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#GN!Reader
ghouljams · 2 days
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I’m obsessed with the idea of turning the sensitivity up super high on Android!Ghost‘s dick. Making him all overstimulated and he just doesn’t know what to do bc he’s not used to this!!! He’s just whining and writhing, completely lost on whether to buck up into the feeling or to run away from it!!! Poor baby doesn’t know what to do with himself of where to put his hands :( 
(I also love the idea of his systems overheating, but idk if he can do that LOL)
When you were designing the orgasm programs this was a definite concern. Finding the right balance of sensitivity and system wide responses was certainly difficult. There was a lot of testing that went into each iteration. Which meant calling Ghost into the workshop and hooking him up to your computer to run the programs. Just because you haven't hooked up the main component doesn't mean you can't test the software, and the orgasm itself is what you're really worried about.
Of course coming with no build up would be a shock to anyone's system, but especially for an android that hasn't had one in, well, ever. You hook the last of the wires into the back of Ghost's head, careful with each port and line. You press run and watch the screen for system malfunctions, watch the file upload and and fill up as the entire thing warms up.
Then Ghost jolts, chokes, and grabs the edge of the worktable. His back arches and his hips buck, body searching for something it doesn't have the subroutines for, the equipment for. Reflexively he grabs for where his dick would be, if you'd installed the prototype for this test, and when his hand finds open air it squeezes into a tight fist. A low, broken swear drips from Ghost's synthetic vocal cords, something garbled and lost in the translation from thought to speech. You're a little worried the angle of the arch in his back is going to snap the new spinal plate you installed. He's so tight, held taut like a bow being pulled back and back and back.
Warnings flash on your screen. Red levels and bars the fluctuate too high too fast. System overheating. You can see smoke starting to drift from the seams around his neck, and rush to pull the program's plug. A few deft keystrokes and Ghost collapses onto the workbench, his chest heaving as his cooling systems kick into high gear. You rush to unhook the wires and he catches your fingers in one big hand.
"Just gimme a minute," He tries, you can almost make out the sound of breath ghosting over the sound, "then we'll run it again."
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gazspookiebear · 1 day
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Mmm, thinking about Ghost going on a date with reader after not having been in a proper relationship in years
He was never one for hookups, and he could never keep long-term relationships. Most lasted about a month at most before he backed out.
Fast forward to now, he's been invited out by you. He figures it'll be like most other dates, a quick dinner at a noisy restaurant before he gets overwhelmed and leaves.
To his surprise, it isn't. You kept his comfort in mind and suggested a walk by the bay instead.
When he walks beside you in silence, you don't seem to take offense. In fact, you don't seem to mind at all. You fill in his silence with easy conversation, keeping it focused on you and not trying to pry into his personal life.
You don't hesitate when he responds with one word answers, instead taking the opportunity to discuss an interest of your own. By the time it's long past dark out, you offer to take him home, apologizing for not acknowledging the time sooner. He didn't want to stop listening to your voice
When he declines your offer, you smile. You tell him to stay safe, to rest well, and to text you when he gets home.
At his apartment, he can't stop thinking about you. About how polite and kind you were. About how you actually cared about his feelings, how you weren't off put by him.
He glances at his phone.
You receive a text at 1 in the morning. A simple 'Back safe.'
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agendercrisisx · 3 days
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His jaw clenched as the boy's hand snaked around your waist. You knew you were his, and yet you enjoyed this game. Riling him up. Making him see red. Toying with whoever unknowingly laid their hands on you. Just to see them destroyed later. You didn't care who got hurt. If you had your fun and got what you wanted. And you ALWAYS got what you wanted.
He didn't stand a chance against you. You both knew it. He knew this was a game. But he fell in with both feet anyway. He couldn't resist. He couldn't deny you anything. And if you wanted to play, you would get a game. A game of mouse and cat. No matter how many times you think you're gonna win, you always lose. You think you're the cat, but quickly gets shown otherwise. But it's not going to stop you from playing again.
Another foolish game. Another foolish loss. But you ended up exactly where you wanted. Below him. With his dick buried deep in you. His hand in your hair and the other on your waist. As his hips snap against yours. Having you moaning and whimpering. Screaming for a break. But both of you know, there is no world where he stops, and in no world do you actually want him to stop.
You always begin the game, and he always finishes it. It's never gonna change. Not that you want it to.
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tsukimara · 18 hours
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જ⁀➴ 𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐭 𖹭
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✰ Pairing: Scaramouche x Gn!Assistant!Reader
✰ Scaramouche wearing his coat (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)
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You were shaking like jelly from the cold, it was always cold in Snezhnaya, but today the temperature dropped even more. Unfortunately, you forgot your coat that was special for your uniform and it was all because you overslept and had to rush.
You worked for Scaramouche, so being late wasn't even an option, especially since you were his assistant. He himself said that he didn't need anyone to help him, but then he agreed, although there was no joy on his face, on the contrary.
And so it's been 3 years since you worked with him, it was a little better than before, now he doesn't shout at you and when he gets mad at you, he just ignores you. You also noticed that you had less work than before, you no longer had to check hundreds of documents or go on dangerous missions, of course you still had a lot of work, but not as much as before.
Being his assistant also meant that you had to be around him almost constantly, so now you stood here, shivering, while he shouted at some Fatuus who was probably new and didn't understand everything yet. When Scaramouche stopped shouting at them, they quickly ran away to fix their mistakes.
"My Lord Scaramouche, wasn't that too much? After all, they are new." — If anyone else had asked him it, they probably would have ended up in the middle of the ocean with nothing, but it was you, you could tell he treated you the best out of everyone.
"If they can't do a simple job without any mistakes, I don't see a point in them working here." — He crossed his and a grimace appeared on his face. What was unusual was that he was wearing a coat, it was obvious that it didn't suit his stature, it was much too big. Then he looked you up and down.
"Do you want to be sick or something? Where's your coat?" — You were slightly surprised to hear these questions sounding concerned, which was strange coming from him.
"Oh well, I overslept and forgot to take it." — You admitted, hoping he wouldn't be mad that you overslept and that it might have caused you to be late. He sighed and shook his head. You noticed him taking off his coat and he walked over to you, covering you with his coat. You were about to say something when he suddenly started buttoning coat and he put a fluffy hood over your head, which accidentally fell into your eyes. You could hear the little chuckle from him as he adjusted the hood so you could see at least a little.
"Next time, you have to take your coat even if you're late. If you're sick, that means you won't be able to assist me, do you understand?" — His gorgeous eyes stared into yours, all you could do was nod because you didn't know what to even say. He started to walk away and you stood frozen in his coat, you could smell the faint scent of his perfume since he didn't wear it often.
"Are you coming?"
"Yes, my Lord." — You quickly ran to him, hiding your face in hood to hide your embarrassed face. What you didn't know was that he had a bit of pink on his cheeks, which he hid with that hand.
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➥ Genshin Impact Masterlist ➥ Masterlist
➥ Rules request
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generalsdiary · 2 days
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Aventurine x gn!reader
warnings: none
word count: under 300
a/n: not beta read, why is a hazbin hotel song such a jam?
description: he leaves you for a man
you two were happy. or at least that's what you thought. your boyfriend on the other hand started forcing his smiles, behaving indifferently and disinterested in anything relating to spending time with you. when you sit down and express your concerns and your wishes to fix it.. well... you don't get good news.
“look I don't... I am unsure of what it is. we are good, I.. just... there's something.. I am missing something, us, it, just-“ you feel worried, he doesn't even say he is happy with you. why is this happening? what changed? you stay silent trying to hear him out.
“... it feels empty, something isn't there, I- this just doesn't feel right” those words come out much harsher to your ears than how he said them.
one thing leads to another and you two break up in a calm way with a clean cut.
truly not even 24 hours pass, you see him in a bar chatting along with Ratio, and dear gods it is obvious. the way he is smiling, laughing, being genuine, and seems like he is enjoying himself.
that is how you met him, with the doctor beside him. and you thought you were the one making him so joyful. you can't help but pity him because he didn't realise yet, that he is profoundly and utterly in love with that man.
of course this, you too, felt wrong and hollow, you aren't the one that fits him like a puzzle piece, the one who matches him and his needs.
you would never be who he wants.
// part 2 an anon asked for (it's like 100 words)
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criminalamnesia · 3 months
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Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!
And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.
ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.
ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE
when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.
you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.
your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.
you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.
one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.
you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.
one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.
the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.
he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.
“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.
the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.
well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.
you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.
apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.
simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.
“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.
“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.
the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.
you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.
the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?
“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”
“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”
“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.
“points to you.”
“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.
he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.
“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.
you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.
“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.
“or should we take off another?”
you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”
“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.
“ghost!”
it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.
“what, mactavish? im busy.”
“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.
the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).
“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.
“it’s fucking shepard.”
it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.
you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.
“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.
you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.
you pass out.
when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.
“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.
your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.
the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.
your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.
“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.
you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.
“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.
“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.
“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”
he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.
he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.
just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.
“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.
you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.
“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.
“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”
“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.
“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.
“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.
“and whose fault is that?”
the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.
“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.
you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.
simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.
your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.
“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.
“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.
the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.
“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.
spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.
john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.
when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.
the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.
there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.
it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.
your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.
when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.
“how’re you feeling?”
you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.
“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”
the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.
the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.
“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.
no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.
you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—
you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.
that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.
your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.
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authors note:
I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.
thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶
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sockmeat · 3 months
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Alastor in rut but instead of him being horny he's just really lovey
This man is trying so hard, bringing you shit and killing your enemies just so you think he's a worthy mate
If you're already in a relationship, he's so much clingier than usual. This mf is literally hovering around you and using any excuse to touch you
He also gets a lot more possessive than usual, getting upset if anybody takes your attention away from him (he's less patient with men than he is with women)
So obviously he has to claim his territory, and he does that by dressing you in a lot of red and making sure your outfits are always matching
He's only a little embarassed about it when he's back to normal
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ghouljams · 3 days
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What Once Was
A perspective shift, a pause, a brief respite before doubt takes hold again. Android!Ghost feels his heart beat.
You grew up in Manchester, or at least you had a job out there. You don’t like thinking about “growing up.” As far as you’re concerned you’ve been doing this your whole life. Fixing things. You had a job, an apprenticeship, with a bot mechanic at one of the industrial plants. You’d taught yourself coding, but at risk of electrocution you’d found someone to teach you the rest. It was hard, but the work was rewarding. You were young, but unlike people, bots care more about the results than how long a doctor has been a doctor. They didn’t ask questions, they didn’t know they should have. 
The area was rough, you always liked the industrial parts of town, but even you could admit the place had seen better days. There was this old butcher shop. Real old school, but people like that. Meat tastes better when it’s cut by human hands, you’d heard someone say once. And there was this kid working there, Simon, he couldn’t have been much older than you. You saw him on your lunch breaks sometimes. You shared your sandwich with him.
He smiled sometimes, more than you would have thought given everything you knew about him. He liked working with his hands, you got that. He liked being away from home, you got that too. He never called you crazy when you talked about bots like they were people. He was sweet, you liked that about him. 
He disappeared one day, without saying goodbye. You figured that was just what happened to people who lived like you two did. You didn’t even bother with a police report. Maybe you should have.
-
You still sit with your knees pulled up to your chest when you’re working on small parts. Your brows still furrow the way they did when you were a teenager. Ghost watches you flip down your magnifier over your eyes and remembers teasing you about needing glasses from squinting too much. You still blow the dust out of old cartridges and stick them into your arsenal of wires just to listen to the technicolor drone of ancient video games while you work.
“Just the music,” you’d told him years and years ago, “it helps me focus.”
You’re exactly the same, and yet you’re so unfathomably different. Or maybe he’s different. Different in the ways that matter most, in the ways that mean you’ll never recognize him. It’s better like this. He’s been through too much to be the sort of man you deserve. Barely a man at all, really.
That doesn’t stop him from circling you, like a moth to a flame, or a weary soldier to the comfort of home. He finds himself in your workshop with repairs that aren’t repairs, with injuries that he’s never been bothered by before. Ghost sits and lets you run diagnostics, lets you poke and prod at his gears, and he never says a word. Never mentions that you still look beautiful in work lights, that you shouldn’t hold your tweezers in your mouth because you always pinch your lip, that you’re still you even when he isn’t sure he’s still himself. He never mentions that he has a million things he’s never told you, that he wanted to tell you but never got the chance to. 
He thinks them sometimes: when he’s watching you work, when you smile up at a bot warmly, when you ask him what’s wrong, when you start walking towards him before you even know what he needs, when you lay your hands on him and he flips every sensor to try and feel your warmth. He thinks that he loves you, that no matter how little of him is left he’ll always love you. He could love you with nothing, with bare circuits and white matter, and that would be enough to keep him going.
It was enough to keep him going. It isn’t anymore. Not when you’re here, so close and still a thousand miles away. Not when you don’t recognize him, when you don’t see the scrawny kid from Manchester in the corded steel and dense circuitry. 
Did you think of him when he left? Did you worry? It always felt melancholic, said as a joke that neither of you laughed at: it’s gonna kill me one day, this world’s gonna kill me. Was that what you thought happened? When you knew about his father, when he sat down for lunch with fresh bruises and a split lip, did you think that’s what happened when he didn’t show up the next day? Did you mourn him?
He should have taken you with him. Sixteen. Young enough to kill for a living, but still too young to save you. He couldn’t save anyone, couldn’t even save himself. 
They shouldn’t have put him back together.
Not if it meant he’d see you again.
Not if it meant you’d look at him like this,
Like nothing.
Repairs that aren’t repairs. Injuries that never bothered him before. Diagnostics. Circling. He knows it will burn him, he can feel the heat, but he can’t stop. Androids aren’t supposed to feel. Men aren’t supposed to be metal. And you don’t love him.
Not anymore.
(If you ever did.)
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konigsblog · 2 months
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hickeys with simon riley...
;simon notices your possessiveness and neediness.
cw: thigh riding, afab!gn!reader. mdni
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your face is buried in the crook of simon's neck, lips sucking hickeys onto his bare, veiny neck while he cups the crown of your skull firmly. his other large hand guides your hips, watching you rub your swollen, puffy sex against his thigh, moaning at the friction of his jeans against your sensitive, wet clit. your hands grip his broad shoulders, kissing down his collarbone while he chuckles at your neediness.
“such a needy thing’, rubbin’ that pussy against me, sweet one.” he chuckles hoarsely through deep grumbles, his tight grip leaving indents along your hips and waist, kneading the flesh and fat on your thighs between his thick, calloused fingers.
the softness of your body against his scarred, rough fingertips has simon grunting and gazing down at your throat heavy eyelids, chuckling at your needy state. throwing his head back as you lick his neck slowly, moving to his jaw where you layer hickeys and dark bruises all over his skin. you feel so possessive, but you can't stand the lustful glares simon gets, you want everyone to know he belongs to you... :(
don't worry, simon will treat his needy one just right, covering your neck, collarbone and jaw in dark hickeys as he unfastens his leather belt, preparing you to take him whole, to make sure you know who you belong to.
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just-a-sewer-goblin · 4 months
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The way Soap would use military talk to get a reaction from you. He knows you're into it. So you're standing in the kitchen, maybe cooking something and you can hear his raspy voice from behind the corner "Got visuals on the target" and you're already grinning, wisely putting down anything that could make a mess. You hear slight shuffling and a whispered "Nice and stealthy boys", the next thing you know is him tackling you and immediately catching you in his arms, carefully lowering you to the floor. He crawls over you rasping: "Hostage secured", and presses his lips to yours but you both have to laugh. And it ends up being a messy kiss because you both can't stop giggling and grinning into the kiss. And when he breaks away because you're both smiling so wide it's just impossible to properly kiss, you put your hand on his chest and tell him: "You're a goof MacTavish". His smile softens and he replies: "Aye, your goof, that is."
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aae-tuu · 6 months
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Gojo Satoru being the most annoying out of pocket boyfriend with zero boundaries is something I live for
Imagine you’re eating a pastry
and you bite off a piece and he sees you eating and comes over to you. once he’s near you he opens his mouth and you’re thinking to yourself
‘Maybe he wants me to feed it to him…’
like a normal person
except Gojo isn’t normal
“Do you want a piece?” You ask him as you chew your pastry.
he nods and with the most serious look on his face, he says the next sentence
“I want the piece that’s in your mouth.”
you pause as you slowly turn to look at him.
“huh?”
“I want you to bird feed it to me”
“.… what.”
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2kiran · 12 days
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BOYYYYY THE MILKMAN SMUT WAS SO GOOD. care for another one? i NEED to fuck the real francis mosses now…i’m imagining the doppelgänger being jealous asf of him too ouuujhhhh
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FRANCIS MOSSES 交易 ── `` DARK CONTENT﹕nonconsensual voyeurism. top amab reader. doppelgänger francis is watching, real one doesn’t know it. dry humping. clothed sex. different timeline from prev fic. ✶ IN WHICH francis wants to be more than just a neighbor.
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for who to blame, you don’t permit yourself to think. francis, the lovely neighbor, is propped on your lap. poor man was flustered, sweat gathering on his skin like a coat. gullible; and so unaware. entirely dumb of the fact that his doppelgänger was gazing upon the scene through the crack of your bedroom door. you could almost imagine the creature’s expression, twisted in envy.
your palms cupping his hips, which are erratically pressing themselves against you. chasing after the friction he craved during the in-between’s of his working hours, pent up frustrations translating into insatiable sexual desire.
“gosh, ‘m sorry... hnngh, needed to feel you against me.” his teeth grit with a whine, tucking his head to your shoulder. effectively obscuring his ever burning pit of shame which laid heavily in his gut.
supposedly, you were to help him of deliveries as a noble—not only a doorman but as well a—citizen. however, you were not put in a situation to complain whilst he clutched onto you as he switched to tantalizing grinds. “couldn’t wait anymore, hm?”
words a tease, he could feel himself losing track of the rhythm. sloppy and unexperienced; though not enough to be labeled as someone so pure from filth. “please,” the doppelgänger’s eyebrows wrinkled with disgust at the actual francis’ plea.
“please, i, mm,” and the milkman is at a loss for words.
the creature, despite his apparent hatred, palmed his cock within the confines of his pants. fuck, his tip was leaking with pre-cum that without a doubt painted his length in a creamy tone.
he was ablaze with jealousy while you got your dick wet with the one whose identity he attempted to steal. “say it.” the commanding quality of your voice left no room for objections that even he felt the obligation to speak his thoughts.
“can- can i take off your pants? i want you inside me..” what a darling francis mosses was.
a humming released from your sealed lips; he waits. “not completely,” he’s confused until you pull the zipper, freeing your cock from the side and his shyness returns. “better?”
francis nods, cheeks warmed at the scenery. the doppelgänger despised that. “i’m ready, did it myself this morning.” he sheepishly mumbles, releasing himself of his lower garments. “did you plan this?”
it’s taken as an accusation. “no!” could’ve been an exclaim if he wasn’t so breathless in effort of aligning his hole to your tip, “but i’ve... imagined it, you know. keep myself awake to— oh fuck.”
an inch, then a second, and now you’re void of a clue. rewarding yourself with the relief of triumph of the theory that he would feel a lot better than the copy; he is.
if you were to say that aloud, you’re sure the targeted one would be angry enough to keep you from finding your release.
francis’ thighs lay atop of yours, warming your cock with his sensitive walls. he tries to lift himself up, only to realize he was incapable. energy spent due to the earlier attempts. you are met with a whimper, a look in his eye, and the trembling of his lips.
the other tenants are certain to file a complaint.
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masterlist﹒divider﹒artist kaworinx
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maroonswan · 1 year
Text
Thinking about pro hero!Kirishima being a gentle giant with a monster cock.
When he making out with his partner, he knows he can’t hide his erection, so he doesn’t try. Instead, he takes your small hand in his and places it around the imprint of his hard cock. It’s warm and large, filling the width of your palm as he guides you on how to stroke it through his stiff jeans, leading you up and down just the tip of his length. 
“Feel that, babe? That’s all you, making me feel so good.” he sighs into your lips before kissing you. His tongue intermingeling with yours as his swallows your moans. 
It’s driving him crazy how well you fit in his lap; one hand squeezing the plushness of your ass as his other inches yours up further, toward the cool metal of his zipper. The tip of your fingers grazing at the clothed base of his cock, making him throb. 
He can’t wait to see how good it will feel when you have them circled around him, how your little hands would be fighting to make a fist around the girth of his cock. Your sweet throat straining to take him as you jerked the rest of his length with a greedy self-sabotaging need to make him cum while your already straining not to suffocate. 
Kirishima breaks away from the kiss then, his tounge still connected to yours by a thin shiny string of saliva. He’s staring into your eyes, dumbly. Red pupils blown out like he’s seen something amazing.
It makes you giggle, half from amusement and half from concern. You hope you didn’t break him.
“Ei, are you okay?”
Kirishima lays you down while nodding. You’ve never heard him be so quiet as he launches himself off the bed. The anticipation having you clenching he stares down at you; his crotch only a few inches away from your face as he starts to undo his zipper, tugging down his pants and boxers until they’re just barely off. His newly freed cock flopping forward to deliver a rude slap to your face.
Your pro hero boyfriend apologizes sweetly as he grasps your chin and tilts it just so until your lips are a hair’s breath away from his leaking tip. The needing throb of his cock forcing you to give it kisses. 
“Just need this mouth so bad, sweetie.” he growls. “You’re gonna open up and take it all, aren’t you?” 
You dreamily sigh a yes, already slurping on the head as he groans and growls. His hands hooking in your hair to work you down further. Kirishima won’t stand to let himself cum until his balls are slapping against your little pink tounge. 
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porcalinecunt · 23 days
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(𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃)𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 ♡︎
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🎀 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ having the body of a cyborg came with it’s perks, including turning boothill into your own personal porn bot a plug away! ~ ♡︎
·˚ ◌༘͙[featuring] ! ˊ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐗 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
cw — afab!reader. mean dom!boothill. improper use of usb ports. pornography. manhandling. overstimulation. edging. pussy drunk boothill. no pronouns for reader.
◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ author’s note! : saw someone on tt mention inappropriate use of boothill’s usb ports, and i couldn’t help myself. <33 as usual, enjoy!
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“..and i’m supposed to plug this in?”
Boothill spun the harddrive around his fingers, staring at it with both curiosity yet suspicion. it was a hot pink color with a heart sticker sloppily slapped onto the front. you handed it to him without saying a word, leaving him beyond dumbfounded.
you simply nodded, trying hard not to burst out laughing. despite the glaringly obvious USB ports that were carved into his waist, he swore to have never actually stuck anything in them. by anything, of course, were any harddrives that could’ve been packed with whatever info or footage that would’ve automatically made it’s way into his memory. he didn’t want anyone’s weird porno or stupid memes to burn into his motherboard and live with it.
yet he had a hard time saying no to you. hell, he’d never say no to you unless it’d kill you. then again, it was probably a random assortment of cat videos you came across on your feed. it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek. right?
holding up a reluctant thumbs up, you plugged the harddrive in and awaited his reaction with anticipation. boothill never looked away from your reaction, quickly noticing something was rather…off about your face. your lips curled into a seductive grin, biting down on your lower lip while hearts practically carved your pupils. your cheeks and nose were flushed a slight pink that faded to a hot red color.
yet, it was already too late for him.
his vision suddenly became a hot pink blur, the gears within his body had began to spun widely while the mini fans tried to cool down his heating body. the blood red target in his eye morphed into a pink heart while he spaced out at what was being shown in front of him.
nothing but pure pornography, some of the most explicit, flooding his memory and infecting his circuits with the love virus. boothill felt his head spin from the lewd imagery, bouncing from clip to clip of multiple sex acts all at once. from simple missionary to subs being bent in half by their ridiculously larger doms, there was even one where they were in full nelson. legs high up with thier sopping cunt in full view. it was all too much.
“so this..is what y’want me to do to ya…”
the cyborg chuckled, overwhelmed with his sudden libedo. he looks over at you with hungry eyes, flashing his shark toothed grin the moment you nodded.
“why didn’t ya say so, dollface..?”
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“a-ah! m’sorry! m’sorry boothill..! i-i was only p-playing..ngh!”
your clothes were torn clean off without a damn given, leaving you bare and vulnerable as the cyborg pumped his cock in and out of your sopping pussy. just like how you wanted it, bent in half in full nelson with your legs held high as only boothill’s arms kept you from falling. his pace was unforgiving, hungrily stuffing you full like your his last meal on death row. despite your body already stiffening from the position, boothill showed no sign of stopping. his eyes, bright pink with hearts dialating for pupils, full of burning desire and a greedy lust that clouded his judgement till his mind went blank.
it was as if the cyborg was built for fucking, his only goal being to push you beyind your human limit.
“zip it, sugar. you're gonna take m’dick even when i’m done with ya, you hear?”
boothill hissed in your ear with a mean rasp, shark-like teeth nibbling away at your earlobe. the ticklish feeling only added to the intense overstimulation that turned your brain into mush. you felt the familiar knot in your stomach close to snapping for what seems like the tenth time tonight, until a sudden emptiness snapped you back into reality. looking down, you noticed how boothill pulled himself out, leaving you hanging. a whine came out of your throat almost instinctively at the neglect.
“boothilll..! i was so clo!—“
you’re words were rudely cut off as the ranger threw you onto the bed with you laying on your back. he wasted no time crawling on top of you and pressing his heavy body against yours. trapped, you couldn’t even move an inch as you squirmed under his touch. he practically caged you.
“keep whinin’ like that and I'll leave ya empty. got that?”
as difficult as it was, you pressed your lips together and screwed your eyes shut in a desperate attempt to keep quite. your cunny spasmed around his length as he kept going with his violent pace. even with the harddrive, you could never imagine boothill going this far. you truely underestimated the strength of the virus that infected his mechanical body with such libido, yet you don’t regret it. you continued to cry out as your limbs grew numb, your senses going blank in an orgasmic euphoria. you were teetering towards the fuckin’ edge.
you sobbed out babbles of “‘m gonna cum!~” over and over again like it was automatic. finally, the knot snapped in two as stars filled your vision. if he wasn’t made of metal, you would’ve left some nasty scratch marks.
on the other hand, the ranger watched in pure awe as his pretty baby fell apart on his dick. your fucked out expression, teary eyes and pouty lips covered in spit, only fuled him for more. you couldn’t even get a breath in as you were picked up and flipped onto your stomach, ass high up in the air.
“you think ‘m done yet sugar? hehe, that’s cute.”
you could only sigh in response, unable to do anything about your own mess. lesson learned, never fuck with a machine you know so little about.
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© porcalinecunt 💌 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.
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