[redstonedust]

its probably a normal sign for the economy that all of my adulthood fantasies are like "imagine having your own kitchen living room and bathroom to decorate" "what if i could get on a train" "maybe one day i could purchase a sturdy pair of shoes" "i should save and invest in a single bicycle"

[rawme-price]

You feel like you're about to throw up from anxiety, sitting at the table across from gaz.

The tension is so thick you think you may choke, your dear husbands entire demeanor closed off from you. Kyle seems...nervous. spending almost all your days with him means you know how to read him. He's practically sweating bullets.

You chew the inside of your cheek, glance away. This whole...everything has been perfect. The life you've made with him, you don't want to risk it but...you take a breath.

"Kyle...I don't want to be pregnant." The words come tumbling out, then, you tack on "and I don't think I want kids either."

...gaz stares, eyes wide. He lets out a deep exhale "oh thank god."

"...what? You're not mad?" Your mind stutters, not expecting that reaction. "You don't want kids? A family of our own?"

"Me? Baby, me?? Just last night my dinner consisted of a bag of crisps and burnt eggs." Kyle snorts, already up and moving around the table to claim a seat next to you. He smiles in that way where he seems totally in love with you, "and you drank a bottle of ghosts mystery brew last week. we are not made for being parents."

"but...all that talk whenever we...?" Your mind drifts to those filthy words that spill from kyles mouth, about breeding you each night until it finally takes, about making you a proper parent.

Kyle kisses your temple with a snort, laces your fingers into his own "just a fantasy, baby."

"Besides," his whole body leans into you, warm sides pressed together "you're already my family. Even if its just you."

For the nonny who wanted reader being scared of pregnancy!

[mintmatcha]

love arranged marriage unfortunately. the idea of being married to a knight who's not even in the city, but away on the front lines. it's a benefit for your family, so they dont even question sending you to his home to await his return...

[mintmatcha]

you meet him three months into the arrangement. He arrives after the sun has already set, his features set strong in the candlelight. His body is heavy with exhaustion and tension, his eyes dull and tired.

you've grown to hate this place, this castle gifted to him for war victories. The halls are barren, the garden yet to bloom. The maids are pleasant, but they keep their distance, as if you'll strike. Maybe your husband is the kind to hit. You wouldn't know.

When he looks at you, it's only in short bursts, his eyes suddenly low. There's a long stretch of silence between you and you consider introducing yourself, but decide against it. He knows who you are.

"The maid is drawing me a bath," he says suddenly and a sick feeling pours over you. This day was always coming, but you aren't sure you're ready to lay under a stranger.

"Am I expected to join?" you ask and his nose crinkles.

"No." He steps back and away. His departure is brisk and driven. You retire for the night by yourself and awake alone. Your husband is set to leave again in a few hours; a few soldiers have already gathered in the front garden.

"Don't you wish to give your new wife a goodbye?" one asks, unaware of your open window. "One night and you've already had your fill? Or has she been filled too much?"

"I refuse to believe she is real!" says another. "What kind of woman has worn down our brute and turned him into a family man? Should we expect a gaggle of children in the upcoming year?"

Your husband growls. "You will leave the poor lamb alone. She suffers enough."

That softens you. Just a bit. You rise from you bed and go to the window, leaning out enough to catch the men's attention.

"Until next time."

He watches you, expression caught between more emotions that you can count, then turns his gaze back to his mount. The two men share a look, wide, wide grins on their faces.

"Until next time," he repeats back.

[mintmatcha]

In his absence, he sends gifts. They are tiny things, sweets and oiled combs and scented oils and a porcelain figure of a cat, aimless in their direction towards you. Just simple niceties he could give to any woman in the world. You imagine he sends one to the lovers he has in every city as well.

(he must have lovers, you imagine. He hasn't touched you; he must be getting his fill with women in other cities, maybe women he actually loves. these are trinkets to keep his wife amused while she wastes away.)

none of the gifts come with a note.

one day a bolt of fabric arrives, yellow and ornate. It's only a small amount, not enough to make a dress, but enough for you to unravel and admire. It's beautiful and clearly expensive, golden threads woven into flowers and vines. Your father was a silk merchant; while you never wore the silks, you can recognize their quality.

the following week, the delicious man rides up on his steeds and presents a letter. The handwriting is rough. Knights that come from the lower class do not have the schooling of highborns; as fair as you know, your husband was born a street rat and worked his way theough the ranks to glory.

-I have been told by my secund that I did not send you enuf fabric for a gown. I do not no these things.

The spelling mistakes screw a smile out of you.

"Wait a moment." You stop the boy before he can leave. "I wish to send something back."

You take your time and use your finest calligraphy, tucking your note in with a handkerchief you had spent the week on. It's fine work-- one that would please even the hardest of hearts.

-Dearest husband,

Please take this handkerchief as a sign of my thoughts.

Your patient and thoughtful wife

A second letter arrives within the week.

-are you cros with me? A scrap of fabric for a scrap of fabric?

The response is what makes you cross. The poor messenger boy has to stay the night while you percolate over a response.

-Dearest, sweetest husband,

A handkerchief is a traditional gesture of affection. I have embroidered the edges by hand, with your last name and your roses, and it smells of my perfume. It is a piece of me for you to carry. If you do not appreciate my kindness or if you think it will turn away your lovers, you may return it. I do not wish it wasted on you.

Your less than patient and less than adoring wife

The poor boy scatters off in the morning and returns a few days later.

tortured wife,

I wil cherish it. I am sory, pour lam. I wil do better.

your loving husband

[lunebrew]

sighs wistfully and forlornly and woefully and

[bfbkg]

fire lord!zuko and earthbender!reader (3.5k)

— your fire lord boyfriend meets your tribe

cw: fluff. suggestive a teeny tiny bit. self indulgent. could have continued forever. i might just.

it’s always warm and cosy in the fire lord’s private chambers. red silk sheets rest languidly on your waist as you lay bare on his chest. his arms, thick and solid, are loose at your back but you know how quick they’d tense if anyone was to storm in here.

but they wouldn’t. with it being a little after midnight, all of zuko’s fire lord duties are over and your duties being an earthbender in ba sing se continuing sometime midday, it feels like you have forever in his arms. 

the air still smells of sweaty hot sex, which you just enjoyed a few moments ago with a mix of petrichor. warm, comforting and grounding.

you rest your head in your palm, your elbow digging into his cotton mattress and zuko’s honey amber eyes only drift to your exposed chest for a second, okay two, then he meets yours.

“hm? why’re you looking at me?” he rubs up at down your back soothingly and you sigh wistfully.

you brush his long onyx hair off his pectoral, out of his face and behind his ear to reveal his scarred eye. the sight of his complete face. pouty lips, glowing eyes. stupidly straight jaw and slightly crooked nose (apparently he broke it once as a child). it all makes you want to kick your feet in the air and giggle. but you hold it together, you’re a lady somewhat. eh, not really.

“it’s my granny’s birthday this weekend,” you drawl, looping your finger around a lock of his hair. you hold it straight underneath your nose like a moustache just so you can see his eyes quirk in amusement.

“i thought your grandparents were dead?” he asks, robust yet tender like the flames he uses to reheat your cold teas.

you let go of his hair, slapping his arm lightly.

“my blood grandparents, yes. i’m talking about my granny! she’s looked after everybody since we were babies. i’ve never known life without her.”

zuko hums, listening and unmoving.

“how old is she turning?”

“one hundred and eighteen. impressive, right?”

zuko pouts at you out of habit. just because you’re so close and he’s right there. you meet his lips in a wet smack, stretching your leg to rest over his lower stomach.

“you want me to come to her birthday i’m assuming?” he cocks his head slightly, picking an eyelash off your cheek.

that bluntness, the obvious statement now held between you both, makes you horribly shy. instead of his eyes, you’re looking at his nose. grumbling to yourself.

having a relationship with the fire lord, whilst you were a earthbender (one of the best, might you add!) from one of the smallest tribes wasn’t the easiest. for one, you knew the fire council wasn’t the most supportive with wanting fire royalty to stay firebenders, your dates would occasionally come with an entourage of help and your schedules often proved difficult to line up.

though you and zuko made it work, which lead you to the next stage. introducing him to your tribe.

“everyone’s inviting their boyfriends. a few have some from different tribes and kingdoms!” you draw your finger along his hard chest making incoherent shapes, missing out the clear fact that none of them are royalty, however. it’s a slow whisper, “i want you to be there too.”

your hand is snatched from his chest, curled into a fist and your knuckles are pressed against his lips. the eye contact alone gets your stomach swirling with lust. your leg hitches higher on his chest.

“i’ll be there. for sure.”

your smile could light up the night sky. could rule the tide and guide boats home. zuko finds it difficult to say no to you, especially when all your wants and asks are pretty much within his means. besides getting you a flying bison. he still hasn’t broken the news that it’s not likely you can have one since neither of you are airbenders. anyway.

but to you, as much as you love the luxuries his life can provide, you don’t see him as the royal fire lord. you treat him casually, like his friends do and at this earth tribe party, his only title will be yours. it’s times when you try to demand him to return back to bed in the morning that will always drive him crazy. these aren’t dynamics that are supposed to work, but they do.

“okay,” you roll your lips in, then out before flinging your whole body onto him in an embrace. it’s easy. how his arms circle around your smaller frame, your face tucking into his neck to place a kiss and how his gravely chuckle jumps out of him.

“okay, okay,” he squeezes your asscheek playfully, “what does your granny like? i can go down to the market and get her a few things.”

“you don’t need to get a gift, zu. i’m making her a bracelet that can be from the both of us.”

zuko’s grin doesn’t let up. the idea that even though he is your boyfriend, he will turn up empty handed and name your gift as his? 

“sweet, but i’m not doing that. heavens forbid.”

you roll your eyes but lay your lips over his in a kiss which only turns into him pushing you onto your back into his bed and opening your legs so he can slot between them.

on the day of your granny’s birthday, you meet zuko without his entourage outside of your home.

“hello baby.”

you pause for half a second before resuming your pace. that doesn’t last long until you’re jogging up to meet zuko, just to look at him closer and faster.

“hi! you look adorable,” you coo and he doesn’t swat away your fluttering hand. he lets you cup his cheek, your eyes gazing all the way down his body.

he’s still in fire nation robes, but civilian ones. he stands before you, in your kingdom, sans a crown or any golden jewellery, his armour off. just burgundy trousers, black boots, a classic grey long sleeve undershirt and a maroon tunic on top. you know the fire insignia will be sewn on the inside of the sleeves if you had a look. the gold thread on the collar and ends of his undershirt are the only signs of wealth and quality. aside from that, he appears to just be your firebending boyfriend, going to an elder’s birthday.

zuko’s got his hair all up in a bun, one he’s embarrassed to have attempted numerous times to get perfect, so you looking at him with gooey eyes causes him to puff out his chest in pride. he lets a few hairs frame his face and like always, you tuck the side that covers his scarred eye behind his ear. the one thing that will always make it difficult to not mistake him for being the fire lord.

you’re too engrossed in his appearance to notice the wooden box he’s holding, about the width of his chest and four inches outwards.

“you look beautiful,” he hums, bending down to meet your face, “kiss me hello, princess.”

“thank you, kind sir,” you play, slinking your arms around his neck as he adjusts to hold the box on one hip.

outside your quiet apartment, zuko slips his tongue into your mouth, pulling you to him with a bare hand on the sliver of skin exposed from your sage bandeau and loose brown linen trousers. he grunts into the kiss, feeling the rumble of his large body with your hand on his chest.

“i’m so nervous for this,” he whispers against your lips, pulling you back in by sucking your tongue. you don’t have to reply before you’re practically moaning into his mouth, careful not to mess up his bun with the desperate need to rake your fingers over his scalp.

you manage to pull away, slightly breathless, “no, you don’t have to be! i’ve told everyone i’m bringing someone.”

he drops his head to your shoulder with a sigh, “but do they know it’s me?”

you smile, just a tiny one, “they’ve never met you.”

he growls into your neck, “you know what i’m asking.”

“do they know you’re the great and powerful fire lord?” he pokes your side and you yelp in a giggle, “two of my friends know of you. but nobody knows you but me.”

zuko lifts his head.

“nobody knows zuko, my zuko.”

he exhales, rubs his hand down his face.

“if i love you, so will everyone else,” you comfort, taking his hand in yours to start walking to the party, “now what’s in the box?”

the only people that mention zuko being the fire lord are a group of your little cousins who run circles around him, pulling at his maroon garments to get his attention.

there’s three of them— all missing teeth, holding stones to practice earthbending and full of questions for your boyfriend.

“are you the fire lord? you look like him!”

“no. he doesn’t have the crown.”

“but he’s only got one eyebrow,” your cousin points to their own eyebrows, “see, we have two.”

“is it true you know the avatar?”

“can i see some fire tricks? i can show you my earthbending!” complete with your cousin throwing her rocks in the air and them all plopping onto the ground with a clonk.

“zuko can talk to you all later about firebending. now where’s great granny?” 

amongst all the balloons, banners and food, you follow the little fingers to the back where there is a stone stool, covered in forest coloured cushions and orange flowers. your granny is seated right in the middle, surrounded the older members of the tribe and all your agemates.

zuko smiles at the kids, lays his palm out in front of him to show off a quick small burst of fire. they all release a chorus of wows. “i’ll show you later if my lady here lets me.”

you roll your eyes, grabbing his heated palm as the kids squeal, “c’mon!”

zuko’s grip gets tighter when you near your family. all in multiple different shades of mossy green to honey yellows with the earth insignia at the sleeves. 

“happy birthday granny!” you squeal, letting go of zuko to kiss your granny’s wrinkled yet soft cheek and hold her calloused hands. “are you enjoying your day?”

“my dear, i’m happy to see you’ve made it,” she squeezes your fingertips, crinkled eyes squinting up at you. there’s screams of kids in the background, the teens playing further back and your siblings chatting at one of the tables. but in the presence of your granny, your world stills, listening to every word she says.

“of course!” then you gesture zuko to come forward. he does cautiously, bowing lightly to your granny, the woman who’s taken part in raising you your whole life. “this is zuko,” then you giggle girlishly, “i think he’s the love of my life.”

you tell zuko this often, without the i think at the beginning. wrapped in his arms in bed, sugar dusted confessions beneath the sheets or when you take walks along the ocean at midnight. a few times it’s slipped out when he served you plates of food in front of his friends and every single time, he ends up with cheeks as red as his clothes.

“is it now? let me see this boy.”

zuko takes that as his turn to talk, hoping the sweat along his brow isn’t reflecting in the sun, “hello granny. it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

the smile your granny had for you falls, eyeing down the man you brought with you. you watch as she runs her eyes over his clothing, the golden stitching of his undershirt, his new freshly ironed robes. then his eye, the raised reddened skin around it.

“is this the fire lord?” she asks you and zuko’s wide pupils bounce to yours.

“that’s just his day job—,”

“do you love my child?” she presses, her attention back on zuko. 

even you can’t judge where she’s going with this, your posture straightening as you await zuko’s answer, like there’s a possibility he will deny you in front of everyone you love.

it seems to be the easiest question of the day as zuko, still holding his gift, nods. “of course, with my whole heart. the easiest thing i’ve ever done.”

“awe,” you whisper and zuko grabs your hand with an ease unlike before.

one of your (rather annoying) aunties butt in, arms folded, seizing up the fire lord. “yn is one of our most beautiful women.”

“yn’s beauty is the least interesting thing about her.”

it’s as if the whole tribe goes silent, not quite understanding what zuko means. though here you see the qualities of the fire lord rise to the surface with the speed of a wildfire. 

he stands tall, straight, rubbing his thumb on the back of your hand.

your granny squints with questioning, while your aunties gather with furrowed brows.

“yn is strong, kind and an intellectual. strong with her bending, strong in her willpower, strong to handle everything life throws at her and still stays by me day after day. the kindest human i’ve ever met. i’ve never seen her think about herself first and she’s shown me love in a way i’ve missed my whole life.” he kisses your palm, “checks for my wounds, offers to manage my accounts. then the smartest smartest person. proves me wrong daily, knows the most random facts and could rule a kingdom if she wanted. though she’d never admit it.”

you swat his arm at that, shyly looking to the ground, “stop zu!”

he laughs, his amber eyes are the softest they’ve ever been. he looks nothing like the fire lord who sits on his throne with the layers of robes and heavy golden jewellery. here he looks like a local boy from another nation, convincing his family he’s made for you.

“but also yes, yn is beautiful. i knew from the day i saw her that i’d love her.”

there’s a range of emotions on the members of your tribe. some with watery eyes, others with gleeful smiles. a few in awe, at the fire lord so effortlessly baring his soul for you in front of everyone who loves you.

“hm,” your granny huffs but you don’t miss the crescent moon smiles in her eyes, “you’d look good in green. yn you must have a shawl you can give him. a scarf?”

a peace offering. you chuckle, nodding unable to take your eyes off zuko, “yes i can, if he wants?”

earth nation robes reminds zuko of a specific period of his youth. he did look good in them. “sure. a shade that goes with the red.”

“also, i got this as a gift for you,” zuko bows when he hands the box to your granny, lightly settling it on her lap. 

your granny loves a gift, a fact you didn’t mention to zuko because you knew it would only stress him out more. “oh! you didn’t have to, my boy.”

zuko glances over at you, in shock already. my boy? you shrug playfully.

“delicacies from my kingdom.”

the wooden chest is opened to find cheeses, fruits and chocolate over green fabric. some foods you’ve yet to even try. you point to a chocolate in the corner, white chocolate stripes over a block of milk chocolate. 

“that one looks tasty!”

but you’re forgotten as your granny takes zuko’s hand with a greedy smile, you’re wondering if your boyfriend is about to get poached. “what a thoughtful gift. i will be trying these all.”

“everyone loves you here,” you whisper to him as you drunkenly sway to the music your family members play in the distance. “almost as much as i do.”

after practically sharing zuko with every mother, father, auntie, uncle, cousin and your granny who even told your boyfriend to pull up a chair after dinner to talk, finally they’ve given him back to you.

all in one green and red piece. 

he’s only had a few drinks, nothing close to how many you’ve thrown back but with your tribe, you’ve always been able to relax. for zuko, it’s the first time he’s ever seen you so… yourself in public.

you’re not overthinking every comment you make. your laughs are booming, not covering your mouth. you also inhale all the food on the tables, swearing it’s better than anything he’s ever tasted because your tribe made it.

you’ve danced with every family member, dragged him away from your cousins when he had to answer his twentieth question about the avatar but just as you get him, your teen cousins ask him to spar. this time you fold your arms in front of zuko, protecting him from their weedy selves, “he’s here for granny and me! not to fight you!”

“sorry, have to listen to the misses here.” he pipes up.

so in zuko’s arms, away from your tribe, you appreciate the reprieve they give. 

“how about i give up being the fire lord and just become your husband here?” he chuckles, kissing your forehead as he sways you to the music. zuko’s hands appropriately stay on your hips, despite the desperate want to grope you just a little.

you stare at him with wet round eyes, bottom lip jutted out, “don’t tempt me and you better not be proposing to me here.”

you’re pretty with the candle lights surrounding you, braided hair dancing to the opposite way of your hips. there’s even a daffodil tucked into a braid by an auntie earlier. the more you’ve drunk, zuko’s been on watch that your skirt is still facing the correct way and your bandeau isn’t revealing too much cleavage that you’d usually allow. every clothing adjustment attempt zuko’s made has been met with a deviant smirk from you.

you’re about to kiss him, yank his hair out of his bun and have his gorgeous locks flow all around his face. instead you have to throw up a wall of dirt when a little cousin comes zooming to your feet. “go back to auntie! zuko’s mine now.”

there’s a loud whine when the kid spins around, pottering back off.

“i’m not proposing to you now. you’ll know when i’m proposing to you.” he hums, kissing your cheek, pulling you tight to his chest. he inhales your hair like he always does, peppermint and wafts of orange. 

“okay. not now though, i’m not ready yet,” you tell him firmly and zuko’s smile stays put. he nods in understanding. “i loved your little speech earlier.”

his cheeks beam a berry red, looking away from your piercing gaze. you look like you want to eat him in one gulp whilst simultaneously take your time with him. 

“just wanted everyone to know i am serious about you and you know, despite my title and priorities… you’re important to me.” his lashes flutter over to you at the end. the grip on your hips tighten, pulling you in to feel his hardening length against your stomach. your next inhale is sharp.

“d-don’t. my family is here.” you warn, but you still snuggle against him, wrapping your arms around his neck and rubbing your nose against his, “you can’t be adorable and…” he brushes his lips along your jaw. you clench your eyes shut. “zu… we can’t. later.”

“i know, i know,” and you hear the lust heavy and thick in his voice. he lays one kiss behind your ear, “i love you more today than i did yesterday.”

you want to tug his hair, have him expose that throat so you can mark it up. “i love you too, so much more. you were so sweet with everyone, made me want to cry. take you home for myself.”

you shiver at the brush of cold air as the sky darkens, the lights surrounding you getting brighter to manage. zuko is quick, shrugging off the shawl you gave him earlier to wrap around your shoulders and lightly heating his hands to hug you back into him.

“i was on my best behaviour, wasn’t i?” he grins, stunning as always. your stomach can’t help but heat.

you nod, chewing down on your lip, “one more hour, we pack up the food and we go, okay?”

“it’s up to you, baby. whenever you want.”

“i’m rewarding you when we get back.” your tone ends on a sensual tilt, one that has all the blood in zuko’s body rushing south.

“you’ll be on my face then,” he mumbles and you can’t reply because aunties are rushing over to you, dragging you back into the crowd to sing songs and listen to stories.

comments and reblog are appreciated!! thanks!!

[silverlullabies]

Ghost with an oral fixation using his mask to hide the fact that he’s been eating you out- via your portal pussy- for hours.

Briefing room lights low, projector casting shifting blue-white glow across the long table. Price stood at the front walking the team through the latest op intel. Soap was leaning forward, scribbling notes and occasionally interjecting with his usual chaotic enthusiasm. Gaz sat beside you, arms crossed, focused.

And you… you were seated directly across from Ghost, trying- fucking desperately- to remain professional.

Hands clasped tightly in your lap under the table, knuckles white, spine ramrod straight, thighs pressed together so hard the muscles trembled. Your cunt, however, was a soaked, throbbing mess.

Because Ghost had your portal pussy strapped securely over the lower half of his face, hidden beneath the balaclava, pressed flush to his mouth. He was relaxed in his chair, gloved hands resting loosely on the surface, heavy lidded eyes fixed forward with that signature dead stare.

No one noticed the subtle, rhythmic shift of his jaw beneath the fabric.

No one saw the way his eyes fluttered half closed for a split second every few minutes.

No one could possibly guess that Simon Riley was eating your pussy like a man with a terminal oral fixation. Tongue moving in broad, flat strokes under the mask, dragging from your dripping entrance all the way up to your swollen clit.

Lapping at you lazily, savoring the taste that coated his tongue and chin, swallowing every fresh gush of slick with a quiet, satisfied hum that no one else could hear. Circling the sensitive bud, sucking it gently between his lips and sending low vibrations straight through to your cunt.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood when another wave of pleasure rolled through you, cunt clenching hard around nothing, leaking more arousal that Ghost eagerly drank down.

You tried to keep your breathing carefully controlled, slow inhales through your nose, but your cheeks were flushed, and you could feel sweat beading at the small of your back.

Ghost’s cock was rock hard and leaking steadily into his pants, thick length straining painfully against the zipper as his tongue pushed deeper, curling to stroke that spongy spot inside you that always made your vision spark white at the edges.

Price gestured at the screen. “Ghost? Thoughts on the exfil?”

Simon lifted his gaze lazily, voice coming out gravel rough and perfectly even from behind the mask. “Solid. No notes.”

The moment Price turned back to the slides, Ghost doubled down, sucking harder on your clit, tongue flicking rapidly, then slowed to lazy, teasing circles that had your hips twitching involuntarily in your seat. You gripped the edge of the table, forcing your face into a neutral expression while your poor, oversensitive cunt fluttered and pulsed against his mouth.

Every time your walls started spasming harder and your thighs began to shake, he’d pull back just enough to lap softly at your folds, letting the intensity fade until you were no longer right on the brink. Then he’d dive back in, tongue fucking you, sucking your clit, humming those deep vibrations that made your eyes nearly roll back.

By the third orgasm he ripped from you, your cunt was puffy, swollen, dripping down his chin beneath the mask. By the fourth, you were fighting not to whimper out loud, biting your lip bloody.

You were a wreck, legs trembling under the table, panties long since ruined, core clenching uselessly. Every slow, wet lap sent sparks up your spine. Every suck on your clit made your vision blur. You wanted to moan his name, to beg him to let you come properly, to spread your legs and let him bury his face for real.

Ghost knew it. And the bastard was enjoying every second.

When the briefing finally wrapped and the team started filing out, Soap clapped Ghost on the shoulder with a “You alright, Lt? Lookin’ a bit focused today.”

Ghost remained seated a moment longer, voice low and slightly hoarse as he replied, “Never better.”

His eyes locked onto yours across the now emptying room.

You stood on shaky legs, trying to walk normally as you gathered your notes. The portal was still pressed to his face. He still hadn’t stopped. Even as people left, his tongue continued its slow, torturous circles around your oversensitive clit, occasionally dipping inside to curl against your walls.

As the last person disappeared through the door, Ghost finally rose from his chair, and crossed the room in two slow strides until he was standing right in front of you, mask still firmly in place.

His gloved hand came up, tilting your chin so you had to meet his eyes.

“Been such a good girl fer me,” he murmured, voice rough and thick. “Sitting there all while I ate this pretty cunt. Didn’t make a sound.”

A low, hum rumble vibrated through his chest.

“But we’re not done yet. Briefing’s over… and i’m still fucking starving.”

[cod-enthusiast]

[rawme-price]

Inspired by a little chat with @youarehereyouaresafe

Imagine ghost forced into retirement as androids become increasingly advanced and take his place, right?

He's left with practically nothing while a mockery of a soldier fights other hollow-chested things. What's the point of a war if there's no bloodshed? If there's no weight? Ghost hates androids, hate what they've made of him.

He can't even fucking escape them in retirement, it seems everyone has or wants one. They scan out his food at the shops, drive him places on the bus, chat with people on the streets like they could ever be human.

People love them, fawn over them. All ghost sees is a cheap plastic toy. He's seen what a real android is, the kind that moves like the perfect human on the field, the kind that's packed full of processing power for complex political decisions in a fight. Used a few during missions, cannon fodder.

Now...he's alone. No structure, no bloodshed to lean on, and a face too disfigured to keep anyone around.

Ghost begins to look at those foolish "companion bots" a little different. Warm hole, clean house. It's a nice toy, at least. But every single one ghost has taken a chance to brows seems subpar to even the basic androids from the field. Nothing could compare, their slow response time and jerky movement irritate him.

So...ghost decides if the best out there are war bots, then he'll get himself a war bot.

Bots are so often dumped, it's not difficult to find a good one in an area technically only accessible to the military. He pulls one out of a pile of other models, on the smaller side for ease of repair...or dismantling if things go wrong.

The wiring is a pain, takes him weeks, and giving the bot a warm cunt scrapped from another almost makes him lose his appetite all together. But it works in the end.

Ghost has himself a pretty little bot, outfitted to serve him perfectly. It still has blood in the seams of it's faceplate. Ghost kind of likes the familiarity.

All he has to do is turn it on.

====

Cold.

The first thing your processor tells you. Cold. Slow restart, bits and peices of your mind collecting into one.

You're familiar with the process, happens when they sweep you after every mission. You enjoy the predictable ping up your servos and frames of sensors switching on, relaying information to you main hud—

Wait.

Those...those sensors are wrong. Unfamiliar.

Your processor stutters over the information, it snags like a hook through your data. Absently, you try to initiate your cooling vents only to find they have been moved to your sides instead of your chassis.

Panicked, you skip your normal sequence and prioritize optics.

The sudden sensory input burns. You aren't in your storage case.

Instead...you're in...a house. Basement, maybe. The table is metal. Cold, your sensors offer. You look down to find why you're receiving extra data and—

That. That's not your model. You know your model down to each screw in your motherboard.

You've been tampered with— you need to report— but when you try to contact your company there's nothing. Your connection has been severed.

It takes .6 seconds too long for you to process when your optics receive less light, a shadow cast upon you. You look up, up, up to see...you run his face through your political database of every possible person of interest no matter how small.

Nothing.

You have no idea who this is. What he wants. It takes you too long to realize you need to switch on your audio reception.

"Morning, lovie," the man croons. His voice doesn't match any you know. One rough, human hand brushes along the plates of your neck, and the sensory inputs makes you lag.

"Ready to be my new wife? Gonna have to change your code a bit, figure it's easier when I can see the affect live."

[rawme-price]

Gaz has been staring at ghost in stunned silence for the past five minutes.

"Ghost, mate," he places a hand on ghosts bicep, if only to make sure he's not hallucinating "what do you mean there's a stranger in your apartment??"

Ghost shrugs, casual, as if he didn't just tell gaz about how he came home two weeks ago to find the lights on and fresh food in his kitchen that he hasn't been in for months. "Means what it means, innit. Nice bloke."

"You've talked to them?!" Gazs voice rises in pitch, astonished. He follows after ghost, feeling like he's suddenly on an alien planet "and they're still there?? Ghost!"

"Yeah. Decent company." Is all ghost says before turning the corner to head to his little apartment.

When ghost gets back, just as its been for the past two weeks, you're sat on his counter eating cereal. The house smells faintly of citrus, a welcome change. You've also managed to clean the bloodstain around his fridge that ghost had come to terms as being permanent. Huh.

He's pretty sure you're some sort of criminal in hiding, but he likes having the company around. You two never really speak to eachother but you use the cash he leaves out to buy groceries, and you don't comment when he stands too close or comes back in the middle of the night covered in dirt and blood.

Hell, you didn't even comment when he accidentally crashed on the sofa you were sleeping on after a bad night. In fact, you two practically share a bed at this point. Ghost doesn't care what gaz has to say, he likes having you around.

....he should probably get your name though...right?

[luguuuu]

bites you (flirting)

[rawme-price]

The concept of alpha!ghost who just...has no clue how courting works...

Ghost understands, vaguely, that gifts and certain gestures are shared with someone as courting. He's seen it plenty between soap and gaz, and with the young pretty betas price always goes for at bars.

So of course he thinks he knows what he's doing when he decides to court you, the other lieutenant he sees around base.

"For you." He'll appear out of nowhere while you're talking to a colleague, just to place a pair of metal utensils in your hand after watching you grab a handful of the plastic ones the mess uses. "I have more, if you need it."

He likes to bring you lunch in your office, set down a big plate of meats and veggies and rice with a "it's hot, be careful. There's a drink in yer bag." Before promptly leaving. Ghost doesn't even realize he's expected to stay in the room and eat with you, let you get used to his scent and mannerisms.

When he starts to smell pre-heat on you? Doesn't ask to be your heat partner at all. Instead you get a box of snacks, vitamins, and two hoodies for your nest from him. Ghost reeks of pleased alpha the entire time because he's doing such a good job providing for his future mate.

The craziest part? You love it.

You love all of ghosts weird mannerisms, how he's nothing like the typical alphas who've tried to court you in the past with excessive physical touch and crude gifts. In fact, you don't think he's even touched more than your elbow to get past you in the hallways.

Ghost is unlike any alpha you've met, and that's the thought that runs through your head when you slip his hoodie on a settle in for your heat.

...maybe you could send him a video as proof of how good he's doing...

[rawme-price]

No thoughts just ghost who has zero clue how good he is in bed...

He crowds you against his bed, either unaware or uncaring of just how much strength he's slinging around. Ghost envelops you in his presence, breath hot over your skin, hips thrusting into you with a "does it feel good? Like this, right? Like this?"

Every desperate question is accompanied by a thrust right against that sweet spot inside you. He'd already spent so long stretching you open, terrified to hurt you, that all your nerves feel alight with sensation. The slick slide of his cock in and out of you leaves you breathless and clutching at the sheets.

"What? Am I doing it wrong? C'mon, love, work with me–" he groans, head tucked into your shoulder, using one large hand to push your hips into a different angle that makes your mind melt.

"Shit– si– ahh!" You try to tell him yes yes it's so good so fucking good, but all that comes out is little stuttering gasps.

"Mhhh you feel so good– christ, love– is it good? Am I doing good?" Ghost licks against your neck, almost on instinct, brows knit together because you're still not saying anything!

Your whole body draws tight, orgasm crashing over you when ghost changes tactics to grind as deeply as he can into you for a second before thrusting again. Ghost genuinely yelps, arms buckling and catching himself only a second before he crushed you, riding it out with you as he warmth floods your stomach.

"Mmhh– sorry– sorry– I know I should've waited–" ghost whines and....keeps thrusting–

"It's okay, I can keep going, yeah?" He nuzzles against you apologetic. Ghost doesn't realize you've already cum, too caught up in his own mind and not recognizing what it feels like.

He keeps thrusting, driving you both into overstimulation. You can't manage to get a word out, not between the way he saws into you with each sob, and the kisses he presses to your lips frantically.

You either have to wait for ghost to realize or to tire himself out...and...well...he's an SAS operative for a reason. You might be here all night.

[blackout-strike]

Tumblr March 2026 Blackouts

So we're all pissed at the new update as we should be and I've been seeing many people proposing blackouts, which is amazing! But all the dates are different and people might get confused at what's happening when, so I just want to organize every blackout (at least that I saw) in one place.

So far I saw six people with dates.

The earliest one, organized by @yourlocalfandomfriendo begins on March 18th and will last 48 hours.

This overlaps with a second proposed blackout by @veejiez for March 19th.

There is also one on the 20th proposed by @daysleftofsecondterm and another one on the same day from 6AM UTC to 6AM UTC on the 21st by @everythingwsnormalhere.

These three days are all very soon so not everyone may see them in time to participate, but if you are able to participate for any or all of these days, I highly encourage you do. Otherwise there are two more blackouts coming up:

The next one after these will be on March 24th as organized by @aroacesafeplaceforall who suggested doing 12 hours.

And the last one, which I personally have a lot of hope for as it's a major day for activity on Tumblr and a blackout then could be especially impactful: April 1st, as proposed by @darkwood-sleddog

There is also a discord set up by @yourlocalfandomfriendo and @aroacesafeplaceforall for anyone interested in joining in!

SO OVERALL, it may sound like a lot, but no one expects everyone to participate to every date here. But PLEASE try to participate in at least one or two of these, even if you feel it may not do much.

Typical strikes, the ones we hear about all the time, win by withholding their labour for consistent periods of time; that's the power people have at work because that's what's exploited.

For blackout strikes, we need to withhold our attention; the resource we own which is exploited through the selling of both advertisements and data.

My comparison of blackout strikes with regular strikes will be for a whole other post, but for the time being, just know that

withholding our attention is our digital bargaining weapon

Tumblr literally lost 63% of its monthly traffic from 2024 to 2025; they are not in a position to play around with those of us still here.

So PLEASE try participating. We cannot let every decent online space get enshittified with no care or consideration for the communities using those spaces.

And where labour strikers risk losing incomes and jobs, all blackout strikers risk is... gaining some of their attention back for a little bit.

[reignpage]

❀ Husband!Nanami unclogs your breasts

It’s just to help feed the baby, he says. It’s his duty, he says. He can't stand seeing you wince, struggling to feed, grappling with this side of parenthood all by yourself.  

And that’s all well and good, but it doesn’t really explain why his glossy eyes are rolling back as he suckles on one of your leaking breasts. Glasses carelessly thrown on the bedside table, hair all mussed up, and shirt wrinkled, the Kento cradled on your chest is one you rarely see. He seems driven by some kind of madness and simultaneously, the most in-control he's ever been.

Firm hands grope and squeeze mercilessly, applying circular motions that steal your breath. His calloused fingers tickle the sensitive skin, eliciting shivers, shudders and whimpers out of you.

“Ken,” you whine, “you’re suckling too -hah- hard.”

A growl rips through the air when you attempt to squirm out of his hold. “The baby, h-honey. Think about the baby. She needs her mommy ready to go, doesn’t she?”

“But she’s already sleeping.”

He lets out a proud sigh. “She’s such a well-behaved little thing, isn’t she? She got it from you. My girls, so good to me, always so good.”

Pinned to the bed by his firm, muscular body, you can do nothing against the onslaught of sloppy smooches slobbering all over your tits. Sticky milk dribbles out but doesn’t drip too far before his greedy lips slurrrrps! up your sweet essence. “You taste so d-delicious, sweetheart, God, I can’t get enough of you.”

Rutting in between your quivering legs, his clothed cock, hard and throbbing, rubs just right against your pussy. Kento doesn’t even realise he’s grinding into you, that your pussy has long grown sloppy and messy under your panties, and that you’ve already orgasmed three times since he’s made it his personal mission to ease your aches.

“Ken! It’s too much, my nipples are too -ngh!- sensitive.”

Shushing you, he presses your breasts together so he can wrap his glossy lips around both nipples at the same time. “It’s alright, my love. You can take it. Just a little more, okay? Just a little more for Kento.”

“You have to s-stop soon.” It's been hours, the clog's long gone, but your husband shows no sign of stopping. You're not even sure he remembers why you're in this position to begin with. 

Obscene sounds reverberate around the room, dizzying you beyond sanity. Wet, sticky, and delirious, you’re helpless against the lapping of his gluttonous tongue on both of your breasts, flicking the oversensitive nipples, baring them to the steam of the air between you. “Five more minutes. P-please. I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”

You nod, feverish and crazed by his ravenous appetite. 

“Oh, thank you, honey. Thank you. You’re too good to me.” 

He has earned it — your husband is so patient, so caring, and diligent. You can put up with five more minutes. That’s what you thought, at least. But when time's up, he shakes off your weak pushes and latches himself onto a poor, abused breast and begs with a mouthful.

“Five m-more minutes, sweetheart, please? Just five more. I’ll fill you up and you -hah- can milk my cock too. Kento’s being fair, isn’t he? Kento’s never let you down, right? Of course not. So, be a good girl and tend to your husband, alright?” 

Oh fuck...

“He's positively starved.” 

[rawme-price]

Ghost has slept with plenty of people before, okay? He knows what they want.

He's used to being approached by a cute thing at the bar, with eyes full of his broad shoulders and scarred skin. They see a man like ghost and trust him to give it to them rough, dirty, painful.

So he knows what he's doing when he takes you to bed, the shy little archivist who stares at him during lunch.

He's mean about it, shoving you into his bed and holding a heavy hand to your sternum while he preps you. Ghost's eyes crinkle in delight at your furrowed brows, adding "yer gonna be an obedient slag tonight, got it?"

You're quiet at first, not that ghost is shocked, lips pressed together while he works three fingers into you. "God, you're easy. Did you loosen yerself for me? Slut."

Your whole body shudders, breath hitching, and you...cry?

Little sobs, obviously meant to be kept in, spill from your lips. Ghost freezes, realization pouring over him like ice when you turn wet eyes up to him and cry "you're...you're so mean! I thought you liked me!"

In an instant ghosts hands rip away from your hips, instead settling on your shoulders. Anxiety curls tight in his stomach, what the hell? He frowns, "wait, stop. What's wrong? I do like you."

"No! You're calling me a whore! Who the fuck does that?" You cry, knees still around ghosts torso while you wipe your tears, overwhelmed.

It suddenly occurs to ghost that maybe he attracts a certain type, and most sex doesn't involve knives or choking or insults. You're still crying under him, small gasps and whines like you're trying not to make a big deal despite how he obviously hurt you.

"Oh. That's....hm." he replies, unhelpful.

Ghost gently removes himself from between your legs, instead lying next to you and gently pulling you to his chest, "sorry. I thought you'd like that."

"...you could've asked." You sniffle, but grab ghosts shirt and tuck yourself into him anyways.

Instead of fucking you fast and filthy like he planned, ghost spends the night cuddling with you and talking about nothing. Of all the nights he's spent with people, this is by far his favorite.

[ivyrotica]

when doms coo out a soft ‘there you arreee’ the moment their sub finally gives in and starts whimpering, gasping, making the prettiest noises while being absolutely ruined >>>

[reignpage]

he's not like the others... he's classy!

Synopsis: the ways in which your roommate is a little inappropriate, but it's okay because he's gentlemanly 4.7k

Warnings: smut, a lil fluff ig cause he's sweet, no p in v, some aspect of free use, mention of somno but no actual act, cunnilingus, dubious/unethical behaviour, do not let your roommate do any of these things to you unless he looks and acts like Nanami, grinding, pussyjobs, some voyeurism, pretty mild all things considered I think, Nanami art by @/prenkuarts on twitter, not proofread

Perverted roommate!Nanami is a classy pervert. 

He doesn’t consider himself something so lowly — he’s more refined, more respectful, and sophisticated. Indeed, it’s hard to even see him as such because his perversion carries a certain façade of thoughtfulness.

In almost all regards, he’s the perfect roommate: he cleans up after himself, isn’t loud, pays his rent on time, very friendly and caring, and agreeable. But there’s something off about him. Something that raises alarm bells, suggesting he’s not a typical roommate.

For example, you always had a problem with your vibrators dwindling out of charge mid-’selfcare’ session, but since moving in with him, you’ve never run into that problem. 

In fact, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve charged any of your toys. Yet somehow they’re always full battery. You could chalk it up to a miracle or luck, if you didn’t suspect that your Type A roommate, who runs the entire apartment like a tight ship, had something to do with it. 

When you confront him about it, he merely looks at you over his glasses, placing his book down on the wooden table with a sigh. “Yes, I charge your toys. I began noticing that you oft forget, and your mood’ll sour for the rest of the day. To avoid conflict, I’ve decided to take on the responsibility of ensuring they do not die on you when you’re at your most vulnerable.” 

Then, as though it’s an afterthought, he adds, “I am more than happy to stop, if that’s what you’d like.”

His dull eyes hold nothing but the truth. No shame, no creepiness, no hint of danger. Just fact.

Frowning, you retort, “I don’t get grumpy.”

“You called me a boomer who doesn’t deserve the right to vote simply because I said good morning the first time it happened,” he deadpans, already lifting his book up. 

“Fine,” you say, glaring at him to send your message across. “But don’t be sniffing around. Literally.”

Perverted roommate!Nanami dryly replies, “There goes my evening plans.”

Another thing you’ve noticed is that you have a habit of forgetting to bring your towel in the bathroom with you when you shower. Despite that, there’s always a fresh one waiting for you on the rack. You’ve never noticed the door opening or a presence watching, perhaps running his eyes over your wet, soapy body, maybe even touching himself through his slacks. So it took you a while to consider it a problem; your first thought was that there’s a ghost that doubles as a fairy godmother always looking out for you before your mind jumps to your salaryman roommate, who’s law abiding and has a strong moral compass.

Again, when you confront him, he flips the pancakes he’s making for breakfast and utters no defence. 

Instead, he says, “Yes, I enter the bathroom as you use it to place a towel on the rack — you never lock the door and I’d prefer to inconvenience myself for a couple seconds than to spend minutes mopping the floor after you make a run for your room naked and sopping wet.”

You take the plate he’s readied for you, noticing he’s prepared yours before his own, and wonders cautiously aloud, “Okay, but you’ve never lingered, have you?”

Perverted roommate!Nanami says, “I linger only as much as is necessary to note that you do not wash your scalp long enough and cannot reach a particular spot on your back. Though I suppose I’m simply grateful I have a roommate that practices personal hygiene. The last one wasn’t quite as clean.”

“Well, if it bothers you so much,” you begin, scowling at the subtext of insult, “then you should wash me yourself, since I’m clearly not doing it to your standards.”

“Perhaps I will,” he says. He takes a sip of his coffee and adjusts his glasses. “Expect me later. I shall teach you how to do it right.”

You huff. “Fine!”

“Great.”

That later rolls around soon enough. 

Of course, you didn’t actually mean for him to wash you himself; you’re a grown woman!

But you’ve really done it now. 

You’re on edge, standing under the shower, not reaching for your shampoo bottle or washcloth. You stand there, back turned to the door, nervous, and wondering if he would really do it. He’s so prim and proper — would he actually do something so inappropriate, so ill-advised, and scandalous?

The answer comes in the form of doors opening and a heavy presence filling the space. You stiffen, holding your breath. 

It’s just a little nudity, you tell yourself. He’s seen naked women before. Hell, he’s seen you naked before. And he’s never done anything…but do you want him to?

Perverted roommate!Nanami mutters right by your ear, “Do let me know if I’m too rough.”

Shampoo is lathered on your head, rubbed firmly in your scalp by his strong hands. It’s good. Like getting massaged at the salon. Releasing a low moan, you find yourself leaning back onto him, only for your eyes to open at the realisation that he’s fully clothed. 

Your hands feel behind you, touching his thick thighs through the material of his pants clinging to the muscles. “Kento?” you ask, voice hushed, though still audible over the sound of running water, “why’re you wearing clothes?”

“You wanted me to be naked?” he asks back. His voice is raspy with amusement. “Filthy girl…did you expect this to turn into something more? I said I would wash you, properly and thoroughly. I never said I’d fuck you against the tiles. Though,” he adds, “if you were to ask nicely, like a good girl, perhaps I’d consider it.”

Oh, you’re not going to give in first. 

Never. 

So, as he adjusts you to rinse your hair out, you say, “No. The one with a raging boner in their pants should be the one to ask first. Throw in a please and a ‘mommy’ in there, and I’ll consider it.”

Perverted roommate!Nanami coats your hair with your conditioner, clipping it expertly in the exact position you always do to leave it for a couple minutes. He huskily retorts, “I’ll be sure to remember those conditions when I’m at my most desperate.”

“Which is usually when?”

His hands covered in soap begin venturing down, cupping the mounds of your breasts, feeling the weight and flicking the hardened buds of your nipples. Your back arches. 

Lips graze the shell of your ear. “When I hear you moan my name at night with your fingers buried knuckle deep in your cunt, or when you’re riding that flimsy dildo of yours, imagining it’s my cock, all while knowing it’s not anywhere near as big as I am.”

A gasp escapes you. He knows. He knows and he listens and he absorbs every moan, every confession, every orgasm you rub out of yourself that he doesn’t get to taste himself. 

Fingers part your puffy pussy lips. They don’t touch the inside, only slowly rubbing the outside, leaving you panting and throwing your head back on his broad shoulder. He doesn’t seem to mind that you’re leaving conditioner and soap all over him. 

No, he’s probably much more preoccupied with the sight of your heaving breasts, glistening for his pleasure. His spare hand can’t get enough of them. He alternates in squeezing them both, rolling and pinching the nipple to tug breathy moans from you.

“Ken…”

“Do you clean well enough between your legs? Should I show you how to do it, hmm sweetheart?” Without waiting for a reply, he dips his fingers where your juices are readily flowing. He makes a tortured noise behind you. “Filthy. Downright filthy.”

You shake your head, pulling his hand away. 

Spinning to face him, you see how he hasn’t even gotten out of his work clothes, how the water has made his shirt transparent, how he’s unbuttoned the first two buttons revealing the smooth plane of his chest, how locks of hair are stuck to his forehead, how he’s licking the droplets off his lips as his eyes come to life with hunger, and you can certainly see the thick, undeniable outline of a rock hard cock caged down his left thigh. 

Weakly, you force a brave tone as you say, “That’s not how you clean a pussy, is it, Kento?”

Recognition flickers in those eyes. 

Perverted roommate!Nanami nods, lips twitching. “You’re right. Forgive me.” 

Hands clutching your waist, he gets down to his knees, pushing you onto the cold tiles. The water pummels his back, soaking him beyond comfort, yet he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t bat an eye, doesn’t give a single fuck as he throws one of your legs over his shoulder and dives right in. 

You cry out at the tongue that flicks your clit with no hesitation.

His rough hands are keeping you steady, preventing you from slipping and sliding, or maybe keeping you pinned so you won’t be able to squirm away from him.

Perverted roommate!Nanami groans. “So this is how you taste, fresh from the source. So fucking sweet. It doesn’t compare to my imagination — not even a little bit.”

You ride his face, grinding your clit against his nose. He laps at your sopping slit, suckling on every errant drop, worming his way through every crevice, leaving nothing untouched or untasted. 

“Is this how you grind your cunt on your little toys?” he questions, demanding and staring intently up at you. “Do you imagine it’s me? Do you wish I’d walk in and replace your toy with something real?”

“Yes! Yes, Ken!”

Fingers thicker and longer than yours, undeniably masculine, push in. They stretch your soft walls, curling against that spot inside you right under your cervix that has more juices seeping out. 

“Then you must only ask,” he growls. “I’ll gladly wring out as many orgasms as you want. And I won’t run out of charge, no matter how long you use me. I’ll make you feel good until you’re satisfied, until you’ve had your fill of me, until you decide to throw me aside.”

It’s hard to fathom why you’d ever discard him when he’s so damn good at eating you out, but that’s hardly what’s on your mind now that he’s thrusting his fingers relentlessly against your g-spot and flicking the tip of his hot tongue on your clit. 

When you cum mere minutes later, he doesn’t stop. 

Your roommate drinks up the juices oozing out of you, the wetness you’re leaking on his tongue, and sucking hard at your clit as though it’s a dispenser that’ll keep it flowing out and out so he won’t have a reason to part sooner than he’d like. 

But you paw at his head, mewling, “No more, Ken. Ngh, it’s too much!”

Blinking, glasses misty, and practically drowning, he pulls away. He’s dazed, lips swollen, cheeks flushed. He stands up, pushing his hair back and shielding you from the water. You’re shuddering, shivering, shaking. 

He angles the small shower head over your hair, rinsing out the conditioner with one hand as the other keeps you upright. Perhaps you hear or feel him smell your hair and the crook where your neck and shoulder meets here and there. Perhaps he brings that shower head down to between your legs and lets the water pressure bring you to another orgasm. 

Perhaps he pulls his cock out and jerks himself off, staring at your body as he does. 

It’s huge. 

Naturally. 

The mere sight of it has you growing dizzy under the hot water. You know he’s dizzy too with the way he’s throwing his head back and gasping for breath. He’s tugging on his cock furiously. So fast that water is splashing everywhere. Beads of precum slide out, falling to the ceramic basin, and you can only think about what a waste it is. 

His clothes still cling to him, all wrinkled and leaving nothing to the imagination. Gone is the controlled, refined salaryman you admire. In his place is a beast of a man drinking up your body, mulling the remnants of your taste on his tongue, and bringing himself to completion.

A hand pushes you down by the shoulder. He tuts. “T-there are -hah fuck- rare occasions I’d ever want to see you on your knees, sweetheart — waiting for my cum is one of them.”

Thumb hooking your jaw down, his flushed cockhead looms above you. You stick your tongue out, practically panting in anticipation for the taste of it exploding all over your face.

“Such a good girl,” he growls, rubbing your cheek. 

“Hurry, Ken,” you whine. “I’m getting all prune-y.”

Perverted roommate!Nanami’s gaze softens, pace hastening. “Forgive me, darling. For-hah-give me.”

Ropes of pearlescent cum spurts all over you, some landing on your forehead, hair, cheeks, and most on your tongue. You greedily swallow, and then kitten-lick at his tip when most of it’s gone. He groans, cock bobbing and cheeks tinted with pink. 

Some time later, when he’s cleaned you and himself up, he says, “I’ll get started on dinner. Take your time.”

Perverted roommate!Nanami disappears, leaving you cold despite the scalding heat of the water. 

From then on, it becomes an unspoken routine between you, one that expects him to saunter in the bathroom as you use it to aid you in washing up, except he mostly focuses on cleaning up the pussy he makes a mess out of in the first place. 

You soon stop using your toys as frequently as you did before. 

Besides that, it’s also normal to expect him to help you stretch out in the mornings, on the weekends when you’re both free. You roll out your yoga mat, put on your leggings and sports bra, and bend in positions you really shouldn’t in the company of a hot-blooded male. 

It never used to be a problem; you could put yourself in downwards doggy all you want without wondering if his eyes are on you. Now, you feel their weight on every part of your body, marking you through the thin material of your clothes. 

And yeah, maybe you do purposefully jut your ass out in his direction. In your defence, however, you didn’t think he’d one day step up and press a thumb right up against your pussy lips. 

“Kento!”

“I don’t see panty lines through your leggings,” he notes, matter-of-factly. His large hands cover the globes of your ass, feeling for what he expected there to be. It’s almost impossible to tell if he’s happy or unhappy by what he’s discovered.  

You arch your back, stretching your torso, pretending to not care about how he’s kneeling behind you, nor about how when you push your ass back his boner presses right up against your crotch. With a shrug, you say, “I can’t stand getting wedgies, so I’m not wearing any.”

Perverted roommate!Nanami hums, hand venturing down your back, finger slightly tucking itself under your sports bra, and pushes your upper half down into a lewd version of child’s pose. He’s helping you really stretch out, and you moan with the ache. 

Still pressing a thumb to your clothed cunt, he muses, “Yoga helps with stretching your muscles, but I do think it’s a shame it doesn’t help in stretching you out here, where you’re most needy.”

Without needing to look back, you know his eyes are fixed on the print of your pussy visible through the thin material. He can see how it opens up for him the further you stretch out. And you’re sure he can feel the growing warmth and wetness where he’s pressing down with his thumb.

“W-what’re you doing?”

That thumb starts rubbing your clit. You jolt. He holds you down. 

“Don’t mind me, sweetheart. Do what you must. I’m simply helping out.”

There’s nothing simple about any of this, and yet the way he’s talking, so calm, so cool, so damn collected, makes you think you’re the pervert for getting wet. 

With him right there, very few positions are possible. But you’re not interested in yoga anymore. Maybe you never were to begin with.

You arch even more, shoving your ass to his bulge. Through his sweatpants, his cock bumps your throbbing clit. His hands grip your ass, tightening. They pull you back, harder, bumping again and again till you’re moaning into the mat. 

Perverted roommate!Nanami grunts. “You’ve certainly gotten more flexible since you started — what a pleasure to test it out for myself.”

“Right, testing it out,” you say, chuckling breathlessly. “That’s all you’re doing, I’m sure.”

He thrusts his hips forward, thick cock slotting perfectly between your legs and kissing your clit through the layers. Your nails dig into the mat. “Yes, of course,” he says. “Are you suggesting I’m doing something inappropriate?”

“No, Ken. You’re just being a good roommate. The greatest roommate ever, r-rubbing your dick against my pussy so -hah- early in the morning.”

The girthy thing is so warm, and if you focus, really focus, you can almost feel the veins and the cockhead. Or maybe you’re imagining it. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he drawls. “I’m only helping you stretch.”

Despite being unconvinced by his words, you say, “Well, thank you very much, Kento.”

“Thank me when you cum,” he replies, amused.

“So confide—HNGH!” 

Strong hands lifted you up by hips, angling you so that your pussy is flushed with his groin. In this new position, he can press all of him to you, can reach your clit even better. And it’s so fucking good your eyes roll to the back of your head.

He grinds his cock onto you as though you’re a pillow or a fleshlight, just a mere toy to rub one out too. But he’s not moaning and whining like you are. Apart from occasional shaky exhales or low grunts, he’s quiet, sounding like he really is focused on aiding your morning yoga routine. 

That’s why after you cum — voice muffled by the mat and hips rocking back, riding out your orgasm — you lay limp in his hands, too embarrassed to face him.

Perverted roommate!Nanami brings you up, cool air brushing over your hardened nipples and lips skimming the length of your neck. He asks, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No.”

“Then why are you hiding your pretty face from me?” he asks, this time tone colder, almost scolding. 

Mumbling, you answer, “Because I came like some bitch in heat.”

“And you think I didn’t?”

Before you can give a response, he’s standing up. Your face is smushed to his groin, where an addictive length lies heavy, and where a wet spot meets your lips. The hand he has threaded through your hair angles your head back. You peer up at him, wide eyed and forced to mouth at his softening cock. 

“Never doubt the effect you have on me,” your roommate huskily warns. “Any time you start to worry about anything concerning me, you should confront me. Tell me off for being tactless, for being rude, or hurtful; the last thing I’d ever want is for you to think less of yourself. And I’ll apologise for my mistakes.”

Oh god, he’s so hot, so tall, so domineering.

The cock you’ve been thinking about since you saw it face-to-face is hidden behind one or two layers, and it’s taking everything in you not to rip through them, to taste him, to have him fill your throat up.

He doesn’t let you lick at the spot, although you’re already tasting his salty spend on your lips. Instead, he brushes your hair back and mutters an apology for disrupting your solo-yoga session.

Rather cheekily, you admit, you say, “If you’re really sorry, then you’d clean up the mess between my legs.”

Perverted roommate!Nanami’s lips twitch. “I always clean up everything around here, don’t I?”

Though, as he says that, he’s already kneeling down, pulling at your leggings. He lets you lie back down, bare except for your sports bra. Your hips are carried up so that your lower half is lifted up to his face.

“No rest for the wicked,” you say, feeling his breath fanning over your swollen folds, stubble scratching your inner thighs deliciously. 

A full blown smile brightens his face, and you’d think you two were talking about the weather, and not about eating you out. 

“No,” he agrees, “we’re wholly undeserving.”

Then his mouth consumes you whole.

Perverted roommate!Nanami has no qualms with pulling your dresses or skirts down. He never minds how much or how little you wear around the apartment, but as soon as it’s time to step out, he’ll furrow his brows and look you over, either ending his appraisal with an approving nod, or with a disapproving purse of his lips.

“Isn’t this a little short for grocery shopping?” he asks, pinching the hem and tugging. His fingers graze your thighs, skimming the curve of your ass or brushing against your panties. 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be such a grandpa. This is fine, Ken.”

He shakes his head, flicking the dress up. With one light movement, it reveals your entire crotch to his eyes. In a flash, your pussy’s cupped by his large hand. You gasp.

“If I can easily do this, then someone else can,” he informs you, increasing the force in which he’s gripping you, forcing you onto your tiptoes to avoid the pressure on your clit. 

Clutching his muscular arm, you argue, blinking in bewilderment, “No one’s going to do this.”

“They’ll be thinking about it,” he mutters, jaw tensing till a muscle ticks. “No one should know what colour panties you’re wearing or how warm your pussy feels.”

“Except my roommate,” you finish the sentence off for him, intending for it to be a scathing indictment of his wholly hypocritical actions as you glare up at him.

But he only nods.

“Except for your roommate.” He releases you. “Go change, please — I can’t focus on getting the best deals on the produce if I’m constantly worrying about whether you’re flashing anyone every time you bend down.”

Since he’s paying, you think it best to stomp back to your room and put on pants, though not without missing the way he brings his hand to his nose and inhales deeply. 

It’s not normal to police the way your roommate dresses, you know, but since he’s doing it for your own safety, you don’t really think much about it. Plus, he always treats you to whatever sweet treats you want, on him so quid pro quo, or whatever. 

Perverted roommate!Nanami’s room is always open to you. 

A lot of the time you just walk in, barging inside at whatever time you want. Say, 3am, when he’s sleeping on his stomach, shirtless and with his glasses neatly folded on his bedside table. You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do. 

Bleary eyes open as you open on his bed, shaking him awake. “Kento!”

“Sweetheart?” he croaks. He’s forcing himself to sit up, running a hand down his face to wake himself. “What’s wrong?”

A little embarrassed, like reason has taken over you, you shake your head though he probably can’t see that movement. “Actually, forget it. It’s stupid.”

Resting a hand on your thigh, he squeezes. “It’s alright. You can always talk to me, you know that.”

You play with his fingers, admiring their length, and whisper, “I’m horny, Ken. Like, really horny. I was using my toys for a while but it’s not enough.”

With a sigh, he falls back to bed, unable to decide whether he’s more relieved that you’re fine or amazed by your mind in an inconvenienced way. “I see. So you strolled in here, jumped on my bed, and woke me for…”

Cheeks flushed, you answer, “I don’t know. Advice? You always know what to do.”

“Advice on how to…”

“Ugh, get me off, Ken! God, you’re slow when you’re half-asleep.”

If he takes offence to that, he doesn’t say. Perhaps he knows you lash out when vulnerable.

Perverted roommate!Nanami huffs, adjusting on the bed. Maybe you made the wrong decision, maybe you overestimated how close you two are despite all the very wrong things you’ve done together, maybe he’s disgusted by how eager you are. But as you consider leaving, he nudges you onto him.

“Forgive me — the only thing I can think of right now is to offer myself up. Take your pick. Whatever means you’d like to get yourself off, you may choose. I’m all yours.”

Excitedly, you straddle his hips, resting your entire weight on his clothed cock, which is already hard and hot beneath you. You moan, leaning on his abdomen. “Ahhh. That’s fucking good.”

“Seems like you were already thinking of this before you came in,” he notes, amused and not sounding the least bit mad. Both of his heavy hands rest on your thighs, they radiate warmth, rubbing away the chill of the night. 

His chuckle goes over your head now that you’re grinding on him wantonly, just happy to be able to scratch your itch. Fuck, he feels even better than any of your toys. It’s magical how instantly soothed your hungry cunt is. “Mm, Ken! You’re so hard.”

“The better for you to grind on,” he replies, pleased with himself.

“You have an old man’s sense of humour,” you tell him, smiling.

Hands pull you down, shushing you. He brings the fallen covers up over the both of you. Now, you’re laying on top of him, feeling the hardness of his muscular chest, cocooned by the blankets and hips moved by his own hands. 

Perverted roommate!Nanami moves you up and down his cock, grunting when your clit catches onto his cockhead. “Fuck, I can feel how soaked you are. You really were playing with yourself for a while, weren’t you?”

“Hmm. I’m sorry, Ken. This is so wrong of me, I know, but I just needed you.”

He coos, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s alright. I’m happy to help, always.” Then, to himself, he mutters, “Better you turn to me than some other man.”

“What was that?” you ask, distracted by how fucking amazing it is to be using his cock for your own pleasure.

Shaking his head, he aids your movement himself, holding your ass down so you’ll really feel every inch of him. “Nothing, sweetheart. Let’s just get you to cum like this, I’ll clean you up with my mouth, then we can sleep, yes?”

“I can sleep here?”

Perverted roommate!Nanami says, “Of course. You’re always welcome in my bed. Next time you need to cum, you needn’t wake me — just rub yourself on any part of my body. I won’t be mad, unless you leave without giving me a thank you.”

Not much later after he says that, you finally orgasm, mewling onto his chest where you drool. He doesn’t complain, only coos and continues moving you up and down to help you through the waves of pleasure. 

“There there, sweet thing. It’s alright.”

Satisfied, you press a kiss to his chin. “Thank you, Ken.”

Those hands urge you up and up till you’re straddling his face and clutching the headboards. He pulls your panties to the side and says, “I don’t want to hear a thank you from those lips.”

“Oh.”

Three orgasms later, he holds you to him after you’ve made a mess all over his face, uncaring of how sticky and sweaty you both are. 

Perverted roommate!Nanami doesn’t use this moment of intimacy against you in any arguments, which are far and few between, doesn’t set expectations of a committed relationship, and doesn’t mock you for needing him. 

He’s only grateful for any moments you spare him. 

And sure, it’s not like you’re a saint either. 

It’s clear, as you wake up with him between your legs smiling when he mumbles a good morning to your clit, that you’re right where you want to be.

You don’t need saving.

[crashingcryptid]

@rawme-price sir, thank you for the fooood

You hadn't stopped crying since you came in. The tank was too scary for you, far bigger than anything you'd ever swam in before. You couldn't even see the other side! It looked so deep. This little corner was the safest place for you to be. Nik sighs as he watches you curl up on yourself, tucked up into the corner.

You see him on the other side of the glass, whining nervously as you tap the glass. Would he let you out and take you to another tank? A smaller, more comfortable tank than this one? The man gently shakes his head at you, walking away and leaving you crying in your tank alone.

John slips into the water above you, slowly sinking down to the sandy floor beside you. His tank puffs quietly, the bubbles dancing through the water. You reach out for them, trilling quietly when they pop in your webbed hands. John cracks open a few oysters for you to eat, glad that you're eager to eat.

When he starts to swim away from you, into the deep end of the pool, you grab hold of him with a nervous cry. "It's okay, little one." John coos at you, thankful he asked for a speaker to talk to you with. "We have to move that tail, yeah? I'll be right with you the whole time."

You weren't loving the idea of it, but you follow after him, hands gripping tight to his wet suit. Your tail hurt a bit when you moved it around, but John was encouraging. "That's it. That's right, just one more lap." He coos softly as he gets you to circle the tank a second time. By the time you were done, you looked exhausted, tail trembling and muscles rippling painfully from years without use.

You watch with wide sad eyes as he swims to the surface and leaves you alone in the pool, a few sad cries leaving your lips. When you realize it's not working and that he wasn't coming back, you curl back up on the sand of your tank and try to fall asleep.

John talks to Nikolai and clears up his schedule, planning to focus on rehabilitating your swimming until he can introduce you to his boys. In the tank next to yours, Simon trills and clicks softly, trying to soothe you through the walls.

He remembers that he used to cry like that when he first came in... He just hopes John can help you, too.