#and bob just amplified it

[pinkeoni]

“There was actually an ancient eldrith being pulling the strings the whole ti—“ LAME. LAME.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

I have officially changed my vibe from “mildly intimidating” to “kicked puppy” in the span of three years… on purpose.

[agnimybeloved]

the tonal whiplash between “the sun and the star” and “a nico di angelo adventure 😋” is kind of insufferable... it just sounds so goofy for lack of a better word. like the least nico di angelo thing you could do to a title. but also i think its really funny for that reason like i don’t know what the necessity is for that additional tagline but i’m glad rick riordan continues to not take nico completely seriously LOL 

[charliemwrites]

Guilty By Association Commission from the very sweet and patient @soleilak

You (Callsign: Giggles, Gigs for short) are a medic on temporary assignment with the 141. The only problem? You're a former member of Graves' Shadow Company.

Content: Injury, angst, power imbalance, fingering and oral (reader receiving)

“Get your arse in gear, Gigs!”

Already exhausted and aching, the rough bark of your temporary captain urges your heavy feet faster. Gunfire sprays all around – you’re so addled you can’t tell if it’s enemy or friendly. All you know are your orders, a cry of survival in the uneven pounding of your heart. A bullet plows into the ground dangerously close to your foot.

Just a few meters ahead, Gaz curses and tumbles to the ground, hat lost. It’s not even a decision to alter your course. You can’t tell instantly what the damage is; if he’s been hit or just tripped. So you tuck and dive, grabbing an arm and leg as your back rolls across his chest. The momentum gets the two of you up and moving again, adrenaline taking the edge off his weight.

“Get us to the trees and I can run again!” he shouts in your ear.

You settle your blurry vision on the forest line ahead. Blessed cover – and your extraction point just a mile further. Goal set, you push through the pain of bruised ribs, a wrenched arm, and the ricochet of a bullet across your thigh. You wheeze your way well past the tree line, weaving between trunks until Kyle’s palm smacks at your side.

“We’re good, we’re good,” he says.

You grunt as you set him down, give him the quickest onceover in the history of medics. His calf is bleeding, just above the tops of his boots. It’s an ugly wound; it’ll need packing – but he can survive until exfil.

“Where the fuck are you two?!” Price growls through your headset.

Kyle pats your shoulder and takes off again, only the slightest limp indicating his injury. You grit your teeth and try to follow his example.

No one helps you into the chopper when you’re the last on the ladder. You’re not surprised, but it still stings. Salt on the day’s wounds.

Once the heli is up in the air, you scoot over to help Kyle with the wound on his calf. It’s almost hypnotic, the press-wind-press-wind of packing the deep gouge. Almost like unspooling your own tension through the care of a teammate. Every inch of bandage seems to amplify your own pains, though, as the mission high ebbs.

You hurt.

When Kyle’s done, you sit back a bit to assess him for any other wounds. The twitch of his mouth and slight bob of his head tells you he’s sorted, though – and it’s more thanks than you usually get.

“Where the hell were you?” Price demands.

“I got held up, sir,” you admit. Had been ambushed by two men you thought were on another floor. Bad luck, that. Or just poor preparation on your part. Your side twinges as you ease yourself into a seat. “Won’t happen again.”

Price grunts, mollified. “See that it doesn’t.”

You get maybe thirty seconds of peace before Soap’s voice cuts through the tentative peace.

“Gonnae take care o’ that or keep bleedin’ all over Nik’s seat?” he teases. Or at least it would be, if not for the sharp glint in his eyes.

What’s that saying about sins of the father? Well, Phillip Graves was definitely not your father, nor was General Shepherd – though he was old enough to be. In their absence, it seems you’re paying for their crimes regardless.

“Right,” you sigh, tearing off the bottom of your shirt, “sorry, Nik.”

“Just stay alive to clean it up, eh?” he replies jovially.

It’s not much of a joke, but you laugh anyway. You don’t live up to your callsign much nowadays, so you’ll take the levity when you can.

You tie off the makeshift bandage with a grunt and lean your head back, too uncomfortable to doze off.

At least the infirmary is a friendly sight. The staff are always grateful for an extra set of hands – even if they once belonged to a Shadow. And you have a lot of time to help since you’re not encouraged (never mind invited) to any non-professional activities with the 141. Working with the nurses during all that extra time has gained you some friends at least.

Dana is on call when you limp in. She fusses about you looking like the walking dead – then goes on to tell regale you with details from her current first-time watch of the show. The stream of words soothes you in the quiet little treatment room.

“Think we need an x-ray, dove?” she asks, prodding at your already discolored ribs.

“Wouldn’t help,” you sigh, “we can just wrap ‘em and call it.”

“Alright, dear, but you know what to do if it gets worse.”

“’Course,” you answer, summoning a grin, “can’t be keelin’ over before your nephew leaves that tart.”

“Oh, don’t even get me started – you know what she said at Sunday dinner?”

You giggle through her undoubtedly embellished story until she gets to your thigh – and the terrible bandaging.

“A piece of your shirt,” she scolds.

“My bag was too far, and my ribs hurt,” you complain.

“And what are all those big burly men for then, eh?” she huffs.

You shake your head. “I can’t ask them to help.”

Dana scowls past your hip. “Just because you’re the medic—”

“Pardon.”

You jolt in surprise at Captain Price in the doorway. Christ, he takes up the breadth of it too, shoulders brushing the jamb on either side. Even mission-dirty and stern-looking, he’s a hell of a welcome sight – though an unexpected one.

You try to sit up at some semblance of attention, but he waves you off. Can’t say you’re not grateful, unable to help wincing as you lie back.

You don’t notice him pause as Dana washes the wound, too busy sucking air through your nose.

“What’s… the damage?” he asks carefully.

You open your mouth to answer, but Dana beats you to it.

“Contused ribs, sprained shoulder, and a bullet wound to the thigh,” she rattles off. You’re always impressed by the undercurrent of disapproval and accusation she manages to weave into each word. “Not to mention dehydration and sleep deprivation. You’ve been staying up again, haven’t you?”

You clear your throat and turn your eyes skywards. “Oh, look at the ceiling. What a lovely ceiling.”

She clicks her tongue and begins packing the wound as you had for Gaz.

“Bullet wound?” Price asks sharply. Your eyes flick guiltily to him. “Why the hell am I hearing about this now?”

“It’s just a graze, sir,” you reply. “Sergeant Garrick’s was worse.”

His jaw does that thing you secretly (ashamedly) drool over, where it tightens and jumps. You know it’s not good but hey, silver linings right?

He doesn’t ream you out though. Just crosses his burly arms and lets out a long, heavy breath. You’re… not really sure what that means.

“Debrief at 0700 tomorrow, Gigs,” he says, voice unusually subdued.

“Yessir,” you reply dutifully.

As always, a strange mix of relief and disappointment twists in your chest as he walks away. Talking to him is a bit like being under a microscope – if that microscope was ready to brand you a low-down, no-good, dirty, rotten traitor at the first hint of suspicious activity.

You get it, you do. Graves and Shadow Company tried to kill Soap and Ghost, Los Vaqueros, and committed unspeakable atrocities. As much history as you had with him, he deserved what came to him, and Shepherd will deserve the same when he’s found.

Not that your hands were clean before Las Almas, but you drew the line when the orders came. Couldn’t bear to detain or shoot the friends you’d made in Los Vaqueros, or join the hunting party for Soap and Ghost. You’d been labelled a turncoat by your own teammates, thrown into a cell to be “court-martialed.”

Kate Laswell coming to your rescue was a second chance, a small-time miracle that you’ve been determined to earn ever since. In your more pathetic moments, usually in the small, dark, lonely hours of sleepless nights, you wonder how much it will take. How long you’ll be guilty by association.

At least this isn’t shaping up to be one of those nights. You’re half asleep by the time Dana sends you off, arm chilly from the IV fluids she bullied you into. For once, you might get a few decent hours.

Your second surprise of the night comes just outside your barracks door. Soap is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, head back and eyes closed. Awake, though. His index finger is tapping a steady but rapid pace on his bicep.

“Soap?” you say, alerting him. “Did you… need me for something? You’re not injured, are you?”

He straightens up, drops his arms to his side. You pause a noticeable distance away, uncertainty leashing you to the safety of space. Not that you feel threatened. His posture is the loosest it’s been around you since… well, since before Las Almas went to hell.

“’Course no’, I woulda – tha’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh…” You process the strange wording. “Why are you here, then?”

He shifts his weight, a little line appearing between his brows as he seems to gather himself.

“I’m here to apologize.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Look, what I said during exfil – it was bang outta order. You’ve been nothin’ but good to us ‘n I’m still holdin’ on to old shite.”

You shift, adjust the stupid flimsy sling for your sore shoulder. “It’s… not that old,” you reason, “and I don’t blame you, either. Not after everything.”

“Still, ya did the right thing back then – and ya’ve proven yourself half a dozen times over, besides. I’ve got no reason to treat you like an enemy.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat. It feels like you’ve swallowed a grenade; any moment the pin is going to come out and an explosion of gory emotion will splatter the walls.

“Thanks, Soap.”

He grunts something about “not thanking him” and ducks his head, shuffling past you.

“Seriously,” you say, voice strained from keeping it even. “I really appreciate it.”

He pauses, gives you a genuinely kind look. “Rest up, lass.”

It’s the best you’ve slept in a long while – after you cry into your pillow, that is.

At 0700 the next day, you’re in Price’s office, sore but in high spirits. Gaz sat next to you and Soap said good morning at breakfast. Even Ghost seemed less frosty than usual, grunting at you in acknowledgement when you’d sat down.

Of course, the good luck couldn’t last.

The debrief itself is fine. You speak when it’s your turn, listen when it isn’t. About as normal as it gets for a special ops squad.

It’s as the rest of the task force is filing out the door that the other shoe drops.

“Gigs, a word,” Price calls.

You freeze mid-step, shoot Gaz a panicky glance. He glances over your shoulder, snorts, and pats your arm in solidarity. Not as helpful as he thinks.

With a deep breath, you pivot back around. The door closes behind you with a damning click. You can’t even hide your hands behind your back to fidget at parade rest – your arm needs to stay in the sling for the rest of the day.

“We need to discuss yesterday,” Price says, palms flat on his desk.

You tilt your head. Wasn’t that what the debrief was for?

“Sir?” you ask. “If I – did I do something wrong?”

He deflates a bit, big shoulders dropping before he pushes himself up and rounds the desk.

“No, you’re not in trouble,” he explains, “but I have concerns.”

When he gestures for you to take one of the visitor seats, you do. You’re a bit surprised when he takes the other – though you can’t help an appreciative glance while his attention is elsewhere. He practically dwarfs the stupid little chair, and the way he spreads his thighs trying to get comfortable…

“Concerns, sir?” you parrot, trying to corral your scrambled braincells.

“What you said in the infirmary,” he begins, expression solemn, “is that really how you feel?”

“What I said…?” You try to recall anything of note from last night, but most of what came out of your mouth is a blur at best. “What did I say?”

He leans forward, lacing his scarred fingers together. You try not to stare, though the way he rubs at the knuckle of one thumb with the other is distracting. It’s an unusual gesture for the disciplined, determined man you’ve been honored to call captain for months now.

“That you can’t ask us to help you.”

A block of ice drops into your stomach.

“That’s not – I know you guys would help me if I needed it,” you hurry to say.

He gives you a long look. “Then why don’t you ever ask? You were shot and didn’t say a bloody thing.”

You shift, unable to meet his eyes. Can’t find the words to answer. It’s not that you didn’t think you could ask. It just didn’t feel right with the bad blood between you, Soap, and Ghost. Besides, you’re the medic, you’re supposed to be the one fixing everyone else – not the other way around. What use are you otherwise?

You try to explain this to Price, but you sense (from the grim set to his handsome features) that it’s not helping.

“I’ve been a shite captain to you, haven’t I?” he sighs.

You jump. “No, sir! You’re a great captain. I trust you with my life.”

He chuckles, but it’s devoid of humor. Sounds almost self-deprecating.

“I’ve not done a bloody thing to earn it.”

You shake your head. “Sir, you’ve kept me alive for months now. That’s plenty.”

Beyond that, he’s always been fair with you. Doesn’t give you shit assignments or the most dangerous roles in missions. Always makes sure you’re alive and accounted for. Calls you out for mistakes and faults, sure, but it’s for the sake of you and everyone else. He’s been just as ready to pat your shoulder for a clever maneuver or praise a good shot.

“You know damn well it’s not,” he scolds.

You huff, almost amused. “Sir, with all due respect, get off the cross we need the wood.”

His eyebrows jump up nearly to his hairline. Normally, you wouldn’t dream of being so cavalier with Price of all people. Soap’s truce last night gives you the confidence to continue.

“I know you didn’t trust me as a former Shadow at first,” you say, “but you looked out for me anyway. After the first few missions… it seemed like things evened out.”

He sighs and sits back, running a hand down his face.

“Laswell vouched for you – it’s the only reason I didn’t send you right back on that plane,” he admits. A small but genuine smile curls his mouth. “And then you put your life on the line for my boys time and time again.”

You mirror him, the tension in your shoulders easing away with each word.

“I knew things weren’t great with the others, but I thought it was best if I kept out of it. Let you lot sort it out so long as you all cooperated when it mattered,” he continues. “I didn’t realize how bad it got, and that’s on me. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head and lightly tap your boot against his. “It wasn’t the wrong call, sir. I think things are going to get better from here on out.”

He hums, eyes searching your gentle smile for any hint of insincerity. But you believe it, and it must show, because his eyes crinkle as he smiles back.

“Speaking of better,” he says, clearing his throat. “Mind if I take a look at those ribs? Dana had some choice words for me this morning.”

You giggle and tug your shirt from your waistband, hiking the hem up high to show the reddish-purple mottling all over your left side. Price makes a noise of sympathy, easing out of his chair to the carpeted floor. On his knees, he inches closer, leaning in to inspect the damage.

“How’d this happen?” he asks, voice lowering.

His fingertips skim over the edges of the bruises, featherlight. Your voice gets strangled in your throat as tingles race across your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Um, hostile kicked me. A lot.”

His eyes flick up to yours, hard as ice. “Dead?”

“Yessir.”

His gaze softens, a proud, smug quirk to his lips. “Atta girl.”

You can’t fully suppress a shiver. It’s not just the gentle, considerate touches. It’s the purring praise from a man you’ve admired and harbored a sizeable crush on.

“Cold?” he asks.

This is your chance to wave it off. To pretend you are not so inappropriately infatuated with a man you thought only tolerated you until a minute ago. A little white lie, you could smooth your shirt back down, and be on your way.

But you don’t want to do that. Not really.

And from the way his pupils are slowly, steadily subsuming his irises, neither does he.

“No, sir,” you whisper.

His slow exhale caresses across your tender ribs.

“Then would you be comfortable if I checked on your ‘little graze’ as well?” It’s a tease, but also a genuine check of your boundaries. Another out, freely and openly given, that only solidifies your resolve to see where he’s going with this.

“Yessir,” you answer, shifting to get at your belt.

Price tsks, though, big hands spreading across each thigh and urging you down again.

“Now, now, don’t aggravate that shoulder,” he murmurs. “Let me help like a good captain.”

You swallow back an embarrassing noise as deft hands unbuckle your belt, thumb the button of your pants open, and drag the zipper down tooth by tooth. His thick, warm forearms rest on your thighs the entire time, keep them spread to accommodate his wide shoulders. He’s in no rush to continue his “checkup,” toying along the length of your waistband before easing it down.

“Lift up for me, darling, there we are,” he murmurs. You gasp softly as his palms brush your ass while sliding your pants down. Then outright squeak as he squeezes a cheek in each hand, a low noise of admiration rumbling in his throat.

“Gorgeous girl,” he chuckles. “Gorgeous arse.”

Your face feels hot as he tugs your pants down to your ankles, though the square of gauze and tape on the back of your thigh is long revealed. It takes conscious effort not to squirm under his hot gaze, praying a wet spot isn’t already visible on your panties.

“Let’s just get this one free…” He works the pantleg over your boot, leaving the other pooled around the laces. “Now then.”

You bite into your lip as he hauls your calf up into his shoulder, propping your leg up to get a clear view of your thigh.

“Not bled through,” he notes, tracing the neat edges of the medical tape. “You’ve been taking good care of it. Well done.”

You can’t help the little twitch that evokes, your whole body reacting to the deep timbre of his voice. He’s not oblivious to his effect on you, a glint in his eye as his bristly jaw brushes the inside of your knee.

“T-told you, it wasn’t too bad,” you manage weakly.

He hums and your pussy clenches helplessly around nothing. His eyes flick down and you know it’s all over.

“And what about this, hm?” he asks. You whimper as his thumb skims the lace edge of your panties. “Have you been taking care of this?”

Flustered and yet so, so turned on, you can only shake your head. He coos in mock disappointment, rubbing slow circles across your labia, closer and closer to where you’re aching and needy.

“It’s alright sergeant,” he soothes, “your captain will take care of you.”

Except he only rubs you through your panties A maddening pressure back and forth along the wet seam of your cunt, never delving deeper. You break down in hardly any time at all.

“Sir, please,” you whine, wriggling. He’s quick to brace you still again, leisurely movements never faltering.

“Please what, darling?” he teases.

“I-I need…” You whimper with embarrassment, squeezing your eyes shut. “I need you to take care of me, please, captain.”

He practically growls as he tears through the hip of your panties, tossing them aside in a sodden heap on the ground. With two fingers, he parts your labia, eyes hungrily drinking in the cream shimmering between them.

“All this and I’ve barely touched you,” he rasps, awed.

You nearly sob with desperation for something, anything. He shushes your fussy little noises with his thumb, dipping into the pool of slick at your entrance. Gets the pad soaked before drawing a line up to your swollen, sensitive clit. Your mouth falls open as he starts drawing tight, firm circles over that bundle of nerves.

He treats your body and your pleasure with all the confidence and competence you’ve come to expect of John Price. It takes shockingly little time for him to learn just how to press, how fast to rub, the patterns and circuits that get your legs shaking. And that’s before he twists his wrist and sinks a finger inside you.

“Practically sucking me in, love,” he murmurs, petting at your walls. You shudder and wordlessly beg for more, rocking your hips. “Need another already, greedy girl?”

He doesn’t even wait for your nod before stuffing you with another, curling and scissoring, exploring. You keen as he finds a sweet, sensitive spot inside you and begins toying with it, his thumb still swiping relentlessly at your clit.

He settles into a rhythm that has you moaning and keening, the heel of your boot digging into his shoulder blade. All the while he showers you in praise and encouragement, the dirtiest compliments that make you clench down tightly on his hand. Your body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve ending lit up with pleasure.

It’s builds and builds and builds, never quite cresting. You’re near tears when you moan his name, trying to find some leverage or angle to finally tip you over the edge.

“Do you need to cum, doll?”

“Yes, yes,” you cry, “please, sir, I wanna cum for you. Please, I’m s-so close.”

He hums, bracing your thigh with his free hand as he leans in. Your foggy brain doesn’t have enough time to process before he latches onto your clit and a third finger bullies into you. You wail. Your thigh twinges from the dull pressure of his shoulder, but the slight pain only adds a delicious edge to the pleasure.

His tongue swipes across your puffy clit once, twice, three times and you’re gone. You gush all over his hand, his beard, onto the chair. Your hips jerk as he works you over, fingers abusing your g-spot relentlessly despite how tightly you clamp down. Your body feels nuclear, nerves popping like firecrackers.

He only relents when the waves of ecstasy threaten to drown you in overstimulation. He eases his fingers from your twitchy hole, making room for him to lick you clean. It’s loud and obscene, yet there’s no room left for embarrassment anymore. You shiver and pant in the aftermath, your body unravelling into a puddle.

“Wh-what about you?” you ask as he begins straightening out your clothes. There’s an absolutely delectable-looking bulge in his fatigues that you’re dying to get your tongue on.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “If you want more –” (“I do.”) “- then you’ll have to wait until you’re healed up. Non-negotiable.”

You try to pout, but the effort is thwarted when he chucks you gently under the chin.

“C’mon, let’s have a lie down.”

He steadies you as you wobble to the couch off to the side, lying down first and letting you cuddle up between his legs. It’s a comfort more than you would have expected from a clandestine little triste, but you should know better than to doubt your captain. Head resting on his chest, you let yourself drift for a while, lulled by his fingers carding through your hair.

“Price…?” you ask after a while.

“Hm?”

“You didn’t do this just to… I dunno, make up for something, right?”

He huffs. “No, sweetheart. I’ve been arse over teakettle for a while. Staring like a complete muppet when you train.”

You hide a grin against his collarbone. “Good. I thought I’d have to start making things up for you to owe me.”

His chuckle rocks through you, and for the first time in a while, it feels a bit like home.

[mariasont]

Please, Don't Prove 'Em Right - A.H

a/n: my girl sabrina can do no wrong and i have been listening to this song on repeat since it came out so i just absolutely needed to write a fic about it

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: aaron hotchner is a busy man and he tends to disappoint you by missing important events

warnings: angst (sorry in advance), aaron is like not a great husband, reader is also an imperfect character, reader is a girl boss though

wc: 1.2k

You were in your best dress. More expensive than you'd ever think about buying for yourself, but it had been a gift from Aaron. You had fought him on it, scolding him for spending so much on a dress you were sure to only wear once. But he had insisted, telling you that this opportunity was once in a lifetime and that it would be a sin for it to not be celebrated with a dress that made you shine like a ruby.

He was right, partly, you were shining--glowing, sparkling, glittering--as you moved through the library. It was beautiful, to say the least--all opulence and history that was almost too much to absorb. The marble floors almost seemed to amplify the conversations around you, the clinking of glasses, the swish of overpriced gowns and tuxedos.

Your eyes settled on the tiered desks fitted with bronze reading lamps, now repurposed as a station for hors d'oeuvres and champagne. The circular arrangement of desks, once centered around knowledge, now facilitated hushed gossip and the discreet laughter of society's finest.

You could almost hear what they were thinking: there she is again without her husband, that poor thing always by herself, and your personal favorite—does he even exist?

You wanted to be angry, to scold their prying eyes, for putting their noses into something that had nothing to do with them whatsoever. But could you really blame them? Every event you attended you told the same story--my husband is a busy man with an important job--a line you had grown tired of repeating. 

And that was all true. He devoted most of his time to saving lives--how could you find fault in that? How could you complain to having a husband whose very essence was self-sacrifice and heroism?

This evening was set to be an exception; he was in New York for a case, and the Pulitzer Prize ceremony was not something he would miss. He had given you his word.

You understood his passion for his job, completely, because you held that same passion for your own. You dedicated years of your life to your journalism, investigating corruption at its highest levels. This is exactly how you ended up here tonight, nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for that very work. A Pulitzer Prize.

The term once seemed like a fantastical concept to you, a lofty accolade reserved for the likes of JFK, Bob Dylan, Robert Frost--icons, not someone as ordinary as you. Yet, against all odds, you find yourself among the select few, a nominee for an honor that has only been won by 1,512 individuals since 1917, a fact Spencer had supplied you with.

Someone was speaking to you, saying your name. Almost without thinking, your hand found a flute of champagne, taking a generous sip before turning to face them.

"You look stunning, and a well-deserved congratulations are in order. Everyone back at the office is cheering for you." It was your boss, her stilettos adding inches to her already imposing frame.

The flattery didn't quite mask her usual coldness, it was all too artificial. She wasn't your biggest fan, and she had made that clear from your first day. Still, you mustered a smile and thanked her anyway, taking another sip of champagne, hoping to drown away her nauseating voice.

"It's too bad your husband couldn't be here," she began, and you had to resist the urge to rip out her extensions. "This is an incredible accomplishment, but he's quite the busy man, as you say."

"Yes, he is busy, but he'll be here tonight," you replied, flashing her your best smile as you smoothed the red fabric that suddenly felt too tight. "He's actually here in New York on a case."

"Oh, how great. I can't wait to put a face to the name." You could tell by the look she shot her own husband that she didn't believe a word from your mouth. "Anyway, I have to go speak with an academy representative, but I'll see you and your husband at the ceremony?"

You responded with a nod, not dignifying her with words as she left, her giggles a bitter sound. You hated her. And you were ready to make her eat her words when your husband, who looked absolutely incredibly in a suit, showed up.

But then it was dinner, and you found yourself alone, surrounded by a table of important people whose names you couldn't remember. The seat beside you was empty and suddenly that omnipotent, cloud-nine feeling you had vanished with the time that passed.

The text you sent piled up, feeling a little juvenile, like you were back in high school again getting stood up at prom.

Let me know when you're close!

Is everything going okay?

Call me if you can.

An onslaught of anxious thoughts skyrocketed around your mind as you mechanically chewed the fancy food that only seemed to upset your stomach further. What if something happened? Was he okay? Did the case go wrong? Did he get in a car accident on the way here?

You were a bundle of nerves, gnawing on the inside of your mouth as your heel tapped up and down against the floor. But this wasn't borne from concern for his well-being; deep down, you were certain he was fine. The truth was simpler and sharper: he wasn't coming.

You should have been prepared, should have braced for this, but you were convinced that this time, this occasion would be an exception.

You name was being called, but this time not by someone wanting to extract prying information or stir speculation, no, this time it was carried across the crowed, wrapped in the microphone's static hum.

Your head snapped up, fingers ceasing their fidgeting as you struggled to mask the shock and avoid the gaping, breathless look of a fish out of water.

You had won.

People were clapped, but it seemed far away as you made your way to the stage, hands coming from all directions to offer pats on the back and handshakes of congratulations.

You had won.

Your feet were carrying you up a small set of stairs. You were trying to remember how to walk--left, right, heel, toe. There was a bright light on you now, prompting a slight squint and you worked to keep a smile on your face as you accepted the award.

You had to be dreaming. Had to be. There was no other explanation.

You were on display now, under the intense stage lights. Your body was on autopilot, stepping behind the podium, words flowing out of your mouth--a speech you had rehearsed over and over again in the slim chance that you would win. And here you are.

But the more you spoke the more you seemed to deviate from the script.

You paused, voice catching as you tried your best not to let the tears fall--your makeup was too pristine for smears.

"But tonight, as I accept this honor, I am reminded that while we may seek comfort in the presence of others, our truest strength comes from within." Your eyes dart around the audience, clinging to the slim chance he's there, that he showed up. "It comes from knowing that when we step into the moment, we step in with conviction, with passion, and sometimes, with a singularity that says we are enough."

The final words of your speech hang in the air, a brittle hope that disappears as quickly as it surfaced. He proved them right, and no amount of applause can drown out the sound of your heart breaking just a little.

part 2

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179

[kisakis-boyfriend]

How about headcanons for Camboy AU Freminet who uses his helmet to hide his identity? What’s his online niche? Does he do private shows?? Is his username penguin related???

Pairings: None

Warnings: Sub/bottom!Freminet, adult Freminet, pillow humping, sex toys, overstimulation, camboy AU

I am unfamiliar with French unfortunately, but I came up with pingouindoré69 as a username :)

Lyney was the one to suggest tacking on the '69' at the end 😅

His niche is definitely oceanic themed sets/roleplays. Freminet has a small room reserved just for his cam shows, painted blue with minimal furniture so that he can easily set up props and backgrounds

I definitely think he'd want his shows to be incredibly immersive when he does roleplays and such

His roleplays are scenarios such as: A diver getting fucked by tentacle monsters. An unsuspecting adventurer being ravaged by all sorts of monsters and creatures; depending on which dildo Freminet or the viewers choose~

Freminet is also well known for using all sorts of strangely shaped dildos (dragon dicks, horse dicks, lawachurl dicks, toys with knots at the base, toys with varying textures such as bumps and ridges, all different sizes 'n colours)

Owns a whole collection of tentacle dildos (that both Freminet himself and his audience fucking adore~)

The thin pink tip slides up into the young boy's hole as he slowly lowers himself onto the toy. It's a perfect replica of a classic tentacle; reddish-pink and covered in suckers from top to bottom. If the slutty moans pouring from the boy's mouth mean anything, they must indicate that those suckers feel heavenly as each and every one drags against his walls while he inserts the length

He carefully bounces on the tentacle, working it deeper inside with every downward thrust. The inside of his helmet grew steamier as the show went on, bringing an uncomfortable film of moisture to his milky skin. After a few minutes, the thick base of the tentacle pressed against the boy's ass cheeks — the entire length of the toy filled him up and made a slight bulge in his little tummy. A sight that the viewers thoroughly enjoyed~

The boy's cock bobbed with each thrust, begging to be touched and release all of that sticky cum trapped inside. Alas, our camboy's generous viewers had donated enough mora to already meet tonight's special punishment goal — 50,000 mora for the little diver to ignore his dick, forbidden from touching it even once. And he was a very good boy, so he torturously obeys the goal, crying inside of his helmet throughout every anal-only orgasm

—

Private shows are few and far between. Mainly reserved for special occasions, and even then the cost is rather steep. Freminet is just too shy to do one-on-one sessions often...but when they do occur? Ooohh baby–

The lucky viewer can request just about anything from him. Freminet won't remove his helmet and he sticks to his hard no's, but as long as your request is within his boundaries and capabilities, it's all fair game

They can bring out this boy's inner slut easily; making him degrade himself for their amusement. They can request that he use any number of the toys from his vast collection too

Make him stuff two monster dildos deep within his hole? Ask him to creampie himself with a fake cum pump inside of a massive tentacle toy? Request that he pinch his cute nipples and call himself “Daddy's little slut”?

Yep, Freminet will do it all~ If the viewer is kind enough to spend their mora on this private time with him, then they deserve a real treat!!

The viewers also fawn over his voice often. The echo from his helmet amplifies the abundance of whines, moans, and pleas that fall from his lips. His loyal viewers eat that up every time 💙

Freminet streams himself humping a pillow a couple times. Those shows quickly skyrocket in views, becoming some of his most popular streams

“Oh- oh gods...wa-wanna cum—!! ” The eager boy moans, thrusting wildly against his fluffy pillow. His head hangs low as overstimulation begins to kick in. Every 5,000 mora adds five more minutes to his humping session; every individual 10,000 mora donation delays his orgasm for just as long

Larger incremental donations mean that Freminet might do something such as calling himself a filthy whore (or whatever the viewer wants if they donate enough to add their own message), playing with his chest, or placing a vibrator underneath the pillowcase

Freminet's muscles ache as he's stuck grinding against the pillow for hours, his dick leaks clear precum everywhere. The fluid sticks to his lovely thighs with every drag against the pillow, and Freminet is left whining like an adorable whore the entire time

[kikyo-writes]

SHIGARAKI TOMURA | GAME OVER

summary: shigaraki isn't paying attention to you, so you decide to suck him off while he plays video games.

tags: explicit, fem!reader

“Tomura, are you still not done yet?” you whine. “I’ve been waiting forever.”  

Shigaraki barely even spares you a glance, too focused on mashing the buttons of his controller and staring at the TV without blinking.  

“Almost,” he says. “I’m trying to finish this level.”  

That’s what he’s been saying for the past hour, and if it’s up to him, he’ll probably be playing those stupid games for the rest of the night.

You press your lips together. Fine, then. If he keeps refusing to pay attention to you, you’re just going to have to make him pay attention.

Shigaraki doesn’t realize what’s happening at first. He’s too immersed in the game, brows furrowed as he masterfully presses buttons and controls his character with ease. This level is pretty damn difficult. He’s been trying to beat it for ages now, and it doesn’t help that it goes on for fucking ever. 

Tonight is the night he’ll beat it, though. He’s already made up his mind.  

Well, that was the plan, anyways.  

“...the hell are you doing?”  

Shigaraki finally notices that you’ve dropped to your knees in front of him. You’re keeping your head low, and he can still see the screen of the TV, but he feels you running your hands over his thighs and slowly inching them towards the waistband of his pants.  

“Nothing,” you reply sweetly. “It’s fine. Keep playing your game.”  

He has every intention of doing that. Still, he can’t help but frown. Are you trying to do what he thinks you are? Do you really think you’ll be able to distract him like that? 

“I’m beating this level,” he states, but already, he can hear his voice wavering a bit.  

Shigaraki redirects his attention to the TV, and he resists the urge to glance down when he feels you start stroking his cock through his pants. You’re gentle at first, only applying a small amount of pressure, but gradually, you start gripping him harder, pumping him through the thick fabric and making blood rush to all the right places.

He’s fully erect now, and you waste no time in letting his cock spring free.  

Shigaraki lets out a silent hiss. You’re still stroking him, except now he can feel your skin in direct contact with his. It feels so good how you’re pumping the shaft of his cock. Fuck. It feels really, really good.

Still, he refuses to lose focus. He said he was going to beat this level, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do. This is just an extra challenge, that’s all. If anything, it’ll make his inevitable victory even more impressive.

Shigaraki pauses for a few moments to compose himself. Yeah. He can do this.

But then you take his cock into your mouth.

“Sh-Shit!”

He outright moans this time, and he feels you chuckle softly in response. The vibrations of your throat pulse against his cock, and it amplifies the pleasure tenfold.  

“Wait,” Shigaraki gasps. “Actually... hold on a second. I really need to finish this level first. I need to—” 

You ignore him, just like he ignored you for the better portion of the night. Delighted to finally elicit some kind of reaction out of him, you run your tongue over the drooling slit at the head of his cock, then pucker your lips together and suck in hard. Shigaraki mutters a quiet curse as you then loosen your jaw a bit more, only to plunge headfirst and deepthroat him.

“Oh, fuck.”

He’s still holding onto the controller, just barely. His fingers are pushing the buttons in a sloppy, uncoordinated fashion now, and even though it looks like he’s trying to keep staring at the screen, he can’t help but steal glances at you every so often.

Eventually, the controller falls from his hands, and as you stare up into his deep red eyes, you realize that you finally, finally have his undivided attention.

You moan softly, bobbing your head and sucking him at a steady rhythm. His cock tastes so good. You’re convinced you’ll never be able to get enough of it.  

“That’s good,” Shigaraki breathes, running his fingers through your hair. “Yeah—ugh. That’s really, really good...”  

His praise motivates you to try even harder, and you gag as you force yourself to take him all the way in, letting his cock bottom out against the back of your throat. Shigaraki moans again, and you don’t dare to break eye contact, despite the prickly tears that are forming.  

“Take it,” Shigaraki gasps. He’s careful not to use all five of his fingers, then grabs the back of your head and starts guiding your face up and down the length of his cock. You don’t attempt to struggle, even though his pace is difficult to keep up with. You choke and gag, drowning in saliva and tears, but knowing that you’re making him feel good makes you feel good.  

“I love seeing your cute mouth stuffed full with my cock,” Shigaraki says. He licks his lips in delight, a crude grin stretching across his features. “Fuck yeah. You’re so hot. You’re gonna make me cum.”  

He’s pretty much fucking your face at this point, and instead of trying to fight it, you forfeit all control and let him use you as he pleases. Your throat aches and burns from how relentlessly he keeps pounding his cock in, but god, it feels fucking amazing.  

“I’m about to cum,” Shigaraki pants. His thrusts are getting sloppier by the second, and a soft little whine even leaves his lips. “Shit, I’m... I’m coming!”  

He busts his load right into your mouth, and you moan in delight, greedily slurping up all the thick ropes of cum. There’s almost too much to contain, but you refuse to let any of it go to waste, so you stay there obediently and choke it all down.  

After a few more moments, Shigaraki’s convulsions stop, and he tucks his cock away, then slumps back onto the couch, utterly spent.

“Thanks for the meal,” you grin.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Goddammit, [Name]. You’re such a needy little slut."

“But you love it.”

“...yeah,” he admits, cracking a grin. “I sure do.”

“Are you going to keep playing your game?” you ask innocently, even though you already know the answer.  

Shigaraki pretends to ponder it for a few moments, then shakes his head. “Nah. I guess I don’t have to beat it tonight. It can wait. More importantly...”  

He shoves you down onto the couch, then grabs you by the thighs and spreads your legs apart. His red eyes are glinting with mischief, arousal, and just the slightest hint of sadism.   

“Right now, I kind of just want to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”  

[motherroam-rs]

Sleep Deprivation

Relationship: Hunter x Reader

Summary: In the search for Omega, Hunter struggles to sleep and needs a push to get some rest.

Warnings/Tags: Sleep Deprivation, Angst, Comfort, uhhh I think that’s everything

Word Count: 1.2k

Notes: The first 3 episodes have me in a chokehold, I wanna see Hunter happy again - Here’s a super short angsty lil comfort fic for Hunter set just before the beginning of episode 2 🫶🫶 Apologies for any grammatical errors!

Every noise in the Marauder seemed louder with just the three of you in it. Any hum, beep, and sigh seems to be amplified, even Gonkys small movements seemed to echo through the empty space just as loud as Wreckers snores.

Though, it’s not the only change. The ship seems too big now, and it’s hard to remember a time where it was so over-occupied that you would all fight over who got to sleep in a bunk for the night, and who had to use a sleep mat on the floor. Durasteel walls that previously made you all feel like fish packed together in a can, now seemed to stretch out impossibly, making it seem that you were planets away from the ships other two occupants.

Currently you’re sat in the co-pilot chair, preoccupied with your glitchy datapad, attempting to send an encrypted message to Echo for any updates from the clone network. You’re biting down on a sigh at how you wished Tech were here to fix it for you when Wrecker nudges your foot with his own.

You look up, puzzled at the man but your silent question is answered by the attempted jerk of his head. Behind you both sits Hunter, staring abysmally at the control board of flashing lights with his fist tightened around a horn from Roland Durand. The lights cast a harsh shadow on his features and your lips can’t help but work themselves into a frown at the dark circles beneath his eyes.

It had been well over 24 hours since he last slept.

Glitchy datapad now abandoned, you give a quick nod in thanks to Wrecker, before leaving the cockpit to approach Hunter. His chair doesn’t turn, and despite his enhanced senses and the lack of noise in the ship to cover your steps in any way, he gives no indication that he’s heard you. You follow his line of sight to both Tech’s goggles and Lula, both of the items bringing a pain to your chest.

“Hunter?” You press your hand to his armored shoulder, and he finally turns to look at you, slightly startled and you can’t even recall a time that you’ve ever caught him so off guard. Now that he’s facing you, the exhaustion is evident in more than just the dark circles under his eyes, his body seems to slump against the support of the chair in some sort of emotional defeat.

He’s been running himself into the ground over the last few days in pursuit of the Pyke needed in order to get the lead you had all been after, but at least you and Wrecker still managed to somewhat take care of your basic needs of sleep and rations.

Before you can speak, he turns back towards the controls, as if sensing what you were going to say about the neglect to his sleep schedule.

“Tech made this all seem… easy.” Gloved hands gesture to the console of flashing lights, his throat bobbing with a dry swallow as he shakes his head. “All of it takes me twice as long as it took him.”

Hunters hand pinches the bridge of his nose, the same way he does when he has an oncoming headache and your hand presses to the unarmoured section between his shoulder and neck, an area that is usually covered by his scarf. At the touch, his eyes close and lips part with a soft release of breath.

He needs to sleep.

“Come to bed, Hunter.” The whisper echoes through the too-quiet ship, amplified like every other noise, and for a moment it looks like he’s going to refuse. He doesn’t speak, but gives a slight nod of his head, and brushes your hand away to stand and begin removing his armor as he follows you on the way to your shared bunk.

After so long of racing to be the first one on the Marauder after a mission to secure your own bunk for a night, there was some sad irony in the fact that you now couldn’t sleep alone. Following the loss of Tech, and the painful absences of Omega and Echo, all attempts to adjust to the atmosphere of loneliness on the ship were almost painful.

At the start, you think you barely managed a standard 8 hours across 3 full day cycles, let alone in one night, and your restlessness didn’t go unnoticed by Hunter, who had probably slept even less than you. On the fourth night of staring at the ceiling and trying to muffle your quiet crying in the too-silent ship, he had abandoned his bunk beneath you and climbed into your own. His arms allowed you the comfort of not grieving alone that night, and almost every night since.

At some point, it delved into more than simply finding comfort in each other so you could both sleep, sending you far enough past the line of friends for Wrecker to tease you both in an attempt to lighten the heavy atmosphere in the Marauder.

Now only wearing the lower half of his blacks, Hunter lifts himself into the shared top bunk, and offers you a hand up, immediately pulling you into him once you’re safely up. In the small confines of the bunk, you’re entirely pressed to his firm body, yet he still holds you tightly against his bare chest as if fearing you’d slip away the moment his eyes closed.

He’s pulled the thin blanket over you both, but with the heat of his body it’s more than enough to keep you warm. “We’ll get her back.” You murmur against Hunters chest in assurance as one of his hands pulls your leg across his own, entangling the two of you together.

You feel his hand twitch against you, “It’s been a long time, and we still don’t know where she is, the only lead we can get right now is by handing over a Pyke to the Durand family.” His voice is heavy with exhaustion and you crane your neck up, lifting yourself from his chest to place your hand on his stubble covered jaw, forcing him to look at you.

“We’ll get her back, Hunter, but you need to sleep.” You lean in to press a kiss to the lips that seem to have set themselves into an ever present frown since that day on Ord Mantell.

Hunters hand presses to your face to mirror your own, his other arm tightening around your waist protectively as he kisses you back. Even when you pull away and rest your head back on his chest, his fingers continue to trace slow patterns on your waist, still refusing to let you go as he gives in to his tiredness.

You wait for his breathing to slow, ensuring he’s asleep before you allow yourself to close your eyes and follow him. In the night, you dream of living together in a house on Pabu, where the only echoing noise is Omegas laugh, where there are no empty spaces to make you feel lonely, and where Hunter can finally rest.

[best-overplayed-song]

fun facts

the melody of "Yesterday" came to Paul McCartney while he was asleep: "I had a piano by my bedside, and I must have dreamed it, because I tumbled out of bed and put my hands on the piano keys and I had a tune in my head. It was just all there, a complete thing. I couldn’t believe it. It came too easy"

“Yesterday” is the most covered song in history, with over 2,000 versions having been recorded

in the days after the Kennedy assassination, Paul Simon locked himself in the bathroom and composed the melody of "The Sound of Silence".

Paul Simon originally wrote the song as an acoustic ballad for their debut, Wednesday Morning, 3 AM, but Simon & Garfunkel’s first single version died and the album was considered a commercial failure. Later in ‘65, while Simon was in England, Tom Wilson asked members of Bob Dylan’s studio band to add electric guitar and drums. Columbia released the amplified Silence, which became a hit before Simon and Garfunkel had even heard it

[remotewatch]

make that mfer BAM 💥🥣

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1k wc

Summary: Jack doubts his speechwriting skills. You tug that nonsense right out of him.

cws: emergency handjob, food play, cum eating, he cum in he got damn soup idk what else to tell ya !! dear readers please make sure you’re registered to vote and do try to get involved with the Harris campaign in any way you can (it’s what Jack would want, after all 😁)

hats off to my darling editor @mystardustmelodyyy as always 🩵🗳️

minors dni in fact don’t even glance at it

Light-footed staff weave around your path as you track the length of the house to check on tonight’s finishing touches. Your shoes clack against the mirror-polished foyer tile in time with the cadence of your speech repetition.

A text had just come in from your assistant: everyone was having a splendid time, they were on their way to your place now, and a smidge of traffic might push the start of dinner back, ten minutes at the most. Everything was falling into place, but you couldn’t turn down a free moment to go over your words one last time.

“As you all know, my grandparents were lifelong patrons of the arts… honored to present our new exhibition at my fiancé’s library… we thank you all for your generous…” you lose your train of thought when you spot Jack pacing frantically in an alcove, hands twitching as he stifles reflexive hang loose signs. He jolts at the hand you place on his shoulder and defaults to an uncharacteristically strained smile when he sees it’s you.

“How’s the rehearsal going?”

“Well, I think I hate it.” He bites a knuckle and squints exasperatedly at the tiny font on his phone. “There’s so many jokes in here. Why?!” Jack getting cold feet was the only thing you hadn’t planned for; usually he’s the one swooping in when you’re in such a state. There’s absolutely no time for rewrites, so you need to shut this shit down before he decides to start editing anyway. You squeeze his shoulder a little bit, and his head snaps up to see your most convincing faux-worried face.

“Can you help me with one thing real quick, and then we can get it sorted?”

That breaks him out of the fog long enough for you to drag him through the dining room and into the kitchen abuzz with steam and roving caterers.

A curt “Out!” scatters them, and then it’s just you two and the gentle hum of the convection ovens. You guide Jack over to where tonight’s soup is already plated, then to his bowl placed off to the side, accompanied by a post it stuck to the counter: “JS NO SWEET POTATO”.

He’s still lost in thought as you nudge him closer and move behind him.

“I already tasted it, it’s fine,” he mumbles as you start undoing his pants. His voice trails to a sigh when you take his cock out.

“You loved that speech all last week. What’s going on now?”

“I just-“ he doesn’t comment when you start stroking him, but you can feel the muscles in his back loosen slightly, and some of the tension leaks out of his voice. “I really want this to go well for us.”

Your unoccupied hand slides up his lapel and grasps his to stop the fumbling with his tie.

“It’s already going well, and we’re going to keep it that way.” His brow is still furrowed, but that cute little fuzzy edge his voice gets when you take control is seeping in.

“Won’t they be here soon?”

“Not for at least twenty minutes.” The slippery noises your movements make as he starts to leak echo off all the stainless steel and sound almost amplified in the empty space. It’s just warm enough in the kitchen for your brain to flirt with the idea of calling the whole thing off and spending the night here. “Don’t worry. I won’t let the clock run out on you.”

You can feel his grip on his doubts loosening with every deliberate stroke, and soon he’s bucking into your hand as much as the space between you and the counter will let him.

Jack’s posture sags as he relaxes against you, the sudden movement nearly bobbing him close enough to dip his tip into the soup.

“Keep moving around like that and you’ll burn yourself.”

“Sorry.” He sounds a million miles away from the ball of nerves you found a few minutes ago.

“On your toes. You’re making a mess.” And he does, of course, so you have a proper angle to aim him down at the bowl and prevent the twin rivulets of precum from sliding down your wrist onto his trousers. His mouth falls open when the first drops break the surface tension.

“That’s all I want you to focus on. You know you’ll do well, I know you’ll do well, just do this for me, okay?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Say it for me,” you croon softly into his ear, watching the goosebumps blossom down his neck when your lips graze it.

Jack’s head slumps to the side for a better look at you, but his irises are wandering like bumblebees and working against him.

“I’m focusing.” he slurs.

“I know, I know.” Your hand speeds up to match his breathing as he white knuckles the counter. It’s hard to keep your wrist steady when you feel his ass start tightening up.

“It’s gonna make a mess,” he gasps out.

“No it won’t. Stay still for me. You’ve got this. I know you do.”

Jack’s whole body tenses up, and his protests fade into little pants at your ambiguous encouragement. He throbs in your hand one, two, three, four times as you hold him just a whisper above the steaming bowl. No splash; the rest of him is trembling with the effort, but his hips stay locked in place to neatly spill into his meal.

As soon as his heels are back on solid ground, you’re stretching up to kiss right above his eyebrow. A hand cradling his jaw eases him back to reality.

“It’s a great speech.”

“It’s a great speech.” He can't stop himself from smiling, finally relaxed enough to let it reach his eyes.

-at the table-

From the beginning you’d insisted Jack should speak after you; he was much better at settling everyone into dinner conversation following your more formal remarks. Of course, your guests are utterly captivated by him; he manages to get even your sternest donors chuckling in under five minutes. So captivated, in fact, that you’re free to ogle at him from the other end of the table without worry. You’re crossing and recrossing your legs watching his mouth move, realizing for the first time tonight how fucking hungry you are. When the soup is served, you scarcely blink watching his first mouthful. He stares back just as entranced, completely forgetting his table manners and using his thumb to swipe an errant drop into his mouth.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

IT’S ME, YA GIRL, BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH ANOTHER WIP OF A LUCI SMUT FIC CUZ I HAVE NO CONTROL :)

Might have the full thing posted later tonight

Warnings: Smut directly below this, we’re diving in real quick with this one!

NSFW below the cut, minors DNI

You weren’t sure how you ended up in this situation. Well…that’s not entirely true. But you never thought that you would ever be in the situation you found yourself in. Not that you were upset at all by it. Lucifer, the almighty ruler of Hell itself, was bound and blindfolded in your bed wearing nothing more than his briefs. His hands were restrained to the bed post with tightly knotted rope while a silk ribbon obstructed his vision, leaving him absolutely helpless. Of course, you both knew he could more than easily break free from his bondage, but he wasn’t going to. He trusted you with his entire being, his devotion to you was undying. He was now yours to tease, to use, and to break. The thought excited both of you. You had already stripped, wasting no time as you closed in on your prey.

“Are you ready, Luci?” you asked, inching yourself closer to the foot of the bed.

“Yes, darling,” he answered sweetly, “do with me what you please.”

“Good boy,” you hummed. You heard a light moan escape his lips from just your words. He loved nothing more than receiving praise from you. You began by resting your hands on his ankles, ever so slowly moving them up to his calves, and stopping to massage the inside of his thighs. It was already apparent that he was having a difficult time sitting still, he was very sensitive after all. Your touch was intoxicating, he could never be satisfied. And the blindfold certainly amplified the experience. You finally moved your hands up his briefs and onto his hips, where he finally bucked up from your touch.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you chastised, “don’t move, baby. Be good for me.”

“Y-yes, love,” he murmured.

“Already so needy, aren’t we?,” you teased, noticing the very obvious wet spot on his shorts. “We’ve barely started.” You palmed his erection, eliciting a yelp from Lucifer. You began to slowly stroke him through his clothing, you felt his cock twitch at your gentle touch.

“Pl-Please, I-mmhn, please m-more,” he babbled. The sounds of his begging were pure ecstasy. What a feeling to have power over the most powerful being in the realm. You chuckled, reaching for the hem of his briefs, finally releasing his hardened cock. His tip leaked precum onto his stomach, Lucifer whimpered softly.

“Use your words, sweetheart,” you coerced, “tell me what you want.”

You heard an audible gulp from Lucifer. Even with the blindfold, you could tell that his cheeks had flushed a bright red. “T-Touch me, pl-please…need to f-feel you,” he choked out.

You smiled as you reached out to grab the base of his cock, forcing another moan out of Lucifer. You started to stroke his shaft up and down at an agonizingly slow pace, precum leaking onto your hand. It felt like he could burst at any second, but you planned on making this last as long as possible. You could already feel yourself getting wet from the sight of him writhing under your touch. Lucifer’s breathing became heavy as though he couldn’t get enough oxygen in his lungs. Unfortunately, he bucked up his hips to your touch again. You let go of him completely, Lucifer nearly sobbed at the loss of contact.

“What did I say, Luci?,” you scolded.

“Imsorryimsorry!!,” Lucifer cried, “Please! Please, I’ll be good. Please don’t stop…”

“You need to learn some patience, baby,” you retorted, kneeling down and taking a long lick from the base of his shaft to the head. Lucifer’s moans had turned into breathy gasps for air. Without warning, you plunged your mouth down on his cock.

“FFFUUUUCCCKKKK!,” Lucifer yelled as you continued to bob your head up and down on his length. He was well endowed, so you were carefully not to take too much of him all at once. Your hot mouth engulfed half of him while your hand stroked the rest, perfectly in sync. You circled your tongue around his tip, loving the taste of his precum. The only sounds from Lucifer were screams of pleasure as you overstimulated him with your mouth.

“Talk to me, sweetie,” you commended, “how does this make you feel?”

“S-so good, love,” he panted, “ffffuuucckk, I’m so c-close, soooo close…”

“Mmm, what a good boy you are, Luci,” you smiled. You take your hand and mouth off his cock in an instant, leaving it to lay on his stomach once again. Lucifer’s breath hitched as he whined inconsolably, completely devastated by the loss of any friction. “But I’m not done with you yet.”

[callme-darling]

Ok. But like imagine TOUCH STARVED VINCENT. SO NICE AND SO SOFT BUT JUST SO TIRED FROM WORK, CAN’T KEEP HIS HANDS TO HIMSELF🥲🤭

(I think about this man in a way that is concerning to feminism, as one would say)🤡🤫

this. this is all i want. is that too much to ask?

his hands would have a mind of their own. he’d come up behind you, hands naturally falling to your waist and wasting no time as they pull you back against him, his lips tickling your ear. “you look so pretty today.”

“you look exhausted,” you note back, eyes falling to the bags underneath his own, “go lay down, i’ll-“

he cuts you off with a soft press of his lips to yours. “‘m okay, baby. just wanna see you.” his hands roam over your waist and hips precariously. cool fingers tickle your skin as he slowly lifts the hem of your shirt.

“so needy when you’re tired,” you murmur against his lips, a small smile pulling at your own.

he walks you back til your hips bump the counter. he towers over you as his head ducks into the curve of your neck. he breathes in your scent, a guttural hum sending a chill down your spine. “i missed you.”

he’d kissed you like a man starved of oxygen, and his only access to air were your lips. vincent is shameless in how he loves, and his current exhaustion amplifies this tenfold.

you’re not even sure his eyes are open as he guides you onto his lap, hands pawing off your shirt as his lips attach themselves to the tender flesh of your chest. you whine as you feel the remnants of his stubble brush over your perked nipples, your eyes fluttering at the sensation.

he’d hum against your skin when you make those pretty moans he loves so much. his hips would buck into you gently, as if all he can do in this state is helplessly grope your tempting skin and moan when he feels himself getting lost in it all.

and fuck he’d sound so pretty too. doesn’t even try to quiet himself as he gets drunk on you. his voice would be weak and raspy as he pants and groans under your touch.

“fuuckk… just like that baby,” he’d slur, eyes fluttering shut as you clench around him, hips gently rocking against his. your own breathing stuttering when you feel the tip of his cock press deep into your tight cunt.

his adams apple would bob as he sucks in panting breaths, his chest blushing a pretty red as your touch sets his skin on fire. god, and there wouldn’t be any shame in the way he begs for you. “feel s’good, baby, fuck- please keep going.”

in conclusion: sleepy & handsy vincent is a carnal need at this point.

[triasticalwarlock]

yandere bob with a reader who has an odd fascination with cannibalism? shes never tried human flesh, but she certainly wouldnt be opposed

Deadly fascination

Hope you like this! Bare with me since like the other characters I write for, I'm still perfecting his personality. But I hope you liked this! Also, sorry if it's short. Enjoy! :)

Pairing- bob velseb x reader

Relationship- Romantic/platonic

Warnings- yandere behavior, cannibalism, when he's a red flag but y/n is color blind, fascination with cannibalism, murder, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, controlling behavior, non-con bob,MDNI.

Genre- yandere, fluff(?)

I personally believe that for both regular and yandere bob, they would both be ecstatic. Finding someone who wasn't terrified of them just from this fact, accepting the hunger for flesh without a second. They would be even more happy once they find out about your weird fascination with it, the first thing coming out of their mouth.

"Ya wanna try it?"

For yandere bob, he wouldn't really care if you wanted to try it or not. If he has to, he'll force feed you. While regular bob, will still try to get you to eat it, but will respect your decision after the 2nd time of trying. But knowing how you wouldn't be opposed of trying it, would send bob into a frenzy. Making a whole ass thanksgiving dinner but with human meat for you, standing in front of you. Fidgeting in excitement, waiting to see what you think of it. Now, if you like it, this man is mentally jumping in joy and shouting ' HURRAY!' and then will tell you to keep the eating. If you don't like it, he really doesn't care, will still make you eat it.

If you're fascination is that strong, he'll gladly let you watch him kill and cook his victims. Both Bob's are addicted to your attention, loves it when it's on them. But with yandere bob it amplified by 1000x. So having you watch him is like a blessing to him. Asking him questions about the process with make him rant about all the facts of cannibalism he knows, look at his search history and all of it is just, ' facts about cannibalism'. While he is a cold blooded killer, and cannibal. He is such a goddamn nerd. It's insane how much he knows about this way of eating.

Also, biting. Let's talk about that. If you want to, he'll gladly let you take a bite out of him. Biting and eating your partner is a love language for him. So that means he'll do it to. The places he normally goes for are; the arms, legs, neck, and fingers. But he keeps in mind not to take a bite out of you to much! Wouldn't want you leaving him would we?

Feeling the softness of his stomach Beneath your foldes legs feel like they were on a cloud. His large hands holding your hips just to hold you. Placing your hands on his shoulders, which was covered by his regular blood-red sweater. Sending you a grin, he tilts his head in a curious manner. " Watcha waiten' on suga?" Lifting one of his eye brows at you. You look away for a moment, thinking. " Well, I don't know where to bite you at." Letting out a booming laugh, slightly moving you up and down from your placement on his stomach. Before stilling. Still letting out a few chuckles" Please, hun. I've bittan inta' more people than ya could blink. I'ma be fine." Tilting his head more to give you room, his turtle-neck pulled aside. You nod, deciding to trust him. What else could you do? You knew he would force you if you didn't, he always did. But it wasn't like you wanted to stop, you where just making up scenarios. Leaning into the nave of his neck, you bite down. Not softly, but not rough either. Comfortable. You feel the rumble through his neck when he groans. Knowing him by know that he more than likely had some drool running down his stubbled chin. Lifting your hand, you dig it in his dark, black hair. Massaging his scalp as you bite harder. Making a iron-like taste invade your mouth. You feel Bob's arms wrap around you, pushing you against him harder. The position of your legs making it slightly uncomfortable, but you manage. The sounds falling out of his mouth sound like one of pleasure, not even in a sexual way. Just knowing that you were the one doing this was comforting to him. So, while it last. He indulged as much as he could.

Bob is also fiercely possessive. And just the thought of having a piece of himself inside of you( shut up, I know what you all have going through your heads right now)? Makes him happy, it makes him feel at peace. Because where ever you go he'll always be with you; protecting you, keeping you, owning you. you get this gist. And having a piece If your flesh in him does the same thing. You'll always be with him no matter what.

If you want, he'll let you kill someone yourself! He'll watch like a proud dad as you stab them. Pointing at you and going, 'see that? That's my wife that's killing you' then, he might let you cook with him! The reason that he doesn't do it without some convincing is because cooking for you is one of his pride and joys, mostly his pride. And he likes taking care of you, it makes you rely on him.

But, by some god you do manage to convince him. He'll be instructing and watching your every move. To make sure you don't get hurt and still having some control over your actions. Besides, he was a literal cook once, and he eats human flesh like it's a religion. You know that he knows what he's doing, so you listen.

But overall, regular and yandere bob would be happy with your interest in cannabism. They have your attention on them and are able to be in your presence. Which puts both versions at ease.

Version-not edited. Will if I notice something I didn't before.

[mattsonly]

Sweetest boy

Summary: just headcannons of Nick x masc reader who grew up bestfriends with the triplets before eventually becoming more than Nick's bestfriend.

Warnings: smut & fluff, blowjobs, handjobs, anal, mlm sex, male masturbation, sexual fantasies, switch!Nick, switch!Reader, no use of y/n, readers sexuality is not mentioned but definitely not straight, also this is very long (not sorry)

a/n: ik i said i would be writing in order of how the poll went but fuck yall, i wanted to write for Nick and i'm impatient sooo

~

you were the first person Nick came out to, despite being scared of coming out to "straight" men, he had always felt comfortable around you.

the safety he felt with you amplified on a ten fold when you immediately accepted him with no questions asked.

hearing that your best friend liked men had you feeling fuzzy and warm, the source of the sensation confusing you deeply

as if you weren't already intertwined within each others lives, you started hanging out even more due to the new found trust, supporting Nick from the sidelines with a massive smile when he got around to telling his parents and brothers

he confided in you about how much better he felt afterwards, somehow waking up the next morning with all your limbs entangled, the TV screen bobbing around the 'no signal' logo, and a random stiffness between your legs

safe to say you quickly shifted away from your still sleeping bestfriend and into the bathroom to take care of your evident issue, images of Nick flashing through your mind to aid your release, all of him in quite compromising situations. if it wasn't for your predicament, you would feel perverted yet you were currently too desperate to care.

the swift movement of your fist against your stiff cock had obscene wet noises filling the small space of the bathroom, only fueling your passionate movements as you threw your head back, imagining your hand to be Nick's mouth, his plump lips wrapped around your ruddy tip as you harshly tug on his hair, his name spilling out of your own mouth like a softly spoken mantra

the shame only sunk in after you'd cum, which was a lot quicker than you'd like to admit.

to make up for your perverted actions, you settled on making Nick breakfast for when he woke up, claiming it to be an innocent gesture since you "just so happened to wake up early"

(un)fortunately for you, Nick saw right through your antics, and would be lying if he said he hadn't woken up to the sound of you moaning his name in the adjacent bathroom.

he'd be an even bigger liar if he said he hadn't quietly palmed his own cock to the obscene sounds under the covers of his bed.

the whole scenario confused the hell out of Nick, yes he liked men, but he had never seen you in that light, you were always his closest and dearest friend so to admit that he'd never been as turned on in his life from the noises you were making perplexed him deeply.

the few weeks following the ordeal had Nick almost certain you were trying to take him out. it wasn't unheard of for you to sleepover at the triplets house, residing in their home more than your own. so Nick wasn't shocked by you walking into the kitchen with messy hair and a big yawn, rubbing sleep out of your eye before sending him a smile.

he assumed you'd slept in either Matt or Chris' room, either would mean that there wasn't actually much sleeping involved, and instead you'd be up entertaining their wild theories and ideas.

but what did shock him however, was the fact you were prancing around the kitchen with no shirt, and pajama pants hung low on your hips, a small trail of hair leading down to the waistband of your pants, with your sculpted v line on full display.

the image swarmed Nicks mind as he tugged furiously on his own cock later that day, entranced with the mental picture. oh how he wished the waistband had just hung a little lower, exposing exactly what had his mouth currently salivating. just from the outline of your bulge in almost any pants, he had deducted that it was big.

multiple other mental images from the past few weeks clouded his already fuzzy mind, the image of you manspreading while adjusting the position of your hips to get comfortable, the image of your favourite compression shirt and how it framed your biceps so deliciously it made Nick want to desperately grip them for leverage as he lay beneath you, entirely at your mercy. or the image of you in your cropped tank top, with your jeans sat lowly on your hips exposing your boxers waistband, your belt the only thing preventing them from falling down.

said outfit was Nick's favourite, practically transforming him into a ravenous feral animal, it made him want to obliterate you, see you begging and whining from his touch, salty tears streaming down your face as you begged him to let you cum

the fantasy had his eyes rolling back, his hand squeezing around his desperate cock as spurts of warm cum flooded from the tip, hitting his chest softly.

entirely ignorant to his surroundings as Nick caught his breath with his eyes still screwn shut, the delicate touch of someone's fingertips against the sticky puddle on his chest scared him to say the least

however, upon looking up to see you, with your fingers that were coated with his release situated between your lips, his worry decreased, being replaced with a hardening between his legs yet again.

it was as if Nick had died, ascended to heaven with the way your dick was making him feel not even minutes later.

he lay, on his back as he was when you walked in, with one ankle resting on your shoulder and the other wrapped around your hips as they slammed into him relentlessly, the harsh pace contradicting your soft whispers into his ear, and the gentle kisses to his neck and collarbone as your most intimate places were collided with one another.

Nick had never felt so loved and cared for when someone was being so rough with him, but you were always good at that.

you had always had a talent of making Nick feel safe and comfortable, becoming the first person he would always go to when in distress, even before his brothers.

this fact was what lead him to want to repay the favour in the morning.

waking up against your chest, awoken from your soft whimpers, the occasional slip of his name from your lips alongside the hardness beneath his thigh and he knew what was going on.

so, after awaking you from your evidently pleasant dream by landing soft kisses over your jaw and collarbones, he was now the one thrusting into you, his calloused hand stroking your cock with fervor which had your eyes transcending to the back of your head and your back arching so much that your chest was flush against Nick's.

suffice to say, the conversation following cleared up and curiosities, answered the unanswered questions and secured you a boyfriend.

dating someone you'd grown up alongside and seen every phase of their life, not having to adjust and slowly get comfortable with was an astounding feeling.

and if it wasn't clear that Nick was affectionate when you were bestfriends, it sure was now.

before even telling his brothers or anyone for that matter, he would always be subtly connected with you in some way.

connecting your pinkies, touching your knees under the breakfast table, holding your hand underneath a blanket during any movie nights, tugging on your sleeve when walking in public. any possible small gesture to ensure he was somehow touching you.

the way his brothers found out was one to be remembered.

Nick lay on your lap, reciting his day to you as you softly run your fingers through his hair, your unoccupied hand laying gently on his abdomen as his own hands flail in the air, emphasising the words of his narration.

of course, you wanted to know all about his day, you cared to know the little details.. but, as of now, it was impossible to concentrate on his words, your eyes lingering on his soft lips under the light of the small bedroom lamp. he looked so perfect and so kissable... so you did, leaning down and gently connecting your lips, interrupting his trail of thought.

which was probably, definitely a bad time for Chris and Matt to barge in, Chris trying to desperately urge Nick to leave his room so Matt could take them to all get food, before his yes land on his brother... and best friend

without a second thought, Chris immediately corrects his prior statement, "nevermind, Matt is taking me, you and y/n to get food. cmon! i'm starving!"

Nick immediately sits up, a flushed grin on his face before you both burst into hysterics, exiting his room and making your way into the car.

the car ride wasn't nearly as awkward as you had both anticipated, neither Chris or Matt questioning what they walked in on before Chris spoke up

"okay, so i won't lie i'm a little shocked and tell me to fuck off if this is a bit too nosy but are you like.. gay? bi?"

his question had you giggling in the backseat as he looks at you in the rearview mirror, awaiting an answer. "i don't know dude, i just like what i like"

your response forces a smile out of Nick, his cheeks pink as he looks at you lovingly.

"and you like our brother?" he asks, almost threatening you as if you hadn't been friends practically your whole life. his hostility had Matt shaking his head in disbelief, smiling nontheless.

"yes Chris, i like your brother"

upon hearing that, it was now Matt's turn to look at you through the rearview mirror, offering a small smile as he witnesses you take his older brothers hand gently into your own.

the months and weeks following went brilliantly, yours and Nick's relationship blossoming into one that had promises for the future. and, it helped you didn't have to earn his brothers' approval. they knew you genuinely liked Nick, and they were more than content seeing how happy you made him.

of course, there had to be some... moments that would inevitable occur in your otherwise smooth relationship, such as when Chris or Matt would turn their heads to the to of you only to see you both in the midst of a makeout session, earning a pillow chucked at your heads.

and then there were the comments from Chris, that were either incredibly disturbing or so stupid they were hilarious.

"it's like seeing my two brothers making out"

"not that i didn't already consider you my brother, but if you and Nick got married then you literally would be!"

"oh fuck me, four brothers???"

Nick was the first of the pair of you to say "i love you", the words slipping from his lips on the journey back after getting his wisdom teeth removed. your boyfriend looked at you with a dopey and evidently drugged-up smile, his eyes swarming with adoration as his words slur and mash together.

your response has his smile growing even wider, almost splitting his cheeks, causing a silly giggle escape his throat.

"i love you too, sweet boy"

too entranced in smiling widely at your adorable boyfriend, you completely missed the way Chris grumpily shoved a $100 dollar bill in Matt's palm, Matt sat with a cocky grin.

[bornagainmurdock]

coming back from space (sub!matt version)

author's note: almost unrelated, but what's matt's astrological chart? bc he has to be a water sun, fire moon, and fire rising, right? please

contents: 18+ ONLY, suggestive but ultimately fluffy, matt murdock x reader, gender neutral reader, sub!matt, coming back from subspace, aftercare, mentions of dumbification, use of 'mutt,' biting

work count: 1.3k

Matt's head was fuzzy, and unable to process everything around him. The bed under his body was slowly entering his senses, and it was agonizing. The sheets were soft enough to keep him from panicking, but it was too much, his entire back, ass, and thighs raw from the sensation.

"Matty? Hey baby, you coming back to me now?" Your voice broke though the static in Matt's head, overpowering the fuzzy noises of the city sneaking through the cracks in the windows.

"Hmm." He hummed, now trying to figure out what was under his head. Soft and smooth, and warm, and he smiled. It was you.

"How are you feeling? You were really deep there." When Matt started wiggling, you placed your hand in his hair, petting through the strands and untangling them with care.

His hearing was still uneven, his right ear amplified and his left still coming back to earth. Your voice made it would like he was underwater, or in the shower prying water out of his ears.

"What am— where am I?" He was blinking over and over, eventually rubbing his eyes and try to clear the fog.

"Did i sink you so far down you forgot you're blind? Matthew that's concerning." You were giggling, but serious as could be.

He blinked a few more times before realizing you were right, removing his hands from his eyes, looking around without seeing.

"Oh yah. Was so far into space, saw pluto. I guess didn't see pluto, but I knew it was there. All the way out with the asteroid belt. Zoomin." He was smiling. It was gentle and loving, and addicting to see him so happy.

"Pluto, hmm? That's pretty impressive." You were slow to bring him back. You knew how hard it was to come down from subspace.

Matt turned his head to nuzzle into your thigh, his nose poking at your skin. The warmth was tempting, he wanted to dig his way to your bones, nuzzle in there and be a part of you.

"Think I'm only at saturn, that's not too far away right? Still close? Maybe? What are the nine planets?" He wiggled and readjusted, shrinking in on himself until he was a small ball in your lap, innocent expression looking up at you.

"What's the first one?" You knew he could barely remember his own name right now.

"Think it's mars. NO! No nonononono. It's the other 'M' one. Mmmmmm— mmmmmm?" His tone trailed with the question. "Mercury!"

"Good job baby! First one is mercury. What's next?" You petted his cheek, leaning down to kiss ove the blush as a reward.

"I'm a lawyer, not an astronaut. Why would I know that?"

"It's that one Mitski lyric. Planet of love?" Matt didn't listen to Mitski, but you did, and that man could hear you blasting 'Be The Cowboy' from streets over, texting you to make sure you were mentally stable.

In a sing-songy tone, Matt danced in your lap, "Venus, planet of love, was destROYED!"

"Such a good singer, baby." You smiled down at him. "My favorite singer."

"Can we listen to music?" He asked shyly, not worried that you'd say no, but worried you'd play something too silly for the moment.

"Of course baby." You twisted to grab your phone off the side of the bed, unlocking it to open spotify and search for your designated aftercare playlist. "How about Debussy?"

"Mmhm, yes please."

You hit play and Matt relaxed into your skin, bobbing his head with the beat and relaxing into the piano.

You both sat cuddled together, curling in on one another and wiggling to get as much skin to skin contact. Matt naked and shivering wherever your body wasn't, and you, half dressed, clothing pulled and tugged at by Matt's hands just a few minutes ago.

You traced your fingers over the expanse of his body, tickling the sides of his stomach and the backs of his knees. He wriggled in your hold, but smiley whole time.

"Matty, do you wanna talk about the scene now? I wanna know what you liked." You broke the silence, trying to get Matt closer and closer to reality.

"You. I like you." He nipped at the skin pulled over your collarbones.

"You know that is not what I asked, baby."

"Hmph," Matt said defeated, "I liked when you were mean to me. Like that a lot. You could be meaner though." He poked your belly with the last word.

"Yah? Like what?" You pushed him further, liking the view of him searching through his memory.

"Welllll, don't remember things exactly, but at one point you called me a dumb mutt and I think I died and went to heaven. Never called me that before. Didn't think I'd like it. Maybe just liked the way you said it." He sorted through the scene, still looking for highlights.

"Good boy. And such a dumb mutt, too! I'm glad you liked it. Felt it in the moment, but was worried it was too much." You said.

He nosed up at your chin, silently begging for more attention.

"Can't say it anymore it's tooooo good. Want me back in space?" He was already a bit dazed again.

"I know my love, just teasing you." You giggled. "What else did you like?"

"I liked when you looked at me with those eyes. Can't see them, but could feel you saw me in half with those lasers. Felt like I was burning up and exploding and like I was the smallest thing in the world," Matt was losing his breath as he talked, pushing through each word, "Liked when you bit me too. Can still feel it radiating through me, your tooth marks, they are still there aren't there."

"Yes baby, clear as day, can still see them," You reached over to his shoulder, pressing into the bite marks, feeling where your teeth were. "They still feel warm."

"Toasty!" Matt whispered, wiggling again in your lap.

"I'm glad you liked that. I liked it too."

"Do it again?" He pouted.

You lifted his body up for his shoudler to be mouth level to you, starting by dragging your teeth over the marks that were already there. Matt was already a mess again, whimpering and begging. You licked over the marks, absorbing some of the heat form his skin.

"Ready, baby?" You flicked you tongue, pressing a bit harder than you had previously.

Matt's back arched, his shoulder pushing closer to your mouth. This was the leverage you needed.

You bit down softly at first, then slowly increasing the pressure allowing Matt time to adjust to the sensation. And the you bit down heard, Matt throwing his head back against you unable to stop himself from moaning and squirming.

His hips bucked up, legs straining under his body. Matt reached a hand up to your face, just to be met with one of your hands pinning his wrist to his chest instead. His finger nails dug into his skin, imprinting there.

You pressed a little harder before pulling away to view the damage.

"I hmmm," Matt struggled to make a sentence. "Thank you."

"The world for you." You licked at the teeth marks again.

"Hmmm. One more?" He asked hopeful.

"No more. Time to get cleaned up lovebug. Let me help you up." You pushed his body away from you to swing your legs over the bed from around Matt, dragging him with you.

"Bath?" He tried to get his footing but ultimately relied on you to stand.

"Of course, let me go fill the tub. Want to pick a bathbomb?"

"Yes, please."

[mychlapci]

Idk if you've ever decided how you feel about Bob x Sunstreaker, but i like to think Bob is a freaky little guy. (If you don't like this pls ignore it, i jus' love insecticons fragging.)

I need Sunstreaker to go into heat, writhing and whimpering on his bed. Sides' is gone, and he doesn't feel comfy asking anyone for help. Usually he has someone else watch Bob when he goes into heat, but it seems like this time he has forgotten.

Aft up, he has an arm reached under him, squeezing and stroking his spike. But he just can't cum. He's shaking, on the verge of sobbing. When he feels a long wet stripe drag across his heated valve, he cries out, frame jerking as heat flares throughout his body.

He has no time to process the weight that settles across his back before some presses against his valve lips. A small chrrp and chitter finally has him realizing whats happening.

"B-Bob?-" he pants out.

Something shoves its way into his valve, Something thick and heavy and long. He about bluescreens, especially when it starts to pull back and the small spines rake across his valve, leaving no node untouched.

Sunstreaker's heat muddled processor loves it, but he also feels rather horrified that this is happening, despite the fact Bob initiated. Claws dig into his plating as the insecticon pounds into him, purring happily. So pleased to make his master feel good.

The humiliation only amplifies the pleasure.

Maybe bob knots him and fills him with eggs. And maybe Sideswipe comes back and walks in only to see his twin being taken. Surely Sideswipe should be disgusted, but he feels only the urge to join in.

I need Sideswipe heavily pregnant with hundreds of tiny swam members, and Bob is happy to have a mate.

As i said, if this isnt you're thing, please ignore this! I'm just happy to get this out of my brain.

oh i feel very good about Bob and Sunstreaker. I think Bob should hump Sunstreaker's fertile valve until Sunny’s squealing into his pillow, trembling through powerful overloads <3 he knows he should kick Bob off of him, but in his relief he can’t find it in him to care. Until the eggs come, of course…. Then he starts squirming.

mhmm maybe by the time Sunstreaker is overloading his brains out around the last of the eggs, Sideswipe finds his twin getting humped by his pet insecticon and knows it’s already too late to do anything about it. Still he kicks Bob off of Sunstreaker’s back, optics lingering for a little too long on Bob’s barbed ovipositor spike....