face, the corners of his lips crease with something subtly, shamelessly, amused. He brushes your bottom lip up and down with his thumb.

“Were you touching yourself?”

You aren’t going to lie to him. You know better. He already knows the answer. He’s just seeing if you’re going to be honest with him.

Looking up from the neck of his sweater, meeting his dark, dark eyes, you nod, biting back tears. He squeezes your cheeks.

“Do you recall me ever once mentioning you could do that?”

You shake your head a little, sniffling harder, choking on a quiet sob.

“Use your words. You won’t have them for much longer.”

“No.” You rasp out, your voice breaking.

“No.” He agrees.

His wide hand caresses your nape as you squeeze your eyes shut and mutter shuddering, unintelligible apologies that make your chest go up and down. Sorry. You’re sorry, you didn’t know. You won’t do it again. It devolves into begging. Please not again. Not again today. Here they come again, the hot, heavy tears. He hurts you for crying sometimes but you figure if he really didn’t like it you would be dead in a glass tank downstairs.

You stagger a bit forward, squeezing the front of his thick upper arm with both hands. If you can’t steady yourself on something you’re going to topple over and you don’t want to know if that counts as disobedience.

He lets you linger there and cling to him for far longer than you were expecting. When he removes your hands, uncurling your fingers from his sweater and dragging you away by the chain tethering your wrists, the only acknowledgment he offers to your attempt at begging him is a little brush beneath your jaw, where the tears are rolling freely off your face, dampening your dress where they land.

Your dress comes off. He unhooks the silver chain linking your ankle cuffs and has you sit naked and shivering on the cold floor next to his black stool while he gets his desk ready, rolling out a large sheet of square paper.

When he orders you up on his lap you sit the wrong way at first, facing the desk, and he makes you turn around and face him, which makes you cry a little bit because now your chin has nowhere to rest but on his shoulder. A faint scent that you think is cologne clings to his neck and rolls off his sweater.

He reaches, pulling open the middle drawer in the desk. He gives your ass a firm pat with his palm.

“Sit up.” He orders.

You lean further into his chest as you lift up on his thighs. He’s re-chained your hands tightly behind your back, and stuffed your mouth with a cloth gag, which he sealed in place with a long piece of duct tape, taking his time to flatten down the edges.

You feel him drag something oval and silicone up and down the slick pooling around your labia, then up past it. You don’t fight him as he eases the wide tip inside your ass, biting down a sob at the spread. It nudges something uncomfortable and makes you feel far too full inside.

He adjusts it back and forth, giving the thin flat part sticking out of you a few taps to set it in place. You feel him hold down on the bottom.

You jerk in his lap as the pulsing vibrations start and then your world is a dizzy panic. You don’t know what that is or if it’s going to hurt you.

His hand goes to your shackled wrist when you start to struggle, fingers curling around you tightly, and you jerk and shriek once in pure reflex. His hold gets much firmer at that; his thumb digs into your wrist joint. This is a real warning. He’s sprained you before. He can do it heart-stoppingly easily. You freeze.

His fingers unfold along your jaw as he takes you by the face. He leans forward, closer to your head, so his words are muttered in the space around your ear.

“It isn’t hurting you, don’t start.”

You give one last shudder, your breaths whistling through your nose far too fast. The panic in your chest is a cold aching pain like he forced a razor blade into your gut, which you saw him do to a man once before tacking him up like artwork near the elevator wall while he writhed and screamed and died trying to vomit it up.

You sink back into his chest, stiff as a board, because there is nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, nowhere to retreat, and at the very least, his large body is warm.

He’s also hard. The thought occurs to you and you make it pass along out of your mind like a cloud. You don’t want to dwell on it. You don’t think the reason you’re still alive is that he uses you that way. But it happens. Sometimes, he makes it gentle, but you don’t think you’re strong enough to handle it even if it is. Not right now. Not with your fresh, aching stitches, not with the way he’s rubbing so carefully around them on your inner arm, recalling exactly where he sewed them in.

You shudder against him for what feels like a long time. His other hand pets your back slowly, rubbing leisurely patterns between your shoulders. You can feel his heart beating up through his chest faintly, his breaths coming in and out.

You’ve fallen asleep on him before. Often, he lets you. It’s one of those things he seems to like, like how he feeds you himself some days or washes you with his own hands every once in a while. But it isn’t going to happen tonight. You can feel the vibrations pulsing in your walls and grinding against your pelvic bones, so deep and intense it’s starting to ache. Your body is confused; you can feel yourself getting wetter.

He sketches for a minute, then he checks you there.

You shut your eyes as his hand slips between your bodies. When his gloved fingertips swirl circles around your soft skin you’re grateful for the tape because you can’t bite back the whines. He curls them in, gripping you as he works a sensitive spot against your front wall. You’re clenching hard around him, trying not to wiggle your hips.

Gradually, little by little, your muscles relax into his touch.

“There. There you go.” He comments. You can feel the words reverberating in his broad chest. He pets the back of your head, caressing your hair. “You’re really not doing yourself any favors when you lock up like that. I’m not always out to hurt you. Surely you’ve caught on by now.”

You bite down on the cloth so he doesn’t hear you sob at that.

He removes his fingers, his hand sliding up between your bodies, brushing your abdomen as he works his zipper down. When you feel his erection sitting against your lower stomach you curl your toes and hope he doesn’t comment on the goosebumps ravaging your flesh there. He doesn’t. He just pats your rear. You push obediently up on him, and his hands settle around your bandaged waist, squeezing your hips gently, mindful of the stitching, as he guides you down.

The head of his penis pressing at your entrance is too hot. You shudder and cry into the tape at the tight pop. Your muscles seize again and the stretch of him is awful. But he’s still got you by the waist, and though you’re jerking up a little by accident he’s still holding you fast and you’ve got nowhere to escape to, nowhere to go, but further down on him. The plug is making it even worse. You haven’t taken all of him before a jabbing little pain starts deep inside and the breath floods out of you. He keeps going until you’re seated on his thighs again, tremendously full of him.

Your chin has nowhere to go but back on his shoulder. You tilt your face into his neck, trying not to shift or move too much so maybe the pain subsides, and with a strained sob, muffled by the tape, you start to cry on him.

He makes a sound like a soft exhale and presses his mouth to the side of your head, whispering punctuated shushes into your hair. His warm breath tickles your nape. He doesn’t remove you from his shoulder, even when your tears and snot start to dampen the neck of his sweater.

A minute passes. He breaks the stillness, hooking a finger into the padlock on your collar. Your face twists as he prods something painful inside you when he pulls you slowly back. You blink at his expression through hot, streaming tears.

You can’t read the look on his face. It’s distressingly lukewarm, but not removed. He’s watching you very closely.

“Listening?”

His hand falls on your cheek at the question, stroking you passively, his thumb wiping your tears sideways off your skin.

You nod at him. Slowly. You are listening, but you’re very frightened, very unsure of where he means to take this.

His grip moves to your jaw, tapping a finger close to your ear, and you catch a glimmer creeping into his eyes. His expression gets a little less calloused.

“It is very important to me that I’m not distracted. That means no squirming. If I make a mistake because of you, I’m going to paralyze you from the waist down.”

You gaze at him with huge eyes, blinking once, twice, wildly uncertain if he’s implying he’s going to drug you with something or operate on you, but you know he’s being dead serious either way.

“I’m not going to have to remind you, am I?”

You shake your head at him very quickly. Tears fly down the grey tape stuck over your mouth. He lets go of your face, giving you a slow caress beneath your ear with the back of his hand, a gesture you’ve always taken to mean, very good.

He guides you into his chest again with a firm hand on your back. You tremble on his shoulder as he throbs inside of you.

The pain subsides, eventually. You just feel warm, incredibly filled, though on the outside you’re still cold and shaking at the draft in the room, your nipples stiff where they press against him. The goosebumps on your stomach haven’t gone down. The vibrations from the plug must be keeping him hard because he doesn’t seem to be growing bored. He’s been stroking the same spot between your shoulder blades for a long time, rubbing absent circles into your muscles near your spine, seeming rather immersed in his work. You think he’s drafting a blueprint. You’ve behaved so far, but everything between your legs is pounding and hot.

You wiggle your hips a tiny bit on his thighs, just shifting your weight. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react. He keeps on sketching. A minute later, you do it again. Very subtly. Still, nothing, but he’s stopped petting you.

A minute later, you do it a third time.

His pencil drops on his desk and your heart stutters to a halt in your chest. He seizes the back of your collar so hard it chokes you and makes you sputter around the gag.

“What did I say?”

He punctuates the question with quick painful smacks on your face and then grabs your cheeks hard, pushing the muscle over your bones, watching you sternly. His face has hardened into something very unamused. You catch a dangerous glint flash across his eyes as you meet his gaze.

Your tears are flowing almost immediately. You misread the situation dismally; by not reacting, you thought he might be telling you it was okay.

He clicks his tongue once, patting the top of his thigh.

“Turn around.”

Trembling all over, you lift up off his hips, turning forward in his lap, and sit down again on his thighs.

“Nope. Wrong. Up again.”

Your stomach lurches and you feel dizzy. He’s not finished. But you don’t hesitate to obey the order, pushing up with your legs. He guides himself in again.

The pop hurts just as much the second time because you’re shaking all over. The pressure and stretch of him press up and up until you’re sitting flat against his pelvis.

One of his hands goes between your legs. You jerk a little as his fingers start to explore, rubbing the slick around your skin, and when he squeezes your clit a brief whimper rises in your throat, startling half-up off his lap.

The regret is instantaneous. You didn’t mean to do that.

He captures your ankle to the desk with his leg, holds one of your knees apart with his hand, and smacks your pubic bone hard.

You shriek into the gag like he’s taken a lighter to you. It happens again. Again. His fingers graze your clit every time.

He gives you five vicious slaps that burn your skin on the surface and leave behind an ache so deep you can feel it in your gut.

When it’s done, he pulls back on your collar. You choke on another gag that the tape won’t let out.

“Should I keep going?” His voice is dangerously stern. You can picture the look on his face. “That was your one warning.”

Your entire body locks up except your chest which heaves with your ragged breathing. You’re shuddering and clenching around him, trying not to jerk in his hand. You shake your head no at him, desperately. No more. You won’t move again. You won’t move an inch again.

“Is that so?” His fingers are sliding down again to play with the skin between your legs, not caring to be gentle with you now. “I’m thinking a few more. Really, I’m not in the mood to be offering second chances.”

He’s telling his utter truth. You sob no at him as loud and audibly as you can possibly manage, which, beneath the tape, isn’t much.

He exhales, slowly. You tremble as he rubs your stinging clit, his gloved fingertip spreading the slick around your soft skin. He’s testing you. Seeing if you’re ready to behave. You are. You are.

When you don’t squirm, gradually, he moves his hand down your leg, where he starts to caress your inner thigh. He releases the back of your collar, picks up his pencil from where it’s rolled against the wall, and returns to his work.

You watch him drag the graphite across the paper. Your tears are streaming off the tape and down your chin, down your bare chest, dripping on his lap.

He finishes the blueprint and doesn’t have to hit you again.

He zips himself up. The plug comes out of you more considerately than he put it in, but everything inside of you is swollen and hot. His hand goes to his pocket, and you see him remove a piece of black fabric with a buckle and strap from his pocket, a blindfold. You blink away tears as he fastens it over your eyes. He takes you with him when he stands, holding you securely to his chest.

You cling to him in a way you’re ashamed of as he carries you, clutching huge handfuls of his soft sweater around his arms and breathing hard into him where your cheek rests on him, but you’ve grown used to pushing the shame far away. These passing moments where he isn’t hurting you are the only thing still holding your mind together.

When he puts you down, it’s on a bed. Not the little sheetless mattress he strapped you to after you tried to escape; it’s a nice, large bed, with blankets that don’t feel cheap. It’s occurred to you before that he’s set aside some sort of room for himself here; the passage of time isn’t always clear, but sometimes, the horrible screaming from elsewhere in the hotel lasts so long you’re certain he’s stayed overnight.

The way he has sex with you is too slow to hurt. A few thrusts in and he’s dragging you further over the bed to hold your thighs. You’re curling your toes and gasping and everything in your head screams not this way, please not this way.

Before long, he stops. He takes you by the jaw, leaning in too close, and the drag of his lips against the front of your throat turns your breaths into a dry wheeze. The warm cologne on his neck fills your lungs completely. He presses his mouth to your pulse, just above your padlocked collar, and kisses you softly, the stubble on his jaw abrading your skin. He sucks and nips until you’re squirming and jerking on the mattress beneath him, squeezing your eyes shut and throwing your head back with a fragile whine because fuck it feels wrong. Terribly wrong. So wrong it makes you sick in your stomach. But there’s no getting away from it.

He drags you up the bed by your waist and drops on you when you squirm too much, flush against your body, pinning you, kissing you harder when you struggle, punctuating the kiss with strong thrusts that shake the mattress frame. You know he’s going to mar your skin with bruises.

He finishes, and it wasn’t something you were keeping track of, but you did too, more than once. You hope that’s the end of it. You’d like to go back to your box now and sleep.

It isn’t.

He doesn’t move you from the bed when he swaps the bandaging on your waist. He rubbed up against your stitches when he was kissing your neck and made them run. His skillful hands go back and forth around your abdomen, gently. They linger after to caress your lower stomach, brushing you from hip to hip. The tape goes away, then the gag, then the blindfold. You’re crying quietly through it all, very quietly, so you don’t risk being slapped or worse, and for a long time after it’s over, alone in your dark locked trunk. He put you back in your dress, but didn’t bother to clean you up down there.

Your whole abdomen aches deeply. Your attention won’t leave the hot slick come leaking from between your legs.

His come is warm at first but cools on your legs fast where you’ve folded them beneath you, resting your head on the side of the trunk. Even when it starts to dry, though he’s left your chains long enough for it, and though you don’t think he’s in the room anymore, you know better now than to assume otherwise, so you dare not put your hands down there to wipe any of it away.

[lsunstreakerl]

more darkbull charles! 1.2k words, with a little feature from pierre and esteban!

again: this is the darkbull verse, nobody here is healthy or well adjusted. mature/implied mature content below the line.

Charles frowns as he peers inside the pantry. He knows things haven't been great for Pierre and Esteban- but to have such a terrible fresh fish selection in the fridge and the worst available pasta brand in their pantry- ugh.

He makes a mental note to get money wired to their account as he steps back out. Really, he should be checking in on them more anyways, he's just been so busy.

Busy with Ferrari, busy with the business, busy trying to get Max's motorhome tapped without anyone noticing. It's a lot of moving pieces.

It would be much easier if he could actually talk to Max, get invited back to his room for a chat, but-

He curls his lip in disgust. Max is never alone.

It's impossible to catch him without a fucking watchdog nearby, a team member or otherwise. It's starting to drive Charles a little bit crazy, but it's not their worst offense.

Charles has a list of grievances with Redbull, but the very top, the one that makes his blood boil-

They're greedy.

They always have their hands on Max somewhere, fingers wrapped around his wrists, arms slung around his waist, palms over his thighs, hands wrapped around his neck-

He forces himself to uncurl his fingers. He'll fix it. Max only needs all that contact because his soul is alone, missing its other half. Once he's with Charles, he'll realize he doesn't need all the extra, doesn't need a whole crews worth of people manhandling him like they own him.

Charles will be enough.

He'll have to be careful about Daniel and Carlos though. As much as he'd like to send both of them to the bottom of the harbor, Max is attached to them. Charles knows why- the whole grid knows why. It's a joke made quietly in the security of team headquarters, where no one will hear it. It's a perk of being a Redbull driver-

If you make the team, you get a fast car. You get good upgrades, a whip smart engineering team, mechanics that work day in and day out to function as a seamless team. You get guidance and coaching.

If you make the team, you get to fuck Max.

It's not explicitly stated, but they all know it's true. Max meshes so well with Daniel and Carlos, and it's no secret that the team has struggled to maintain a fourth driver.

There's something about the way Max will settle between the two of them at a bar, loopy and tipsy, blush on his cheeks, metal glinting on his wrists and around his neck.

They make room so easily for him, lay their hands on him like he belongs to them-

Charles is grinding his teeth. He takes a few slow breaths to steady himself. Keeping his composure is vital. It's one of the things he's been chided on recently, something he needs to work on.

He stretches, feels the sting along his spine of the most recent star, added between his shoulder blades.

They're coming in fast, inked into his skin forever, a permanent link to Ferrari.

It's all Charles has ever wanted.

Well- Ferrari and Max. He's well on his way to one, which means it's time to start moving on the other, which is exactly why he's sitting here in Pierre and Esteban's apartment, waiting for them to get home.

He sighs, making his way into their bedroom. Pierre is his friend, and he certainly doesn't want to have to leverage Esteban- it's because of Charles that he's in Formula 1 at all. His family is well taken care of in Italy.

Pierre is smart, and Charles really does want to keep their friendship. At least, as close to a friendship as Charles has.

He settles into the middle of their bed, back leaned against the headboard, and starts methodically disassembling and cleaning his gun.

------

Pierre narrows his eyes when they get to the door, pushing Esteban behind him.

"Did you lock the door behind you?"

Esteban leans his head over his shoulder.

"Yes? I did not grow up very well off, I understand the importance of locking the door, you know this."

Pierre feels his boyfriend's hand tighten around his waist.

"Why? Pierre, it's not unlocked- is it?"

"Just- stay behind me."

Pierre carefully pushes the door open. Their kitchen light is on, and there's soft classical music playing from their bedroom.

On the one hand- it's not a stranger that's broken into their home.

On the other hand- it's Charles, which might actually be worse, considering the contract Pierre just signed.

He takes a slow breath, turning to kiss Esteban.

"I love you, you know that?"

Esteban's eyes are wide where he's looking at him, hand gently brushing over the side of his face.

"I know. Forever."

Pierre leans their heads together.

"Forever."

Esteban nods at him as he interlaces their fingers, and then they're walking towards the bedroom. Charles on his own is not exactly a death sentence-

But normally he calls ahead.

To be here, in their home, in their bedroom-

He's sending a message. He's reminding them that he owns their building, owns their city, owns the homes their families live in.

Charles has told Pierre they're friends. Pierre doesn't think a man like Charles knows how to have a friend. Maybe when they were younger, sure.

Now though? Charles operates in a different world from the rest of them.

Pierre lifts his chin high as he steps into his own bedroom, tries not to flinch at the way Charles is lounging on their bed, smoothly reassembling his gun.

Charles grins up at him, dimples flashing. It's meant to put Pierre at ease, but all it does is the exact opposite.

"Calamar! Please, come sit."

Charles pats the edge of Pierre's bed, and he tries to ignore the cold slide of sweat down the back of his neck as he settles.

Esteban quietly lowers himself down as well, keeping Pierre between him and Charles.

Charles slides the last pieces of his gun together with a smooth snick, but it might as well be a gunshot with the way it echos in Pierre's ears.

"Pierre. You have signed with Toro Rosso, yes?"

Pierre swallows.

Nods.

Charles is still smiling.

"Good, good. I know they have..."

Charles wobbles his hand in a back and forth motion, lights glinting off the rings on his fingers.

"A thing. About their drivers and Max."

Pierre feels Esteban squeeze his fingers tighter on his left side, where Charles can't see.

"I had heard that, yes."

Charles leans forward, gun resting in his lap.

"I trust our friendship means more to you than fitting in."

Pierre's throat is dry. He needs to mesh well with the team, and being a Redbull driver could set him up for years.

But this isn't about him, not really. It's only tangentially about Redbull.

At its core, this is about Max.

Redbull's Max.

Charles' Max.

Part of him wonders if Redbull has any idea about Charles. If they have even a single warning sign.

Charles always gets what he wants, in the end.

"Of course, Calamar. I wouldn't dream of ruining our friendship over a seat like that."

The lie is thick on his tongue.

[midnightlazule]

{NSFW} Bukkake [Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire x AFAB!reader] (2023 KT)

Summary | You return to the Victoria Punk after a shitty link up with one of the men you found at a bar. Kid and the others don't appreciate your snarky attitude and decide to do something about it.

CW | AFAB reader / she/her pronouns / fivesome / oral (reader giving)

"I don't understand what's wrong with these fuckers, the whole lot of them are limp dicks" you growled, walking alongside Wire who had the pleasure of listening to you gripe about your unsuccessful hookup with some random dude you had met at the bar.

The crew had stopped at an island to restock and have a bit of fun, you were looking to relieve some pent up sexual frustrations, but the man you had gotten with was far too vanilla for your taste. All he did was sit there and whimper while you bounced on his dick, no cursing, no grabbing at your hips, no thrusting upwards into you.

Wire looked down at you, even though he didn't speak much, it was clear he felt pity for you. He knew what it was like to have a boring time, especially if you've been pent up with no where to go. Sure, sex was sex, but good sex is where it counted.

"The dude wouldn't even cum in my mouth after I started sucking him off, claimed it wasn't polite or some shit" You muttered, a quick laugh sounded from Wire as he looked down at you, "You fuckin serious?" he asked, "Yes I'm serious! I know there's men who don't like doing that but fucking hell" You scoffed.

The both of you made it to the dock, stepping up onto the Victoria Punk you made your way to your room, waving a quick but annoyed goodbye to Wire.

"The fucks wrong with her?" Kid asked, watching as you practically stomped off. Wire chuckled, "I'll tell ya 'bout it in the kitchen, don't want her to hear me, she'll tear my dick off." Kid snorted at the comment, "feisty ass bitch, been acting like a cunt for the last few weeks, thought gettin 'er off the ship would help" Kid griped as he followed behind Wire.

Entering into the Kitchen, the voices of Heat and Killer could be heard, their conversation dying out as soon as Wire and Kid entered. Killer was making dinner while Heat sat idly by, tilting back in his chair, allowing his back to rest against the wall. "Spaghetti for dinner" Killer hummed, turning his back on the two.

"Something pop up?" Heat questioned, looking at Wire and Kid quizzically, his sunken eyes and sad expression turning confused. "___'s being a bitch again" Kid sighed, "now explain why she's being a bitch" He turned to Wire, who gave a lazy smile. "The one night stand she had ended up bein' a pussy" Wire chuckled.

"What?" Kid looked dumbfounded, "she's being a bitch because she couldn't get a good fuck?" He seemed a little annoyed with this fact, sure he did the same thing when he didn't get a good enough lay, but he wasn't that fucking annoying.

"So she's upset because the man she slept with was... not good enough for her?" Killer questioned, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Maybe that's why she's been so angry, she hasn't had a good fuck in a long while" Killer joked, his shoulders shaking as he laughed quietly.

"Think if we fuck her she'll get that attitude of hers under control?" Wire said, earning a wide eyed look from Heat, and a quick glare from Kid. Killer dropped the spatula he was using to stir the sauce, clearing his throat he said nothing.

Wire raised his hands in defense, "was just a suggestion", though he was surprised to see his captain almost pondering that idea, "I mean, I don't think any of us got our dicks wet here, and she didn't get a good enough fuck, so.." Kid said, clearly enjoying the fact of using ___ to his liking, she had one hell of a body, and he wouldn't sit there and say he hasn't thought about seeing her naked, bouncing on his cock.

Heat looked in between Wire and Kid, "you're serious?" he said, looking almost bewildered at the idea of showing his dick to ___, sure he's thought about you in that kind of way before, but he wasn't keen on the idea of you seeing him fully in the nude. Maybe it was the fact that he was shy, he usually had sex in the dark, knowing that most women screamed and ran away when they even glanced at him.

"I mean, I'll hop onto this little bandwagon, been wanting to fuck her for awhile, might as well take this chance" Wire shrugged, shoving his hands into his leather shorts' pockets. "Killer?" Kid questioned, a sly smile on his lips. Killer just shrugged, not giving a direct answer.

Kid clapped his hands together, not at all wincing when his metal hand met his skin one. "Guess it's a plan then, s'pose we'll wait until after dinner to see if she'll accept the greatest lay of her life."

-------

You were sitting in your room, practically avoiding everyone as you sat in your own self pity. You hadn't gone to dinner, knowing very well that the crew would just cause your mood to worsen. They were fun when you weren't pissed off and horny. Not to mention having to deal with Kid and the others as well, knowing they'd give you shit for being such a bitch. Wire would no doubt poke fun at you the whole time, teasing you for your shitty night out.

A knock at the door caused an annoyed groan to sound from your throat, pushing yourself off your bed you made your way to the door, swinging it open. You were surprised to see Kid and the other three standing there.

"What do you want? I'm not interested in being pulled out for another party" You huffed, crossing your arms, "Not a party, we we're wondering why you weren't at Dinner, you missed the wonderful story Wire shared with us" Kid had a shit eating grin, sarcasm lacing his voice.

Your eyes flickered from Kids' face up to Wires, "you didn't" you hissed, glaring up at the menacingly tall man. He shrugged, a carefree smile on his face, "Wire you fucking asshole, of course you wouldn't keep your damn mouth shut" you growled, attempting to shut the door on their faces.

A foot stopped it, which only caused your anger to spike. "Kid, move your goddamned foot or so help me-" Your words were cut off when Kid pushed the door open with his metal arm. "Just because you didn't get fucked to your liking, doesn't mean you can talk to me like that, okay Princess?" He growled, taking steps towards you while you backed away.

The other three invited themselves inside, Killer being the last one in closed the door behind him. Your eyes flickered between the four, clearly confused, "what the fuck is this? Are.. Are we have a tea party now? Because I don't remember inviting any of you-" A hand grabbed your face, slamming you down onto the bed.

A muffled groan sounded from your throat, pain shooting up your back from the wood bed frame digging into your spine. "Listen here, and listen well, you don't get to talk to me that way" Kid brought his face closer to yours, a snarl taking up his features. You could hear the other three shuffling behind Kid.

"So, are you going to quit being a raging cunt?" He lowered his hand far enough for you to speak, fingers now loosely wrapped around your neck. You sat there, glaring at kid with enough hatred that he'd be struck dead. "Go to hell" you spat, feeling his fingers tighten around your neck you brought your hands up, digging your nails into the skin of his hands.

His eyes were alight with fiery rage and arousal, absolutely loving the way you were fighting against him. You could feel his breath on your face as he lowered himself to your ear, "Is it a good fuck you're wanting? You want the four of us to use you? To fuck you senseless?" His voice dropped in octaves, deep and sultry.

A shiver ran through your body as you thought about the four of them, seeing the look in your eyes, a bark of laughter sounded from Kid. "Look at you, even the mention of getting fucked by four pirates is enough to turn you on, dirty bitch." He released your neck, taking a few steps back you could see the painfully obvious tent in his pants.

Rubbing your neck, you swallowed, ignoring the slight hint of pain that stung your throat. "You're all assholes" you sighed, giving each of them a look. "So is that a yes?" Killer hummed, his mask facing you.

Your tongue darted out and wetted your lips, "if it means the four of you will be fucking me, then yes" you crossed your arms over your chest. You didn't want to look at any of them, feeling a little shameful for even admitting you'd like the four of them to have at you. "Fucking finally" Kid growled, wasting no time in undoing his pants.

Your jaw almost fell slack at the sight of him, he was girthy, curving a little to the left, a prominent vein stuck out on the side. "Open that pretty little mouth of yours princess" Kid grabbed the back of your head with his right hand, painted fingernails digging into your scalp as he took a fist full of hair. You obliged, opening your mouth and almost choking with how quickly he shoved himself down your throat.

Tears welled up in the corner of your eyes from how your jaw had to stretch to accommodate him, feeling his tip ram into the back of your throat as he face fucked you. Tilting his head back, a deep groan rumbled in his chest, "fuck, look at you, doing so well" he hissed.

You heard the sound of belts being undone, the unmistakable buzz of lust and want circled the air. The other three had removed any clothing they had on, standing proudly with their cocks as they watched Kid mercilessly fuck your mouth.

Kids' groans filled the room, along with the lewd sounds of your mouth on his cock. You weren't sure how long he was going to last, already feeling a burn in your jaw muscles. Bringing your hands up, you slid them to the back of his thighs, bringing yourself forward to the point your nose met with his pubic hair.

"Fuckk..." Kid moaned out, relishing the feeling of you swallowing his cock whole. Thrusting this deep into your throat was causing tears to steam down your face, your eyebrows knitted painfully. His thrusts slowly became more sporadic, barely giving you a moment to breathe before he pulled out and pumped his load all over the side of your face.

Coughing a little, you wiped what you could from your cheek and tasted it. It was salty, to no surprise at all, he tasted good at the very least. Catching his breath, Kid took a few steps back, inviting Killer over who was patiently waiting by the wall. His arms crossed over his bare chest, cock throbbing as it leaked pre-cum. He was more than ready to use your mouth, in fact he was practically itching to do so.

He couldn't even begin to explain how long he's wanted to have at you, being the feisty little bitch you were, he was always interested in breaking you down. "Down on your knees, and remove your shirt" he commanded, watching as you did so willingly, watery eyes watching him.

With your top now removed, you sat on your knees, ignoring the slight pain in your legs from the wooden floors. Your knees would grow irritated from the rough flooring, but you didn't care. Placing your hands on your thighs, you pushed your tits together as you waited, opening up your mouth and sticking out your tongue.

Kid scoffed in the back, "bitch is playing favorites" he muttered, clearly upset with the 'special treatment' his first mate was getting. Killer ignored him, taking hold of his cock he tapped it on the side of your cheek, coating it in a bit of Kids' now drying cum.

Shoving it in your mouth, you relished the taste of Killers dick, humming while you sucked on his shaft. The sudden muffled hiss was enough to encourage you to take in a little more. Grabbing on his hips just as you'd done with Kid, you opened your mouth as far as it would go, allowing him to slide as deep as he possibly could down your throat.

A strangled moan sounded from Killer, and you absolutely loved it. It wasn't all the time you got to hear such beautiful noises from the typically quiet first mate, always serious and busy with his work.

Your jaw was on fire at this point, muscles aching and asking to be relieved of their duty. But you kept on, you still had two other dicks you had to suck, and you weren't going to leave them itching to get a taste of what your mouth could do.

Killer didn't last nearly as long as you thought he would've, a few more heavy thrusts and he almost didn't make it out of your mouth. Pulling out and cumming with a groan, he covered your face with his load, getting it from your forehead to your chin. You licked off what you could from your lips, staring at Killers mask, right where his eyes would be.

Before whoever was next got a chance to butt in, Killer leaned down, lifting his mask up off his face far enough to expose his lips. They were painted with a pretty shade of purple, grabbing your chin he smashed his lips against yours, not even caring that his own cum got into his mouth.

The kiss lasted for what felt like minutes, and it took your breath away, god damn he was a good kisser. Putting his mask back to its original place, he gave a light smack to the side of your face. He was proud of you for taking him so well, feeling you at least deserved that much, he knew he'd be getting a bit more of you later.

Walking away from you, you couldn't help but lick your lips, relishing the taste of his saliva and lipstick that was now smeared all over your lips no doubt.

Wire stood near the back end of the room, looking over at Heat who was awkwardly covering his groin while he tried to avoid making eye contact. He was a blushing mess, trying to fight his own erection as he thought of your pretty mouth sucking him off.

Wire patted him on the back before rudely pushing him forwards, it didn't matter if he'd be last, he wanted his friend to enjoy himself. Heat stumbled forward, looking back and glaring at Wire he gave him the finger.

Making his way over towards you, he swallowed hard, feeling your gaze on him. "I won't bite, come on, I'll go slow with you" you winked at him, trying to ease his nerves as best you could. Now standing in front of you, he removed his hands. You had to keep yourself from whimpering, his size and girth was mouth watering, but the cherry on top was the gold piercings he had.

A Jacobs ladder and Prince Albert piercing adorned his cock, all golden and sparkling. Licking your lips, you grabbed the base of his shaft, watching his every reaction. He flexed his hands, wanting to put them on you as you drug your tongue upwards.

He whimpered, placing a hand on the back of your head he pushed you forward ever so slightly. You almost cooed at him for being such a sweetheart, knowing that he was on the more nervous side of things, you were more willing to go his pace.

Just this once though.

Placing your lips over his tip, you sucked at it lightly, running your tongue over the piercing he had. The metal taste of it along with his pre-cum urged you to take in more, enjoying the taste of him. It left you wondering just how good his cum tasted once he covered you with it.

As you were blowing Heat, nice and slow, giving him as much attention as you could on all the sensitive parts of his shaft and tip. Kid and Killer stood back and watched, Kid still annoyed that everyone but him got such treatments. "Maybe you should've been more nice with her" Killer said, watching the way your tongue licked at the underside of Heats' shaft.

His cock throbbed watching you take Heats cock all the way, nose pressed up against his abdomen. Fuck you were good, he couldn't wait to get his hands on you again, already growing hard again from the thought.

"Really?" Kid rolled his eyes, "she was being a bitch, I taught her a lesson" he scoffed. "I don't know about that, it'll take a lot more than shoving dick down her throat to teach her a lesson" Killer chuckled, knowing absolutely nothing was going to break that fiery spirit of yours. Not that he wanted to break it, he found it sexy.

Kid pouted and ignored Killer, not wanting to admit that he'd actually have to put in ample work to get you to treat him with the same softness and eagerness you've treated the others with so far. From his knowledge, he was at the very top of your shitlist, which wasn't very uplifting. He knew his powers as captain would only go so far with such a stubborn spirit.

Heat was having troubles holding himself back, feeling your tongue and mouth work over his cock was something out of a dream. He'd never thought he'd be lucky enough to get someone as pretty as you on their knees for him. But god the way you stared up at him while you did such dirty things was making him weak.

A long, drawn out groan was ripped from his throat as you started pumping his shaft with your hand, taking up one of his balls into your mouth, you rolled your tongue over the tight skin. He could've swore his soul left him at that very moment.

He ran a hand through your hair, body trembling while you gave him such wonderful treatment. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, giving you no warning as he came along your forehead and all in your hair.

"Fuck-" his sunken eyes widened, almost immediately feeling bad for not controlling where his load went. You smiled, giving his tip a small kiss, "It's fine Heat, I have to shower anyways" you winked, preventing him from apologizing.

Wire had appeared behind him, looking ready to give his friend shit. Heat moved off to the side, grumbling under his breath about how Wire was a dick. You couldn't help but giggle, you loved the friendship they had, it was sweet.

Your smile quickly vanished when you finally got a look at Wire in all his naked glory.

He was massive, his cock was heavy, and his thickness greatly rivaled Kids' girth. How to fuck did he keep that monster concealed in such tight pants? It should be impossible.

You couldn't help but swallow, eyeing him with newfound nervousness as he approached. Your attitude was gone, now left with nothing but intimidation. How would that even fit in your mouth? It would be a miracle if you even managed to get half way, but it would stretch your jaw past its limits.

Wire seemed to notice your new nervous behavior, kneeling down he grabbed your chin with his hand. "You look scared, wanna tap out?" he snickered, "I won't blame ya if you do." You frowned, not enjoying his teasing words.

"And miss sucking your cock?" you hummed, deciding to give it all you had, even if it was impossible. Wire smirked, letting your chin go he stood to his full height, eyes watching and waiting for you to make the first move.

You reached up, pumping Wires cock a few times with both hands, collecting his pre-cum you used it as lube. Your hands could barely cover his shaft, fingers a few inches away from touching. Lifting yourself, you spread your legs as a means of support, placing your mouth over his tip you got to work.

Running your tongue over his slit, you hummed, hearing him hiss. You continued to work your hands over his shaft, using the build up of saliva that started to spill from your chin as extra lube.

It didn't take long for you to get bored of this position, removing his tip from your mouth with a 'pop' you licked your lips, shuffling a little closer you started sucking at the side of his cock, going up and down his shaft while your saliva, his pre-cum, and the still semi wet cum on your cheek smeared along your face.

Bringing one of your hands up, you worked at his tip while the other started fondling his balls, putting in as much work as you could to please him. You watched with squinted eyes as Wire tilted his head back, letting out a few heavy breaths as he ran his fingers through your hair, uncaring for the cum that coated it.

He was giving you praise without using words, and you were eating it up. You had never actually told the man how he was one of your favorites, always going to him to talk about things. Being able to hang out with him was always fun, and thinking about him bending you over the nearest barrel and fucking you silly was even better.

You always liked to think he held some kind of attraction towards you as well, of course you really didn't have anything to really confirm that. So you stayed quiet and admired from afar how good he'd feel balls deep inside of you.

You allowed your feelings to run how much work you put into this, deciding that you really did want to try and see how far you could take him down your throat. You pulled away from him, licking your lips you scooted back a bit.

Slipping his tip back into your mouth, you furrowed your eyebrows in concentration as you worked him down your throat. Tears pricked your eyes, stretching your jaw as best you could to avoid scratching him with your teeth.

Wire attempted to stifle a groan, watching as you slowly made your way to the base of his cock. The way your mouth stretched over him was extremely hot, what made it even better was the tears streaming down your face. Call him a sadist, but shit like that was amazing. He took a mental image of this moment, knowing he'd think back to it the next time he jerked himself off.

Your eyes fluttered open, damp with tears, your throat was burning, and it felt like it was going to split. You knew you couldn't go any farther without damaging something, but you continued on regardless. At the very least your voice would be gone for the next couple of days.

A whine vibrated in your throat, earning a deep growl from Wire, his cock twitched in your throat. You hummed at the feeling, grabbing at his hips, you finally hit the base of his cock. Your nose nestled up against his pubic hair, it was dark and thick, with a slight musk to it. He must've showered before he came in here.

You swallowed around him, "fuck, that's a good girl" he growled, grabbing the sides of your head before mercilessly thrusting in and our of your throat. The sound of skin slapping, and your gurgling moans echoed around the room. Wire barely gave you a chance to breathe, his cock twitching with promise of release.

His hips stuttered, "keep your mouth open when I pull out" he groaned, giving a few more thrusts before pulling out. Pumping himself, he shot most of his load into your mouth, some of it landing on your upper lip and nose.

The feeling of it stung the corners of your mouth, now slightly split from being stretched so wide. You groaned out, mostly in pain from the pin pricks of literal fire that were in your throat. Wire slapped his dick against the side of your face, the heavy flesh making a wet sound as it coated your cum dried skin in saliva.

"You did good, proud of ya, sweet cheeks" he chuckled, kneeling down to your height, placing a hand atop your head. "go to hell" you rasped, still trying to catch your breath. He feigned a pout, getting up from his spot he looked at the other three.

"Told you I would stretch her the most"

"You fucking bet on me?!" you slapped his leg, holding a hand to your throat you winced at the pain. "You're all fucking assholes, I'm going to go take a shower" muttering curses under your breath, you flipped off all four of them before vanishing into your private bathroom.

"She enjoyed it" Kid snorted, "wonder how she's going to explain that to the doc" Killers shoulders shook while he laughed silently. Heat just stood there, finding little amusement in the current situation, still feeling bad about ejaculating in your hair.

[tom-foolery-incorporated]

How would Soundwave react to reading the humans thoughts and the human thinking the most raunchy, censor bar thoughts about him during somewhere like. A meeting or something. Human not even paying attention to what's being said just imagining being bent over the desk by Soundwave and stuffed with transfluid

Finally! An excuse to write the ADHD reader and Soundwave mind reading fic I’ve been pondering with added spice!!!

Soundwave x reader, reader has a vagina, mind reading, mixed together scenarios, reader fantasizes about Soundwave in front of him, Soundwave gets hard in a meeting

Noisy.

You were so noisy.

It’s not that you were exceptionally loud but rather your head was always buzzing. Reloopings of annoying earth songs coupled together with clips and quips of whatever is funny on the internet all play through your head at all times. It’s overwhelming when Soundwave decides to take the occasional peek into your head having to peel back layers of pulp and static to find what you’re thinking.

Memetic audios and visuals coupled with random memories and finally hashed with your random incoherent thoughts were all Soundwave heard when he peeked into your head.

Cute little thing you were sitting on the edge of the table next to him kicking your legs. His cassettes were probably twice your size and they were considered the smallest a Cybertronian could get. You seemed to be lost in your own little world as the meeting droned on and on. Soundwave gave a small stroke to the top of your head making you jump a little before relaxing at his petting.

God when is this meeting over

Soundwave hummed softly hearing your brain become quieter and your inner monologue more comprehensible. He gave your head another stroke before turning to return his attention to Megatron but his processor was suddenly barraged with images.

Soundwave with a human-like phallus rubbing the appendage over your wet slit. His servos engulfed your legs as he bumped against your little human node with every push.

He tried not to flip his helm in your direction absolutely baffled by what went through your mind. The last thing he wanted was the cause a scene in front of Lord Megatron. Still, he kept a link to your mind curious what you would think of next.

Images of Soundwave rubbing the phallus you imagined him with over your face as you stuck your tongue out. Next, you would clip to you sucking and kissing along what you imagined Soundwave’s penis to look like. Soft lips gliding up and down the shaft as you let your tongue dip out for little licks.

You simply stared into nothing as these debauched images and scenarios played through your head completely oblivious to the fact that the object of your affections had a front row seat to your debauchery. Soundwave’s optics maintained trained on Megatron while he kept tabs on your thoughts. Deep thrusts practically tearing you apart as you cling to him. “Good little human,” you imagined Soundwave saying as the fictional scenario played through your head.

“Take it all,” your imaginary Soundwave purred as he pulled you down to the base of his spike.

You had no idea how hard it was for him to pay attention to such a droning meeting when you presented him with ideas for much better activities. Soundwave could feel his spike pushing against his modesty plate. His fans whirred to life when he saw you imagining his transfluid leaking out of your spent hole.

It took all of his self control to not let his spike spring loose in the middle of a military meeting. It wasn’t helping how you scooted over and rested your head against his mechanical arm. The organic fibers on top of your head brushing so softly against his sensitive plating. He wanted to grab and pull on them as he took your human valve for his own pleasure.

Deep careful strokes as the wire like tendrils of his spike unfurled to a size you could take inside your body. The tendrils that couldn’t fit inside of your little hole would hold your legs open so you couldn’t fight back against the massive intrusion he shoved into you.

Suddenly he felt embarrassed, shocked even. An overwhelming feeling of his energon tank floating up to his throat and bouncing around. Soundwave looked down at you only to see you staring up at him with wide, unbelieving eyes.

It seems he had accidentally put some of his own images into your mind. Well, if Soundwave had to endure the torture you put him through he might as well get back at you.

“After the meeting,” Soundwave’s voice echoed in your mind. “You are not leaving my berth.”

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1930 Ford Highboy Coupe

There’s always lots of detail work with any build and this ’30 Ford highboy coupe is no exception. Look closely and you will find Craftworks Fabrication handmade steel motor mounts. The license plate and valve covers were painted by Jeremy Seanor of Luckystrike Designs. He also painted all the accompanying engine and tranny parts. The powdercoat was handled by Pittsburgh Powder Coat while the chrome plating was conducted by Jon Wright’s Custom Chrome Plating.

The chassis is comprised of a Roadster Shop custom frame that was stepped, stretched, and features contoured ’32 Ford-style framerails. It was also then boxed, capped, and has hole punch flared front framehorns. From here the frame is outfitted with a Super Bell 4-inch drop, drilled and plated I-beam axle, low-profile monoleaf spring with Ridetech tubular shocks paired to custom-made drilled billet radius rods from Johnson’s Hot Rod Shop. Steering falls to the Flaming River box and a LimeWorks Hot Rod column topped with a four-spoke Billet Specialties Sprint Car–style leather-wrapped wheel. In back there’s a Currie 9-inch rearend outfitted with 3.70 gears, 31-spline axles, QA1 coilovers, a Pete & Jakes Panhard bar, and a parallel four-link setup. Braking is a combination of disc/drum front to rear. The forward braking dark gray–painted Wilwood Dynalite calipers are neatly hidden behind the Pete & Jakes finned backing plates. While in back the 9-inch is outfitted with 11-inch brakes, this time hidden beneath the SO-CAL Speed Shop finned drums all the while the chassis rides on a full set of 16-inch Dayton wire wheels wrapped with Coker/Excelsior rubber measuring 5.50R16 in front and 7.00R18 in the back.

All hot rods have something fun settled between the ’rails and beneath the hood (well if they have a hood). In the case of our ’30 Ford highboy coupe it sure appears to be a vintage Ford Y-block but after more than a cursory look we begin to see the telltale signs that there’s something more. Indeed, while it may look like a Ford it truly is a 376-inch LSX iron block, with aluminum heads and ARP studs, plus adapter-equipped small-block Ford (Windsor) valve covers all from Don Hardy Race Cars and then assembled by Talik and Marc Mullin. The intake is an Edelbrock LS dual quad with a pair of Thunder AVS EnduraShine carbs dressed in OTB air cleaners. Delivering the gas from the Tanks stainless reservoir is an Earl’s Performance billet fuel pump. More engine accessories include an MSD 6AL box to go along with the MSD billet Ford small-block distributor that functions through a timing cover adapter from Chevrolet Performance all the while using an MSD coil and Lokar vintage plug wires. Powermaster also supplied the alternator and starter, the battery is an XS Power AGM, and a Wegner Motorsports water pump is used as well as a Wegner front accessory drive unit. This 500-plus hp V-8 utilizes custom headers made at Craftworks Fabrication based on Ultimate Headers LS header flanges. The pseudo-Ford small-block is backed up to a TCI StreetFighter 700-R4 with a 2,800-stall speed converter operated by a Lokar shifter. The trans cooler comes by way of Derale Performance and moves the power through a 3-inch-diameter custom-made driveshaft.