#there's a hole in you that's the same hole in the center of everything. not everyone can bear that. hope you can

[astrovagrant]

paging through my wyn tag simply thinking abt her. she, unlike seven and not-moya, was literally just some guy. there is nothing inherently special about her except for the fact that she is stubborn and has so many emotional problems/traumas that she burns as fuel to do monumentally stupid things and refuses to exist in a world where she is not both free and disastrously in love with being alive despite her foilbles and her cynicisms (both complimentary And derogatory). but she's very un/lucky, also, and catches each in turns. she should be the protagonist of a tragedy about hubris, by all rights - and she was, for a while. but she lived, and in both surviving + learning has carved herself into a unique niche where things, events, people (including herself) become special simply because she is there and affecting them. and because she is Different-But-Same, Now, they affect her back. she has to Let Them if she wants to stay alive. wyn sawyer, guilty of protagonizing one thousand years.

#nameless guest appearance gives her a softly-worded lecture about her metaphysicality expanding beyond her person in a way that is abnormal #you Made Yourself special. and you get to deal with it #one way or anothe4. #another* #wyn #fool's gold #there's a hole in you that's the same hole in the center of everything. not everyone can bear that. hope you can #until you find the bathtub drain plug at least

[gutsby]

Cry, Baby

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Warnings: 18+. Dacryphilia (kinda). Unprotected p-in-v. Girthy, unspecified age gap. Daddy kink. Jealous Joel.

Notes: Sorry for using pussy pronouns. It will happen again.

Joel Miller was a man of few words in most every place except the one where he found himself about to beat the brakes off your pussy. Then he never shut the fuck up.

“Uh-huh…just a little more…I know, sweet girl, I know.”

You had your hands at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel of his ‘71 Ford F-100, but rather than driving anywhere, your ass was comfortably parked on the front of his jeans—straddling his lap backwards while you rubbed your half-clad cunt over stonewashed denim. It was hell.

You’d been grinding against the bulge beneath those jeans so hard, and for so long, your white cotton undies had parted to the side, and your pleasure was nearly stretched commensurate with just how pathetic you felt.

Your head dropped between your two hands on the black molded plastic of the wheel, and you let out a whine.

“Joel—”

“Keep goin’.”

“This ain’t fair!”

Without hesitation, the hands that were holding your hips tightened their grip, and now Joel was raking your lower half over his. Rutting your core back and forth.

“You wanna know what ain’t fair?” he seethed.

He didn’t wait for you to answer.

“How much she’s been droolin’ over me all night.”

‘She’ meaning your unfucked cunt, of course.

Joel then punctuated his sentence with a particularly hard press of his palm—forcing you to lay flat on the steering wheel, hips tilted back to him. With just one callused finger of his other hand, he found you soaked between your folds. He dragged it from your clit to your aching hole, and you heard him sigh, as though sad.

“It’s a cryin’ shame,” Joel said. Lamenting.

You were almost lost to the sensation of his finger rubbing you up and down, but somehow, you managed, ‘W-W-What is, Joel?’ in between soft, plaintive sounds.

Sometimes you forgot how much older he was than you. Sometimes you said he was just like the boys your age. Other times he had you pinned like this, breaths calm and cruelly measured while you damn near came apart beneath his hand, and then you remembered everything.

“You just couldn’t wait ‘til we got home,” he grumbled.

Using the same hand he’d been stroking you with, Joel laid a quick slap to your cunt, and you jumped. Your head narrowly missed the roof of his truck; still, you groaned.

“‘M’sorry, Joel,” you keened.

You weren’t. The old man knew you weren’t.

The hand that had been splayed over your back sank in. The force of that push pressed your belly to the chipped Ford logo at the center of the steering wheel, and with the added pressure went the blare of the car’s horn.

The sound might’ve lasted two seconds before you scrambled back, desperate, into Joel’s broad chest. A couple old-timers making their way from the bar to their cars in the parking lot cocked their heads curiously in your direction a couple yards away. Seeing nothing of note, they lost interest just as quick and kept walking.

“Sorry for what?” Joel said.

At the moment, he didn’t seem to notice, or care, that his truck was parked a mere stone’s throw away from the Tipsy Bison, and bar-goers were milling freely between the building and the cars all around you. His belt unbuckled all the same, zip came down in a blink, and his thick, veiny, throbbing, and angry cock came to rest between your cheeks. He started to push you forward.

“Sorry for— for flirtin’ with Tommy,” you stammered, sucking in a breath when you felt him run the head of his cock between your lips. You could hear a soft squelch.

“And Lucien?”

“And Lucien.”

“And—”

“And Dieter, and Frankie, and Javi, and Marcus.”

Rattling off the names of all the men you’d been flirting with at the bar to make Joel jealous and take you back home to fuck you became an embarrassing chant.

“And?”

“…and Mayor Garcia,” you completed, sheepishly.

Back in there, you hadn’t been too proud to stoop to a politician’s level, even. That was how needy you’d been to get attention, and now Joel was giving it to you.

As hard as he could—he didn’t wait for the ‘OK’ before seating you on his cock. You were simply pulled back from the wheel and into his lap, onto his stiff erection, and before you could steady yourself, he started drilling.

“Even through these panties—” Joel tugged at the cream-colored cotton he’d easily slipped past, “—even through that slutty little skirt, I could feel how wet she was.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, and your hands found purchase in the torn-up leather of the seat, fisting strings and patches of fabric in a helpless sort of plea as Joel took over. With the buttons of his dark green flannel searing a stripe down your spine and his grey-speckled chin coming to nudge between your neck and your shoulder as he fucked you, you felt content. Secure.

Spilling more for him, then. Seeping rivers down the length of his shaft as he breached your walls and made you his all over again. And again. Leaving trails of arousal with every thrust, and rolling your head, limply, into his.

“She cryin’ for me?” Joel breathed, “Or somebody else?”

As if on cue, his cock hit the most sensitive ridge inside you, and you felt yourself gush even more. Dripping now.

“You.” Your voice was raw.

“Me?” Joel’s degradingly sweet.

Before you could answer ‘you’ once more, the driver’s door cracked open beside you both. For one panicked, terrifying second, you thought someone from the bar might’ve caught you two—then you were stunned to look over and see it was Joel’s own tough, steel-toed boot that had propped the door open to the cool night air.

The truck was facing the bar’s front door, shielded only by some foliage and a hatchback car about half its size. Other than that, you were exposed to whoever happened to pass by the big, bay window and take a look inside.

Joel felt you tense, and he pressed a kiss to you neck. Then he slid you carefully, almost tenderly, to the left until you were perched over the side of the seat with your legs dangling out of the truck—still filled to the hilt with his cock and pressed tight to the front of his chest.

“Cry a little more,” he urged.

Then, when your pussy gave an involuntary clench and drenched him some more, he slipped a hand around your front and started toying with your clit. Your gaze was wide, almost frightened as you stared ahead at the bar and saw patrons making rounds about the tiny place, fearing one might see you and Joel, but it felt so good. And wrong. And reckless, having this man who was easily decades your senior bouncing you up and down on his cock and letting you soil the front of his Wranglers.

“Pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, pretty girl,” Joel let out a chuckle and gave your shoulder a playful bite when you pulsed around him again, “Squeezin’ me real tight, too.”

It was like your body was beyond your own control. You scarcely even realized your cunt had him gripped with such force, much less made a mess of his old denim. He just held you to him and kept pressing rough, stubbled kisses to your shoulder, reminding you over and over how sweet you were, how well you were taking him, how nice and tight and goddamn pretty that pussy must’ve looked gushing around daddy’s cock—maybe we can fuck in front’a the mirror so we can see it later, huh, baby?

You would’ve said yes to anything he said, you reckoned.

Especially when his arms moved over your front and you felt him grin, and he hugged you while he fucked you—nobody made you feel quite as special while they were splitting you open. Nobody’s balls felt quite as heavy and firm and full while hitting your ass by turns, and certainly no one but Joel could make you cum just as quick when he leaned into your ear and said, ‘Let go for me, darlin’.’

You did, and you felt his warmth follow inside you with the friction of just two more thrusts. Your head fell back on his shoulder, a moan clawed out of your throat, and the warm, euphoric feeling of release washed over your senses in waves, one trembling sensation after the next. Joel’s groans were quick to spill into your own, and, likewise emptying himself, he held your hips to his and made sure every drop stayed right where he wanted it.

His spend was always heavy, but this load felt larger than usual—like he’d been aching to fuck you full of his cum. Just as you both were coming down from your highs, you couldn’t help but key in on that soft, sticky warmth, likely to come oozing as soon as Joel pulled out of you.

In fact, you got to be so focused that you jumped when you felt something press to your cheek a second later.

It took another moment to register it as a kiss from Joel.

Then his tongue, dragging softly up the side of your face.

You started to laugh, about to ask him what the hell he was doing, when you felt a tear slip out of your other eye. With the sudden, sharp influx of pleasure, the moisture had leaked out without you even feeling it. Joel grinned.

He gave your cheek a light squeeze, wiped the other tear with the pad of his thumb, and kissed you again before mumbling in your ear, almost teasing as he said it:

“Crybaby.”

#MEAN JOEL THE MAN THAT YOU ARE…….....… #MARCH MADNESS BUT IT’S JUST ME SPIRALING OVER OLD MAN **** 😔 #ALABAMA TO THE FINAL FOUR THO LFGGGGG #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you

[usagi-lilac]

Beelzebub isn't dumb

Whenever I see an assumption that Beel is less intelligent than his brothers, I get frustrated.

If you read into his dialogue and look into his devilgram, you find out that he was once a royal guard in the celestial realm. He was trained to protect the lives of others so thoroughly that he's able to function blindfolded due to the training drills he once did. He doesn't lift weights to look big, or for his own appearance, but so that he's able to be confident in his ability to protect the ones he loves against any possible danger.

He is by far the most emotionally intelligent. This man was born with the ability to literally feel the emotions of his twin. Intimately experiencing the emotions of another person is something that is ingrained within him. It's not so much of a stretch for him to apply that same empathy to other demons and people.

Did you notice that he never once mentions how MC is human and not a demon, he never makes any sort of remark that could make you feel outcast or different? Did you notice that he's the first to genuinely talk to MC about Lilith, Belphegor and the pain of loss?

Yes, his dialogue is often simple and centered around food. But the sin he was assigned is by far the most painful. Imagine how you'd act when you haven't eaten for an entire day. For a week. The hunger consumes. It turns to anger and irritability. Survival instinct kicks in. A gnawing, nagging ache inside your core that barely leaves behind any mental energy.

This perpetual void is also why Beelzebub takes everything at face value, and won't catch on to social nuance. Deciphering social cues and passive aggressive interactions takes energy that this demon simply does not have.

So no, Beel isn't stupid. He's candid and honest, and whatever he's thinking pops right out of his mouth. He's an absolute meatball who chews holes in furniture and doesn't catch on to things the fastest, but he's doing his best to deal with the literal hell he's been handed.

#obey me beelzebub #obey me shall we date #beel #beel is life #beelzebub headcannon #obey me fanfiction #beelzebub #this big softie has my entire heart

[charmercharm3r]

doing everything together

BC

Masterlist

wc: ??

warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, bf!chan x afab!reader, porn no plot, shower sex, piv, oral (f receiving), cream pie, he’s so cute i love him

definitely not proofread, entirely self indulgent lol

☆ﾟ

He was very particular about the bathroom. Chan didn't care so much about the house hold appliances when you were looking for apartments together, except for the shower. This was the one area he showed true interest in, so you let him take the reigns entirely when he said he wanted to change the shower head from the original that came with the place.

You didn't know what he had chosen, only that he mentioned how good the water pressure was with the silliest, horniest smirk you'd ever seen.

As soon as the shower head he ordered arrived and he installed it, Chan wasted no time in getting you stripped and soaked. You got lucky that there was a shower bench, which was not what had initially drew you to choosing this apartment, but it was definitely a perk.

Lips everywhere, hands roaming, taking in the warmth of his body and the steaming shower, you couldn't help but giggle at how excited Chan was to show you the reason he chose this specific shower head. You broke away from his eager kisses to glance at where it was mounted, seeing the extra cable connected to a handheld head.

"That seems great for hosing down the walls," you thought for practical uses, not looking any closer and trying to capture his lips once again. Chan redirected your kiss to his cheek and grabbed the handheld.

"Just look," he asked, to which you playfully groaned into his neck before looking. There was an extra hole in the very top and a switch on the side. Chan reached up to the mounted shower and twisted something to turn on the handheld, then made eye contact with you while wiggling his eyebrows. Just as he did, he tipped the handheld towards the ground and flipped the switch. A stronger stream shot out from the top, and it all clicked.

You didn't get a word out before he was kissing you again and blindly leading you to sit on the all-the-more convenient bench. God, you would be dripping if you weren't already wet, Chan sliding to his knees in front of you. Of all things he wanted to be involved in, this was entirely unexpected-- though, not unwelcome whatsoever. He made himself comfortable, thick lips never straying from your skin even whist spreading your knees and fingertips toeing across your thighs.

Just to hurry things along-- you were impatient now that his grand scheme had been revealed-- you scoot forward, pushing your exposed cunt towards him hoping to entice him. Chan laughed into the meaty flesh of your thigh, lightly biting wherever he could and fully appreciating your newfound enthusiasm. Not that you weren't before, just even more now that there was a new and potentially mind-blowing sensation that he could inflict onto you.

He took your hand and let the stream from the handheld hit your palm, asking, "good pressure?"

"If you don't put that between my legs right now--"

"Okay, okay," he giggled again, "needy tonight, hm?"

"Yeah, and it's your fault," you emphasized your point by hooking your knees over his shoulders, locking your ankles behind his head.

"If I had known this is all it would take to have you borderline trying to mesh bodies, I would've upgraded the shower at our old place a long time ago." His hands kneaded at your love handles to displace his own needs for now, too excited to try this almost as much as you were. The sight of his slender, pretty fingers so close to your core was maddening and you failed holding back a slight rut of your hips.

"I would love to live inside you, actually."

"I say the same thing every time I see this pretty pussy of yours, baby." Chan wasted no more time and practically fell into you, first his tongue licking a cautionary stripe up your center, then suctioning his lips around your clit when you involuntarily threaded your fingers through his hair. He moaned into you, vibrations of his constant vocal pleasure making the introductory feeling even better.

This was just a warm up for him, just the prologue to the real fun he'd have when he thought you could handle the lovely pressure of the handheld shower head. Part of you wished he'd give it to you already, but another part never gets tired of how good he is with his mouth. If Chan could, he'd live between your legs and have you for all three meals of the day. And what a blessing those lips are, already having you curling your toes and tugging at his wet curls within the three minutes he'd been on his knees.

Slowly, his fingers tiptoed their way to join his mouth, spreading you wider with two fingers for more access for his lips, then gently moving to circle them around your entrance. Your head fell back against the tiled shower wall, whimpers not ceasing anytime soon.

Just as you were gonna ask him for more, he pulled away, but not without replacing what he'd stole. Chan pushed two fingers into you right when the stream grazed your clit, lightly and calculated as not to do too much. He glared up at you with concern when you slammed your head back against the wall much harder than before, Chan stammered to pull away but backtracked when you cried his name, "don't you fucking dare."

"I do love when you boss me around, darling," he replied, sarcasm dripping from his perfect lips. The teasing came with retaliated pleasure, maneuvering the stream so it hit your clit more straight on. You moaned louder, shuddering and wanting to pull away at how much more intense the feeling was than before. "If you're gonna talk like that to me, then take it like a fucking champ. Don't let me down."

Oh, it was a challenge, now. There was no backing down, you were gonna be fucking good and take whatever he wanted to give just for the sake of being able to rub it in his face later that he couldn't break you. Just don't let him see how badly you wished it was his cock in you instead-- that'd be the real tipping point.

"That's right, baby, I knew you could do it," he praised, mouthing and teething at the flesh of your thigh, slight pinching making the pain mix with the pleasure much, much too well. His fingers started to slowly move, adding the needed friction from within and it had you sob, just once. "Hm, I don't think this is enough."

Oh no, don't say it. "Maybe you need something bigger."

Fuck, he's gonna say it. "Think you can take my cock, too, baby?"

And you're gonna say yes. "Please, yes, please."

Chan pulled the stream for a second to give you a comforting, pillowy soft kiss to your clit and stood. He hung heavy, swaying and glistening and so mouth watering. Somehow, everything was just the right height for him to easily find his reddening tip at your hole and push in. The stretch, a welcome sizzling burn that soon turned into nothing but tingling euphoria, coupled with the returned stimulation of the jet stream, you were floored. It was written all over your face.

He laughed and hid his face in your neck as you adjusted to the all of the new feelings. "God, stop fucking clenching like that," he whined, sending a light slap to the outside of your thigh, which only made you clench harder. He slapped again, a little harder, then groaned when your whole body twitched. "You're killing me here."

"Then make me cum already, unless you wanna die a slow, wonderfully warm and wet death."

"I love when you talk dirty to me."

"Chris, shut up and fuck me."

He shrugged, pecking your lips lovingly and resting his hand on your hip bone to keep the stream pointed just right on your nerves. He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew the spot that made you want to claw out of your skin because the pleasure was too great, and he hit it every time. Only now, he could fuck you at the same time.

And fuck you, he did. He was slow and precise, just as ever, wanting to hit the right spots that caused you to contracted hard and practically milk him, that was his favorite feeling. Getting this little appliance did half the job for him, all he had to do was hold it steady and move his hips.

The sight above you was heavenly, his wet abs right in front of your face while his soaked curls would occasionally drip onto your face and cause you to look up, then be met with his sculpted features. God-- if there is a god-- it could very well look like Chan. The way he looked at you could make you cum by that alone.

It took another four minutes, tops, of him barely rocking into you, tapping at the soft spot within you and keeping the stream satisfying the pulsing along your center. You reached up for his biceps, lightly scratching and pulling him down for a slow, sloppy kiss, mumbling against his lips how close you already were. "Whenever you want, darling," he cooed back, entirely satiated already.

Chan did what he always did when you were close, and that was rapid fire. He quickly shook his wrist to let the stream run over your clit, back and forth, the feeling getting more and more intense every split second it left and returned tenfold. Until you were clawing down his forearm and abdomen, back arching against the tile with a last cry of his name and a string of whimpers.

Another minute passed before the oxygen returned to your brain and you could think clearly again. Chan was looking down at you with his forehead leaning against the tile as well, buried as deep in you as he could go and a silly smile plastered along his lips. Oh, how you loved his lips.

"I think our water bill is gonna be incredibly high," you joked, kissing the darkening red lines along his wrist.

"Just means we'll have to shower together. Y'know, to save water."

"I won't complain about that." Chan's eyes crinkled as he came down to press a kiss to your forehead in return.

"Doing everything with you is the highlight of my day. Even washing your stinky feet," he gently slid out of you and tickled the bottoms of your feet, getting you to kick him away while trying to crawl under the shower again. Chan caught you by the waist and held you from behind, once again hiding in the crook of your neck and simply enjoying having you in his arms.

#stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fluff #stray kids bang chan #stray kids fanfic #skz #skz smut #skz fluff #skz bang chan #skz fanfic #bang chan #bang chan fanfic #bang chan smut #bang chan fluf #bang chan x yn #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #bang chan x y/n #stray kids imagine #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #skz fanfiction #skz x reader #skz x y/n

[miniwheat77]

Taste. (Ghost x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, Sex pollen, rough sex, unprotected p in v sex, Ghost manhandling you, (sorry if I missed any)

This was a request!

You’re listening to what your Captain is saying but your nerves are shot, you don’t get along too well with Ghost.

Not for any particular reason, aside from him being a stern man. He intimidates you and the idea of going on a smaller mission, completely alone with him. It’s scary. You’ve never been alone with him before, especially not working together. You’ve heard stories of him getting angry and yelling. You’ve seen him in battle before, how violent he is. It’s nerve racking.

But unfortunately, these are your orders. These are what instructions your Captain has given you, you have no other choice.

Loading everything up into the Humvee was stressful, making sure everything was there, that you hadn’t missed anything. The massive man checking over you to make sure you’d gotten everything. You weren’t excited for the ride to the compound. It was a small underground building not to far off from your base, which is why it needed to be looked over. Laswell said it didn’t seem like there was any movement. The ground around the building seemed undisturbed, like it had been empty for some time. The ride was quiet, the only sound you heard was the rattling of items inside the vehicle and the Humvee itself. Ghost insisted on driving, which you didn’t mind. You stopped a ways away from the building to scope it out. Setting up snipers and watching the building for some time.

It’s quiet. No movement, no vehicles. Nothing. Ghost explains that he wants to watch it for a while. See if anyone comes and goes.

To his surprise, no one ever does.

“Let’s move in. Looks clear.” He demands. You nod your head, he drives the Humvee all the way up to the front of the entrance, only a small dome pokes out of the ground. You get out of the Humvee, walking beside Ghost into the building. He pushes the door open, the both of you stepping into the large doorway. Unfortunately, neither of you noticed the pressure plates under your feet. As soon as your feet touch them, small holes open up on the door frame, exposing a hole. Darts come shooting out of the holes, hitting ghost in the shoulder, missing you by a few centimeters. He’s worried they’re tranquilizer darts, ripping it out of his shoulder in a panic. “Fuck-“ he gasps, stepping forward into the building. He needed to clear it out quickly. He rushes through the building, you following along with him. Once the building is clear, he feels better.

“What do you think that was?” You ask him. He shrugs, pushing passed you. The building is some kind of lab. A large vat of iridescent orange liquid sat in the center of the circular room. Ghost walks toward the door, leaning back. He steps on the pressure plate, another dart shooting out and sticking into the wall on the other side. He pulls it out, seeing the same orange liquid inside of it. “I don’t know what it is.”

“They’ve got to have some kind of information. Specimen information.” You set your gun down, looking through the paperwork on the table. When you don’t find anything there, you click into a computer. Luckily there’s no barrier and you’re in right away.

What you read, it’s pure filth. Going in depth about the mysterious liquid and what it’s meaning was for.

Breeding purposes for an army.

A sigh leaves your lips. “What?” He asks. “You might want to see this LT.” You breathe. Ghost makes his way over to you, eyes scanning across the screen. He scoffs. “Suppose that’s one way to get more members for a squad.” He sighs. He leans over you, muscles flexing as he rests his hands on the table. “Found the effects of the liquid.” He sighs.

- if a subject comes in contact with Specimen 0, arousal sets in after around 15 minutes. Body weight and volume of fluids injected may vary in timing. Symptoms may include

-Increased sex drive

-Increased desire for sex

-Unbearable arousal without sexual stimulation

-Heightened sexual senses

Subjects are at extreme risk of a heart attack without sexual stimulation.

Out of 147 subjects, 107 suffered heart attacks. 67 of which died. The remaining subjects that did not suffer heart attacks were stimulated sexually and used for reproductive reasoning. Specimen seems to affect women more than men.

You’re reading the page out loud. Heart starting to race from nervousness as you read the screen.

“That means.. 100% of the people that didn’t have some kind of relief had a heart attack, only a few survived.” You sigh. Ghost chews at his lip nervously behind his mask. This means one thing and one thing only. “Maybe it’s too old. Maybe the effects of it have been diluted.” He shrugs. “Maybe. So.. we wait. I’ll search for an antidote.” You look through the computer and the stack of papers for more.

As you both settle in, sitting down. You’re waiting patiently. You can’t seem to find any kind of antidote.

Ghost leans forward, it’s been about forty-five minutes. He’s shed a lot of his equipment, just wearing a shirt and pants with a belt holding his gun. He rests his elbows onto his knees, groaning out. You turn to look at him. “You okay?”

You turn toward him. “M’fine. Just hot.” You nod your head.

His eyes rake over your body from behind, desperate to touch you. His eyes are blurring, heart is thumping rapidly in his chest. If he doesn’t get relief soon, he’s fucked. “Fuck- Y/N.” He breathes. “My heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest.” He breathes. “You may have to leave me here alone so I can.. fix this.” He breathes. His eyes are on yours, he wants to devour you. You look up at him, catching his attention. When you make eye contact, it lights a fire inside of him. “Y/N.. you need to go.” His voice is deep and demanding. “No, not until you’re okay.”

“I can’t trust myself not to- not around you. Go-“ he growls. He grasps the hem of his mask, tugging it off. “No.” You plant your feet on the ground, his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide from desire. The primal need pumping through his veins is unbearable. He’s going to pounce you any minute. For your own safety, he needed you to go. He closes his eyes tightly, cock impossibly hard in his pants. “Y/N.. if you don’t go.” He groans out, hands clutching at the chair he’s in, the muscles in his arms clenching up. “I can’t promise I won’t hold you down and fuck you until you cry.” He seethes, muscles in his neck flexing and tensing up. The little vial of orange liquid sits next to you. You’re probably crazy for it. You’re eyeing it and he doesn’t understand what’s going through your mind. You pick up the vial, hearing him grunt in what sounds like the worst pain he’s ever gone through. You stab the vial into your thigh, his eyes widening as he watches the iridescent liquid seep into your bloodstream.

“What are you- doing?”

“Figure we can suffer together.” You pull your gear off, tugging your shirt of your head, skin already starting to feel hot. It did say it affects women more than men.

Ghost stands up from the chair he’s in, closing the distance between the both of you in just a few strides of his long legs. His hands glide along your hips, shoving you back into the desk. It’s all over.

He’s biting your neck, feeling your jugular vein pulsing as he glides his tongue over it. He pushes his nose into you, inhaling your scent. Arousal pools between your legs, you need him. “If I hurt you.. just know it’s not me.” He breathes. “I trust you to hurt me, Simon.” You pant. A deep guttural growl rumbles from him. He grasps the button on your pants, unbuttoning it and shoving them down your legs. Your panties slide with them and he swears he can smell you.

Heightened sexual senses.

His hands explore your exposed body, gliding down your sides before resting onto your hips. “Can fucking smell how wet you are.”

“Simon!“ you mewl, tilting your head back. “Want you-“ you gasp. “So fucking horny..” he grits his teeth, fingers gliding along your opening. Another mewl leaves your lips and he draws his hand back from you, your wetness coats his hands. When he spreads them apart, strings of your arousal part between his fingers. He slides them into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you. He returns his hand back to you, soaked with his saliva. He’s rubbing circles over your soaked opening and your legs are weakening, ready to buckle underneath you at his touch. He circles your clit with one hand, his other reaching for his waistband.

You’re ready to drool at the sight of him, you swear he’s teasing you by how slow he’s moving to unbutton his pants. He exposes his waistline and he admires the way you’re watching him so closely, desperate to see every single part of him. His heart is pounding in his chest, he needs your pussy, soon. He pushes his pants down his legs, grasping your thighs and lifting you up. He pushes you up against a wall, hiking your legs up higher on his waist. The tip of his cock nudges against your pussy and he doesn’t have to steady himself, your pussy swallows him right up. “Oh fuck-“ he gasps, resting his forehead against yours as he starts fucking himself into you. “Fuck.. always knew you’d get me in trouble.” He growls. “Walking around base, as sexy as you are. Can barely keep my fucking eyes off of you.” He grits his teeth, hammering his hips into yours. He’s fucking you as hard as he can.

You can’t form sentences, can’t even think straight as he plows into you. You’re clawing at his arms and back. “You looked at me before this?” You whimper. “Course I fucking did.” He moves his forehead from yours, lips right up against your ear. “You avoid my eyes because I intimidate you. Don’t you?” You nod your head. “Nothing to be intimidated by. But I like your little game, like a bunny and a wolf hm?” He smirks into you, your body still jolting up with every hard thrust he takes. You moan out, nearly crying on his cock. Just like he said you’d be. “You like that Bunny? So intimidated by me but so willing to take my cock.” He chuckles. “Good fucking girl- I’ll play your games.” His chuckle is deep and taunting. He pinches your nipple with one of his hands, a cry leaving your lips. He pushes you up further against the wall, arms resting at the bend of your knees. He’s pinning them to your front. Your arousal is soaking him, surely going to leave a mess on him. The thatch of hair at the base of his cock is sticky from you, pushing up against your clit, stimulating you with every sharp thrust he takes into you. You’re getting close already. “You can cum, Bunny. Feel how tight you are.” He smirks. “Not yet, not until you do.” You pant. You’re about to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Do you like my pussy, Ghost?” The use of his nickname sends him reeling. “Fuck yes-“ he growls. “When you were eyeing me, I didn’t think it was because you wanted my pussy.” You smirk. It fades quickly as he pushes you close to your high with his cock. He attacks your neck with his teeth again, “can’t help myself.” He growls. Returning to mark you as his own. “So. Fucking. Tight.” He growls between thrusts. You can’t hang on any longer, he’s too much. One more nudge of the tip of his cock into your spongy spot sends you spiraling. “Fuck Simon!” You soak him with your orgasm, tilting your head back and grasping at him to hold onto him, squeezing him as he fucks you through your orgasm. He’s trying to keep himself together, knees ready to buckle with how hard he’s going to cum. He pulls you away from the wall, laying you down onto the cold, hard ground. Hammering his hips into yours. He’s desperate. You’re overstimulated, tears slipping from your eyes as he abuses your hole. “Fuck- I’m gonna cum-“ he growls, holding your hips tight against the ground. His hips are moving sloppily, he’s right on the edge. He pants hard as he chases after his high. With a groan, he reaches his peak. Filling you up with his cum before his hips come to a halt. He’s breathing heavily as he feels himself pulsing against your walls, feeling you clench down onto him. You’re throbbing around him, and he can’t help himself as he rocks his hips into yours one last time.

A gasp leaves your lips and you squirm away from him, hearing him laugh through harsh pants. “Fuck..” he breathes.

He slides out of you, watching his spunk spill back out of your hole.

He helps you up, blood still pumping the mysterious iridescent liquid through him. His cock is still hard, refusing to relax any time soon. His heart doesn’t feel like it’s about to beat out of his chest. “Im sorry if I was too rough on you.” He breathes. “I couldn’t control myself, I tried to warn you.” He sighs, looking down. You spin around, bottom half still exposed. He eyes the way his filth drips down your thighs. Reaching down to palm himself through his pants. “Maybe I didn’t want you to control yourself.” You smile. “You’re fucking crazy. Injecting yourself with that.” He chuckles. Avoiding your gaze. He didn’t understand, he didn’t get like this. He didn’t feel embarrassment. “Figured I’d be able to keep up with you better.” You smile. “Did it work?” He asks.

“Yeah I’d say so. Although I’m not sure I’m entirely satisfied.” You chew on your lip nervously. Playing with the hem of your shirt. His blood starts pumping through his veins again, the smell of your arousal filling the room. He needs you. Again.

“Still have another couple hours before we’re expected back.” He breathes.

It only takes another couple seconds before his lips are on yours again, cock seeping into your abused hole for relief once more.

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #ghost smut #simon riley x you #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley

[visionsofmagic]

day 1: gojo satoru [filming]

࿓ synopsis • before going on a mission, gojo decides to record you while being fucked by him to watch it later.

―❦ nsfw, young!gojo, licking, cum eating, fingering, amateur porn (kinda), harsh, pure strength, pet names, obedient!reader, f!reader, overstimulation • 1.3k • enjoy the beginning of the unholy month! [kinktober m.]

“cmon pretty face, look at the camera,” gojo says behind you, kneeling down to reach your chin with his big hand, grabbing it, and showing your face right towards the camera positioned on the head of the bed you’re currently on. “yeah - fuuuuck, like that, don’t take your eyes from it, I want to look at how tears runnin’ on your face when I watch it later.”

finishing playing with your folds with his fingers, he earns another climax from you. chuckling, without saying anything he turns your face around, making you look at how he licks his own fingers covered with your cum.

the sight gives you fireworks, the stomach twists in excitement, and pussy cliches around nothing, wanting to take him.

gojo rise an eyebrow as he sees the way you look at his shining lips and your cum on his tongue and fingers. “oh - you want some?” without waiting for an answer from you, his fingers find your inner thighs, caressing them with his fingers once again.

he kneels down until his face is at the same level as your face. blue orbs reflection of heaven on earth stays too close to allow you to focus on anything but him, so, when his tongue enters your mouth, you moan his name as you taste your own cum on your tongue, flowing from his hot one to yours.

he doesn’t stay long but he makes sure you taste yourself on his tongue. getting back, his fingers open your folds, and positioning himself, he shows the camera for you to look at.

obeying, you look at the camera, shyness and feeling a bit whore like make you turn on the moment you see the reflection of you on the screen turned to you - oh how gojo went to the shopping center and pick the one which would allow you to see yourself in it while recording. the audacity of this man!

“oh yeah, I definitely chose the right one pretty! right?” he asks, smirking down at your face before his eyes travel to your back and find your ass cheeks from there, eyes finally stop at the sight of his long cock staying right behind your pussy hole. “fuck!” he swears, a hand finds your hair, pull it up as your face stays at the same level with the camera’s focus. “don’t you fucking dare to move your face no more, I want to watch every bit of it when you take all of my cock until I break that brain of yours into hundred pieces whore.”

it's always has been hard to endure his desires, and replying them with obedience, especially in these kinds of moments in which gojo likes to see you as a fuck toy instead of his dearest lover since he has a habit of doing everything at the highest level, not at a normal rate - and that makes you nod, your own taste still can be felt ghost on your tongue, tears still dropping on your cheeks, waiting for his dick to enter your already abused pussy.

not wasting any seconds further, gojo shoves himself into you, not too harsh, not too gentle but surely enough to make you scream his name as your eyes close full shut the moment he goes out and in with another impactful thrust - and you swear he chuckles so deeply that the images of himself watching this moment over and over again only to see how he makes your mind go dizzy, knees get weak, forgetting about you are being filmed from the beginning to the end - and it's all just because how he fucks you, "shiiit pretty, what a show for me!" he smiles widely, hands grip the waist from right and left sides. thrusting into your aching pussy with an unstable rhythm while adjusting his position, holding your ass up, and pulling you until his tip slowly enters and you reach the end of his cock - deeper than ever, he takes a glance at the camera to see which expression you have on.

while you feel his balls hitting your ass cheeks, his hands begin to grip the skin under his hold, your waist, with such force that he shows how your weight is nothing compared to his pure strength - proving it by not moving his hips, instead, he uses your own body, pushing and pulling it towards him. sounds you make - moans, screams, cries, swears on gojo's lips, sweats flowing both of your bodies into one another - only you can make him sweat, pure hitting sounds you create - produce a pornographic air you melt into by feeling shy and hot at the same time because it's always like this with gojo, isn't it? - being both his precious lover and own whore.

he grabs your neck with his right hand, and shoves your face into the pillow under you, saying, "pay attention to me my pretty slut," he takes the camera, holding it in his right hand, he first records your face turned to him and you can only look at the black lens of the camera while taking deep breaths. "fuuck! look at you! are you already cryin'? is it too much? is my dick too much to handle?"

he asks as if he cares but in the end, he doesn't. the proof comes suddenly when he begins to film your ass, the way his cock enters your pussy comes into the screen and gojo loses himself once again, slapping your ass, "'toru!"

"scream my name mor - agggh, 'is so good, so fucking good!" he holds one of your ass cheeks the moment you look back at him and see him with all his glory; shining eyes focused on the camera and the sight it captures - what a shame you wouldn't be able to watch it until he comes back again. "look at the mess you're making," he looks up at your face as he continues to fuck you into oblivion - your brain is long gone and he understands - oh he understands it damn well that he beings to mock you as he higher the camera's lens up until your face is visible on it - the face of a brainless pretty girl because of only his cock inside your warm walls. "she even doesn't know she cums right now - for the fourth time already!"

then, you feel the wetness coming out of your pussy into your inner thighs, flowing on his cock and dripping into the bedsheets from there.

closing your eyes because of pure shame, your senses rise up, providing you to receive each pleasure mixed with pain and he didn't even cum yet!

understanding the meaning of your actions when you rise the ass up, allowing him to go deeper - further - harder, saying his name over and over again, "satoru! agghh, 'toru -" he leaves a chuckle, would sound like a melody to the ears if it wasn't so devilish. kneeling down at your level, his bare chest touching your exposed back completely, he cages you in his arms as he puts down the camera on the pillow right beside you. his cock now is deep inside of you and it takes the last breaths away from you. you feel so full that you believe if you move an inch, it will end with such pain mixed with pleasure this time.

looking at you through the camera's reflection, one of gojo's palms find your abdomen, pushing it so that he can feel the curves of his cock through your skin while the free one holds you from the chin. cheek to cheek, he makes you look at his reflection - right into his piercing eyes shining with sparkles of joy, lust, and passion, he smiles widely, displaying thirty-two teeth, "don't you think about it. I will cum the moment you have nothing left," he kisses your cheeks - a love act which feels much more like mocking, "I can't let it go waste, can I, my pretty doll?"

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina !

#💦 kinktober 2023 first week #kinktober 2023 #day 1 #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x f1reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk smut #blue #💌 by me #THANKS FOR READING #& the beginning of the kinktober is here!

[fcthots]

thinking about childhood best friends to lovers jason. who spent hours in the school library with you, laughing and whispering over textbooks. who took you to prom, because you didn’t have a date and definitely not because he was in love with you. who let you drive his car when you got your license. who refused to let you take the bus as soon as he could drive.

jason, who only applied to colleges you also applied to, so that he wouldn’t have to go to school without you. who convinced bruce to let him have an apartment off-campus, so you could stay with him. who made sure he was in all the same classes as you. who made sure you were never out alone after dark. who helped you study for all of your exams. who took care of you when the flu was going around campus.

jason, who never lets you move out. who reads to you when you get home from a long day at work, your head in his lap. who washes your makeup off for you when you’re too tired. who cooks for you every night and makes sure you have coffee ready when you get up every morning.

jason, who finally asks you out over breakfast one morning. who takes you on dates every friday night. who never misses an anniversary or birthday, who takes you out every valentine’s day. who never shuts up about how lucky he is to have you to anyone who will listen.

- 🍓 (apologies for how long this is, i’m sick and have been thinking extensively)

NO ANON BC I HAVE BEEN DAYDREAMING ABOUT THIS ALL DAY

but I've been angsting it.

Because you pick colleges together, but he never gets to go. He lets you drive in his $200,000 car that you were always scared of scratching, but he would reassure you and say he'd fix any damage. That same car was left unused for years. He takes you to prom and you keep the flowers, but you end up leaving the dead flowers at his grave. You would look at two-bedroom apartments together and now you're moving into a single bedroom apartment in the building you always wanted to live in together. He used to write you notes in class which would almost get you caught. Now you wished you saved those notes. The books he used to read to you, you now can't hear quotes from, lest you start crying. He used to help you study for everything and now you swear you don't know how to study alone.

Jason was with you practically every second of every day. What are you supposed to do without him. It's not that there's just a hole in your life. The center of your universe is gone.

#Sorry for angsting this. I was watching sad tiktoks all day and I made myself cry so I had to apply it to Jason #also leave as many asks as u want babe!! #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #saph’s love letters #jason todd #red hood #jason todd imagine #saph’s thots #red hood imagine #jason todd x you #🍓 anon #red hood x you #jason todd angst #jason todd x reader angst #red hood angst #red hood x reader angst #angst #hurt/no comfort

[tinycozycomfort]

moon, a hole of light

pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader

day one of @pascalisbaby and i's joeltober: dacryphilia -> read her day one here

summary: It makes you feel like a toy, like some misused stuffed animal with loose seams and fur that’s been rubbed to the weft. Your use brings him comfort, his comfort brings you hurt.

warnings/tags: dacryphilia, unprotected piv, substance abuse (joel), age gap (joel is 46 [~10 yrs post outbreak]), reader is not), yearning, dom/sub dynamics, smidge of underwear play, pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc), joel is mean

word count: 2.4k

rating: explicit! 18+ only, mdni

a/n: i'm trying so hard to shorten things so forgive me as i navigate this learning curve.

main masterlist

A lot of life is weeping. 

In joy. In sorrow. In fury so poignant it makes you wilt. Your body furls in the collapse—u-shaped shoulders that guard your insides, the lock of hard elbows into thigh. 

It stings to feel so little, so vulnerable—to let anyone see how ugly emotion’s face can be—yet you let it happen, knowing that this is the only thing that separates you from the rest of them; they’ve spilled out all they had, hollow in the center after nearly a decade of ‘justified action’. 

So you cry, and you sob, and you don’t care for their uncomfortable shifting and curled lips. Tess gives her best in the way of comfort, not letting a scoff slip as much when she can help it. Tommy will at least leave the room. 

But Joel—Joel will watch. Joel will encourage.

He’s taken the liberty of cycling himself through every shape your hurt takes, the tears pouring over for all of his near-misses and his inability to care for you how he’s meant to. You see the way he grins to find that you cry when you’re happy to see him the same way you do when he insists he should leave. 

Part of you thinks he likes it—pushing you to react and then having something to show for it. You think he especially likes when it causes you pain. You cry longer in those moments, working though fits of frustration while he kneels at your feet and watches your face sprout tears like light rain. 

He pets you through it—even when he’d been the one to kick you down in the first place—to tell you you were good for sticking around, for being brave enough to have faith in him. 

He enjoys having something to come back to, and wounding you is no obstacle in the pursuit of feeling needed. 

It makes you feel like a toy, like some mis-used stuffed animal with loose seams and fur that’s been rubbed to the weft. Your use brings him comfort, his comfort brings you hurt.

You know he’s gearing up for another slip-away with the swift shift to kindness; Friday night he caresses you, soothes the ache of something not yet felt, to ease his exit. All pretty words and the affection he so desperately wants to hide, whispered promises of how much better he can be, how he can give you everything you deserve.

Come Saturday morning, you’re discarded. 

He’s gone again on another outing, one he persuaded Tommy into joining—if the silence is any indication—even though he needs nothing; that in itself makes you even more sure it has everything to do with wanting. The burn, the desire, is something you see so clearly in the glaze he gets on later nights, the crinkle of soft plastic that trickles out through the open bathroom door. He swears it’s nothing—even to Tess, when she’s around—that he’s not on anything. He throws any excuse he can muster; it’s the wounds and the healing and the aging that make him stumble even in the lit apartment.

Everyone knows what’s actually going on, why the trips outside the QZ are becoming more frequent. It doesn’t get lost on you all the times Tommy complains of Joel disappearing to meet more than one mysterious, unarranged contact who asked for privacy—who wanted Joel alone. 

Whatever it is he’s buying keeps him numb, so Tommy lets it slide, and Tess is apathetic towards Joel for reasons you aren’t too willing to know about. You’ve only tagged along so recently, so maybe they pity you, or they feel better about throwing Joel onto someone else—to ruin another thing if only to feel better about having been ruined. 

You cry through the weekend in long streams, worried for him, until the hot tears pool and curl the cotton of your t-shirt—forever wet. You stay laid out on the bumpy sofa cushions for hours before your back feels just as knotted and you have to relocate to the bed, only rising again to shower and half-eat and sulk, until you’re too weak to keep track of the seconds.

When he swings in on Monday night, boots knocking as he raises them up on the rack by the door, you’re at the tail-end of another bout, cheeks damp and chest catching where it’s pinned by your shirt against the bed. 

Joel walks into the room like he’s done nothing wrong. He walks in alone. 

“Where’s Tommy?” you ask, but he ignores you.

Instead, he comes to you with tattered hands, fresh bruises and torn skin, and tugs you up by the creases under your shoulders so you’re seated, kneeling by the bed to level himself with the picture he’s come to love. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, words slow, “What are all those tears for? Me?” 

You huff out a few shaky breaths to steady yourself, “Where’s Tommy?”

He sighs, long and hard and uneven, “He left. Why the fuck does it matter?” 

He peers up so you’re forced to face him and you can see it now, the film of wet that clouds his eyes, sticky lashes and deep creases of exhaustion purpling the skin where they brush. 

“Why did he leave? Because you’re high? It’s too late for him to be out there.”

You already know he didn’t hear anything past the accusation, brought to a boil at the mention of another one of his failures. He gathers up the soft flesh of your cheek in his hand, the blunt curve of his nails digging in to find teeth through the skin. He grips tight to let you know of his anger—that he could easily wring the life out of you like water. 

“You’re getting real brave for someone who sits and waits for me like a dog.” 

Fire prickles in the tips of your fingers, stretches across the top of your chest in humiliation. You can hear the weight of his words even through his gentle slur, like he means it, twisting away as best you can to speak, “Is that really what you think this is?”

He’s laughing before you even get it all out, the corner of his lips perked up on one side, “No one forced you to, and I certainly don’t remember asking.”

You shove at him then, with force, your hands bending back enough to pinch when he doesn’t budge. He leans into you instead, a challenge. 

There’s barely time to choose before he does for you, gathering up your wrists in one hand, the one around your jaw tightening. 

So close now, you get a better look at him—his hair stuck to his forehead, cheeks flushed red but with paler lips. His eyes are round, pupils cartoonish and wide. He’s still so pretty, even when dulled by the sheen of his high. 

He heaves onto you, shy of livid, and you start to feel like you’re suffocating under his stifling heat, billowing out from where he’s damp with sweat under his denim shirt. The pills work fast, and for longer than they should, so you can tell he’d spent the peak of his high elsewhere, but he’s on a jagged edge of almost coherent.

You slide your thighs together at the whole of him, so strong and honest and invested in you—negative or not—something you usually find him being incapable of. He sees it.  

“Oh, but you do it because you like it, don’t you? Couldn’t wait ‘til I came back. Little thing just needs some attention, hm?”

“Joel, I’m serious. Are you high right now? Where’s your brother?”

Joel wedges a thigh up under the crease of your knee, uses the grip he has on your body as leverage to move you further up the bed, climbing up with you pushing himself into the cradle of your body on the way.

“Please. You don’t give a fuck about Tommy,” he snaps, releasing and depositing you so he can make work of your shorts and the buckle holding himself back, “He’s not going to bother us, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

You whine as he releases himself, can’t help how you grow wet between your legs, heart throbbing in your throat. He’s not wrong, as mean as he is how he puts it—-you’d die for him if it meant he’d look at you. If you could have him to yourself.

His cock swings free as he shoves his jeans down only enough to be out of the way, not bothering to remove your thin strip of underwear once your bottoms are tugged off. He’s hard for you, another flattery that sends shivers down your spine, the feeling of arousal flashing along your whole body—fingers folding and ankle rolling. You’re excited for him, and this display of joy doesn’t please him as much. 

“I didn’t say it was a good thing. You’re pathetic,” he sucks his teeth, hooking a finger in the cotton across your seam, peeling it away from where it's slicked down, knuckle dipping in the place you’re pooling, “But it’s cute. You’re still young enough to have hope.”

He strings the gusset up and away, presses his length against your cunt before replacing it, trapping himself.

“It’s okay that you love me, sweetheart. Don’t be embarrassed. Hang onto that. It might work out for you some day.” 

“But not with you,” you whisper, half an offense and half an admission of awareness—he doesn’t love you, hasn’t and can’t and won’t, but you’re willing to take what you can get.

“Cry about it.” 

Joel grinds his cock against the wet slip of your cunt in short, tight motions to better catch against you, soaking himself. He presses three fingers against the base of it like a vacuum, holding himself between the two of you, the scalloped edge of your underwear twisting when they roll over his skin. The hard of him on your clit makes you gasp, and his mouth hangs open in a soundless laugh. 

And you are crying, sooner than you thought, barely registering it until you feel it falling into the cup of your collarbone, a steady stream that barely burns brighter than the flare in your core. 

“You really should be more careful with that little heart of yours. Gonna hurt yourself.” He slides his hand further up his cock to the tip, releasing the pressure and guiding himself to your center. Joel slides himself in to the hilt, leaning down on one forearm to hold himself up. 

With his unoccupied hand, he brushes the flesh of your cheek, following its path with kisses—the warning is a genuine one, followed by no punchline or remark, the first time tonight where he’s actually tried to resonate with the predicament he’s put you both in. Earnest. 

The give and take of him, flowing freely between unrelenting harshness and the soft comfort of his reassurance should be nauseating, but it shines a beam of light behind your eyes when you close them, white-hot and blinding. You’re sobbing enough to wonder how you haven’t stopped; you can feel your own wetness when he rubs down your chest with his mouth, gathered up from his mapping of your face. 

Joel’s knee digs into your side as he hikes you up on his hip, eliminating even the air between your bodies, sweat-soaked and glued together. He’s pushing himself into a place you’ve often found unconsidered, that spongy spot at the back that marks the beginning of your womb. The very center of you, he’s reached, and you start to move in an act of self-preservation, unsure whether you want him to continue forward or exit. You’re mumbling something about Joel, yes-too much-don’t stop-wait-please don’t stop and when he leans back he’s beaming at you, the point of his canines shining in the dim light of the room. 

He looks dangerous, like the man you’ve seen hobbling and flighty and inebriated—only ever close to anger—was just the very surface. This is the man that hunted men—that sought conquest and destroyed lives. He’s done the same to you, you realize, and now your being is nestled within the palm of his hand, pliable and willing and fully at his disposal. 

You keen for him, thin and high in the channel of your throat, and he pinches your face, sealing his mouth over yours to swallow it. He’s breathing hard into you, the movement of his hips growing shaky, rhythm breaking down a half-step so that you're just swaying against the bed under his weight in little jolts. 

“Joel, please. I want to make you come.”

“Keep crying for me just like that and I will. Can you do that?” 

You’re so close, the anticipation feeling like warm sand sliding under your fingertips. Joel wrestles a hand into the side of your hip where it’s tightly pressed to his, finding your clit with the pad of his thumb. Your babbling continues, Yes, I promise, I promise, and Joel nods, relenting. 

He presses hard against the nub, and shoves himself in that much further, and you start to come undone beneath him, the waves of pleasure coursing through to the ends of your limbs.

He’s still moving above you, talking over you—good girl, good girl—removing his hand so as to not overstimulate you before bringing it up to brush his knuckles over the hinge of your jaw, so careful even as he hammers into you, “So sad, honey. Poor thing.” 

You’re still caught up in your own rambling, but you tip your head yes and he picks up his pace again, chasing his own end, “Say it for me. Can’t do it unless you say.” His voice is a little warbled, and you can tell he’s crumbling. 

“Please. Come inside me, Joel.”

Joel grunts, the noise catching in his mouth like a hiccup, overtaken with the pleasure of your permission. The heat of him spreading inside your body has your legs shaking and cunt pulsing in response.

You fight to catch your breath, running a hand over your face to snap back into focus.

He falls over to lay on his side, still connected to you, dragging you over with him. He hides his face in the fold of your neck, knocking his forehead into your throat. 

“Really sweet of you to wait, honey,” he breathes, sliding out of you with a long drag, a thread of wet spooling out in his wake, “Now get the fuck out.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal characters #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM PRACTICAL MAGIC *  assorted dialogue from the 1998 film, adjust as necessary

sometimes i feel like there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn.

be careful what you wish for.

wish you could believe in me.

we have to banish him.

he wants me. just me.

what was that, [name]?

you know what? i wished for you, too.

let him take me.

the nudity is entirely optional.

it wasn't me, it was you.

we'll grow old together.

can love really travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

i think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean.

don't die on me, [name], please.

i bet we even die on the same day.

of course you're going to see me again.

hang on to your husbands, girls.

what wouldn't i do... for the right guy?

i have this dream of being whole, of not going to sleep each night, wanting.

i took an oath to uphold the law.

life is perfect.

don't do that.

i'd like to think so.

i have never asked you for anything.

i feel like i'm never going to see you again.

what are you doing?

i came here to bring in the bad guy because generally that's what i do.

sometimes when the wind is warm or the crickets sing, i dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for.

i just want someone to love me.

i want to be seen.

please do this for me. please?

hold on just a goddamn second. one step at a time.

that's how you came to live with us.

everything is just so blissfully normal.

i wish you could see us.

they like to meddle in people's love lives.

thought you never wanted to fall in love.

you're saying what i'm feeling is just one of your spells?

fall in love whenever you can.

when you find yourself the center of attention... it's not that they hate you. it's that... well. we're different.

you have the worst taste in men.

i was born with them.

since when is being a slut a crime in this family?

you ever put your arms out and spin really, really fast?

maybe i had my happiness.

you promised me that.

so what kind of... uh... craft do you do.

yeah. it's not real.

curses only have power when you believe them. and i don't.

all i want is a normal life.

that's the point.

yeah, well, you know. all relationships have problems.

that's what love is like. it makes your heart race. it turns the world upside down.

when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue?

well... it's what i want.

now that was me.

i don't want them dancing naked under the full moon.

the guy i dreamed of doesn't exist.

is that why they wanted to hang her? because she's a witch?

i don't even mind the beard.

there's a little witch in all of us.

what was that?

i'll tell you all you need to know.

one step at a time.

you think he's dead?

is he cute?

you came for breakfast? we're having pancakes!

what's wrong? cat got your tongue?

someday you'll explain this all to me.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompt #roleplay memes #rp starters #roleplay prompt #ask meme #ask memes #roleplay meme #writing prompts #writing prompt #sentence starter #sentence starter prompt #sentence starters #rp meme starter #starter meme #roleplay inbox prompts #rp inbox meme #inbox prompt #inbox meme #mcflymemes #practical magic #movie prompts

[typellblog]

Illyasviel von Einzbern: The Hole at the Center of Fate/Stay Night

Emiya Shirou is the beating heart of Fate/Stay Night. Every character radiates outwards from Shirou, shapes and is shaped by him. He fights against foils like Archer and Kirei while growing alongside the three main heroines in each route.

There's really only one character who precedes Shirou in influence, who shapes him near-completely but cannot himself be shaped.

Emiya Kiritsugu is already dead, after all.

It's his legacy that drives the novel - but something oft-undiscussed is that Shirou only has half of it. He inherits his father’s justice, and the one that inherits his ruthlessness is Illya. Thus, Illya’s relationship to Shirou is dictated from the start.

She is everything his father left behind, the first gatekeeper of the moonlit world of death and magecraft that Shirou now finds himself in. In this role she transcends routes, appearing at the end of the third day to deliver a near-lethal attack just as the story branches off.

She seems intent to deliver Kiritsugu’s baggage to Shirou, to make him reckon with the past that he himself never experienced; the truth that a hero can only help those he sides with while many others are left alone in the cold.

In this way her very existence is a far more fundamental challenge to Shirou’s ideals than that of any other character - and yet this challenge is met only indirectly. Much of the information regarding her true identity and relationship to Shirou is elided until the end of HF.

She functions similarly to Sakura, a character who totally changes the reader’s perception of the first two routes in retrospect. The reveals about Illya force us to reevaluate how positive her ending in the Fate route really is.

In the narrative of Heaven’s Feel, both Illya and Sakura are considered ‘doomed’ - able to be saved only by Shirou sacrificing his own life to Archer’s arm.

It’s the crux of their characterisation, in the same way that Saber’s pursuit of the Holy Grail leads her into timeless and uncountable doomed battles. In a route based around that character, you would expect fixing it to be the main thrust of the plot.

And so just as the Fate route is focused on Shirou clashing with Saber over her lack of regard for her safety, and Heaven’s Feel is focused on accepting even the ‘impure’ parts of Sakura, there is no route focused on showing Illya that she needn't give up on having a normal life.

Instead all of her scenes in Heaven’s Feel are about accepting that she cannot have one.

This is the hole in the center of FSN that I’m talking about. Its absence is felt keenly throughout the novel, because Illya has another role besides a specter of Shirou's past. She embodies the prize and object of the Holy Grail War itself - the very same wish-granting device.

Many of the characters in this story are not fighting for the Grail specifically, but nonetheless their strong personalities and desires cause them to clash with one another, in a process Kirei sees as comparable to everyday life.

Their wishes, both in the form of the dead’s regrets and victor’s will, enter the neutral, empty Grail in order to produce a miracle. The only one not allowed a will of their own is the vessel of the Grail, who, in absorbing these desires, must completely erase their humanity.

Illya is not intended to have a reason to pursue the Grail, nor any life beyond obtaining it. The war is premised on the sacrifice of the Servants, yes, but nonetheless they enter as contestants. Illya, like Justeaze before her, enters the ritual only as a sacrifice.

And yet an outside element is introduced. Illya being part-human, the product of an actual family rather than just a clone allows for her to have personal motivations. She holds on to her resentment of Kiritsugu, despite knowing that it’s pointless, because it’s all she has left.

A parallel can be made to the Grail itself. Supposedly a pure wish-granting device, it becomes corrupted through the influence of Angra Mainyu, one small, perverse wish colouring the whole thing black.

The desired salvation of the Einzberns, their thousand-year project relies on being able to reproduce the miracle, to understand every component part of their attempts in order to draw ever closer to the Third Magic, but Illya is a random factor, born to a human parent.

She’s also their greatest creation since Justeaze. Miracles, after all, exist because they are not understood.

The corruption of the Grail with the darkest desires of the world is just the inevitable result of any wish - the price of becoming a human instead of existing as a machine. Live long enough and anyone would turn into Zouken, higher goals suborned by a base desire to escape pain.

Like Illya the Grail is a failed project, a tool that can only provide salvation of a limited nature & only fulfill its purpose incompletely, proof positive that true perfection does not exist in the world of Fate/Stay Night.

In Illya’s case the bug in her programming comes fundamentally from a desire for family, for someone to be close to her. Despite her dysfunctional initial approaches she’s perfectly capable of living normally alongside Shirou.

The issue, then, is the Grail War itself.

Her two sides, two different origins, come into conflict here, and her role as the Holy Grail consistently wins. Not because she desires it in any real sense, but because she doesn’t believe that she can do anything else.

Consider how the Fate route ends with Saber and Shirou trying to live without regrets, accepting both the negative and positive aspects of the past without dwelling on that which cannot be changed.

Consider how Illya in the Fate route doesn’t say a single thing about her condition, refuses to burden others with that knowledge, accepting the fact of her death and instead choosing to live in the moment.

Consider how the Unlimited Blade Works route is about Shirou trying to live without regrets, accepting that he will not always succeed, that his self-sacrificing nature will hurt him, but nonetheless his pursuit of that goal is worthwhile.

Consider how Illya’s death is used to illustrate this, how she cannot be saved regardless of whether Shirou makes the choice to intervene or not, how his sorrow is used as proof of his brokenness and his ability to move forward regardless is used as proof of his strength.

Consider why the Heaven's Feel route is named after the ritual that materializes the soul, why this is identified with salvation and rebirth by the Einzberns. I would argue that the Third Magic is a metaphor for the process Shirou undergoes throughout the novel.

He evolves from a machine into a human, gaining his own desires and the will to live. And just as Heaven’s Feel, the ritual, requires a sacrifice: Justeaze’s blood forms the foundation, so too does Heaven’s Feel, the route: Illya spends her own life to fully realize Shirou’s.

In moving past Kiritsugu’s legacy, he moves past his belief that his life is worth less than others. He wants to live, wants to let Illya save him, wants to let her sacrifice herself for him. In moving past Kiritsugu’s legacy, he moves past Illya.

I don’t blame him. I just want to emphasize how significant to this novel the existence of suffering is, how important the figure of someone who cannot be saved, how necessary a single person’s sacrifice. And how this falls on Illya in every route.

In the latter parts of the Fate route she quickly disappears from story relevance. Her functions as a Grail offer a convenient excuse to have her sleeping for much of the day, as it does for Kirei’s kidnapping of her, stringing her up as a sacrifice to open the gate.

In UBW we have Gilgamesh brutally ripping out her heart. He values her purely for her core, which holds the Grail, tossing aside the rest of her body.

If her role as the Grail is what drives her doom, though, she is at least partially able to overcome this at the end of Heaven’s Feel.

For a brief moment, Illya escapes the bonds of fate by uniting her deeply personal wish with the impersonal functions of the Grail.

She also dies. She fucking dies, okay? I’m so tired of talking about this as though it’s supposed to be a good thing, as though we’re just supposed to accept it as the best possible option.

It works precisely because we know there is another, because we know for a fucking fact that an Illya route could have existed, that her salvation is possible not just from a meta perspective but directly implied in-universe.

Illya’s power is to grant wishes, but she is incapable of giving voice to her own. She needs someone there by her side to tell her that it’s okay to want to live, and yet- Shirou is so fucking broken that he needs her to do that for him instead.

Illya could have lived, but she doesn’t, and in not doing so she carries half the weight of this story’s tragedy on her back.

In a way this is an excuse for the lack of an Illya route. I really do think its blatant absence adds something to Fate/Stay Night, really sells the tragedy of HF, becomes even more beautiful precisely because of its unattainability.

It’s a comment on how the artistic process, materializing your soul on paper if you will, is an inherently restrictive one, rife with failure and things left on the chopping board.

But it does not, not for a second, mean that we should accept the lack of an Illya route. It doesn’t mean the desire for it is a bad thing. It doesn’t mean that its addition would make Fate/Stay Night worse.

It would, however, become a different game at that point, and here I want to pay respect to the one that has lived alongside me for twenty years.

Thanks for reading, and happy anniversary to my favourite story of all time.

#illya #fate/stay night #fsn analysis

[qingxin-dream]

Wanderer reckons with his jealousy of Lyney. Some silly voice lines I imagined him saying.💕

(art credits: @/mintificial on twitter)

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“I’d think by now you would know better than to take someone’s charms at face value.”

“He’s a nuisance, always the center of attention. Yet you’re utterly oblivious to the tricks up his sleeve. It’s honestly degrading to watch.”

“Are you kidding me? Everything about him is designed to be a distraction from his little parlor tricks. Don’t think I neglected to notice your predilection for his thigh-highs.”

“Now you’re just trying to piss me off. The fact you had the audacity to suggest that I’m jealous is only proof of your irritating delusions.”

“You should be thanking me for sharing my observations. It’s obvious that you were too far gone to notice something so painfully evident like his loyalty to the Fatui, remember?”

“What? You dare justify his meddling with the Fatui over mine? Have I not reformed my ways enough for you?”

“You’re mistaken if you think just because I’m no longer my former self that I don’t retain the same… urge… to put you in your place.”

nsfw voice lines utc [18+, MDNI]

“Heh, you underestimate that humans are truly simple creatures. All it would take is an unsuspecting brush here and maybe a touch there… Before you know it, I’ll have you saying my name like a prayer.”

“Go on, little traveler, let’s see if you still find yourself smitten with that pathetic magician while I take you how I like, hm?”

“Tsk, how childish. It wouldn’t be the first time I fucked some sense into you, now would it?”

“Or, better yet, why don’t we attend his next show? Private balcony seats with a good view… that’ll do quite nicely while I imprint the curve of my cock inside you.”

“Relax. It’ll be like my own magic trick, since you seem to enjoy them so much. The audience would be none the wiser… my cock disappearing in your slutty hole.”

“If you’re lucky, I’ll let you cum. But if I’m lucky, haha—he’d have a sharp eye on you.”

#[dance of the blade].✿ #goddd i’m feeling especially down bad today😩 #finally addressing the wanderer to lyney main pipeline #someone voice these please!!🙏 #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer smut #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut

[grimesgirll]

you love forcing your guys to watch tv with you.

snuggled up on the sectional together, there’s nothing you’d rather be doing with your saturdays.

your head is on daryl’s chest and your feet in rick’s lap while the old vhs tape plays an old episode of six feet under.

one of the alexandrians who’d passed long before your group arrived had a considerable hbo collection, along with some of the other most popular television series of your time before the end of the world as you knew it. from dvds of mad men to nip/tuck, there was enough to keep you preoccupied binging the best of the 2000s.

your duties in your new neighborhood kept you to a constant schedule but making time for tv wasn’t hard. slipping away to rock judith asleep in your arms was made easy with an episode of grey’s anatomy. it was nice to feel normal for once - like someone who wasn’t holing up behind ten foot high walls from hordes of the dead.

it’s even nicer getting your busy, go-getters to simply sit and enjoy your company, and the glow of the tv.

having never had a tv aside from the busted flatscreen merle’d once ditched at his place before everything went down, you were shocked when daryl told you he didn’t have a favorite show. it seemed every dvd or vhs you inserted had the man mocking the media.

dexter is dumb. arrested development’s cast consists of assholes. house bored him. psych too. and don’t get him started on desperate housewives.

at least you could count on wrestling rick into the couch for an episode of cops. rick’s rambling on everything the show got right and wrong was worth it if you could get him off his feet, because then it wouldn’t be long before you were teasing a foot along his leg.

still on top of daryl, you’re hoping the two pick up on what you’re putting down without you having to be too obvious. rick ruins your perfectly scripted scene with a single clearance of his throat. that’s all it takes for his attention to be diverted from the screen and for a hand to settle on your foot.

your tongue swipes across your lips. your twinging foot eventually brings rick’s attention from the limb to your lust addled expression. daryl’s probably half asleep. he doesn’t give a fuck about cops.

“they’re all gettin’ caught doin’ some dumb shit merle’d do,” he’d gruffed when you first played the title.

regardless, he’s relaxed beneath you. the hand wrapping your frame into him pulling him close. a lightly planted hand on your breast that lures your gaze back to his. you curl into the warmth of his arms and into a balmy kiss.

rick blisters his own impressions onto your calf. “ah,” you hum off-guard into daryl’s mouth. that only spurs the sheriff further up your thigh until you feel a finger over top the crotch of rick’s your boxers. between two pairs of masterful mouths, you could care less about cops. you have your own pulling down your underwear with his teeth and an outlaw on your lips. the latter is laying a hand on your head, savoring the feeling of your soft hair beneath his rough, calloused hand. you don’t mind it at all when he ushers you crushingly closer.

“were you even watchin’?” rick asks, the breath of his laughter panting onto your thigh.

“a bit,” you admit in a puff of breath. “cops is boring.”

“say that again,” daryl snarks into your neck.

rick shakes his head. those bronzed locks brush against the sensitive skin of your thighs, with rick now situated front and center facing your dripping core. he parts the light bush you’ve been maintaining to spread open your plush pussy. cool air makes you whine just as the roving pucker on your pulse point pulls the same sounds from you. “you want a finger? or my mouth?” rick leaves it to you.

you choose the hybrid option.

rick should know that you live for the way he prods you open with a nice fat finger, then letting his tongue wander up and down your clit.

knowing you inside and out, rick is ready to do just that. so it only makes sense that his tongue and a thick finger is already driving you up the sofa, so far gone already that all you can do is muffle your cries with daryl’s mouth.

the brother of georgia’s most wanted has no problem absorbing your pleasure. in fact, he works in near tandem with rick to get your heartbeat racing on both ends. fingers fall into a deft hold on your breasts, going from groping to taunting the buds popping up through your thin long sleeve. bunched up over your chest or your head seems to be the only fate that typically befalls that shirt. the thin material is always accenting your headlights in a cold room or straining holding back your bust enough that your boys always take note of it.

daryl loves it. loves getting a fistful of the flowy, flexible, blue and white flowered fabric. loves it even more when it’s out of his way. bunched up over your tits, it goes. “you gon’ come, pretty girl?” daryl questions, ducking down to capture your breast in his mouth.

you don’t know what to say. the answer is obvious but your words are mere babbles and all you do is moan and huff and pant yes.

all you can see of rick is that fluffy mop of brown. hands dug into your hips, he’s not relenting even as your clit pulses beneath his tongue. he only takes it as an opportunity to run his skilled appendage along the single pronounced ridge of your pleasure point.

“rick takin’ care of ya’? givin’ you a break from the pig show?”

you feel a snort against you, but it’s not long before you’re bucking your hips against rick’s face and he’s steadying your hips. that damn tongue just has to drag against you and you’re ready to flop off the couch. you can barely manage a smile at daryl’s dig because your mouth is contorting into an open o shape - o for orgasm because that’s the only thing on your mind. not the dead stalking the gates upon hearing a single human breath, not the responsibilities of running the community within those gates, not worrying about who’s on watch, definitely not anything other than the burst of delight coursing through you.

sunlight tumbles through the windows onto the perfect center of the living room. it would be blinding rick had he not still been between your thighs. squeezing your eyes shut, the last thing you see is rick’s sunlit head grooving up and down.

feeling snug on rick’s two fingers is enough for you to feel completely unbound. clenching but not clamping like daryl is now on your tit.

“fuck me,” you groan. the vulgarity comes out wispy as the man flattening his tongue and pancaking a new finger to your soaked clit steals your breath.

the denim hardness beneath you has you guiding daryl’s mouth from your chest to your face for another kiss. your hand is wound in his hair, almost like the kiss could distract you from the overstimulation rick’s so hellbent on.

a stripe of gold beams across your faces - and rick’s - so once you’re parting from the messy mash of tongue and lip you’d shared with daryl, the sight of rick has you squeezing your thighs again. with a finger still inside of you, rick’s slowly massaging your newly drenched cunt, and he’s never looked better. pink glossy lips have you yearning for a taste.

luckily, you and rick are always on the same page, thus, he’s leaning up on forearms to croon, “wanna taste yourself, baby girl?” and with a sure nod, your mouths are connecting so you can sample the fruits of your labor.

a hand on daryl’s dick, a bit of maneuvering on your part, and some sweet sounds from rick are all it takes for the television to be ignored. it feels like you’ve all fast forwarded through a season of cops by the time anyone recognizes the television’s still on but no one gives a damn. not when there are better distractions.

#the walking dead #twd smut #rick grimes #daryl dixon #rick grimes smut #rick grimes x reader #twd #twd imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #rickyl x reader #rickyl smut #sorry for the clunky writing #I’m rusty #not beta read #f/m/m #reader’s pleasure centric #ditzy thought fr #alexandria #andrew lincoln #norman reedus #this was rushed but loved #grimesgirll

[dmitriene]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤthis scene, but with simon ghost riley

the silence in the room, occasionally interrupted by muffled sighs, muffled groans and creaks of the bed, which makes one know about its old state, feels heavier than if everything was clogged with conversations and gentle whispers.

it started so long ago that it already feels like a routine, several weeks, if not months of silence, before one late evening, which is not even worth circling in red on the calendar, a dull knock is heard at the door, and then an absolutely tense, pitch black body collapses, making it clear that this is a person only when meeting with eyes lost against the background of gunpowder, bottomless, like an abyss.

his appearance in your apartment is comparable to the appearance of a ghost, silent, the room seems to suddenly become quiet and you can’t even hear his steps, you can’t hear how he inhales through his nostrils under the balaclava with zeal, as if on adrenaline, and all attention is focused on him, the walls narrow until you are looking only at him — not even at the dirt stains left from his boots, at the huge thick bag, obviously filled with his things and which you have never seen before

you only watch as he rips the gloves off his hands, throwing them somewhere randomly, before his bare hands, covered with scars and once washed from blood, cling with bending fingers to the edges of his balaclava to throw it away, exposing disheveled blond strands, a sharp face, lips compressed into an even thinner line than they actually are, and you look, look even when he closes the distance between you with a practical roar, pressing into your lips and licking them with his tongue, pushing inside and slotting up, while his hands explore and squeeze uncontrollably, and yours stroke his face and cling to his dirty strands.

a few steps back along the parquet until your back meets some surface, allowing simon to take full initiative and pick you up in his strong arms, he shakes slightly, he squeezes you until there are marks on the skin under your clothes, turns around with you on hands, navigating the darkness as if in his temple, before catching onto the image of dim light through the slightly open door of your bedroom, paving a new path, a few more steps until you appear naked before him, on rumpled sheets.

you serve as his temple, the center of his peace when his hips snap with unrestrained zeal, thrusting them into your quivering and warm pussy with shallow thrusts, his thighs tremble with tension, his face is buried in the curve of your neck, the heat and sweat between you only turns you on even more, making everything more intimate.

simon kisses and licks the skin under his lips, leaving wet and warm marks on your neck, his nose rubbing against the soft flesh, reaching for your hair as he inhales deeply, inhaling your scent, greedily, as if you were about to slip away, as the depth of his thrusts knocks the air out of your lungs, his cock thrusts deep inside you, hitting your spongy spot, the sensation is both intense and satisfying, stretching warmth of your hole as he takes you completely.

all the words die on your tongues at the same time, after he drowns in the wetness of your cunt, picking up the pace with slightly faster thrusts, somehow randomly pounding and pursuing the feeling of your velvety walls wrapping and squeezing his meaty girth, sucking him deeper, until your wheezing and moaning is interrupted by the vulgar squelching of your slick, enveloping his cock down to the very balls and leaking down your folds, thighs, leaving a wet spot on the sheet.

he continues to penetrate deeper, his movements make you choke on your moans and sighs, as if piercing you, while simon lowers his face, lifting himself up slightly on tense, shaking hands, just to watch how your cunt swallows him to the brim.

wet, squelching sounds fill the room as your hole spasms and clenches around him, perfectly in sync with the throbbing and kick of his cock against your spongy spot, and he bites his tight lips, swallowing a satisfied growl, digging his fingers into his palms on either side from your head without touching you.

the feeling of an approaching orgasm twists and tightens in your lower abdomen, and your walls squeeze him tighter, pulsating non stop in time with your muffled moans, and your hands intuitively reach out to cup his face, urging him to look at you, the connection between your eyes is electric, tense as if a string that is about to break, and his light eyelashes flutter, his gaze softens spontaneously, as if the abyss is dissolving, letting you in with a desperate wheeze, like a wounded animal

— “i can't„

in front of you is a wounded doe, begging for mercy, asking not to look at her with such eyes, full of trepidation, full of tenderness, love that he is afraid that he cannot return, cannot repay in full, so he begs, hoarsely, desperately, he is shaking all over, and the thrusts grow in intensity, driving him deeper, hitting your cervix, knocking out all the sounds from you, not allowing you to connect a word while he chants again and again

— “i can't, you know i can't, stop.. stop looking at me like that„

the unspoken “please„ curls on his tongue and dies deep in his throat, but is silently reflected in his eyes, he doesn’t know that he has long been completely naked in front of you, body and soul, with readable emotions in his habitually bottomless eyes, which are now open only to you alone, as you part your lips, only to end up with a muffled cry and flare up.

your body tenses and trembles, a scream escapes your lips, choked with pleasure as you throw your head back slightly and your eyes roll back, lost in the sudden, overwhelming sensation.

coil inside you snaps, causing a powerful wave of orgasm emanate from the pit of your stomach, as your hips buck uncontrollably, your thighs tremble as you are consumed by intense pleasure, fire like liquid flows in waves from the pit of your stomach and to your core, mixing with the slickness and cum that coat his cock.

your spasming walls clench around him, sucking him in and milking him as you ride waves of ecstasy, the pulsating, vice like gripping sensation triggering his own release and he gives in with a sudden loud, strangled moan, as your vision snaps back to see the way his body tenses, his spine arches and he's assaulted by small tremors, making him bend over you, trembling, as his cock throbs and he spills his thick, hot cum deep inside you.

his tip kicks and spurts rope after rope of milky liquid, painting your walls until the last wheeze from his lips, the last drop of sweat from his sharp chin, before he goes limp, his body is still trembling, muscles are gradually going limp, but he does not have time to hide his nose in the arch of your neck when you, with slightly trembling hands, through the haze of a gradually receding orgasm, cup his face, hoarsely uttering those accumulated words that he did not allow you to say to him all this time, knowing that then, he would definitely break

— “i'm going to fall in love with you again and again, simon„

simon's gaze waver's, his lower lip visibly trembles and compresses into a line again, you feel him trying to lower his head, hide, to block himself from the words that he doesn't think he deserves, but your hands are squeezing slightly, and his is completely limp, so there is nothing left for him but continue to listen, even when his eyes become wet and his throat burns, holding back bubbling sobs, closing his eyelids tightly when you press his face to your lips, kissing a path from the corner of his mouth to his ear with warmth and tenderness, letting his hands slide over the sheets, curl and clench them into a white fist, before his rough, tingling fingertips touch your waist and squeeze, gradually wrapping them around you, as your whisper caress his ear

— “and you don't have to love me back„

#.𐙚july's writings #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon riley fluff #simon riley hurt #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley comfort #simon ghost riley fluff #simon ghost riley hurt #simon riley x female reader #simon riley comfort #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x f!reader #simon ghost smut #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley emotional hurt #simon ghost x you #simon riley emotional hurt #ghost x female reader #ghost x reader #simon riley fic #ghost cod #ghost x you #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost riley fic #simon riley fanfic

[inhuman-obey-me]

True Forms: Sides + New Characters

Once upon a time, long, long ago, we wrote some true demon forms for the demon brothers. And we had so much fun with it that we've returned with a follow-up! Now featuring not only demons but also some angels, a reaper, and one immortal "human" sorcerer.

No in-between forms for MC's sake this time though -- we die like men being driven mad by unspeakable, incomprehensible horrors.

Like before, content warning for unsettling, eldritch descriptions and body horror.

DIAVOLO

The Crown Prince of the Devildom doesn't often go into this true form -- it's incredibly dangerous, and if you see it, you might as well already be in your grave.

The first thing that hits you is the scent of sulfur and burning, so strong that you feel like you're choking on it, suffocating even though there's no smoke to be seen.

There is, however, plenty to be seen of him, as his form is utterly massive -- every direction you look, he seems to stretch infinitely around you, no end in sight to his immense presence.

To his sides, sparks and flashes of gold and darkness alternately flicker off of black flame wings as they languidly float back and forth behind him, singeing the very air they occupy.

The rest of his body mostly transforms into that of a dragon, much like the ornament you normally see upon his chest, covered in brilliant triangular golden scales except for the glowing red orb at his center.

The orb pulses like a heartbeat, and in it, you see yourself -- no, rather, you see a distortion of yourself, all the corruption and cruelty that hides in your very core laid bare before your eyes.

Meanwhile, fire roars everywhere, filling every open space around him and spiraling into a grand crown upon his head.

Despite the noise of the flames, however, his commanding voice can be heard clearly, a low rumble like the roar of a dragon yet distinctly regal and elegant in its tone.

On his chest, the black marks you see in his more humanoid demon form expand and twist outward, hypnotizing you as they wrap like vines around your body.

You hardly even notice as they capture you in a world of complete darkness -- darkness that overtakes not just your senses, but your mind, your soul, your whole existence, like a fire that burns away everything until there's nothing left in you but the abyss, all else turned to ash.

BARBATOS

To witness the true form of the ever loyal and capable steward to the Crown Prince of the Devildom, your fate is already sealed -- one of demise and ruin.

His body shifts and stretches, and stretches, and s t r e t c h e s -- you cannot see where, or if, he ever ends -- like time itself.

His body resembles that of a dragon -- though not the same of his master, but those creatures known across the human world as the lóng, the ryū, the druk, the nāga.

His face blurs, rots, melts -- bits of bone showing through flesh and one eye now just an orb of empty, everlasting black.

The spindly, web-like horns that grace his head grow thicker and longer, the talon-like ends even sharper than before.

Whiskers sprout from his face that are slick and forked at the ends, like his more humanoid-demon form tail, an electric buzz sparking at the end of them.

The scales along his body are black and teal, that familiar lightning pattern reflected in some while you catch glimpses of other universes as they gleam.

It is then that you notice you are slowly being buried in sand -- it cascades off his body, from the ridges in his back and gaps between those captivating scales.

Time itself seem to distort around him as he swims in the air, the very fabric of space rippling and warping against his form.

When he opens his mouth to roar, all that can be seen is a void of space inside, an all-consuming black hole.

There is an awfully maddening absence of sound, the very weight of silence seemingly suffocating and crushing you as you try to gasp for air.

The longer you stare into his face, his form -- the more you get lost and trapped across universes, seeing every branch of time lay itself out before you, over and over and over and over...

Your soul will be trapped forever in that endlessness, true death never taking hold as no reaper can ever reach you to claim it.

MEPHISTOPHELES

Every ghost story about haunted suits of armor originates from the true form of Mephistopheles.

In this form, he truly represents his noble heritage as proud knights tasked with defending the royal family -- grand, intimidating, gallant.

From afar, he seems exactly like those stories, an empty suit of golden armor with eerie peridot green lights glowing as eyes through the helm.

Atop this helm, a showy plume of magenta feathers swoops in a proud arc, and from his back, a grand set of opalescent, translucent feathered wings stretches impossibly wide.

Each flap of these wings creates torrential whirlwinds, tornadoes that tear destructively through entire cities in their path, leaving nothing but ruin in their wake.

Up close, however, it becomes clear that the armor is hollow because he is the armor -- though he usually keeps most of them closed for protection, eyes of green and magenta can emerge all over the gleaming metal plates.

Also dotting the plates are various gems and precious crystals, embedded throughout as if daring someone to come close enough to try to steal them, tempt them as demons so notoriously do.

Every movement, too, deafens with the cacophony of jewels crashing against coins, ringing out for miles and miles around him.

Looking upon this form always makes you feel slightly off, as though he's not standing quite straight, which in turn makes you feel slanted as if constantly slipping down sideways.

However, it's best not to look at all, as gazing upon him melts your flesh away to pools of thick, smooth black ink which indeed would make you slip and fall.

Before one would fully melt away, he opens up to consume any potential wearer of the armor, crushing them inside and using their bones to reinforce the strength of the metal.

Because of this, streaks of ink are always running down the seams where the armor opens, dripping endlessly in deep pools everywhere he goes.

LUKE

Before Luke descends as an angel, a soft smell of grassy sunlight fills the air, and you feel a gentle breeze pick up alongside you.

The sound of bells chimes softly as if rung by this breeze, though no bells can be seen.

Slowly, bursts of tiny stars shimmer into view as if creating a veil from which the angelic child steps forth.

Once he has appeared, the stars gather in small clusters, dancing around him as if engaged in a waltz.

Being a lower-ranking angel still, his form is generally humanoid and looks much like the Luke you know and love.

However, his shape looks more unstable at the edges, buzzing and shaking like a Chihuahua.

Though most of him is covered up by his Celestial garb, you notice eyes peeking out from between the folds, gazing up at you unblinkingly, staring right into your soul.

The eyes on his face, on the other hand, remain peacefully closed, as though you're looking upon a child asleep.

As he delivers his message, the scent of wheat and honey drifts from him, filling the air around you.

Although this form does no harm to you to look upon, you get the distinct feeling that you would fall into endless despair if you were to fail him.

Michael likes to send him to would-be runaways for this reason.

RAPHAEL

Though he may be the youngest of the seraphs, his form is no less grand and imposing.

You hear him before you see him -- the melody of a flute, a tintinnabulation, mixed with an enchanting voice singing words in a tongue you cannot comprehend.

Six large wings surround him, feathers light grey with the same iridescent sheen found on those of homing pigeons, spanning far and wide.

Where his face might be instead are twisting golden rings filled with eyes, swirling in a mesmerizing pattern that captivates you.

His arms, too, are made of a stack of metallic rings that mirrors armor, though no flesh resides within them, and interlock with the shapes of diamonds and spades.

Various chimes hang off like tassels at various points along those metallic arms, ringing endlessly.

In place of his torso is an opalescent crystal ribcage, though there are no organs for it to protect.

A number of spears, pointing downward and outward, fan around his bottom half, with needles circling golden thread around the spear "boning" -- making his bottom half resemble a cage hoop skirt.

Above the swirling rings of his face rests a halo, made up of floating spear tips, sharp and deadly.

And behind him, around him, are more rings that are linked in circles like an atom, so numerous that they are reminiscent of chainmail, all while swirling at dizzying speeds.

Surreal light emits from every element of his form -- every ring, every feather, every pointed end -- giving him an unsettling and ethereal glow.

Anger him in this form, and the mix of melodies becomes mind-numbingly discordant and cacophonous while numerous spears glisten with their sharp ends pointed towards you, ready to strike.

SIMEON

When Simeon was a seraph, his form shared a number of features with that of Raphael's: twisting golden rings for a face, an iridescent crystal ribcage, the stacks of rings for arms, and that surreal, unsettling light emitting from every element.

However, his form differed greatly as well -- his halo was actually an ouroboros, dotted with eyes peering into your very soul and lined with large, long spikes.

His six wings were not made of feathers but of fire, their flames a striking and dangerous blue -- four flanking his back, while the other two surrounded his head of twisting rings, protecting his face with their chaste embers.

His "legs" were composed of crystal shards, slowly twisting and catching the light to create a constant prismatic display.

Past the faint crackling of flames and metallic sonority, you could hear a soft and distant harp that lulled the senses.

His seraph form somehow evoked both a sense of serenity and a gnawing, unnerving sense of dread.

Since his demotion to archangel, however, his form is a bit different -- more telluric, more humanoid, with wings more traditionally white and feathery at his back.

The delicate music of the harp that used to accompany him is gone, now replaced by the brash announcement of trumpets.

His more exquisitely airy elements have become more earthen, those radiant crystal pieces composed now of jagged rock and gleaming metal instead.

So too do fragments of steel float around and over his right side, resting upon his shoulders like a cape flowing gracefully from shining pauldrons.

Drifting idly just past his fingertips, a sword rests across his form, long and thin, both a tool and yet inherently part of him, dancing easily at his command and always ready to strike.

Each metallic sliver is dotted with eyes, peering and watching over you, at once benevolent and yet you can feel them -- watching you, judging you, sharply observing every move you make.

Another eye watches as well, from above, gazing serenely from the center of a spinning seven-pointed star which serves as his head.

There are no other facial features to speak of, but the look in that single blue orb expresses all there is to understand.

Though his voice rings clear in your mind with any message he may have from above, you can see your fate clearly from the moment your eyes connect with his gaze.

THIRTEEN

As a reaper, there is no question of death's approach when Thirteen transforms into her true form.

You become aware of long, low bells in the distance -- for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

From the moment you hear that very first clang, you cannot move, an icy chill washing over you and leaving you frozen in place.

However, it is not fear that you feel, but instead an odd sense of peace that overtakes your mind and makes the world around seem distant and hazy.

All light fades from view except the eerie blue flame of the candle she carries in one hand, along with the vivid green fire that takes the place of one eye.

Through the flickering light, you can see where bones replace flesh -- a half jaw, a sharp cheekbone, a partially exposed ribcage.

Her other eye seems to become more reptilian in nature, scales surrounding her brow bone and the hollows of her cheeks, jagged and harsh.

Her teeth are sharp and large, the exposed jaw making it appear as if they are locked in a menacing grin.

Gauze wraps around her neck, dark ichor seeming to seep through it and drip onto her chest and into the hollow of her ribs.

She floats towards you, no legs to be seen as she rolls atop mist and fog that sprawls ever outward, reaching the edges of your vision.

Within that mist you catch a glimpse of fluttering iridescence -- butterflies, their wings part black and shining with opalescent darkness.

No longer does she wear the tattered black robes so often thought as the reaper's uniform -- instead, long pieces of black chiffon, tulle, and mesh twist around her form, giving the illusion of a cloak.

Long, sharp claws wrap around her scythe, its blade broad and keen -- but it shimmers in the light, its form malleable and able to transform into whatever the reaper so desires.

However she decides to capture your soul, the last thing reflected in your eyes will be the blue flame of the candle extinguished, its wax melted away with the end of your life.

SOLOMON

Hello, my adorable apprentice

What's wrong? Don't you recognize me?

It's me, Skeletiano Solomon

The true form of an immortal human sorcerer is...

Yeah this seems right

Right?

#scroll to the end for a surprise. please. #it's worth it we promise #little bit cosmic horror #little bit cosmic cutie patootie #we couldn't make our baby boy scary we just couldn't #obey me #obey me! #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me nb #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me thirteen #obey me mephistopheles #obey me mephisto #obey me raphael #obey me side characters #obey me headcanons #demons being demons #angels being terrifying

[sundrop-writes]

Missing You

Gar Logan x Fem!Reader x Jason Todd

Summary:

Gar misses his two best friends. When he calls the two of you, he certainly doesn’t expect to find you in such a… compromising situation.

Gar Logan x Fem!Reader x Jason Todd. Accidental Voyeurism. Smut. Canon Divergent AU of Season 2.

Word Count: 2,800

DC Titans Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: there is a lot of Gar/Jason (emotionally and sexually), dubious consent - Gar listens to the reader and Jason having sex without their consent (but they don’t mind when they do find out), invasion of privacy (but again, they don’t mind it), would this be considered eavesdropping?, accidental voyeurism (and then on purpose voyeurism), Gar masturbates while listening to Jason and the reader have sex over a FaceTime call but Jason and the reader don’t know Gar is listening, Gar feels slightly guilty about being horny in this situation, lots of dirty talk, Jason is more dominant, reader is definitely submissive, Gar is (slightly?) submissive (though he is not ‘involved’ for most of the sex act), the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (though she is not really the ‘center’ of this fic), Jason has a filthy mouth, p in v sex (between Jason and reader) - actually protected sex this time (which is a surprise for my fics) (it’s my headcanon that Jason is a big proponent for condoms/safe sex), degradation kink (towards the reader), terms used to describe the reader: slutty/slut, cocksleeve, hole, fucktoy/toy, cumdump, good girl; slightly possessive Jason (but it’s clear that he doesn’t mind sharing with Gar), spanking (very light, no severe pain kink) - mention of clit spanking, mention of orgasm restriction, mentions of sexting/sending nudes. I believe that’s everything.

A/N: This is a repost. Again, to complete my Titans Masterlist on this blog. I did some tweaking to it, but it is still mostly the same. So if you have read it before, I hope you enjoy it. And if it’s your first time reading it, I hope you like it again.

...

The concept of butt-dailing was something that still mystified Gar. 

He understood why it was a thing in the 2000s, sure. A time when people’s phones still had tactile buttons on them, when you could sit on your phone in your back pocket and start pressing things by accident. But these days? Why was the term even still used? 

How can you call someone by accident? How can you have an entire phone conversation with someone by mistake? 

On that day, it hadn’t been Jason that called him - no, Gar was the one calling Jason. 

Gar hated to admit it, but he was fucking lonely. He had a soft heart and if he went too long without talking to his friends, without hearing their laughter, then he wilted like an unwatered plant. It wasn’t something that he ever said aloud, but it was something that was very easy to tell for the people who were closest to him. 

So Jason had taken to calling him on a regular basis. And ironically, because of it, the two had actually grown a lot closer in the Robin’s absence. 

Their friendship bloomed because of the long, late-night phone calls where Jason’s tired voice mumbled things to Gar as he fell asleep, admitting things about his past and the pain he sometimes felt that he never would have told anyone else. And they often spent hours on Discord calls as they kicked ass together playing COD or some other stupid game like Mount Your Friends. Even though on that day the Tower was practically empty, Gar found himself missing Jason the most. 

Ever since you had gone to Gotham to visit Jason, Gar’s other closest friend abandoning him, Gar had practically gone mad with loneliness. Rachel was off on a ‘girls trip’ with Donna, Dawn, and Kory, and Dick was attending some kind of ‘League’ business. Hank was leading a ‘be a better you’ sobriety seminar in another city, and Gar still found himself feeling like an outsider when hanging out with Rose and Jericho. 

So where did that leave him? 

Alone in his room, sprawled out on his bed. 

He had thumbed over Jason’s contact in his phone several times before he actually decided to put in his earbuds and give the guy a call. Surely his best friend wouldn’t consider him needy after the three hour long timestamps on their other calls. If Jason was busy, Gar could simply find something else to entertain himself. He could probably best his Resident Evil speedruns. Again. 

But selfishly, he was hoping Jason would pick up and talk to him for a while. Maybe you would be lounging around with Jason and he would get to talk to the both of you. That would be really nice. 

When the FaceTime call was answered on the other end, the screen was dark. Gar thought for a moment that Jason was just busy - that he was pressing his phone to his chest until he could get into another room to take the call. But for a few moments, all he heard was deep breathing, some grunting. The sound of Jason training? 

He was definitely inside Jason’s pocket. 

See, Jason hadn’t even noticed the incoming call. He had his phone on silent, and he had answered it completely by mistake. Turns out, the rapid, rhythmic thrusting of his hips had somehow successfully pressed the ‘answer’ button, even with the phone shoved deep in his back pocket. 

And Jason wasn’t really in a position to have a friendly, ‘let’s chat about COD’ video chat with his best friend. 

He was balls-deep inside of you. With his thick, hard cock out through the zipper of his pants with his phone still inside of his back pocket. He was thrusting into you where you were face down on his bed, on your knees exactly how he wanted you. 

It was a huge part of the reason you had come to visit him. The two of you had been fooling around for as long as you had known each other, and you couldn’t seem to go for very long without fucking the other person. It brought you both relief from your stressful vigilante lifestyle, and it was the best sex either of you ever had. Not that any of your friends knew that you had a ‘thing’ going on, of course. 

Gar was about to hang up the call, believing that he had caught Jason at a bad time and realizing that the guy didn’t even know his phone was on. But he froze completely still when he heard it. 

“Fuck, babe, take my cock.” Jason groaned, his voice absolutely thick with sex. “Fucking take it.” 

It was something that instantly made Gar tremble, made blood rush to his cock as he heard his friend’s voice in a way that he never had before. The sound was rough in his headphones, distant and not nearly as pure as it would have been in person. But it made Gar’s blood run hot in seconds, made him so turned on so quickly that he became dizzy. 

Gar’s hand itched to reach down and grip his cock through his pants, but he knew that he shouldn’t. He knew it was wrong. He should just hang up the call and hope that Jason never saw it in his call history. The longer he stayed there and listened, the more suspicious the timestamp would look in the call history if Jason ever saw it. 

But Gar was frozen in his tracks when he heard something that absolutely made his head spin. 

“Yes!” It was your voice. “Fuck, I fucking love your cock. I’m just a slutty little cocksleeve for you, Jay!” 

High pitched and needy, moaning out - it was you. You, screaming those entirely pornographic words, followed by a deep grunt from Jason. 

Gar let out a sharp breath. It hadn’t occurred to him who Jason might be fucking. Or that he was fucking someone at all, and that he wasn’t just alone, fucking his own hand. 

Gar almost couldn’t believe that this was happening. The two people that he had been attracted to for so long now, playing out an epic sex fantasy for his own ears. He knew that it was so horribly wrong, but he probably wouldn’t have hung up the call if someone had pointed a gun to his head. 

“Yeah, you are.” Jason replied, his voice slightly obscured from the phone being in his pocket. “You’re my perfect slut. Such a good fucktoy, aren’t you, Y/N?” 

Jason saying your name with such a deep, possessive need, paired with the way he spoke so confidentially - it forced Gar to imagine how long the two of you had been in a relationship like this. How long the two of you had been playing around behind everyone’s backs to know each other’s kinks so well without crossing any boundaries. Even with his brain so lust-clouded, his thoughts flashed through all of the times you and Jason had snuck off together, or made lame excuses to go to bed early when Jason had still been living at the Tower. 

Gar was upset that he hadn’t found out about this sooner. His brain conjured up a fantasy of him sneaking into Jason’s room late at night, and seeing you on your knees for his best friend. He easily imagined Jason inviting him to stay, telling Gar what a slut you were, how much you would love to have two guys at once. Him and Jason passing you around, your wetness making both of their cocks shine. If you were the ‘fucktoy’ that he claimed you to be, it probably wouldn’t be that far from reality. 

There was a wet, slapping sound - Jason fucking into you harder as you moaned and struggled for breath. 

Gar’s cock pulsed with need. 

Something in the back of his brain screamed that it was wrong and that he needed to hang up, but his cock screamed louder. So he untied the string of his pants with haste and racked them down over his aching balls. Just to be safe, he muted his end of the call so that Jason wouldn’t hear any noises he made. 

(If he had been thinking a bit clearer, he would have realized that any noise he made, especially echoing into Jason’s back pocket, would have simply gotten lost in the haze of sweat and sex that the two of you were making in Jason’s bedroom. But - better safe than sorry, right?) 

In his mind, muting the call seemed even more reasonable when he let out a deep moan the second he took his hard dick into his hand. More beautiful sounds from you and Jason came in through his headphones as he began to jerk himself off. 

“Fucking love how you take my cock, fucking love how this slutty pussy gets so wet for me.”

Jason’s dirty mouth continued as Gar’s hand started a steady rhythm. Gar was already leaking precum that easily slicked him up - he was absolutely dizzy at the sound of Jason’s sex-graveled voice. 

“Just a fucking hole for me to cum in.” Jason growled. “You love it, don’t you? You love being my fucking toy. My fucking cumdump.” 

The pure filth coming out of Jason’s mouth surprised Gar, just as much as his own reaction did. The way his dick jumped in his hand and his lungs released a moan, his tip leaking even more precum at the words. He had no fucking idea that you and Jason were so dirty, that you liked being… degraded so much. Because clearly you loved it, with the wailing moan that you echoed back in response. 

“I love it!” You told Jason, your tone desperate and breathy, worn with sex. “I love being your cumdump. I’m just a hole for you to use!” 

Gar tried to imagine what the two of you might look like in that moment. Were you on your back, your legs spread wide for Jason? Were you completely naked with your tits swaying with his every thrust? Were you on your hands and knees, ass out like a bitch in heat for Jason? 

Gar pumped his cock faster at the thought, his precum making it sound absolutely slick, unrestrained grunts coming from his parted lips as he continued to listen you and Jason fuck. He would feel guilty for this later, but right now, he was absolutely dizzy with lust and needed to hear more. 

“You gonna cum on my cock, slut?” Jason’s voice was sharp, demanding. 

It sounded like Jason was holding back the urge to cum himself and he needed you to get there first. There was a sharp sound - skin hitting skin, higher in pitch and less muffled than the constant pounding of Jason into your cunt. Jason had spanked you. Gar’s orgasm swelled in his belly as he imagined Jason’s hand coming down against your skin, making the fat of your ass bounce or - fuck, Jason’s hand blooming against your wet clit. (Gar hated that he would never know which it actually was.) 

“Be a good girl. Cum for me.” Jason demanded, throat strangling his voice as he drowned in his own arousal. 

And just like that, you dissolved into a fury of sounds. Gar caught you chanting ‘I’m a hole! I’m a hole! I’m a hole!’ as though it was the only thing on your mind, increasing in volume as your orgasm overtook you, but it was muffled after a moment and Gar heard Jason grunt the words ‘shut up’ in the most sharp, dangerous voice he had ever heard from his best friend. 

Gar’s mind was immediately struck with the picture of Jason’s hand on the back of your head, shoving you into the bed to quiet your whorish moaning, and this was what sent him over the edge. His stomach curled so hard that it practically made him nauseous, his body drawing up off the bed as he pumped his cock hard and fast. He pumped himself dry as cum splashed up over his (thankfully) naked stomach and dirtied him in hot, white waves. 

Gar’s body was still trembling when he heard Jason rattle out a shuddering moan, a sure sign that he was cumming too. 

Gar should have rushed to end the call. 

But it seemed impossible to move at this point - his bones were practically made out of jelly from the intensity of his orgasm. The hand holding the phone had dropped it against his chest, the sound still coming in clear from his earbuds. He was desperate to catch his breath, and his cum still warm against his stomach when he heard it. 

There was a shifting, a rustling sound - fuck, Jason was taking his phone out of his pocket. 

Gar panicked. 

But his orgasm had been so spectacular that it had knocked all the sense out of him, including his usually good reflexes, so he was slow to pick his phone back up. When he did, his heart jumped in his chest when he found Jason staring at him, wearing a wide smirk. 

In the time it had taken Gar to recover, Jason had taken his phone out - with the original purpose to check the time. Alfred always had a very specific time for dinner, and always became cranky if anyone was late. Jason certainly didn’t need anyone to come looking for you and him, seeing the compromising position that you found yourselves in. 

Jason was surprised when he found the call with Gar going. And once he had checked the timestamp on the still ongoing call, he immediately knew what had happened. 

“Did you enjoy the show?” Jason said, his voice slightly rough from the sex, but entirely confident, unshaken. 

“Uh - I - I -” Gar stuttered. 

When Jason saw his lips moving and didn’t hear any sound, he quickly spoke up. 

“Unmute the call, dickhead.” Jason told him, giving a small chuckle with the offensive, affectionate nickname. 

Right. Gar had muted it to participate in his perverted voyeurism. 

As Gar reached up to find the button, he realized his hand was still covered in cum. 

Jason licked his lips as he saw substance smeared all over Gar’s palm and saw his friend reaching for tissues off to the side. As Gar raced to clean off his hand, you appeared behind Jason’s shoulder in the frame of the call. You were wearing a bra, your skin slightly slicked with sweat and tear tracks coming off the side of your eyes - clearly from pleasure and not from pain. 

“You had Gar on a FaceTime call?” Your tone was a breathy giggle, clearly not at all upset at the idea that your friend had been listening in on you being fucked and called degrading names. “Kinky. Did you call him while you were putting the condom on?” 

Gar unmuted the call with his now clean(er) hand, but waited in silence for you and Jason to finish your conversation. He was surprised that you didn’t seem to care; that you seemed to think it was some kind of pre-planned kink that Jason had executed. Gar’s stomach twisted at the thought of it, that you and Jason had discussed inviting another person into your sex life and you were more than okay with it being Gar. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Jason told you. “Go get cleaned up for dinner.” 

You simply nodded, and leaned in to give Jason a kiss - a soft, gentle sight that was entirely arousing in contrast to the rough, filthy sex that Gar knew the two of you just had. It was even more arousing when you walked out of frame and Gar heard another spank to your bare skin (clearly you weren’t wearing bottoms) - and heard you let out a delighted squeak in response. 

“Look, I can explain-” Gar began his groveling, but Jason quickly cut him off. 

“Quiet.” Jason said, his tone taking on a kind of authority that made Gar’s stomach jump. “Next time this happens, we get to watch you cum, or you don’t get to cum at all. Got it?” 

Gar’s cock was quickly filling with blood again at Jason speaking to him this way, so boldly, making sexual demands over his body. His mouth was dry and lost for words so he simply nodded in response. He opened his mouth to attempt to speak - to apologize, to ask for clarity, to ask Jason when ‘the next time’ would be. 

But now that Jason had Gar’s simple affirmation, he hung up the call. 

Gar - unable to help himself - stretched an arm out and took a picture of his half hard cock and his shirtless body, still covered in his cum. He hesitated to send it, though. After a long mental debate in the shower, it came back to his phone sitting on his nightstand, and sent it to Jason with a caption that read ‘I really did enjoy the show’. 

It pinged Jason’s phone when he was sitting at the dinner table with you and Bruce. And as he looked at it under the table, he choked on his peas.

#sundrop writes #dc titans #titans fanfiction #titans x reader #dc titans fanfiction #gar logan x reader #gar logan #garfield logan #garfield logan x reader #jason todd #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jaygar x reader

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

I'll come pick it up after pt.6

John Egan X Female! Reader

Sumarry: Egan is going to London for a weekend. He tries to get his girl to come with him...

Warning: Historical inaccuracies/ use of Y/n/ swearing/ just fluff

Word count: 480 words

A week went by, Bucky went on a lot of missions, Y/n healed a lot of soldiers, they both needed a break. Which was convenient because John Egan just got a weekend pass, he was going to London for the weekend. He was trying to get his nurse to come with him, he had to convince the corporal the sign her a weekend pass too. He even asked Buck to testify of how much she was tired and needed a break. ‘’Come on Corporal, she had people dying on her all week, please she needs it’’ Bucky pleaded his case. ‘’Corporal, if I may, Dr. Hamilton, she’s an amazing chief nurse, she’s leading the nurses and she’s going a very good job. She healed Harry Crosby’s puking problem, and she takes very good care of us when we’re injured’’ Buck adds, more calmly than his best friend. The Corporal was fed up with the two men, but they were right, Y/n Hamilton needed a break. ‘’Alright, I’ll sign her a weekend pass, now get out of here!’’ he ordered as he sign the paper, handing it to Bucky. He was smiling like a kid on Christmas, he would have his girl for the hole weekend. ‘’Thank you, Buck, I appreciate it’’ Bucky thanks his friends. ‘’You’re welcome, now go get her, and have fun this weekend.’’ He says, while shaking his hand.

Y/n was enjoying a relatively calm day at the office. There were men injured, but it was the same they healed this week, it was the ones that needed intensive care. Everything was calm until John Egan came in the medic center, grinning like the town idiot. Other nurses were whispering when they saw the men enter the building, rumors of their relationship were circulating among them. ‘’Good morning, darling, can I talk to you in your office?’’ he didn’t even wait for her answer, he took her hand and led her to her office. He was so happy. ‘’What’s going on with you, Bucky’’ she said, smiling, happy to see him happy. ‘’I just got a weekend pass, I’m going to London and you’re coming with me!’’ he said, only showing her his pass, to maintain the element of surprise. ‘’That’s great for you, but I need a pass too, and the Corporal won’t give me one easily’’ she said, caressing his arm. ‘’That’s where your wrong, darling, I got one for you too’’ he showed her the pass, proud of himself. ‘’John Egan, you damn fool’’ she said, excited for her weekend off. ‘’Oh, you kiss your mother with that mouth’’ he smirked. She laughed and kissed him. ‘’No, I kiss you with that mouth’’ she smiled. ‘’Pack your stuff, darling, we’re going to London!’’ He made her spin around and kissed her. ‘’We’re going to London’’ she squealed. They were getting a break.

Part 7⬇️

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