brainrot blog

doing anything but showering

“there’s no picture.” “never.”

Some gaz doodles!!

Ohhhh ghost courting his omega is....a danger to anyone involved.... <:0

Others give favourite snacks or drinks as courting gifts. Something small to show they can feed you and know you well enough to follow your preferences.

The first courting gift ghost gives you is multiple coolers full of deer meat. That he personally hunted and butchered, of course. The heart, you notice, already has a bite taken from it...

Others try to show-off to gain affection, usually in competition with others. Arm wrestling is popular, but on base sparring is a go-to. That, or drinking games.

Ghost....isn't allowed to do that after he "accidentally" put that one lieutenant trying to court you in the hospital. Now? You get USB drives full of his favourite bodycam clips from ops. Usually of his brutal hand-to-hand combat and guerilla warfare, but he once got you a 13 hour video of him sniping for you to "fall asleep to, lovie."

All that is to say, anytime you express dislike towards someone you need to quietly assure ghost you don't want them hurt in any way.

– rommy

@rawme-price ROMMY. I need you to know I've been thinking about this since you sent it xhejxnfcneicneidnjedn

cw: 18+ smut. nikprice. cockwarming. penetrative sex. John Price melting bc of his big Russian husband 😩

Nik’s arms are firm around Price’s waist, bare chest warm against his back. His breath ghosts along the curve of John’s neck. He's content with his husband in his arms. Finally glad to have the captain back after so many weeks.

John, on the other hand, is suffering.

He’s seated in Nik’s lap, buried to the hilt, and they haven’t moved in what feels like hours. Though the clock insists it’s been ten minutes. Ten agonizing, perfect, torturous minutes.

Every instinct in John’s body is screaming to do something. Rock his hips, shift his weight, grind down. He’s sweating. His thighs twitch, trying to find leverage, but Nik's large hands stay firm where they rest, one on his hip, the other low on his belly, keeping him there.

"You are doing so well," Nik murmurs, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Such discipline, kapitan. Almost makes me believe you're going to make it."

John huffs through his nose, eyes squeezed shut. He tries to focus on breathing. On the way Nik's cock feels inside him, filling and stretching and there without movement. It should be unbearable. It is unbearable. But it's also grounding in a way John can't quite explain. Every nerve in him is lit.

And Nik’s stillness is infuriating.

"You fuckin' sadist," he grits out.

Nik chuckles. "Only because you like it."

John's hands tighten where they grip Nik’s forearms, his fingers digging into muscle like it might grant him mercy.

But there’s no mercy here.

Only Nik, holding him still. Until he sobs. Until he melts down into the kind of mess he never lets anyone else see, restless mind unraveled, twitching hands stilled by the steady thrum of devotion beneath him.

John finally slumps back, body gone quiet in Nik’s hold. He leans back fully now, weight surrendered, head tilted to rest on Nik’s shoulder. His chest heaves with each breath, slick with sweat.

And then, finally, “Please… please, Nik…”

Nik’s kiss is immediate, soft against his temple, followed by another lower, brushing his cheekbone.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I always have you, John.”

Then he moves, barely, just the shallow grind of his hips upward. Not enough to fuck in the way John wants, but enough to to make John’s breath hitch, make his spine arch in that helpless, beautiful way. Nik rocks, letting every inch drag deep inside, slow and aching.

One hand slides up to John’s chest, splaying wide over his sternum. The other slips lower, callused palm wrapping around him.

And all the while, Nik whispers in Russian, velvet-dark filth just for him.

“Moy kapitan,” he breathes, voice thick.

"My beloved man. I’ll fuck you like you deserve for the rest of my life."

"You feel that? So deep. So tight…"

Price can’t respond. His mouth is open, head tipped back, gasping through every stroke. His hips try to chase more friction, but Nik keeps the pace maddeningly slow, rocking just enough to keep him on the edge.

“I ache under you. John,” Nik groans. “Ves’ moy. You know that, don’t you?”

A wrecked sound claws out of John's throat. One of his hands reaches back, fingers tangling into Nik’s hair, the other still gripping his arm. He’s flushed to the ears, red across his chest, legs trembling, every breath a soft, broken plea.

“Please—Nik—I—fuck—”

Nik shushes him gently, kisses the side of his neck, and strokes him faster now. Hips still moving.

“Let go,” he whispers, low and thick. “Cum for me, kapitan.”

And John cums with a cry. His whole body locks up, every muscle drawn tight as lightning courses through him. Nik holds him through it, still whispering sweet, filthy nothings in his year.

Hands tied, tongue tied

Pairing: Laios Touden x Monster Male reader

Cw: 18+, tentacle sex, trans Laios, afab terms used to describe genital (cunt clit, pussy), edging, pussy spanking, urethral play, overstimulation, throat fucking,

Thinking about Laios with a tentacle monster s/o, pining his hands behind his head using one of your tentacles to keep them in place, having one long tentacle wrap around each thigh ,spreading his legs to expose his cock or cunt, using a small tentacle to wrap around his tip, squeezing it so he won’t tip over the edge so easily, or spanking his little clit, hearing the sweet squeaks and gasps escape his lips as he tries to buck his hips only to be pushed back your thick limbs

Thinks you're a villian pretending to be a hero

Thinks your morals are fucked

Believes you should have your hero liscene revoked

He believes a hero should show kindness, should only go as far as one needs to go to succeed. No further. Never too far. Never too cruel.

You, however, seem to love taking the extra mile. Catching villians on any means possible. Not caring if they end in prison or end up dead. Because in your eyes, all that matters is they're off the streets for good.

He hates you. Thinks youre a disgrace to the hero name. Has spoken about you in many interviews.

And when hes cornered by you, quirkless and weaker now, he's not afraid to still declare his distaste for you.

It makes him livid when you only smirk at his words. Do you not take him seriously anymore? He wants to say more, but then your hands are on his hips, pushing him against the wall, stealing his first kiss with a cocky, "still hate me, pretty boy?"

like, tell me when this awkward, quirkless teenager would have sex

now, tell me when this awkward, overpowered hero would have TIME for sex

All Might (to me) just never seemed like the type of person who focused on sex, treating himself like an untouchable icon (but not in a self-inflated way)

but now he's got Reader, who will call him pretty and handsome and pathetic, and All Might is just absolutely helpless to it

-🦴

That's my biggest reason for being the biggest virgin All Might truther, he simply wouldn't have time. He cares too much about being the number one hero to worry about love or lust.

I'm also pretty sure its been implied or stated a few times that he's completely inexperienced romantically,

I also like to believe that he just isn't that horny, never has been,

Owned one magazine as a teen and threw it away out of guilt

Rarely jerks off, sometimes late at night when he cant sleep, but if he's hard he's more likely to wait for it to go down than he is to take care of it.

As he smokes on a bench in the park, watching young men holding hands and laughing and bouncing around, he can't help but smile a bit. His back aches just watching some of the baby lesbians carrying each other this way and that, and he scrubs a hand over Toaster Strudel's head on his knee.

"This seat taken?"

Simon chuckles as Kyle drops to sit next to him. "Savin' it for my 'usband, ain't I?"

"Husband?" Kyle chuckles and drapes his arm over the back of the bench. "Sounds serious."

"e's my world," Simon answers, too sincere. He drops his hand on Kyle's knee and tips his head to whisper, "Great cock."

Thwack.

Ghost didn’t even turn this time. Still, Gaz piped up, “Moskie on you.” That, more than the swat, had Ghost’s shoulders creeping up.

There hadn’t been a mosquito, of course. At least, not on Ghost. For one thing, it would have had to bite through an inch of sodden fabric anywhere it landed. For another, its brethren had found several tasty spots on Kyle already, who had unwisely rolled up his sleeves. There was no point in rolling them back down now. He’d still take being a bug buffet over being sous-vided in his own sweat and the damp of the muggy forest they’d been dropped in.

He didn’t quite know how Ghost was still upright in the wet mask. The man had been waterboarded before, Kyle supposed.

There was also his clear delight of getting to wield the machete. That, along with the general level of spite that kept Ghost upright under all manner of conditions, was one hell of a selling point. One that kept him out of the Jeep with Price and down in the brush with Kyle for their return to exfil. Why Kyle himself had accompanied the lieutenant rather than calling shotgun ahead of Soap…

Thwack.

It didn’t really matter.

Ghost paused in his hacking at the innocent trees. Looked back over his shoulder with one narrowed eye. Gaz held up his hands in surrender.

“Moskie on you, sir. Swear down.”

The answering grunt was barely audible over the sound of the wildlife around them. Mosquito whines included. Adjusting his grip on the machete, Ghost turned back around and kept brutalizing the underbrush. Gaz kept trudging through the path he cleared.

It was downright unethical to unleash Ghost on this forest. Not more than anything else they did, but enough to give Kyle a giggle or two. The masked menace would get a reputation among the chattering birds above to match his notoriety among his fellow humans. Maybe that was why Kyle had joined him there. Yes, field experience under a different commander than Price, yes, exposure to more environments, yes, a decent workout, but at the end of the day it was Ghost’s presence that had made his hand go up. Watching the hulking shadow carve his place in the world was always a treat. For someone who wanted to loom large, it was a masterclass. Making Captain was Gaz’s ultimate goal - he’d never not be a disciple of John Price - but he wouldn’t pass up catching a guest lecture in being pants-pissingly intimidating.

He’d been scared of Ghost once. Still was, in bursts. The correct response to someone exploding into red mist was not a low chuckle and accented quip. But honestly, after seeing the sides of The Ghost only shown to his team, it blunted some of the teeth on the legend. Some of them.

Thwack.

Enough of them.

This time, Ghost turned right around and levelled the machete at Gaz. “Whot’re you after?” he growled. Gaz raised his hands again.

“Forest’s full of them, sir. I’m just watching your six.”

He’d seen livelier eyes in severed heads. Ghost turned the machete blade-down and raised it high.

Resisting the instinct to step back made some part of Gaz rather proud of himself. The more mammalian parts, the ones designed to keep him safe from things like Ghost, were less enthused.

One brown eye closed like Ghost was lining up a shot. “You ever think about partin’ your ‘air on the left?” he mused, dinking the blade just-so on the top of Kyle’s head. “Could do you here.”

Kyle bit the inside of his lower lip. “Done much barbering?”

“Post-mortem.” Whatever the fuck that meant. Ghost huffed like a bull - thick fucking slab of beef that he was, appropriate - and turned the machete, bringing the flat of it down on Gaz’s head. It made a metallic thonk.

“Agh, bloody-“ Gaz hissed, finally ducking away from further attack and scurrying back a few steps. Bringing a hand up to grope at the top of his head, his fingers only met sweat and a sore patch.

The hardshell mask shifted in a way that meant Ghost was grinning under it. “‘Bloody’ could be arranged.”

A mosquito took advantage of their slowed progress to land on Gaz’s forearm. This time, he couldn’t arrest his flinch as Ghost brought the machete down. It slapped the bug dead with the flat of the blade.

Thwack.

“Moskie on you.”

Graves glory hole

"This is for me?" He runs his hand over the black leather band, lifting it for a closer look.

It's a collar and leash you bought from a sex shop. It even comes with a little tag that has Good Dog engraved on it. You thought it was hilarious, but now you're not so sure.

"I can send it back and get something else," you say, reaching for the box.

He shies away. "No. I-I'll keep it. Thank you."

"Okay..." You look at him, confused.

"I'm going out with some friends, so I'm going to get ready..." He ducks into his room and you mentally facepalm, hoping you haven't ruined his day.

Later on that night, you get a text from your roommates phone though it's clearly someone else texting you.

The text reads: Come get your dog :) along with a picture of your drunk roommate sprawled on a couch, wearing the collar and staring at the camera with big, dumb eyes.

This is just a desperate anon hoping you could eventually continue that a lil... with perchance a dom reader and pet play..? No rush, just someone curious to see how that would play out!

Also wanted to take the chance to say I utterly LOVEEE your writing and everything you post-- really do keep up the good work! It's always wonderful seeing it.

~ Lovely 🫀

Hi there, Lovely 🫀! I took a while to think about how it would play out, and I finally came up with this. I hope you enjoy it, and thank you for reading my stories! <3

Continuation of this post

You drive over to the house to pick up your werewolf roommate. He's not dead-to-the-world wasted, but 'will definitely regret this later' wasted. Judging from the mess of snack bowls and wrapping paper scattered around, he and his friends had fun. He lurches off the couch to greet you when you come in and you just about manage to catch him before he tumbles to the floor.

"Wow," you huff, bracing yourself under his weight as he nuzzles drunkenly against your neck.

"You two look cute together!" One of his friends enthuses.

Shorter than the others, muscle hidden under a healthy layer of fat that some mistake for softness. People whisper amongst themselves about there being no way you're cut-out for the 141.

"Why should I listen to you?" Your fellow sergeants in other groups sneer, their scents sour and too-strong "you aren't really a soldier. How many times have you bent over for your captain? What, you take a knot and they let you dress up like one of us?"

The threat of paperwork and being transferred out is the only thing that keeps you from spilling blood most days. You keep your chin up and ignore it all, they aren't worth your effort.

They don't see what you're capable of, but your teammates do.

You regularly take ghost down on the mats. He may be bigger as a natural-born alpha, but people forget omegas pack on muscle when given the opportunity. The first time it happened, you swear you could feel the happy pheromones in your lungs from how the team rumbled in delight.

You are a brutal, violent, strong omega.

You earned your place in the pack the same as everyone else, and now you complete it.

You aren't above scruffing soap or gaz when needed, or pulling ghost in to scent him when he's getting antsy. Their den finally has a nest to support, one that you swear price practically lives in to avoid people trying to sign him up for meetings.

So no, you don't react to the comments people throw at you. It's nothing you haven't heard before.

trans gaz oh how cool you are

hii trans nik!!! trans nik!!!!!!! he’s got inverted-t scars + a faint dog ear that’s kind of hard to see with this pose

also him at the beach because i’m going on vacation soon and am very excited