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fredwkong · 8 months

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The Boxers

Sometimes, the perfect life just finds you, bruh.

I used to be a pretty normal guy. Wait, scratch that, I was a total fuckin’ nerd. I spent all my time playin’ video games and readin’ fantasy books and shit. I was getting a degree in computer science, so I spent all my time alone, coding shitty apps and nerding out on Reddit.

I had, like, no sex life, lmao. I was a weedy little Indian geek, bro, you know the type, right? I had negative game. Every weekend, I’d spend all night playing WoW or whatever, then go to bed and fantasise about how many bros I’d get once I was, like, CEO of a multibillion dollar startup.

I guess the universe looked at me one day and said, “Why wait, bro?”

I got back to my dorm one night and these, like, gross boxers were sitting right on my floor. I remember I thought they were totally lame, because they had the Sriracha logo all over them. “Who wears those but nasty frat boys?” I thought to myself. Huhuhu, little did the old me know.

Anyway, these boxers were totally messing up the vibes of my dorm. I used to be such a neat freak, bro. A place for everything, and everything in its place. A smelly, used pair of boxers made my skin crawl. So, obvi, I went to pick them up with two of my slim little fingers and toss them in the trash. I figured it was some kind of gross prank on me.

Once I’d picked ‘em up, I could see exactly how dirty those boxers were. The legs were stiff with layers of musky sweat, the smell wafting off them strong enough to make my eyes water. There were a couple of grease stains on them, like some dude had eaten dinner in just his undies. The crotch was crusty, too. Someone, maybe multiple someones, had cum in these boxers.

I remember wondering why the thought got me hard.

Rather than taking the Sriracha boxers to the trash like I’d planned, I found myself giving them a second sniff, and then a third. Goddamn, they were fuckin’ gross, bro. I thought it was just my disgust making me smell them over and over again. Like I was trying to figure out exactly what had gotten on them.

Before long, I was palming my lil cock through my slacks, holding the boxers close to my face with my other hand. It was, like, a total head rush every time I took another sniff. Like I could feel my brain blanking out as I took more and more of the musky stench into me. Not that I knew that was what was actually happening, huhuhu.

When I stripped off my pants and undies to jerk off better, I suddenly had an awesome idea. I could, like, wear the Sriracha boxers and jerk off in them. My brain was already at least halfway transformed by then, lol. I was definitely no nerd at that point. The idea of wearing another guy’s musky boxers got me so fuckin’ turned on.

I pulled the boxers up my skinny brown legs. They hung on my hip bones, barely able to stay on. I laid down on my bed and felt my rock hard cock through the crusty fabric. It was like I could feel the cum and sweat of everyone who’d ever worn that underwear seeping into my skin as I massaged drops of precum out of my balls.

As I writhed on my sheets, lost in pleasure, my skinny Indian body started to change. It started with my feet, which cracked and stretched as they grew big and thick. They started to sweat, a funky foot musk joining the renewed stench of the Sriracha boxers, which were getting super wet with my precum. It was like the brown leached out of my skin with my musky foot sweat, too, as my big feet got all pale.

The change continued up my bare calves, which got super hairy as the muscles flexed and swelled. My legs lengthened as huge quads and hammies swelled up under my whitening skin. God, said my musk-addled mind, I love leg day. I started to flex and wiggle my bulky thighs, feeling the muscles stimulate my growing prostate.

I let out a high pitched little bitchboy moan as my ass inflated with juicy muscle and fat, but I knew that my voice wouldn’t sound like that for much longer. I’d totally embraced the transformation as my cock and balls filled out the pouch of the boxers. They were no longer, like, loose and shit. My fat ass and big bro cock were stretching the sweaty fabric to its limits, bro!

My chest followed, going from slim to bulky so fast that all the buttons on my nerd shirt hit the ceiling. Sweat instantly started to roll off my furry new pecs, and I ran my soft little hand up and down my thick, firm belly and flexed the solid abs I knew were underneath the fat. More than the boxers and the smell, my body was starting to turn me on, bruh. I was becoming, like, a total frat god.

The curly brown hair that grew in my armpits smelled sooooo good as sweat started to drip off it. I totally buried my little nerd face in my own pits and licked up my sweat as I watched my arms bulk up and get all pale and hairy. It was so hot flexing my bicep and watching it bulk up before my eyes, dude! I felt my hand grow as I tugged my big jock cock in the Sriracha boxers, thickening up and getting some hard-earned weightlifting calluses.

The last thing to change was my head. My moans got deeper, slower, and totally dumb-sounding as my neck thickened. A thick brown beard grew on my cheeks, framing my cheesy dumb smile perfectly. My nose cracked and grew into a big ol’ sniffer, even more sensitive than my old nose so I can really take in my bros’ musk.

My old black buzzcut grew out into a curly brown mane, totally greasy from all the sweat I soak it with when I work out, huhuhu. As my forehead got all pale and my eyes turned blue, I felt my cock go over the edge, and I came right into the Sriracha boxers. Pump after pump of musky frat bro cream, taking my old self with it to impregnate the boxers with even more fratty juice. As the room filled with the smell of my thick load, I totally passed out.

The next morning, I woke up in an unfamiliar room. I was in a big bed with musky, sweat-stained sheets, a bunch of stale, unwashed gym gear all over the floor. I was still wearing the Sriracha boxers, my cum caked into the stain along with all the other bros’, along with a cap that I turned backwards as I sat up. I pulled on a tank without too many sweat stains on it and went to explore.

Turned out I lived at the Mu Upsilon Sigma frat house now. The whole place smelled like a sweaty armpit, and it was full of musky bros who were more than happy for me to get all up in their smelly pits and cracks.

I wore the Sriracha boxers for a couple days. Honestly, I dunno how long, I usually only change my boxers like once a month, huhuhu. I worked out, jerked off, got drunk, got fucked, and jerked off some more, all while wearing those boxers. Then I left ‘em in some nerd’s dorm as a prank, huhu.

It was so hot to watch the lil Japanese guy get as zonked out on the musky boxers like I had, bro. We hid in his closet and watched while he jerked off and turned into another musky white frat boy like us, then carried him to the MYS house once he passed out.

It’s been a couple weeks since then, and MYS membership has only grown, bruh! Each bro wears the Sriracha boxers for a few days, adds his personal touch to the, like, seasoning, and then we pass ‘em on to another nerd and induct him into frat life! Maybe some night soon, you’ll see these bad boys in your dorm, huhuhu. Life's perfect in the frat, bro!

#male transformation #mental change #muscle tf #male tf #dumber tf #race change #musk tf #white tf #fratification #broification #mu upsilon sigma #all fwkong

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anqelically · 3 months

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IKIGAI | OSAMU DAZAI X FEM!READER

001. THE AZURE APOSTLE

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Y/N and Ranpo return from Kyushu in order to help solve the case of the Azure Apostle. At the agency, the pair meet their newest co-worker— Osamu Dazai

CHAPTER WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 2.8K words

SERIES INTRODUCTION | CH2

DIM LIGHTS AND THE SMELL OF RAMEN made the atmosphere feel like home. Conversations among the customers in the ramen shop overlapped each other, so much that the distinct voices blended together. The busy atmosphere was oddly calming...

"Wah, why do babies cry so much?"

...Well, maybe not to everyone.

Y/N Kirino looked up at the man she was working alongside. He rested his chin on top of his palm as his head looked towards the right, a childish pout on his face. Y/N looked in the direction Ranpo Edogawa was looking in to see what he was talking about.

A couple of tables down was a little girl, who was no older than 3 years old, crying. She was amazed that she ignored the wailing until that point. She looked back at Ranpo with an answer to his question earlier in mind.

"Babies and little kids cry for plenty of reasons, but I think that girl burned her tongue by eating whatever was on her plate too soon. She was sticking her tongue out as she cried," Y/N replied before she ate more of her Hakata ramen.

Ranpo took one of his wooden chopsticks and stirred his noodles like a bored child, "She actually tried Sriracha. The bottle was right near her plate."

Bored and grumpy. Those were the two feelings Y/N could practically feel radiating off of Ranpo. She silently observed him as she ate her food. The slight furrow of his brows and the way he left the remains of his food untouched told Natsuo that he didn't want to be there anymore.

"Oniisan," she called for him, "don't tell me that the girl's crying made you lose your appetite."

"Nope!" Ranpo sat up straight and complained, "Why do we have to leave Kyushu early? We just got here! I want to stay, hmph!"

"We can come some other time, Oniisan. I'm sure Fukuzawa-sama would let us if we asked."

"They can just send you the details over text and we could stay."

"I was told that they wanted you nearby in case you were needed again. There are lives on the line in this case, which is also the newcomer's entrance exam. Oh, and we leave for the train tomorrow at 9 o'clock in the morning. If we leave the inn early, we can also go shopping for some snacks you want."

The Armed Detective Agency.

It was a licensed group consisting of almost entirely ability users who worked in Yokohama. They worked on cases that the police or military police couldn't handle either because it was too difficult, or they were already placing their staff's effort elsewhere. Most cases dealt with fellow ability users.

Not every case of theirs is dealt with in Yokohama. That's why Y/N and Ranpo were hours away from home. As members of the small group, they were sent out to Kyushu for a case.

Ranpo was the smartest detective in the agency, probably the smartest in the entire country. He solved many cases with his so-called ability called Ultra Deduction. In a blink of an eye, he'd identify the culprit from the evidence and explain the steps they took to commit the crime, if necessary.

The skill of his played a large part in keeping the agency running. If it weren't for Ranpo, there would've been plenty of cases either left unsolved or solved too late. Y/N picked up on some of the ways he thought as a detective, but it still wasn't near his level at all.

She admired him for it. Although Ultra Deduction was not an actual ability and just Ranpo's innate talent, it didn't make him any less admirable. If anything, it made him greater than an ability user in Y/N's mind. He was proof that an ability wasn’t necessary to be great.

The woman finished her ramen before she and Ranpo left. They checked into their rooms at a local inn after they got some onsen tamago to satisfy the male's stomach.

In order to go shopping as Y/N promised, she and Ranpo had to wake up early. Y/N was peacefully sleeping on her futon until a loud slam awoke her. Actually, she was sure that it woke up some of the people in the rooms nearby as well.

Y/N tiredly rubbed her eyes before looking up at the figure that stood by her side. It wasn't shocking for her to see Ranpo standing with his hands on his hips. It reminded her of how Ranpo used to wake her up for late-night snack runs when she lived with Akiko Yosano, her older sister figure and co-worker, while he was sleeping over.

"What time is it?" she croaked, sitting up.

He replied, "Time for you to get up! We got 3 hours until we leave, starting right now. Come on, I want to eat soufflé pancakes!"

Y/N knew better than to keep someone like Ranpo waiting. She got ready as quickly as possible before they checked out of the inn. Her hair blew with the breeze that passed.

"Hey, Oniisan," Y/N called for Ranpo during breakfast.

He licked the whipped cream at his lips, "Hm?"

"What do you think he's like? The new member," she inquired.

"Doesn't matter to me!" He took another bite before he continued, "I'm the better detective in the end. Nobody can match my Ultra Deduction."

'He's definitely still grumpy we're leaving early'

"Kunikida-san told me that 'He's a suicidal child in a grown man's body.' I wasn't sure what to say after that."

"Well then, don't go having a crush on him too like you did with Kunikida, N/N-chan."

The woman immediately cringed, "You said you wouldn't bring that up again! I don't even want to think about that." She buried her face in her hands after thinking about her past feelings.

Doppo Kunikida, another colleague of theirs in the agency, was quite a professional man. He heavily believed in his ideals and was determined to follow them.

Y/N was sure of the two reasons why she initially developed a crush on Kunikida. The first was how organized he was with his life. Kunikida had plans and the resolve to see them through. He worked hard for morals that she also abided by.

The second reason? Y/N was simply surrounded by family figures until she met Kunikida. Y/N lived in her family's estate until she was 16. After she was saved by the Armed Detective Agency, they became her family. Ranpo, Yosano, and Yukichi Fukuzawa were not only years older than her, but there was only room for familial bonds.

So since Y/N was drawn to his demeanor and didn't see him as a brother figure, she developed a crush. 3 months passed before she stopped seeing him that way.

"Well then, don't go having a crush on him too like you did with Kunikida, N/N-chan."

Y/N glanced out the window, "I'm used to other people's presence in my daily life now. I won't fall for him like how I did with Kunikida."

She'd fall much harder.

| 生きがい |

Y/N GOES ABOUT HER DAILY LIFE with a list of tasks to do. Although the days are different, the things on her to-do list for work continue to stay the same. She was not as strict about her schedule as Kunikida was, however. While he had every hour planned with something to do, all of it written in his small book, Y/N had a short list engraved in her mind.

-Get drinks for everyone before going to work

-Make sure Ranpo has snacks at his desk before he comes in (which is a bit late)

-Check any e-mails sent to the ADA

-Hand in any finished paperwork from everybody to Kunikida towards the end of the day

The list was not long or complicated, but it wasn't always completed by the end of every day. Urgent cases or cases far away were the main reasons that these errands would sometimes remain undone. The case Y/N followed Ranpo to Kyushu for was an example.

They returned to Yokohama about 3 hours before sunset, Y/N unable to do anything on her to-do list. The case of the Azure Messenger was too important to deal with. A bomb was planted somewhere in Yokohama, set to blow up and kill over a hundred people at sunset, and almost every worker had their minds running in circles until Ranpo made his appearance. They were sure that he would find out where it was the moment Kunikida and the new recruit returned with the files they were fetching.

Hell, Ranpo could probably deduce possible areas for the bomb without the files.

So Y/N sat at her desk, reading over what had happened so far. The news, written reports, and accounts from some of the workers here, Y/N wanted to be caught up to every detail. She spent about 30 minutes reviewing and theorizing before Ranpo asked her what she thought.

Ever since she started working at the agency, Y/N tried to challenge her ways of thinking. Ranpo helped her by handing her old cases that were already solved and letting her solve them with all the evidence provided. It was routine for her to explain her thinking to him.

"Well, I think it's safe to cross out major buildings. If those buildings exploded, it would take down many more in the process. The message they sent made it seem like they weren't aiming for victims exceeding... let's say three hundred people. Exploding towers and nearby buildings would kill way more than that."

Ranpo hummed, "Then what place would it be in? If it's not a major building, where is our bomb?"

Y/N leaned back in her chair, "If the bomb isn't found in time, people will probably blame the agency again. These crimes seem to be trying to make us look bad, so far. So if I were a bomber, I'd bomb some place with victims that have done absolutely nothing wrong. A popular park is a place I'd bomb, if it weren't a school... That's really dark of me, isn't it?"

"Kinda is. Final answer?"

"Yup, is it right?"

"Just wait and see, N/N-chan~ They'll be here in 5 seconds.”

Y/N was confused until she saw the door to the office open in her peripheral vision. 5 seconds later, to be exact. The first one to walk inside was Kunikida, who seemed relieved at the sight of Ranpo. Slowly trailing behind him was the man she'd never met before.

"Oh, Ranpo-san! How did the case in Kyushu go?" Kunikida greeted. He pushed up rectangle-shaped glasses with his finger.

"That? Took me one look at the body before figuring out who it was," He took another sip of his soda. "We heard what happened, Kunikida-Kun. Everyone's been running in circles over some little bomb, huh? I really wish my colleagues could take care of themselves sometimes. You know, I didn't get to slack off in Kyushu thanks to you. N/N-chan saved me from being completely bored there."

"Kirino?"

"Right here," Y/N popped up beside Ranpo's desk with a wave. "I was looking at everything that's happened so far before you walked in. It's quite a case we've got here."

"Yeah, and we've got to figure out where this bomb is, and we need help."

"That's why I'm here to help you out! After all, Ultra Deduction is the greatest skill in the world, so coming to me for help is only natural!" With a laugh, Ranpo patted Kunikida on the shoulder.

The blond wholeheartedly agreed. This, in turn, made Dazai finally speak up. "K-Kunikida, are you okay? You don't have to hold it in," he timidly said.

The glasses-wearing ability user only gave him a blank look. Y/N, on the other hand, found herself admiring Dazai's features. For someone her age, his face was devilishly handsome. Peaking through his bangs, Dazai's chocolate-colored eyes met hers.

"Dazai, give Kirino the files."

He held out the papers they'd gotten but retracted them the moment Y/N held her hands out to grab them. Dazai, instead of handing over the files, tucked them under his arm before he took a couple of steps closer. He clasped Y/N's hands with his own, their eye contact never breaking.

"If I'd known a beauty like you was hiding in the agency, I would've come to join sooner," he smiled at her, feigning innocence as Y/N's cheeks heated up. "A wonderful, young woman like you should partner up with a charming, equally young man like- GWUAH!"

Abruptly, Kunikida punched Dazai down on his head. Both Y/N and Ranpo watched the brunet get angrily pulled back by the blond.

The idealist scolded, "Do you seriously have no shame!? Kirino is your senior as a worker here, so don't go flirting with her at first sight! There is a time and place for-"

"Are you saying that because she crosses off a couple of requirements on your list?" Dazai smirked.

"Huh!?"

"Oh, come on~! I've just met this Kirino-chan and I can tell! She looks polite, well-mannered, organized, someone that'll always fight for what's right-"

"Dazai," Kunikida glared.

It was an interesting dynamic to watch, to be honest.

"What's going on out here? You guys are awfully noisy," a feminine voice joined.

Everyone glanced to the side to see the agency's doctor outside the infirmary's door. Yosano's heels clicked as she walked towards Y/N. Her arm draped over the younger one's shoulders as she stared at Kunikida.

"So hey, what's this list Dazai was talking about, Kunikida? Last time I checked, listing attributes about Y/N had nothing to do with the bomb," Yosano interrogated.

They all stared at the woman.

"Oneesan's right," Y/N spoke up. "Lives are on the line with the bomb. Dazai-san, may I have the files?"

"Right, of course. Dazai Osamu, by the way. Nice to meet the both of you, Kirino-chan and Ranpo-san." He got up from the floor and handed Y/N the files.

"So, newbie," Ranpo called out to Dazai, momentarily forgetting his name. "Uh... Dazai, was it? Where did you work prior to coming here?"

Thus, an awkward, short conversation occurred between the two. Ranpo had asked Dazai what he was doing before the agency, to which he replied that he was merely roaming around. It was an awfully convenient excuse for someone who had no information in the police database's records.

The pair had a short staredown before Ranpo moved back to check over the papers Y/N and Yosano had laid out. He digested the information before he put on his black-framed glasses. Dazai stepped behind him to watch closer.

Ranpo's bright green eyes sharpened before he supposedly activated his ability. He set his glasses on his desk, "I've got it."

"Wait, seriously?" Dazai held his breath.

"N/N-chan," Ranpo pointed at the bookshelf, "get the map for me?"

"Of course," she turned around to get the map on the bookshelf behind her. She spread it out over the papers.

"The bomb is..." everyone else leaned closer to the map in anticipation. Ranpo then lightly pressed his finger on top of the map, "...right here. The bomb was set up in this fishing-gear shop."

"Then I guess my theory of it being a popular park was wrong," Y/N commented. She didn't dare to say anything about what Dazai did.

Amazed, he urged Kunikida out of the agency by pulling his sleeve. Ranpo remarked that Dazai was simply amazed by his ability, but the two women present knew otherwise.

Osamu Dazai figured out that Ranpo Edogawa was not an ability user.

The moment the senior detective activated his "ability", Dazai held a piece of his hair from behind. His ability nullifies the effects of any ability he touches, so Ranpo shouldn't have been able to figure out where the bomb was if Ultra Deduction was an actual ability.

"He didn't seem like the type to be that amazed, but I get it," Y/N murmured.

Ranpo, however, caught onto her words, "He should be amazed! Ultra Deduction is the best ability out there for cases."

Yosano patted her co-worker on the shoulder, "Of course it is. What would the Armed Detective Agency be without you solving many cases for us?"

"We just have to hope that they disable the bomb in time," Y/N began to fold the map. She asked Ranpo, "Do you think they'll make it in time?"

The oldest of the trio only sat back on his desk's chair, "I know they will."

WRITTEN: 01/02/2023

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

first fic i’m bringing to tumblr!! i hope you guys enjoy it, and any reblogs will be greatly appreciated <33 ily guys mwah

@seneon @chuuyrr @kentopedia @cloudwisp

#୨୧ [ ikigai ]#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x you #bsd x you #bsd #bungou stray dogs

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sgiandubh · 23 days

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For very grumpy people: Baby the Dog's Thai Honey Glazed Wings

What are you usually cooking after a very long day of packing, sorting, cursing, procrastinating and sulking? Especially when you need to pull out something (relatively) quick and (extremely) comforting?

This evening, Baby the Dog and I whipped up a batch of our not so secret Thai Honey Glazed Wings. You'll find approximations of this very basic Asian recipe all over the Internet, and with a little more time (and fresh ginger) on my hands I would have certainly made Braised Coca-Cola Wings (Kele Jichi), one of the finest Chinese contributions to humanity. But, it is what it is and the reason these are named after Baby the Dog' is this pic. Taken when he was still a Godzilla Terminator Puppy, bribed with some Frosties to let me cook in peace:

For a 10 wings batch you will need:

4 Tablespoons/60 grams thick honey, 2 to 3 Tablespoons/30 to 45 grams Sriracha (mandatory), the juice of 1 lemon (can be replaced by a lime, which is what I always do), 4 Tablespoons/60 gr dark soy sauce, 1 Tablespoon/15 grams น้ำพริกเผา (naam priik pla) which is often translated as chili jam (but it's not really true) and which I always replace by sweet chili sauce (whatever brand does the trick). Optional: sesame seeds, to play it cool.

Preheat your oven at 200 C (approx 400 F/gas mark 6). If you feel fancy or are serving these to people, you can separate the flats and drumettes - it also tastes much better and is easier to maneuver.

In a bowl, add and mix all the ingredients for the marinade in the same order I wrote them down. Only mix with a wooden spoon, until you feel no resistance from the thick honey.

Add in and rub vigorously the wings, cover with saran wrap and leave be for at least 10 to 30 minutes. You can torture yourself and place them in the fridge overnight, but it does nothing for the final taste. So, nope. This is a very satisfying quick fix, let it remain so.

Line with parchment paper a 13x8 baking pan, add the wings one by one, bake for 20 to 25 minutes, until golden brown. Halfway through it, pour the rest of the marinade on the wings. Take out, pour all the reduced sauce still in the pan over it and mix (if necessary), sprinkle some sesame seeds on top and pretend it's takeaway. Let cool for five minutes (will it last? nope). Sinfully delicious hot or cold.

This is a very, very easy and effective ego fix for grumpy days. Mark me. You're welcome.

#cookery

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virtualgirladv · 1 month

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What's your worst take?

Like how am I meant to know? Everything I think in general I probably think is normal until proven otherwise. Or if I think it then I must think I'm right and everyone is wrong.

Gonna list some random things that I often disagree with people about and y'all can figure out which is the worst take.

People care too much about other people's kinks and need to actually enjoy sex for once

GLaDOS is a milf

You should make friends with people who like stuff your ehh about, keeps you from being a fascist

Cold pepperoni pizza is great

You should have friends that are very different age from you, keeps you from being a prude of a boomer and younger people need adults they can talk to about life without judgement because we're social beings and the world is fucking hard without experience and guidance

Puns are great

You should say you love your friends more, it isn't weird fuck you

Y'all can't put sriracha on everything, try other sauces sometime. Different ones compliment different foods. Also Huy Fong sriracha, the roster one everyone knows, is mid af now try another brand

It's okay to be picky just don't be a cunt about it, this applies to everything, even dating, even friendships, even family, everything

Tumblr is only good cause the decade of community, it'd be better if they all just like moved to cohost or something

People play EDH too slow or make generally unfun decks often

You should like pay artists if you can, you'll get the best stuff you'll love forever out of it

I love Linux but it isn't for everyone so stop recommending it for every problem

You should lie to your landlord

Chips should be crunchy, fuck those wafer thin shits they try and sell you

Charities shouldn't need to exist, it's a sign of a problem, not a solution

Being rude to someone being an asshole is valid af, people who don't respect others don't deserve respect

Cargo pants are fucking great

You should be cringe on purpose to kill the weak and vain

No one has the same gender, it's fucking free form art

Triple A games suck so much 99% of the time, the file off all the potential to general appeal

Indie films will either be the most amazing or worst thing you've seen and that's good

Pop music isn't a genre, its a business model

Fuck grammar and spelling. You fucking know what people are saying. We've done this for millennias. Cuntwaffle and yeag aren't "real" words but you know exactly what I mean

You're a cunt if you don't at least try to say someone's name correctly, like deserve to go to hell shit

#vga.ask #virtualgirladv #anon #I'm sleepy

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ghostinghome · 11 months

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i finally got mystery dungeon dx after watching rtgames play explorers of sky, so here are my little guys !!! sriracha the cyndaquil and his partner sorrel the treecko ! together they r team yummy (i couldnt think of a name)

#explorers of sky changed me as a person oh my god #SO GOOD this game is also so good #i like how we became fugatives #im sorry all i can post right nyow are doodles i am just going through art block still #i will draw these fellas again so i may as well give them a tag i guess #Mystery Dungeon Team Yummy #yes thats what it will be ..#pokemon mystery dungeon #pokémon mystery dungeon dx #oh my god do i need separate tages for the é #it is what it is #ghostisaway ocs

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astroboots · 1 year

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SEX, LIES AND VIDEOTAPES

Summary: Santiago and you make a sextape for Frankie.

Pairing: Santiago x female reader (you) (hints of Frankie)

Content: edging (you know the drill with this bastard by now), peak brat behaviour, overstimulation, voyeurism.

Wordcount: 5.9k words

Homecoming Universe | Astroboot’s Masterlist

It starts the way so many things start between you and Santiago. It was a stupid idea, and Santiago talked you into it.

"Do you want to make a sex tape?"

You blink dumbly at Santiago, mouth agape. Your phone screen is still warm against your thumb from when you clicked the red button to end your call with Frankie not two seconds ago.

Your husband is out of town in Jacksonville, in a shitty hotel room they've set him up with, 10 minutes off base. Poor Frankie had sounded absolutely miserable when you spoke to him on the phone and the idea of sending him something to perk him up, a flirty text to rile him up, maybe a risque photo did cross your mind but a sex tape might be a little bit out of your depth.

You stare up at Santiago. His beautiful full lips, curling into a smile, eyes glinting with that trademark mischief that is the prelude for talking you into doing pretty much anything for him.

It's been that way since you were kids. There's never been one of Santiago's cockamamie plan that he hasn't managed to get you signed onto. Sweet smile and even sweeter talk. Car salesmen have nothing on Santiago.

“Frankie must be feeling lonely by himself in that hotel, we should send him something to make him feel less lonely," he says.

Santiago leans down, until his arms are caging you in, face close until the tip of his nose brushes against your cheeks, and that small contact makes you tingle all over.

“You miss him too right?”

Despite the self-satisfied smirk there, the sentiment is sincere. Still, you've never been one to make things easy for Santiago either.

"Santiago. I'm not Kim Kardashian. Don't be ridiculous."

He tips his head, considering you, and Santiago clearly hears the word that you did not say. You didn't say no. You prevaricated the way you often do when it's not that you don't want to: you like to needle him, for him to plead and ask nicely. For Santiago to pull out the red carpet treatment.

"How pretty do I have to ask?" he says, smiling wider than ever.

That is how you find yourself in your bedroom, not twenty minutes later. Wearing old sweatpants and one of Frankie's softworn T-shirts that you've spilled some soy and Sriracha sauce on earlier at lunch. It is, singlehandedly the worst outfit to memorialize on tape.

You tell Santiago as much, but he just sits you down on the mattress, ignoring that sentiment entirely with a half distracted, “don’t be ridiculous, that horny freak gets off on you wearing his ugly-looking clothes.”

Snorting with laughter, you sit down obediently as instructed because Santiago does make a valid point.

In front of you, Santiago is moving diagonally from the nightstand next to the bed to the footstool by the end of the bed, rearranging the furniture in the bedroom that would be "blocking the view," like he's playing furniture Tetris.

Then he comes back to stand in front of you, practically bouncing at the ball of his heels with excitement. You can feel the eagerness vibrate off of him, as he rolls ups his sleeves to his forearms. Eyes lighting up with that proud accomplished smile of his that makes butterflies swirl in your belly.

"You ready sweetheart?" he asks.

You shake your head amused, as you place your phone in Santiago's hand so that he can use it to record.

His smile drops, and it's like you've thrown a dark curtain over him, the luminous light in his eyes dimming, narrowing at the item in his hand, as if it's offended him, curled in half disgust.

"Phone?"

He says it with such indignity in his voice, it's as if you insulted his late mother by this very act.

"What's wrong with my phone?" you ask.

And boy do you immediately regret ever saying it. It launches Santiago into a game of twenty questions. Because suddenly, he's decided that he's the next Stanley Kubrick of homemade sex video tapes.

"Don’t we have something better?"

"Can't you go get Frankie's Go-Pro camera?"

"Don't you at least have a tripod?"

"How are we gonna get a good angle?"

"Is it okay if I move the reading lamp from the living room here to get better lighting?"

It would be childish to roll your eyes, but Santiago-Maria Luca Hernandez Garcia makes it really fucking hard not to sometimes. For someone who's never been able to properly frame himself in a selfie, he sure is high and mighty about his artistic camera skills all of a sudden. He only capitulates when you counter that a sex tape shot on a Go-Pro is a terrible idea. Nobody wants to watch themselves naked through a wide-angle lens.

This is so quintessential Santiago. He gets an idea into his head and will use every tool in his arsenal to convince you that his idea is a brilliant one. Then, once he has worn you out with his persuasion, and has you (begrudgingly) onboard, he will start bitching about every detail of the itinerary as if this wasn’t his project to begin with. You truly pity the people who had to be on his team for a group project back in school (which was almost always inevitably you).

It's enough to make you regret this whole endeavor before you've ever even started.

As you see him drag the armchair in the corner in front of the foot of the bed, and gingerly prop the phone against a cushion, the ridiculousness of this whole scenario washes over you. You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry at the sheer stupidity that you’ve signed yourself up to.

Santiago fiddles with the phone on the chair, and you see him angling it until he's satisfied that it captures you in frame before he leans back up.

The tiny lens flickers red then green, and the bright light has you flashing hot then cold then hot all over again. Your nerves suddenly a lot shakier than they were just a few seconds ago when you were bantering with the man.

Staring at yourself framed within your phone screen, you feel observed, in a way that shakes your own confidence.

Your heart skips erratically and you remind yourself mentally that, it's fine, it’s just you and Santiago in here. But there's heat prickling your face. Your fingers feel numb, sweating hot and cold at the same time and you find yourself clenching and unclenching your fists into the sheets to get some sort of sensation back into your hands.

“Do you want to stop?”

There’s concern etched on the soft lines of his forehead, one finger already hovering over the stop button. Ready to give you an out, if you didn’t want this.

And it’s not that you don’t want to do this. It's just--

You shake your head. “No… Just--” You let out a stuttering laugh, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. They’re shaky.

“You nervous?”

You hadn’t realized until he said it, but yes, you are. You give him a small nod, and he moves towards you, until he's sitting at the end of the bed next to you, and takes both your trembling hands in his, drawing them to his lap, and rubs them like he's trying to kindle a fire with your fingers.

The nerves in you melt, air flowing back into your lungs, and you can feel yourself warm pleasantly out to your fingertips.

"That better cariño?"

His voice is nothing like the teasing arrogance when he had tried to talk you into this in the first place. Nothing like the haughty banter when he had been going off about lighting and camera equipment. It's soft and gentle, a voice that tells you he's going to pick you right up if you stumble.

You nod again, releasing the long breath you've been holding all this time.

“Santiago, this is really stupid.”

He chuckles, a bright little sound that’s entirely too boyish coming from a man nearing the end of his thirties, with pepper and salt scattered over his five o clock shadow. It’s what makes it all the more endearing.

“That’s okay,” he says.

He leans closer to you, until he's mouthing the line of your jaw with his soft kisses. Lips moulding over yours, as he playfully nips at your bottom lip. Then he leans even closer, pushing, until the firm weight of his chest has you flat against the mattress and you're willingly pinned down underneath those gorgeous brown eyes of his.

“You make me do real stupid shit too," he tells you.

Your head turns to the side, and you look at the bright lens of your phone staring blankly back at you.

Your face must look pudgy from this angle. Shit, you're not even wearing make up. Did you even properly brush your hair? This is so stupid.

“Don’t think of the camera,” Santiago tells you, pressing a succinct kiss to your lips. “Just focus on me, sweetheart.”

His hand comes to rest on your cheek and he guides you back to his lips, obscuring your line of sight. It's like you have Santiago-blinders on and all you can see is him.

Soft and steady, his hands skim down the sides of your ribs, sliding up the hem of your shirt before his fingertips is brushing up against your bare skin. It tingles, warmth spreading up your spine as Santiago, slowly drags up the fabric up and over the swell of your breasts. Exposing your naked skin to the colder temperature of the room, soothing you with his warm mouth as he presses it up along every inch of skin that is bared to him. Up, up, up, until he pulls the shirt off you completely, until all you're left is in your plain panties, while he is still fully dressed, and he grins down at you.

"Good?" he asks, and you nod back at him as he leans back to pull up his shirt and evens out the playing field for you.

One large hand rests flat against the inside of your thighs, and that helps, the comforting presence of him as he squeezes down firmly with just the right pressure that has tension melting out of you.

Santiago has beautiful hands really. His fingers are long and nimble. In another lifetime, one where his right hand weren't littered with scars left from four different fractures and calluses forged in live gunfire, one could have easily mistaken him for being a classically trained pianist with hands like that. Fingers that playfully flit across your goosebumped skin. Fingers that slide down your hips, along the plump flesh of the inside of your thighs before dipping inside, circling your clit.

You arch and buck into him, keen and writhing. At the first touch of him, he touches just the right note and everything goes blissfully silent in your head. You forget about the camera, forget about any qualms you had.

He goes slow.

Patient, might not be the word to describe Santiago, but he is taking his time. Letting his lips cover, nip and lick down every inch of you as they press downwards from the collar of your neck to the soft slope of your stomach, until you can feel the pleasant scratch of his afternoon stubble graze along the soft skin of your legs.

"Spread your legs for me, cariño," he murmurs as he presses his lips there until you oblige him, and do.

Both his hand comes to rest at your knees, hooking them over his shoulders. Anticipation beats hard beneath your chest.

He's so close to where you need him. Nose practically touching your clit, and you can feel your slick drip down and out of you. Your fingers clutch at the quilts underneath you, waiting, and still there's nothing.

Opening your eyes, you dip down your eyes to Santiago nestled between your legs to see what the hold up is. Then you see it, Santiago, grinning with a sly look into the camera.

"She's so pretty and wet, Frank," he murmurs, as his fingers spread your wet folds wide for himself.

Insufferable brat.

You cant your hips with an impatient scolding whine, "Santiago."

He chuckles, and shifts between your legs, "Sorry cariño, will get right on it. Just got distracted for a bit."

His head leans down again, then all you see is his curls, loose and wild at the top of his head, before you feel his tongue touching down. A long thorough lick that has heat crackling through your veins.

It’s nice and slow, agonizingly so. Different, from what you’re used to. Frankie gets lost in it—in you. Hungry, sloppy and messy in the best of ways. That brilliant, clever brain of his turns off and it’s like the only thing left that he’s able to focus on in this new world of his is to taste you and have you, free of rhyme and reason, acting on instincts alone, guided only by the vibrations of your body and the moans you make.

Santiago is the opposite of that.

His tongue is more deliberate. Like he’s trying to learn every one of your responses and sear them into his memory.

Long and graceful fingers, exploratory, like he's trying to map out every inch of you to make sure that there's no territory that's been missed.

Intentional.

Precise and measured.

Santiago is a man who plans every step ahead. Every touch, every whisper, every tantalizing lick. It's in the way he keeps his hands steady underneath your back when your legs start to strain from pushing up towards his mouth. The way he was wearing your favorite red shirt that sits just a little bit too tight on his chest. The way he knew exactly where to drag your armchair to ensure that the angle of the camera would be right.

And as you think it, you realize that even though he brought up the sex tape as an innocent spur-of-the-moment suggestion, the bastard's thought of this way before Frankie had called to check in today.

Fuck, he's played you.

His tongue curls against your clit, flicking up and white sizzling heat spears through your stomach. You gasp, mind wiped clean of thoughts as your fingers curl into his hair.

Fuck, fuck, what were you thinking?

You’re a twitching, aching mess for him. Thighs pressed tight to his ears, as you can feel the tingling heat that starts from your core that spreads outwards and surrounds you in a devastatingly familiar way.

His tongue is a languid, slick slide against your clit. Fingers gracefully coaxing you until you're right where he wants you to be— that pinpoint edge of a slow burning ache that spreads across the entire base of your spine until your legs start to shake in that tell-tale sign of your orgasm.

“Fuck— Santiago, I’m—” you warn, but you can’t even make out complete words to finish your sentence, just indignant whines and sobs that should be shameful but you’re too far gone to care.

Because you’re almost there, so close you can feel it from the tingling sensation that reaches all the way from the very tip of your ears to the curl of your toes—how close you are to coming on that man’s tongue, and then— then— he stops.

He does not let you come.

It takes you a second, maybe two, for your brain to even fully register what has taken place. You rise up on your elbows, to stare down between your legs, where Santiago framed between your thighs, gazing back up at you. Lips curved upwards with amused mischief. Not a grin, no—that bastard is smiling at you, warm and sweet like he hasn’t done anything wrong at all.

“What are you—” you start.

“Not much of a sex tape if we don’t put on a show, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to protest, to give him the tongue lashing of his fucking life. But his fingers curl inside you, brushing against something devastatingly good. Your head drops back against the pillow with a thud, back arching away from your mattress and into his fingers, trying to have more of him, as he is rubbing against that deep spot that is blinding.

White, blistering heat spears through you that have you forgetting all about your indignant anger, have you forgetting what he did and fuck—makes you forget about your own fucking name for a second.

“Fuck, that’s such a pretty sound,” he says, voice feverish and rasped, “You think you can do that for me again?”

You groan impatiently, and Santiago's still smiling up at you, deep dimples burrowing into his cheek. It doesn’t matter that there are greys that are starting to skirt around his temples, or that wrinkles are crinkling in the corner of his eyes. He lights up boyishly, and all at once, you realize that —fuck, it’s embarrassing how much you’re a complete goner for this man.

The things you let him talk you into; the things you let him get away with. The things he’s doing to you right now: clever fingers rubbing-curling-pressing at that perfect place inside of you as he lowers his mouth to you again, his heated gaze never leaving yours.

The tingling heat is back, resuming its outward spread along your trembling limbs. A delicious pressure that builds and builds, more oppressive than last time under Santiago's skilled tongue and even more skillful fingers until you can’t think at all. Until all you can do is to rock your hips up against the heat of his mouth, gasping out his name. You reach out for him, your fingers sliding into his hair of their own volition to tangle and tug him even closer, pressing his face to your aching center.

Santiago doesn’t seem to mind at all. He just huffs out a sound that’s a half laugh, half groan and keeps kissing and pressing and teasing with that very same planned precision that is leading you ever closer to the edge of orgasm.

And then --of course-- he stops again.

An inhuman-sounding noise fills the walls. It takes you a moment before you register, it's coming from you.

"Shh, shh" he hushes, "it's ok sweetheart, you're okay."

Which is utter bullshit, your legs are trembling against the mattress, sweat dripping down your collarbone and you can't feel your toes. You're anything but okay.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this. You know that?” Santiago says.

"I hate you."

He's laughing again, no scratch that, giggling, that bright boyish sound that has a kaleidoscope of butterflies skittering in your stomach even though you're mad enough to kill him.

"No you don't," he rebuts confidently, as he presses his palm flat against your stomach. "You don't hate me, because I'm making you feel good, aren't I sweetheart? Why don't you tell Frankie how good you feel,” he murmurs, and then you feel his tongue press a slow lick inside you.

You don't get a word out, just a high-pitched breathless sound, as you spread your legs wider for him, as if the events from seconds ago had been erased from your mind by the pleasure that floods over you. Letting bygones be bygones, so long as his tongue never stopped. Sweet little circles, his thumb rubs into your hipbone as he gets you closer and closer to where you want to go. He leads you there, with his tongue and fingers, the soft curls bouncing on his forehead tickling against your stomach, until your orgasm is so close you can touch it with your fingertips.

So close you can see it, specks of white behind your eyelids, as you are whimpering out his name.

Then he stops.

He leaves you there suspended. Toeing the edge of a drop, right before a jump, and doesn’t let you go.

You want to scream. You're so close, your body is doing the screaming for you. Thighs aching and burning, tears stinging behind your eyes.

“Nonooo, fuck, Santiago, don’t sto—”

“Ask me nicely, Cariño.” Santiago's mouth is still pressed against your slick core, and you can feel the warm breath of his words against your folds as he says it. It makes you shiver at the sensation. “Ask me nicely, and I'll let you come. I promise.”

You open your eyes, with a sob, as you look down at him. Those gorgeous brown eyes, expecting his usual grin and bravado. Except it's not there, replaced by an intent that burns through your stomach, staring back at you in challenge: Beg.

You won’t, and it’s not just because if you gave in the man’s ego would be large enough to develop its own gravitational pull until it collapsed the very sun itself with it.

It's because you can't let him win.

The two of you have always had this strange competitive relationship. When he pushes you have to pull him back. Because if you give Santiago an inch he gets ahead of himself and will try to take a whole continent. You have to reel him back, and in the end if you’re lucky, he only goes for a mile. Still close enough that he’s not out of your sight. It’s what you’ve always done. It’s why the two of you work.

So of course you can’t beg. That’s just fucking ridiculous, to roll over and present your belly in defeat, to give in to this beautiful bastard is unthinkable to you.

You don’t beg, biting down your bottom lip to physically restrain yourself in your weakest moments when his tongue melts you. Don't beg when his fingers undoes you, unwinding the knot of heat that is blossoming in the depth of your belly, warm and achingly sweet.

You feel drunk on sensation, overstimulated by Santiago's tongue and mouth, as he latches his mouth on your clit again. You're not so sure about anything anymore. Don't know how long you've been here, how long he's done this, brought you to the precipice only to stop and start all over again.

It must be the fourth? Fifth time? Of having been led so close to your release with his tongue, only for him to slow down his strokes. To have his infuriating mouth, move away, and leave a trail of wet, soft kisses against the line of your inner thighs instead. To have him waiting until he knows you’ve climbed down from the very edge of a peak he’s held your hand and led you up to. After all of that, everything becomes a bit foggy and hazy.

It's not that you forfeit as such, you just can't remember doing it — can't remember asking him. But somewhere along the line, you let out a shaky, “ple-please” punctuated with a hiccuping sob.

He smiles.

“There we go. That’s all I wanted. All you needed to do is ask, sweetheart."

There’s an insufferable grin this time as you look down between your thighs. That diamond-cut jawline, belonging to the golden era of Hollywood is now glistening with your slick. He licks his lips like he’s tasting the remnants of something sweet and appetizing that he doesn’t want to go to waste.

After that first defeat, it gets easier. You can’t believe how easy it is as you start pleading and begging. Can barely believe that’s what you’re doing even as you hear your own voice all wanton and needy doing exactly that.

Santiago raises himself to kneel over your spread legs. His fingers are wrapped tight around the base of his cock, stroking himself languidly as he looks down on you.

"Frankie's right, you really are such a good girl, sweetheart. Look at you beg all sweet and nicely. Should I reward you?"

Your eyes are so dazed you’re unable to focus—everything’s a blur. You wonder what you must look like right now. How debauched of an image you must make for the camera— for your husband. Legs spread, slick and dripping, head thrown back, mouth slack and open.

“Please just— Fuck, Santiago, please. Please, I need to come.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and his hand comes to rest on the back of your thighs, warm and sturdy as he draws them up and spreads them.

For all the frustration you should feel at him for taking things this far. For being such an absolute little shit, all you can feel as he pulls you further down the bed until your legs are locked around his waist (right where you two belong), is warmth and relief.

Santiago leans down until his forehead is pressed against yours, grounding you. The contrast between what he’s done— teased and edged, unwound you until you’ve lost any sense of time or thread of your surroundings; and what he’s doing to you right now in this moment—mouthing loving praises against every inch of your skin he can reach with the gentlest care— it tears you apart.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” he tells you, his warm hands resting on your inner thigh as he spreads it further apart and crawls up your body to settle between them. “So perfect. Always are.”

Your eyes are drawn to his cock, how it’s proudly jutting between his legs as he strokes it, flushed and dripping with precome from the lack of touch and neglect.

It's only then it hits you, how Santiago has been neglecting his own pleasure throughout. Only focusing on giving you yours.

It’s ridiculous really, how your heartbeat quickens when he’s pressed up against your slick cunt, how needy you are when you feel the blunt hardness of him.

His hands wrap around the thick girth, and then he pushes inside you with his cock.

Fuck you might almost come from that first blissful stroke alone. He nudges insistently against something ruinous inside you that makes your vision whiten. You can't even make any noises, because all the oxygen is knocked out of your lungs. God, why didn’t you beg sooner if this was the prize he was willing to give you.

Santiago's moaning too. Low and gravelly and it’s such a beautiful sound that makes your chest draw tight. Then he rocks his hips into you, a deep and impatient thrust, not holding back. You drown in it. The lack of restraint and how he’s finally giving you what you’ve wanted for so long.

He's close. You grip onto his curls, tightly until it must sting. Just the way you know he likes it from all the time you’ve seen how fast it makes him come when Frankie does it to him, and Santiago groans, hips stuttering into you.

You’re so fucking close, and you tell him exactly that. Confesses it between gasps and heaving sobs. All you want is for him to fuck you harder and deeper, to make you come.

"Please, Santiago, please just—."

The molten heat blossoms and spreads from the base of your spine, upwards, and you're almost there. So full with the sensation that you think you’re going to burst out of yourself along the seams of your skin. You’re close, so close. Heat crackling along every inch of you and—

And then Santiago fucking pulls out.

You must be screaming at him. Want to claw and dig into the man’s curly hair and tear it out by the roots. Curse him to the depths of fucking hell while you’re at it.

But Santiago pulls you up until you're kneeling upright by the edge of the bed. He's murmuring sweet apologies into your ear as he mouths and kisses your neck.

For all the physical anger in you, your body is not pairing up with your brain, because the touch of him lingers with a pleasant tingle. You keen through sobs even as you’re uttering every curse that’s left in your presently limited vocabulary.

His arms wrap tightly around your front, shushing you and it almost sounds sincere if you didn’t know him as well as you do. "Not teasing, cariño, promise."

You don’t buy that, don't buy that for shit. But it doesn't matter if you do or don't, Santiago's hands are already moving to your hips, lining himself up from behind you, his front pressed up against your back.

"I just want Frankie to see you when you come," he murmurs into your ear. His fingers curl gently over the edge of your jaw, turning it so you’re facing straight away from him. “See that?”

Your vision is blurred and it takes you several moments before you’re able to blink and focus on the scene ahead of you. Your phone that’s pointed accusingly at your naked body.

Exhausted, limbs weak to your side like a spent rag doll, with only Santiago propping you up from where your back is pressed against his firm chest.

"I want you to think about it, cariño,” his warm lips are pressed to your ear, a low raspy caress in your core. “Think about Frankie watching this where he is.”

You whimper. Images of Frankie with his large hands and thick fingers, wrapped around his cock burning vividly behind your closed eyes.

You feel the length of Santiago drag against your folds, gathering the wetness that's just dripping onto his cock.

“Think about how he’ll be touching himself in that hotel room. About him watching this and seeing my cock stretch out this perfect pussy."

Then he's pressing inside you again. His palms slide from your breast to your stomach, the rough callouses catching against your heated skin, down and lower. Until you feel his fingers skate across your navel. There's a tingling sensation there until his hands come to the front, cupping your pussy, his fingers gliding over your wet slick clit, over and over. The entirety of your spine burns.

The inevitable steady climb of your orgasm builds and builds and builds after having been denied so many times.

You want it, thighs burning and everything in you aches with the need of it. If you don’t get to come this time you think you might very well die from it.

"Santiago, I swear to god, don't-stop-don't-fucking-stop."

It’s meant as a threat. But the words passing between your lips are breathless and needy. Whiny. Beyond any reasonable doubt it falls squarely on the scale of begging. The worst part is, you don't even care anymore. Because if whining and begging is what it takes for him to actually let you come, you’ll whine for him. You’ll beg and plead and do whatever it is he wants you to do.

Your pride was scattered somewhere between the third or fourth or maybe even fifth time he could have made you come but didn’t.

The sharp line of his nose digs into your heated cheek. Arms locked impossibly tight around you, pressing every inch of you to him, and still, it feels like he’s clutching on trying to press you even closer to him. Like he’s worried that you’ll slip between his fingers if there’s any gap of space between you.

"Not gonna stop cariño.”

His voice has no right to be that sweet and gentle. You can see his expression on the small screen on the phone mirrored back to you and he has no right to look strained and tortured as if he’s the one in pain. He did this to you.

“I want to feel you come on my cock,” he says, and his voice is so quiet and gentle, it almost sounds like a plea. Like he’s the one asking for your permission, begging you to let him feel you. Like the last hour (or was it hours, god knows) had not taken place because of him. “Let's come together ok?"

His other hand comes to your hip, pulling you in closer to him. His hips snaps hard into you. It's so much, almost too much and his fingers are still circling your clit, and– and fuuuuuuuck.

It hits you all at once. Deep and sudden and everywhere, your orgasm overwhelms you, until you can't breathe, can't think, can't move. Sound disappears altogether, and the last thing you think you hear is Santiago's strained voice, distant and far away. You're only able to make out your husband's name and yours amongst the rest of the nonsensical words he's speaking.

The only thing you're capable of is letting Santiago fuck into you, until you can feel his hips stutter into a jerky pace, and the way his cock twitches inside of you as he comes with a strangled groan.

Santiago is snoring quietly when you wake with your ear pressed against his chest. The afternoon sun has dimmed now, replaced by a softer amber that washes the white walls in its sunset hues.

Raising yourself by your elbows, you cast a quick glance at the clock on the nightstand, shit, 5pm, how did you sleep away half the day.

Santiago is how.

"Shit, did we fall asleep?" a raspy murmur comes to your side.

He's rubbing the sleep from his eyes, eyes squinting adorably as he sits himself up and surveys the room and spots the clock much like you did.

"Jesus, five? how did we even--" he grumbles a bit, fingers threading through his hair to try to detangle the absolute mess you've left it in, as he starts to wake.

"Oh, oh shit shit!" he curses and launches himself to the foot of the bed.

You watch him in surprise, as you see him grab the phone.

"Oh thank god," Santiago sighs out and his shoulders sag with relief. He turns back towards you, holding up the phone.

"Left it on when we passed out, thought the battery died and the video didn't save. Fortunately, it's fine, will just have to trim it down so Frankie doesn't have to watch us snoring for hours."

The image of it, Frankie sitting in his hotel, trying to get his rocks off, and instead being greeted by three hour footage of Santiago snoring, has you snorting with a grunt-like laugh.

In front of you, Santiago tilts his head as he just looks at you, with a dopey smile on his face.

"What?" you ask.

"Nothing," he says, but the smile, sweet and warmer than the sunset blankets over you and you let it settle over you, without any further quip or remarks for once.

"Wanna grab a bite to eat?" Santiago asks you.

Your tongue salivates at the prospect, images of grilled meats and deep fried spring rolls already flashing before your eyes.

"Oh yes! Can we go to Chinos?"

Santiago smile slips away into a scowl. "Didn't that place get shut down for health violations last month?"

"Yeah, but they reopened this week."

"We're going to end up with food poisoning like that time we went there the night before graduation."

You tip your head, considering him, and you can clearly hear the word that he didn't say. He didn't say no.

Your lips curl into the sweetest smile you can muster as you flutter your eyelashes at him. "How pretty do I have to ask?"

Santiago shakes his head, until he flashes you a toothy smile that crinkles his eyes.

It starts the way so many things start between you and Santiago. It was a stupid idea, and you may have talked Santiago into it.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

A/N: I started this piece well over 1 1/2 years ago and it was actually supposed to be the follow up to Coming Home but I got completely stuck at how to write edging scenes, and didn't feel confident enough at the time to finish it. I came back to it this week, realizing that ironically now this is all I write for Santiago, and finished it within an afternoon, and was just so buzzed and happy about it, I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

#oscar isaac #pedro pascal #triple frontier #santiago garcia #frankie morales #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #homecoming #cici writes

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sambaldyke · 9 months

Text

i am going to kill myself

#WHYYYYY #sriracha plays #honkai star rail #yukong #caiyi #caikong

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gothhabiba · 4 months

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Outside of performance art, what's your favourite way to cook brussels sprouts? i really only know the way of roasting in oil with garlic and seasonings and i need to expand my horizons. i'm definitely going to try anon's suggestion of quick frying with soy sauce.

bless you for dignifying my cringe roleplaying with the title “performance art.”

I wouldn’t say I usually do much more than what you describe. for a simple preparation, especially if they’re the main green of the meal and everything else is very starchy, cheesy, &c. (like th*nksgiving), I’ll just halve them, toss them in salt, black pepper, ras el hanout or seb3a baharat, and olive oil, place cut-side-down on a baking sheet, and bake at 450 F for about 30 minutes until the sprouts are tender and outer leaves are crisp;

meanwhile prepare a balsamic reduction by cooking down some balsamic vinegar with a little bit of sugar (and maybe some orange zest or sumac) in a skillet. drizzle the reduction over the sprouts and roast for another 3-5 minutes—the sugar should pool and blacken slightly, making the bottoms extra crispy. taste to adjust salt and serve with the rest of the balsamic and a squeeze of lemon, to taste.

if I don’t mind making them a bit richer, I’ll roast them the same as above alongside a head or half head of garlic (look up how to roast a head of garlic if you’re not sure how), with the addition of mirchi (powdered red chili peppers) or berbere;

when done, smash the roasted garlic into a paste and whisk in a lot of tahina, a bit of salt, the juice of a lemon, and maybe a spoonful of yoghurt if you like. this sauce is a bit like tarator.

top roasted brussels sprouts with a sprinkle of a finishing spice such as mitmita or garam masala (you don’t want it to be enough dry spice to make you sneeze or cough, but the idea here is that you’re reintroducing volatile aromatics that aren’t in the other spice blends anymore because they got destroyed by the heat of roasting). serve with tahina sauce and sriracha.

the general principle is that you can roast or fry brussels sprouts (and other vegetables) with basically any spice blend and pair them with basically any sauce. I usually try to make sure that there’s a balance of 1. salt, 2. fat (here, olive oil), 3. acid (lemon juice, balsamic), 4. sweetness (sugar, or the sugars brought out by caramelising onions or roasting garlic), and 5. spice (chili pepper &c.). brussels sprouts are very earthy and slightly bitter on their own so it’s the tart and sweet ends especially that you want to play up.

#this is my issue with the butter-and-garlic preparation tbh like there's just no balance #Anonymous #questions

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notveryimpressed · 5 months

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Sriracha

Villain: Gather 'round, my nefarious associates! Today, we shall unleash a prank of unparalleled villainy upon those insufferable heroes. The very foundation of their breakfasts shall crumble!

Right Hand: My Lord, are you referring to the diabolical plot involving the jam and the... err, spicy sauce?

Villain: Indeed, Right Hand! I have devised a scheme so devilish that even the most stoic hero will shed a tear over their ruined toast. Behold, we shall replace all their innocent jam bottles with jars of fiery sriracha sauce!

Henchman #1: (snickering) Sriracha sauce, boss? Won't they notice the difference right away?

Villain: That's where you're wrong, my unwitting underling! The labels, yes, the labels shall be our masterpiece. Mittens!

Mittens: (with a tiny villainous cape) Oh, joy. I always wanted to be a cat forger.

Villain: Mittens, you shall forge labels so exquisite, so perfect, that the heroes won't suspect a thing! I want the labels to scream "premium, extra-fancy jam" while concealing the fiery truth within.

Right Hand: (suppressing laughter) My Lord, isn't Mittens more skilled in knocking things off tables than label forgery?

Villain: Nonsense! I have seen Mittens weave her devious paws through the most intricate tasks. She once unraveled the hero's secret meeting plans by batting a ball of yarn across their secret files!

Mittens: (proudly) Meow.

Henchman #2: (snickering) But boss, what if they taste the sauce and realize it's not jam?

Villain: Ah, my dear simpleton, that's where our pièce de résistance comes in. Scientist!

Scientist: (entering with a clipboard) You called, my villainous overlord?

Villain: Scientist, you shall concoct a special potion that numbs the taste buds temporarily! Just enough for the heroes to savor the sweet anticipation before the fiery revelation.

Scientist: (scribbling notes) Numbing potion, understood. How long should the effect last?

Villain: Long enough for them to question their very existence, but short enough for them to recover before they suspect foul play.

Right Hand: (trying not to laugh) Brilliant, my Lord. A scheme so devious, even the heroes won't see it coming.

Henchman #1: (chuckles) And they'll be wondering if their taste buds have turned traitor!

Villain: Precisely! Now, to action, my minions! Mittens, forge those labels. Scientist, brew that potion. Henchmen, prepare for a raid on the hero's breakfast nooks!

#hero x villain #villain x hero #writeblr #writing snippet #villain #hero and villain #hero x villain community #hero #supervillain #hero/villain #righthand #villains and heroes #heroes and villains #villain x right hand #mittens #villain x henchman #henchmen #villain x scientist

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 2 years

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More ROTTMNT Headcanons: Cause I got an A on my Essay

April has a bunch of nicknames for the boys

When it comes to Raph and Mikey she’ll call them things like “hun”, “sweetheart” and “bubba”

And she has two very specific nicknames that they love

She’ll call Raph “teddy bear” (cause he’s big and cuddly like a teddy bear)

And Mikey is “sunshine” (for very obvious reasons)

But not the twins oh no she calls the twins the ugliest nicknames with the most loving voice

She calls them things like “blob”, “twig bug”, “bozo” and “brat”

The twins also have specific nicknames

Leo is “goblin” (because he likes to play pranks)

Donnie is “ghoul” (because ghouls are “evil” and who doesn't love alliteration)

The family isn't allowed to play “family games”

The last time they played Uno Donnie tried to stab Raph

And Mikey succeeded in stabbing Donnie

They tried to come up with games after the others got banned

But they ended up getting confused cause no one could remember the rules

Except for Donnie but he didn’t feel like telling them

Because winning is easy when they don’t know he’s cheating

Leo would have called him out but Donnie bought his silence with Halloween candy

Every single one of the boys can't stand a specific type of food

Leo isn’t even a picky eater but he can’t stand mashed potatoes and potato salad

April brought both of them over once and Leo almost threw up

It’s more of a sensory issue than a flavor issue

He loves spicy food though he can’t get enough of it

He’ll mix sriracha with ranch to go with his fries

And he’ll mix sriracha with cream cheese and put it on his bagel

Donnie on the other hand can’t stand spicy food it makes his eyes water and his nose run

He made the mistake of eating some of Leo’s breakfast and it sent him running to the bathroom

He also can’t eat sushi (again it’s a sensory issue) it’s too cold and slimy and it reminds him of the kraang

Mikey hates jello for the same reason Donnie hates sushi

Raph doesn’t like overly sweet food he says it makes his teeth itch and he can feel it stick to his throat

For example, he hates birthday cakes from grocery stores (the frosting makes him gag)

So Mikey started baking them birthday cakes from a very young age

April’s birthdays are very mellow she just likes hanging out in the lair and spending time with her boys

The boys try to get her out of the house but she says she doesn’t want to tempt fate after “The Warren Stone Incident™”

So they shower her with presents and let her watch her favorite movies, and Mikey cooks her favorite foods (I’m talking breakfast to desert)

Raph’s birthdays are always quiet because that's how he likes them

They shower him with love and affection and compliments and presents

But they don’t start fights and their voices never reach higher than a whisper

Until dinner

Because dinner is supposed to be loud and chaotic and fun

One year for Raph’s birthday the group put their allowance together and bought him a massive teddy bear

I’m talking at least seven feet

He cried and cuddled it for the rest of the party

The twins share a birthday (because… you know… twins)

But they didn’t stop there oh no they demanded a birthday week

And because they’re spoiled brats they got their wish

So for an entire week, they get to do anything they want and they get just about everything they ask for

When April asked Splinter why he let this slide he just looked her in the eye and said “because they’re evil when they don’t get their way”

After that, she stopped asking questions

Mikey never stays home during his birthday because the group always has something planned

one year they broke into an art museum and let him look at every single painting, the next they just had a nice picnic, and another year they broke into a trampoline park and let him go crazy

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #save rottmnt #rottmnt headcanons #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt raph #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt april #rottmnt splinter #disaster twins

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ceilingfan5 · 4 months

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15 "Denim jacket with bleach-painted bone motif" & 11 "If they don’t smile at me today I’m going to eat an entire drum set" and taakitz 👀

“If he doesn’t smile at me today, I’m going to eat an entire drum set,” Taako rants, throwing his apron on the counter. He didn’t intend to get on this topic, and now the words won’t stop coming out of his mouth like a busted gumball machine shooting gumballs and quarters all over the floor. Watch out for some Looney Toons ass shenanigans, word listeners, because here comes a mess. “Like what the fuck? He’s too pretty to be allowed to live. He makes me want to hop in a peanut grinder and become Taako butter and live a better life between two slices of discount sliced bread, you know?”

“With jelly, or like-?” Ren grins at him, wiping down the counters, far too thorough. Taako’s got places to be.

“Obviously with jelly, Ren, what the fuck do you take me for?” Taako grumps.

“Could be honey,” she shrugs pointedly, still looking very pleased with herself. “Maybe you two can become a sandwich together and ride off into a toaster sunset. Maybe you just need to say, hey, honey-”

“And just declare my intentions so boldly?” Taako puts a dramatic hand to his chest, scandalized as loudly as possible. “You can’t do this to me in the workplace, I’m calling HR.”

“Noooo, not again!” she giggles. “Seriously, though, Taako. If he’s cool enough to play in your band, and wear that sick jacket-”

“It’s got bleach-painted bones,” Taako moans, sliding down the counter and onto the floor. She daintly steps over him, and he briefly considers tugging on her apron strings. “And he plays the drums. And the bass guitar. And I think the cello?” Taako mimes playing a flute. “You know the one.”

“Yup,” Ren says, looking down at him as seriously as she can manage. “That one.”

“And the guys–I can’t tell them. I shouldn’t even be telling you. No offense. I’m mysterious and private and I’m, I’m going to die alone, and,” he tips his head back, misjudges the distance, and hits the cabinet doors with a too-solid thunk that makes him yearn for the good old days, before stupid fucking phylum Chordata got any wise bone ideas.

Now, wise bone ideas, he possesses a few. He snickers at his own head joke, and Ren gives him a generous half-smile. He sighs.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” he slides further onto the floor. She keeps cleaning, bless her. “I worry I’m not- I mean, obviously I am cool enough, natch,”

“Natch,” she repeats, not looking at him. He wipes an imaginary tear from his cheek while she can’t see. He’s trained her so well.

“But what if we’re different flavors of cool and he isn’t into Taako butter? What if he’s, I dunno, fuckin- sriracha, or, or, or,” Taako gestures emptily. “Cubed cheese you have to get at an art exhibition.”

“You’re as cool as cubed cheese, Taako.” Ren sighs, giving up and half-laying on the counter.

“I know that,” Taako snaps, warmed in the soul or something stupid like that.

“And he’s a nerd who plays in a band and wants you to like his sick jacket. Just go, hey, sick jacket, and he’ll be like oh my god thank you for noticing, everybody thought I was too cool to come say hey sick jacket and I’ve been vibrating myself to pieces wanting to tell everybody the fine details of the bleach painting process, did you know that human bones are whack-ass shapes? Ulnas don’t look right. Ever.”

“Yeah, what is up with those guys, anyway?” Taako has to rotate his arm this way and that a couple of times, chewing her advice in his head. “I’m gonna fuck my drummer,” he decides, in perhaps not the same breath but certainly a consecutive one.

“Good, I’m glad. Can we close already? I hate to tell you this, but I do have a life outside my hero worship of you. I’m like, my own whole interesting guy.” Ren smiles, straightens up, and offers him a hand.

“That can’t be right,” Taako muses, and he lets her pull him up. “You don’t even have a last name.”

“Do you?” She cocks an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“That’s debatable,” Taako says airily, and blows her a kiss. “You’re driving dessert tomorrow, bring your A-game. Your A+ game! No, your- uh-”

“I’ll bring my super diamond special reserve game!” she shouts, bouncing excitedly. “Thanks Taako! I hope your drummer wants you!” And before he can even counter that one, she’s off to lock the doors and flip the sign.

Taako’s going home and changing before band practice. Yep.

#fan5fics #taakitz #adjacently lol #taz #tazb #the adventure zone #the adventure zone balance #taz balance #didja miss me.

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secretgamergirl · 2 days

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When Complete BS Becomes "Common Knowledge."

Someone told me they stopped paying attention to someone who reviews movies after one too many mean-spirited jokes about trans people, and it was one of those cases where the reviewer in question definitely had the vibe of someone who'd go around doing that, but I couldn't think of any real flagrant examples. Cut to me watching a movie the other day, remembering that oh yeah, I skipped that one guy's review of it because I wanted to go in blind, and sure enough, that review has this big long crappy 5 minute aside of an out of left field "DID YOU JUST ASSUME MY GENDER!?" routine. So that's a shame.

Now this particular guy rather famously Does Not Get Out Much. Pretty sure he hasn't really have any exposure to a single trans person, or to any real die hard transphobes, and most likely what happened here is he saw I dunno, an episode of South Park or a facebook post from some bigoted aunt, or some Tiktok video, something like that, and just blithely assimilated it into his world view.

But you know, the reality is... to the best of my knowledge no trans person has ever actually said this, or anything similar to this, and we sure as hell don't live in a world where anyone would have the back of someone who did? But you know, here we are.

Now I want to be clear, this isn't some kinda thing where trans people can't take a joke or anything. Literally while I was typing this, some cis guy just tossed this out, and this is a real tired old hokey one, but I cracked a smile, because oh yeah, the whole "programmer socks" bit really is a weirdly accurate stereotype.

And there's plenty of other trans jokes I'll laugh at. Ones directly at my expense. Some real dark ones even. You wanna go off on trans women all having the same like 10 names and them all sounding like we were born in the 1800s, go for it. Other stuff about how we all dress? Coping mechanisms? Low standards? Being too into pickles and sriracha? There's plenty.

But "DID YOU JUST ASSUME MY GENDER!?" and while we're at it, "I identify as..." don't even have the vague shape of something you're ever going to encounter in reality. Like if I didn't know the context of where these came from and hadn't had them posted a thousand times or so by people with swastikas for avatars and such, these probably would get a laugh from me the first time I heard them, because they sound like weird surrealist humor. Like, "don't you hate how every time you go to the laundromat, you have to play chess with the dragon before they let you in?"

But, again, I know the context. And the context is a bunch of fascists want people like me dead, and they're both too scared to pick up a gun to do it themselves and too incompetent to know who to point it at or where to find them. So they sit around with each other and go "hey, what sort of person does everyone hate? Let's all say trans people talk like them!" And because they haven't spoken to a single human being besides each other and the rich parents they're sponging off since getting banned from the Something Awful forums in the 90s/punk bar in the 80s/whatever, they settled on "rich white person calling the cops on somebody for walking down the street" and "didn't I first get into being a hatemonger because I was stupid enough to think that time I saw someone roleplaying he really thought he was a big scary dragon?" Which has honestly worked out weirdly well for them when you stop for half a second to appreciate just how absolutely ridiculous it is to ever imagine cops coming to the aid of trans people.

Like... here's a situation that actually plays out in reality. I have a bad tooth. Dentist says I need a root canal, and she doesn't do them. Refers me to another dentist like an hour and a half away. I walk in, write my Victorian sounding name on some paperwork, fill in all my various medications, wait a bit, hop into the big dentist's chair, so far so good. This dentist busts out the pick and the mirror about to have a look, and goes "hey, so I noticed on your medications you're taking a ton of something called divigel? What is that?" I say "oh, yeah, I'm trans, so I'm on supplemental estradiol." She almost drops the mirror, stares at me like she just realized I'm Venom and if she bent down to look at my teeth I was about to swallow her whole head. She stands bolt upright, says, "your teeth are fine, get out." I'm a bit confused, but I can read a room, so I say "well that's weird, but OK..." and start to leave. I get a "have a nice day SIR!" shouted at me. And then I go out, call the cab company to say my appointment ended early, and get told too bad, it's coming when it's scheduled, and someone snickers. See, at some point in having to take cabs to all my appointments, a driver worked out that this woman he'd been picking up from this address for the past year has a similar voice to and maybe vague family resemblance to who he'd been picking up from that same address the year prior, and after getting the courage to ask me, guess who's constantly having cabs show up late, or not at all, or on time with a driver staring angrily into the rear view mirror while blaring AM radio with someone shouting about all "the gays" needing to be rounded up so they can burn in hell. And I just need to suck it up and live with it. I'm sure as hell not going to pick a fight over it. I'm just gonna stand out in the cold (fortunately with nice warm knee-high socks) waiting for this cab for an hour because I sure as hell can't stay in this lobby.

But again, the whole weird myth here posits a world where trans people are all-powerful and control the government and stuff. And the basis for that is like... sometimes people refuse to pass ridiculous laws to stop trans people from doing things we only do in bigots' imaginations at great taxpayer expense, and SOMETIMES someone is responsible enough to double check what's up before they allocate the funds. Like... hell, you know what's exactly as completely divorced from reality and honestly the same people doing to same crap? That wild BS about "schools keeping litter boxes in classrooms because all this acceptance of trans people means we also have to accept kids who think they're cats!" Like... how the hell can anyone actually be stupid enough to believe that anyone else could be stupid enough to believe that they're actually stupid enough to believe such an OBVIOUSLY made-up narrative? Like... lawmakers bring that one up and try to get bills passed on it. Everyone else in the room is socially obligated not to laugh and ask whether they also want to pass legislation against Bat Boy and UFO abductions. This is Ralph Wiggum tier absurdity.

But like... what do you do about this sort of thing, really? As the person ultimately has to deal with the dentists who think I'll bite their heads off, ask to speak to their manager, and drop trou over a sandbox the state mandates they keep in the middle of the room, I'm... not in the room when this BS gets concocted, or discussed, or shared in Minions meme some film critic sees and imitates to try and be relatable and relevant. Can someone else start grabbing all these people by the lapels and shake them and shout questions about how they can be this stupid, maybe invite them back to reality for me?

#bigotry #transphobia #out of touch boomers #the one joke

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