#... or of not pluck out his eyes and remove his tongue

[rtlstuff]

I understand that Avatar was a kids show so they had to skirt around talking about murder and all the atrocities of war. However when I'm reading an Explicit fanfiction that heavily describes villains doing murder, torture and violation, it just becomes pathetic when the good guys don't meet it with equal force.

If you know a man is going to violate and murder someone innocent, you don't fight that by smacking them with a water whip, you shoot icicles through their eyes into their brains. You don't throw a baseball sized rock at someone's back, you pancake their head between two boulders. There are many effective ways that bending would be brutal and near unstoppable but instead I'm reading a fic where they might as well be using the equivalent of water pistols to fight soldiers.

[thestuffedalligator]

The wizards said the orangutan would be able to lead them back to the dungeon in a couple days.

What a sentence, Chilchuck thought. It seemed to him that he’d been saying a lot of things with full sincerity that weeks ago would’ve been total gibbering nonsense.

The others had wandered off into the city like tourists. Laios was spending the day in some kind of pet shelter for dragons. Senshi had mentioned bringing Izutsumi to check out the local dwarven cooking. Rats were apparently involved, to his total lack of surprise.

He had decided to hole up in the nearest bar that would accept a fistful of foreign coins. He was at the stage of buzz that felt as though someone was wrapping a woollen blanket around his head, and it was loosening his tongue.

“And he’s a good kid,” he was saying. “He’s a good kid, he’s even a good fighter, but he’s got all the social skills of a dead donkey. This is a guy who hears that he has to eat part of his sister, and the first thing he says is-”

THE EGG IS PLACED ON TOP OF THE BACON?

He paused mid-ramble and blinked stickily at the stranger seated next to him. “Sorry?”

WHAT STRUCTURAL SUPPORT DOES THE BACON OFFER THE EGG?

He blinked again. “It’s for,” he tried. “You know. So you can eat the egg and bacon at the same time.”

INSTEAD OF CONSUMING THE ELEMENTS OF THE BREAKFAST SEPARATELY.

“Right.”

BUT IN THIS EXERCISE, YOU WISH TO REMOVE THE EGG FROM THE BACON.

“Right — right! The idea is if we take away the half of Falin that’s a dragon, we can resurrect the human half of her.”

THUS UNFRYING THE EGG.

He screwed an eye shut and tried to make out the face of the stranger through the three images swirling in the hot, lightheaded haze. It looked like a very skinny face.

“I’m starting to lose the food metaphor,” he mumbled. “My point is, the further we go to fix this problem, the worse it gets. And it’s not that i have a problem with resurrection — have you ever been resurrected?”

NO, BUT I HAVE BEEN WITNESS TO PART OF IT.

“Some people are weird about it. Senshi’s weird about it too, but he’s the one who suggested it. Anyways, it’s not that I have a problem with resurrection, I just don’t like the idea of eating an old coworker.”

Another sentence that would have been nonsense barely a week ago. He tried to shrug and missed. “I guess they say, ‘Eat to live, don’t live to eat.’”

A STRANGE THING TO SAY. A PARADOX OF SOME KIND, I’M SURE.

He was beginning to feel a slight headache. “No, it means, like — treat food as a fuel, a necessity, don’t get fussy about the experience of eating it.”

THEY ARE NOT MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE. The stranger plucked a paper umbrella out of their drink. They twirled it thoughtfully between very skinny fingers. I WOULD RECOMMEND A CURRY, they said. I’VE ALWAYS BEEN FOND OF A CURRY.

[chuluoyi]

✎ the babysitters' club

- gojo satoru x reader

in which yuji, megumi and nobara are tasked with the most important mission ever by their teacher—watching over his baby son!

genre: total crack, first years are trying their best to babysit your son to save their grades, an attempt at humor, gojo is irritating as always, fluff, fluff, fluff

note: this is sooo incredibly silly :') some inspiration are taken from the baby starfish onesie, this ask, and this illustration -> if you're wondering how gojo dressed his baby, he's looks just like that :)) tagging @3zae-zae3 <3

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

"Gojo-sensei... what is that wiggling starfish!?"

On one sunny day in jujutsu school... trouble is once again brewing in the form of Gojo Satoru bringing his baby son to the class.

"Starfish? No, no," Gojo retorted with a displeased expression, directing his gaze towards Yuji and clicking his tongue as he patted his squirming baby, which was still hidden from their view. "He's my pride and joy! Don't refer to him as starfish!"

"But you've got him dressed up as one..." Nobara pointed out, her tone flat and unimpressed.

"That's his kid," Megumi provided, wearily sighing. God, he knew already today was going to be a long day.

No one from school had seen your seven-month old baby son yet, and Gojo was determined to make it an occasion to remember.

Beaming with pride, he gently removed his baby from the starfish-themed onesie, revealing him in a tiny black jujutsu outfit specially tailored for him, complete with miniature black glasses. He held him up, presenting him for everyone to see.

"Behold, everyone... my son! Isn't he just adorable?!"

. . . a momentary silence before—

"Oh my goodness, he is!" Nobara cooed, forgetting her earlier sentiment, immediately approaching the baby with shining eyes. "Sensei, how could you manage to have a baby this cute!?"

"Heh! Only the finest technique utilized to create him—"

"Complete bullshit—"

"Hush, Megumi! No cussing in front of my baby! I'll deduct your marks!"

"Seriously...?"

"Now, class, today I have a very, very important task for you..." Gojo said, his voice dripping with mischief as he sported a broad grin. "If you succeed, I'll personally draft a recommendation letter for each of you to Yaga. But if you don't..." he paused for the suspense, scanning his three students' curious faces.

"Then I'm failing you in my class!" Gojo continued with a grin, prompting immediate reactions from his students.

“What! Why?!”

“That's not fair!”

“Sigh.”

“All you have to do was to watch over him until I come back. Everything you need is here— in this bag!”

Megumi rolled his eyes. Nobara raised an eyebrow. Only Yuji who seemed to be genuinely interested.

"Isn't that easy?" Gojo tilted his head playfully, looking absolutely stupid with his blindfold. "There are three of you here. If you can't even manage to look after one baby, then you should not even think about romance and dating."

"Nonsen—"

"Quiet, Megumi!"

And so began the day's mission: looking after Baby Gojo until his father's return.

“Lalala~ look you’re flying!”

“Fwa...”

“Kugisaki, don’t hold him like that! You’re making him cry!”

“No, I’m not— Itadori! Don’t smush his face—!”

“WAAA!”

“You idiot!” Megumi hissed, plucking the poor baby from his clueless friends and immediately soothed him, pulling him close and patting his back. He even gently shushed him, “There, there...”

And Yuji and Nobara could only look at him in awe as the baby's wails turned into soft sniffles, peaceful in his embrace.

"Whoa... Fushiguro, so babies like you, huh..."

"Unfair!" Nobara clicked his tongue, before fixing a wide smile and waved at the baby in Megumi's arms. "Hi baby~ don't you want to held by big sister—"

"He doesn't like you, Kugisaki."

And so, that was how the three of them spent half the day—constantly watching over Baby Gojo, with Megumi supervising both the baby and his two friends.

"Sometimes, I wonder what she sees in him..." Megumi grumbled sullenly, resigned to his fate, his gaze fixed on the crawling baby while he sat on the floor and threw his little sunglasses.

For all the sighs he exuded, Megumi undeniably had a soft spot for the baby. Prior today, he had held him several times, and he'd never admit it, but he'd protect him to the best of his ability, if anything, because you had done so much for him.

“Gojo-sensei is cool!” Yuji remarked. “Of course Y/N-sensei is happy with him.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Only you would say that.”

"Hey, don't you think he wants his milk?" Yuji suddenly pointed out, as the baby became fussy. Megumi nodded and Yuji immediately reached for the bag Gojo left. He pulled out a bottle and handed it to his friend, but in the process, he accidentally knocked the bag over, spilling its contents onto the floor.

"Ahh, my bad," the boy sighed, collecting the diapers and washcloth, until he realized that there were some more—

"What's that? Photographs?" Nobara picked one of them up, and immediately gasped. "Oh my! Look at this!"

On the picture was the same baby, but much more smaller and swaddled in baby blue blanket and tiny blue beanie. Most likely taken when he was a newborn.

"Whoa, wait, there's something written behind the photo..."

When she flipped it over, both she and Yuji studied the messy handwriting, instantly recognizing it as their teacher's.

Yaaay! ♡ Baby is here! I'm sooo happy you made it! But mama went through a lot to bring you here... so don't ever forget that she loves you very, very much, okay?

"This is sweet." Nobara looked at the picture with a genuine smile, until she realized that there were some more scattered on the floor.

The other picture was of the blue-eyed baby on his arms and knees, wrapped in an orange and black bee onesie, complete with little wings, and behind it was written:

Aren't you just the cutest bee?! And what's more, you've started crawling! Aw, papa is so proud! In no time at all, you're going to be as strong as me!

"What are you two doing over there?" Megumi asked, still feeding the baby with the milk bottle. Nobara beckoned him over.

The third photo was of you smiling so prettily while holding your baby, still in his bee suit, and Gojo also in the frame, wrapping his arm around you, clearly the one holding the camera to take the selfie.

Two my most precious treasures ♡ Sweetheart, I love you. And baby too!

Yuji smiled, as he felt warmth spreading in his chest. "Gojo-sensei really treasures his family, huh?"

"He is," Megumi agreed, because he had seen it all throughout his life.

"Well, no wonder..." Nobara giggled. "Any woman showered with this much love would be happy."

And that day, the trio also uncovered another side of their teacher, that his deepest affection was reserved exclusively for his wife and child.

Well, the sentimental feeling didn't last long though...

"This is our chance!" Nobara said in a hushed whisper. "When else are we going to get an extra family discount!?"

Megumi was so ready to burst a blood vessel as he held the baby—given that he had forbidden his two friends to lay a finger on him. "We are meeting Gojo-sensei here, not to—!"

"Hush! Itadori, don't you agree with me?!"

Yuji nudged his cross friend, trying to appease him. "Lighten up, Fushiguro! We can have more meat!"

At the last minute, Gojo suddenly told the three of them to bring his baby and meet him at the shopping center as he didn't want to waste energy to go back to the school. And like broke students Nobara and Yuji were, they decided to use Baby Gojo to snag an extra plate in a yakiniku place.

Megumi's eyes twitched. "This is not making sense at all, they won't believe—!"

"Shut up, you! Waiter~ here! We have a baby! So we're eligible for the family package!"

The judging stare of the waiter was enough to make Megumi combust on the spot, and yet somehow he passed the four of them as family eligible for the extra plate.

It was later, after they had their lunch that Megumi suddenly had an upset stomach and left the baby momentarily in his two friends' care.

And under less-than-watchful eyes...

"Hey, Kugisaki, meat on this side is the juiciest! Try it!"

"Ooh, you're right!"

The baby only blinked at them in wonder as he stayed in his spot. Not for long though... and it didn't help that they forgot his existence after they went to the cashier and headed out.

"Oi, Itadori! Don't forget to split the bill!"

"Oh yeah! Anyway, why is Fushiguro taking so long?"

Megumi got back right afterwards, and he frowned. "You done already? I haven't even gotten my ocha refill—" and it dawned to him when he saw both Yuji and Nobara with empty hands.

"Wait... where's the baby?"

"—! Oh my god!"

And when the three of them rushed back to the yakiniku place and approached their table earlier, Nobara almost screamed at the empty chairs, "He is gone!"

"You left the baby with the kids and told them to come here?!"

You were positively fuming as you scolded your stupid husband in the bustling mall.

"Well, we haven't gotten much time to spend together, just the two of us!" Satoru retorted, his tone sulky as he pouted. "And besides, Megumi is there. I'm sure they'll do just fine~"

You let out a sigh. True enough, being parents is no joke. Aside from stay-at-home dates, the frequency of the two of you going out had dwindled exponentially since having your baby.

"Technically, you are still on the clock though." You threw him a glare. "You're being a very irresponsible teacher."

Satoru smirked. "Heh, spare me. But I'm being a very good teacher to you in our—"

"One more word and I'm locking you out—!"

Just as you were about to give him your (empty) threat, the building suddenly boomed with an announcement from the mall's broadcast speaker.

"Attention, shoppers. We've received a report from three teenagers that they've lost a baby. He is seven-month old, wears black shirt, has white hair and blue eyes. He is last seen at Yakiniku Q—"

"Satoru..." your voice trembled, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. The baby described by the speaker was unmistakably your son, and the realization of him being missing sent you spiraling into panic.

"Hey, calm down." Satoru gripped your hand tightly, his voice steady as he faced you. "We're going to find him, alright? I'm here. Don't worry."

And after taking off his glasses, in a matter of seconds, Satoru figured out where he was.

Nobara's eyes welled up with tears, frustrated. "What do I do, Gojo-sensei will fail us now..." she muttered, biting her lip.

"That's what you're worried about?" Megumi replied, turning to her with a clear glare.

"He's going to be fine! He is!" Yuji interjected, trying to reassure his two friends despite his own rising anxiety. "He’s not just any random baby—who knows, maybe he can shoot cursed energy to protect himself!"

Megumi and Nobara leveled their annoyed stares on him and Yuji immediately regretted his attempt to lighten the mood.

"I still think he can't get far from the yakiniku place." Megumi was too panicked to check with the staff earlier and just went with Yuji's suggestion to report it to be announced, but now that he thought about it— "I think we should go back."

And thank goodness the three of them returned for the second time because, this time, they finally saw the baby safely cradled in your arms, with Gojo speaking to the waitresses nearby.

"Oh?! Gojo-sensei is here!"

But as soon as the three of them came into view, Gojo immediately fixed them with his unamused gaze.

"You three..." his voice was lower and it made the three kids shudder. "What did I tell you about failing this mission, huh?"

Yuji, Nobara and Megumi were visibly spooked, immediately bowing their heads in unison as they chorused—

"Gojo-sensei, we're so sorry!"

Nobara then pointed an accusing finger at Yuji. "But it was his fault! He kept eating away and didn't even oversee the baby anymore!"

"Wha!?" Yuji glared back at her. "No! You too! You kept eating my meat too!"

"Whatever it is, I'm not a part of this—" Megumi cut in boldly. "My stomach hurt so I had to go for a bit, and they couldn't even keep an eye on him—"

You soothed your squirming son as the first years were throwing blame at each other. Gaping in confusion, you couldn't help but wonder how such a simple task had turned into this incident.

"Tsk." Gojo crossed his arms dramatically, and you knew he was just messing with them, as he suddenly turned to you with a grin.

"Nah, as both a teacher and the victim's mother— Sensei~ who do you think is responsible for this? Or should I punish all three of them?"

The three kids before you were quaking in their boots, and you really didn't have time for this right now. Honestly, if if you had to quickly pinpoint the source of this chaos...

You directed your most irked glare at your husband. "You."

“Huh?!”

“You’re the one staging this by threatening their grades, and it results in our baby being missing!”

Now you were bickering with your husband and putting him in his rightful place. Nobara and Yuji gaped, while Megumi heaved a sigh of relief.

"Does this mean... our grades are saved?"

Epilogue

"They said he fell..." You pat your baby's head worriedly as he babbled happily in his crib, your expression darkening into a frown.

You didn't really blame the first years for their lack of experience, but as his mother, the news from the restaurant staff that they had found your son falling from the chair made you extremely uneasy.

Seeing your distress, Satoru’s natural response was to comfort you until you were back to smiles again. He gently tickled his boy's tummy, prompting him to squeal in absolute joy. "Look, he's perfectly fine. You don't need to worry so much, yeah?"

"But it's strange... I'm happy he's fine, but how? Most babies will get hurt or at least be inconsolable after falling. But he was totally okay..."

Satoru shifted his gaze to his son, as now his round, crystal blue eyes that mirrored his blinked back at him with such innocence and trust that even melted his heart.

"Ah, I see." Suddenly he smiled as if he had figured something out. "This is just my guess, but you know my guesses have like... 90% of probability of being correct—"

"Hmm...?"

"He might have activated Infinity by instinct. Heh."

[l4long-winded]

sometimes... sometimes logan needs this. unwinding never comes easy to him. living centuries hardly teaches one how to navigate mental and physical exhaustion. there’s not a day he’s endured peace, but if he needed to describe something akin to it, something close, his own warped version of it, he would most definitely, in detail, recount this.

he lies flat on his back, stretched out over his mattress, a cigar stuck between his teeth, smoke filtering like a chimney through his nostrils. his arms, bulging and flexing, rest behind his head, shouldering the burden of pillowing his noggin. ash falls into his beard, stings for a split second, but hardly enough to distract him from the sight in front of him.

this is his personal slice of heaven, watching as your hips rise and fall, the hem of his shirt bitten down on, unveiling your jostling tits and clenching stomach. he didn’t bother to remove it fully, requesting you hold it up yourself while simultaneously bracing your hands over the ridges of his abdomen. it forced you to get creative, but not a single complaint surpassed his lips. the view is enticing. your brows pinched in concentration, the cotton gnawed on darkened by your pooling saliva, perfect breasts bouncing with a sheen the dim light above catches. his eyes trace your body greedily, landing where the two of you connect, lingering on the slide of his cock penetrating you repeatedly, your panties he shoved to the side providing extra friction lovingly over the vein crawling up the side of his length.

his favorite thing is the test of your flexibility. he wonders if your thighs are burning from how spread they are, his own shuffled apart to keep you wide and open for him, no effort on his part underneath you.

you whine something incoherent into the fabric. it sounds like his name. he would know. he’s made you cry it out one, two, perhaps four hundred times. he recognizes your plea, his right hand leaving from behind his head in order to pluck the cigar away, a trail of smoke chasing it out of his mouth.

“thought you said this was about me.” his voice is all gravel, bass, and growl, but tempered. he won’t care to admit how fucking relaxed he is right now, getting his dick squeezed, fucking without the work, tobacco on his tongue, all while enjoying the show you’ve graciously afforded him the ticket to. your only audience member smirks when you nod your head, humming more noise into his shirt.

“tell you what,” he begins, earning your attention with wide eyes and deliciously grinding hips. he almost forgets what the fuck he was saying from how frenetic the sensation feels up his spine.

“make me cum and i’ll put y’out of your misery. take real good care of ya’for takin’ real good care of me.”

the promise causes you to gulp back your spit, reinforcing the bite on his shirt. you inhale shakily through your nose before you start to lift and fall on his cock with more intention, more purpose, fucking him and yourself with focused vigor. the sluttiest sounds come from you as you do. logan’s on the precipice, grinning to himself.

“atta fuckin’ girl,” he praises as he sticks his cigar back into his mouth and places his arm back behind his head. there’s no need for guidance. you know how he likes it. he anticipates the plunge downwards he’ll need to load you up.

[captainfern]

OOOO BABES RIDING JOHN PRICE WHILE HE SMOKES HIS CIGARS AND YOU DRINKING HIS FAVE WHISKEY AND ALSO HE HAS A MASSIVE BREEDING KINK DUH

seeing ‘breeding’ in an ask has my writing brain reacting in a fucking pavlov response

18+ fem!reader, breeding an all tha

his office is dimly lit, with only the old green banker’s lamp switched on, perched atop his desk surrounded by a sea of paper.

the leather chair behind it had been pushed back to make room for you.

you sat in price’s lap, thighs parted over his. one of your hands cups the back of his neck, fingers drawing circles through the small wisps of hair that dip down from the base of his head. your other hand has fingers wrapping about a crystal tumbler, the amber shine of expensive liquor appearing almost bottomless in the low light.

you took careful sips, your head spinning, both from the ebbing softness of inebriation, and the warm pleasure unfurling in the base of your stomach.

your captain rocked you against him with one large hand on the plush of your hip, his cock nestled inside you, your soaked cunt having taken him right to the root. like a good girl. the coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your engorged clit, puffy and slick, with each gentle rock against him.

he thumbed at the cigar in his other hand, flicking ash into the tray nearby. when he took a drag, a deep and languid inhale with his eyes boring into yours, he’d exhale it away from you. he didn’t like blowing it directly into your face. but the smell permeating the air was thick enough, and mixing with his musk, had the dizzying pleasure in your head amplifying.

“that feels good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?” price cooed, words muffled around the thick wrap of his cigar.

your eyes transfixed on the way his lips wrapped around the waxy paper, and for a moment, you recalled just that morning when he had those lips wrapped around your clit. warm and wet and so fucking good.

you nodded, whiskey strong on your tongue. you took another shaky sip, your hips rolling. the head of his cock brushed up deep inside you, stretching you out and moulding you to him.

“you can give me more than that,” john remarked, words uttered around an exhale of smoke. the hand he had on your hip squeezed gently. “come on. speak up.”

“yeah, feels good,” you answered, then downed the last of the bitter liquor. you blindly reached behind you, placing the glass onto the desk, before then placing your now-free hand onto price’s shoulder. “feels so good, john. y’always make me feel good.”

price hummed, pleased, placing his cigar in his mouth. he then used both hands to grapple your hips and lift you slightly. he then slammed you back down onto his cock, bucking his hips simultaneously, before setting his pace. his thick cock was now somehow driving deeper than before. you could feel him probing around in your gut, your chest, breathing him in. maybe he was looking for your heart. if so, he’d found it a long time ago.

you moaned, and john responded with a grunt of his own, removing one of his hands to pluck the cigar from his mouth and then place it in an adjacent ashtray. he angled his face downwards and blew the smoke across your lap— which you felt against you, tickling the bare skin of your tummy and thighs.

he then ducked forward, locking his lips against yours and licking inwards. his tongue, much like his cock, was warm and thick, heavy inside you. he licked against your teeth, your own tongue, consuming your moans before they even reached the back of your throat.

he tasted of tobacco smoke and spearmint. you tasted of expensive whiskey and a hint of chardonnay.

smooth, rich. tasting each other.

“john,” you moaned against his lips, and he pulled back, looking at you with glazed eyes and a slight rouge to his cheeks, visible beneath the hairs of his beard. “john, please.”

price looked down, taking one of his hands and smoothing his palm across your hip before sliding it across your tummy. he rubbed over your navel, pressing down as he rocked himself into you— and he imagined that his cock was sliding parallel to his hand, squeezed by your gummy walls and leaking pre-cum against the plug of your cervix.

the thought made him moan.

he pressed his hand firmly against your tummy, forcing a bubbled whine from the depths of your throat. price’s eyes darted upwards to watch the look of pleasure sweep across your face. angelic and beautiful and all his.

“my pretty girl an’ this pretty tummy,” he whispered, rubbing firm circles on the pudge of your stomach, still bouncing you up and down the length of his thick cock. “s’about time i fill it up, yeah?”

you moaned, head rolling backwards as the ball of pleasure in your stomach tightened, pulling your nerves taut with it. your body thrummed against his, heart beating wildly beneath the sanctum of your sternum. mind cloudy, all you wanted to do was nod. please.

john chuckled lowly. “aw, s’that right, sweetheart? want me to come inside you?”

“johnnn,” you whined, clawing at his shoulders now. your clit was throbbing as his cock slammed into that good spot inside you. you huffed out whines and mewls, pleasure building inside your lower stomach, right below where his hand pressed. your skin there was heating up fast. “pleaseee.”

“shh, s’alright my darling girl,” price chided, rutting the leaking head of his cock against your g-spot, grinding and bucking deep, rolling his hips. “i’ve got you, yeah? i’ve got you. an’ i’m gonna come deep inside this tight cunt.”

you mewled, louder this time, pleasure burning your lungs. you could feel him, clawing at the insides of your very being. he always stitched himself to you during intimate moments like these. it’s like he was apart of you the second he stuffed his thick cock into your hole.

“come riiiiight here,” john continued, rubbing your tummy and then moaning at the thought of it growing with his child. his hips stuttered momentarily, before he redoubled his efforts. “fill this pretty tummy up— get ‘er nice and fat for me.”

you gasped out, orgasm stretching thin across the precipice of pleasure tightening in your lower belly. “john!”

“come for me, sweetheart,” he said, pressing a chaste kiss to your parted lips. “squeeze my cock, go on.”

you came loudly, body spasming against his. the hands you had on his shoulders tightened, anchoring yourself to him so that you didn’t drift off and drown within your own pleasure.

“john, john, fuck—!” you babbled as your orgasm washed over you, and you practically missed the way john grunted with each chant of his name, cock slamming into you with heavy rolls of his strong hips.

his pace was slowing, lacing symmetry as his release dug its claws into him. it almost caught him by surprise, but he managed to ramble out, “‘m comin’, sweetheart, ‘m comin’— fuck, ‘m gonna come deep in this tight fuckin’ cunt, fill you up with my kids. ‘m gonna get you pregnant, baby.”

he came after that, head slotting into the dewy space between your neck and shoulder, mouth sucking at the scented pulse of your throat. he bucked and rolled his hips as his cock twitched, coming thick, viscous ropes of seed right up against the plug of your womb. it was warm, especially with his large hand still on your tummy, and you fought the urge to giggle amidst your blissful, post-orgasmic haze.

“price,” you whispered, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your throat and jaw. his cock was slowly softening inside you, plugging his cum inside you. “price, we’ve got to move.”

he grunted, wrapping his arms around you, still sucking at the skin of your neck. the warmth of his arms and chest put you at ease, and you relaxed into his hold, melting into the comfortable aura that your husband provides you with.

[bywrios]

"c'mon, giddy'up back there," boothill mutters, his knee bouncing restlessly as he resists the urge to turn over his shoulder and check on your progress again. you grumble behind him, one hand smacking his metallic waist, and he can picture the furrow of your brow and the way your tongue sticks out in concentration in his mind's eye. one of the metal panels of his back has been removed, exposing the wires and circuitry of his mechanical organs.

the whole reason for this impromptu examination was the fact that he had been feeling... strange after his last bounty, for some reason. it had involved a high-speed chase in a roofless car, hot on the heels of some ipc scumbag. he’d done his best to dodge whatever shitty bullets the scumbag’s entourage had shot at him, but clearly, something had stuck—which is why he sits between your knees now as you check him up for damages.

his boot thumps on the soft, dusty earth under his heel. “well?”

“hold your damn horses,” you snipe back, muttering under your breath. he can feel a light pressure against the cords and connectors in his spine, the artificial replacement of his nerves. “i need to—oh.”

“what? whatsit?” he asks, a note of urgency in his voice at your silence. he isn’t particularly worried about getting fixed; his bounties ensure he has more than enough credits to spend on spare parts. it’s just that it’s a pain to have to travel to the nearest non-ipc mechanic feeling all funny.

(he ignores the voice in his head that tells him the true source of his worry: that his faulty body might not be able to protect you.)

“what’s wrong?”

he’s about ready to spin back when he hears a choked exhale rush out of your nose, followed by the airy sound of your giggles. it makes him still, but this time out of confusion, rather than concern.

“what the fudge has got you laughin’ your boots off back there?” he grumbles, and you only laugh harder. he glances over his shoulder and sees tears lining your pretty eyes, and then he glances down and sees… some sort of flying insect between your fingers? a very dead, and very fried insect. it had probably slipped in through one of the chinks in his plated skin during the chase.

“i guess you— i guess you could say there was a hardware bug,” you wheeze, free hand gripping onto his shoulder to steady yourself in between your fits of laughter. boothill gives you a withering glare, and plucks the dead, charred bug from your fingers, grinding it to dust between his own. he pretends to be annoyed, lips curled into a frown, but there’s a lightness to him he hasn’t felt in a while.

“hardy har har, yer so dang funny, ain’tcha?” he scoffs, shoving you lightly into the dirt.

you answer him with another burst of sweet laughter, unbothered and too lost in your own mirth, and it reminds him of the sound of the wind blowing through the mountain valleys, and how it whispered into his ears when he used to ride horses and not roofless cars.

with an exaggerated sigh, he lets your enjoyment at his expense slide this time.

(he doesn’t have a biological heart anymore, but even that mechanical thing in his chest can’t bring himself to interrupt you.)

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 4

Construction worker!rafe and shy!reader spending their day off together as one does but Rafe simply can not keep his hands off her, can he? And maybe she just really needs him. 

cw: fluff, Rafe being a tease, semi-public thigh riding

wc: 1.9k

part 1 part 2 part 3 & part 5

i have such a soft spot for him so hope u enjoy xx

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

It’s a tranquil Tuesday; they’re strolling around town and soaking up the last lemony rays of the August sun before autumn drops all the marmalade leaves and brings a chilly breeze along with its visit. 

The balmy weather of the sunlit afternoon coaxes her to remove her cardigan; a featherlight fabric she brought in case the wind decided to pick up. However, she doesn’t need it, not when it’s so pleasantly mellow and thermal. Without a word, Rafe reaches an arm out and plucks the piece of clothing from her, nonchalantly throwing it over his shoulder and holding it for her.

She mumbles out a soft thank you, and even if the thin material really doesn’t weigh a thing and it wouldn’t have been that much of a bother to hold onto it herself, she still feels all gooey inside from the attentive sentiment. 

They have lunch at her favorite place; a small picturesque restaurant with leafy vines and scarlet roses trickling down the brick wall as they sit outside on a little patio, enjoying their meals with cheery bluebirds chirping and the passing laughter of pedestrians on the lively streets as their background music. 

When their tummies are full of yummy food, they decide to get ice cream. But as they’re padding along the pavement and she’s licking her cone contently, some of the sweet treat drips down her chin without her noticing. 

”You’re so messy,” Rafe tuts and reaches out to grab her jaw in his hand, tilting her up to face him.

”What would you do without me, hm?” he murmurs out as he swipes a thumb under her bottom lip; catching the cold dessert and tucking the digit into his mouth, humming when strawberry ice cream melts on his tongue.

Her eyes round out at the nearly obscene sight. 

”Mm, that’s good. But mine’s better,” he thinks out loud, laving his tongue over his own mint chocolate chip flavor. 

He notices her gaze lingering, the corners of his mouth tugging up. “Want some?”

“Um…no. It tastes like toothpaste,” she complains, trying to clear her suddenly foggy head. 

”Yeah, but in a good way,” he grins.

”There’s no good way for ice cream to taste like toothpaste,” her brows crease.

”There is, alright? Here, try it,” and instead of offering his cone to her like a normal person, he dips his thumb (the one that was just in his mouth) into the frozen delicacy and pushes it past her lips before she has the chance to refuse. 

A surprised noise escapes her throat when he presses down on her tongue, letting her get a proper taste of the minty sweetness. He lingers for a moment too long when there’s an itch in his lower abdomen from the sight of her sucking on his thumb; an urge to tuck another digit in and push in deeper, make her gag around his fingers. 

He clears his throat in order to shake the thoughts away, pulling his thumb out from her greedy little mouth, no complaints or grumbling about toothpaste following after. She solely blinks up at him with her doe eyes all dumb, seemingly having lost the ability to speak. 

”It’s good, right?” He asks, a mocking lilt to his tone.

”Mhm,” she manages out, brain mushy and mind clouding over with a starry haze that seems to follow her for the rest of their walk, merely nodding and humming out responses to his questions. He finds all this entirely too amusing, unable to wipe the taunting smile off his face. 

When a group of people pass them by on the narrow sidewalk, Rafe settles a heavy palm on her waist, pulling her closer and preventing her from stumbling into them. However, instead of removing his hold on her altogether after they’ve successfully bypassed them, he opts to slip a warm hand in the back pocket of her jeans; tugging her to his side. And she really can’t withhold a stupid smile from pulling at her lips or the way her cheeks dust over with a plum tinge. 

He continues on with whatever story he was telling her (she stopped listening halfway through the moment she felt his touch on her) as if this is all completely mundane for him and they aren’t walking around like an enamored couple right now.

Then, as if for good measure, he mindlessly squeezes her ass with the hand stuffed in her back pocket, making her look up him, but there’s merely a lazy grin hanging on the raspberry mouth she remembers all too well kissing just the other day on his couch. 

Her cerebrum short-circuits and she has half the mind to scold him. After all, they’re in public and he’s groping her rather immodestly. However, how is she meant to do that when he gazes down at her and his eyes mirror cerulean droplets of early morning dew underneath the amber glow of the waking sunbeams? 

”So, what do you think?” His question suddenly reaches her eardrums. 

”About…what?” 

An amused chuckle tumbles from his throat. 

”Said your boss wanted to renovate the cafe, right? Could help with that, give her a discount and shit?”

”Oh. That’d be— great, yeah. I’ll make sure to…let her know,” she barely manages the words out because his palm resting on her ass is making her thighs press together and it’s getting more arduous to inhale and exhale like a regular human by every passing second. 

Once they’re back in the shelter of his truck, instead of starting the engine, he turns to look at her. She shifts ungracefully in the leather seat, trying to ignore the ache deep in her marrow that’s been bothering her their whole way back. He’s wearing shorts and her eyes zone in on his legs, heavy lids blinking sluggishly as she avoids his piercing stare.

”You want something?”

”Hm? Oh, no… what— what do you mean?” She stutters. 

”You don’t think I see the way you keep looking at me?” He rasps out, brows raising. ”Been feeling a little needy after you sucked on my thumb, have you?” 

”I…um—”

”Bet you’re so sticky right now. Shit, must be uncomfortable at this point, no?” His face creases in mock concern as a faint whine leaves her.

”C’mere,” he encourages, patting his thigh. 

”O— okay,” she clumsily wobbles over the console, settling on his lap. 

”Didn’t tell you to sit there, did I?” He says before he’s lifting her up and then setting her back down until she’s properly straddling his thigh. ”Now that’s better, isn’t it?”

”Rafe…someone could see us,” she suddenly remembers, turning her head around, peering through the car window at the busy parking lot, people striding along the pavement; girls in bikinis carrying towels, couples laughing and chatty families all thriving under the beaming sun. 

”Honestly don’t really give a shit. Why don’t we just…let them see how much of a dirty girl you are, yeah?” He grins at her; showcasing pearly white teeth and making her whine in response. 

With her eyes flitting to the window once more, she inspects the seas of people loitering about, but she doesn’t think anyone’s noticed them yet. However, she doesn’t have any more time to observe them before he’s yanking her back to face him, fingers digging into her jaw. 

”Look at me,” his brows furrow, seemingly upset that her attention isn’t on him.

”Sorry, I just...”

”Relax, alright? They can’t even see your face, just a horny slut humping my leg,” he reassures her, mushing her cheeks together and smudging a sloppy kiss on her puckered lips when she drags out his name, flushing in humiliation. 

”Why don’t we take these off, hm?” He mutters, not even bothering to wait for a response before he’s dragging down the zipper of her jeans. Then he’s tugging them down her legs, leaving her in just a flimsy pair of underwear. 

She gasps, eyes rounding out when she feels his firm thigh against her drippy cunt, relieving some of the tension in her limbs.

“This shit gets you off, doesn’t it? The fact that anyone could just look through the window and see how fucking desperate you get for me?” He asks, something mean glinting in his gaze.

”Go on then, if you want it, gotta work for it, yeah?” He’s lazily leaning back against the seat, long legs spread out and a smirk painted on his face as he simply gazes at her. 

She doesn’t think she’s ever felt more embarrassed, cheeks burning when she gives a tentative roll of her hips against him, whimpering out because the fabric between them is not only paper thin but also soaked through at this point. 

”There you go, Sweetheart. That feel good?” 

She mewls, nodding all frantic; rutting against his thigh some more. Then he’s plucking at her panties, pulling the sodden material to the side, allowing for her to really feel the sturdy muscles there; skin to skin.

She’s becoming louder and louder as her swollen clit keeps occasionally bumping against him, making him smear his mouth on hers; muffling her whining in the process when her thighs begin to grow sore. 

”Rafe…I’m tired— can you…” she complains.  

”You’re tired? What if I’m tired too?” There’s something in his mocking question that tells her he’s anything but. 

 ”Rafe, can you just— can you help?”

”Where’d your manners go, hm? Why don’t you ask nicely?” 

”Rafe please, I need to…can you help me please I need you to— need you to help,” her distressed eyes are becoming watery and he chuckles, low from his chest.

”You don’t even know what you’re saying, do you? Get so dumb every time we do this. Couldn’t even fuck you properly before you passed out on me that night in your bed, remember?”

”Hey, that’s not fair. I was so sleepy—”

”What’s not fair is me constantly having to do all the work while you just whine like a helpless baby,” his voice is condescending, making wet droplets stain her cheeks.  

”I’m sorry, don’t mean to...” 

”I know, Sweetheart. I know,” he says while gripping at her hips, supporting her weight and dragging her over his solid thigh, making her moan out loud. 

”Can’t do anything yourself, can you? Need my help with everything, yeah?” His rugged paws roll her hips against him, hard, again and again. ”Mhm. Need you—” a loud noise leaves her throat when he pushes his leg up against her; forcing her puffy clit to harshly rub against the skin that her weepy cunt has made so wet, to the point where he can feel it whenever she glides against it. ”Rafe, I’m gonna…”

”Yeah? Gonna come? Soak my thigh more for me?” She whimpers when he presses her down firmer on his thigh.

”Shit, Sweetheart. Look so fucking pretty like this,” he mutters out, blue gemstones fixated on her trembling form before the knot in her stomach begins to loosen, the piece of yarn snapping as she begins to unspool in his arms, crying out because she feels so delighted she doesn’t know what to do. 

“There you go, just do anything I ask, don’t you?” He murmurs when her head drops against his steady chest as he rakes his fingertips through the strands of her hair; blunt nails scratching at her scalp.

There are stars in her eyesight, nearly a full blown galaxy and she thinks she could die happy right now; his strong grip steadying her and making her feel like nothing else matters. There’s only this moment. Him and her.

She wants to stay in the safety of his hold for evermore because she’s positive the only reason her poor heart is beating in her ribcage these days is because of him.

As an afterthought, she wonders if maybe she’s just in love.

[fayes-fics]

Absolution

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: After an argument, Benedict seeks forgiveness.

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI. Sub!Benedict, domme!reader, established relationship. Strip tease, slight begging, praise, massage, sexual tension.

Word Count: 2.0k

Authors Note: Anon request fill from HERE, where sub!Benedict begs reader to let him touch her. I'm not sure this is begging enough for you, Nonny, but it's what my muse chose - and after being unable to write for 2 months, I went with it. I hope that's okay. Unbetaed, cos if I ask someone to read this, I will chicken out of posting it. Errr, enjoy?

You feel as much as you see him—a hovering, hesitant presence in the doorway.

“May I… join you?” 

His request is sotto voce, tinged with a gauzy hope that pulls your attention, eyes flicking to his reflection in the mottled glass of your vanity table mirror.

“You are not yet forgiven….” 

Your response is a touch sharp, perhaps, as you restart your motions, untangling your hair with an ornate silver brush, the bitter edge of your dispute still ringing in your ears, even now, hours later. Yet there’s a metallic taste of victory on the tip of your tongue that he is the one attempting to broker the peace between you. 

“Understood.” 

Benedict nods, stepping fully into the bedroom now, the door clicking closed behind him as he continues talking. 

“Perhaps I may find another way to apologise?” 

He bows his head, lacing his fingers together loosely in front of him as he looks upon you through his lashes—a gentle, reproachful demeanour that softens the sharper edges of your irritation. After a beat, you twist around and stand up, moving towards him, the silk of your night robe a balm on your flushed skin, your body reacting to him in this room as it always does, despite what has transpired, something very Pavlovian about it. His light eyes seem to dance with the reflective candlelight from the nearby sconce as you stop just beyond touching distance.

“What are you proposing?” 

You don't miss the way his gaze is drawn to the pull of fabric taut over the swell of your breast as you cross your arms, perhaps still a shade defensive.

“I seek absolution…” 

His words are a sighed exhale, eyes pleading. You know precisely what he is referring to—that power dynamic play that neither of you can resist. And sure enough, a twitch of a smile ghosts over your lips in spite of yourself.

“And will you do as I tell you?” 

You don't mean your voice to be quite so throaty, but the rapid dilation of his pupils and the jump of the vein in his neck speaks volumes.

“I will do anything for you…” His murmur draws attention to his pink, damp, plush, distracting bottom lip as if he has bitten it for your delectation. “My Lady.” It’s a goading, blatant addition, an invitation you are powerless to turn down, especially when he looks at you like that, all large pupils and quivering lip.

“Strip for me,” you command, a surge of want in your veins as his lip quirks up, his hands flying to his buttons instinctively. 

You watch greedily as he fights off the cropped jacket, and his dextrous fingers start to pluck at the pearl buttons upon his paisley silk waistcoat. He is always so exquisitely wrapped in jewel-toned fabrics that it seems nearly a shame to ask him to remove them. As both items fall to the thick rug with an audible thump, you take a step to the side and sit in a comfortable chair in the corner of your bedchamber. You cross your legs, enjoying the bob of his Adam's apple as your legs are revealed through the parting of your robe. He has probably correctly guessed you are naked underneath; a keen flare of his nostrils as you sit back to get comfortable, gesturing for him to continue. 

You lick your lips reflexively as you watch his elegant hands unwind his soft gold cravat, the candlelight catching the signet ring upon his little finger as he throws it to the floor and takes a step towards you, a nascent trace of that troublesome smirk toying at the corner of his lips.

“All of it, Benedict,” you warn, taking the upper hand as he seems to be advancing upon you still in his boots, shirt and trousers. 

He stops short when he is a couple of paces away, close enough you can scent his cologne but too far to touch—perhaps an intentional tease. He will sometimes push up against your boundaries, that cheeky nature flaring under those beseeching, wanton looks. He follows your command, though, your skin flushing as he obediently pulls off his boots and tosses them aside haphazardly.

He takes another half-step forward, watching your eyes tracking the movement of his hands as he pushes down his braces, bouncing once on the outside of his upper thigh as they fall. Subconsciously, you squeeze your thighs together, tamping down the pulse of arousal, the sensual tension between you already heady and delicious, thick in the air, despite so many crossed words earlier.

“May I touch you, My Lady?” 

His soft, yielding tone makes a thrill prickle across your scalp, but your tongue is still sharp with a barb.

“Earn it.”

His eyes flash at your challenge, and there is a flutter behind your ribs—you are as under his thrall now as he is yours. 

And then he does something that makes your body surge with want. He suddenly buckles to his knees before you, looking up at you imploringly again through those long lashes.

“How may I earn it, My Lady?” 

His ask is tender even as he makes short work of the buttons of his frilled shirt, kneeling temptingly beyond your kneecaps.

“I am still awaiting your fulfilment of my last command…” Your response is accompanied by a raised eyebrow, emphasising your point. Benedict is indeed still in shirt and trousers, although the shirt now hands lose from his broad shoulders, framing that lithe, toned torso.

“And once I am naked, what then, My Lady?” 

“Patience, my love…”

Your tone is portentous, but you don't miss how something warm melts in his expressive eyes at the term of affection. His shirt sails down onto the rug, his movements carrying more urgency than before, keen to here your subsequent plans for him, no doubt. 

With him still upon his knees, your breath quickens as he reaches for the buttons of his trousers, knowing as you do what lies beneath. Indeed as the front falls away, you are unsurprised to see he is without underwear as usual, a thatch of dark hair teasing before his cock springs free before you, you canting yourself forward slightly to see.

As he pushes the trousers down around his bent knees, you see the little half smile, noticing your lean-in, your eager stance to see him nude as requested—the flash of that playful nature, which makes his obedience so much more delicious. Your eyes focus upon the constellation of freckles upon his left shoulder as he does, temporarily transfixed by the play of muscle under his skin as he fights off his trousers the rest of the way while still on his knees. His triumphant huff and hurling aside of the item snaps you back from your short reverie, and indeed, what a sight it is to behold. A beautiful, toned, naked man before you on his knees, raptly awaiting your next word, his smooth chest rising and falling a little with shortened breaths of anticipation.

“My lady…” he prompts, but there is a trace of prideful preening, knowing he has you captivated, your legs uncrossing reflexively as you lean in further, your eyes drinking in the sight before you, his gaze falling briefly to your lap, hoping for a glance under your ribe.

“You may touch my feet, my love,” you offer, and you let out a ragged sigh as those large hands cup your arch and a thumb presses into a sensitive spot that makes you collapse back, putty in his hands already. 

“Thank you, my lady; I hope I can soothe you…”

His light whisper falls onto your skin like feathers, your eyelids fluttering shut as his hands work their magic upon your feet. Indeed, you have been promenading today and his assured touch seems the perfect salve to the ache of miles walked. Tension drains through the soles of your feet as he works. 

Before you know it, his hands have moved up, and you do not protest as he starts to massage your ankles and the lower part of your calves. Your whole leg becomes less stiff, your eyes still closed, breathe deep and even until he makes a sharp inhale that has your eyelids flying apart.

In your relaxed state your thighs have parted, and your robe following suit. His heated gaze is upon the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs, not yet open enough to betray how aroused you truly are.

“You may not touch.”

It's a clipped statement, an attempt to wrestle control when he had you compliant under his touch. A slight pout claims his handsome face as if hoping a puppy dog expression will make you yield.

“You are the most beautiful creature, please, please, My Lady…”

“Not yet,” you modify, his adulation weakening your resolve a touch.

He massages your left calf muscle, placing your foot upon the warm fuzz of his bent quad muscle, feeling the warmth emanating from his nearby cock, a temptation you resist moving your foot to brush against. But you can no longer tamp down the need to moan gently as your body responds to his expert touch. It makes his fingers dig into your flesh temporarily, and you hear him take a steadying breath, knowing he is fighting his desire to pick you up and take you to the bed—a desire raging just as brightly in you.

And so, as if catharsis for your earlier argument, you tease him more. Begin to writhe slightly in your seat, an undulation that inches your foot higher on his thigh, your toes curling into his flesh there as your noises become less restrained, his touch heavier, still soothing but with an undercurrent of urgency that speaks of pent-up passion. You can almost feel the increase in his heartbeat, the blood thrumming through his body, his cock no doubt leaking even though you dare not glance at it—too tempting a prospect, wanting to elongate this tease, this foreboding simmering between you ratcheting up the tension between you.

“You are heaven itself, My Lady, I live to bring you succour….”

There is nothing like his lilting, wanton poetic praise. When his hands round your kneecaps, you let him continue higher, dextrous hands cupping your lower thigh and squeezing the tension from your muscles there. His breath is laboured as the movement parts your legs, and he can see what he has wrought, a glistening warmth you can feel deliciously as the cooler air swirls between your now parted thighs.

“Please, My Lady…. Please let me touch you there…”

His tone is broken now, fawning words tumbling from him between deep breaths as if scenting you, his whole body tilted over your lower half, looking up at you from your lap, supplicant arousal humming in his being, feeling the heat of his cock against your toenails as he leans in.

“Undress me.” your voice a breathy whisper.

The tiny noise of victory he makes has your heart skipping a beat as his fingers instantly fly to the sash, holding your robe cinched at your waist. Watching him work through a hooded gaze and a fluttering chest as he unloops the knot and then, as if unwrapping the most precious gift, parts the material from around your body, pulling it down from around your shoulders until you are as naked as him.

“My Lady…..”

It's a stuttering, wrecked sigh, trembling hands ghosting over the quivering of your stomach, your ribs—not touching without permission, but still making your pulse race, your skin tingle. And you hunger for him like nothing else, uncaring of the disagreement you had earlier, irritation and pride usurped by the burning need you have for him as much as he has for you.

And so you relent.

“You may touch me anywhere, my love.”

Your greenlight has him almost howling, and before you know it, you are scooped up from the chair and carried to the bed, his body flexing deliciously against yours, your lips meeting in a hungry, inelegant kiss, tongues tangling. Words of apology will come later—after your bodies have what they crave.

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[beansprean]

Just a little convo that's been in my notes FOREVER because I meant to use it for something else, but it no longer fit after a while. Gave me a chance to practice painting lol

Support me on Patreon or send a tip on Kofi!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Close up on a side table in Nandor's crypt, laden with a glazed patterned vase, a wooden jewelry box, a line of books, and a single candle on an intricate vintage holder, lit and casting a warm orange glow on its surroundings. From offscreen, Guillermo says, "I've done a lot of thinking, and I've figured it out. I do want to be a vampire...but not for the same reasons I used to." 1b. Wide shot, knees up of Nandor and Guillermo standing facing each other next to Nandor's coffin, lit from the far side by candles. Nandor, wearing a typical tunic under a fur lined cape, stares quietly at Guillermo and idly knocks the knuckles of his left hand against the coffin lid. Guillermo, wearing a violet shirt and tie with red trousers and waistcoat, has his left hand in his pocket and his right placed palm-down on the coffin lid, a few inches from Nandor's. He looks at his right hand as he speaks: "The powers, the sexiness, the cool capes - I mean that's all great but I... I realize I could have all that as a human, too. And I have." 1c. Close up of their hands on the coffin lid as Guillermo's hand slides closer to Nandor's. He continues: "But what I want...what I really want...is to be a vampire..." 1d. Chest up of Guillermo as he looks up at Nandor with a confident smile, back straight, lit warmly by candles. He declares, "So I can stay here with you, forever. As part of this family."

2a. Reaction shot of Nandor, eyes shining as he raises his brows and fights down the happy, wobbly smile that threatens to take over his face. He echoes breathlessly, "With...me?" 2b. Wide shot, waist up of them both. Guillermo looks away with a flustered grin and clarifies, "Uh! Well, you know. With everybody. Nadja, and..." Nandor turns his head away as well, flustered and frowning, and mutters "Right, yes, of course." Guillermo continues, trailing off: "Laszlo..." Nandor grunts "Uh-huh." Their hands are still an inch apart on the coffin lid. Guillermo ventures, "But also..." 2c. Close up of their hands as Guillermo's slides closer again, the tips of his fingers bumping against Nandor's knuckles. Guillermo continues, "Specifically..." 2d. Close up on Guillermo from a slightly higher angle as he looks up at Nandor through his lashes with a shy smile and shining eyes, finally saying, "You." 2e. Reverse shot of Nandor from a slightly lower angle, looking down at Guillermo with open wonder.

3a. Waist up of them both in profile. Guillermo starts to say, "And I know that y-" but is interrupted when Nandor launches forward with his hands on Guillermo's cheeks and pulls him into a kiss. Guillermo's eyes fly wide, perhaps less surprised than he should be, and Nandor's close in something like relief. 3b. Repeat. Nandor's right hand remains on Guillermo's cheek as his left arm snakes around his upper back to hold him close. Guillermo presses into the kiss, opening his mouth to let in Nandor's tongue as his hands creep beneath Nandor's cape. 3c. Repeat. They continue to kiss, heads shifting to the side to allow Guillermo to slip his own tongue into Nandor's mouth. Guillermo has unfastened Nandor's cape and is letting it drop to the floor. Nandor's right hand has plucked off Guillermo's glasses and is holding them aloft as his left tugs at the knot of Guillermo's tie. 3d. Repeat. Nandor shifts his head to deepen the kiss further, right hand tossing Guillermo's glasses carelessly behind him and left curling around the back of Guillermo's neck. Guillermo, tie now loose and top shirt buttons unfastened, presses his left hand to Nandor's chest where his brooch has been removed to allow access to his undershirt. His right hand hovers behind Nandor's head. 3e. Repeat. The kiss finally breaks, but they do not go far, Nandor's left hand still hooked around the back of Guillermo's neck as he turns his head to kiss down his cheek. His right hand pushes Guillermo's vest off his shoulder. Guillermo turns his head into Nandor's, eyes still closed, and gasps out "Mm, you'll...ah..." His right hand is tangled in Nandor's hair and his left deftly snaps open Nandor's belt.

4a. Repeat. Nandor kisses his way down to Guillermo's throat, hands now pulling Guillermo's shirt from his trousers and sneaking his hands underneath. Guillermo arches his neck to allow him room to explore, right hand fisted in Nandor's hair to hold him there as his left slides under Nandor's open tunic front. Smiling with eyes closed in bliss, Guillermo continues, "turn me...after...right?" 4b. Repeat. Nandor pulls back from Guillermo's throat, eyes closed and smiling happily, to let Guillermo press kisses from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. Guillermo is pulling Nandor's tunics off his shoulders, the buttons on his undershirt undone and exposing his chest. Nandor's hands are busy at the front of Guillermo's shirt, pulling apart the remaining buttons. Nandor sighs, "Oh, Guillermo..." 4c. Repeat. Nandor fists his hands at the collar of Guillermo's now open shirt to pull him aggressively upwards, looming down on him nose-to-nose with a feral grin. He promises, "During." Guillermo melts and grins helplessly, hearts drifting around his head. /end ID

[vmpiires]

﹆₊エモ‧₊˚ HEY EMO BOY ! KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ he caught your attention so why not shoot your shot? wc, 3.49K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. y’all see the title..i was thinking about this song and every day i say it reminds me of choso so..why NOT make a story out of it? (i was on c.ai and i made a bot for it to test the idea) AND JOIN THE DISCORD. hope ya enjoyyy. reblog to support meeee.

␥ tags. emo!choso, choso is a bass guitarist, smut, cunnilingus, smoking, female anatomy, college AU, etc. lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3

wearing all black with chains dangling from his ripped jeans and striking black boots was choso kamo. that bass player who was in one of your college classes. his ears were adorned with multiple piercings, including a cross-shaped earring hanging from his left ear.

his tongue and eyebrow were also pierced, along with a thick black choker wrapped around his neck, complimenting his edgy appearance. you noticed how slender and delicate his fingers were as he adjusted the strap on his guitar, each nail painted a glossy black to match his image.

choso was one of the rudest but most attractive people you've ever interacted with on campus. his pale skin brought out the dark rings under his eyes, making him look as if he hadn't slept a day in his life. there was a black mark running across the bridge of his nose, extending to both sides of his face and piercing violet eyes that were nearly covered by his obsidian hair that was tied back into a low ponytail.

you were always up to something of course. you wore a skirt that hugged your curves and showed your ass perfectly, guaranteeing a stare from any man you walked by. your shirt was also quite revealing. as someone as snarky and bitchy as yourself, you were confident that you could handle choso like a dog on a leash.

a smirk stretched across your lips as you slipped a sucker between your lips. it was free time, and everyone was hanging around outside on campus. of course, your target was there too. as you approached him, you could hear the sounds of his guitar as he strummed the strings with his slender fingers.

"hey, emo boy," you shouted, putting your foot up on the bench just beside choso's thigh as you removed the sucker from your mouth, a long string of saliva connecting to it. you knew what you were doing.

choso jumped a little, hearing your voice close by. his head whipped around to look at you, his expression going from a slight frown to flat nothingness. "well, well, well. if it isn't the slut."

"and if it isn't the school's jackass," you snapped back.

"whatever, slut. you should watch who you're talking to and where you stick that sucker around me." choso's gaze fell back down to his guitar as he kept plucking the strings, making sure to look at you from the corner of his eye.

a scoff escaped your lips, the smirk on your face growing wider at his words. "yeah?" you challenged, your tone dripping with sarcasm and amusement. "i guess it'll be in your mouth next if you keep it up." the playful glint in your eye matched the teasing tone of your voice as you continued to banter back and forth with the male.

those words surprised him enough to make him pause, his eyes flickering over to focus on you fully once he realized what you just said. a smile crept onto his face and his eyes glimmered a bit as he looked at you. "oh really? i wouldn't mind that."

your boisterous laughter echoes through the room, "you're definitely a freak," you exclaim with a sly smile. "but you know what? i like that about you, emo boy."

"of course you would." choso smirked, playing with the strings even faster and playing a cord with just the right amount of ferocity and finesse. you watched as his fingers moved, just wondering how they'd move when they were abusing your cunt.

choso’s gaze shifted from the guitar to your eyes, a momentary pause before returning to his instrument. "so, wanna get out of here?" he asked, his voice smooth and low like velvet.

with a smirk, you teased, "oh, the emo asshole wants to go out with the slut." despite your words, you couldn't resist the glint of mischievousness in his eyes. "well," you shrugged nonchalantly, “fine, i guess i’ll go with you."

choso let out a low chuckle, standing up. he was tall, almost 6 feet, and even in his slouching position he looked like a model. "of course you will. i wouldn't let a girl with a body like yours go just like that." he smirked as he put his guitar in its casing and pulled it over his shoulder before holding out a hand for you to take.

"you wanna hold my hand and you don't even know my name," you remarked, grabbing his hand. as you held onto his significantly larger hand, she felt how calloused and veiny they were. you could only imagine how he looked without his clothes.

"i do know your name, but not caring about it is the fun part." choso said, looking down at your interlocked hands once you took his. you were quite small compared to him. just imagining the two of you together looked absurd, it made him smile a bit.

"what's your dorm room number?" he queried, finally moving his gaze away from your hand and back to your eyes. you hummed, wondering if you should lie or lead the guy off somewhere other than your dorm room but you eventually gave in anyway.

"777," you answered briefly.

"your lucky number," choso replied. he turned, letting go of your hand and gesturing for you to follow. he led you down a path that maneuvered you through a section of trees that connected to the dorms of the main campus.

as you approached your dorm room, choso could already feel the heat radiating from your body. your presence ignited a fire within him, stirring desires he hadn't planned on acting upon. the air seemed to pulse with electricity as he walked beside you, his eyes drawn to your every move.

he couldn't deny the attraction he felt toward you, a magnetic pull that seemed to intensify with each step. choso couldn't resist the urge to take things a bit farther than he had originally intended.

"you got a roommate?" choso asked, watching as you grabbed the keycard from your skirt pocket and unlocked the door. your room was big enough for another person to move in, but you requested to be in a single room before the school year began. though, it was damn near impossible to get approved, you sure did...with your looks.

"nope," you finally say, slipping your shoes off. choso's boots made a loud clacking sound as he followed behind you, pushing the door closed and then removing his boots, just as you did.

"of course you don't," he scoffed jokingly, a smirk evident on his face. the male glanced around the room, taking in his new surroundings, excited for what was about to come next. "you probably scare every girl who tries to room with you off, huh?"

"its not my fault the girls here aren't scary and sexy like i am," you shrug nonchalantly. "they're usually either or...or they're sweeter than this stupid sucker in my mouth," you added, furrowing your eyebrows with disdain for your female schoolmates.

choso couldn't help but chuckle at the sour expression on your face before turning his head to the side for barely a moment. his eyes wandered over your body before they finally returned to your eyes. they were so bright, and so sharp that it was almost intimidating.

"you're just a narcissistic slut, huh?" he teased. your eyelids lowered, narrowing your eyes at the male as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

you flipped him off as you sat yourself down on your bed. "you're getting laid by this slut so i suggest you shut up." you snapped at him.

"and i'm gonna enjoy every second of it," he growled under his breath, a lustful smile spreading across his face. "you better not be lying about having any roommates because i'm gonna make you scream until you can't anymore."

"yeah? i'll make sure you get some sleep tonight." you sucked on your bottom lip. there was a silence between the two of you, each daring the other to do something first. choso slowly bent down to get eye level with you, his hands going to your waist as he ran the back of his fingers along your sides.

“yeah, right.” his voice was a low, husky whisper in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. the heat of his breath tickled the sensitive skin of your ear as he spoke. "i bet you're so tight," he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. the intensity in his words made your cheeks flush and your heart race.

“wanna see?” you whispered back, a smirk playing on your lips once again, challenging choso to do something more.

choso smirked and wrapped one arm completely around her waist, pulling her up against his body. his other hand trailed up your thigh. with one swift motion, he lifted you up and pushed her down onto the bed. his fingers traced a line slowly across your thighs as his breath hitched.

“i can feel how wet you are,” his voice, rich and low. it was rough and thick, like velvet against your skin. you couldn't help but suck in your breath as he spoke. the air was thick with anticipation and desire, and you could feel the wetness pooling between your legs at his words.

every nerve in your body seemed to hum with need as you waited for him to make his move. his presence felt magnetic, drawing you closer until there was barely any space between you. your heart pounded in your chest as his heated gaze locked onto yours. an that moment, there was no denying the primal attraction between you two.

“i’m always wet. it’s just your first time seeing,” you replied sharply.

a smirk spread across choso’s face. the way you spoke about yourself was very cocky but he liked it. he liked it when you challenged him.

he slowly moved towards your skirt, grabbing the hem and pulling it up just enough to peek underneath, his fingers grazing the edge of your panties before they reached their way up your thigh again.

as he leaned forward, his breath was hot against your skin, sending shivers of anticipation through her body. time seemed to stand still as choso's lips finally made contact with your thigh, his kisses and sucks slow and deliberate. you couldn't help but smile as you ran your hands through his hair, pulling the ponytail out and placing it in your own hair.

a soft moan escaped from choso's lips as he pressed into your thigh, barely audible but the way his head shook told the story of his pleasure. without hesitation, he climbed on top of you, his hips pressing firmly against yours as his hands explored every inch of your body.

your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently as you relished in the feeling of it between her fingers. it reminded choso of something from his past, a memory that both pained and comforted him.

his breath hitched once again when you touched his hair, a gesture that brought back memories of his mother and his broken family. but in that moment with you, he felt whole again, grateful for the pleasure you gave him and longing for more.

choso bit his lip as he closed his eyes, his hands moving frantically across your body. he was so lost in the moment that he forgot about the time, where he was, and what he was supposed to be doing. he was focused on you, only you.

"come on, stop playing around," you interrupted with a playful grin, egging him on. "i wanna see that monster in your pants." your mischievous tone was accompanied by a wink, hinting at your true intentions as you pushed him closer.

“oh, you’ll get to see it, just not right now…”

choso's lips curved into a smirk as he finally pulled away from your thigh. his breath was heavy and quick, evidence of the excitement that coursed through both of your bodies. his strong hands stayed on your hips; their grip was gentle yet possessive as they moved lower toward your skirt.

with careful precision, his fingers slipped into the waistband of your skirt and began to slowly pull it down. as the fabric fell away, his breath hitched once again at the sight of what you were hiding underneath.

a soft moan escaped his lips as his hands remained in place, admiring every inch of your exposed skin. he bit his top lip as his fingers trailed along the edge of your thong. in that moment, he couldn't help but think that you looked just as amazing as your fiery personality.

choso’s hands slipped underneath your thong as he held the edge of them, and after a few moments, they came off of you. he smirked again and then pulled his hands away, allowing himself to see you fully and take her in. his smirk grew wider at the sight.

“yeah, you definitely know what you’re doing.” his hands were shaking a bit. you were almost completely naked in front of him. his fingers traced patterns over you once again, feeling how smooth you felt.

“i bet you look so good on your knees,” he mumbled under his breath. his voice was raspier now and he had to control his breathing when he finally looked into your eyes again.

“hm…maybe. we’ll have to see about that another time,” you smiled, still running your fingers through his hair. “now hurry up before i go dry.”

choso scoffed, feeling your fingers in his hair made it impossible for him to resist you. “i’m just gonna do one thing first,” he whispered as he looked at you, his eyes still full of lust. his hands left his sides again and went to the top of your thighs, his hands resting right underneath where he knew you were sensitive.

he smirked at you as his fingers began to trace small circles around your needy core, feeling your heat as his hands lightly squeezed your thighs with his free hand.

you gasped, your breaths already growing pretty fast, which eventually turned into audible moans as your hips started to buck against choso’s fingers.

choso smirked and squeezed you just a bit firmer, not wanting to push you too far too fast. when you moaned for him, he decided to keep pushing a bit further, finally taking his fingers away, only to use his mouth to do the work.

you spread your legs a bit wider for him and put your hand down on his head again, running your fingers through his hair and tugging on his dark locks a bit harder while you tilted your head back against the pillow as more moans fell from your lips.

the male was more than happy with your actions, suddenly grabbing your wrist and moving your hand from his head. his other hand remained firmly on your thigh as he began to slowly move his head between your thighs, taking his time as he slowly made you want more and more.

he paused for a moment and then slowly let his tongue dart out of his mouth once just to give it a taste. choso groaned softly as he looked up at you, his tongue darting back to his mouth.

your cheeks were completely flushed as his tongue moved against her. “you’re not just some emo loser, you know exactly what you’re doing,” you managed to get out before another moan interrupted your sentence and your hand latching back onto his hair.

choso moved his tongue slowly around your core while his other hand remained firmly on your thigh, occasionally squeezing a bit tighter before releasing.

the feeling of you gripping his hair made him moan and move his tongue with more fervor. he bit his lip gently and sucked on you a bit before letting go and making his hands tighten up on her thighs.

“put that tongue piercing to use,” you commanded followed by a light chuckle, the sensation obviously feeling a bit ticklish to you but the best feeling you’ve ever had.

choso smirked as you mentioned his piercing. he moved his hand from your thigh to your hip and then lowered himself down to her level, so his hands were at the edge of the bed.

he took his time to line his tongue up correctly before he pressed up against her. the sensation made his eyes close slightly before they opened again, this time looking up at you and meeting your eyes.

you bit your lip at the sensation, your moans encouraging him to continue on. he smirked as he heard your noises. he moved his tongue around slowly again, using the silver ball on his tongue to his advantage before sucking on you a bit harder than he had before.

you couldn’t help but moan choso’s name as you pressed his head against your leaky core, your slick wetting his face as your hips moved faster against his lips.

“that feel good?” he whispered, his tongue going back at it again. he looked up at her and saw the way her hair was gripping his, the way your hand rested on his head, how your teeth were biting your lower lip.

you nodded your head vigorously, being unable to speak as you struggled to breathe. a smile spread across choso’s face. your whimpers and moans only reassured him that he was doing something right.

he continued to work his magic on you and kept going until you were finally panting like you were about to faint, your heart racing.

soon enough, you finished all over his face, your mess also spraying onto your thighs. you sat up a little and giggled a little, looking at your mess dripping from choso’s face and on his lips.

a smile stretched across his face, and he finally opened his eyes and looked at you. the sight of you sitting up and giggling at him made his heart flutter, his body feeling fuzzy but satisfied. his eyes went down to his lips, and he smirked as he noticed a trail of your juices dripping from them. he looked back up at her.

“you’re very messy,” he said, his voice full of amusement before he took a swipe of his tongue across his lips, not missing a single drop trying to lick your fluids from his mouth. choso looked at you for a second longer before licking his lips one last time.

"you caused it," you retorted, your voice slightly breathless as your head lolled back against the soft pillow. a content sigh escaped your lips as you gazed up at him. choso's smirk only grew wider as he studied you, taking in every inch of your form.

in his eyes, you were the most beautiful woman in the world, and he loved that you knew exactly what you wanted. he was drawn to your confidence and independence, and it only added to your allure.

slowly, choso went up to you, his face getting as close to you as he could without you pushing him away before placing a kiss on your cheek. his breath was still a bit heavy, a blush painted across his face.

“mm…you made me tired,” he groaned as he finally laid down on the bed next to you. choso crossed his arms over his chest and looked over at you, the exhaustion written all over him.

with a playful giggle, you looked over at the boy next to you and teasingly said, "told you i'd put you to sleep, emo boy." despite his initial skepticism, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. choso couldn't help but be amused by your confidence.

you playfully nudged him, knowing that he secretly enjoyed being teased. "that's exactly what you get," you added with a mischievous grin.

choso's cheeks turned a deeper shade of red and he shifted his gaze away from you, his eyes now fixed on a random spot on the wall in your room. his voice was still calm but tinged with drowsiness as he finally spoke up. "shut up…" he muttered, his irritation evident. "i can't stand you." Choso's words were laced with feigned frustration and resentment towards you.

having a sly grin on your face, you rolled over to face him and rested your head on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "hate me all you want but that doesn't mean you don't like what's between my legs," you retorted with a playful wink.

choso's face turned even redder as he tried to come up with a response, but you could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face. "but that doesn't mean i like you. you're still a pain in the ass."

"whatever," you teased, grinning cheekily. "you'll be back for more."

© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[allfearstofallto]

Yandere! Diluc x Fem! Reader

Forced marriage AU

TW: 18+ MDNI, Minor character death

Maybe in another life, you could've loved him the way he was supposed to be loved. Loved him in a way that was pure. Loved him in the same way that he loved you. The Gardener who tended the flowers of Diluc's manor. Wasn't he a stupid one? Falling in love with the lady of the house, he must've thought this was some sort of romance novel. Constantly comparing your skin to the softness of a rose petal or your scent to the breeze that would billow through the flowers.

Such words probably would've worked on you. The you that was before Diluc. The you that wasn't forcibly married, stuck indoors all day while your husband praised you in a similar way. Words meant nothing to you anymore, but you pretended they did. Sneaking off after meals or late at night to rendezvous with your lover, giggling shyly at his compliments and accepting every flower he'd plucked and dethorned just for you. It ached you to say you felt nothing for the man, he was rather sweet after all, but your heart was already as cold as ice, with Diluc forcibly trying to melt it with his flames.

So why were you dating this simple groundskeeper and cheating on your spouse? He often asked the same thing. Wondering how in the world he compared to someone like master Diluc. He had no money and he was nowhere near as handsome. You merely scoffed at his words. Both of those things were true, but they didn't make you want Diluc anymore. What you wanted most from this man was his assistance.

When he got the job, he was supplied with a little cabin just on the outskirts of the grounds. Your only means of cover between the manor and the outside world. He talked so joyfully about how he'd steal you away from the manor, escaping with you to take you far away. Inazuma is nice this time of year, he'd tell you, and far, far away from the leering eyes of Mondstadt.

How would he feel when he found out you didn't want that? Jumping from one relationship to the next just didn't drive you as appealing, and most of all you didn't love him. You still carried on with your plan a few nights later, when the rain storm was fighting through Mondstadt. Diluc always slept the most peacefully after sex. Snoring and muttering things after his sleep. So, despite your hatred of the man, you gave yourself to him that night.

His mixture of excitement and desire did nothing for you, other than disgust you more. But you did it. You let his hands grope you where he pleased. You let him sing praises into your ear as his tongue ravished your neck. You let him take you. And after what felt like hours, he was out like a light.

You slipped out of bed and immediately went to your jewelry box. One of Diluc's best traits was his constant need to spoil you with gifts, all of which were worth a pretty penny. You stuffed them all into the pockets of your pajamas, weighing them down considerably. And you were out the door without a sound.

You met with your Gardener amongst the rose bushes. Just like you, he was soaked head to toe in the deafening rain, but he still removed his cloak and placed it over your shoulders, shielding you only a little bit. His lips pressed against yours and all you felt was numb. Your heart was thumping in your chest, but none of it was for him.

None of it felt real. Not him taking your hands in his, nor him pulling you towards the steel fence of the manor. When his hand pressed against the gate, rummaging through his pockets, you felt your throat run dry. And most of all, you felt hopeful. You nearly sighed out in relief seeing the lock fall into the mud, knowing that it was your last obstacle.

“Where do you think you're taking her?” that terribly familiar voice calls from the rain.

Oh.

Of course.

What poor luck you had.

You turned to face Diluc, of all people. Also dripping wet with rain, face red with anger, and his hand clutching his great sword, so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Your little gardener couldn't take Diluc in a fight. He could barely handle an ordinary fist fight, you worried for him.

The Gardener looked at Diluc, then back at your face. You wondered if you looked scared, maybe that's why he was dumb enough to stand his ground bare handed, “We're leaving. Both of us! She doesn't want to be with you, she told me!”

As if Diluc didn't know that already. He knew you didn't want to be with him the day he forced you to sign the marriage papers. That didn't stop him from having you. And neither would one single man. One weak, visionless man.

Diluc made light work of him. If he wanted a fight, he wasn't getting one here. He was on the ground before he could even raise a fist, bloodied with barely any life left in his eyes. You expected as much from him, even telling him in your months of rigorous planning that he wouldn't be able to face Diluc, not when he was angry and not when it came to you.

The red haired man was at your side in seconds, dropping his sword in the mud. He gripped your cheeks with his hands, despite the rainfall, his hands were still unbelievably warm to the touch. Red eyes looked you over worriedly, every nook and cranny checked.

“He didn't hurt you, did he?” Diluc muttered against your lips, his own quivering with rage that he was trying to dissipate.

“No.” you spoke, your voice monotone. You'd lost. Once again, you lost it all to Diluc. There was no point in telling him that you were the mastermind all along, and the groundskeeper was just a pawn to be tossed away. Because in Diluc's eyes, you could do no wrong. He wouldn't believe you if you did.

His lips pressed against yours, also warm, almost scorching hot. Unlike with your Gardener, you felt something with his kiss. You felt disgust. And that feeling would never fade, would it?

[caelivir]

one thousand paper stars | rayne ames

note. something quick and cute bc i love and miss rayne so bad. wc is 535.

rayne’s closet doesn’t change much. you would know. you’re always rummaging through it in order to steal his hoodies. that’s why when there’s something different about it, you’ll notice it straight away.

your brain immediately tells you that the jar next to the neatly folded shirts on the shelf is a new addition. you pluck it out of its spot and examine it closely.

it’s about halfway full, containing a colorful collection of what appears to be origami stars. a string of yarn is wrapped around the base of the lid. it loops once again through a blank, hole-punched tag.

confused but still intrigued, you can’t help but admire the stars, a smile growing on your face. you shake the jar, watching as the intricate folds of paper jump around.

at the same time, your boyfriend walks into his room, and his eyes go straight to the object in your hands.

“rayne!” you beam. “what’s this?”

a small pout forms on the half-blonde’s face as he ambles towards you. “you weren’t supposed to see that.”

“why not?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“it’s not finished yet.” he answers, a hint of disappointment in his voice. rayne takes the jar out of your hands and places it back into its original spot in his closet.

“are you making them for someone?” you wonder, tilting your head to the side in curiosity.

“yeah. you.” rayne replies, dead serious.

you blink. “me?”

“that’s what i just said.”

“okay, smartass.” you roll your eyes, arms slipping around rayne’s body. “why though?”

“if i make one thousand of them, you’re supposed to be granted good luck and love.” your boyfriend answers, reciprocating your hug.

“you’re folding one thousand of those?!” you exclaim, jaw falling.

“the real goal is ten thousand, but one thousand is the starting goal.” the half-blonde shrugs like folding five digits worth of paper is normal.

you laugh in disbelief, in admiration, and in love. “you don’t need to do that. you could’ve made me one paper star, and that would’ve been enough for me.”

“but i want to though.” rayne’s eyes soften as he cups your cheek. his warmth buries itself in your skin. he presses a delicate kiss on your forehead. “you deserve more than one paper star. you deserve more than just paper stars. i would give you the whole sky if i could.”

your heart melts at his words. your instinct allows you to pull rayne in for a short but still electrifying kiss. “rayne ames, you are too good to me.” you grin like a little kid once you pull away.

“and i’ll be even better,” rayne swears. his gaze travels to the open closet. “but you have to stop going through my closet when i’m not around.”

“it’s cold!” you whine.

“there’s blankets on the couch.”

“your hoodies are better.” you stick out your tongue playfully, escaping your boyfriend’s grasp to remove one off the hanger.

“i let you get away with too many things.” rayne sighs, shaking his head.

“it’s because you love me.” you tease with a wink as you practically slip out with the hoodie now covering your upper body.

rayne grins, watching your retreating figure. “that i do.”

[cordeliawhohung]

Touch Me 'Till I Vomit (pet!au) [11]

pet!au | ghoap x fem!reader | tag list

old memories

cw: non-con, PTSD, anxiety, slight suicidal ideation, manipulation, extremely unsafe handling of firearms

No matter how many years pass, Johnny’s still in that tunnel. 

Those damp walls follow him everywhere, and the humidity clings to his body like a second skin. Smothers every pore of his body until it’s screaming for air. Or, is that blood? The substance that trickles down the side of his face, sticky and warm? It envelops the line of his jaw like a tender lover. Like devoted fingers caressing the pain that florescences on the soft side of his skull. He needs the nails to puncture the bone. Seep into the tissue of his brain and remove the anguish that festers like a bad wound. 

A great roaring volume drowns out his senses as hands paw at his chest. He’s shaken like someone attempting to rouse their child from slumber but he doesn’t want to wake up. He needs to seep into the concrete. Liquify and soak into the cold, unforgiving ground, but he won’t. The hands dragging him by his vest refuse to allow it. He can’t die because someone wills it otherwise. Then comes the metal. Tongs and needles; scalpels that slice and tear; saws that grind marrow into dust — it hurts worse than the impact. Worse than an entry wound that bubbles and flattens into a cavern nothing can reach.

When he opens his eyes, there’s nothing but white. Walls, linen, clothes; it’s a blank canvas for him to paint on, and yet he can’t see the image. Gentle shapes and sounds, he tries to remember his cousin’s name but can’t. Wants to shape his mouth into the word but his tongue has forgotten the dance. He can’t remember the number assigned to him when he used to play keeper in football. The memory of his mother’s voice is distorted. Something is broken about his father’s face. He can hardly recall the name of the man always at his bedside. 

Ghost. Is that it? Weird bloke with the mask and dark eyes. There’s vague memories about him. Good ones. Ghost barks at the nurses and doctors who come to see him, always questioning what they’re doing. Why they’re injecting him with certain things. Johnny watches him. Thick fingers clench and relax like waves along the coastline. There is more to his name. It’s shrouded in fuzzy memories. Wading through the static, he plucks the word and lets it sit on his tongue until he’s able to get the useless muscle to move. 

“Simon?” 

Things hurt more after he says that word. That name. Calls upon the devil; sells his soul to a demon with dark eyes and lips that can’t properly curl anymore because of the scar tissue. He fights. Shreds skin with sharp teeth. Doesn’t care who the skin belongs to. Johnny’s regressed. Gone backwards in evolution. Has turned into nothing more than a bad dog locked in a cage, left alone to lick his wounds. Only the clink of his collar keeps him company. 

But the only thing that makes a dog bad isn’t because they bite or bark — it’s that they’re scared. Confused. He flails and howls lamenting cries as he tries to make sense of the collar and cage, or why his name seems to be something he can’t recapture. The only thing that’s there, repeating in his mind like a broken record, is the bullet. Gunshot ringing loud, lead ripping through his cranium; all he knows how to do is fight. Fight dirty. Fight hard. Slicing claws, bared teeth; something in him still craves blood. Still covets the taste of iron in his mouth. 

That desire is siphoned out of him. Drawn free from his body until not a single drop remains. It breaks down and decays in his body until there’s only fuzz left. A distorted reality. Things are better this way. Happier. Now, there’s nothing but that collar and cage and Simon and Simon and Simon and Simon —

“Fuckin’ hell, Soap, wake up!” 

Instead of the unforgiving metal bars of a kennel, Johnny feels a plush mattress. Sheets and blankets twist up his legs like ivy reclaiming some man made structure — something that doesn’t belong — and his limbs thrash in an attempt to free himself. He’s restrained. Thick arms wrap around his torso, pinning his appendages to his chest. Lips press against the shell of his ear as Simon grunts in frustration, attempting to hold his misbehaving dog down. 

“Easy now, easy. Down boy,” he murmurs. 

“Ah need tae go home,” Johnny rambles, hands pawing at Simon’s forearms. His chest heaves. Rib cage expanding just to crush right back into his lungs as he exhales, throat constricting like it suddenly feels the weight of the collar around it. “Need tae go home.” 

Simon shushes him. Demanding fingers grip Johnny’s forearms as he pulls him closer. He’s become a living straight jacket. Yanking back on his mutt’s leash until he calms. Until the storm passes.  

“You are home. Home with me, ‘member?” Simon attempts to coddle. The softness is foreign to his voice, but he tries anyway. “Look, even Bonnie’s here. Yeah? Your sweet bird? Look at ‘er. Look at ‘er, Johnny.” 

Confused eyes peer through the darkness until he finds you standing to the side of the bed, your back against the wall. Your parted lips look heavenly in the dull glow of the moon seeping through the windows, and he finds his heart quelling in his chest. Then he looks at your eyes. Wide as saucers. Dilated. Chest heaving. Breath escaping you. 

“Yeah, you see ‘er now. You’re home with me. Home with Bonnie. Better now?” Simon asks. 

“Ah still feel it. Digging ‘round in mah fuckin’ skull,” Johnny babbles, feet still kicking at the cloth that holds his legs hostage. His teeth grit so tightly he can hardly get the words to flow between them. 

“Need ya to relax, Johnny,” Simon huffs. Frustrated eyes glare at you, and your throat visibly bobs as he motions for you to come back to the bed. “Want Bonnie to help?”

Following Simon’s orders, you crawl onto the mattress. You shuffle along on your hands and knees, head bowed low but your eyes stay on the men in front of you like they’ll bite if you don’t. Johnny sees the trepidation that lurks in your gaze. Can nearly smell it as it collects like sweat on your skin. He doesn’t like it. That fear in your eyes. Are you scared of him? Why do you look at him like that? 

“Good girl, Bonnie,” Simon praises flatly. Without warning, his hand dives into Johnny’s boxers where he greedily palms at his cock. It’s still soft, having no chance to harden, and yet Simon is unrelenting. Johnny feels the urge to jolt, to fight back against the stimulation as he watches you sit back on your haunches, bottom lip quivering. “You want ‘er, dontcha boy? ‘Course you do. You picked ‘er out and everything. Doesn’t she make ya feel better? Feel at home?” 

There’s a dull buzz in the back of Johnny’s mind that attempts to rewire his brain. To slice away the coax seal and bare the metal cords to the damp air of his skull. To weave things until the pain stops. Until things make sense. But that buzz wanes and dies as his cock begins to harden and he becomes drunk on Simon’s words and the way he tugs at him. When he looks back at you, you are excited. Body quivering with anticipation, on your knees waiting for him like there’s nothing else in the world that can satiate your desire but him. 

“Aye. Ah do,” Johnny groans. 

Simon smirks against his ear. 

“Good boy. Go fetch.” 

Johnny eats you alive after that. Takes you while you’re face first into the mattress, cock pumping into your cunt at an abusive pace. You cry this time. You’ve been good about keeping it bottled inside, tears along with it, but seeing him screaming in his sleep has your anxiety high. Watching him thrash like that, curse, and beg. Like he had been possessed. Like he was somebody else. Fear courses through you like it’s the only component that builds the cells of your blood. Guttural sobs and wails are muffled by the way Simon shoves your face into the bedding and barks at you to quiet down. You are thankful that this time he fucks you on the bed. There’s no unforgiving wood to press into your palms or the side of your face as you grieve into the blankets. Still, it hurts all the same. Your cervix splits and bruises, walls stretched impossibly wide as he pistons into you, ripping you apart from the inside. 

He feasts on your cries. Mumbles that you sound so beautiful, moaning like that. 

All for him. 

When Johnny’s finished, he goes back to sleep. Curls around you like a devoted dog, arms lazily slung over you — nothing but dead weight. Before long, both men are snoring while you sniffle and writhe. There is no sleep to be had, not with the wounds that plague you. After so much time spent in the den of these beasts, you were hoping that your skin would become thicker. Calluses would form from use, and eventually this agony would remit. But scars can’t form if you don’t allow the wound to heal, and Simon is all too willing to tear at the scab until you’re bleeding all over again. 

He likes the taste of brine and iron. 

Morning comes and you still haven’t slept. 

It was a foolish idea to believe you could have. Laying with monstrous men and listening to the rattle of their breathing keeps you awake worse than any creature that could go bump in the night. You promise yourself you’ll sleep when they’re awake. You’ll sleep when Simon’s hands are busy working away at the garden and Johnny’s drawing sketches of your motionless body. It’s easier to rest when the sun is up. When you can open your eyes and make sense of your surroundings and not be swallowed by darkness and terror. 

Simon is the first to rise. He always is. Even the sun lags behind him in sputtering rays as he slinks out of the room. His movement is enough to rouse Johnny who finally relinquished his grasp on you in favor of turning to lay on his stomach. You breathe easier without the weight of his arm on your chest, but it does nothing to quell the ache that still burns in the pit of your stomach. That never-healing wound. That scar which will never quite mend. 

You stir when you hear the shower begin to run. Its creaky faucet strains against the old pipes, squealing as the liquid shoots through it. Lifting yourself up, you muffle your groans behind gritted teeth as you slip off the side of the bed. You’ve gotten good at being quiet. Soft as a mouse trotting through rotten walls. As silent as the flap of an owl’s wings in the dead of night. Even as you dress — fresh cloth pulling over soiled skin — there’s nothing, not even a peep, out of you. Johnny huffs, body missing your presence. You ignore him as you leave the bedroom. 

Morning birds chirp in your willow tree. You’ve decided it’s your tree. Beautiful branches, dancing leaves — Simon has Johnny, and Johnny has you, isn’t it only fair that you have something of your own? Finches chatter as they buzz from branch to branch, excited feet scurrying as they chase one another. They peck and chew at berries and nuts they’ve foraged in the bountiful forest that lay beyond the property, and you stand in front of the window for a moment watching them. 

They force an old memory to resurface. Something from when you were a child. A science class lecture that’s been buried in the grey matter of your brain for so long it had almost gotten lost. Evolutionary pressure. Finches are an example of this. Darwin’s finches, especially. They’re diverse. Changing for better survival. There are some with fat, wide beaks, others with small, dainty growths. Animals evolve fast to adapt and survive. To endure the earth and her cruel games. 

You wonder if you could test this on yourself. Stress your body to the point it has no choice but to morph into something stronger. Something better. If you climbed to the top of this house, or the ridge of those trees, and jumped, would you survive? Would your body scream and cry out for you to change and sprout wings before you hit the ground? Before you’re caught in Johnny’s maw for good? Is this just some foolish notion? Would you just shatter on the pavement below? 

Your sigh mixes with the chirping, free and sovereign. Either way, it would not be an issue for you anymore if you failed. Your wounds would never heal, but you’d be too dead to care about it. 

Simon’s shower turns off with a squeak and the sound snaps you back to reality. This is all a facade. You are not a bird, you are not a woman, you are a pet — nothing more. 

Knowing breakfast is soon to follow, you preemptively wander toward the dining room. If there is one thing to be grateful for in this meticulously crafted hell of yours, it is that you are well fed. There is no such thing as going hungry under Simon’s careful watch. He is not a good man — a good person — but he at least knows how to take care of his pets. You turn into the room —

— there is a gun on the table. 

Solvent hangs faintly in the air next to bottles of cleaners and old toothbrushes that dot the tabletop. It’s the same set up you recall seeing a few weeks back when Simon cleaned his rifle — when he reminded you that hunting season is fast approaching — but there is no rifle on the table. A hand gun sits in its place, resting on its side, aimed toward the wall. It’s not gutted. Each spring and screw lies perfectly in place. Primed. Ready to kill. 

It’s a proper handgun. At least, you think it is. Not one of the six shooters you always see portrayed in old American Western films. It’s deadly. Something officers or Army men would use. Your stomach sinks as you approach it, like it’ll decide to discharge from a mere glance alone. Sleek black metal covers the frame and grip, making it all look uniform, save for some wear and tear scratches. Some of the scratches look deep — long and gnarly gashes like the item itself had been through hell and back. You reach a hand out, floating and careful; your fingertips brush against the grip; wary, like it’ll bite.

“Shouldn’t be touchin’ that.�� 

Retracting your hand, you jump as Simon’s voice cuts through the air with as much venom as a viper. You step back as your eyes jump to look at him. Shirtless, skin still freshly wet, he stands like a drowned barbarian as he stares at you. An apology bubbles up in your throat, but you won’t let it escape. You keep it trapped in your larynx as he slowly approaches with feet more quiet than you could ever wish to be. 

“Ever seen one before?” he asks. He crowds you, forces you back another step as he reaches for the pistol. Large hands dwarf the metal frame as he turns it over in his palm, showing it off. “A gun like this?” 

You shake your head. Knives are plenty common in England, but handguns? Something other than a hunting rifle? You thought handguns were banned. Though, Simon’s never been one to shy away from illegal acts. 

“Yeah. Didn’t think so. Fittin’ for a civilian,” he chuckles with crass humor. 

Simon does something unthinkable — he hands you the gun. 

There’s nothing but care as he holds it out, grip faced toward you, muzzle off to the side pointing at neither of you. Your heart leaps into your throat, swells in your esophagus, and then throbs. All you can do is stare. It stares back. Screams at you. You’re all too aware that this item acts not only as your executioner, but as your ticket out of this place. 

“Take it,” he urges. 

Like always, you obey. It feels too thick in your palm, and when he lets go, it’s heavy, much more than you could have anticipated it to be. Everyone in the movies always wields them so flippantly — as if they’re light as air — but the weight it holds screams its deadly intent. Simon’s fingers brush against you, adjusting your grip, and you try not to grimace at the feeling of his skin and tainted metal against your hand. 

“Is it loaded?” you question. You don’t know why you ask it. Maybe you want to know so you can be wary. To not hurt yourself. Or maybe you want to know so you can see if the risk raging in the back of your mind is worth taking. 

“Dunno,” Simon shrugs. Once more, he repositions you. Gently prods your hand higher and higher, elbow bent, muzzle resting against your temple. Maneuvers your pointer finger until it’s hooked around the trigger. A dead woman walking, he forces you to stand there with the gun to your head. “Wanna find out?” 

What a cruel world this is. The earth with her singing birds and sprouting flowers and bright blue skies, and you’ve hardly been able to enjoy any of it. All it has been is pain, and here you are wondering if you’ll ever get the chance to heal from it. Your heart thumps like an amateur drummer; without sense and rhythm. It demands to be heard. Forces you to listen to his cacophonous melody as it drowns the rush of blood in your ears. Your finger twitches, and the trigger gives way, but not enough for anything to happen. 

“C’mon. We’ll get you matchin’ with Johnny, huh? Ugly fuckin’ scar on the side of your head.” As he says it, he eyes the spot where the mouth of the gun meets your trembling flesh. He says it like he’s already imagining the gaping hole. “Pull the trigger, Bonnie.” 

It can’t be loaded. You’re certain of it. There’s no way he would leave something that dangerous around within reach. But it’s so heavy. As if it’s crammed to the brim with bullets ready to riddle your body full of holes. Your breathing stutters. Seizes the muscles of your chest and forces them to jitter. You stare at Simon’s chest. Nothing but pale, thick skin stares back at you. If you pull the trigger, you might paint him red. Red and pink and yellow. You wonder if that’s what he wants. If the feeling of water never feels as warm or embracing to him as fresh blood does. 

“I told you to pull the fuckin’ trigger.” 

Panic writhes in your stomach — you don’t want to die yet. 

Click!

The hammer strikes against nothing and dry fires. It rings louder than the terror in your mind and the vibrations that rattle your trembling body as your arm gives out, gun lowering away from your head. Of course it’s empty. How stupid of you to think of anything different. Simon would never allow you to leave before he’s ready to let go. 

When Simon laughs, your stomach lurches so fiercely you nearly vomit. Once you’re able to force yourself to face him, you’re met with the largest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. Crooked teeth sit between scarred lips as he swipes the gun out of your limp fingers. Taking a step back, he nods; utterly amused. It isn’t long before that sneer wipes off of his face and he’s back to wearing that biting, stoic expression he always does. 

“Atta girl,” he huffs. 

Sliding the gun into the waistband of his sweatpants, Simon saunters past you into the kitchen, leaving you to stand alone next to the table. Unstable knees nearly give out as your palms slap against the top, slowly dragging your body into a rickety chair. It hurts to sit, soreness jolting through your core with unforgiving electricity, but you refuse to make a sound. You sit there with tears welling in your eyes as you try to forget the way deadly metal feels in your hand. 

This is Simon’s greatest round of torture yet. He’s given you the keys meant to aid in your escape, but he’s changed all the locks. You bite into your bottom lip to get it to stop quivering. After living here, you’ve learned pain is the best enforcer. Only, it doesn’t quite work as well when it’s self-inflicted. 

Another click sounds, and you wince at it. Holding your breath, you wait for something else to follow — a sonic boom, a scream, a death rattle — but the only thing you hear is the sizzling of bacon on a hot pan as Simon prepares breakfast.

[teyums]

neteyam with a pregnant mate ; headcanons

a/n: he’s so husband agahshdjfj

NETEYAM is the kind of mate to immediately notice when you’re beginning to grow tired of standing on sore feet while he’s having a conversation with the other warriors. It’s so easy for him to tell, just from a change in the weight of the breaths you draw into your lungs and the few experimental shifts you make from one hip to the other, trying to see which position brings you the most relief. Out of the corner of his eye, he’ll watch as you go to cradle the underside of your rounded belly with a supportive forearm and sigh as quietly as possible, and without hesitation he’ll lower himself to one knee, and use a gentle hand on your lower back to guide you to sit sideways on his thigh, a makeshift way for you to rest your tired joints while you wait. You’re much too weary to protest, and more than grateful as a relieved sigh immediately pulls from your lips from the ability to relax. There’s never a break in the conversation he’s having whilst he does this, as it’s such an instinctive thing for him to do as a soon to be father and an attentive mate. Tending to you is never a disruption for him.

NETEYAM is the kind of mate who returns from a hunt after hours of strenuous labor, and instead of focusing on the plate of food that sits hot and steaming right in front of him, he’s more worried about whether you’ve eaten instead. His fatigue manifests itself in the way his shoulders slouch, and he hasn’t even removed his gear before he’s asking you how your day has gone, perhaps to distract you from how obvious it is that he’s babying his left arm which could only mean that he skipped his visit to Tsahik’s tent in order to come straight home to you. You’ll fix his plate the way you know he likes, only for him to coax you into his lap and inquire if you and the baby, or his ‘little girl’ (who, mind you, he has yet to find out the gender of, he just has a feeling) have eaten yet as he rubs a gentle caress over your swollen abdomen. And when you tell him no, you haven’t eaten today, that you were busy tidying things up and so focused on making sure his dinner was ready on time that you must have forgotten, his pretty features churn into a display of such discontentment you’re not even sure of what he’ll say next. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, that simply won’t do, he’s decided as he picks up a seared piece of the tapirus you just prepared, and prompts you to open your mouth for it with a pointed stare. He’s not interested in hearing any negation from you, and just as your lips part to give him one, he pops it into your mouth and sits back, pleased at how your reaction to the taste of your own cooking compliments just how good at it you are.

NETEYAM is the kind of mate who refuses to let you carry anything the moment he receives the news you’re with child. Willingly disregarding his duties for just a moment whenever he witnesses you pacing by, he sees you with a basket of freshly folded towels on your hip, and he just can’t help himself as he swiftly plucks it from your grasp. You ensure him that it’s light as feathers, that you’re more than capable of continuing to enact your duties throughout the clan regardless of the life beginning to grow inside you. And he knows you are, it’s just that you shouldn’t have to, and while sometimes you may feel a bit smothered by his overbearing need to care for you, it’s all the more endearing how even with all the weight set on his shoulders, he’s beyond dedicated to balance just a little bit more for you.

NETEYAM is the kind of mate who insists on spending quality time with you before bed, constantly finding different ways to bond with you aside from the usual. From pressing his ear to your belly as he sings lullabies to get the little feet in your belly to stop kicking, or having conversations with your unborn child who he swears can actually hear him (she could, and definitely recognized his voice the moment he’d gotten her to stop crying after you gave birth a few months later), to massaging whatever part of you aches or twinges even if his joints are screaming for the same attention. Eventually, you’ll manage to convince him to switch spots with you, having him lay flat on his stomach as you straddle his back just for him knock out and produce one of the loudest snores you’ve ever heard from him the moment you’d dug the heels of your hands into the tense muscles of his shoulder blades.

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

[fanaticsnail]

Why are you giving me this, Wire?

Hey Doc Masterlist here

Word Count: 880+

Synopsis: Wire hands you a small, cyllindrical object that has your curiosity peaked. It is not until he begins eating until you realise exactly what it is he's given you.

Warnings: surgical talk, mention of a food allergy, exhausted Doctor, grumpy doctor. gn!reader x platonic!Wire, undressing crewmates, medical administration, swearing.

Notes: This is brought to you by one of Australia's greatest comedy trios. The link is available here for Aunty Donna's skit. I was meant to be doing chores, but my hand slipped and now there's some more Kid-Pirate Doctor fic crack.

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sinning-23

“Hey Doc?” A smooth, warm baritone purred down at you from your position lining up for food in the mess hall, “I've got something for you.” 

Curiosity plagued your mind, prompting you to turn and view the taller member of the Kid-Pirates who loomed over your body with his great height. In his larger hand, he held out a small, cylindrical object and passed it to you without a further word. 

With brows furrowed, you turned the lengthy object in your hands and read the scrolled print on the exterior of the smooth surface. A small, blue cap was protruding from the end, a coiled blade hidden in the orange end of the barrel. Leaning closer, you sounded out the title aloud. 

“Epinephrine?” you quizzed him, looking up at Wire and darting your eyes around his posture, “Why are you giving me this, Wire?” His eyes moved from the tube to your face with a soft, playful smirk pulling at his cheeks. 

Looking down to Wire's ceramic plate, you noticed his amassment of crustaceans piled in a whopping heap in the center of the dish. Pursing your lips, your tone held a deep warning in your chastising words. 

“Wire,” you narrowed your eyes, looking to his plate and back to his mischievous gaze, “Are you allergic to shellfish?” His eyes twinkled, plucking a skewer with freshly charred shrimp and scallops dressed in chili butter and herbs. 

“Wire,” you tilted your head to the side, “Don't do it.” Your dark, hummed warning only seemed to spur him to draw it closer to his lips. 

“I swear, Wire,” you stepped closer, prompting him to retract his proximity and turn away from you, “If you're anaphylactic, I swear to the great sea-beasts, Wire.” His smirk widened, and his playful eyes never left yours. His mouth opened, his tongue darted out and flickered over the tantalizing skewer Killer had dotingly prepared for the crew. 

Placing your own plate down beside you, you attempted to jump to collect the shellfish from his hands a moment too late. His lips opened further, the shrimp and scallops passing into his lips and having him crunch on the juicy shell and swallow it whole. 

Humming in satisfaction at the flavor, he opened his mouth and began heartily shoving in crab flesh, lobster tail, pipis in curry broth, and fresh oysters with lime. 

“Oh, for fucks sake, Wire!” you growled at him, slamming your unoccupied fist on the cafeteria railing and reading the instructions on how to administer the epinephrine with the greatest success. 

“Remove blue safety cap without damaging the cartridge-... Fuck, Wire!” you began hastily reading, watching your crewmates face beginning to swell and turn purple. He was smiling and wincing all the way, swallowing another juicy scoop of lobster tail down his rapidly closing throat. 

“Swing and push orange tip against outer thigh with force and wait until you hear the click-... Wire, stop eating!” You roared, tugging off the blue cap and removing his belt to get better access to the muscle of his thigh. There was no way you could penetrate the thick leather pants with the small blade hidden within the barrel, prompting your rage to ignite further as you undressed your crewmate. 

“Hold for at least three seconds-. -Wire, put down the king-crab leg!” You managed to usher Killer in to aid you in your plight, who managed to pry away the delectable assortment of crustaceans on Wire’s plate and toss it to Kid. Your captain was not hiding his smile in the slightest, laughing as Wire threw him a swift ‘thumbs up’ and a rapidly swelling smile. 

Finally punching the epinephrine barrel into Wire’s bare thigh, he breathed in a heaping lungful of air and began to pant as his throat reopened. The swelling of his face went down after thirty seconds, the soft tears gathering in his eyes from the lack of oxygen did not take away your fury at him for making you puncture his skin as a balm for his stupidity. 

“Wire, what the fuck?” your barked growl prompted a laugh to rise from within the mess hall, the loudest was your captain's amongst them. “Happy with yourself?” Wire joined his crew with another hefty laugh, looking to Killer and clapping his hand over his shoulder. 

“Worth it,” he nodded in satisfaction before looking down into your eyes. He pinched your chin between his index finger and thumb, scrunching up his nose and teasing you with his gratitude, “Thanks, Doc. You're a lifesaver.”

You tugged your face away from his grip and turned back to your discarded meal. Huffing out an exasperated puff of breath, you shook your shoulders and returned back to reassembling your evening meal with your lips grimaced in agitation. As you sat down beside Killer at the table, you took a bite of the dish and immediately felt the tension and agitation leave you instantaneously. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, bringing your palm up to your lips and chewed on the mouthful of shellfish. Sparing a glance at Wire, you hollowed your hand after swallowing and called over to him, “You were right, Wire. It is worth it.” 

Killer smirked beneath his mask, giving your shoulder a firm squeeze in thanks for your praise before he stood to begin tidying up the mess left behind by the crew.

[sim0nril3y]

Push and Pull

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Simon opens himself up to some physical intimacy, but it seems like even afterwards he still remains guarded and aloof Note: Set in 2014 Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), SMUT SMUT SMUT, oral male receiving, mild angst, Simon being his usual guarded self, canon-typical swearing

Oh god. Fuckinghell. This was happening… Your fingers were so daintily plucking at his belt whilst soft lips pressed open-mouthed kisses against the shallow ‘V’ groves of his lower abdomen. With some assistance you tugged down his jeans and audibly gasped at the outline of his hard cock through his briefs. Simon tried to remain composed as her hot mouth skimmed over the fabric. “Fuck…” Grounding out your name between his grit teeth. Part of him wanted to beg and the other wanted to chastise for teasing him so cruelly.

A tug on his briefs allowed it to spring free causing yet another gasp to find your throat at the sight of his immense uncut cock. His glassy eyes trailed over your flushed features trying so desperately to decipher the look. “You’re huge~” Your voice was barely a whisper but it sent a deep shiver down his spine. There was this need that was building inside of him that he hadn’t felt for such a long time. Simon needed your touch. His cock cried and jumped for your attention.

“Babe, please…” Simon hiccupped out, hands gripping frantically at the material of the sofa cushions. For so long he had been so content with nothing or on the rare occasion his own touch. Simply resigning himself that was all that he was worth, but now with you knelt between his trembling knees. Fuck, he needed you on a deeper level than he had ever experienced. It was confusing, it was arousing but most of it it was fucking terrifying.

The sound of your breathy voice grounded him in that moment. “I got you.” It was sweet and intoxicating. His cock leaked unapologetically against his stomach and a moment later your soft hands wrapped around his cock making his strong hips shoot upwards from muscle memory, those same hands soothingly his hips back into a more relaxed position. “Let me take care of you…” Face beat red and knuckles pale white as his cock leaked and pulsed in the comfort of your fist.

Hardly able to make eye-contact as you worked diligently on his massaging his cock, using his own spend as some type of lube. Rolling back his skin your wet tongue wrapped and lapped at the head of his cock. A choked noise fell from his lips, heart racing in his full chest. Fuckin’ hell. It had been such a long time since he had been cared for so attentively and patiently. Don’t fucking cum right now. Don’t cry. Be a fucking man. He repeated those commands in his head. Christ, the second sunk more of his cock in your throat he practically had to scream those directions in his mind. Keep it together, solider.

“How long has it been, Simon?” His cock removed from your throat you was able to ask a question that lingered in your mind. It didn’t mean your hand stopped jerking his length playfully. “Too long.” Finally, his eyes reopened to find your own. His mouth hung open as you back onto his length. “Gonna be the death of me~” A little laugh around his cock only caused his hips to shoot up higher, maybe giving more of his cock than you were expecting as it followed by a guttural gag. Those dangerous eyes stayed focused on his face the entire time, gaging whether he was appreciating the act or not, it seemed like he was.

“B-babe… fuck… I can’t…” It was all too much. It had just been so long since he had felt this overwhelming pleasure. Typically, he wasn’t a giver or receiver. During a one-night stand Simon would just fuck them and leave, like agreed. No kissing. No head. Minimal touching. This was all entirely different and Simon was just wishing he had wanked in his bathroom before letting you put her lips on him. Rough fingers tangled in your tresses. Finally relinquishing all control over him, Simon began to bob your head up and down on his cock. Throat tight and loud, eyes watery and focused on solely him. “Won’t… last…” It was a warning, if you didn’t want a throat full of cum then back off now, but you stayed firmly between his knees, happily allowing him to use you for pleasure.

At his pinnacle you watched intently as his entirely body went rigid, pushing your head down on his cock and feeling his cum began to flood you throat. For the most part Simon was quiet whilst he climaxed, simply a few grunts and a breathy noise of relief at his end. “Good girl.” A snippet of praise that you had not been expecting. Internally preening at his words, carefully removing yourself from his rapidly deflating cock and wiping your wet mouth with the back of her hand. For a moment you knelt there, running your hands up and down his trembling thighs, rubbing small circles into his flesh hoping that you were giving him some type of comfort at his most vulnerable.

“Do you have any cloths?” The question was hushed as you pushed herself to be standing. In a sleepy drawl Simon explained where to find one. He hadn’t been expecting you to return with a glass of water and a damp cloth. Sinking back down to your knees you spent time cleaning his spent cock, removing his jeans and tugging his briefs back up. “You’re a good girl~” The praise was slurred on his sleepy tongue, eyes practically closed by this point but you accepted it all the same, beaming to yourself as you carefully folded his jeans into a neat square.

That next morning Simon came around to find out it wasn’t just some type of dream his lust-clouded him had made it. No, you were perfectly slotted into his side and his jeans were folded beside him like some present for him to find. In that late morning sunshine Simon allowed himself a few moments to just admire your seeping frame. Curled up into his side like some wonting animal craving love and attention. He took in every inch of your frame, admiring the bones of you but what amused him most of all was that you snored. “Watching me sleep?” A groggy morning voice questioned.

A chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Observing. Assessing.” He offered instead. “You make it sound odd.” Then stroking you hair soothingly. “Want a cuppa?” The question that every Brit wanted to be asked in the morning. You nodded frantically before being moved so delicately so that he could get up and work on that for them. “Milk? Sugar?” Your response of lots of both only made him smirk in response, pulling on his jeans and entering the kitchen.

How the fuck had this all happened? This hadn’t been in is life plans… No, he had envisioned a life of service. That was it. That was all he was good for. Simon was a good solider – No, he was a fantastic solider. He followed ordered well and did what needed to be done for the good of his people. A family, or… whatever you could be considered didn’t have a space in that plan or that future. It was too dangerous. Too many people around him had been hurt or killed because of him. He couldn’t do that to you too.

Tucked up into a comfortable little bundle you sipped at your tea and hummed happily. “I, um… was that okay last night?” Usually full of an unjustified confidence you sounded worried. His brows pinched before he gifted her a small nod. “More than okay.” He assured, not wanting you to think your technique wasn’t good, because fuck it was. “That’s good.” You took another sip of her tea and glanced in his direction again. “Because I’m not sure what you want… or what we’re doing here… like, I know what we are physically doing, but is it just physical or… I don’t know.” Then shaking your head.

Ah, you were feeling a bit uncertain about where they stood. “Without trying to sound like a prick…” Simon sat forward. “I don't think I have a good answer for you...” The other night he knew he didn’t like them blokes talking so vulgarly about you and having you sleep in his arms was… maybe better than getting head from you, but… it couldn’t change his stance on wanting to keep you safe over him being selfish. He could live without a partner, but he simply couldn’t live with her getting hurt, or worse because of him.

“I get that.” The answer came too quick from her, too scared to push him. Your smile was forced and you drunk your much too hot tea way too quickly. “I should probably get going.” Standing up and placing her empty mug down on the coffee table. “You don’t have to leave-“ “I actually have plans.” The words were like you was scolding a young boy and Simon practically recoiled from your snap. “Okay…” He conceded, standing and placing down his own mug. “Do you want a lift home?”

Responding quietly as you gathered together your things you replied. "I'll be fine." And then a moment later you were gone from his door. Fuck, he really had fucked that up, but... but maybe it was for the best. It was for your safety after all. He could live with feeling like a prick if it meant that you were alive and thriving elsewhere.

Masterlist | Ask | 02-09-2023