#a bit cause of compression

[alleesaur]

many fish in the sea

[sincerity--extreme]

[fauxfickle]

🎶But the years went by and the rock just died Susie went and left us for some foreign guy🎶 Long nights crying by the record machine 🎶Dreaming of my Chevy and my old blue jeans But they'll never kill the thrills we've got🎶 Burning up to the Crocodile Rock 🎶Learning fast as the weeks went past🎶

We really thought the Crocodile Rock would last...

Behold! One of the only pieces of fanart of Pizza Showtime Theatre, second only to this person. I really tried to mimic some old promo art of them with the hugely dilated eyes.

There's a better explanation about what Pizza Showtime was here and here, but PST was an Australian FEC in Perth, based out of the old Grand Theatre. It opened on July 30, 1980, a mere 5 months after the first Showbiz Pizza Place. A cast of animatronic characters made by Advanced Animations also debuted there, featuring Bert Newthound (Emcee), Melton Pom and her joey (Piano), Hector (Fiddle), the Koala Sisters (vocals), Ringo Dingo ( "The Outback Australian"), and Ned Kelly (Irish Outlaw).

Despite it's obscurity, many people seem to remember it when you tell them about the kangaroo playing "Crocodile Rock" or the bear playing "The Devil Went Down To Georgia". It's nice to see people realize it wasn't just some dream they had and recall the memories of this place.

Pizza Showtime closed it's doors sometime in 1984. The bots were said to be sent to Sydney and dismantled. The Grand Theatre building was demolished in the 90s. All that remains are the fuzzy memories of those who watched with wide eyes as animal heads popped out of the walls to sing as the band played.

[toastedclownery]

I finally added Zinnia to the clusterfuck

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

I have been exporting the audio wrong this whole time I- anyway. All posts from here on will have the correct setting :)

*edit. The post right before this does have the correct settings and the new equalizer stuff. If it sounds slightly better, that’s why.

[lucinfernos]

CONTENT CREATOR ARCANE AU INTRODUCTIONS ⭐

finally put together this handy dandy info sheet for your ease of access!

Jayce a.k.a. ManOfProgress (benevolently referred to as MOP by his fans) — 31 years old, he/him, bisexual trans man, Mexican-Brazilian — Started content creation in 2020 as a hobby to battle the pandemic boredom but blew up and decided to make it his full-time gig — Streams games and goofballery on Twitch [623k followers] and posts & streams more personal and unrelated content on YouTube [102k subscribers] — Found Viktor’s channel ~6 months before they started talking and feels very comforted by his voice; sleeps to his videos every night and puts one on whenever he’s anxious or angry — Got into a bad car accident as a child that was fatal to his father and left him with chronic pain on his left leg; now wears a knee brace and a calf compress periodically

Viktor a.k.a. TheMachineHerald — 32 years old, he/him, gay trans man, Czech-Polish — Was unable to leave the house during the peak of the pandemic and found joy and inspiration from Jayce’s content, and chose to start dabbling in content creation in 2022 — Creates very technically advanced and meticulously crafted ASMR videos; usually fully focuses on the mechanical sounds and tech aesthetic but lately has been brancing out more [12,3k subscribers before he gets in kahoots with Jayce] — Started showing his face only around the time when Jayce started watching him and is a bit irritated over the boost in popularity it granted him — Has many health problems, including scoliosis and rheumatoid arthritis (which has caused lung scarring and severe cartilage damage to his right leg and spine from when he was younger and could not access the necessary care to get the inflammation in control)

Mel a.k.a. Melicious (to this day her fans argue whether this is a reference to delicious or malicious) — 33 years old, she/her, bisexual; Jayce’s ex-girlfriend, African-American w/ Algerian roots — Was with Jayce during her time in Piltover but they made the mutual decision to part ways when she was accepted into an art school in London; are still close friends — Made very high-quality weekly diary-style vlogs, often related to art [837k subscribers]. Went on a semi-hiatus after moving but is active on other social medias like Instagram [1,4 million followers]

Jinx a.k.a. GETJINXED — 19 years old, she/they, agender aroace; in a queerplatonic relationship with Ekko, American — Gained popularity on TikTok and later on Twitch when people realized she’s the sister Vi is always complaining about; has no niche and does literally anything she wants to do that day, which usually has to do with either art or engineering [166k followers on Twitch, 850k on TikTok] — Working on an independent music career on the side with their debut single Get Jinxed going viral on TikTok — Lost her finger ON STREAM when working on an art installation, the clip has millions of views

Ekko a.k.a. The_Boy_Savior — 20 years old, he/any, probably nonbinary but he has a job so he doesn’t care abt that rn, bi & asexual; in a queerplatonic relationship with Jinx, African-American — Creates well-researched and thought-provoking video essays about worldwide issues, especially dedicated to the health of the planet and its people [317k subscribers] — Surprised everyone by appearing in one of Jinx’s tiktoks because nobody knew they knew each other let alone that they were in a QPR — Frequently holds fundraisers and has done a lot of good for his community

Caitlyn a.k.a. KillshotKiramman — 23 years old, she/her, lesbian; Vi’s girlfriend and Jayce’s best friend, Chinese-British — Makes videos about weapons (mostly guns and shooting) [176k subscribers] and plays games on her Twitch [29k followers] — Moderates Jayce and Vi’s streams, and completely destroys both of them at FPS games — Had a gun misfiring accident which left her blind in her left eye

Violet a.k.a. vistandsforvideogames — 24 years old, any pronouns, gender-apathetic (call her whatever you like) lesbian; Caitlyn’s partner, American — Gamer on Twitch, but also shares about her side job as a boxer [212k followers] — Sometimes mods for Jayce but mainly just shows up to kick his ass in Mortal Kombat and exude chaotic energy

[alleesaur]

[Artfight 2024] [1]

{ Angel }

for breadgy / inhellwelivelament

[screampied]

the thought of being fucked full-nelson style by sukuna while sitting on his throne won’t leave my mind

☆ ໋𓈒 tags. fem! reader, tf! sukuna, full nelson, size diff + size kinks, dirty talk, unprotected, brēeding, mentions of tummy bulge, ( little one, princess, brat . . ) mdni.

“hn. how pathetic,” the notorious demon snickers, baring a single fang as he watches the tip of his swollen angered cock disappear between your runny folds. your thighs shook instantaneously, and he’s lazily slouched back on his throne. a bawled up fist rests near his chin as he watches you with crimson eyes filled of nothing but pure amusement and a mocking head tilt. “don’t make me fall asleep, now. you said you could take me ‘n you’re not even halfway in, princess.”

you bite the inside of your cheek at his playful taunts — so annoying, he just wouldn’t shut up. “ ‘m trying, ‘kuna,” you moan, the stretch of his throbbing cockhead making the center of your mouth salivate. the sleeves of his kimono were slightly ruffled from you tugging on it. he’s got the smuggest grin as your legs part themselves just a bit further. seconds go by before you sigh, slumping into his chest. “help me, ‘kuna. please.”

“so easy to give up,” he mumbles in a gruff tone, bringing one of his big hands to pat the back of your head. you lean into his touch, and as you’re so close to him—you’re engulfed by his natural loud musk. “finee,” he sharply adds, and you gasp once he turns your body around, positioning you in such a way. you’re still placed on his lap but he grabs both of your legs, pulling them upward. “i’ll help you, little one. now now, lie back ‘n allow your king to give you a nice ‘lil stretch.”

your mouth slightly drops, dramatically going agape once he restrains you in a safe manner . .

sukuna’s got you taking his heavy cock again, but this time, you feel the stretch reach everywhere.

he’s got two pairs of arms locking behind your head with the other two clinging onto your thighs. a few sharp nails dig into the fat of your skin, leaving a plethora of marks he’d want to kiss over later. “fuck,” he grunts, hearing the squelching whimpers of your sweet cunt. everything’s slow, it’s as if time stood still as you’re trying to take him. you swallow a lump near the back of your throat that seemed to be growing every second.

the demon sat underneath you was big—he liked pounding you ruthlessly in full nelson because more than anything, he loved seeing you stretched.

the dumb sounds you make, it rings through his ears. speaking of, he gets up close to the lobe of your ear, flicking his forked tongue against it. “s- sukuna,” you whine, and with a ‘pop’, you felt your ass grind right into his lap. already, he’s molding a tiny tummy bulge near the center of your stomach. he’s so deep, once he starts, it’s practically over for your limps. “ngh, ‘s big, ‘kuna.”

“keh, obviously. the perfect size for you, princess.” he groans, tightening his grip just a tad bit against your legs. a hand of his feels the bulging spot near the center of your tummy before he hums. “ ‘kuna’s riiiight fuckin’ here, brat.”

he’s got you in a secure lock. his arms felt warm, and through your blurred peripherals, you glance at his ancient cursed markings that paint all across his bulky, burly arms.

so big, you’re already drooling as you’re bouncing on his cock. the crushing compressing weight of both bodies—mainly yours, causes his throne to be more rickety. it’s whining and groaning out creaks each time your speed against his lap increases, and he’s practically treating you like a doll.

a porcelain doll he didn’t want to ever break.

at least, not yet. .

“fuckin’ nasty girl,” he huffs, one of his hands going toward your face. he smears a palm over your mouth, your pouring drool that streams from the corners of your lips landing on his hand. he’s got a wolfish smile, hearing your babbled whimpers get louder as he’s stretching you silly. “i spoil you too much, spoil this sloppy pussy too much too, hmph.”

“mmph. suku— sukunaaa,” your sweet stammers of moans grew more bouncy as you bucked your swiveling hips further onto him. it didn’t take long before your raw vocal chords start to die out, growing strained and weak. you dramatically elongate each syllable of his name that streams from your lips as his cock plummets into you full. the sweltering hot crown of his shaft kisses all around your gummy walls, reaching so deep that you’re practically yanking roughly on the edges of his silky kimono sleeve. “fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna cum, ‘kuna.”

a throaty chortle from sukuna makes your cunt twitch as he holds you upright — so cute, he’s so much bigger than you, merely dislocating your limbs with a few sets of his arms. he barely had to do anything and yet you were easily overpowered by his body. your mouth hangs open as he’s shoving such thick inches in and out of your slobbering pussy, coating his entire base with your cascading slick. “are you asking or are you just sayin’ y’r gonna cum, little one?”

the insides of your thighs were so sticky, already sticking together and you’re a babbling mess as his dick continues to make you stupid. “lemme cum please, ‘kuna. please, pretty please. stuffin’ me so full, fuuuck.”

“there’s those sweet manners,” he purrs in a husky tone—the back of his lips meets near your ear, giving it a soft peck as you continue to move. you feel a swarm of fluttering butterflies circle inside the pits of your tummy, but you knew that could also be the bulge of his cock constantly rutting deep into your clingy insides. “ah,” he snarls, his tip thrashing vigorously against a certain spongey spot. right there, you let off a sweet squeal as his sloppy thrusts start to punctuate again and again until your candied coated moans reverberate throughout the walls of his regal royal chambers. “fuckin’ shit,” he hisses, and as your hips continue to slam onto him, he’s realizing he’s coming close too.

your eyes were droopy as he’s still got you in such a lewd position — he’s so strong, proudly holding you up to where you’re just a doll bouncing on his cock. his throne remains wailing out moans of its own from the heavy masses of weight jerking on top of the furniture. he’s balls deep into your core, feeling how sweetly your cunt’s being massaged.

“c’mon, messy girl. give it t’ me then. make a sloppy mess on your king, princess,” and his sable-darkened nails gently scrape against your skin. it’s almost soothing, he’s got you in a tight safe chokehold hold and you’re basically chasing your own breath.

you whimper as his warm breaths tickle such a carnal itch in your brain. sukuna allows for you to bounce on him quicker and harder until eventually, your release came. your sweet little cry of finishing rapture was adorable—he hears how even after you’ve creamed all down his cock from the salacious skin slapping, your irregular breaths never falter. “ugh,” he grumbles, feeling his own release eventually match up as if it was right on cue. he bellows out a rough animalistic growl before he’s cummimg, shooting blanks. satiny ropes shoot into you, its balmy hot temperature making you gasp. it’s thick and slimy, pumping you full to the brim so good that it even leaks out.

he loosens his taut grip on your numb legs that were positioned in the air before he sighs—it’s still coming out, his angered tip was tucked inside your pussy as you’re just defeated, collapsed back on his chest.

“good girl,” he pants, hearing the erotic sloshes of his own cum continuing to spurt and ooze deep inside you. now, you’re an entire puddled mess. he creeps a broad open hand between your thighs, dragging a thumb down your slobbering slick to gather up a drop of his filthy dribbling cum. “my, my, look at thaaat,” he coos lowly, and you moan once he resumes, dragging a plump thumb down your sloppy cunt. a bit of his own mess soaks onto his finger before he brings it up to his mouth, lapping at your fresh juices, getting a taste himself. “mhm, she’s as sweetest as she’s ever been,” and you let off a gasp once another one of his palms rudely spanks your wet cunt.

“messy baby.”

[luviisabella]

Bakugo is perfect for cuddling. Why? Cause he’s big and he’s warm.

I don’t mean just big cause he’s tall, I mean muscle, he’s a pro-hero after all, he’s gotta stay fit. So it wasn’t unusual for you to see his biceps practically ripping every atom of his compression shirt when he’d go out to the gym.

Despite coming back all sweaty the first thing he likes to do is lay on you and now convince you his germs have passed onto you so he has an excuse to shower with you. From there you guys find your way to your shared bed and cuddle. His muscles caging you in, his large calloused hands wrapped around your figure, and he couldn’t be happier. He keeps you warm too, thanks to his quirk his body is always warm/hot. (Thanks to this he also usually walks around shirtless.)

So it’s not uncommon for him to place his hands under your shirt, resting them gently along your sides as he uses just the right amount of heat to warm up his hands a bit. Usually he does it when you have cramps, he’ll have you lay your back to his chest and keep his hands on your lower abdomen while you rest. Such a good boyfriend.

“Cmere”

There’s no point in him saying that when he’s already got you thrown over his shoulder, taking you off the couch as if you weren’t peacefully reading.

“Kats-“ you can’t help but giggle, seeing he’s in one of his lovesick moods.

He gently places you on the bed before climbing on top of you, his head resting on your chest gently as you find your hand in his.

You smile seeing him find relaxation in your touch.

“I love you katsuki.”

His hand warms up a bit and you can see his ears turn a little pink.

—

“I love you too.”

[guinevereslancelot]

i'm literally so dumb

[anantaru]

HSR + HOT THINGS HE DOES WHILE DOING IT

— ꒰ including ꒱ — aventurine, dr ratio, sunday, boothill x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, dom hsr characters, oral (fem! receiving) & fingering, established relationship, hitting it raw, dirty talk, tit play + biting & marking, prone bone ⊹ ‧₊˚ ᰔ

— ꒰ AVENTURINE ꒱ + shamelessly moans into your ears

his moans have that kind of power that attack you with the lightest bit of touch but rumble inside your nerves with an utmost generosity that continued to burn an everlasting need into the rigid twist of your belly. he flips you over to your stomach and kneads the handful of flesh on your ass, greedily as his hands retreat— now, he uses his hand to keep your hips sealed against his aching half, while the other was positioned next to your head to refrain his weight from leaning and crushing against you.

aventurine's mouth was hot against your ear, too hot, in fact, that your body manifests swells of electric jumps on your limbs and muscles, your blood thrumming as you're audibly hissing out petulant sobs through your slacked jaw.

"tell me how it feels, yeah?" he sighs between gritted teeth, savoring the anticipation as his eyes squeeze shut, hips aligned and drawing his oozy tip against your entrance before pressing into your hole.

"ugh, fuck—" he grunts, "you'll mess me up today, hm?" as he moans deeply into your ear, so grateful to you as you shakily exhale through your mouth, your hole melting around his thick shaft before he inches further through your plushy walls.

aventurine was unashamed of gasping out those lecherous noises for you, brazen to the point where he's telling you how you feel as you squeeze him and cloud his mind with your milking compression indulging in him, "aah— you feel so nice, so soft, i'm losing my mind," he cheekily laughs between his whines, feeling elevated.

he kisses your neck as you sob, your walls feeling all of him inside as you exhale between a shaken embrace— but it's telling how much it turned you on when your boyfriend was this vocal with the pleasure you caused on him, his tongue darting across your neck before he loudly groans into the skin, your hole tensing and letting go, tensing and letting go, adding pressure again.

your eyes roll back as he grinds himself in you, always holding against your ass to fondle with the skin as he repeatedly pressures and pulls his cock through your creamy hole, entering all his inches inside an eager cuddle.

the sensation of having him claim your body in such way made your stomach do flips and tumbles, and the hums into your ear only multiplied the ways you responded to him with fizzy tears pulling at your lashes. right there, aventurine spills his brazen moans right against your ear, shamelessly between affectionate words of love, sending your inmost nerves into hard overdrive.

— ꒰ DR RATIO ꒱ + pulls your face to him before you climax

before he advances forward to his original plan, veritas will make you feel like you're mounting off pleasure and ah, your silhouette was charming to look at, no? you're so sweet when you hide your face from him. yet he doesn't understand why you're so embarrassed to show your flustered state? regardless, he loves when you do that, hiding the real taste, doesn't matter if he's suckling on your clit or watching how you suck him off, you're always warding off his enticing gaze.

the tantalizing signs of your embarrassment were enough for dr ratio to focus on all the different regions of your body— not only that, but he inspects your breathing and how it shudders through you, not to mention how it hitches when he grinds into your cunt.

with that, he can determine that you prefer it faster, although mixed in with a couple slow grinds once he's sheathed himself fully inside. a combination of both can do a lot more, and channeling it into one was his speciality. you're making it just that easy for him.

you wonder why? well, it's because you make everything look so sexy that it's so easy to figure you out.

after finding the perfect tempo for the both of you, your warmth clamps around him before losing yourself in each precise, calculated push of his hips overloading from the feeling of being close to you, or ah, being one with you, correct? it's how you're throbbing and creaming his entire base full that he realizes you're right there, feeling an upcoming wave of pleasure making itself visible.

"i'm cumming, i'm, aah, fuck," you moan beneath his hypnotizing pair of eyes as his hips rush through you, spreading your poor, little cunt apart as your hole flexes around his shaft. veritas knew he had to be quick with it, so after hearing you sob and wince, he draws himself off your neck and cups your face roughly, casting his eyes on you.

the man was gorgeous and he knew it, much to your dismay— he could also be a total idiot about how annoyingly handsome he was and that he always knew how to use it to his benefit— although in this moment, his face was soused in his sweat, messed up around his forehead and covered with fizzling lust for you.

a strangled cry rips from your throat and vibrates through his eardrums as your body vividly shakes under him. you're whimpering at the embarrassment of having him look at you while he's forcing the eye contact with his hand bending around the softness of your cheek.

you had no idea how much of a difference it made to look at him and become so, vulnerable.

you squirm under his searing silhouette, crying out the most beautiful sounds as your sore hole twitching around the base, utterly spent as veritas only admires the glow in your eyes, nothing more and nothing else.

the two of you exhale shakily in your afterglow, wet skin clinging to the sheet and relishing in its dirtiness.

— ꒰ SUNDAY ꒱ + kisses your clit before going down on you

he holds himself back, he needs to, because fighting the urge to bury his face where you needed him the most was always worth it— before he latches on your clit, he uses his rough thumbs to push the plushy skin protecting your clit aside to plant his plump lips over it, ghosting his mouth on top as he's almost successful enough to distract you from two digits bumping against your weeping hole.

sunday adjusts his face on your pussy before planting a wet kiss on your clit, his lusting eyes turning dark in the dark light as he roams two fingers inside your cloying hole, "give it to me, i know you can do it," he takes each necessary step to make you arch your back and gush all over him— your bothered silhouette making his cock ache and balls throb in his boxers.

his digits ascend over the slopes of your velvet walls as he presses delirious sensations on your cunt before spitting on your pussy repeatedly, messily grinning against your folds when you wince to every single droplet of his saliva hitting your cunt.

what doesn't come as a surprise is that sunday likes being messy with it— he needs to feel the wetness, the sheer contact of a hot tongue on your throbbing skin that he asks himself, can you feel it too? oh silly, of course you can, there was no room for debate by how you're reacting to it.

he swallows your arousal pooling on his tongue as he laps at your clit while his fingers graze along the sponginess of your walls, your pussy holding and clenching around the two digits. your eyes were half lidded, almost closed, your body so responsive that your cunt pulses at nothing but the tip of his tongue nudging into your clit.

"so obedient you are, my dear," he rasps before your fingers slope around the loose strands of his hair to press him into your heat, your back arching and your cunt spasming as you ride his face.

sunday hums happily, satiated, "what a good girl you are," he praises you enlaced in a wanton voice, thrusting his fingers roughly as you cum inside a silent cry.

— ꒰ BOOTHILL ꒱ + teases you with his teeth

your saccharine alike face prompts a menacing grin from him as he settles you on his lap before tilting your head a little— his eyes drizzling into the space on your neck and how he could feel your heart beat from that precious spot. boothill tests the waters, his insatiable hunger for you being so painful as he sighs out excitedly. he grazes into your neck and drags the sharp edges through your sensitive skin— always holding you on his waist with one hand wrapped around while the other toyed with your soft tits.

boothill has everything under his control, okay? you needn't worry— in fact, he always tells you to not torment yourself when all you had to do was trust him with your pleasure.

a smile stretches across his face as he brazenly flattens his tongue against your neck, feeling your pulse thud on the wet muscle before squeezing your tits to mess up your focus. you cling to his strong shoulders as you arch your back when he rolls a nipple between his digits, "you like that, don't you?" he drawls, your moan bending when he pinches your tit again.

your eyes roll back, and ugh, it feels so good, his rough yet precise touches were capable to induce waves of sparks from your breasts to all the way down, hitting your aching pussy. you're humping against his thigh and drool, more so stain your panties with your slick. the swell of his bulge was heavily pressing against your clothed folds, and boothill knew it wouldn't take long until you'll beg him to fuck you.

alongside those mesmerizing touches that marked up your breasts, the man took his time and acted unhurriedly as he sucks on your neck, shielding his eyes as he dips his head right above your collarbones. your skin mists with drops of his saliva as you find his hair beneath your hands, tugging slightly at his strands.

boothill moans into your neck, the vibrations setting a fire on your wet core, "let me consume you..." you hear him murmur playfully, his sharp fangs tauntingly pressing into your neck as you arch your back, "pretty, mh, you're so good, so lovely, so pretty, and ugh," as he stammers, his tongue blazing wildly across the pulsing spot that he's bitten, a low growl rumbling in his throat as he calls your name.

© 2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[lesbicastagna]

the fact they won't ever make a farnese nendoroid is my personal 9/11 like esp of her holy chain attire...actually killing myself

[kisses4themissus]

Loathing you, my whole life long | M.R X Reader

a/n: I'M BACK TO WRITING AND HOPEFULLY THE FANFIC CURSE WONT HIT SO BAD THIS TIME!! and yess its gonna be a series!!

pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch X Single mom!Reader

wc: 2.2k

!! all my medical knowledge is based off my mom's own health so some is actually correct !!

Requests are open for dr. robby! | masterlist | next pt

Chatter and machines beeping filled the ED.

Mel sat down at a desk, updating charts; occasionally glancing over to see dana, perla, doctor collins and princess standing in central grinning at the staff elevators, waiting for something.

“You doing ok, mel?” Frank asked the blonde, mel nodded and pushed up her glasses. “Yeah all good, what’s next?” She asked, standing up from the desk.

Frank sighed and glanced around the ER stopping at the sight of his coworkers waiting, he motioned for mel to follow as he approached the women.

“What’s going on?” Frank’s question make’s princess grin even wider. 

“Robby messed up and the ICU attending is apparently making her way down anytime now.” Collins filled langdon and mel in before turning back with everyone. “ICU attending?” Mel asked but was stopped as the interns all ran up to central, half of the ED stopping their activities to watch.

“Is she here yet?” Santos asked, out of breath a bit.

“Did we miss it!” Victoria asked as she and whitaker stabled each other out.

The elevator dinged causing everything to halt.

Out stepped a young woman, her bage swaying from her compression jacket. Wordlessly dana pointed to trauma one where robby stood, picking up gloves from the last trauma.

You smiled thankful before dropping the expression and pushed the doors open. 

“What does H.I.T stand for medically robinavitch?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

Robby sighed and straightened out before turning to you. 

Taking too long for your liking you answered for him. “Heparin induced thrombocytopenia, moron!��� You scoffed, your blood too warm for your liking.

“Is this about that old lady?” He asked, scratching his bread as you quietly seethed at him. “Yes and now that old lady had burns on her legs due to your ignorance!” You raised your arms in annoyance at the older doctor’s calm reaction.

“You’re the attending, it’s your job to caught the tiny details your residents and interns miss!” You argued, robby only nodded in return his attention to the computer in the corner of the room. “It was heparin or she would’ve clotted up.” Robby defending making your scoff quickling turning into laughter.

“That’s total bullshit and you know it robinavitch!” You turned to walk out but stopped as you opened the door to the ED. “I’m sure gloria would love a malpractice lawsuit against the hospital due to the illiterate  ER attending!” You added before storming to the elevators and back to your floor.

Robby’s head picked up at your words, quickly following behind you as the elevator closed, separating you both.

Robby groaned, his fist clenching by his side.

Turning around he looked to notice half of the department stood near central watching it all, some of them quietly recording. “Get back to work, you all have patients waiting!” He scoffed and immediately broke everyone away, leaving dana chuckling at him.

“She seems nice..?” Mel shrugged as langdon chuckled to himself. Victoria shook her head.

“Someone already sent the video to the group chat!” Santos chuckled, showing everyone the video, the soundtrack of wicked playing over your yelling.

“Shen said twenty robby falls for her in two months.” Mohan smiled at the texts, langdon pulled out and his phone as bets filled the chat. 

“So is she galinda and doctor robby is elphaba?” Mel asked, looking up trying to figure the duo in her head. “She totally gives galinda.” Mohan agreed with victoria.

 - - - - - - - -

You sighed as you stepping out of the staff elevator’s to the ED floor, scanning the floor you grinned as you spotted the other attendings. 

“Good morning you two!” You smiled to Shen and Ellis.

“Morning.” Ellis greeted, sounding tired from her shift.

“Ahh, there she is, doctor galinda!” Shen smiled happily at you. You rolled your eyes at the two. “Stop being mean to the one who bought baked goods to you all down here in hell.” You motioned to the tote bag on your shoulder.

“Marry me, like actually.” Ellis sighed as she happily followed you to the break room where you laid out your baked goods on the table.

Minutes later robby groaned as he walked into the ED. Dana greeted him with a smile before turning to pick up her bagel, with a head tilt, robby quickly shrugged off his bag and motioned toward’s the baked good.

“Friday treat?” He asked, smirking as he opened up his travel mug. 

“You know it, there’s more in the break room, i’d hurry before ellis shoves them in her pockets.” dana pointed to where most employee’s walked out with a baked treat in their hands. 

Robby nodded and walked over, looking into the room. All of the interns and few resident’s stood, talking about each treat. “Morning.” Robby greeted, earning muffled greetings back.

“You have to try a muffin, it’s so good!” Langdon moaned as he fell back into his chair, still chewing his half eaten muffin. Robby just nodded and picked up a brownie, as he chewed the treat he looked at the boxes of treats, no note was in sight.

“Who got these?” His question brought the room to a playful silence.

Mel and whitaker both quietly stared at one another.

“Jack?” Robby guessed, only earning a shake of the head from mohan. Shen walked in a smile on his face. “He ate one?!” Shen asked, eyes wide as he stared at the older attending. “You know who got them?” Robby asked shen who began to chuckle. 

“Doctor galinda made them herself.” Shen beamed as robby’s brows furrowed at the name. 

“Who?”

Ellis groaned as victoria explained the nickname for you, quickly grabbing handfuls of the treats onto a napkin before robby grabbed the boxes. 

“Spit them out.” He said before walking towards the staff elevators, boxes in hand.

Langdon shook his head as he continued to chew on his muffin.

- - - - - - - -

You sighed as you leaned against the nurses station, waiting on a patient’s physical therapy to be done.

Quickly perking up as staff passed by, beaming about your baking. “It’s nothing!” You brushed off the compliments and went back to looking at your watch.

The click of the ICU doors being open, you mindlessly glanced over to see a seething robby walking towards you, your baked goods being carried on his forearm.

Robby walked over to your desk and stared you down. Quickly walking over to him. “What’s your problem robinavitch?” You questioned, standing tall as he stared you down,.

“Don’t go buttering up my staff with all these treats!” Robby demanded, his brows furrowing.

Most of the ICU staff stopped, watching you both. 

“I don’t know what your talking about, i just thought treats for you hard workers would be nice, even my floor got some!” You defended, now crossing your arms at robby.

“I know what you’re trying to get at, it’s not gonna work.” Robby leaned forwards towards. You rolled your eyes and chuckled, before leaning in.

“I don’t know what you mean by that!” You smirked, quickly standing up straight as the doors opened once more.

Turning your head you smiled as gloria walked in, a tired expression on her face.

“Good morning gloria!” You beamed, quickly getting in step with the woman; who seemingly relaxed at your energy as you began going over patients and their discharge plans, leaving robby to seeth at the nurses station, tossing the boxes onto your desk before leaving the ICU.

An ICU nurse turned to a nursing assistant who had seen the whole thing and both began snickering, the assistant quickly stopped recording on her phone and sent it to a group chat.

“Poor galinda..” One of them joked.

- - - - - - - -

The video from the ICU had spread like a wildfire among the hospital staff.

Santos sat at a desk, sighing as she laid her head down on the cool desk, a small ding from her phone made her look up and pull out her phone to see a video attachment from donnie.

Clicking on the video, it had shown robby getting close to you and muttering something not heard by the camera, the video had ended with robby dropping the baked goods on your desk before leaving. Santos gave a hidden smile, laughing a bit.

Mohan walked up, phone in hand and a shocked expression on her face. “Did you see the video too?” Mohan asked santos who nodded and began chuckling.

“I can’t believe he did that!” Samira scoffed as she replayed the video. 

“You two saw the video?” Victoria asked, walking up to the pair, in shock as well. Mohan and santos nodded as the girls watched robby move past them.

“That was kind of a dickhead move, you gotta admit.” Victoria sighed, sitting down across from santos.

“Apparently, She’s not even affected by it.” Mohan told the others as she scrolled through her messages with other nurses on the ICU floor.

Hours had passed by, during a slow moment, langdon had mel show dana the video of robby and you, earning a groan from the charge nurse.

“Dana, see if ICU has a bed available for south 13.” Robby asked the nurse who chuckled and picked up the phone, eyeing robby as she was given a no.

“We were a second too late, neurological took the last available bed.” She sighed, hanging up the phone as robby chuckled, running a hand over his neck. “Oh how convenient.” He laughed.

- - - - - - - -

Walking to your car you sighed, carrying the boxes of half gone baked goods in your hands.

You had notice when you began working at the hospital, the parking lot was always full even for the staff, no one had bothered parking across the street by the park; you were now understanding why no one did.

As you walked through the park, airpods playing your music. 

A sharp whistle made you take one out, looking over you smiled at the few ED workers. You quickly made a detour and approached the group. 

“How you doing today?” Princess asked as you gently sat the boxes down.

“Been better, my feet are too tired to walk to my car.” You sighed, sitting down next to langdon on a bench. “Thankful it’s friday right?” Langdon asked, bumping your knee with his.

You tiredly nodded and rubbed your eyes. 

“Yep, now gotta go clock in for my at home job.” You sighed into your palms.

“At home job?” Mel asked, you smiled and nodded at her. “Yep, cleaning my apartment, water my plants, feed my lovebug, bathtime..” You explained, moving your head around, hoping to pop it.

Sighing, you opened your eyes and quickly rolled them as robby began walking towards the group, donnie behind him, rolling a cooler.

“Alright gotta go before i fall asleep on the bench!” You popped up and walked to your car, leaving the baked goods.

“Lovebug?” Mel asked the others who shook it off.

- - - - - - - -

“Oh there she is!” You squealed.

“Mommy!” a little girl no older then five quickly ran from the porch steps of your parents house towards you.

“My lovebug!” You smiled, opening your arms for the little girl who quickly squeezed you with all her might.

Lovebug; all of the hospital’s staff had heard of the name, everyone had assumed it was a pet you had, no one had suspected you had a child, especially you being a young mother. To you it was obvious you had child, but never outright saying it, assuming everyone else knew it too.

“How was today?” She asked, shrugging off her little backpack, tossing it on the seat beside her carseat.

“It was good, everyone loved our treats!” You smiled at the little girl who smiled widen back.

Your mind had gone back to robby but with a quickly check of reality you quickly thanked your parents before taking your daughter home to your apartment.

“How was your day bug?” You asked, looking in the rearview mirror, your little girl grinned and kicked her legs and she sang something under her breath.

“Great, we colored and then-then we went to eat!” She explained, her little legs kicking in excitement as she recalled her day to you. 

You had shaken your day with robby out of your mind, happily thinking about your daughter and her day’s experience.

- - - - - - - -

Robby sighed everyone had left the park, leaving him to be the last one, he scoffed as the boxes of treats sat on the bench, he quickly picked it up and sighed, it had now been only a handful of treats left in the box, with a sigh robby took them with back to his home.

After a warm shower and a decent dinner, robby sat down on his couch, his tv playing whatever show he had on for noise. He sighed as he fidgeted on the couch once more.

The need for something sweet hit him as he flipped through channel’s, passing a cooking show. As he went to get up to go to the market down the street he stopped, the tupperware sat on his countertop, with a hefty sigh and a look at his clock.

Walking over robby, opened the lid and went through the leftover treats, finally ending up picking out a few cookies. He quickly grabbed a bit of milk before going to his couch with his treat for the night.

Sitting down, he mindlessly took a bite of the cookie, part of his mind too enthralled by the tv show on the screen. He chewed for a bit before stopping to stare at the cookie, chuckling to himself.

“Fuck..” He muttered before going back for more. He now understood why his staff were boasting about your treats.

Next part !!

[acorviart]

thinking about how viktor's crutch design is actually pretty unergonomic (no cushioning on the shoulder/handhold? also why does the handhold have that decorative pointy bit, that's just prime hand stabbing position), but it's in house talis colors. so do you think. that jayce made it. and put so much effort and love into it, and it's incredibly elegant, but ultimately he doesn't have firsthand experience with the fine particulars of being disabled (until his trip straight down to the bottom of a canyon where wizard viktor tossed him pity lizards occasionally), so the result is more form over function.

and yet viktor used it for years, unchanged, red/gold unobscured, even though it prob caused long term damage and pain that could've been avoided with minor alterations. out of affection.

I don't know that much about crutches so anyone's free to correct me, but I do have nerve sensitivity in my arms that's easily triggered with incorrect posture/muscle tenseness/hard pressure, and every time I see that crutch, I'm like boi. that's absolutely fucking up your arm. my fingers are going numb just looking at it. that kind of long-term acute pressure easily causes chronic nerve compression but viktor canonically is sentimental about holding onto important objects that remind him of jayce, like the cog and blanket...

[blueywrites]

welcome home

ghost x reader x soap

when soap and ghost return from mission and find you, a civilian medic working on base, curled up on the rec room couch, you end up giving the boys a thorough welcome home.

18+ only. plus size fem reader. scent kink. the guys are dirty (literally). mild bush/ball/cock worship. threesome.

-

The rec room is dim, lit only by a stingy bank of ceiling fluorescents that flicker slightly whenever someone leans on the wrong bit of wall. The overhead lights are switched off, replaced with the softer, amber glow of a crooked floor lamp someone had dragged in from god knows where. You liked it better this way; made the place feel less like a barracks common space and more like the kind of living room you'd grown up in. Well-worn couches, stained coffee mugs no one claimed, the faint whirr of the old mini fridge in the corner humming like a tired cicada.

You're unwinding there in your favorite crewneck, the fabric a muted russet that brings warmth to your features, its oversized fit far more comfortable than the scrubs you quickly shed after your shift ended for the night. The fleece lining on the inside is wearing thin at the cuffs, but the familiarity of it grounds you. In black leggings speckled faintly with lint, you sit curled up on the worn sofa, your socks mismatched but thick, the wool catching slightly against the cushions beneath your feet. You're halfway through a tepid mug of builder’s tea when the door bursts open behind you.

The scent hits you before the sound does. Sharp, brackish sweat cut with gunpowder and oil, layered under something deeper: leather, steel, the dry stink of sand and smoke. Your head turns instinctively.

Soap strides in like he owned the place, flushed and gleaming from exertion. His dark shirt clings to his chest and shoulders, translucent with sweat in places, and there's a scrape on his forearm that hasn’t stopped bleeding yet. His tactical vest hangs open, bouncing against his hips as he moves. He has that look again—eyes alight with residual adrenaline, skin pink from wind and heat, hair still damp and pushed messily back from his brow. He's chewing the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too broadly, which means he has something stupid or dangerous in mind. Probably both.

“Christ, it’s warm in here,” he mutters, toeing off his boots near the radiator, which clangs faintly with old heat. “Were you lot tryin' to boil yourselves alive while we were gone?”

Ghost follows him in, quieter. He peels off his gloves without a word, the black fabric damp in his hands. He isn’t even out of his gear yet, still dressed in his reinforced trousers, boots caked with dried mud, black compression shirt clinging to his back and chest. His skull mask is pushed up, exposing the lower half of his face; the mouth veneath is drawn, his jaw flexing beneath a few days’ growth of stubble. You can see the faintest smudge of something dark on the side of his neck.

Neither of them have showered.

And yet your stomach flutters.

“Back already?” you ask, voice lower than usual, though you hadn’t intended it to be.

“Early extraction. Ghost didn’t even break a sweat,” Soap drawls, flicking the fridge open and extracting a bottle of amber liquid from the back like it's his reward. “Which is bollocks, ‘cause I’m about two degrees from heatstroke.”

He unscrews the cap with his teeth and fishes out three glasses from the shelf: one a chipped mug, another intact, and a clear plastic cup with the England crest on it.

“C’mon, love,” Soap says, sliding onto the couch beside you with the practiced ease of a man who both doesn't understand personal space and feels he doesn't need any, especially with you. “You’re off shift, yeah?”

You nod. “Just.”

“Then drink with us. Celebrate a job well done." He wears a wide, slanted smile, one that makes your belly flip when it conjures the memory of him wearing the same expression above you, his ID disc swinging from the chain around his flushed neck, skimming the valley between your bouncing breasts. "No bullets in my arse this time,” he adds, and you blink the haze of the memory away, left warmer as you roll your eyes playfully the way you know he wants you to.

You've shared a bed with him more than once, during late nights when the air was too heavy to sleep, long stretches between assignments, moments stolen in the lull between your worlds. It was easy with him. Good. Sometimes rough, sometimes slow, always welcome. And never more than what it was. But lately, your eyes had started to wander to the sergeant's looming shadow: the man who never touched and rarely spoke, but always seemed to be watching you whenever you were near.

And Johnny had noticed; he wasn’t the jealous type. He’d seen the way your glances caught on Ghost, too, how the room felt just a little too loaded when he and the big man visited medical or you crossed paths with them at the rec. He knew, too, that Ghost had heard the sounds you made together through the paper-thin walls of their bunks. That he had listened. Johnny told you so once, voice low and filthy while he fucked you slow, laughing when it made you go all soft and squirmy underneath him.

But Ghost never said a word. Because Ghost, the reticent bastard, wouldn’t make a move.

Not unless coaxed.

And not by his sergeant.

You glance toward Ghost, who has folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall, his gaze cool and unmoved. The amber light flickers against his cheekbones, casting sharp shadows up the bridge of his nose. His dark eyes are on you again, and you shiver at the quiet intensity there.

“He’s not joining,” you murmur, more an observation than a question.

Soap flashes you a devilish grin, leaning closer. You can smell the salt on him, the heat rising from his skin like a slow exhale. “He never joins. He just sulks and stares.”

“I can hear you,” Ghost says flatly.

“Don' I know it,” Soap says wickedly, looking at you pointedly before pouring two fingers of whiskey into your glass, then his own. “Here. Just one.”

The glass is cool in your palm, slightly sticky from whatever surface it last sat on. You raise it, hesitate, then throw it back. The burn is immediate: sharp, medicinal, tinged with something smoky and a little sweet. It settles in your chest like a hot coal.

You exhale, lips parting with a soft hiss.

Soap watches your mouth the entire time.

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s a look,” he murmurs. “You always this good at takin’ it down?”

You shoot him a glance, more amused than offended. “You’re shameless.”

He leans in again, voice low now, warm as the whiskey. “Only when I’ve earned it.”

You don’t move when his fingers brush the hem of your sweatshirt, nor when he looks past you, over your shoulder, to where Ghost still stands unmoving. Sharp like a snap decision, Soap leans back and catches his index in your mug, dragging it with a scrape of porcelain across the table to meet his plastic cup for another drink. He pours with more ceremony this time, angling the bottle like he's showing off. The whiskey catches the low lamplight, shining golden as it sloshes into your mismatched glass. He fills it higher than before— definitely more than a shot— and slides it across to you like a challenge.

“One for my glorious return,” he declares, raising his own. “And one for the quiet bastard over there.”

You glance over the low back of the couch again, but Ghost still hasn't budged.

Soap tips his head toward you. “You’ve gotta drink both, since he won’t.”

You scoff, your eyes returning to the Scot. “That hardly seems fair.”

“But it’s fitting,” Soap says, nudging the rim of your glass. “You look like you can take it.”

You hold his gaze as you lift the second drink, the burn still humming low in your belly from the first. The rim clinks against your teeth as you knock it back, the heat sharp enough to draw a quiet gasp as you swallow. A trickle escapes the corner of your mouth, trailing down the curve of your chin and catching at your soft jaw before dripping slowly toward your neck.

You move to wipe it— too slow.

Soap is already there.

“Messy, that,” he murmurs, thumb grazing your jaw before he drags the tip of his index finger up the length of the droplet. He raises it to his lips, tongue darting out, slow and shameless, as he sucks the whiskey from his skin.

You don’t mean to stare, but your eyes can't help but linger on the wet pink of his mouth. And when they flick up, his are waiting.

“You’ve not eaten, have you?” he asks, voice lower now. Not concerned. Curious. Maybe a bit wicked. “Changin' colors on me. Whiskey’s gone straight to your cheeks.”

You shake your head once, feeling the heat settle high in your face, ripening your complexion. “Snack on the way out. Didn’t have time.”

Soap makes a low sound and taps the glass again, watching the way your fingers curl around it.

Ghost still hasn’t spoken, but you can feel the weight of him in the room— feel the press of his attention even if he pretends to be indifferent. But you dont look at him again, afraid any sudden movement might break his trance and send him stomping.

Soap leans back against the couch, legs spreading slightly, shoulder brushing yours. “He’s not lookin’,” he bluffs, just loud enough for Ghost to hear. “Not even glancin’. Could be all over you right now, and he’d just stand there, arms folded, like a fuckin’ statue.”

You smile, ducking your head slightly, a little drunk already. Not on the alcohol, though that helps, but on the smell of him. The salt and earth, the heady stink of his undershirt, still damp from the field. Sunbaked cloth and body heat and grit.

Without thinking, you tilt closer, let your nose skim his collarbone. Your lips barely brush his skin as you press your face to the crook of his neck.

He stills. Just for a moment.

Then: “Christ, you are drunk.”

“I’m not,” you murmur, voice muffled against him. “You just smell really fucking good.”

That makes him laugh, his chest rising underneath your palm. “Filthy, you mean. Sweaty. Like I’ve not washed in days.”

“Exactly.”

He hums, his hand sliding across the back of the couch, heavy and warm behind you. He doesn't touch you, but the implication is there, all that muscle close enough to make your scalp prickle.

“Look at her,” Soap says suddenly over his shoulder, lifting his chin toward Ghost. “Look at how she’s already meltin’. S’all big-eyed and dewy, lips parted, pressed into me like she’s tryin’ to crawl inside my shirt.”

You go still, both afraid and thrilled that Soap might keep running his mouth like this, burst the whole bubble open after all.

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t want to touch her?” Soap continues, that teasing lilt sharpening just a little more. “Pretend you didn’t notice how she looked at my mouth when I licked my fingers clean?”

You feel your pulse flutter; you listen for it, but Ghost doesn't answer.

Soap’s voice drops to a hush, loud in your ear but meant only for Ghost. “Pretend you don’t picture what her thighs look like wrapped around one of us— both of us— drunk off the smell of it?”

Your breath catches— not just from the words, but from the way Soap’s arm shifts behind you, his forearm brushing the small of your back, possessive without pressure. Your cheeks burn hotter than the whiskey.

You lift your head, just enough to peek out from the crook of his neck. Ghost stands across the room like a statue carved from shadow: arms crossed, shoulders squared, chin tilted down just enough to obscure his eyes in the dim light. But you can still see the tight set of his jaw, the way his throat works when he swallows, the faint glisten of sweat around his nose.

You look at him, and you feel... seen. Whether he returns the gaze or not.

And yet Soap is the one touching you. Soap is the one letting you lean into him, letting your weight settle against his side like he wants to hold it.

“You’re so bloody soft,” he murmurs then, just for you. His palm slides down your back, slow, sweet, to rest at the curve of your waist. “All warm and squishy and fuckin’ lovely. Like a proper bed after weeks of concrete floors.”

You blink slowly, that ache between your thighs growing bolder.

“Bet you’d let us sink into you,” he goes on, lips brushing your hairline now. “Let us get all tangled up in this sweatshirt and those pretty thighs. Be better than any mattress we’ve had since we enlisted.”

He lets his hand settle lower— just at the edge of where soft belly meets waistband— and then he stills again, as if daring one of you to stop him.

“You’d let me have a nap right here,” he says, nuzzling your temple. “Wouldn’t you, love? Let me fuck you slow, then pass out on your tits like a man who’s earned it.”

The breath shudders out of you.

And when you looked again at Ghost, you see it: the clench of his hands where they grip his biceps, the twitch at the corner of his mouth, the heat blooming behind his eyes like something primal, barely contained.

He is watching.

You shift, just slightly, pressing your cheek back to Soap’s shoulder. “I do want that,” you murmur, voice low and intimate, but not shy.

Soap’s breath hitches just enough to tell you he heard.

He pulls you onto his lap without hesitation, strong hands guiding your hips into place like he’d thought about it already, like he’d been waiting for you to say it. The denim of his trousers is rough beneath you, the hard line of him unmistakable beneath the worn seam. His palms settle over your thighs first, then slide up to squeeze at your hips and the softness there, wide fingers digging in just enough to claim.

“Fuckin’ hell, lass…” he breathes, softer than you'd expect. “You feel so good. Like you were made for this.”

And those words, that tone, make you sink right into it. You drape yourself over Soap’s shoulders, your arms loose and lazy with drink and heat, fingers threading into the thick hair at his nape. His skin is warm there, damp still with sweat and tacky with the remnants of field-dust that hadn’t yet been rinsed away. You nose along the side of his throat, breathing in the raw, masculine scent of him— salt, smoke, leather, the tang of metal and blood. Faint cologne still clings in the hollow of his throat beneath the grime, like it's soaked into his skin after too many missions and too little rest.

God, he smells like something that had survived.

You press a kiss there, just a brush of your lips. And when he lets out a quiet, clipped groan, you smile.

You don’t need Ghost to move to know he's still there.

He stays where he is, propped against the far wall near the door, one shoulder pressed to the plaster, half-shadowed by the dull glow of the crooked floor lamp. But you can feel the tension from here, can see it in the rigid lines of his body, the way his arms hang loose at his sides now instead of folded, fists clenched like he doesn’t know what else to do with them.

He can’t see Soap’s hands anymore, you knew; can’t see where they’ve slipped beneath the hem of your sweatshirt. Could only guess what Johnny is doing from the way your body shifts when your hips roll and your thighs tense around him.

But you know he can see your face. And oh, do you want him to see it.

You let your head loll back a little, exposing your throat, and your lips part around a sigh that could have been a breath or a moan. Soap is teasing you now, his hands slow and roving beneath your sweatshirt, thumbs circling just above your waistband, not yet touching anything obscene, just feeling. Mapping the soft swell of your belly, the dimple at your hip, the curve where your flesh overflowed his grip. His voice is a rumble against your ear, low and hot.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, breath catching as you shift in his lap, brush against the hard ridge of him pressing against the zipper seam. “All plush and warm, makin’ a mess on me already. Can’t even fuckin’ see what I’m doin’, can he? Poor bloke’s gonna lose his mind.”

You bite your lip hard enough to feel it throb.

Your skin buzzes under the low light, humming with the lingering warmth of the whiskey, the teasing drag of Johnny’s hands, and the fever-dream heat of being watched so closely. Your lashes droop, your mouth soft and slack with pleasure that hasn’t even peaked yet.

And always, your eyes drift back to Ghost, pulled there as that nervous thrill tightens in your chest until the heat and the alcohol finally make something snap.

Lifting your head, arms still loose around Soap’s neck, you find him across the room. You don’t say a word, just let your eyes lock with his.

And then— languid, dreamy— you open your arms again. Fingers spread, palms exposed. A silent but clear invitation.

Ghost doesn't reply. But his jaw clench hard enough you can see it twitch, even from here.

You feel Soap chuckle where your chests press together, his voice molten.

“She wants you to see it, Ghost,” he purrs, unable to help himself from teasing. “Wants you to feel what you’re missin’.”

Then, to you, as his hands finally slide lower, gripping your hips:

“Tell me, love. You want me to make you come while he watches? Want him seein’ your face when you fall apart?”

You don't answer right away; instead, your gaze stays on Ghost across the room, watching the stoic man closely. And the signs are there: the muscles in his jaw are visibly flexed now, his fingers still clenched tight by his sides. His whole frame looks wired, like he's barely holding something inside, his eyes dark and fixed to your face as if trying to read every twitch of your lips, every shift in your breath.

Behind you, Soap’s hands squeeze, fingers digging possessively into your hips, rocking you gently over the hard ridge of him beneath his trousers. But you don’t look at him. Not yet.

Your voice, when it comes, is husky, warm with heat and whiskey, but clear.

“No,” you say, loud enough to carry across the room, soft enough to sound intimate. “I don’t want him to watch.”

There's a beat of silence.

Soap’s brow arches, his lips quirking like he's about to tease again—

And then you add, your tone slipping into something velvet and filthy, “I’d like him in my mouth.”

The room goes still.

Soap lets out a bark of laughter— low, delighted, breathless. “Fucking hell, love.”

You feel his hands clench again, tighter now, just shy of bruising as he pulls you down harder onto his lap, grinding you against the firm line of him. His breath is ragged against your ear, his chest rising fast beneath your weight.

“You hear that, Ghost?” Soap calls, his voice all bright amusement and dark hunger. “She doesn’t want you over there, sulkin’. She wants you down her fuckin’ throat.”

Still, Ghost doesn’t move. But you see it— the shift in his stance, the widening of his eyes, the way his chest expands with a deeper, slower breath like he's trying to ground himself but isn't succeeding. His knuckles are pale now, clenched so tight his veins rise stark beneath the skin.

And you know he's imagining it. Imagining your mouth on him. Imagining how you’d take him: on your knees maybe, or still warm from Johnny’s lap, lips kiss-bitten, eyes half-lidded and wet. You can see behind his gaze how badly he wants it.

How badly he wants you.

When he steps forward, it's without a word.

He doesn't rush— just steadily closes the space between himself and the couch, cautiously, controlled. It's the kind of movement a man makes when he’s already lost the argument with himself and is just trying not to lose his grip on everything else.

His boots barely make a sound across the concrete floor, his eyes on you the whole time. But not just you— he looks between you and Soap, the press of your bodies, the way your thighs frame Johnny’s lap, the bruising grip of his broad, tanned hands on your hips, the way they slip lower to knead your wide ass. His expression is unreadable, but his body betrays him.

Because by the time he reaches you, the thick ridge beneath his trousers is unmistakable: heavy, straining against the front of his waistband. And when you reach out with one hand— slow, like he might startle— you feel the subtle flinch in him.

But he doesn’t pull away.

Your finger traces along his belt, featherlight, then circles the buckle. You feel him tense; his cock twitches visibly beneath the fabric when your knuckles brush over it.

You look up at him, heat pooling in your belly, your voice low.

“I meant it.”

Soap hums low in his throat, one hand slipping under the waistband of your leggings to grope at your ass as your fingers work open Ghost’s belt slowly. The buckle clinks, its metal warm from his body. You mouth at the front of his trousers through the fabric, catching the scent of him now, and god, is it thick. Deep and musky, soaked with sweat and the faded presence of gun oil.

You drop your jaw, dragging your tongue over the rough fabric, and Ghost hisses through his teeth.

Beneath you, Soap begins to rock you more deliberately now, the denim of his jeans rough against your leggings, his cock straining against the fabric, grinding up between the softness of your thighs.

“Go on, love,” he murmurs, voice hot and wicked in your ear. “Show him how pretty you suck cock. He’s been dyin’ to know.”

You drag Ghost’s waistband down with practiced slowness, hands trembling slightly from anticipation, from need. His cock springs free— thick, flushed, heavy. Your breath catches at the sight. And you can't help it; you steal a moment to bury your face against the coarse, sweaty curls at the base, inhaling greedily. He smells like sex and tension and everything that makes your mouth water.

You kiss the root, nuzzling, tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin, the sweat collected there. Ghost groans— a low, guttural thing— and finally, finally, touches you, resting one large hand at the back of your head. It's heavy, dizzyingly large, cupping the curve of your skull with the sort of latent power you know could crush the bone if he wanted to.

But he doesn't; doesn't even tighten those thick, rough fingers. Ghost just holds you there, letting you taste him for the first time. You lose yourself in it for a moment, so much so that when Soap shifts under you, pulling your leggings down to mid-thigh, you sigh out a startled moan against Ghost's silken skin.

Soap groans when the curve of your ass presses down harder against his lap. “Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters, his tone almost awed as he bucks up to answer you. “You’re soaked.”

You don't reply, just open your mouth for Ghost, lips wrapping around the head of his cock, your tongue teasing the underside as you suck him in slow. Johnny shifts even more beneath you now, likely working his pants open, but it can't pull your attention from Ghost's cock. Its weight is obscene, stretching your mouth, and you revel in it— the taste, the heat, the way his thighs tremble slightly as you drag your tongue beneath the crown.

It's only when you feel Soap's blunt head bump clumsily against your pussy, red hot and eager, that you begin to quiver with need. Your hole flexes when he presses up, and your mouth drops open, and then they both slide into you in the same moment— your body welcoming them in, already open and wet, your breath hitching as your throat fills and your cunt does too. The angle is perfect: Soap buried deep from beneath, Ghost pulsing against your tongue, the two of them claiming you in tandem.

Ghost’s hips roll once— slow, cautious— and you moan around him in encouragement, the vibrations making him shudder. You keep one hand at his hip, grounding him, and reach the other to cup and knead his balls, slick with sweat, musky and perfect.

You're surrounded by them. By the scent, the weight, the breathless grunts and quiet curses and the heavy slide of Soap’s cock as he rocks up into you from below, forcing Ghost a little deeper into your mouth each time. Their rhythm syncs around you, your body nothing but sensation, exquisite and aching.

And Ghost—God, Ghost.

You look up at him, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, eyes wet with want. And he looks as wrecked as you feel. Silent, but his breathing is ragged, his lip caught between his teeth as he watches your mouth work him over with filthy reverence. The sight makes you moan softly, the weight of him thick on your tongue, the heat of him flooding your mouth. His foreskin slides wet and slow with every pass of your lips, and you tongue beneath it deliberately, learning the contours of him by feel. His taste is already blooming over your tongue: clean salt and musk, the silk of his skin steeped in the scent of sweat, fabric, and restraint finally slipping loose.

Soap shifts his grip, pulling you closer into his lap. You go willingly, straddling him fully now, your knees braced on either side of his hips, thighs spread, his cock sheathing deep inside you with every grind of your hips. The denim rasps against your skin, hot and textured, a perfect counterpoint to the slick glide of his cock.

He rocks into you again and again, slow and deep, his hands gripping your back like he can’t decide if he wants to fuck you or hold you.

And your mouth is still full of Simon.

You arch slightly over the back of the couch, low enough to give you leverage, high enough for him to stand comfortably before you. One of his hands grips your skull, gentle but anchoring, while the other braces against the backrest beside your shoulder. He's staring down at you now, jaw tight, chest rising hard.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Johnny groans, his hands traveling up under your sweatshirt again, splaying even wider over your back, kneading more intently at your softness. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

You make a sound around Ghost’s cock: half moan, half admission.

“Having us both,” Johnny continues, voice velvet-rough. “Just like this. Me fuckin’ you full while you suck him off. God, you’re fuckin’ tight.”

You moan again, louder this time, and Ghost bites off a curse above you, soft and gritted. His cock twitches in your mouth, so you hollow your cheeks and suck harder, drag your lips slowly up the length of him before descending again, tongue tracing every ridge.

Johnny’s eyes never leave your face.

Your brow is damp with sweat, your skin glowing with heat, mouth stretched open and wet. You know how you looked— fucked-out, wanting, nearly wrecked— and knowing Johnny can't get enough of it just increases your pleasure.

“You love it, don’t you,” he pants, his voice rougher as he begins to fuck up into you harder now, making the slap of your bodies echo softly in the low-lit room. “Love bein’ between us like this. Mouth full, cunt full. Don’t even know who to come for.”

You whimper.

Then, just as he slams into that spot inside you that makes you jolt, you pull off Simon’s cock with a wet gasp, strings of saliva clinging to your lip as you drag your hand down to wrap around him instead. Still working him. Still letting him feel the slick grip of your worship.

Your voice comes out cracked and hoarse, eyes fluttering half-lidded as your body bounces in Johnny’s lap.

“Fuck, Johnny…” you breathe, loud enough to make Ghost shudder above you.

You jerk him slow, tenderly, your thumb rolling over the swollen head, still flushed and slick. Your free hand cradles his balls, gently tugging, letting your tongue drag along the underside of his cock as you look up at him, lashes damp.

“You can let go,” you whisper. “I want you to. I want to hear it.”

Simon’s mouth parts slightly, and something in your chest leaps, yearning for his answer. But no words come. Just a quiet, bitten-off grunt and the tremble in his thighs.

And all the while, Johnny keeps fucking you, his hips driving up into you from below, his voice spilling constant praise in your ear.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy, babe,” he whispers, biting your shoulder. “So fuckin’ perfect. Can feel how much you’re lovin’ this— fuck. Grip me like that again and I’m gonna come.”

You can feel it rising in you too, tight and dizzying, but it twists when he says that. And the sound you make, the sound that feeling squeezes out of you, is so desperate and raw it shocks even you.

The pace turns frantic.

Johnny's thighs flex beneath you now, solid and unyielding, the denim of his jeans rough against your bare skin, biting at the soft swell of your ass as he fucked up into you with brutal rhythm. Every thrust jolts you forward, makes your thighs and belly wobble with each bounce, your whole body alive with friction and heat. Sweat pools against your sides, between your breasts, slicking the waistband of your leggings where they cling around your knees.

“Fuckin’ hell, lass—” Johnny growls into your neck, his voice strained and ragged.

You're panting, moaning, arms limp around his shoulders as you take it, want it, so very badly.

But your mouth needs more.

It needs him.

You turn back to Ghost, eyes hazy, lips wet, and opened for him again.

His cock slides back over your tongue with no hesitation this time, just need. Your arms wrap loosely around his hips, holding him close, grounding yourself to the sharp lines of his body as Johnny bounces you hard enough to rock his cock deeper into your throat.

Simon doesn’t move anymore, doesn't thrust. just holds you, both of his hands gripping your head now, fingers flexing, breath hitched in his chest.

And still you moan. Louder now. Tighter.

Each of Johnny’s thrusts forces Simon deeper, and each inch of him against your tongue makes your head spin. Your jaw aches, your cunt aches, your mind spirals.

You can barely think.

You only know that you want them, both of them, to fill you, to unravel for you, to give you the evidence of their pleasure, that last piece of themselves.

You whimper around Simon’s cock, eyes glassy, drool slipping from the corners of your mouth, needing—

And then—

Low. Hoarse. Like it's being torn from him, Ghost speaks.

“Fuck— love, I’m not gonna last—”

It breaks you open.

You clench around Johnny so hard it makes him gasp. His hands fly to your hips, anchoring, his next thrust wild and uncoordinated as his orgasm slams into him.

“Jesus fuck—” he chokes, buried deep, spilling inside you with a low, broken moan.

You sob around Simon’s cock, grinding down hard on Johnny as your own climax overtakes you— wet and fierce, like your body can't hold it in anymore. Your legs shake, toes curling in your socks, pleasure crashing through you with dizzying intensity.

And Simon—

You feel him pulse on your tongue, thick and hot, his hips bucking forward in a stuttered jerk as he comes hard down your throat, voice breaking in a guttural moan.

“Shit, love— fuck—”

You hold him, let him give it all to you. Swallow what you could, the rest slipping from your lips, dripping down your chin as you whimper through the aftershocks. Your thighs tremble, muscles twitching, your whole body flushed and shaking with exhaustion and satisfaction and something more you can't begin to name.

Gradually, everything slows. Softens.

Simon’s hands ease in your hair, smoothing it gently now. One slips to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the mess with startling tenderness. Johnny is still beneath you, arms wrapped around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder, breath coming in hard, hot gusts.

And you stay there, bodies tangled in the low flicker of lamplight as your skin begins to cool. The room is quiet now, save for the slow, exhausted inhales of three people too wrung out to move just yet. Johnny’s face is still tucked against your shoulder, his grip slack but lingering, like he didn’t want to let go. Simon’s thumb is at your cheek, still smoothing gently along the bone like he hasn’t realized he's doing it.

Your voice breaks the silence— thin, rasped, but unmistakably smug.

“Welcome home.”

There's a beat.

Then Ghost huffs out a short laugh, almost a scoff, though still fond. He ducks his head slightly, one hand rubbing his face like he can’t believe you.

Johnny lets out a wheezy breath of a laugh beneath you, hands squeezing your waist.

“Jesus,” he mumbles, voice still hoarse. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“Good timing, right?” you murmur, your eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself sink into their warmth.

Simon’s hand moves to cradle the back of your head, fingers spreading wide, grounding. Johnny’s thumb traces slow circles into the softness of your hip.

And for a while, none of you say anything more.

You don’t need to.

You're all home.

[bakug0uzb1thc]

Part two of fem reader and bakugo cuddling pls (longer Version please)💗

eekkk i didnt think it would get so much attention here you go!!

PT 2 OF THIS !! :3

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“kat-" you tried to voice your complaints again, but it was short-lived by the same sleepy blonde telling you to 'shut up.’ He just wasn't letting up and you just knew someone saw.

"but- i just know someone saw us, oh were gonna be so screwed." you said franticly playing with his hair, only causing him to groan. "you're so paranoid, stop focusing on other people for once..." he mumbled from where he laid on your chest.

he could hear the way your heart rate increase, only further proving your concern with the position you laid with him. He was flush against your body with his weight slowly suffocating you.

"I'm sorry its just ugh.. never mind." you tried to calm yourself down from your cloud of worry but it didn't stop your nerves from being on edge.

your face felt hot with his attitude towards the situation you had found yourself in. how nonchalant he was being about this made you squirm, did he not care at all? (he didn't.)

he knew you weren't huge on PDA and you liked to keep your close relationship private but it was messing with his beauty sleep and his temper grew even shorter then when he was fully awake.

he got up, which made you calm down a bit but before you could let out your sigh of relief he grabbed your waist and threw you over his shoulder causing you to squeal.

You weren't sure what would cause your classmates to freak out more; The two of you cuddling or you thrown over his shoulder with a hand full of your ass.

"ah- kat what are you-" you held on tight to his compression shirt from the back, scared of being upside down and the possibility he might drop you if you complained about his actions. "I'm tired and I'm sick of your whining. you need to learn to shut up." he fought a yawn as his hand trailed from the dent behind your knee to your lower ass, not anything sexual it was just where he found his hand resting.

"uh-" you didn't know what to tell him or throw back to defend yourself, you just held on tight curious on which room he was headed to.

"yer lucky you're getting your way." he scoffed making his way to his room, not feeling the hassle of accidentally bumping into anyone on your floor. it took him about 2.5 seconds to put you in the same position you were in on the commons couch.

he loved the soft cushion of your chest, built in pillows for all his tired mind could think as far of. "now are you gonna be quiet or am i going to have to smother you with a pillow, brat." he was unique in the way he shows his love towards you, you knew his words had no ill intent behind them but it did make you giggle from his groggy state.

"nono I'm done i swear." you smiled, pushing your head deeper into the pillow that felt like was pre-fluffed just for you. (it was.) "good." he mumbled before closing his eyes and resuming what you had so rudely interrupted. "you're so needy.." you whispered, thinking he was asleep.

"i will suffocate you don't try your luck." he countered which made you laugh before kissing the top of his head. You loved your 'best friend.' ;p