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moongreenlight · 1 year

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“Realistic Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley headcanons” and then it’s just the fun police.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

- It makes me want to scoop my fucking brain out with a spoon when people say that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is some shy, anxious soft boy. I really do not believe he’d need to be coddled after a nightmare or babied when he’s feeling angsty. He is fine, y’all. Please don’t call paw patrol.

He is a soldier. He’s a war criminal. He is traumatized to the point of numbness. He is fucked up and weird and insane and honestly I think that we should all let everybody have their thing.

I cannot fix him. I do not want to fix him. I can only make him worse.

- Sorry but I just cannot write him having any kind of romantic feelings toward Soap. I like writing their dynamic more brotherly.

Furthest they’ve gone is ‘locker room gay.’

Like Johnny sends him dick pics on occasion because he thinks it’s funny and it pisses Ghost off.

That being said, I do read the occasional Ghoap fic. I’m not a perfect person. Sometimes it’s just yummy delicious.

- Feel like he’s the kind of freak to intentionally go to the gym without headphones. Something about discipline. Opting to just stare at the wall in front of him while he’s doing cardio or counting repetitions of exercises.

But on the rare occasion that he does indulge himself, he has a playlist of like 5-6 songs he likes and when it ends he just goes back to silence. Divorced dad rock. Chorded headphones only.

- Doesn’t have the debilitating commitment issues as people paint him out to have. Just commitment-phobic. Obviously stems from his past. He’s got that sexy deep rooted fear of abandonment or something horrible happening to people he actually lets close to him. But he’s not completely turned off by the idea of romantic attachments or close friends, just a little hesitant to open himself up to that kind of opportunity.

Probably very cagey about romantic partners. Doesn’t want the guys to know about you. Doesn’t keep pictures of you around his bunk or anything like that. He’s worried it’ll somehow compromise your safety. Worried about you getting swept up in his work.

- Women’s rights? Or Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley? I really do think he’d love to have a partner who lets him provide *everything* for them. He just wants to serve and protect. Wants his bird to be in a gilded cage all nice and safe and reliant on him for survival.

Doesn’t even really like the idea of you going to the grocery store by yourself. Would prefer if you just stayed put and tended his home and cooked him meals and let him dote on you and provide everything you could ever need.

- Has a really strange understanding of technology. He’s fine with the newer military stuff. That’s his element. He can do electrical wiring, set up a TV, install security cameras. That’s all whatever. But a cell phone? He doesn’t give a shit enough to keep up with the new updates and all the new things you have to learn when you get a smartphone. Wishes he would have kept a flip phone.

Texts like this: [OK. See youtonight.]

MAYBE has a private Facebook with no profile picture where the only things on his wall are Price wishing him a happy birthday every year.

His camera roll is like; 97 accidental screenshots of his Lock Screen, a few pictures of him and the task force boys, the inside of his pocket (another accident), a sunrise, a few cool things he found on missions, 34 pictures of Soap and Gaz when they took his phone.

- Insufferable in the early stages of trying to date him. Little to no communication other than basically demanding you meet him somewhere. Texting or talking on the phone? Like pulling fucking teeth. You think he’d rather be dead.

It was a headache getting him to go out in the first place. Maybe you worked at a bar where the guys would come to have a drink after a long day. He’s a little stand-offish but he’s handsome and he knows how to banter well enough for you to be persuaded by a coworker to slip him your number after you complained one too many times about a shit hookup or yet another terrible first date. It takes him nearly two weeks to phone you.

“Didn’t think you’d call.”

“Didn’t think I would either.”

He takes you out once, you think he seems sort-of interested, then he doesn’t phone or text you back for three days. You get over it. A few more dates in. You can tell he’s a bit more relaxed. A bit more open. You’re less worried that you’re a terrible conversationalist. Then he goes on a month long deployment without saying anything in advance. Radio fucking silent yet again. You want to tear your hair out. When he finally gets back, he’ll text you something like [Atthat pub you like. Drinks ?] completely out of the blue. You think you may actually go insane.

- Once he’s gotten used to you, it’s like the sole purpose of his life is to be your protector even if you’ve only recently convinced yourself he may want something casual. You’re small and grab-able. He knows how nasty people can be and what think when they see you. He needs to know that you’re taken care of, kept safe from such a scary world.

So he’ll just linger around you. All the time. Standing behind you when you’re at the till at the store, staring down the cashier who was only trying to be friendly when they asked if you had any fun plans for the rest of the day. Big arms folded over his chest. Looming so largely he threatens to eclipse you without taking a single step forward. Eyes burning a hole into the poor person who hastily finishes the transaction without another word.

Walking silently next to you in the evenings after you’re both off work; close enough to brush shoulders, but that’s about it. Listening to you chirp on about your day. Occasionally offering a small grunt of acknowledgement or a few words of interjection. Always walks on the side of the path that he thinks could pose you the most immediate danger. Shielding you from what may lurk in a darkened alley or a hedge or a small thicket of trees.

Scary dog privilege, but like… for when you go to fill your car up with gas in broad daylight in a good part of town and he insists on standing out there with you. ‘Just in case’ If he even lets you out of the car in the first place.

- AND OFF THAT POINT. I think once he’s decided that he’s actually fond of you, it goes from zero to a hundred so fast it makes your head spin.

Like the last time you spoke, it was still unclear on if you were keeping things casual or not and now you’re at dinner and the waiter just asked him if the two of you wanted dessert and Simon just grunts “dunno. Ask the missus.” ??? He sucks so bad I NEED him.

- As much as I love an overly possessive and jealous Simon, I saw this tweet that said “My girlfriend can wear what she wants because she’s a hoe and I knew that before we started dating” and it changed my life.

He’s secure enough not to need to cause a scene if someone makes a pass on you in public. He understands that you’re attractive and that other people are bound to find you attractive too. (Not that he doesn’t still want to pull their fingernails out one by one, threatening them and everything they love for daring to exist near you. He’s just got better control over himself than that. King.)

He knows he’s better than any of your other options. Nobody else could keep you as safe as he could. They don’t know the world like he does. They don’t know how breakable you are. How sweet and naive you can be.

Not to say he isn’t overly jealous and possessive, he just won’t pitch a fit in public.

LIKE dragging him to the bar with your friends and he sits at the table with all of your drinks. Him watching you dancing out of the corner of his eye, seeing some prat come up and grab your ass in passing. Or a group of guys dancing with your friends getting a little *too* close to you for his liking. He doesn’t do anything while the two of you are out- not wanting to ruin your fun. But that night after you’ve gotten back to his flat (He insisted. Closer to the bar. Uber was cheaper.) and he’s tearing your miniskirt off like it’s personally offended him. He’ll be a little rougher. A little more liberal with the marks his mouth leaves on your collarbones and inner thighs. His strong hands will grab at the fat of your hips a little harder than he should- leaving bruises where his fingers dug in. He’ll lean over you while you’re split open with his length, snarling down at you. “Had everyone’s attention tonight, didn’t you, pet?“ “You like havin’ eyes on you?” “Greedy fuckin’ slag.” “Can’t appreciate what you have.” “Need a reminder of who you’ve got to impress.” Maybe he’ll take you in front of a mirror, massive hand fixed on your jaw. Jerking your face up so you have to look at yourself being ruined by him. How pretty and slutty you look when your makeup is ruined by the tears he’s fucking out of you.

- He calls you ‘bird’ or ‘pet’ more often than anything else. A little on the nose for how he treats you. Like you’re some small, frail thing that can’t go a day without him. Stripped of your natural survival instincts and instead leaning on him for support and comfort and food and shelter. Just how he likes it.

GOD he’s a fucking freak. Gross and mean and fucked in the head. Makes my stomach hurt. I hate him. I wish I was schizophrenic so I could vividly hallucinate him.

#simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #cod x reader #call of duty smut #cod smut #141 headcanons #headcanon #drabble

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rcmclachlan · 1 month

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On this week's episode of Things I Think About While Driving, I was having myself a grand ol' time thinking about all the different times and ways Buck could've met Tommy earlier, and the one I kept coming back to was S4xE5.

Like, right after Buck walks out of Maddie's apartment having learned about Daniel...

He drives.

He drives and drives and drives with no actual destination in mind, operating completely on autopilot, for hours. No music, no podcasts, just the rush of wind through all the open windows of the Jeep and the echoing refrain in his head of so they made one.

It would've been an allogeneic transplant. He'd looked it up once when he was watching a 60 Minutes special on Myelodysplastic Syndrome. They would've taken the stem cells from his umbilical cord if the timing was right. Unless they tried it a little bit later, maybe waited a few months before they scraped Daniel's homegrown defense system right out of Buck's bones. He would've been too young to remember the pain and discomfort that came after. He wonders if he cried as a baby more than he would've if he'd been wanted for anything other than the hellfire missiles in his marrow.

And then it didn't work. Defective, right out of the gate. No wonder they've always treated him like a massive disappointment—he is one. He had one job and he couldn't even manage to do that much.

So he drives. He drives and he's furious. He drives and he's inconsolable. He drives and he's sorry. With every street he turns down at random, he moves onto another emotion, and by the time the gas gauge is nudging close to empty and the evening is giving way to night, the only thing he's capable of feeling is tired.

And hunger. He'd only had an apple before he went over to Maddie's.

So he circles back to Glendale Boulevard and decides on the place with a red lion on their sign solely because it doesn't look busy for 8:30pm on a Tuesday. There's even a free space in the little lot next to the building. Thanks, COVID.

It's pretty quiet inside, with a substantial bar set against old wood paneling on the walls, making it feel like an old tavern. He takes a seat at the far end of the bar where the lighting's kind of dim.

Turns out it's a German bar, so he orders a glass of Warsteiner, which he's never had before, and it's got a strong, malty backbone for a lager. The bartender tells him there's a Biergarten in the back if he wants to take his drink outside.

Buck doesn't want to move from his little corner. It feels safe here, even with his mask off. At least two of the one hundred thousand knots in his back muscles have relaxed since he sat down. He quietly declines the offer, but he does order himself the sausage plate and a glass of Augustiner Maximator once he's done with the Warsteiner, which goes down so good he can't believe it's got an ABV of 7.5%. He orders a second.

He's in the middle of robotically eating a smoked bockwurst he can't taste, thinking so they made one, when the door to the biergarten opens up. A guy walks over to the bar and Buck throws him a cursory glance. Then he looks again.

The guy is exactly who you'd find on the cover of the LAFD charity calendar: big and beefy, with the kind of high cheekbones that belong on a runway in Milan. Effortlessly handsome. Buck wants to tip his beer toward him, because, respect. He also wants to poke his biceps and ask what his regiment is, if he P90X's or something. Buck isn't a small man by any stretch of the imagination, but this guy looks like he could throw Buck around like a grizzly bear.

Buck lets himself be distracted by watching the guy lightly tap his fingers against the bar to the beat of whatever 80s song is playing softly over the speakers. He's always loved people watching; it's a great way to get out of his head after tough calls. This guy is a particularly fascinating specimen. There's just something magnetic about him. Buck's known people like that: they draw the eye even if they're not doing anything to warrant attention. Without even being called, the bartender wanders over to the guy, no doubt drawn to whatever invisible light is coming off him. Buck can't hear what they're saying, but then the bartender turns and points right at Buck, who freezes, caught.

The guy flashes Buck a thumbs up and asks just loud enough to be heard through his face mask, "How was the Warsteiner?"

Swallowing, Buck lifts the empty glass and says, "Uh, g-good. Full-bodied."

With a thoughtful nod, the guy turns back to the bartender and says something too quiet for Buck to hear, but he figures it out when the bartender goes and comes back with a glass of what is clearly Warsteiner. The guy takes a sip, pauses, and then moves toward Buck, stopping before he gets too close. "Thanks for the recommendation. Hey, Jay, put his next one on my tab."

The bartender—Jay—gives him a thumbs up and goes to the register. Buck, mortified at the thought of being a charity case, of this guy pitying him enough to buy him a beer, opens his mouth to tell Jay he can pay for his own beers, thanks, when the guy holds up a hand to forestall the protest.

"German beer's not usually my thing. I'm more of a craft beer kind of guy, so really, I appreciate the assist. If it makes you feel better, pay it forward." His cheeks curve up, and in the bar lighting Buck can see there are long legs attached to the guy's crow's feet. He clearly has spent his life smiling. Buck would bet this man has never once curled up in the dark on his birthday knowing for a fact his parents weren't going to even text him and was still disappointed when the clock ticked past midnight and he had nothing to show for it. This guy's parents probably had a golden statue of him erected in their front yard.

Buck musters up a smile that feels like one of the little, weak waves that just sort of roll over the shoreline without any fanfare before dissolving back into the sea, and the guy tilts his head.

"Rough day?"

"Rough life," Buck says, utterly pathetic, and feels like he's betrayed all his friends for even saying it. "No, that's—that was incredibly ungrateful. My life isn't—I-I have a good life. I just learned something today about my parents that, uh, clarified a few things for me about our relationship. It... wasn't great."

The guy taps his finger against the bottle of Warsteiner in his hand, staring at Buck with deep consideration, flaying Buck from head to toe without a word. Then he gives a nod that smacks of commiseration and walks around the bar until he's only two chairs away. When the guy opens his mouth and inhales, Buck can already hear what's coming: surely it's not that bad. You should talk it out with them. You're being too hard on them. C'mon, they're your parents, they love you.

"That sucks," the guy says, simple as anything.

Out of nowhere, heat starts prickling in Buck's nose and the corners of his eyes, and he looks at this guy and the calm, earnest expression on his face, and... yeah. Yeah. It does suck. It sucks so hard and it has for so long, and all his life he's wanted someone to tell him that, to hear him list every injustice and offer a crumb of support without any pretense or judgment. Buck gasps a laugh that sounds more like he's been stabbed, and he opens his mouth to thank the guy for telling him exactly what he needed to hear, but instead what comes out is... everything. The whole story comes out of him like an unraveling firehose, pulling longer and longer the more he talks, stretching from the day he crashed his bike—"But it wasn't my bike, it was his."—to sitting in Maddie's living room and finally learning the truth: that he hadn't been crazy, that something had been wrong his entire life and the something was him.

"They'd made a box for her—full of all these memories and little trinkets and pictures—and I bet you he had one with baseball cards and his first, like, pacifier, and Skittles, and whatever, but when I asked them where mine was, they looked at me like I had three heads, because human junkyards full of scrap metal and defective blood cells don't get baby boxes," he finishes on a shout. Panting like he just sprinted to Santa Monica and back, he finds himself deflating into his folded arms on top of the bar now that he isn't filled to the brim with 29 years worth of bottled-up grievances. This must be what bulldozed graveyards feel like: scraped clean and ready to be filled up again. Buck is surrounded by five empty glasses, a little mountain of twisted-up napkins, and a complete stranger who hasn't said a word since Buck began, and it's as a good place to start again as any.

Buck closes his eyes and stews in embarrassment for about thirty seconds, then turns his head to look at his audience of one. At some point, the guy had gravitated into the chair right next to him and took his mask off, revealing a stupidly handsome face, and his wide-eyed, slack-jawed stare makes Buck want to throw up a little. It may have been the cleansing Buck'd needed, but the poor guy didn't ask to be part of any of it. Buck doesn't know why he told him in the first place. This is the kind of thing he'd hesitate to blurt out to Eddie, never mind a complete stranger, but there had been something so oddly steady and compassionate in the guy's gaze that Buck had felt like he could trust him with anything. It had been so easy to just... talk. And to his credit, the guy had listened to Buck's entire rant—stopping Buck only twice to ask a quiet, clarifying question—without making a face, snorting, rolling his eyes, or getting up and just leaving.

Face warm, Buck shifts in his seat to try and get feeling back into his left ass cheek, then he opens his mouth to apologize for dumping all that on the him instead of at his next session with his fucking therapist.

But the guy just blinks out of his stupor and flags down Jay, who wanders over sedately. He taps the bar counter twice and says, "Yeah, can you just put the rest of his bill on my tab?"

When Buck sits up with an outraged squawk, the world spins a little, and the guy places a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder to steady him. He doesn't take it back right away and Buck doesn't shrug it off. The weight feels good.

"N-No, that wasn't—you can't do that, man," Buck mumbles, face hot. His mouth feels a bit gummy.

"I can and I did," the guy says. "Someone should treat you to dinner for putting up with all that shit for all this time. I don't know your parents from a hole in the ground, but I would happily drop 3,000 pounds of water on their house. Jesus Christ, and I thought my issues with my parents were bad."

"I never should've—"

But the guy shakes his head and tightens his hand on Buck's shoulder. "You absolutely should've, actually. If that had built up any longer, I probably would've seen you literally explode on the 6 o'clock news."

Buck snorts a laugh, rubbing his disbelieving smile against his sleeve. "Believe me, it wouldn't be the first time you saw me on the 6 o'clock news."

The guy gives Buck a curious tilt of his head, so Buck clarifies, "Do you remember a few years back when that kid was mailing bombs to people and he rigged that fire engine to explode? And it fell on that firefighter?" At the guy's slow, wary nod, he continues, "I was the, uh, firefighter."

At that, the guy sits up and his gaze goes so sharp that Buck wants to call Jay over and have him slice up some bratwurst on it. "You're with the 118."

Buck blinks, and then the guy introduces himself... as LAFD firefighter pilot Tommy Kinard, who'd gotten his start at Buck's own damn station. Who knew both Chimney and Hen when they were probies, and who watched Bobby walk in and turn the place into a house Tommy could be proud to be part of. Who had been their air support during the Doheny Park gas leak incident.

"That was you?" Buck glances down at the bar counter to make sure it hadn't cracked when his jaw hit it. "Chimney told us afterwards he'd called in a favor from an old friend."

Tommy grins and jauntily points to himself with his glass. "Except Howie was cashing in on a favor I owed him, which means I only owe him like 973 more now."

Over a round of drinks—another Maximator for Buck and a seltzer with lime for Tommy—Buck tells Tommy about who's at the 118 now and confirms which of "the most batshit insane stories I've heard about you guys" are true. He tells Tommy about the rollercoaster ride that was his recovery from the explosion, and then follows that up with being caught in the tsunami and being struck by lightning. In return, Tommy regales him with army stories, including the time he landed a burning helicopter under enemy fire, and his favorite calls from his time with the 118—the fucking rooster has Buck practically crying laughing into his arms. He also tells Buck about Hen's fearlessness in standing up to their asshole captain who was voted the LAFD's Most Likely To Have Been At The White House On January 6th, and how Chimney saved Tommy's literal life. He tells Buck that without Bobby showing up and making them into a family of sorts, without him being in their corner even when they didn't trust him not to abandon them like all their other captains, Tommy never would've found his way back to the sky.

Then Tommy gleefully drops a pipe bomb into the scant space between them with, "And you never would've joined the 118."

Buck squeezes his eyes shut to try and make his brain stop feeling so swimmy. "W-What? What does that mean?" His tongue is too big for his mouth. His words taste a bit funny, like they're mushy. He hopes Tommy hasn't noticed.

"You said you joined in 2017. That's when I left," Tommy says, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'm pretty sure you were the one who took my spot."

Buck untucks one of his arms so he can reach up to touch the hills and valleys running down Tommy's cheeks, then realizes that probably would be rude and tries to play it off like he was going to scratch the back of his own head. All he does is knock over one of his empty glasses. It takes a few clumsy tries before he successfully stands it back up.

"We missed each other," Buck mumbles. He thinks of what it might have been like walking into the station that day, seeing Tommy sitting between Hen and Chimney, smiling wide as he dished up more spaghetti. Maybe he would've turned that warm light on Buck as he passed him the tongs. Maybe Tommy would've shown him the ropes, got him through his first shifts, and even stopped him from stealing the engine for a booty call. Maybe they'd have met up for drinks just like this after their shifts were over, or as a way to distract themselves from bad calls the way Tommy's distracted Buck all night. Maybe they'd have been a two-man unit, and then when Eddie showed up they'd be a tri...something. Buck can't remember what it's called, but it means 'three'. Maybe Tommy would've been every bit as important to Buck as Eddie, Hen, and Chim.

He's hit with the realization that if he doesn't tell Tommy this, he might die, so he garbles out, "You're important. W-Wait, no. I mean, you could've... you were important... I—y'get the gist."

And Tommy must, because Tommy's smart and quick witted and a good listener, and he's looking at Buck fondly, like he might've done if he'd stayed at the 118 and they'd come through fire together, but he's also rolling his lips inward and his cheeks are trembling.

Buck whines, aggravated, because, "Y-You're laughing at me."

Tommy ducks his head and does, in fact, start laughing.

"'s so rude. Don't laugh at me, 's not my fault I'm defective." Buck buries his face in his arms in embarrassment. The cradle of it is so warm and comfortable he just stays there.

"You're not defective, Evan." Even though it sounds like Tommy's suddenly on the other side of the room, Buck can hear the matter-of-factness in the words. He says it like he'd said that sucks. "But you are drunk."

He's not. He's just really tired and his arms make for a great pillow. He also feels heavy and tight, which isn't good for a firefighter. What if he's called onto a massive scene? What if City Hall's on fire and he can't pull the mayor out because he's slow and weirdly full? What if his career as a firefighter is over?

"That's just bloat from all the beer and sausage," Tommy says from even farther away than he'd been a second ago. "Jay, can I settle up? I'm so sorry we kept you this late. You're getting a helluva tip, I promise."

His name's not Jay. It's Buck. But he'd introduced himself as Evan and... forgot to tell Tommy he goes by something else. But he likes that Tommy doesn't know that, because when Tommy says 'Evan' it sounds like how 'Buck' feels. He wants Tommy to keep 'Evan' in the warmth of his mouth, like how some alligators carry their young. For them, it's the safest place to be.

Buck wants to tell Tommy about the alligators, because they are super cool and only exist in two places in the whole world. He blinks his eyes open and finds his face pressed to something hard and cool. The bar stool feels a lot softer than it did a second ago. And it's vibrating.

There's a weight on his knee, shaking it gently.

He must've fallen asleep while watching Celebrity Death Match in the TV room again. Mom's going to kill him when she finds out. "Mads, five m're min's."

"Evan, you need to give me a building number."

"Hmmm...?"

"Your apartment building. I've been driving up and down South Spring for ten minutes. You gotta help me out here. What's your building number?"

"Mmm..." Buck rolls his forehead to chase the coolness. It feels so nice against his skin. He could just sink right into it.

"Evan, c'mon. You can do it. Tell me where you live."

"27 P'plar Road," he mumbles. He blinks his eyes open and catches sight of the rush of lights and road ahead, which blend together like they're about to jump into hyperspace. He's not in Hershey. He knows this road. Sighing, he closes his eyes again. "Oh. 's rowing. 409 at th' rowing."

He blinks awake when he suddenly trips over nothing, and he tries to stop himself from falling but there's nothing except the gaping maw of open space. But he doesn't actually go anywhere. Someone's got an arm around his waist. There's a name for that kind of rude awakening. He can't remember it.

"Two more stairs," the person with him mutters in his ear. "I'm begging you, lift up your feet before we both end up in the ER."

That's fine. He has his own bed there.

"Yeah, let's try to get you into the bed you have here first."

Strong hands lower him onto something soft, and he buries his face in sheets that are cool and smell familiar, his entire body smoothing out like the surface of a lake. Something tugs at his foot, and he rolls onto his back and tries to lift his leg to help, but he's comfy and cocooned in the dark. His sneakers get taken off anyway.

"Evan." Tommy's voice hangs in the air, soft and warm and invisible, and his name sounds like it's precious where it sits in Tommy's mouth. He read somewhere that alligators do that. "I'm going to get you some water and then head out. Do you need anything else?"

In the dark, he somehow lost his body, and he can barely see the outline of Tommy, but he can hear him step closer when Buck reaches out for him. When Buck's hand is caught, he's suddenly so aware of himself, of his blood and bones and every nerve trapped under his skin, and arches a little into the feeling with a quiet moan of relief.

Tommy knows about him. He knows Buck's cells are defective and he still bought Buck dinner and spent the night making him feel like he was made correctly from the start.

"D'nt go," he whispers. He's starting to float away, and he tugs on the hand holding his, trying to bring that steadfast presence on top of him, use it to keep him here. "Stay."

"I absolutely can't do that," Tommy murmurs. His thumb strokes over Buck's palm and it feels like he's dragging his tongue along the length of a nerve. Buck gasps. Something pulls tight and sweet between his legs, and he tilts his head back on the pillow, lips parting so he can suck in air desperately. So he's ready.

"Kiss me," he breathes.

He wants it so bad he almost gags. He wants all that weight and strength to hang over him like a bough, keeping him together, feeding his body what it's screaming for. He inhales deeply and the smell of indelible man fills his nose and the back of his throat, along with the faint hint of smoke and something sharp like snow. He wants a mouth on his. He wants strong, sure hands to run over his ribs. He wants to say I'm full of broken cells and I need you to fill me up with something better, but he's breathing too hard and the words keep blowing out of order. His legs slide open and the sound of them moving on the sheets is deafening. He's so hot, and so hungry. He thinks he's hard. He thinks he's dying.

The hand in his squeezes gently, but then it lets go.

Without it, Buck's going to dissolve. He's going to disappear. He squeezes his burning, wet eyes shut and pulls in a breath that is all wheeze, every part of him a live wire, unsteady and shivering and thwarted. So they made one.

"No. No," Buck sobs. "Y're just like them. You don't want me—no one... why. 's not fair."

The bed suddenly dips right next to Buck's thigh, right on the edge, and the hot press of a thumb against his chin stops him from howling his sorrow and disappointment. When it slides up and just barely brushes against his bottom lip, his mouth falls open. Yes. Yes.

"I'll tell you what." It's whispered so closely that Buck thinks he can feel the wash of breath over his tongue. "You remember any of this tomorrow? Call me, and I'll kiss you as much as you want. I'll kiss the idea you're unwanted right out of you."

Buck exhales in utter relief and sinks into the comfort of the bed as the weight next to him lifts away. He's going to do that. He's going to call and then let Tommy kiss him until he forgets he was ever unloved. But persistence pays off, so he tries one more time, even though he's suddenly so tired he can barely get the word out. "Stay."

"Sleep well, Evan."

When Buck wakes up, he immediately wants to crawl into a hole and die. His mouth tastes like there's roadkill in it and there's an egg beater trying to escape his skull by way of his left eye. Whimpering, he tries to bury his face into the pillow but half of it is wet with drool, so he reaches up and throws the stupid thing on the floor. His mattress is comfy. He can just plant his face there and suffocate, no problem.

He has no idea how he got home last night, which is terrifying. Everything after the third Augustiner is a bit hazy. He was talking to some guy who made him laugh, he knows that much. His mind conjures bits and pieces of his mysterious drinking companion: a wide, white grin; large hands; a voice he can hear the cadence and depth of but can't remember a single word it said. After that, he's got nothing.

It takes a few tries to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and he rolls onto his side to put his back to where the sun is starting to filter through the curtains. The move puts the nightstand right in his line of sight, and when his vision focuses, he pauses.

There's a glass with water on top of it, but it's not the cup he usually chooses. It's one of the textured acrylic ones he picked out when he moved in that he absolutely hates using. Even though they're impossible to break, he feels like he's ten years old when he's forced to drink out of one. All that's missing is a sippy-cup lid.

Although he has to hand it to himself: the acrylic cup was a pretty solid idea, considering he might've knocked a real glass onto the floor sometime in the night and then cut himself when it shattered. Chimney forced Buck to watch Die Hard last year and it was a fun movie, but Buck has no desire to recreate the "shoot the glass" scene.

He slides his face a little closer to the edge of the bed so he can find his phone. It's sitting on the top of the nightstand, plugged in, which is almost as surprising as the acrylic cup. He never remembers to plug his phone in when he's sober, but there it is, charging away. His wallet and keys are also laying next to it. It's such a neat and tidy tableau that, for a second, he thinks he's still asleep and this is one of those dreams where only one or two things is out of place and he spends the entire dream wondering if he's dreaming.

If he were dreaming, though, he wouldn't feel like hard-boiled ass, so someone else had been here and got him squared away. Maybe he called Eddie for a ride home? Buck reaches for his phone and his fingers brush up against the edge of a piece of paper. A receipt? Maybe he took a taxi instead.

Buck squints at it, and he has every intention of grabbing it to look for clues, but he ends up dozing for almost two hours. By the time he wakes up, the sun has invaded every part of the loft, but he doesn't feel so much like he's about to slip this mortal coil. He'll take the wins where he can.

It only takes a minute or two of psyching himself up before he's able to roll into something resembling sitting, and after that he gives himself five minutes to drop his head into his hands and regret his life choices. Once he promises God, the Devil, Zeus, and the purple laser ghost of Prince that he will never drink to such excess again as long as he lives, he finally looks over at the nightstand where his phone is.

It's been set to Do Not Disturb, which is nice. It's not something he ever does, because he's afraid he'll miss something important, and when he turns it off the screen fills with dozens of missed calls and texts from Maddie and Chimney. He takes great pleasure in dismissing all of them. Nothing from his parents, of course. There's also one from Eddie asking if everything's okay because "Chim called me asking if I'd heard from you and he sounds like he's about to start climbing the walls using only his teeth."

It's followed by a text that reads "Bobby says to take your time coming in. What happened?"

He taps open the message to reply when he glances up and sees the receipt on the nightstand. Abandoning his phone in favor of learning just how much he spent on a DD, he learns it wasn't a taxi at all. It's a note written in an unfamiliar hand on a small piece of drafting paper.

Your car is parked at the Red Lion. Jay said it was OK to leave it there because you weren't in any shape to drive.

Underneath that is a phone number, and underneath that is a single line: Remember—as much as you want. But only if you want.

It's signed "TK".

Baffled, Buck brings a fist to his mouth, because he's not sure what else to do, and when his thumbnail presses against his bottom lip, something hot and shivery pops low in his belly. It's how he realizes he's got to pee so bad he's going to wet the bed if he waits any longer.

After he pisses for what feels like an eternity, downs four Advil, showers the sweat and shame off, he stumbles back up the stairs feeling wrung out but definitely more human. Once he's in a pair of clean boxers, he surveys the room.

There was a stranger here last night, but it doesn't look like anything's missing. He checks his wallet, but all his cards and cash are still there. His sneakers were neatly placed against the wall, out of the way where he wouldn't trip on them if he got up during the night. And there's of course his phone, fully charged for once, and the note.

He sits on the edge of his bed and reads the note four more times. Then he looks up the Red Lion's operating hours, but it doesn't open for two more hours.

Which leaves him with the number and As much as you want. But only if you want.

His mind immediately takes a swan dive into the gutter. It's probably not meant to be as sexual as it reads, but... he's not sure how else he's supposed to take it. TK's blocky penmanship reveals nothing.

Maybe after he was done talking to the guy at the bar he met some woman? Maybe she was the one to take him home, although considering how drunk he must've been, it couldn't have been an easy feat. That she didn't help herself to his money and was thoughtful enough to plug his phone in and get him a glass of water really warrants a thank you.

He looks down at the phone number.

He grabs his phone—100%, what an absolutely wild concept—and taps in the number, double checking it like four times while his finger hovers over the CALL button like an anvil.

What the hell. He's got nothing left to lose.

He taps CALL and brings the phone to his ear. It takes two rings before someone picks up.

"Hello?"

Not a woman. Buck sits up so straight they could use his spine as an I-beam level.

"Uh, h-hey," he stutters, looking around his room, trying to divine any lingering atoms this person might've left behind. "Um, I think you—I have a note with this number on it and—"

Thankfully, the mysterious "TK" stops Buck before he gets a good ramble going, his voice friendly as he breaks in with, "Evan! Hey. Glad to hear the Maximator couldn't keep you down for long. How're you feeling this morning?"

Buck's entire body goes warm as it relaxes from its ramrod-straight pose. "I, uh, a little confused. I don't remember getting home, but I guess I have you to thank for that." Buck pauses. "So, thank you."

"Well, you didn't make it easy." TK laughs, and it shivers down the line right into Buck's ear canal. "It took me a lot longer to figure out you were saying 'Rowan' and not 'rowing' than I care to admit, but we got there in the end. Your place is insane. Did you get a signing bonus when you joined the 118 or something?"

Buck blinks. An image of Bobby winning a fight against a rooster comes winging out of the back of his mind. "That—that's right. You're a firefighter. Uh, do you really fly with Harbor One or am I making that up?"

"You made me promise four times to give you lessons," TK says warmly. "I had to stop you from slicing your palm open so we could shake on it."

Ducking his head with a helpless chuckle, Buck nods, even though TK can't see him. "Yeah, that, uh, sounds like something I'd do. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I'd love to take you up."

He doesn't know how he got lucky enough that the person he made a fool out of himself in front of was one of the chosen few who are able to handle The Full Buck without too much of a fuss, but he's so grateful for it. They're a rare breed.

"Anytime you want, just tell me when."

Buck's gaze immediately shoots to the piece of paper he's still clutching in his other hand, and for no reason he can think of his heart rate picks up. His cheeks start tingling with blossoming warmth.

He curls a little into himself, cupping the phone closer to his mouth. "I-Is that what you meant in your note?"

There's a little pause on the line, and then when TK's voice comes back, it's softer. "No. That's not what I meant."

Buck swallows a mouthful of saliva and asks, just as softly, "What does 'TK' stand for?"

"Tommy Kinard."

Exhaling a shaky breath, Buck's eyes fall closed. He thinks of cool sheets under him, and feeling heavy and safe in the dark. His belly clenches with something like hunger. He bites his bottom lip and then licks it.

"... Evan? You still there?"

He doesn't know why his body feels like it's being pulled in a million different directions, or why the first thing he thought of when Tommy said "Evan" was baby alligators, but he does know this: on the worst day of Buck's life, Tommy Kinard made it easier to bear. He kept Buck company, kept him distracted, and then kept him safe.

I told you not to go, he thinks out of nowhere.

"Look, Evan, it's completely fine, and I promise I won't be offended if you don't want—"

Evan Buckley was born to fix someone else. He has defective cells and has never once been enough for anyone, and that sucks. But he's still here and this life is his whether it was meant to be or not, and he does want.

Buck opens his eyes.

"Hey, so, what are you doing Saturday?"

#bucktommy #this started out as a bulleted list in the tumblr text editor i have no idea wtf happened but now i'm gonna be LATE for a lunner meetup #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #911

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yellowjestertfs · 1 month

Text

Spare Parts

Al untucked his shirt, then tucked it in again, then quickly untucked it before landing on a French tuck—a mix of both that suited him worse than either. He had never been so nervous about going out with his friends. In the past, he was the life of the party, staying out clubbing until the witching hours, getting drunk, and ending up in some stranger's bed the next morning. That was before he made the fatal mistake of jaywalking drunk and got hit by a bus, which flung him into the path of another bus, which sent him off a bridge and into the water, where he was run over by a boat. Honestly, it would have been a pretty comical way to die—only he didn’t die. He should have died; he broke every bone in his body and turned his organs into a smoothie. The wonders of modern medicine intervened. He still didn’t quite understand exactly how, but the doctors had used stem cells, like those regenerating cells babies have, to essentially bring him back from the dead. A miracle, yes, but even miracles had their limits. The recovery process was long and hard, and even now, recently released from medical custody, he was not the same man he’d been before the accident.

Getting hit by two buses and a boat does that to you. His face was mangled—not to the point of being monstrous, but not attractive either. His body had also suffered from the accident, practically wasting away as he recovered. While the old Al partied with abandon, this new Al was self-conscious of his appearance and absolutely terrified to cross the street. Now, he stood at the crosswalk, fidgeting with his short-sleeve button-down shirt, thinking about why he had asked an old lady to help him across. He clutched her tightly as they crossed, ready to throw her in the way if a bus came barreling toward them—luckily for both of them, none did. Despite her age and his current condition, the woman actually made a pass at him, calling him a “handsome lad” and asking if he wanted to go back to her place. It helped his confidence, if only a little, and gave him a strange tingling feeling.

Finally, after detaching himself from the woman, he reached the club. Despite the relatively early hour, the place was bumping; the bass-boosted electronic music and a flashing rainbow could be seen and heard from the outside. A quick check of his phone informed him that his friends were already inside, so he joined the short line and waited to be let in by the bouncer. As he neared the front, he realized he recognized the bouncer. Back when he frequented this place, he was friendly with the muscular man. Now, though, he doubted the man would recognize him, and he honestly hoped to keep it that way. Back then, he was sort of a legend, a position he doubted he could live up to now. As the bouncer—Rod, he thought—waved him forward, Al couldn’t help but admire the man's physique. It seemed that while Al recovered, Rod made some serious gains. His arms were particularly impressive; Al found himself feeling bad for the man’s sleeves as they tried and failed to contain his massive arms. Their sheer size was only enhanced by the web of veins that patterned the muscles.

“ID, please,” Rod said, indeed not recognizing Al as he had predicted. Al handed over his card, suddenly realizing the picture on the ID was pre-accident.

“Had a bit of a glow-down,” Al said awkwardly, trying to flash a smile but only managing to lift one side of his mouth—the other’s nerve endings were damaged beyond repair. Rod grunted but returned Al’s ID; even despite the discrepancies in the photo, there was little doubt that Al was of age. As Rod handed back his ID, their hands touched just slightly, and for a second, Al felt a slight tingling in his upper arms. Then it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Have fun, man,” Rod said, “and nice guns.” Al laughed at that, thinking the man was making fun of his twig arms.

He lifted his arm, expecting the usual sight of his scrawny limb. But when his gaze landed on it, his breath caught. His bicep had swollen under the skin, somehow in the span of a heartbeat his twig arms had become tree trunks. Al’s fingers traced the now firm, rounded muscle, a mix of fear and fascination flooding his mind. The sheer size and hardness of his new bicep felt both alien and irresistibly satisfying, a forbidden thrill coursing through his veins at his arms meaty massive things they now were. They looked like almost exact copies of Rod’s, only instead of the man's olive complexion, the biceps had the pale look of someone who had spent the last two years in a hospital bed.

Al felt light-headed. How was this possible? Was he having some sort of mental breakdown, a delusion? He needed to find his friends. No, he needed to find a drink. The bar was right where he remembered—just to the left of the entrance. Unlike Rod, the bouncer, he didn’t recognize the bartender—a short, slightly pudgy man who looked to be in his mid-40s, with a strong square cleft chin that didn’t particularly match the rest of his average features. Al walked up to him, trying to hide his now-massive arms to little avail. He found he couldn’t stop flexing and feeling them, equal parts concerned and turned on by the mysterious new muscles.

“I'll take a vodka soda,” Al tried to say casually, although the words came out more as a question than a request. Luckily, the night was still young enough that he managed to get the man's attention, although the fact that he wasn’t a pretty girl kept him from making small talk. As he worked, Al saw the bartender occasionally glance up at his biceps, which he had crossed in an attempt to hide them. They looked a little ridiculous with the rest of his scrawny body. Wordlessly, the bartender placed a garnish on the drink before handing it to Al. Just as with Rod, their hands innocently touched, and again Al felt a strange tingle, this time centering on his chin. Lifting the glass to his lips, Al quickly lowered it, uneasy at how strange the sensation felt. Years of drinking had made him familiar with the feel of a glass against his lips, but something felt off now. His bottom lip somehow felt more supported, stiffer. A quick exploration with his finger revealed that his chin was causing the offense. But that couldn’t be—his chin had been round and soft even before the accident. Whatever this new chin that had somehow attached itself to his face was, it felt like a block of stone, the bone protruding in a harsh, strong way completely foreign to his face. The deep cleft was also new, creating a valley in the mountain that was his chin. Pulling out his phone, he saw what his fingers had felt: his face now somehow sported a strong, masculine chin almost identical to that of the bartender.

Al wasn’t the brightest, but even he began to put the pieces together. Somehow, he was absorbing the best qualities of every person he touched. His mind raced, trying to figure out what could be causing this. The stem cells he received might be the explanation, but why now? Al needed to get out; he needed to see a doctor. Panicked, he looked for the exit only to find a crowd had congregated between the bar and the nearest door. There was no way he could make it to the other side without touching anyone. Could he risk it?

His contemplation was cut short as a woman sauntered up to the bar, her stumbling gait indicating she was already a few drinks deep. That was hardly the most noticeable thing about her; put bluntly, she had massive boobs—the type that could never fit in a top without being the center of attention. As she stumbled her way toward the bar, she tripped on one of her own feet. Al’s eyes widened as he realized too late that her fall would take her directly toward him. He tried to move out of the way, but as she fell, her arms reached forward for support, landing on his own. For a brief second, he hoped he might absorb her winning smile, but judging by the tingling in his chest, he wasn’t so lucky. Horrified, he glanced down, expecting to see breasts pushing out of his shirt. Instead, he found different mounds there—equally large, yes, but the lumps on his chest weren’t boobs; they were too firm and square. No, instead Al had somehow gained massive pectoral muscles from his contact with the woman. Their growth had unceremoniously demolished the first three buttons of his shirt, which was having a bad day trying to contain his massive chest and arms. The muscles looked downright strange on his body, the rest of it still emaciated from the accident. In fact, Al struggled to support the weight of his new mass, his shrimpy legs and shoulders straining under the sudden load.

The woman pulled away from his arms, drunkenly apologizing before reaching out to grope one of his now-massive pecs. Luckily, no tingles followed, confirming Al’s suspicion that he could only absorb from a person once. Now, Al felt torn about what to do. On one hand, he still worried about the changes and their possible repercussions, but did he want them to stop? If he went to the doctor now and they fixed him, would he be stuck in his current disproportionate form forever? This could be a blessing—a way to heal from the damage caused by the accident, to become the ultimate version of himself—or rather, of the people around him. So far, none of the changes had been bad. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, Al scanned the room for someone with a feature he wanted to absorb. The choice became easier when a cute guy walked right past him, his clothing tight on his lean, muscular body, and he looked well-groomed. Before the accident—in fact, before tonight—Al had never paid much attention to the appearance of other men. Maybe it was the fact that he now saw their features as ones he could have, or perhaps it was something else, but for whatever reason, he found himself checking out the other men in the club, including the one walking by. On instinct, he stuck his foot out, tripping the man, their bare ankles making contact for a second in the process. The man stumbled and then turned to face Al, his face red with anger, which quickly cooled as he took in Al.

“Hey, I like your hair, dude,” he said. Al had hoped that he might absorb the guy's cute, tight ass or maybe his strong Roman nose, but his hair worked too. It was silky, thick, and coiffed attractively—definitely an improvement over his current thinning hair.

“Thanks, man,” Al said, reaching up to find that he indeed had hair identical to the man he had just tripped.

“Do you go to Clarice?” the guy asked. The question sparked a brief conversation in which Al lied through his teeth, pretending they went to the same barber rather than admitting that he thought his stem cells had magically copied the guy's hairstyle to a tee. Eventually, Al excused himself, claiming he had seen his friends. This was true; as they chatted, Al had located his friends huddled close to the DJ booth on the dance floor. Steeling himself, he made his way over to them, trying to avoid physical contact. His efforts were only somewhat successful. An accidental brush of a college-age girl’s hand lengthened his eyelashes, while a hip bump into a man with rolled-up sleeves thickened his forearms, so his arms were now somewhat proportional. Once he reached the dance floor, however, he lost total control. Falling arms and thrusting hips assaulted him from all sides. An accidental step on a foot caused his lips to buzz as if they had momentarily fallen asleep, puffing up to appear pillowy and soft. A hand brushed across his back, causing a tingle in his shoulders, widening them and only making his progress more difficult. The elbow wedged awkwardly into the crevice of his pecs by a sheepish-looking man earned him a short, coarse beard across his jaw—a jaw that had become wider and sharper thanks to the impatient shoving of a male model behind him. Al quickly lost track of exactly what features he had gained from whom. A sudden numbness in different parts of his body was the only indication that he continued to change. At one point, a gigantic man who had to be some sort of pro basketball player moved next to Al. Al indulged himself, letting his hand “accidentally” rub against the tall man's leg and feeling his whole body lengthen. The constant shifting of the dance floor meant no one noticed Al or the way his features shifted. As he neared his friends, a twink dressed only in a leather harness and thong approached him and started to grind up against him. Even more shocking was the rock-hard abs that formed from their contact and the boner that Al inexplicably developed from the experience. The twink started to unbutton the last few remaining buttons on his shirt, and he let him, not wanting to deprive the world of his body.

At last, Al reached his friends, finally finding a pocket of relative emptiness near the loudspeakers.

Al reached out to tap one of his friends on the arm before thinking better of it and just stood there awkwardly, waiting for them to notice him. Eventually, the song ended, and his three friends turned to face him. Only with a pang of shock did Al realize they didn’t recognize him. How could they? He had become a sort of Frankenstein’s monster of different features from the various patrons of the club. Where they expected their scrawny, balding friend fresh out of an extensive hospital stay, instead before them stood a 6’5” bodybuilder with a face, a hodgepodge of features from various people, somehow working together to give him a handsome and exotic look.

“Hey, have you seen our friend? Short, skinny, looks like he might have been hit by a bus or two,” his friend Jordan asked. It was a simple question, but for maybe the first time in two years, Al noticed not a trace of pity in his friend's voice. No, rather it was admiration. Al’s previous intentions of coming clean to his friends and seeking help melted away as he realized the opportunity he had. He could finally escape the shadow of those busses; he could have a new start.

“Nope, haven’t seen anyone like that,” he said in a voice much richer and deeper thanks to the vocal cords of some unknown stranger.

“I’m Jordan, by the way,” his friend said, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

“Al.” Shit. So much for a fresh start. Jordan glanced at his other two friends but didn’t say anything. Instead, one of his other friends, Sergio, grabbed Al’s hand and pulled him into their dance circle. The contact made his whole body tingle and, glancing down, he saw that his skin had darkened to the same ruddy tan as his friend's. Luckily, the flashing lights and the general darkness of the club made Al fairly sure no one noticed the transformation.

Throughout the night, he became reacquainted with his own friends and found innocent ways of making contact with each of them. From his friend Marge, he gained her show-stopping ass, the muscular butt complementing the thick thighs he had gained sometime during his mad rush. Contact with Linsey copied her perfect Barbie blonde hair. The stylish haircut and scruff he had grown sometime during the night bleached itself instantly while all his body hair, limited as it was by various tingles, turned the same gold color. His friend Jordan took a special interest in the new Al, and Al found himself reciprocating the attention, for the first time noticing just how hot his friend was. When at long last they touched, Al grabbed the man and brought him into a passionate kiss. He swore he felt tingles but couldn’t notice any change on his body. After long hours of sweaty dancing, a round of shots, and many more kisses between the two former friends, the group headed over to Jordan's apartment. Al nearly blew his cover by heading straight to his friend's door, but the excuse of “lucky guess” seemed to satisfy his non-sober companions. After a few more hours of chatting and more alcohol, everyone left but Al and Jordan.

Jordan used the classic “let me show you something in the bedroom” line, which led to more kissing and Jordan feeling up Al’s new muscular body. Eventually, as both men removed their pants, Al discovered what he had picked up from his friend. Long and thick, Al’s penis was identical to that of his lover, which Jordan seemed delighted by, claiming he had never been with someone with a tool as big as his. It took a moment for Al to get over the surprise of his friend packing so much meat and the fact that he now did as well, but once he accepted it, he used his new member to the fullest. After hours of fucking, the two fell asleep, not waking up until the afternoon the next day. Al politely said his goodbyes and awkwardly avoided giving Jordan his number, not wanting to explain why it was the same number as Jordan's sickly friend.

Exiting the apartment, he noticed the same elderly woman from last night and to his chagrin, she once again hit on him, asking to hold his bicep while they crossed the street. When he touched her, he felt no tingles, which he thought strange until he remembered she was the first person to induce that sensation upon him last night. Could it be that he had somehow absorbed her sex drive or sexuality? Was that why he had a sudden appreciation for men? The thought amused him as he made his way to his car. But before he could dwell on it too much, his attention was abruptly pulled back to the present.

Lost in thought, he didn’t see the bus careening down the street, heading right for him. The blare of the horn hit him a second too late, and everything went black.

The next thing Al knew, he was waking up in a hospital—a horrifying déjà vu of two years ago. A young doctor stood over him, clipboard clutched in two massive, masculine hands. His eyes fluttered as he tried to make sense of his surroundings, the cold sterility of the hospital room bringing back memories of his long, painful recovery. Blearily, Al glanced down at himself. His perfect, hunky form was now a mess—bones broken, muscles flattened. All except his hands, which looked larger and callused, suspiciously identical to the doctor standing above him. It seemed that Al’s luck with public transportation hadn’t changed, but now he knew how to build himself back up. A minor setback, sure, but nothing a few spare parts wouldn’t fix.

Wrote this a while ago but thought i would post it here with images and some small edits. Not my best but think its still a fun story.

#straight to gay #musclegrowth #tf #male tf #male transformation #ai image

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littlefireball · 2 months

Text

ᴀᴛᴇᴇᴢ ᴀꜱ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ɢᴏᴅꜱ (ᴍ)

ᴀᴛᴇᴇᴢ ᴏᴛ8 ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ɢᴏᴅꜱ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4.5ᴋ

ᴀʟʟ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴘɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇꜱᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɢᴏᴅꜱ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ, ɴɪᴄᴇ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇɴ'ᴛ?

Hongjoong ─ No one can bothers us

King of God Hongjoong x Angel Reader

"Do you know what you have done?" Kneeling before the temple, your wings gracefully hanging on both sides, you bow your head in acceptance of Hongjoong's judgment.

"I used soldiers' lives to defeat demons," you calmly state, showing no remorse.

"They were not just soldiers, but your brethren, your fellow warriors!" The archangel on the judgment seat curses loudly, heartbroken for the companions you sacrificed.

"Forgive my bluntness. Angels ordained to eliminate demons are fated for martyrdom. Since our creation, we have been prepared for a glorious death in battle…"

"Absurd!" The archangel's booming voice interrupts your explanation. "Y/N! As an angel, you are meant to hold life sacred and not justify such careless disregard for it with false reasoning! Merely being born as warriors does not give you the right to treat life so frivolously!"

"Silence!" Hongjoong's cold voice cuts through the archangel's roar. "Y/N, I once saw you as a loyal and formidable angel. Your unorthodox methods were accepted by me. But I never anticipated that you would overstep boundaries and disregard life for your own ambitions."

"No…I…" ""Y/N, for betraying the divine, you shall be stripped of your angelic status and condemned to live on Earth until you reform yourself."

"No!!" Your cry fell on deaf ears as no one heeded your pleas. "Take her away to prison and set a date for her execution," the heartless judgment sealed your fate, and despite your frantic denials, it was all for naught.

You lounged in the cell, gazing at the moon, indifferent to the dawn's arrival. "My acting is quite good, I must say~" A chuckle escaped your lips, and just then, the door creaked open.

Not the jailer, but Hongjoong, the King of God.

"Joong~" You hurried to embrace him, planting a kiss on his rosy lips. "Thanks a lot, darling." He returned the kiss, his eyes filled with adoration.

"You did so well, killed so many angles.Those idiots won't bother me anymore."Hongjoong nestled against your neck, showering you with kisses. "Joong…" You rested your head on his shoulder, granting him more access to please you."Good girls can have rewards, tell me if you want it."

"Yes, please, sir." Hongjoong pounced you onto the ground, burying himself in your chest while pulling down both of your pants. "Baby, you feel so good, so warm." He entered you at a slow pace, making sure you felt every vein of his angry cock. Your mouth formed an 'O' shape when he pushed so deeply, he knew you loved it.

"Please faster, sir." "As you wish, my love." The pleasure he bestowed upon you caused all worries to vanish, erasing any thoughts of his ulterior motives.

You were well aware that you were merely a pawn in his game to reach his ambitions, yet you willingly played along because of your deep affection for him. However, what you fail to realize is that this affection is not genuine love that stems from the depths of your soul.

Hongjong was also never expected the effectiveness of the cupid's arrows. Although he regretted not shooting other people, as long as he achieved his goal, it would be fine. His thrusting was going faster and faster as if there was no limitation.

"You did so well, my lovely girl."

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Seonghwa ─ Twisted Love

God of Hypocritical Seonghwa x Sacrifice offering Reader

(some kind of sequel of SH|Blood, Sweat, Tears ~you may read it first and you may know more about the content)

Humans are easily swayed by the allure of miracles. Once they witness such wonders, they become completely obedient. Nor do the gods in heaven do so, despite my best friend being the ruler of gods. Nevertheless, I shall continue to seek joy in this earthly realm.

Yet, I fail to comprehend why Y/N, a girl of such disdain towards me, holds such animosity. Her aversion surpasses that of others. Am I not the favored ones amongst humanity? Or have I erred in my assumption?

Oh but, clever am I. I gave her the best sex ever, and she hated me less. Well…No, there is something dark in her heart, she still does not love me fully. I have to figure out what it is.

And I found it─her family and villagers. She has never been loved by her family and always been treated as an "object". My poor Y/N. Although it is weird for me to feel pity on her, it doesn’t matter, I will still kill for her.

“I killed all the people you hated. Did I do well?” I can vividly recall the expression on her face upon hearing the news - a mixture of fear and disbelief…No, it shouldn't be like this. I reassure her that I am her protector, willing to go to any lengths for her. But, why? Why does she not rejoice? Have I erred in any way? Does she not wish for their demise? Oh, yes. I forgot one important point. She has yet to witness the extent of my power. Okay, then, I shall shower her with an abundance of love, and watch as her fears dissipate.

“Seonghwa─Seong!!” My longing for her grows stronger with each passing moment, but why? The sound of her moan is undeniably alluring. I am utterly infatuated with it to the point where I would go to any lengths just to hear her moan. Every aspect of her is flawless─her bosom quivers intensely with my every movement, her softness envelops my manhood as I penetrate deeply. Oh, the sensation is truly indescribable. And the most exquisite part is when she releases her essence onto me, her nectar envelops me so perfectly, bringing me endless pleasure.

I need it everyday or I will die, to be honest.

As I gaze upon her slender midsection, a new idea crosses my mind - what if our offspring resided within her? Surely, she would radiate beauty with a precious little one nestled in her rounded belly. The mere thought fills me with anticipation. Whether or not she desires a child is inconsequential; for I am her ultimate authority, and she is bound to obey my every command.

Absolutely, I adore her immensely. If not, I wouldn't make love with her daily. It's inconceivable for me to do so if I harbor any animosity towards someone. This is simply my way of expressing affection, isn't it? All I desire is for her to heed my wishes, especially since I've done everything in my power for her. It's only natural for her to acquiesce. And guess what? She's finally pregnant. All of my acquaintances are rushing to extend their congratulations to us. They are all eager to witness the sheer adorableness of my offspring.

Of course, me too.

However, y/n appears to be discontent… Perhaps it's due to the arduous task of bearing a child of a god? I understand, so I bestow upon her a fraction of my power, just a smidgen, and she will be well. Yet, why does she still appear despondent? She mentioned that she didn't desire the child. How dare she!? She cannot do this!!

As she attempts to flee from me, I lock her. Why? I lavish her with all the love I possess! She shouldn't even consider leaving me. Perhaps there is a shadow lurking in her heart, once more.

“Never mind, I will just shower my love again and she will come back to me.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Yunho ─ Prison

God of Revenge Yunho x Goddess Reader

"I know what you have done to me, Y/N." Yunho paced around, the sharp glint of the knife in his hand matching the disdainful look in his eyes as he gazed at you. "I saved your life, Yunho. You cannot do this to me." Your limbs remain securely bound to the bedposts, rendering you immobile. His grip on power was undeniable, unmatched, and you knew there was no escape from his clutches.

"Save me? Who manipulated my mind? Who imprisoned and tormented me, hmm? Tell me!" His grip tightened around your throat, cutting off your cries for help. The sensation of suffocation and agony overwhelmed you, your face flushing red and your chest constricting.

Recollections of yesteryears raced through your thoughts. How could you possibly have fallen for him? You, the divine being who monitored him, why have you been ensnared by his honeyed words? All of it was merely a ploy to lure you in. Aiding his escape from confinement. Alas, you, in your foolishness, fell for it.

Cough The grip around your neck relaxed and you gasped for air. "Just kill me, Jeong Yunho." You said weakly, tears cascading down your cheeks, unsure if they were from agony or despair. "How can I let you go like this? Isn't this too easy for you?" A sly grin playing on his lips. You could sense his twisted intentions.

He climbed over the bed and straddled on you, tracing the contours of your body with a sharp blade. The icy sensation of the knife's edge sent a chill down your spine, instilling a sense of unparalleled dread within you. Observing the fear etched on your visage brought him immense pleasure; he paused his movements on your chest, swiftly slicing through your delicate fabric.

Crimson droplets splattered across his face as he gestured, his hand dripping with blood. The amalgamation of agony and frigidity caused tears to well up in your eyes. "Does it hurt?" You hesitated to respond, fearful of what he might do next. "Answer me." You shut your eyes tightly as he pressed the blade against your neck, focusing on controlling your breath.

"Does my suffering matter to you at all?" "Oh, my dear. It most certainly does~ If you're not in pain, I'll ensure you experience even more agony." He murmured softly into your ear as his hand moved down to your abdomen. "But if you're hurting, I'll make sure you feel pleasure instead." Sat up straight, he untied his pants and sliced through the fabric of your gown from hem to neckline.

"What're you doing…?" You managed to stop him, but it was all in vain. "Forget what I said? Just make you feel better."

"AHH!FUCK!YUNHO!!" He entered you without warning, his size enough to overwhelm you. "Never take that big cock before? Poor pussy." he taunted. Yunho withdrew until only the tip of his member remained inside you, then delivered a sharp slap to your ass, hitting your most sensitive spot. "Fuck!!" Your toe curved each time his cock rubbed harshly along your tight wall. It was your first time, making you hard to adjust to his roughness.

Each jolt of pain caused your body to shudder involuntarily, your lips tightening as agonizing moans struggled to escape your throat. Yunho smirked with satisfaction, leaning in closer to you without missing a beat.

"Don't you say you want to be mine? And now, you can."

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Yeosang ─ Touch me, Taste me, Fill me up

God of Breeding Yeosang x Human Reader

Whispers circulating throughout the city speak of the sacred water within the temple, rumored to grant fertility to women struggling to conceive. Little do they know, the holy water is merely a facade for the deity himself, disguised as a male priest. He selected his chosen ones, breathing life into those he deems deserving. Hidden within the temple walls, the god eagerly awaits his next prey.

You were forced into marriage with an oily old man due to your family's financial ruin. The old man demanded you have children, driving you to desperate measures of sedation or violence to escape his advances. But it was not a long term solution. He brought you to the temple, warning you threats of a fate worse than death loomed over you, should you fail to conceive and bear his child.

The sophisticated man reclined against the opulent throne, his demeanor exuding an air of refinement. "Come here," he beckoned, his voice laced with an unprecedented softness. You obediently knelt before him, a blush creeping onto your cheeks at the sight of his striking features.

"Tell me, my dear, do you desire to conceive?" Gently cupping your face, his thumb grazed your lips, applying a slight pressure. "I…" You found yourself captivated by his presence, rendered speechless. "Never, right?" He echoed your unspoken thoughts, causing you to flinch. "But what if the child is mine?" "What?"

"Don't worry, that man won't pester you anymore." He grabbed your chin to press his lips on yours. "It'll be good, I promise.”

“Ah~yeosang~oh my god~” The alluring moan caused a flush of embarrassment to spread across your cheeks, yet it also further inflamed Yeosang's desire. He folded you up as a mating press, penetrating even deeper. His powerful thrusting resembled an unstoppable force of nature. Every penetration delved as deeply as could be, forcefully meeting your tender flesh. The combination of pain and arousal left you gasping for breath, your exhilaration expressed through high-pitched cries.

“It seems that pig never fucked you, huh?" "Yah…yah…!" You enveloped him in your embrace, drawing him near to feel the warmth of your body against his. With each thrusting, the friction of your bodies created a thrilling sensation, igniting a new level of excitement. His cock nestled so deep in your cunt as if breaking through your limit.

Your nails dug into his back as he battered your sweet spot again and again. The numbness from thrusting made you reel and moan messily. “Gonna fill your pussy with my seed, it must be good.” He huffed, trying to catch his breath. “Keep squeezing my cock to make me cum?How thirsty you are.” Well, Yeosang totally forgot he was supposed to be elegant, gentle but not rough and dirty. Maybe his possessiveness was stirred up when he saw how that fat pig forced you to bear his child. No, he couldn’t accept this.

“Your pussy can only be fucked and bred by me, dear.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

San ─ Forbidden Lust

God of Desire San x Evil Reader

A sharp thrust followed by another sharp thrust. The man behind you completely lost his mind in lust. Upon seeing you for the first time, he realized that the long-suppressed desires within him had been unleashed. You were more beautiful than all the goddesses in heaven; your deep eyes were like stars on a cold night, revealing a unique charm that seemed to see through the secrets of everyone's hearts.

Maybe it was so-called Love at first sight.

"Oh darling, you're amazing." His firm member slid against your soft walls perfectly as he moved his hips. A rush of warmth spread from your backside to your entire body, causing a tingling sensation as if electricity was coursing through your veins. "Oh goodness, please, san~" The sounds of moans and skin slapping reverberated through the room, mixed with your desperate pleas.

"I need more depth, need you to cum for me so badly." Flipping you over after pulling out, he thrust back in, hitting your sweet spot effortlessly. "Sannie~" Your arms wrapped around his head as he kissed your chest passionately. His breath grew ragged as his movements became more intense; he nibbled on your skin, leaving behind red marks; his wet tongue teased and swirled around your nipples, making a shy sucking sound ring in both of your ears. Arching your back, you gave him more access, allowing him to penetrate deeper, sucking harder.

He comprehended that you were exploiting his longing for you to attain your desires. After all, Evil despised God. How could there be love between you? But it didn't matter. You were all slaves to carnal desires and were prepared to challenge conventions and reasoning for them. You merely acquired what you required, it was a fair exchange.

You entered into a pact with your enemy, San. In times of need, mutual assistance was imperative, no matter when and where. Just like now, you found yourself "helping" him. Who would have expected that a god would lose control of his emotions upon hearing the pleas of mortals? Although it couldn't be ruled out that it was because you were tempting him.

“Yes, y/n!” With a firm grab settled on your wrist, he drew back his hips and shoved into you at an incredible pace. Feeling how your chest shook from his movement and watching your fuck out expression were his favourite. He would never get tired of it.

"Sannie~I'm gonna cum" Leaning back on the table, you felt overwhelmed by the sensation. Your body responded eagerly to his touch, guiding him to stimulate your most intimate area and bring you to the pinnacle by tightening your wall around his big, fat cock.

“Cum for me, cum for me until you can't cum anymore.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Mingi ─ A toy

God of Ruthless Mingi x Human Servant Reader

"Who sent her to me?" You were on your knees, trembling, unable to resist locking eyes with the man standing before you. He was interrogating the man standing behind you. "This is the annual offering from humanity," he declared.

As Mingi caught sight of you in his peripheral vision, a flicker of annoyance crossed his face. Despite being presented as an offering, you were actually a spy sent by his mother, who harbored ill feelings towards him. Humans were easier to control than gods. And the main point was, your presence, in particular, suited his tastes.

Sigh "Send her to my room."His response caught you off guard, you never expected he would agree. "Your wish is my command." As you were escorted to Mingi's chambers after a bath, your heart pounded with a mix of fear and curiosity. The doors swung open, and you were ushered into a lavish room filled with opulence and grandeur. Mingi sat on a throne-like chair, his expression unreadable as he observed you enter.

"Okay, what are you gonna do to please me, Y/N?" You gracefully approached him with a seductive smile playing on your lips. Slowly, you positioned yourself on his lap, your touch gentle yet firm as you began to undress him. "Allow me to bring you pleasure, sir" you murmured softly, your hands working skillfully despite your nerves.

You followed the step in the book his mother gave you; you pulled down your sleeve to reveal your shoulder and your chest, leaning close to wrap around his shoulder and starting to rub against his thighs. A wave of warmth enveloped you, igniting a tingling sensation that traveled through your body, leaving you breathless. Your hips swayed in a circular motion, giving a hard press each time you moved so close to his crotch.

"Is it what my mother told you to do?" His unexpected statement startled you, causing you to freeze and gaze at him. "It's my will, sir…" Your voice trailed off. "So, am I to assume that you view me merely as your sex toy?" "I…!" Just as you were about to lower yourself, a strong grip on your waist prevented you. "Do not assume that I am unaware of your role as my mother's informant." You felt a surge of panic as you were caught off guard, struggling to formulate a response.

"It's not the way to please me." He shoved you as nothing before turned you over, harshly leaving your pelvis in the air. "Sir─" The coldness from behind gave you a goosebump as he ripped off your dress. "As a spy, shouldn't you know more about your target?" He thrusted hard in one go, making you shut your eyes tightly.

"Being a good girl and I will treat you better, understand?" "Yes, sir─" Before you could finish your words, he pumped into you without mercy. "AHH!!Please!Please!!" These were only words you shouted out before you passed out of pain.

Every morning as you awaken, your eyes are met with the sight of Mingi standing by your bedside, gazing at the aftermath of his destructive actions with a twisted grin. The excruciating torment that follows leaves you powerless to resist, futile in your attempts to uncover his vulnerabilities to fulfill the task of his mother.

You existed solely as a plaything for his depraved desires. He reclined beside you, running his fingers through your hair, brushing away your tears, all while wearing a chilling smile.

"You should be grateful to get a smile from me, Y/N."

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Wooyoung ─ Steal Your Heart

God of Trickery Wooyoung x Goddess of Poison Reader

How could a man capture the heart of his beloved? Well, just showed her how he loved her! Showering her with chocolate, roses, lavish gifts…just whatever she liked! That's what Wooyoung did in order to win your heart. He never imagined he would go to such lengths. He had previously scoffed at the idea of San falling for an evil, dismissing it as absurd. Perhaps San was simply consumed by his desires. Love was nothing but a fantasy.

Until you appeared in his life.

Every grin and scowl you display etches a lasting impression in his thoughts, one that is impossible to erase. Your enchanting allure captivates all who gaze upon you, as you exude an air of perfection akin to a flawless doll. The intensity of his infatuation and fixation on you has reached unbearable heights, as he yearns for you to belong to him and him alone.

Oh, he did not do anything out of line. He simply observes you discreetly from afar to grasp your preferences; he is aware of your favorite foods, preferred flowers, and even the specific sesame oil you use for bathing… No, no, no, he was not a pervert. He merely acted in accordance with the ways of a man in love. Was he mistaken? Absolutely not. Wooyoung always had faith.

Yet, you kept ignoring him. Why? Those delicacies were laced with a special concoction, designed to make you swoon over him. Haven't you ever eaten it? Something was amiss. He had to find out what happened.

Sneaking into your room, a wave of your fragrance enveloped his senses. How delightful it was to him. He was tempted to drift off to sleep on your luxurious bed, but he resisted the urge. Wooyoung traced the scent to the lavatory. Observing the pool water emitting a misty white vapor, he extended his hand and playfully toyed with it, creating a soft sound.

"Ah, why didn't I think of you having an antidote? How dumb I am." Wooyoung straightened up, his curiosity prompting him to search through your cabinet. He secretly casted a spell on all the sesame oils, so that you…

"For attempting to poison the Goddess of poison, should I label you as innocent or foolish?" Your voice caught him off guard, and he realized that you had been leaning against the door frame, observing his every move.

"You…you…" As you walked towards him slowly, your bathrobe slipped off, revealing your shoulders, causing him to swallow hard. You silenced his words with your finger on his lips, then brushing it teasingly. "I know the little tricks you've been playing."

He seized your wrist to push it away from his lips, then swiftly drew you into his embrace, causing your eyes to widen in astonishment. "Do not assume that I am unaware of your attempt to poison me, Y/n. It's a pity that you didn't notice something…I am a God of Trickery, remember?"

“Wh─you!?” You felt drained and collapsed into his embrace. He poisoned you?When…?Was it when you applied poison to his lips just now?"It's called payback, darling. Your attire, your sesame oil, everything." You could only observe as he sensually removed your garments, planting kisses along your chest. "It will be pleasurable." With one swift motion, he entered your cunt, causing you to arch your back in ecstasy.

Wooyoung pumped into you over and over again and his seed filled you full, making your head spin in messy but pleasure. He leaned down to kiss your cheek, caressing it with all his tenderness.

“You will be mine forever, only mine.”

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Jongho ─ Rose and Gun

God of War Jongho x Human Warlord Reader

The bloodthirsty God unleashed its wrath upon the earth without mercy; cities burned, the soil drenched in blood, leaving only pain and destruction. Resistance was the only way to save mankind; and you were the warlord who controlled fate. The battle against the divine forces swiftly ensued. Yet, feeble mortal assaults proved futile against God.

"Please, please, please…" Your body was suspended, arms restrained against the wall, and your soaked panties were thrown away somewhere. Despite your desperate begging, the figure before you remained unmoved by any sense of compassion.

"I am at my limit…" Your vitality waned, each inhalation draining you of what little vigor remained. Thrice have you reached the peak, yet the individual before you remains insatiable. "Aren't you the warlord? Endure it." As he knelt, his face disappeared into your nether regions.

"Jong…ho…Hmm!!" Jongho opened his mouth and gently engulfed your cunt, tasting your sweet juices like a delicacy. The soft touch of his tongue made you scream in delight. You arched your back, the overwhelming stimulation stealing your breath, leaving you with unstable sounds. He smiled and continued to kiss your sensitive spots.

"See? You're so wet, you know you want more." His two long fingers suddenly slide into your wet cunt without warning, causing a high-pitched scream to escape your lips. The pace was painfully slow yet deep as if he was teasing you. He curled his fingers and sunk down to the depth with different gestures while his tongue sometimes stretched in, sometimes curled.

With each moment of resistance, his anticipation grows, relishing the melodious chime of the restraints encircling your wrists. You could feel how he nestled so deep between your inner thighs; his nose rubbed and nudged against your clit, trying to slide his tongue deeper into your cunt. He pulled out a bit and pushed in slowly, giving a new sensation you had never experienced before.

As if he was not satisfied yet, he then started to move his head up and down at a quick pace, licking everywhere he could find. “Ahhh—” Your moaning encouraged him to fuck you, tease you rougher. He sucked your lip with such a force while licking and swallowing your delicious juices. “Fuck, it’s so sweet” His throaty moan were muffled as he totally buried himself in your lower core, replaced by meaningless syllables. Each vocalization caused vibrations that drove you closer to losing control.

"Please, my god…" Perhaps it was unwise to have dared to assassinate him so boldly, for then you wouldn't find yourself in this predicament. Nevertheless, the conflict has reached a standstill, and alternative measures must be taken… Little did you anticipate that he wouldn't end your life, but instead, steal your innocence.

"Cum, girl. You're delicious." His provocative words pushed you to the brink once more. Unable to resist any longer, you reached the peak with a passionate cry. "Forgive us for our defiance. We should have never opposed you…" You surrendered, feeling overwhelmed by intense sensations.

Standing up to meet your gaze, you were surprised to see how attractive he was with his face covered in your juices. He cupped your face with his hand while another hand guided his angry red cock to rub against your entrance. "Do you truly believe a mere apology will suffice?" He pumped into you with unbridled force, hitting your g spot dead on. Your mind went blank as a euphoric moan escaped your lips.

"Don't you know the consequences of angering the gods?"

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Full oneshot (M) (fake god series):

Yunsang|Eros paidikos ft. OT6

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

a/n: yeah hey~actually i want to write this series for a long time and now i finally finished it! First time writing a masterpost (im not sure is it masterpost tho) ahh maybe I will write more of this type in the future (?) of course i will keep writing oneshot (btw there are so many requests give me more time TT)

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sharvidutta · 2 years

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10 Tips To Take Care Of Your Premature Baby At Home

Get an idea how a new parents can take care of their premature baby at home. Check out other pregnancy and childcare blog by clicking this link https://www.cordlifeindia.com/blog/

#Premature Baby #baby care #cord blood stem cell preservation

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toxicanonymity · 1 year

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Collect calls. jailbird pt. 2 of 3

3600, cellmate's nephew!Joel x inmate f!reader

brilliant edit by @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog. custom tats!

SUMMARY: You kinda try to be careful over the phone, but you want each other too bad. So it's hard. Rock hard. Joel sends you a short letter and comes to visit again. Follows Jailbird, but this is 69% dirty talk (I did the math). You can prob read alone. PT 3 of 3 is Parole. WARNINGS: I8+ SO HORNY, hella dirty talk from both, phone sex, mild degradation/teasing, tension, masturbation, Joel is a slut and mentions getting blown, creative mail. Barely edited horny chaos but I wanna feed ya and this ain't fine dining. A/N: Part 2 of 3. Thank you for the love on Jailbird! And THANK YOU @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for the amazing edit omg. Make sure you see the Jojo gif 🥵 His specific tattoos and all 😍 joel master list, @toxicfics for notifs. PART 3 HERE.

When you got back from visitation, your cellmate Mabel's face lit up. She was excited to hear about it, but when she looked you over, she said, “Oh boy, it’s worse than I thought. . . I’m gonna go play spades, honey. You do what ya need to do.”

You shook your head, “Mabel. . .”

“Take your time,” she said with a wink. "Not that you'll need it." Then she stood up and stretched before leaving the cell.

You got in your bed, on your side, under the blanket. You clenched your thighs together looking at the picture of a slightly younger him with not nearly as much silver in his beard. You put your pillow between your legs, rolled over so you were mostly stomach-down, and your hips moved as you put your head in the crook of your arm and recalled the way he looked at you, his strong hands, his tattoos. His voice. You wondered what it sounded like when it wasn’t through a telephone, but god damn, it did something to you. “ain’t nothin’ harder than mine, baby.” Fuck.

You were already getting close, wouldn’t even need to use your hand at this rate. You thought about the way his arm flexed as his hand moved in his lap. Oh God, the bulge and outline in his jeans when he stood up. The way he adjusted himself. He might be too big for you to take all of him, but god damn, you'd give it your best shot. You rubbed yourself against your pillow to the rhythm of his hand rubbing his lap in your mind, clenched your thighs again and you came, whining "Jojo" into your elbow. You heard it too many times a day to get it out of your head – He told you to call him Joel, but Mabel made it somewhat difficult.

---

He was hot as fuck, but it was also cute how close he and Mabel were. It made him seem like a good guy, even though neither of them were particularly upstanding members of society. You supposed neither were you by most standards, but it’s not like any of you had ever intentionally hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. That you knew of. The fact that Jojo served time was hot and also put you at ease. It had to have been a while based on the spiderweb, unless he was just trying to look hard, but he didn’t seem the type to bullshit anything. How did you even know what type he was though? You hardly knew him? You dreaded Mabel’s teasing but you could withstand it in order to find out more.

You got off once more while you were at it, taking advantage of the privacy. Then you sat up, rested against the wall, and just looked at the picture. Unfolded, you looked at both of them. It was so sweet. He looked happy. His hand on her shoulder had the spade tattoo. Your eyes fell on your own poke-and-stick clover from Mabel and your stomach fluttered when you saw the flared stem and circular leaves. It might as well have been a Club. “Mabel,” you muttered and shook your head.

While she was still playing Spades, you went over to her bed to look at the other photos up close. In another picture, they were at a barbecue in a parking lot. Joel was on the left and Mabel was on the right. Joel was wearing a wifebeater and Mabel was wearing a black t-shirt with a carousel pony on the right pocket.

You hadn’t noticed before, but there were a few women in swimsuits and aprons in the background. One of them was looking at Jojo. Who wouldn’t? Mabel’s words echoed in your mind — of course he’d like you. You’ve got a cunt and you’re not bad lookin'. you rolled your eyes. Shit. You resolved to put yourself in pro mode and try to detach.

—--

Over the next week, you spoke with him several times on the phone. You tried to be careful. You wren’t sure if all calls were reviewed or it was just by sample. You figured it would be suspicious to ask. You hoped whoever listened didn’t mind some harmless horny talk. The only stuff they should really care about should be scheming. Like making moves and putting out hits from the inside. Or smuggling from the outside.

—---

He answered the phone, “There she is.” A vaguely endearing greeting since you and Mabel called from the same collect number.

“Hey handsome,” you responded.

“I was just thinkin’ about ya, jailbird.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” he said deeply then sighed. “Ya just missed it.” Good God, his voice.

“Missed–”

“C’mon, baby. Use that pretty head. How bout I’ll wait for ya tomorrow?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yeah.”

“Just call at the same time.”

“Okay,” you agreed with a smile in your voice. “It was nice to see you the other day. . .”

“Oh, baby you got no idea,” he groaned. “I’m comin’ back next week.”

“Are they gonna let you back?” you giggled.

“They’ve gotta! I didn’t do nothin’.”

“You didn’t. . .you’re right. . .”

“Hey don’t give’em any ideas.”

"Right," you laughed.

"What are ya gonna do when ya get out?"

“In general? Try to find honest work, I guess.”

“Nothin’ dishonest ‘bout what you were doin’. But I hear ya, parole’s a bitch.”

“You on parole?”

“Nah, long time ago though.”

‘Yeah?”

“Kept my nose clean the whole damn time. Ended up back in the can anyway.”

"For what"

"Framed for fuckin' murder."

"What??"

"Relax, I was exonerated."

"No shit."

"Yeah." He cleared his throat and changed the subject. "You ever danced?"

"Course I fuckin' danced"

"Where at?"

"In memphis."

"Oh, I dunno jack shit about that scene."

"Wasn't great."

"Guess that's where you uh, got your start though."

"Yeah."

"Well do what ya want but lemme know if ya need a gig."

'Thanks."

He sighed. "I know it sucks not gettin' any in there. "

"Yeah."

"Are ya? Gettin' any? Girls, guards?"

"No," you answered, looking over your shoulder. "Think I could tell ya if I was, though?"

"Shit, sorry."

"You gettin' any?"

"Oh I'm a straight up ho."

"Yeah?" You asked, intrigued. "Surprised I hadn't seen ya at the clinic," you teased.

"Cause I'm way the fuck 'cross town. Got our own clinic."

"Good for you." A pleasant surprise that he stayed clean.

"Yeah, on a first name basis. Make my girls go, too. Still wrap it most the time though."

"Your girls."

"Dancers."

"Right." Mabel had mentioned he worked at a club. "Well, at least one of us is gettin' some."

"Shit, I was gettin' some sugar the other night," he said. "Pretty little head between my legs 'n I was lookin' at your picture."

Your heart fluttered. "No shit," you laughed. "My picture, huh?"

"Ohh, you don't even know. I want it bad, sugar, and I ain’t even tasted it."

"Yeah?"

"Shit I prolly think about it as much as you do . . .and I've got a life."

"Who says I think about it?" You asked flirtatiously.

"I got ESP. Makes me tingle when ya do."

"Oh does it?"

"Ya think about me in the shower, in bed. . ."

You laughed. "And where do you think about me?"

"Fuckin' everywhere. I've gotta have ya, baby. So bad it hurts."

—----------

Whenever you came back to your cell after talking to Jojo, Mabel would leave to make a phone call or go to the common area to watch whatever outdated movie was playing in the common area. Often with a wink. She knew he got you all wound up.

—----------

You called him at the same time the next day.

"How's your week been," you asked.

"Hard," he said, then his voice became hornier. "So fuckin' hard. . . n' that's all you." You could hear his belt and zipper.

"Wish I could help."

“i'm sure ya can once you're out. If you wanna hang out sometime.” You heard a bottle click open then squirt.

You teasingly hummed as though thinking it over. "Mmmm. . . .I dunno, what would you wanna do?”

“I can pick ya up right from the slammer, ‘less ya got someone else.”

“I don’t.”

“Great, then we can just. . . i dunno, get to know each other,” he mused, then added at a lower pitch, “In the back seat of my whip. Stop off somewhere close.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Fuck yeah,” he said. “You don’t understand, baby. I’ve gotta see what’s under that garb.” His hand was sliding up and down his lubed up cock. “I’ve gotta feel it.”

Butterflies swarmed in your chest and you sighed.

“What were ya wearin’ when ya got picked up?”

“Well. . . you already know what I’m in for. . .”

"Damn right I do, and you're gonna find out."

You laughed – at visitation, he said you were in for it. .

"C’mon, jailbird. What were ya wearin.”

“A black microskirt"

"Mmm."

"Black mesh crop top"

"Yeahhh"

"Over a pink bra.”

“Ohhh, fuck,” he sighed. “Shoes?”

“Shit, I’m not–hmm." You tried not to overthink it. "Definitely platforms. Silver and clear, I think."

He gave a low whistle. "Sounds hot as shit."

“And fishnets. Shit, that's all I had,” you laughed. "Maybe you can bring me something else."

“God damn, that’s what I get to pick ya up in?”

“I mean, I wasn’t planning on the fishnets.”

“Commando in that skirt? Shit, that’s even better.” His breath grew heavier. "Fuck it, just sit on me while I drive," he murmured. "Yeah, fuckin' sit on *this* the whole drive–ugghh." As if avoiding the word cock would make this conversation passable.

You sighed and tried to hide your arousal from the Corrections Officer (CO) standing 8 ft away.

"Can't get it in ya soon enough, baby."

"Mmm," you said quietly. "Can't wait."

"Jailbird, you're fuckin killin' me." He moaned. "Hot as hell. . . fuck."

"You sure I can take it?"

"Fuck, I dunno, baby," he panted. "It's a lot."

"I could tell"

"Uugggghhh," He groaned and you heard his hand sliding faster on his dick. "And what'd ya think about that ?"

"Oh, I’m up for the challenge,” you cooed saucily. "Just get me nice 'n ready."

"You ready right now?"

"The second I heard your voice."

"Fuck, I gotta know what ya taste like"

"Mmm."

"Yeah," he panted.,"And when you're nice and ready, then what?"

You lowered your voice to a near whisper. "Oh, just fuckin' wreck me. Split me open, baby." All you could do was clench your thighs together.

"Ohhh god"

"Don't hold back"

"Ohh fuck–couldnt if I tried." He sighed.

You had lost all restraint and just prayed whoever reviewed this call would be cool.

"Just stuff me full of it," you whispered.

"Fuck, yeah."

"Stretch me out."

"Ohh yeah."

"Pound me so hard i can’t see straight."

"Shit." He moaned and his hand moved faster.

"And then? Fill me the fuck up. I wanna feel it."

"Fuck yeah," he panted "i'll be seepin' outta ya for days."

"Then you better fill me up again."

"Jesus, fuck–ohhh."

"Don't tell me you'd spill it this fast."

"Oh fuck you," he laughed in good humor. "I'm not spillin' shit." You could still hear his hand.

"Not even if I'm sittin' on ya while ya drive?"

"Not even."

"Not with one hand on the wheel and one on my tit?"

"Ohh fuck," he breathes. "No, no. . ."

"And I'm moanin' your name with every bump in the road?"

"Mmmm, fuck, baby."

"Oh ya like that?"

"Fuckin'--fuck–fuckin' love it."

"Wouldya mind slidin' that hand down between my legs?"

"Wherever ya want it, baby."

"Ugh, those big hands," you whispered. "I just know you can use'em."

"Fuckin' right I can," he panted.

"Hope ya don't finish while you're drivin' with me in your lap."

"All ya gotta do is sit still."

"Imagine the mess if you came."

"Fuck, baby," he sighed.

"Every time we hit a bump, more would spill out in your lap.”

“Ohh, fuck." Then a long, drawn out moan like he was coming. You were throbbing wildly.

"Knew ya were close," you laughed. Then you heard a heavy smack on his end of the line. Then there was nothing but breathing for a minute, then it sounded like he was writing.

"What are you doing now?"

"Addressing an envelope."

"You're not mailing me your–"

"No I'm not mailin' you my" he laughed, "Load."

"Just a letter?

"Yeah. . . Just a letter."

"Mmkay. . . How 'bout a picture?"

His tone was warm and flattered. "Oh I can throw in a pic. But it's not gonna be the kind ya *really* want."

"Booo," you pouted.

'Think you'll like it anyway."

"Yeah, I can fill in the rest."

Your time was up.

—-------

You went back to your cell and sighed as you sat down on your bed. Mabel started to leave but you said, "no, you're good." You'd rub one out later. You wanted to ask Mabel if he really liked you, but you wouldn't let yourself be vulnerable like that. You were still trying to detach.

"You're right, he's cool," you said.

"You like him, don't ya? He likes you, too.”

She reached under her mattress into the fitted sheet and got out her poke and stick supplies. “C’mere, let's just get it over with,” she said.

“What, uh, what do you wanna give me?”

"J. . . O. . ."

Your whole upper body heated up and you laughed under your breath, "Mabel." She was mostly kidding.

—-----------

Visitation day came and you weren't nervous, just excited. He was wearing a too-small, black softwash t-shirt, black jeans, and a chain.

“Be good,” the guard warned Joel as you picked up the phone on your side.

"Yes, officer,” Joel replied with a respectful nod, then sat down. You noticed his rings as he picked up his phone. “We gotta be good,” he said with a wink.

“So be good,” you told him vacantly as your eyes roamed his tattoos.

He stared at you for a few seconds, hungrily taking in the mundane sight of you in your garb. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe it.

“How’d ya get hotter? Chicks don’t get hotter in lock-up, much less in a week.”

“What, and men do? It’s in your head.”

“Well yeah, we work out like mad.”

“Guess you’ve got me there.”

“Not talkin’ 'bout your body. It’s bangin’, but, I mean–no makeup and you’re pretty as hell.”

You smiled and shrugged, "thanks," then whispered, "but I think you're just horny," with a wink. He returned the shrug.

A few seconds of silence passed as he checked you out. You salivated over his arms stretching his shirt. He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Whatcha thinkin about?”

“I’m thinkin’ ya look like a slutty bouncer. . .You get this shit at Spirit Halloween?”

Joel chuckled. “Well . . . you know what *I’m* thinkin’ about.” His eyes glued to your chest.

Yeah, yeah, he’s gotta see what’s under that garb. “Yeah, you’ll see it, honey," you said.

It was a struggle knowing what to say–you wanted to “be good” and not get cut short, but you also wanted to indulge in your fantasies.

Joel asked, “Where ya wanna go when ya get out?”

“Anywhere. Got some place in mind?”

“Could take ya to my place. Mabel taught me a mean pot roast recipe.”

You smiled. “You’re makin' me hungry.”

“Oh I’m starvin’, baby.”

"Long drive?"

He exhaled with a puff of his cheeks. "It’ll feel long that day."

“I’m sure it will,” you purred, looking down as if you could see through the booth right to his cock. You wet your lips. “So what’s between here and home?”

He took a deep breath, thought for a second, and told you what highway it was.

“Oh, okay,” you nodded. “There’s a seven eleven right outside the gate here.

“There sure is," Joel nodded. "Clean bathrooms too. I checked on my way.”

“You did not.”

“I’m tellin’ ya," he nodded. "Stopped for gas. First thing I thought about. Swear I think about it as much as you do.”

“So what’s in the bathroom?”

“Steel handicap railing about hip height”

You raised your eyebrows, intrigued.

“Pretty sturdy to hold onto, or even sit on.” He looked over his shoulder “Like if someone needed a rest or whatever.” He rolled his eyes.

“Right," you said softly as you nodded.

"Diaper changin' thingy, too."

You scrunched your face up.

"Like if ya needed to bend over it and stretch your back.”

"Ah," you nodded. "Nah."

“Parking lot?”

“That close to here, it’s gotta be crawling with pigs.”

“Right,” he said in a trance, looking at your mouth.

“Alright, where else is there," you asked.

"Rest stop. They got picnic tables near the woods if ya need to, uh," he looked down, "Sit down," he said quieter, "n' take a rest."

"Oh, I won't want a rest." You slowly shook your head and your eyes lingered on his chain.

He groaned softly and rested his chin in his hand. He whispered, "You're killin' me here." He scratched his beard and you tingled at the sight of the silver patches, his pinky ring, his hand tattoos–the faded barbed wire. You sighed.

"You bein' good?" He asked.

"Yeah." You resigned yourself to harmless small talk for a few minutes, but it was obvious what you both were thinking about. There were long silences where you just stared at each other.

“Just a few more weeks and I’m yours,” you teased.

His eyes widened and he raised his eyebrows. “You serious?”

Oh, shit - you didn’t wanna scare him off. Really didn’t even mean it like that, but, you also didn’t mind the thought of him as a boyfriend.

You nodded and teased, “yours to do what you please.”

He blew out a puff of air. "God damn, baby. I don't think you know what’s comin’ your way.”

“Can’t wait to find out, though.”

“Oh, you’re gonna find out.” He dug his hand into his lap but didn’t move it. “Shit.”

“Sorry.”

“Never be sorry.”

The guard barked,”Hands where I can see’em,” and Joel obediently raised his hand and put both elbows on the table again.

"You ain't gonna want no one else again."

You rolled your eyes at his cockiness which actually turned you on.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya," he cautioned.

"Okay," you shrugged with a contemplative frown.

"Shit, I might be in the same boat." He swallowed and looked like he meant it. Like maybe you were doing something to him that hadn't been done.

"Get my letter yet?" Joel asked.

"No."

He smirked, then it faded as he checked you out for the hundredth time. He shook his head, sat back, and took a deep breath. "This is fuckin' torture."

"Then it's a good thing I waited til now to ask about ya."

"the best torture," he clarified, his forehead beginning to glisten. "I'm gonna fuckin explode when I'm back in my ride." He looked at the unopened box of tissues on his side of the booth, intended for crying visitors. "Thank God I didn't ride the hog." Fuck, he had a motorcycle, too? He held the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder while he opened the plastic on the box and tried to get the tissues started. Then he took three tissues out. Your breath hitched at the thought of his cum. Was it silky? Stringy? Watery? Sticky? What'd it taste like? Ugh.

"HANDS," the guard said when he saw Joel finish pocketing the tissues. The guard stepped forward. "Say goodbye, let's go."

"Fuck." Joel sighed and closed his eyes. "Sorry, jailbird."

When he stood up, you could see the outline of his hard dick on his thigh. You took a deep breath and pried your eyes off his crotch to briefly meet his eyes. He winked and you managed a small smile before eyes fell right back to his jeans as he adjusted himself. Fuck.

—---------------

Joel’s letter came a couple days later. A photo fell out of it. Black and white. He was sitting in a chair and smoking with one hand holding the cigarette up and his other hand resting between his legs. Arms blazing in a white t-shirt. Squinting at the camera. He looked hot as hell despite having all his clothes on. He looked like a model.

The letter was on plain white printer paper, and the letter was short:

Be good, jailbird. I'll take ya anywhere.

Sweet, and also sexy. God, you wanted him to take you.

You flattened out the letter and admired his poor but legible handwriting. Not as bad as some you'd seen. His handwriting was hot. It was cute that he didn't use any special stationary. He was a simple man. And God, what a man. You ran your fingers over the words, and they caught on a different texture. Something on the paper. You smelled it and it wasn't cum. It was, like, lotion or Vaseline.

Wait. You held it up, and your breath hitched.

You looked behind you to make sure no one was watching, then you stood up, got closer to the light, and held it at an angle. Holy shit. It was his dick print, diagonal across the paper. A bolt of desire shot through your body. It was transparent but the different texture was visible. You could see the head, then most of the shaft. It was detailed, there was texture. Even a couple of veins.

You sat on your bed, leaning against the wall with your knees up. You rested the paper against your knees at an angle with the tip pointed between your legs. You just wanted to get a sense of the size–and boy did you–but the sight of it, God. Just the silhouette of it lined up right there made you feral. You needed it so bad. Needed him. Who the hell mails a dick print? Fuckin’ Jojo, he was gonna be the death of you.

-----

Thank you so much for reading and engaging! Your engagement really keeps me going, I love y'all.

This AU is due to @beskarandblasters and @wannab-urs and their hilarious list of new joel tropes. But I played myself because he's actually hot and I want him?

Notes

The slapping sound after he came was him letting his cock slap onto the paper.

There are a lot of correctional facilities where they wouldn't get away with all this so you gotta suspend disbelief.

The strip club will be an alternate timeline of this Joel set in the past.

-----

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All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #toxicanonymity ☠️#cellmate's nephew!joel #CN!Joel Miller #CN!Joel #cellmate's nephew!joel miller #jojo ☠️

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