#*high pitched scream that only dogs can hear*

[acidic--citrus]

UM. UM??? UM. UMMMMM???????!!?!?!?!?!?! THE FUCKINGGGGGGG!???????? NEW DST ANIMATED SHORT????????? UMMMMMMMMMM?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️

[tired-biscuit]

I licked it so it’s mine

pairing: stepbrother!yuuji/fem!reader

premise: After a long day of work, you decide to make use of the empty house by having some drinks and a movie night with your older stepbrother. Eventually, one drink turns into two, two become three, and so on. As the buzz of the alcohol progressively fills you with more and more courage, interesting things commence.

cw: 18+ MDNI. stepcest, ‘in the flurry of the moment’ setting, no curses AU, characters are in their 20s, intoxication, dubcon, implied corruption, coersion and pressuring from reader, descriptions of size difference, manhandling and roughness — poor yuuji gets a little too into it in the end.

wc: 6.7k

divider credit: @/adornedwithlight

———

Your big stepbrother Yuuji is likeable. He always has been.

To be fair, what is there not to like? When it comes to his looks, Yuuji is tall, handsome, a proud owner of a pair of pretty honey-coloured eyes that make him resemble a puppy, and an even prettier smile. Every summer, his skin gets this wonderful, almost golden tan that makes him outright glow from within, and his face gets sun-kissed, causing his already rosy cheeks to get dotted with tiny, barely visible freckles that gather under his eyes and only enhance his cuteness.

However, after living with him for so long, you’ve since learned that he rarely actually pays attention to his appearance, much less dresses to impress.

After all, Yuuji is a simple man. He does not care about clothes besides the level of comfort they provide, and yet he still somehow manages to achieve victory. Catching girls checking him out when he’s in nothing but his trusty pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt is a common occurrence. Even listening to flustered whispers and giggles has turned into a regular thing at this point.

On top of all that, he’s also nice. Kind and open and warm – you could use so many more positive words to describe your stepbrother’s wonderful personality, but you’re pretty sure that they’d never do it justice. Perhaps the only bad thing you could say about him is that he’s too nice. Too helpful and giving.

Especially towards the people who don’t deserve it.

And as you watch him from the corner of your eye now, hanging out at the park and licking the ice cream that he’d treated you to as a reward for beating him in his favourite video game, you try to consider yourself as one of the people who do deserve his everlasting kindness. Who do deserve to be treated nicely by him, and to hear the laughter in his voice, and to accept his almost naive generosity.

It’s a nice day out today. The wooden park bench that you’re sitting on currently is warm from the setting sun that still filters through the leaves above your heads. Small, moving patches of light and shadow linger everywhere, causing you to stare, almost mesmerized, as some of them lazily continue to dance across your big brother’s face.

Yuuji’s arms are splayed wide open and draped on either side of the worn backrest that you’re both leaning against. He’s finished his ice cream ages ago, so now he’s got his legs outstretched and his head angled up towards the sky, enjoying the peaceful tranquility that this year’s summer brings. 

There are quite a few people out and about in the park during this time of day – most of them joggers and dog walkers that are using the slightly cooler temperatures to their benefit – but if you listen closely, you can make out distant shouting and laughter coming from a group of children who are occupying the playground that’s on the other side of the trees.

The sound makes you feel kind of old, so you zero in on your sandals to keep yourself busy.

“Remember when you used to scream like that?”

“What?” 

When you turn your head to the side again, Yuuji’s gaze looks expectant.

“Back when we were kids,” he explains, jerking his chin towards the direction of the playground. “You got all shrieky and high-pitched whenever it was my turn to chase you, remember? Made you sound like a deflating balloon just by running in your direction.”

“Oh!” You take another lick of your ice cream, fully flattening the scoop before sinking your teeth into the edge of the cone. The scent of strawberries fills your nose in an instant. “In my defense, that probably happened because I didn’t like playing tag with you all that much.” 

He quirks an eyebrow at this, intrigued. “How so?”

“Well, for starters, your legs were longer than mine, which made you catch up so fast that it wasn’t fun for me anymore. Aaand your hands were also always sticky for some reason,” you reply, still chewing on the wafer. “It was gross.”

“Wow, okay.” He rolls his eyes but it immediately gets followed by a brief chuckle that escapes his lips. “Excuse me for trying to be a little bit sentimental with my clean freak of a baby sister.”

“I’m normal… You’re just nasty,” you fire back, smiling when he goes to playfully shove you.

His hand is warm when it lands on your shoulder; so warm, in fact, that you can feel the rise in temperature even through the sleeve of the thin, cropped T-shirt that you’ve put on this morning. 

It doesn’t take you by surprise. For as long as you’ve known him, Yuuji has been one to have blood as hot as molten lava running through his veins. You’re unsure how he survives it whenever the weather is scorching hot, like today for example – August has always proved to be a bitch whenever it comes to heat – but so far he seems to be doing just fine.

And while it may be weird to some, him being hot-blooded is the reason why you sometimes like to drag him into your bed during the winter months, when it’s cold and you come back home from work feeling like your toes have turned half-frozen in your shoes. Besides being provided with good company, he’s also like your own personal heater.

And that’s it. There’s nothing else to it; how could it be when he’s your stepbrother, for crying out loud! You grew up together and have lived under the same roof for years. He’s walked into your room just to leave the lights on and the door open so many times. You’ve endured his godawful Fortnite phase and have seen him be at his worst just as he did with you. The only feelings that you harbour for him are strictly platonic. 

You’re both pretty set on that.

“I should take that ice cream from ya as a form of punishment for being so mean to me,” said stepbrother teases now, pulling you back from your thoughts. When you look up at him, he’s grinning like a little boy. From ear to ear and in a way that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Cute.

“Nu-uh,” you respond, allowing the evidently distrustful tone to lace your voice. “I licked it so it’s mine.”

“Tsch.” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Like that’s ever been an issue before. C’mon, give.” 

“It is for me because unlike you, I’m not- Hey!” Before you can finish your sentence, he swipes the ice cream from your hand, successfully stealing it right in front of your nose.

You glare at him now, brow slightly furrowed in annoyance, as Yuuji proceeds to lick the melting sweet with exaggerated delight. Since whatever was left of the scoop sank deeper into the cone, you realize that you’re unexpectedly intrigued by the fact that he needs to push his tongue out a little more to get to it. 

And he does; of course he does. He twirls it across the flat, creamy surface, and it’s not long before the inside of his mouth is coated in milky pink and there’s a hum of overly satisfied approval sounding from the back of his throat.

You’re unsure how to feel about the entire thing, but you definitely don’t dwell on it.

“Mmm,” he purrs, squeezing his eyes shut. He even makes sure to go as far as to smack his lips. “Mmm-mmm-mm! So good.”

For whatever reason, you feel your stomach do a weird spin as you listen to the sounds he’s making now. It’s like there’s an instant flash of heat searing through your body, similar to the pesky one that you get in the middle of the night when you’re hormonal and on your period, but before you can even properly acknowledge it, it’s gone as fast as it came.

“Again: you’re so gross,” you manage to say with a huff that’s supposed to be disapproving but doesn’t sound like that at all. The shake of your head that you add to the jab also feels somewhat unnatural. Every one of your mannerisms does, actually.

Yuuji, seemingly blissfully ignorant of your inner turmoil, laughs before he takes a giant bite out of the side of the cone and finally hands it back to you.

“Hey, at least my hands ain’t sticky this time.”

———

The house is empty when you come back home that evening.

This too is not much of a surprise, really. Your parents have been gone for the last couple of days, enjoying their yearly vacation to the seaside that neither you nor Yuuji could attend this time because of your work schedules. 

So while your mom and his dad are basking in the sun and drinking sugary cocktails, you’re waking up at six in the morning every day to make it to your dull desk job in time, and he’s stuck flipping burgers at McDonalds and honing his social skills in the drive-through booth for eight hours every day.

Poor, poor you.

“Did you see the drinks they’re having over there? Gosh,” Yuuji grumbles on this exact topic as he throws himself onto the couch and flicks the TV on. His expression looks mildly conflicted at the list of movies he’s being offered by the streaming service you’re both leeching off of, but it eases back into neutral as soon as he rests his feet atop the coffee table and crosses his ankles. “They even had those fancy umbrellas on the top and everythin’.”

“There, there,” you say, quickly patting his knee before sitting down beside him. You’re not sure why, but you pay extra attention to the small sliver of distance that you keep between his leg and your own now. The feeling from earlier didn’t fully go away yet, so touching him or him touching you still feels kind of odd.

Meanwhile, Yuuji doesn’t seem to acknowledge it at all, because now he’s resting his head against your shoulder, invading your personal space whilst he pouts.

The action is nothing unusual for him – it’s normal, he does it all the time – and yet you still swallow thickly, trying to ignore the sudden hyper awareness. 

“What is it now, you big baby?” you manage to muster out, taking the remote from him.

“Eh… It’s nothing,” he says.

“Aha,” you say.

“Well… It’s just that I want nachos and cocktails with fancy umbrellas, too!” he bristles at your prodding, pressing the side of his face even further into your shoulder. His hair tickles your cheek because of it.

“We have nachos at home,” you utter, trying to avoid the ticklish sensation.

“Yeah. Shitty tortilla chips that come in a bag, with a side of tasteless dip from the fridge,” he quips. “Yum.”

You stifle your laughter. He’s making such a big deal out of a silly thing like nachos. “I’m pretty sure they all come in a bag, Yuu… Come to think of it, theirs are probably stored in one of those big, wholesale bags that most food places get.”

“Well, I want the wholesale ones, then.”

“You’re pretty set on this, huh?”

He just gives you a look.

“Okay, okay, okay,” you ramble, pulling back just enough to make him lift his head and look at you properly. “How about… we try to make semi-decent nachos and cocktails with what we have, and have ourselves a little movie night since we’re both off work tomorrow and we definitely deserve it after all the pain and suffering we’re going through?”

Yuuji muses. “All you do at your job is sit behind a desk all day.”

You feel your eyes narrow. “So?”

“So,” he says, sounding smug. “I’d hardly call that pain and suffering.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you chide. “I wasn’t aware that your job also consisted of crawling underneath barbed wire and coming face to face with excruciating death between all those burgers you flip.”

He pokes you in the side for the insult. After jumping a little bit at the ticklish sensation, you make sure to immediately return the favour.

“Do you want those cocktails or not, Ronald McDonald?”

Yuuji stretches his arms above his head and yawns before he gets ready to stand up. “Yeah, yeah… Let’s make ‘em fancy.”

He follows you into the kitchen then, where you both work to recreate the vacation food and drinks to the best of your – and your pantry’s – capabilities. 

The nachos end up being surprisingly decent after you sprinkle some shredded cheese on top and give them a spin in the microwave. The cocktails, on the other hand, are a mixture of cheap wine from the corner store and coke, adorned with pieces of sliced pineapple at the top because you sadly ran out of cute paper umbrellas, much to Yuuji’s disappointment.

Though in the end, everything works out just fine.

You have yourselves a nice, perhaps you could even call it relaxing kind of evening. You change into your comfortable pyjama shorts and tank top, he gets rid of his T-shirt because he prefers being shirtless during the summer, and you play a couple rounds of his favourite game again; all of which you lose because Yuuji decides that he isn’t holding back this time. Afterwards, you watch a movie that isn’t all that good necessarily, but isn’t half bad either, and take rather hefty sips of your makeshift cocktails.

By the time the credits start to roll, you’re both feeling a little buzzed and warm in the face. Neither of you feels like calling it a night just yet, though – being off work the next day at the same time happens so rarely, after all – so you decide on watching something equally as uneventful and drinking some more.

So that is how both yourself and Yuuji end up drinking more than you’d initially planned. The alcohol becomes easier to swallow down when you’ve already numbed out your taste buds and have adapted them to the cheap, shitty wine flavour. It even makes the pineapple slices look cool.

And now you’re both drunk. Not shitfaced, per se, but definitely more than tipsy. Enough that it’s making your vision a little bit blurry around the edges, your limbs soft and pliant, and your mind fuzzy. Enough that it’s making you feel like you could do just about anything you’d set your mind to.

You’re both giggling like morons as you sit cross-legged and face each other on the couch. He’s desperately trying to tell you a story about one of his co-workers, who, according to him, is supposed to be very weird, but he keeps on slurring his words and keeps on losing track so often that it’s making the entire thing outright incomprehensive.

“Dude-” Your voice falters as yet another set of giggles pushes its way out. Goddamn alcohol. “You have got to stop laughing and tell me whatever it is you want to tell me about this weirdo, because if you don’t, I swear to god that I’m going to fucking lose my shit.”

“Listen… Jus’ listen-” 

“I am listening, you dumbass!” you interrupt, reaching over to flick his forehead. He flinches at the action.

“No, but like,” he mumbles now, rubbing the aching spot. “I want to tell you, but at the same time… I kind of don’t.”

This instantly succeeds in sparking your interest. There’s something he’s unsure about telling you? How curious; you tell each other everything!

You lean forward slightly, resting your elbows on your knees. “How so?”

Yuuji’s eyes flicker towards the television for a quick second. The movie is still playing – it bathes half of his face with light and the other half in shadows. 

Much to your bafflement, he sheepishly bites his lip before he says, “‘Cause it’s a secret.”

“A secret? Really?” You groan as you grab the small decorative pillow just so that you can throw it his way. Despite his intoxicated state, he’s still rather quick to deflect it. It lands on the ground soundlessly.

“What was that for?” he asks now, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, I dunno,” you say, bristling. “Did it maybe ever cross your mind that telling me that is only gonna make me want to hear it more?”

“I mean,” he says, scratching the back of his head and shrugging. “I guess…?”

You give him a pointed glare. “You know how much I love secrets, Yuu!”

“I know.”

“Then tell me!”

“No.”

You pout in answer, clearly unsatisfied.

Yuuji looks at you, his expression slipping into something that’s a bit more sincere and apologetic. He watches as you continue to avoid eye contact and push out your bottom lip, clearly trying to appear upset as much as you possibly can in order to get him to change his mind.

Sooner or later, it ends up working.

A person like him is so giving… Who is he to ever tell you no?

“Oh, fine,” he says, sighing with defeat. “Just pinky promise that you won’t tell anyone, okay?”

Your grin is pleasantly lazy because of the alcohol that’s still coursing your veins as you chirp, “Of course.”

He hooks your pinkies together and shakes them from side to side lightly as if it’ll help solidify the promise better.

“So, what’s the secret?” you ask when you pull your hand back and use it to support your cheek.

After a short moment of silence, he finally forces himself to blurt out, “My co-worker, he, uh… He thinks you’re hot.”

You stare at him, arching one eyebrow. “Wait, that’s it?”

Yuuji can feel his entire face tingling with heat now. The blush that steadily continues to bloom makes his skin slightly itchy, but he refrains from scratching it. “Yeah, that’s it.”

You watch him closely. 

“What?” he inquires, not liking the fact that you aren’t saying anything. The flush of red has crept down to his neck now.

“You’re lying,” you reply at long last, expression blank.

He sputters when he inhales a sharp breath, ready to defend himself. “Am not!”

You throw another pillow at him. He avoids this one, too. “Are too!”

“Stop throwing stuff at me!”

“I will, if you tell me the secret!”

“I already did!”

“The actual secret, dumbass!”

“Fine… Fine! Ugh,” he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He also said that, umm…”

You enthusiastically gesture at him to continue when his voice fades into nothing again. Curiosity is threatening to eat you alive at this point. “Yes? He said what?”

“He said-” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows thickly. “He basically told me that if you were his stepsister, that he would’ve been all over you ages ago. Or whatever.”

You stare at him once more. He stares right back.

“What?” he asks again, this time slightly more nervous. His pupils are huge and the blush is starting to make him sweat. “What is it?”

After a moment that seems like forever, you repeat, “...That’s it?”

Yuuji feels like his heart has dropped to his ass. “What d’you mean that’s it?!”

“Exactly what I said,” you say, shrugging. “Your co-worker has a ‘Oh no, stepbro, I’m stuck’ fantasy. So what?”

“I-” Yuuji’s eyebrows draw so tightly together until there’s a small v etched between them. He pauses for a long time before he says, “Don’t you think that’s weird, though?”

“Not really.” You take another small sip from your glass and place it back onto the coffee table. “I mean, have you never noticed how popular it is in porn? Lots of people are into that kind of stuff.”

“N-no…” He stutters, somehow succeeding in turning even redder in the face. “I don’t-”

“Watch porn?” you offer quickly, already rolling your eyes.

“Not porn like that,” he quips, suddenly sounding uncharacteristically snippy. 

You chuckle at the tone he uses, attempting to tame the upward curl of your lips. Things are getting interesting and dirty – something you don’t get to encounter a lot whenever it comes to golden boy over here. “Well, what kind of porn do you watch, then?”

Oh, that is very bold. If it weren’t for the liquid courage, you doubt you’d dare ask the question. But it’s out in the open now.

Hanging in the tense air that’s between you two. Waiting. Preying.

“Not the stepsister kind,” he says in a low mutter, surprising you that he even chose to answer. “I’m not into that.”

You can’t help but let the smile show now. “How can you know if you’ve never seen it?”

Yuuji gawks before letting out a nervous laugh. “...What?”

“I said,” you repeat, leaning ever so slightly closer. Enough to make him feel on edge, but not enough to scare him away. “How can you know that you’re not into it-” There’s another pause, another closing of distance. His freckles are visible now. “If you’ve never seen it? Hmm?”

“I just-” He tenses up when your knee bumps into his. The short moment of contact is electrifying for some reason; it jumpstarts his heart into a far quicker rhythm. “I just, uh, do.”

You look him directly in his sweet honey eyes. “Yeah?”

And he immediately rushes to break eye contact. “Yeah.”

“You know,” you trail off innocently, patting his knee this time instead of ‘accidentally’ bumping it. Unlike before, though, your hand remains on his leg. “For someone who swears up and down to not be into it… You really don’t sound so sure about it to me.”

“Well, I am,” he protests in a heartbeat, however the bite that’s supposed to be in the statement isn’t quite there. 

The reason behind it might be because he’s quite tipsy and can’t bring himself to be firm with you. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s because he’s staring at his lap when he says it; right at the spot where you’re still touching him.

Your hand feels so warm as it sits on his thigh. And pleasant. 

He doesn’t exactly… want it to go away.

You watch as he huffs in defeat and shakes his head with evident frustration the thought must have evoked. It causes a giggle to bubble up your throat from how entertained you are. You don’t even try to stop it this time.

He could tell you off, call you names, push you away, whatever… But he doesn’t. 

No, he’s just too good of a big brother.

So you allow the flat of your palms to rest on both of his knees now. Still careful, though not nearly as much as before. Meanwhile, your own knees dig into the softness of the couch as you readjust your weight forward so that you can lift yourself just enough to be eye level with him.

Guilty anticipation pools inside his gut and turns him frazzled when you use the momentum to invade his personal space even further. All of a sudden, you find yourself nose to nose with your cutesy stepbrother. Chest to chest. So close that he can feel the heat of your breath on his lips and smell the fading scent of your perfume mixing with thin layers of sweat and sunscreen. 

“Prove it, then,” you say. Your voice could barely be considered above a whisper but the silence that follows after it is so loud.

Yuuji gulps from how unnerving this entire situation has become. Gulps. “Prove… Prove what?”

“Prove that you’re not into it.”

Thump, thump, thump! His heart is going wild. “How?”

“Watch it with me.” You move your hands upwards ever so slightly as you speak the words, but it’s not long before you’re sliding them all the way up to his thighs. 

They’re strong, his legs, and the muscles in them flex and harden underneath your touch, making the lines of his gorgeous, so profoundly male-like physique all the more defined. The hairs there are lighter in colour and they’re silky smooth. They tickle the tips of your fingers when you finally let them settle at the very edge of his gym shorts. 

Digging your nails into his skin just enough to make him jump a little, you add, “Please?”

God, you’re so drunk and… something else. Your pupils are huge; so big that Yuuji swears he can see himself in them, and the laugh you let out a moment later is girlish and kind of breathless. 

And he, well, he just looks so goddamn confused in response to it. Like a little puppy that’s been caught doing something naughty and bad. Big, round eyes, twitchy upper lip and everything.

“I, umm… I dunno,” he chokes out finally. He feels like coughing so that he can clear his throat, but he somehow manages to stifle the annoying sensation. “I just… I’m not so sure about that-”

“Pleeease, Yuuji,” you repeat, pushing, pushing, pushing. You even start pouting right at him as a means to get him to budge. “I wanna!”

Fuck.

The whine that’s appeared in your voice now makes his cock involuntarily twitch. What the actual fuck, his dick is responding to you – his baby sister. Little by little, blood is rushing south; right below his waistline until he can feel warmth slowly taking over every inch of his lower half. He tries to make it stop, to put an end to it, to slow it down at the very least, but his efforts prove to be completely useless.

His throat feels scratchy and dry now from not allowing himself to cough, and his skin feels too tight on his face. It makes him rasp as he says, “You, uh, you wanna?”

“Mhmm,” you purr in a mere instant, squeezing his thighs again just the tiniest bit. Goddammit, since when did those parts start feeling so fucking sensitive? “Wanna… wanna see you start sweating a little when you realize that your dick is getting hard over dirty shit like stepcest, you know? Wanna prove you wrong.”

A second twitch, a second rush of blood. Yuuji’s stomach spins and tightens with anxiety. His nerves go haywire. With each passing second, he can feel his cock getting heavier in his shorts. Can feel pre-cum turning the front of his underwear more and more sticky. Can feel his mind going dizzy with quick-paced lust.

You’re just so goddamn close. Staring right at him, with your tits almost on full display in that tiny thing you call a shirt, and with that infuriating, shit-eating smirk plastered on your lips. Kneeling right between his legs, talking about stepbrothers fucking stepsisters, allowing your breaths to intermingle as if it’s no big deal.

But that’s not all. Besides being too close for comfort, he’s also pretty sure that you’re quietly hinting at the possibility of something happening tonight, like letting him stuff your pussy with his cock. Hell, forget stuffing – even just seeing it would be nice. 

Not that he’s ever thought about laying eyes on his sister’s cunt, much less filling it, but now that this entire thing is unfolding in real time, before his very eyes, and he swears that he can feel the tips of your fingers subtly brushing against the ridge of his hard-on over his clothes… He doesn’t feel like refusing the idea necessarily, if it were to actually happen.

Fuuuck!

“It-it won’t,” Yuuji stammers in one last attempt at keeping his sense of morality, however all he does is end up fumbling over his own damn self like some pathetic loser. He’s so red in the face, it’s obvious now. “I, ah, I already told you-”

His sentence gets interrupted by a sudden kiss that you press right onto his still half-open mouth. 

You don’t know what exactly it is that compels you to do it, but here you are. Kissing your big brother. Latching yourself to him. Offering him things you shouldn’t.

Oh, here you are, all right.

The kiss itself is clumsy, rash, idiotic. Your teeth clash as you hurry forward to wrap your arms around his neck, and there’s a small, muffled noise – that terribly sounds like a squeal of excitement – escaping your lips when his big hands find your waist and he yanks you forward until you’re fully seated on his lap.

One second ago you were merely looking at each other, tip-toeing the line but never quite overstepping it, and now you’re grinding against one another like animals in heat, tangling tongues and tasting each other’s spit. Everything happens so fast and it’s all based on pure instinct and executed with zero thinking, because if it happened any other way, you’d surely regret it.

He tastes like pineapple and the lousy chewing gum that he bought back at the corner store earlier in the afternoon but spat out pretty soon after. You shouldn’t find the odd combination of flavours that good, you know this, but right now the inside of his mouth tastes like sweet, sweet heaven.

And possible release.

“Fuck, Yuu,” you pant between messy kisses, running your fingers along his undercut. “You’re so hard, look… Proves me right, mm?”

Yuuji wants to tell you to shut up, to stop saying things like that, to stop making him feel both so guilty and turned on at the same time because it’s complicated and he doesn’t fucking know what to make of it.

But all he ends up saying instead is, “Yeah...”

Because, as always, he’s simply too good of a big brother. Too good to tell you no.

Especially when you’re right.

And even if your big brother’s cock is hiding underneath several layers of clothing, you can still feel it pressing firmly between your legs now. Thick and heavy and in urgent need of some tender affection; a little sisterly love, if you will. It’s making you grow more and more expectant of what’s to come. There’s no space for shame left.

His size seems promising – at least judging by the feel of it. Each time you push your weight against him, circling your hips a little, he responds by pushing you down even further with the help of his hands on your hips; spreading your folds slightly apart and allowing the seam of your shorts to dig straight into your clit.

Your breathing grows laboured because of it. Slowly but surely, you’re becoming a hot mess of mm’s and ahh’s. And Yuuji, poor, sweet Yuuji, is nowhere near to being any better after he’s forced to hear all of it.

He’s sweating like crazy. Is throbbing between his legs. Is trying to tame his pulse but it just keeps on hammering and ringing inside his ears. The blush is making his entire face itch all over again and his clothes feel too tight on his body. What else is there?

Oh, even his heart feels like it’s jammed itself inside his throat when he pulls back just enough to break the string of saliva that’s bridging the narrow space between your mouths and asks, “You sure you wanna do this?”

“Just fuck me already, god,” you hiss in response. You’re so sexually frustrated that it’s making you pissy.

Neither of you has planned this nor expected this to happen, but you’ve both been feeling lonely, terribly single; are yearning to be touched. It’s been a while for the two of you, shit happens and people get too busy to enjoy the simpler pleasures in life, and you both consider the other to be attractive, so… why not?

Why not? Maybe because this entire thing could, quite possibly, be a disaster in the making.

Still, it doesn’t feel like a disaster when Yuuji’s hands wrap around your sides and slam you down on the couch. Doesn’t feel like a bad thing when he blindly hooks his fingers to the waistband of your shorts and you bring your legs closer to your chest and lift your hips a little so that he can tug them off easier.

Either he’s too impatient to wait or he did it by complete accident, but he manages to pull down your panties right along with your shorts. They’re both left dangling from your left ankle now, hanging uselessly and completely forgotten because he’s too busy trying to push himself inside you.

His back is hunched and his rosy lips are parted as he sucks in and exhales sharp breaths above you. They fan your forehead, cooling the sweat that’s gathered there, only causing you to shiver. 

You press your foreheads together when you lift yourself slightly with the help of your elbows so that you can reach between you, tug his waistband low just enough to expose him and guide him inside you. He grits his teeth, baring them like a threatened animal as soon as your fingers curl around the base of his cock, mindlessly stroking the impressive length, spreading the pre-cum that’s gathered at the tip without any sense of patience.

Neither of you looks into each other’s eyes; all of your attention is aimed at the spot where you almost connect. After all, his fat cockhead is bumping against your sticky pussy now, inconsistently gliding up and down and smearing arousal. Every time he teases your entrance, your breath hitches in the back of your throat and you cling onto him a little harder.

“Yuujiii,” you whine, teeth sinking into your bottom lip so harshly that you fear you might have drawn blood. He almost doesn’t recognize the sound of your voice. “What’re you waiting for?! Put it iiin!”

“Yeah… Y-yeah, okay,” he bites out, trying to stop the persistent flutter of a muscle in his cheek. His arms feel like giving in but the muscles in his biceps still flex and shudder with anxiety and anticipation when he finally presses in.

His cockhead pushes past the initial ring of muscle pretty effortlessly from how wet you’ve gotten from mere kissing and a little bit of grinding. Perhaps it’s the alcohol that’s making you so pliant and eager, but it’s easy to open your legs wider so that you can let in even more of him.

Yuuji feels dizzy; like the entire world is spinning. You’re underneath him, panting so loudly and you’re so warm inside, so accepting, so wet. Your pussy hugs him just right, walls squeezing around his girth, sucking him in further. The sensation makes him drop his entire weight right on top of your writhing body the second he allows himself to slowly rock into you and sink balls deep.

He hides his face into the crook of your neck as he begins to lazily thrust inside you, doing whatever feels best because he can’t possibly bring himself to form thoughts right now. In and out, the strokes are long, slow and deep. So deep, in fact, that they make you wince each time he hits the sweet spot that’s hiding inside.

You’ve ended up so close yet again; with your limbs intertwined and your bodies pressed tightly together that your shirt is crinkling between you. It rides up with the movement of his hips slamming against your own, exposing your stomach, making you stick to each other from how sweaty you’ve gotten.

“Nngh… You feel… s’good,” he grits out, quiet moaning already lacing his voice. His breathing has gotten so heavy that it’s creating moisture on the small patch of skin on your neck that he’s got his mouth pressed against. “Won’t last long… Ca-ah… Can’t.”

He sounds so fucking drunk as he continues to say pure nonsense into the side of your throat and keeps on pressing you into the softness of the couch. Not only on alcohol, but also on your pussy it seems. 

It makes him practically start pounding into you now. Abusing your tight little hole. He slips one arm underneath you and pulls you even closer so that he can steady himself a little bit, and wetness squelches between you as a result. Skin slaps against skin, breaths intermingle. His fingers tangle into your hair crudely – it hurts when he tugs at the roots even if you’re well aware that he doesn’t mean to.

He’s so big above you. So strong. So stupidly male. And he’s also gotten lost in the moment. For a second it makes you scared of him a little bit even if he’s the sweetest man you’ve ever met, a real proper marshmallow. And it doesn’t help that his cock is as big as the rest of him is; stretching you so deliciously, splitting you wide open, causing tears to prickle at the corners of your eyes even if the booze that’s coursing your veins is supposed to numb you out to a size like that.

“Yuuji, wa- fuck, wait…!” You cross your ankles at his waist in an attempt to slow him down, heels panically digging into his back dimples and toes curling. 

“N-no, I can’t, please… Don’t make me wait, please, please, please, c’mon,” he babbles, still not slowing down, not stopping. His eyes are half-closed and they show concern, but they’re also dark and foggy when he lifts his head just enough to look at you. “Just a lil’ more, yeah…? Yeah? Just a lil’... Ugh, keep still just a bit longer- I’m almost there. So… mmh… close.”

You try to fight against him, tugging on his hair and sinking your nails into his back, but all he does is endure it, not really caring much about your thrashing and turning. He’s got you caged underneath him, crying out his name, clawing raw red lines into his broad back. It’s all drunken breeding instinct and no brain as he uses your body like a toy, and the realization that you can do nothing but take it is terrifying as much as it is thrilling.

His pounding has turned borderline ruthless by now and in his urgency to cum, he’s pushed himself so deep inside you that you’re pretty sure he’s fucked his way straight into your goddamn womb. In his weak attempt to make you last until the end, he’s even started to messily rub irregular circles into your clit.

It makes a thin line of drool dribble down the corner of your mouth from how fucked out you’ve become in a mere fifteen minutes. The overstimulation is probably completely accidental, but it achieves the same result just the same. He outright forces the climax out of your body, and the second he feels you squeeze around him, abused pussy trying to milk him dry, he’s giving in, not resisting anymore, shooting his load inside you in an instant.

The groan he lets out is almost like a growl. He arches his back again, balls tightening, grip almost turning iron-like. You can feel the warmth of his cum as it fills you in steady waves of pleasure. 

You both stay still for a long while after that, trying to gather your senses, attempting to calm down your trembling. His cum is warm and sticky; tacky between your thighs. It starts to drip out of your hole by the time his cock softens enough to create more space. 

There’s just so much of it. A fuckload.

And he’s still breathing so hard. You both are.

“I’m so sorry… Fuck, I-” he rasps out. His mouth is so dry that he feels like he could chug an entire jug of water, but he pushes that need away for now in order to get a good look at you instead. “I just- I-”

Yuuji stops mid-sentence when he sees you push two of your fingers between your legs before bringing them up in front of your face again. He watches, eyelids heavy, as you spread them then, toying with the glimmery, cloudy white substance that’s gathered there until you gently push them inside your mouth, licking his release right off of your fingertips.

His jaw almost hits the floor. He’s so baffled by what he’s just seen that he barely registers the fact that his cock is trying to get hard again, throbbing against his thigh.

“What?” is all you say in response to the incredulous look that sits on his face now. Your voice is muffled from the way you keep your mouth stuffed full.

“I licked it so it’s mine.”

[stcrycreator]

@modestmuses sent : How does Dean feel about growing old? / * random questions / always accepting.

dean is .. normal, about the concept itself - he had passing thoughts, like his only goal is to age with grace and with dignity, he's not the type to sit around and feel sorry for himself, especially over something that happens naturally. he's very much a person who shrugs at it and goes it happens to everyone, who really cares ?

and because of how anti climatic that headcanon is ... let me introduce you to tom hanson.

it's staying young that terrifies him, not growing old - he's excited for the former, excited to become an old man in a rocking chair - he dreams of retirement, of being safe with wife and kids, grandkids if he's lucky enough. he craves the simple life that old age brings, the american dream of a beautiful house with a large plot of land - yet ? tom can't even picture himself making it out of his 20s - he's an undercover cop, constantly putting himself in dangerous situations for the sake of others, putting himself in the line of fire with near complete disregard for his own safety. he's happy to do it, he wants to bring about justice, he wants to be there for the weak and vulnerable, to protect and serve, to bring fathers home to their families so they never had to go through the loss of a parental figure like he did, he wants to give people peace of mind, no matter how jaded his mental health threatens him to become - he loves his job.

however, it's when the lights go out at home and its ready to sleep ... he pictures being in his coffin at the ripe old age of 26 much clearer than he can see his wedding tux. until he gets older, he does resent a lot of people who have the life they want, when he sees a family in the supermarket, he hates how he believes he'll never have it - he hates parents who don't understand how good they got it when their kids are throwing a tantrum in the store, he wants to smack married people who bicker over pointless things and nearly lets it break them apart - life can be random, anything can happen at any moment, to anyone, he knows that - but he can't help but think 'my life is far more dangerous than yours and you have so much more time than i do, stop wasting what you have being ungrateful'

tldr; he be feeling it sometimes but he's cool he's chill hes so ok he's a-okay and totally not on the verge of being manic as hell.

[thevalicemultiverse]

“ why the high pitched screaming I see no blood?”

Emily: [standing atop the toilet] There are other reasons for high-pitched screaming! Like that! [points to a very large spider on the sink]

[peachesofteal]

Sometimes I think about Dr. Riley sitting in his office, fidgeting with a pen staring out of the window, waiting for something... someone. There's a storm coming.

I still think about Dr Riley.

I think about him having a very inappropriate relationship with his patient, Clover. Clover who got her nickname because her special ops team thought she was sooo lucky… until she wasn’t. Until she made a mistake, miscalculated, and got two of her teammates killed. Clover, who had to look Captain Garrick in the eyes as he told her to take indefinite leave until she got her head on straight.

Clover can’t think or eat or sleep without hear the high pitch whine of a drone in her ear. Public places make her skin crawl. She can hardly function. Manages to feed herself and slink down to her building’s gym in the middle of the night, when no one else is there. She runs herself ragged, to the point of exhaustion, and only then can she manage sleep.

The train is late.

The tardiness makes everyone on the platform uneasy. They shift and grimace, fingers fidgeting, eyes roaming.

It’s grey down here. Grey up there, too. A city blanketed in rain, thick cottony fog obscuring streets and buildings, rolling through day, washing it into night without giving the sun it’s singular chance.

It’s grey everywhere. Grey in your bones, in your head. Grey cotton stuffed between your ears to stop the bleeding.

You try to let the anxieties of the delay drift past you, like a warm breeze, but it feels like a winter’s wind instead. Icy. Vicious. Cutting to the bone.

You’re a dog at the end of a chain. Ready. Waiting for the signal. Captain’s orders.

Relax. You’re at home. Waiting for the call. Going to finish therapy, so you can finally get out of here.

The yellow line of the boundary lays straight in front of you. You count the cracks in the concrete and wonder what would happen if you took a step off the edge.

Just one.

A single step.

Would these people try to save you? Would they scream and run? Would they watch you die, body exploded into bits by a train that couldn’t stop? How long would it take you ID you? Who would they call?

It’s not that you want to die. You’re more… curious about it now. Morbidly so. Wondering when it will happen, if death is following you around, waiting to collect his due.

You steady with a long breath, attention focused on the wall across the tracks, counting each tile. Your eyes are still sharp, as sharp as ever, and you focus in on each one individually, judging the distance, imagining a scope in your line of sight, smooth trigger under your finger.

There’s a collective sigh across the platform when the train squeaks to a halt, and you intentionally board last, watching the backs and profiles of everyone else. Back packs, long jackets, anxious faces are all catalogued and sorted, filtered and stacked into neat little piles.

You tug at a piece of skin around your nail, trying to tear it down to the cuticle. The delay has made you uneasy, nervous. Not at all like you used to be. Not at all like your old self.

This will be it this time, you coach, train car pulling away and rocketing into darkness. You’ll get it this time. It’s almost over.

“Hi, sorry I have an appointment at ten, with…” you check your calendar. “Dr. Riley? I know I’m late…” the woman at the desk smiles. It’s clinical, just like every other time. You don’t think she likes you much, you’re not like her. Not like any of them.

“That’s alright, it’s just this way.” She leads you through a maze of hallways, coming to a stop at one dark, wooden door. “Dr. Riley? Your ten o’clock is here.”

It opens to the biggest man you’ve ever seen, clad in jeans and a black hoodie. Is this… is this the shrink?

He says your name. When you don’t answer, he says it again, a little louder. His Manchester accent is full of grit, a mouth full of rocks, but there’s something warm in it too, something spinning you in a soft cocoon of yarn.

“H-hi.” He extends his hand, a massive palm, dwarfing yours.

“I’m Dr. Riley, come in. Thanks, Laura.” He bids the receptionist goodbye, and clicks the door shut behind her, turning with a motion to the couch. “Take a seat. I was just about to call you.”

“I’m sorry, the train was delayed and-“ He holds up his hand, a motion to stop.

“You made it, that’s what matters.” Your hands shake, and you clutch them in your lap. It’s a side effect, they tell you. It’s supposed to go away, but you’ve stopped counting the days.

He’s not what you expected. Your last doctor in this building was an old man who wore a dress shirt and slacks. Dr. Riley looks like he’s in his forties. He’s built out like a solider, broad shoulders and broad chest filling out his casual clothes, glasses reflecting his focused gaze. There are scars on his face, faded white streaks on his upper lip, cheek and jaw. His nose has been broken and repaired, and there’s a patch of his eyebrow missing, like it’s been burned away. He’s part shadow, part marble, full lips, sandy brown hair, chiseled jaw, ocean eyes.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” He begins, glancing at the laptop screen.

“I need to pass my psych eval, sir.” You focus on the question, and not the lone drone rattle rolling through your skull.

“There’s no rank in this office.” Oh, duh. “Why do you need to pass an eval?”

“I’m ready to return to my job. Just need to pass this last step.” Sir. You bite the honorific off just in time.

“If you can’t pass a psych eval, I’d say the conclusion is you’re not ready.” Your spine straightens at the authority in his voice. “And you’re not here for an eval.” Wait, what?

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re not here for an evaluation, you’re here for therapy.”

“N-no, sir- ah, Dr. Riley,” his lips tilt, a fraction, and your knees press together involuntarily. “I’ve already had therapy.” He ignores your protest.

“You’ve failed three evaluations in the last two months. You can’t just keep throwing it all the wall, hoping it will stick. You need care.” The room pitches, and you’re trapped on a tilt-a-whirl, locked into a too loud, too bright carnival ride, sirens and screams screeching in the distance.

He says your name again.

“Sorry.” The tablet folds into a laptop, balanced on a broad knee.

“Tell me about them.”

“About…”

“The psych evals. Failing three in such a short time window is a feat.” You blanche. You hate that word, fail. It stings. It’s an affront to you, you who doesn’t fail. You who was the top of her class, first selected, first pick. Your captain depends on you, your team counts on you, to not fail. At anything. Ever.

“I… I struggled with them.” There are photos on the wall, framed medals and degrees. A picture of a German shepherd, and a hanging house plant of some kind, spritely and green, leaves and vines twisting from its perch.

“Let’s start today talking about why you’re struggling with them, then.”

“I don’t know why. If I did, I wouldn’t be here.” You’re peevish, and he raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, I’m just… stressed. My team-“

“is operating in the field without you.”

“Yes.”

“And it’s causing you stress.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why?” What is this?

“Why is it causing you stress? Do you not trust them to operate successfully without you?”

“No… I do.”

“What about your captain? Do you not trust him to lead them?”

“Of course I do.” Your fingers tighten on the chair. “I do. But they’re down a man, and they can’t be down for too long.”

“I’m sure your team cares more about you getting the care need, over rushing back into engagement too soon.”

“I know, but I’m ready.”

“You’re not. And I know your captain, Garrick? He wouldn’t want you to jeopardize your wellbeing.” How does he know cap?

“You know captain Garrick?” Dr. Riley smiles.

“I do. And like I said, he wouldn’t want you passed through if you weren’t ready.” He’s got you pinned, metaphorically. Back against the mat, shoulders immobilized. You can’t crawl your way free, can’t fight or twist out of his grip. “Do you want to talk about why you’re on leave?”

“No! No, I… don’t need to.” You complain. “I’ve had eight counseling sessions in the last two months.”

“They’ve clearly helped.” He drawls, glancing at you over the laptop. The eye contact rakes a shiver down your spine, and you find your feet.

“I don’t want to talk about it again, sir.” You whisper it to the ground, silently begging he won’t make you.

“There’s no rank here.” He reminds, voice soft and understanding. “But I’m your clinician now, and I won’t sign off on you taking another psychological evaluation until I’m confident you’re healthy enough to return to work.”

“Can I ask…” you taper off, but he nods to encourage you. “Can I ask why I’ve suddenly been switched to a new doctor?”

“You failed an eval three times. The practice decided you needed a different approach to care.” There’s a pause, and the laptop shuts. His hands settle across his thighs. “Let’s talk about what they call you.”

“Sir?” His lips press together but deigns to remind you a third time about rank.

“Clover.” Oh.

“Yeah, that’s what my team calls me. Only my mum uses my real name anymore.” You joke, and he smiles in a small way, gaze unreadable, bearing down onto you from above.

“Is there meaning behind it?”

“I used to be considered good luck.”

“Used to be?” You blink. Used to be. Like you used to be someone else.

“I guess… my luck ran out.” He nods thoughtfully.

“Why do you think that?” Because you fucked up? You got your friends killed? Because you got into a jam you couldn’t get out of? Because you were tortured into an unrecognizable piece of human pulp?

“I… I don’t know.”

“You do.” He states matter of fact, leveling you easily. You gape.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You mutter, looking towards your knees.

“How about mirrors?”

“What?”

“How do you feel about mirrors?” The question sets you aback. It’s never been asked, not in your previous sessions, not by anyone. No one knows about the mirrors in your flat, covered by shirts and sheets and dish towels. Turned away, forced into corners. The bathroom vanity obscured by a long white bedsheet; your reflection hidden at every turn.

“I… I don’t like them.” The honesty on your tongue tastes good, but it burns.

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I don’t like to look at myself, now.” The laptop reopens, and he types in silence for a long moment. The quiet settles around the two of you, ticking of a second hand clicking away in your ear.

“I’m going to give you some homework.” Homework?

“What kind of homework?”

“I want you to look in a mirror.” You draw a sharp breath. “When you’re at home, and you’re alone, I want you to really look at yourself, see yourself, for as long as you can. If it’s only a few seconds, it’s only a few seconds. There’s no time requirement. The only thing you have to do… is look.”

“Dr. Riley…” you laugh nervously, and he meets your eyes with a serious expression.

“Only for a few seconds. Can you do that?” No.

“I can… I can try.” You can do whatever he wants, if it will get him to pass you on the eval. If it will get you out of here.

“Good.” The watch on his wrist glints in the afternoon sun. “I’ll give you my number. Text me when your homework is done.”

“Okay.” That’s it? He stands, and you look away, unable to focus on anything but the edge of the table, brown wood slatted together and worn with age.

“You can run away now.” He murmurs, standing between you and the door. “This was good, Clover. I know it’s not easy. You did well today.” Words catch in your throat, caustic and rough. Still, you try to get them out.

“T-thanks.”

You try to do your homework that night.

You stand in front of the bathroom mirror in your pajamas, one hand on a hem, waiting to pull free and reveal your reflection.

You can do this. You can. Just do it.

The tug never comes.

You stare at the white sheet until your eyes start to cross.

Better luck tomorrow.

You hold steady in your routines. Eating. Walking. Stretching. Strength. You do yoga in the evenings, weights in the mornings. You spend too much time in your building’s gym, mindlessly pounding out miles on the treadmill, headphones blaring at full volume. You do it all robotically.

You’re outside of your body. Out of your mind.

But you could still pull a trigger.

Sometimes, when you can stand it, you take your walks outside, bypassing those who linger on sidewalks, cutting through parks and alleys. Fresh air and sunlight are supposed to help, but you don’t think it does any good. The rot is still there, curled up in your bones, blackened and sticky, festering like an infection. It’s a monster inside your body, a monster you now share your life with, cutting away pieces, long after being freed from the cell.

You eat. You walk. You try to look in the mirror.

With three days before your next session with Dr. Riley, you still haven’t managed to complete your homework. You try, in the hall, in your bedroom, again and again in the bathroom, but it never happens, you can’t quite get yourself to cross the bridge.

Failure.

Dr. Riley is waiting for you in the lobby on the day of your next appointment.

“Hi Clover.” He smiles, and it’s genuine, warm, almost wrapping around your shoulders.

“Hi, Dr. Riley.”

“How was your week?” You lag him, letting him guide you to the office, where the yellow lights are dim and darkened, casting shadow across the brown couch where you take your seat.

“It was fine.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, really. I’ve been at the gym a lot, trying to keep myself in shape for when I go back.”

“Exercise is good as long as you’re not overdoing it. Do you do anything else?”

“Um, I take walks outside.” His leg shifts, ankle on knee, and then his hand folds over his thigh. Something akin to interest brightens in your heart but is desperately snuffed out. He’s your therapist. “I walk in the park a lot.”

“Oh yeah? Which?”

“The one off of eighth.”

“I walk there too, nice park. Lots of trails.” You try to imagine him in joggers, taking a stroll. “I’m going to guess; you didn’t do your homework?” Heat unfurls across your face.

“I tried, but…”

“That’s okay. I thought we could try today, if you feel up to it.” Here? Now? Your eyes go wide. You look around.

“I don’t see a mirror.”

“There’s one on wheels down the hall, the occupational therapists use it all the time. Can I bring it in?” Your stomach twists up, nausea tossing your lunch from side to side.

“I uh… I don’t know.”

“You can do it. I know you can.” You hedge, unsure. Can you? Will you?

You can try.

“Okay.”

“Alright, close your eyes. I’ll be right back.” The door opens and shuts, and then opens again, wheels rolling close. You clench your eyes closed so tight it nearly hurts.

Warm fingers grab yours.

“It’s over here.” He murmurs, leading your blind steps away from the couch, coming to a stop… somewhere. “Whenever you’re ready.” You can’t feel him anymore, but you know he’s there, at your back. There’s a faint ruffle of air through your hair, against your neck. “Take a deep breath.”

You focus on the pace of your lungs, the expansion, the give and take of your ribcage.

“I can’t.” You whisper. You’re floating in space, unable to pull the trigger.

A kind hand on your shoulder brings you back.

“You can do it. Try.” The encouragement, the belief is a vine in your heart. Alive and green, it sows roots as deep as it can manage, clinging to fibrous flesh and hollowing you out. It catches on valves and ventricles, spiraling forward in a complicated web like an anchor.

You see him first, in the mirror. Stare straight back at him, falling into his gaze, vibrating in his hold like a child’s wind-up toy.

“Not me. You.” He says gently, and when you can, you bear it.

You almost gasp. It’s been two months since you’ve seen your own face, your complexion, your nose and your eyes and your chin. You’re long healed, bones set perfectly, everything right as rain. You look normal. You look fine. It’s the most shocking thing, to see yourself looking healthy, pieced back together, nearly whole. Your lower lip trembles with effort to hold yourself at bay, to keep yourself from breaking apart, drifting back towards the moon.

“That’s it. Great job, Clover.” His hand still rests on your shoulder, but you shake with a violence now, a torrent of emotion, threatening to cut you off at the knees. “It’s okay.” He whispers.

When you can’t stand it any longer, you close your eyes.

“How did you know?” You’re resettled on the couch, hands tucked under your thighs.

“Know what?”

“That I hadn’t looked in a mirror… since…”

“I know a thing or two, about coming back different. I know how it feels when you don’t want to see yourself.” You glance at the medals on the wall, primly tacked to a plush pillow, encased in glass, and wonder.

“Did you work with captain Garrick?”

“We were in a task force together, before I retired early to do this.” He smiles, easy and light, but there’s something guarded in it, something sharp, shark’s teeth aiming for docile flesh. It purrs, and makes you want to pull back more layers. Gives you something else to focus on, something else to fall into, but it’s gone before you can really study him.

“Oh.” It’s all you can say as he types something on the laptop, and then puts it away.

“That’s all for today. I’ll see you next week then?”

[xeeljii]

T :3

Thanks for the letter! -`♡´-

────୨ৎ────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

CW: 18+, f! reader, toys duh!, se.x tape ...

“It is my birthday!” Those words had gotten you into this and now you were too riled up to stop halfway through. There is something so lascivious on the way his eyes close in on your entrance, completely fascinated by the way the muscles gives and tightens around the toy he is currently pushing inside you, phone camera on his other palm held tightly but with trembling hand. 

“You are sick.” You say but it drifts onto a high pitched moan that has you gushing around the pink rabbit vibrator.

“This is not even my toy.” He replies with a big smile on his sweet lips but he doesn't even look up at you, still too entranced in his own game. 

When you had finally accepted to move in with Joost he had found the old forgotten toy amongst your things as he helped you unpack in his apartment, he had teased you relentlessly purely because he enjoyed seeing how red you got but finally you had snapped and said if he was so curious about it you could try it out. He was against the idea of at first, not truly understanding the appeal when he could just touch you directly and make you cum in his mouth, his fingers, his dick, the skin to skin contact always his favorite part.

But the days went by and the idea grew slowly slowly inside his head, the more he though about it, the more new things he wanted to try and soon he started fantasizing about using the toy to make you cum again and again and again only focusing on you. So eventually when he built up enough courage to swallow his earlier words of not being interested he had asked if he could use it on you and when you said yes he had pushed it even further.

“Can we make a video?” Big shinny sky blue puppy dog eyes looking at you, beaming with love using everything at his disposal to plead his case.

“What? No!” You immediately raised your voice. "Why even-" 

“For when I'm on tour please." He had been sitting on the edge of the bed and started crawling up to you when he spoke. "I miss you so much.” He finally bent down and rested his head on your lap pressing himself close to you and wrapping his arms around your hips not letting you move.  

“JOOST!” You chastised when you felt him rubbing his face against you core already riling you up.

“Please" He whined still head on your lap mumbling words against you. "Plus it is my birthday soon, it can be my gift.” He had proposed it so proud of himself like it was the best idea he ever got.  

“You are an animal.” But you already knew you were only prolonging the inevitable, he had broken any protest as he usually did with his big puppy eyes, so you just threw yourself back against the mattress.

“Only yours.” 

And now you are in your current position, legs spread as wide as they will go, Joost nestled in the middle so utterly hypnotized by the shiny wet heat between your thighs. He is naked expect for his boxers that are straining against his hard length, the tip is wet with precum, the thought that you can have him like this fully untouched adds to the pleasure.

"So pretty." He licks his lips like he is a starving man in front of his favorite meal, it makes you tremble. He pushes the toy deeper into you, the constant vibrations against your gummy walls feel so overwhelming and the closeness has the external arm of the toy applying tortuous pressure to your clit. You try so hard to hold it, close your eyes so you won't have to face him and try to push away from his touch but he just keeps his hand steady and raises the intensity.

Everything is white noise, you feel your back raise from the mattress on instant reaction, the heat in your core snapping and burning you from the inside, you hear distant screams, it must be your voice but you feel so overwhelmed in your body you can't be sure. Your cunt is gushing all around the toy, your release spills down his hand trailing down his knuckles until it reaches his wrist. The vibration on your clit becomes too much, tears spill from your eyes as you close your legs around his hand and push away, he finally lets you.

Joost removes the toy softly and turns it off, throwing it away somewhere in the bed, but he doesn't let you rest for long. You feel his strong but gentle hands prying your thighs open again then in your dizzy mind you remember the phone on his hand. With one palm he spreads you open, exposes your glistening heat and your poor overstimulated hole that is clenching on nothing to the lens of the camera, his thumb rubs soft gently at the lips of your pussy just feeling your sweet release.

"You are really sick." You mumble barely above a whisper, still feeling your spine tingly with electricity from your orgasm.

“Now another one without the real thing.” Joost says cheery tone as he leaves the phone on the bed next to you just for a second , only long enough to take off his boxers and reveal his hard dick, wet red tip catching your eye.

“JOOST!” You complain, try to fight it, then he looks at you beaming smile on his face and you already know you won't say no.

And so he grabs the phone on his hand again and you let your delicious torture start.

[pedge-page]

How do you think Joel would react to Sarah just randomly going up to him and hitting him out of the blue then runs away?

Joel Dealing With Sarah : Slap Around and Find Out

- - - -

Joel would be taking a half nap, laid out on the couch and keeping one eye open checking on Sarah.  She's sitting in her diaper on the carpet putting colorful blocks into shaped containers. Each time it makes a satisfactory ka-thunk, she puts her hands together and claps once (it's a big deal for her to make solid contact with flesh, ok?)

Supposedly.

He grins and closes his eyes again, nesting his head against the worn armrest.

Sarah peers behind her at her "sleeping" daddy. With a mischievous grin, she forces herself to her knees, then crawls up hand by hand into a downward dog before balancing up to a stand.

As quietly as possible, she waddles over to the side of the couch.

Through very slitted eyes, Joel can still see her eying him curiously, but she can't tell he's still awake.

He remains motionless, curious what she's gonna do. Maybe just play with the fabric of his shirt. Or study the changing colors of his beard. Her little chunky arm stretches high in the air, way behind her. He's so tempted to say biiiiig streeeetch in that sing song voice you always do when sue put her arms up after unwrapping in her baby swaddle...

Like a loaded spring, he is caught blindsided when a fat tiny palm whips down with a loud SLAP on his cheek.

His eyes shoot open and he winces in pain.

Like a torpedo, Sarah runs out the room screaming and smiling, her fat footsteps pattering off the hardwood floors.

A sharp sting still reverberate in his face. Yhe whiplash has him in shock for a few moments, before he's barreling up and running after her.

She laughs manically, but even despite her head start, Joel gains on her in 4 long, heavy strides.

Her ankles are snatched from below, hoisted into the air. With deafening squeals, Sarah watches at the world of the living room and kitchen and dad's feet are passing as she dangles helplessly upside down.

Little bug is having the time of her life swinging upside down and giggling, all fun being caught by grumpy daddy.... until he's slamming down the giant metal pot on the stove with one hand and dipping Sarah into the dark basin with the other.

Her once laughable squeals quickly turn to screeching of terror.

-

It's always a toss of the coin when opening the door coming home after work.

Today, you can only faintly hear Joel whistling some of his favorite 80s rock under your baby's horrified screaming and crying coming from the kitchen.

You rush over, wondering why Joel is so deaf and can't hear Sarah who's probably got herself stuck somewhere crying for help. But when you tumble towards the kitchen, Sarah is sitting in a pot on the cold stove, fat tears and pleading eyes making contact with you. She errupts into a raucous of high pitched shrieks, her face puffy red and scrunched up. She can barely huff in a breath before screeching again. All the while your husband--your very very very nonchalant husband Joel just goes about his business as if prepping the thanksgiving turkey. Eerily calm, and uncharacteristically chipper. As if he's also simmering into madness ready to blow. Holding the pot lid with one hand, he whistles without a care, his other hand pretending to dap salt (his thumb conveniently covering the holes) over top Sarah's noggin.

She shrinks in under her shoulders as if being seasoned and squeals louder.

"Wh--"

"We're having Sarah Stew tonight baby," he hums while smiling at you.

Sarah definitely does not like the sound of Sarah Stew, inhaling once with wide eyes and screaming at the top of her lungs she vigorously shakes her head nonononono. She's so red she might combust.

While Sarah deals with her end of life turmoil being turned into a baby stew, you notice the actual dinner of Mac and cheese with broccoli next to him, all wrapped up and just needing microwaved. Safe to assume he'd been cooking around her for the last 15 minutes and adding some "seasoning" here and there and pretending to turn turn knobs as if she's the main course. He even has her fake kiddie plastic toy vegetables sitting in there with her to really sell the whole thing.

You walk over and bend so Sarah's swollen eyes are level with you.

"Sarah... did you hit daddy again?"

She quickly shakes her head, sniffling and hiccuping through her tears.

Joel tsks and begins clanking his sheethed knife and it's sharpener behind you.

Sarah screams again, her whole body  trembling from thick cries.

You stomp Joel's foot and send a balled fist back at his crotch. He lets out a pained gasp and hunches away into the sink to catch his breath. You smile and soften at your poor traumatized baby sitting in her big pot, whos too teary eyed to see what happened to Daddy. "Ok well you sitting in the pot certainly LOOKs like you hit daddy."

She hiccups again, casting down sadly as her bitty fists wipe away at her swollen eyes.

You out reach and scoop her up from under her arms and out of the pot, cradling her close to your chest.

"Its ok baby, Daddy wasn't going to cook you," you coo, rubbing her baxk gently as she buries her face into your neck.

With your free hand, you slap the ever loving shit out of Joels arm, whisper shouting ans mouthing angrily: "SHE" -smack-"DOESNT" -smack- "KNOW" -smack- "BETTER," -smack- "SHES" -smack- "ONLY" -smack- "ONE!"smacksmacksmack

Joel equally, but morw softly, jabs a finger at your boob with each contact and whispers

"THIS" -poke- "IS" -poke- "WHERE" -poke- "SHE" -poke- "GETS" -poke- "IT" -poke- "FROM!"

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow

[jyoongim]

I apologize in advance for how annoying i might be with this game you’re doing on here 🧍‍♀️

but anyways here we goooo

(if my irl moot sees this please look away LMAO)

Oooo i got purple and prompt 4‼️‼️

Ima need Alastor x reader on this one SUE ME I LOVE THAT MAN OKAY?🗣️🗣️🗣️

# 45 ( the last one specifically OMGGG??!)

# 21 (i’m a sucker for praise ✊😔)

# 22 (consent is SEXYYYY UGHH)

# 24

# 60

# 49

okay so i know these are a lot of prompts..but this sounds so DELICIOUS??? lots of teasing but eventually he caves,bc he loves her 🫶 and he wants to make her feel good..but she wants to make sure HES feeling good too.. UGH im screaming into mh pillow just thinking about itttt

Also i LOVE the way you write moot 🫶 make sure you’re taking care of yourself since you’re getting back into the swing of things again! :))

prompt 4, combined #45/21/22/60/49: “toying with a piece of clothing, whether that be the collar of a shirt, undoing a belt, or sliding a finger underneath the waistband and letting it snap against your skin/thats it, fuck, that’s a good/girl/boy/youre mine/do that again-shit, just like that,right there/don’t be shy baby, i love the way you moan my name/sighing softly at your ear so you can hear how much you affect them”

@sweet-radio YOU HORN DOG!!!! So many requests you have left me hehehe

———————————————————————————————-

Hands trailed your body as you withered against Alastor.

Sharp claws played with the band of your panties before pulling and letting it snap back against your skin, making you jolt. He chuckled at you. His fingers crept into your panties to your heat. 

“A-Al-” your lips parted in a soft gasp as he pressed against your clit, rubbing the nub until he dipped two fingers into you. Your back arched, head thrown back against his shoulder. 

He scissored his fingers before curling them, rubbing against your soft walls. “O-Oh fuck” you whimpered as he fucked his fingers into you. Lewd wet noises sounded as your cunt grew wetter. Alastor hummed in your ear “such a sweet cunt, taking my fingers so eagerly”

You squirmed, rolling your hips inn rhythm with his hand, grinding your clit into his palm.

You panted as soft moans escaped your throat, teeth biting your plump lip to try and contain your moans. 

A curl of his fingers had you mewling, Alastor cooing at you as his other hand untucked your lip “Don’t hide those sweet sounds my dear, let me hear you sing my praises”

You felt your orgasm coming to the forefront, whining as his fingers curled against that sweet spot deeep inside you.

”oooh Al ha! Fu-fuck ha!” Your body shuddered as a high pitch whine left you. “That’s a good girl. That’s right. Take it.” Alastor brawled in your ear as your slick soaked his hand and your panties.

You panted as he pulled his hand from your cunt, bringing his coated fingers to his lips, sucking your juices off.

”such a pretty cunt and its all mine. Mine” he growled, ripping your panties and flipping you around to face him. You leaned against his shoulder as the red demon guided your hips against his hardened length.

He lifted you slightly and you heard the sound of his belt buckle and a cry left your lips when he sunk you down onto his cock, stretching your gummy walls.

He groaned into your ear, growling as your hips moved.

His chest rumbled, vibrating your body as he huffed and purred.

His lips kissed along your shoulder.

Your cunt grew wetter at the sound of the Overlord groaning into your ear. “Hear how good you make me feel cherie? Only a cunt as fine as your can do such a thing”

His hips rutted up into you, cock hitting your cervix deliciously, pulling a cry from your lips.

”please AH! Ha! Please Alastor” you whined into his neck, pushing your hips back into his thrusts.

Your gummy walls clenching, making the demon gasp as you hugged his length. “S-Shit do that again baby” Alastor hissed, pushing your hips flush against his.

Your second orgasm approached faster than the first and your moans rung out like a song to his ears.

Alastor growled before slamming your hips down, forcing you to take his cock, milking it of its essence. He left out a sigh as he twitched coating your walls in his cum, grinding into to to prolong both of your release.

You let out a ragged groan as he softened and slipped from you, any remaining cum starting to leak and form a puddle between the both of you.

”Yes all mine indeed”

[lets-try-some-writing]

What’s the TFP kids as sparklings unique signature calls?

Dang its been a hot minutes since I did TFP kids as sparklings. For the sake of understanding, I will stick to using their humans names for now. To answer your question, here are their calls.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

Rafael took the longest to create a unique signature call. Being a minicon, his ability to vocalize was not as strong right off the bat. As such, for a rather long time he stuck to the base call that all sparklings have. It concerned Optimus quite a bit when Rafael simply didn't seem to have any intention of developing a call at all. However, as cycles passed and Optimus and the team listened closer, they determined he did have a unique call, it was just very difficult to pick out on its own.

Rafael's call was a short and high pitched whistle that bordered on a chirp. It could even sound like a shriek if he went high enough in pitch. It scared the ever living daylights out of Smokescreen when on a long night, when he went to go wander around and hopefully ease himself back into recharge, a terrifying cry echoed in the base. He may or may not have screamed and tripped over the nearest object, but the team don't speak of it often. They've all been startled by Rafael's short and sweet banshee like shrieks on occassion.

Miko, being a flier, developed a call almost as soon as she settled into her Cybertronian frame permanently. Most sparklings tend to create a call that is entirely unique, but fliers have a particular method to their creation process. They pick pieces of their parents calls and then integrate those pieces into a new call. No flier call is every really unique, instead is carries history and lineage. Particularly skilled fliers who are familiar with various houses can pick up a family line just by hearing a bot's signature cry.

Generally Cybertronians stop using their calls after they get out on their own. They only begin using it again when they have a sparkling of their own since it allows the sparkling to track them. With this in mind, Miko took Optimus's gentle melody of a call and combined it with Starscream's shotgun like shriek in order to create a sound which Agent Fowler has described as: "Incoming missiles and Gatling guns". Many a time those who are not used to Miko have flung themselves behind cover when her slowly increasing call echoes around the area.

Compared to his siblings, Jack came up with the tamest call. Against what one might think, warframes tend to develop the calmest and most composed calls. Smaller frame types need to be loud and in charge with their calls in order to scare off predators and get the attention of others. But warframes? They don't need to bother with anything like that. Instead they need to try to show that they are not as wild as one might expect. It is the Cybertronian equivalent to the puppy dog eyes small creatures on Earth perform to get attention and sympathy.

Much like his Sire, Jack created a more sing-songy call. It was a simple two note tune going from high to low in frequencies that only a Cybertronian can pick up. To humans, he is totally silent. But to a Cybertronian, he is singing a soft high low tune intended to catch the attention of the person he is trying to interact with and nothing else. He doesn't need to scare them. He just needs momentary attention. If he really wanted something, screaming is a far more effective option.

[sillysillygoofygoose]

A Beach day with Nanami Kento Part Two!

MDNI!!! EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD!

Cw: Smut, breeding, daddy kink (only once), small mention of death.

Thank you all for your love on the first part 💕

Link to Part One!!

Previously:

"You'd be a good mama. I wove you." He says softly, you melt, touched by how appreciative he is.

Kento let's out an audible 'aw'.

"Love you too, Jiji." You respond, rubbing his back soothingly.

Kento was fighting his tongue not to repeat Yuji's words to you.

...

After a couple of hours in the blazing sun, Yuji decided that he was ready to go and ready to go now. The boy aggressively throws down the small plastic shovel that he was previously using to pack down the top of his crumbling sand castle, catching the attention of both you and Kento.

"Ughhh, I wanna be home. Dada, Y/N, can we please go?? It sooo hot." He stomps away, abandoning the small kingdom the three of you had just spent the upper part of forty-five minutes building. You hear Kento sigh, watching as his little boy hurriedly grabs scattered towels, angerily stuffing them into the open beach bag.

"Yuji, honey, please calm down." You reason, beginning to stand up and dust off the sand that stuck to your sunscreen-slicked legs.

In his small fit of rage, Yuji stubs his toe on the metalic support pole of the beach umbrella, falling backward dramatically. He tilts his small head back and begins full on sobbing, the pain in his little toe and the rough sand coating his body being the cherry on top for his building agitation.

"Alright." Kento breaths out, collecting the toys that built the mighty Nanami Empire.

Nanami Kento is a very patient man. However, one of his greatest pitfalls as a father is that he can not stand crying children. The high-pitched screams make him want to pull on his ears until they detach from the side of his skull. Luckily, that's where you came in. You fit into the equation like a missing puzzle piece.

You hike over to the small child, who is now looking up at you, big puppy dog eyes evident of exhaustion, tears streaking his chubby cheeks.

His stubby arms reach out for you, cries increasing in volume. You grab him off the sandy floor, hushing him quietly, bouncing him up and down softly. He clings onto you like his life depends on it, quickly calming down, sobs turning into soft sniffles.

Kento looks up from reorganizing the bag, shocked. How does she do it? God, how perfect can a woman be? Even when Yuji was throwing a completely blown out of proportion temper tantrum (as toddlers do), you didn't even huff, gently embracing the emotional boy.

Nanami smiled, relieved that his son found comfort and quieted down. He finishes packing up the rest of your items, walking over to his favorite pair. Yuji had passed out on your shoulder, a ghost of a smile present on his sleeping face. You're leaning your head on the smaller figure, the essence of a kind mother radiating off of the loving image.

Kento rests his hand on your upper back, catching your attention. You meet his eyes, staring into the honey brown souls.

"You really are so perfect for us. Such a beautiful girl, too." He smoothly expresses, for once in his life, speaking before thinking. Before calculating.

"You really think so?" You whisper, gazing softly at his lips.

"Mhm." He responds, beginning to lean in...

"Mama?" You hear a small mumble from your chest, tearing your focus away from the man next to you. Yuji is still dead asleep, slightly smacking his lips before nuzzling deeper into your neck.

"He must be dreaming about you... come. Let's get him home." Kento snaps back to reality, starting to grab the heaves of crap he somehow has to transport back to the car. You lightly pat Yuji on the back, almost as a 'Gee, thanks kid'.

...

The ride back to the Nanami residence was silent for the most part, both you and Kento just as tired out as Yuji. You felt yourself slightly drifting off when Nanami's large hand landed on your mid thigh. All you remember was gripping onto one of his long fingers before falling asleep yourself.

You woke on a suede couch, the fabric cool on your skin. You take in the familiar surroundings of the luxury condo, wrapped in a blanket that is busy combating the cool air conditioning.

"Oh good, you're awake." Kento walks into the spacely living room, two cups of tea in hand. He handed one to you before sitting across from you, studying your tired face.

"Don't worry, he's fed, showered, and asleep upstairs." Nanami smiles, picking up on the small look of worry present on your angelic features. He heard a small sigh of relief as you delicately lift the fragile, hand painted porcelain to your begonia-shaded lips.

"Thank you again, Kento. I really did have fun. You two are so special to me." It's Kento's turn to blush, his name rolling off your tongue like it was made to say it.

"Of course. You're really special yourself... you'd be a wonderful mother in the future. Have you ever thought about having your own kids?" Kento took a chance with the slightly personal question.

You look up at him, once again holding eye contact. Something in the tone of his was different. Almost suggestive, enticing to you.

"Uhm, yeah, yeah, actually. I would love to have kids." You stutter out, slightly taken a back.

"How many?" Rapid fire questions. Are you being interviewed for the job again?

"Hm, I'm not really sure. I think that's something that would come with time." You respond, unsure. Kento hums, seemly pleased with your answer. However, you have your own questions.

"Mr. Nana- I mean, Kento... what happened to Yuji's mother? If you don't mind me asking." A deep sigh exits the older man's mouth, making you immediately regret your question.

"Never mind, I'm so sorry... that was extremely inappropriate of me to ask." You immediately backtrack, covering your mouth, deciding you should've just stayed curious.

"No, no, don't apologize. It's alright. We separated before we knew she was pregnant with Yuji. We tried to make it work, but the flaws always overshadowed the strengths. She... she passed during childbirth. It really was a shame." Kento explains solemnly, clearing his throat as his eyes focus on the tea leaves left in his cup.

"Oh, I see. I really am sorry, Kento... sorry for your loss." Feeling your face drop, you quietly express your sympathy, the air around you thickens, becoming suffocating.

"It's quite alright. We get along just fine, don't you think?" He offers up a small smile, warming up the cool room. You nod, bowing your head as he takes your empty cup from your hand, walking it to the kitchen sink.

"You still look sleepy, let's head to bed, okay?" He turns, reassuringly rubbing your shoulder, guiding you to stand up. You furrow your brows, looking over your shoulder at the discarded blanket and pillow on the large couch.

"Don't be silly, you're not going to sleep on the couch... it's not good for your back. You can join me in bed. If that's alright with you, of course." Reading your thoughts before you even articulated them. You simply nodded again, still shaken up from the small feeling of guilt deep in your stomach.

...

Kento lended you a baby blue, oversized night shirt, watching as you walked out of the bathroom suite, the fabric falling almost to your knees. Your hair was still damp and slightly strewn after washing the smell of sunscreen and salt water off of your tired body. You looked as beautiful as ever to him.

The two of you crawl into the crisp sheets set atop of the memory foam mattress.

"Goodnight, Y/N." Kento speaks into the muted atmosphere of the shared king-sized bed.

"Goodnight. See you in the morning." You mumble, eyelids heavy and fighting to stay open.

...

Your eyes flutter open at the sound of a harsh beeping ringing out in the restful ambiance of the room. Eying the angry alarm clock, you attempt to sit up, stopped by a heavy weight on your waist. Kento has his strong arms wrapped around you, face nuzzled into your back. You shift in his arms, body heating up as his grip tightens at your scurrying. You gently glide your fingers through his blonde, disheveled locks, grazing your nails gently across his scalp.

"Kento... Kento, it's time to wake up." Your hand travels from his head to his neck and down to his muscular bicep, shaking him awake. He sits up, freeing you of his warm embrace, reading the alarm clock... four a.m.

Pushing multiple buttons, he stops the blaring alarm before laying right back down, pulling your back even closer to his bare chest.

"Kento, you need to get ready for work." You remind him, gently squeezing his forearm.

"Mmm, I know. Just lay with me, Y/N, baby. Just for a bit." He slightly presses his hips against yours, punctuating his request with his prominent bulge. You feel yourself clench around nothing as he groans, the pressure in his sweatpants building.

"Do you... do you want me to help you with that, Mr. Nanami?" Your voice shaking, anxious that you somehow got the wrong idea. He hums, moving your hand from his forearm to his growing erection.

You turn around in his arms, taking in his sharp features as you begin palming him through his thin sweatpants before completely pulling out his length. He looked unreal. Strong eyes softened, half lidded in pleasure. His normally stoic expression is broken, mouth hanging open, cheekbones tinted pink. Your fingertips lightly grazed the tip, sending sensations of euphoria through his still drowsy body. Slowly, you lower your head, keeping your eyes on his blissed-out expressions. You place kitten licks all over the head of his cock, each lick becoming progressively more lengthy. Before he can blink, you're taking his entire length down your throat, feeling each thick vein on your tongue.

His dick is just as gorgeous as he is. He was average length, but he made up for it in thickness. Your tiny hand can barely grip around the whole thing. The shaft a shade darker than his light tan skin, the head a blush pink. One prominent vein travels completely from the base, stopping right before his tip.

You bob your head up and down, small, muffled chokes escaping from your throat. Sucking in your cheeks, you create a strong suction around his member, making him buck his hips and moan.

"Oh fuck, Y/N. Stop, stop, stop, I'm gonna cum." Kento hurriedly blurts out. You try to keep your mouth on him, but he laces his strong fingers through your messy hair, pulling you off his dick with a 'pop'. You pout, eager to feel his cum hit your taste buds.

"C'mon baby girl, don't you want me to cum inside you?" He slurs, sitting up. You nod as he flips you over, hovering over you. His nimble fingers circle your clit, the cotton fabric of your panties sticking to your wet pussy. Wasting no time, he pulls the soiled fabric down your soft legs, almost salivating at the flower blooming between your spread legs.

"How about I give you your babies now, huh? Make you a pretty little mommy..." Kento whispers, nipping at your ear as he slides his erection up and down your aching cunt.

"Ah, please, please, Daddy, give me a baby. I want you to breed me. I need you."

That was all Nanami needed, pushing his fat dick inside your desperate pussy. He lets out a deep guttural groan, only for it to clash with your heavenly moan. You prop your legs up over his broad shoulders as he grips onto your hips, pushing himself as deep as he can reach. Your velvety walls entice him to snap his hips into yours harder, pounding you into the mattress.

"Fuck, wanted this for so long, sweetheart. So. Fucking. Long. You feel incredible, baby." He moans, trying to keep his breath steady. The two of you were in pleasured bliss together, the skin on skin contact overwhelming. You have found your nirvana.

"Oh Kento, you fuck me so good. God, I'm going to- I'm going to..." You throw your head back, clinging onto his shoulders.

"Go ahead, pretty. Cum for me." He cups your cheek, forcing you to gaze lustfully into his sharp honey eyes.

Everything goes white as the headboard bangs against the wall, Nanami fucking you through your orgasm. He follows close after you, the feeling of your soaking cunt clenching around him sending him over the edge.

He pushed your legs to your chest as he pulled out, holding onto your feet, hypnotized by the sight of his thick, white, creamy cum oozing out of your swollen pussy.

Licking his lips, he collected his own cum on his tongue, moving up to your fucked-out face. You open your mouth wide, allowing his tongue to intrude, mixing the combination of his cum and spit in your mouth.

He kissed your forehead, leading you to the bathroom, giving you privacy as he allowed you to take care of your business.

You settle back into bed, slipping on Kento's shirt as he went to shower, his rough fucking tiring you out.

You hear the bedroom door squeak open, revealing a small boy, hair sticking up in five different directions.

"Dada? What was that bang? Did something fall owver?.. Oh, good morwning, Y/N!" Yuji ran over to you, jumping onto the bed and cuddling into your side, quickly forgetting about the sound that startled him awake.

"Good morning, sweetie!" You held his small hand, disregarding his prior remarks.

...

Nanami steps out of the bathroom, a towel hanging from his wide hips. His heart melts at the sight in front of him... you and Yuji deep asleep, holding each other. He walks over to the two of you, big hands engulfing both of your smaller heads. His kisses both of your foreheads before getting dressed for work.

~Four year time skip~

"Mom, Mama! Hurry up! You have to see what Daddy taught me!" Yuji excitedly exclaims, running toward the ocean the second you reached the beach. You place your hand on your prominent baby bump, struggling to walk on the shifty sand under you.

"You doing okay, sweetheart?" Your husband Kento supports your back as he holds your hand, following your kid to the shore.

"Never been better." You respond, waddling along.

Eventually, you reach where your son was skimboarding on the thin waves crashing under his toes. He falls but quickly gets up, waving at you and his father. You both wave back like proud parents, smiling at your pride and joy. Kento pulls you close to him by your rounded waist, kissing the top of your head. You rest your head on his chest, smiling up at him. He smiles back.

[liabutterscotch]

“Let my flute be the last sound you hear”

My Kny Oc, Naila Hano, (or Naira for Japanese pronunciation) I drew her years ago and came back to tweak up her design a bit bc the idea of her controlling vines made me giggle silly me (but I did rename her last name to “Hano” which means leafy fields and also drew a leaf earring to compensate it✨) Her family also lived besides a farm and grassy fields so ig imma say

Lore (which no one asked for and in which I’m still working on):

She’s a demon slayer (not a Hashira cause I degrade my ocs originality lol) with Resonance Breathing as her ability. It was derived from Thunder Breathing!

The breathing style would be to harness the power of vibration, frequency, pressure, and sound in her combat techniques with the custom made flute katana! I wanna include her whistling high pitch vocals, but she’s still training her lungs to reach that level lol.

Her 4 breathing technique forms are Acoustic Waves, Resound through Declaration, Vibrations of Fate Reverberate, and Echoes of Rippled Vengeance.

I’m gonna flat out say her ability is almost similar to Uzui Tengen’s sound breathing style, and Zenitsu’s capability to hearing from a distance, the only difference would be that she can use her flute to detect wavelengths from almost a kilometre away.

The Sword/katana has holes patterned across it, so when she swings it horizontally the holes create Rythm and whistles.

Her personality is passionate yet quiet, she’s determined but chooses not to speak when not necessary if that makes sense (think of un-depressed giyuu ig). It would fit her reasoning to not speak so frequently and loudly too as her vocal/breathing training consists of her screaming (to the point you can’t hear it, like a dog whistle) 💀💀

Lastly (from what I conceptualised) I’m still thinking whether I should make her a Shinobi, or just a demon slayer who got inspired by theatre and opera singing? Hmmmmmm yes decision making we love 👵

IF YOU READ ALL OF THAT TY 😭💐✨💓

[addicted-to-dc]

Jekyll/Hyde Part 2 - Taskforce 141 x Reader

Tags for those who encouraged me to write this. Thank you!!! @greeniegreengreen @aeilani @poetslastdeath 

Link to Part 1

Content Warnings: Typical CoD violence, ptsd, reader is going to be unhinged (even more so in the next chapters).

The computer does all the work for you nowadays. Honestly, you expected this to be your time to think things over. ‘Meditate’ as Laswell calls it. Rumination sits better on your tongue. How in the world can you ruminate in conditions like these? The overhead lights are buzzing, a high-pitched constant ringing that’s giving you a migraine. It feels like an ice pick was shoved through your eye socket, the cold metal turning warm as it disturbs thousands of nerves.

The seclusion you needed has fucking left the building, leaving you alone with a team of walking dead men. Laswell didn’t tell them why you had so many deaths. One would assume that the common denominator (i.e. YOU) are the reason why families mourn their loved ones. With every step you take you can hear the jingle of all those tags, so many souls gone because you couldn’t stop digging for the truth.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to drag yourself out of your exhaustion. Your efforts only reward you with a sharp pain in your skull. Checking the time, you internally groan. Less than an hour until your dogs are here. Fuck, you miss them.

There’s a flick of a lighter, the scent of leather and wood assaulting your nose. Then tobacco invades your senses. “What’s on your mind?”

Captain Price, the man who started it all. He’s a survivor. He might stand a chance at what’s coming next. It’s been a while since you’ve interacted with a man this intense. He’s a smart one. The cigar erases the mustiness of the room. Smells like home. You can feel your body relax, albeit slightly. Maybe you just need a smoke.

“The only family I have left,” you reply, yanking out your cigarettes. Your only photo lies folded in the nearly empty pack. You flick it to Price, your aim true as it rolls to the edge of the table. “Three dogs. Sir, Bear, and Ruse.”

Ghost shifts slightly in his chair, dark eyes on the photo as soon as Price uncrumples it. “Cerberus?”

You can see recognition flash in Price’s eyes. In all of theirs. At least they don’t try to hide it. Sunshine leans forward, his eyes reevaluating you. “You’re The Huntress.”

It’s not a question. He knows. They all do. Price hands the photo to Mr. Mohawk. You shake your head, “I haven’t been called that in a long time.”

“Fuckin’ unstoppable is what you should be called,” Mr. Mohawk chuckles, looking up from the photo. “I’ve seen yer work. Thorough, precise, efficient, and batshit crazy.”

“They say you’re a sniper hunter,” Ghost states, eyes blazing with intrigue. “That true?”

You nod, your index finger running over the scar on your chin. Mr. Mohawk’s bright ass blue eyes bore into your own. “Why the name change?”

Your muscles tense, feeling the weight of hundreds of hands pulling you down, down, down… Broken nails tear at your flesh, opening old wounds that never fully healed right. The screams ring in your ears, curses that taint your very soul to this day. “A story for another day.”

“Is this your original taskforce?” Price asks, pulling your attention away from his sergeant.

“Yes, it is,” you reply, lighting up your last cigarette. “Picked every single one of them myself. Two Polish battering rams, Maryna and Urszula Kowalski. They were always at each other’s throats, but they were the devil and angel on my shoulder.”

You take a long drag. They were the first ones to die.

The frequent migraines and metal plate in your skull are because of them, cracking your skull open before you could even walk off the transport. Their deaths were too quick, but watching the Semtex burst in the sisters’ faces was cathartic. Liars always fail to earn mercy from you. Traitorous ones at least. You exhale, releasing the tension. They don’t deserve to weigh down your conscience.

“August Lindemann, a German tech genius. Spoiled us with all the newest gadgets on the field.” You chuckle, dark eyes meeting Price’s. “I always said they’d make us lose our edge.”

For all the brains he had, they didn’t look so special splattered across the wall. You fought through the entire base to get to him. Cowering like the leach he was until he was the only one left. It didn’t even take cutting off his precious fingers to find out who organized all of this: General Sheperd. You know this leads deeper into the abyss, merely scratching the surface of this conspiracy.

“The last one is American; best shot I’ve ever seen and an even better medic. Dane Reid was a serious man, but he always kept everyone together.”

His ring lies against your chest, right next to yours. You scratch your right ear, digging your nails into what’s left of your upper cartilage. He was the best shot, but your dogs were loyal to no one except you. Even your husband. Using yourself as a decoy was risky, but Sir, Bear, and Ruse tearing him apart made the sacrifice worth it. And the bullet you put into his heart? Even more so.

You can’t wait to see them again.

“You and the dogs are the only ones left?” Sunshine asks, gently taking the photo from Price. “How did Laswell find you?”

“Wandering the Russian forest with stolen data,” you reply, picking at your broken nail. “She found me and the dogs months later.”

“An’ yer team?” Mr. Mohawk questions. “Wha’ about them?”

“I killed them all,” you answer, putting out the cig. You’ll save it for later, death usually ruins the taste. “They tried to sabotage the op. I only got one name when all of it was said and done, and you want to know who it was?”

You scan over every single one of them. The truth always hurts to tell, but you need them to live. You can’t lose anymore, not when Laswell holds these men to the highest regard. What did she say to them? Oh, yes, you need a team to survive with you. There’s too much death permeating the air. The smell of burnt flesh burns your nose.

“General Herschel Sheperd,” you snarl, the rage of Hyde breaking past Jekyll’s walls. “Laswell says you’re looking for him, and I want my pound of flesh.”

You’re sure they can see the insanity in your eyes, the ferality that consumed you in the forests of Russia and nestled its way into your very soul. Split into two beings, one desperate for peace and the other salivating for revenge. You’re not a Captain anymore. You’re nothing. Just a revenant walking amongst the living until your duty is fulfilled. Peace was never an option for you in life, only in death. You accepted that the day you lost your team, your only family. One gaze bears the most weight.

Your eyes catch Ghost’s. Dark eyes penetrate your soul, reading the scripture of your heart. Loyalty broken, trusted allies and friends betraying old bonds. Killing them. Broken, a living being inhabited by the scraps of its own psyche. Two peas in a fucked-up pod. Your phone vibrates on the table, one singular message popping up on your screen: They’re here.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble, pocketing your phone. “They’re here.” You’re itching to leave, to run to the last semblance of family you have.

Clearly, you’re too easy to read. Price stands, the others following suit. “Let’s go meet them then.”

Sunshine barely has the door open when you slip through, quickly maneuvering through the shitty corporate layout of the building until you reach the side lot. You can see them. Tears threaten to cloud your vision as you see Sir chase Ruse around the grass. Bear lays in the shade. Laswell notices your approach, giving you a small nod. You whistle loudly, their playtime immediately put on halt. It takes a second for the noise to bounce around their brains, immediately whining once it finally clicked. Sir, the eldest German Sheperd, is the first one to make it to you, whining and jumping in your arms. His love is always overwhelming, but it’s welcome.

Sir manages to hold onto your shoulders, forcing you to catch him to regain your balance. Only for Ruse, the younger Shepherd, to knock you to the ground. It startles a laugh out of you, a smile following soon after. God, it’s been too long since you’ve seen them. Bear in all her glory runs up and sits at your feet. Your smart girl. A Rottweiler mix, probably shepherd, but her fur pattern always draws you in. You coo, using whatever body part you can to pet all three of them. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”

You sneak them treats, whispering sweet nothings to each of them as you try to make up for lost time. Six months away from them has been torture. Then again, you thought you’d never see them again. Every op feels like the last.

“Forgive them, it’s been half a year since we’ve seen each other,” you turn to the group, sputtering when Ruse licks into your mouth. “CERBERUS!”

They fall in line perfectly, ears perked and waiting for orders. A hand pops into view, and you take it. Sunshine pulls you up, chuckling at the slobber left behind. He tilts his head, eyes catching something on your chest.

Frowning, you look down. Your rings are exposed. Tearing off the necklace, you shove it into your pocket. You’re allowed to have your secrets.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

[loremaster]

CHAPTER 1 - Man Door Hand Nail Fur Door (Comic)

...aka the Zilara manifesto.

(tw: strangulation, suggestive themes) BOBA AU MASTERPOST: [link]

Yakou tells Yuma to go to the hotel and corral all the other detectives who have been sleeping soundly in the nice fancy rooms over there. Yuma, who got 3 hours of sleep on Yakou's creaky couch, says "Okay, sure thing, Dad." ((side note - wouldn't the train detectives have had rooms reserved at the hotel? Couldn't Yuma have had one of those?))

Instead of agreeing to meet up, they all send poor little Kokohead around the city doing side quests.

Pucci wants to know if Kanai Ward has any good symphonies; recordings of classical music are all well and good, but it's no substitute for the acoustics of a live concert hall. Closest thing Yuma can find is Aetheria Academy's chamber orchestra program. Musicians in Kanai Ward used to be part of a larger regional symphonic orchestra, but since Amaterasu locked off the city, they've had to resort to busking. Pucci seems disappointed, but resigns herself to checking out the high school girls' next concert anyway.

Aphex is cruisin' for a bruisin'. He spotted some suspicious movement in one of the districts on his radar (drug deals?), but every time he goes to check it out, he can't find out which people in the crowd are the suspicious ones. They must be afraid of Aphex's intimidating appearance, so Yuma goes in his stead to grill the people hanging around the square. Turns out they weren't dealing drugs, they were passing around anti-Amaterasu propaganda. They beg Yuma not to tell Aphex. Yuma goes back to the hotel to tell Aphex... who thinks anti-fascist action is cool, actually, so no need to do anything about those guys.

Melami wants to know about the local fashion scene, and is very curious about the dronebrellas she's seen around Kanai Ward. She sends Yuma to see what the big deal about them is, and once there, he gets roped into a long winding sales pitch for technology he can't afford. He relays as much of this as he can remember back to Melami, but once she hears they only come in one color, she decides she's not interested. What's the point if you can't customize it? Just get a regular umbrella. Or a rain coat. That's a much better way to show off your personality! Yuma tries not to scream about how much time he just wasted.

Zange shows Yuma a picture he took (with his mind) of a specific location in Kanai Ward, but can't quite remember where it was. Yuma has to go on a scavenger hunt to find the place that matches the picture and tell Zange how to get there. Zange assigns Yuma a numerical score based on how long it took him complete the quest (which is always too slow). This will be a repeatable quest/minigame with different locations every time.

As Yuma is about to leave the hotel, Zilch stops him. He offers a more formal introduction (since, you know, they didn't actually meet aboard the train) and volunteers (insists) to accompany the poor useless trainee as a senior detective, to show him how it's done.

Zilch has four animal companions with him at the moment: three caged mice and a dog named Bosch.

He doesn't seem to treat them very kindly, though. He isn't careful handling the mice's cage, and he orders Bosch around like one would speak to Alexa.

Anyway, Zilch and Yuma go look for the last remaining detective, Halara Nightmare. Canon ensues.

They run into The Boy and accept the quest to investigate the Nail Man murders. Halara needs some convincing.

At the church, Zilch makes a new friend, or so he thinks.

Zilch tactlessly asks the nun if her ears are natural or not, and starts bragging about how well his own surgery went. For the ears and tail, that is. The Nun doesn't like Zilch's attitude one bit. She watches him use his mice for spying and gets freaked out. The nun threatens to kill Zilch but he doesn't think she's serious.

Zilch says that he didn’t expect there to be a Metal Fox Church here, of all places. Yuma asks him to elaborate, and he says they’re a denomination that exists elsewhere in the world. The church near where he grew up was much larger and more spectacular than this one. The Metal Fox is a deity known for its fortitude and cunning, that offers protection from “hunters,” or persecution of any kind. Zilch doesn’t seem to believe in its teachings at all. #atheistpride

Meanwhile, the dog, Bosch, sniffs around and seems agitated by something. He can place the smells of all the church NPCs around the scene, but there's something else, too. Zilch barks the order - literally - for Bosch to track whichever scent doesn't belong, and the dog goes off on a solo mission.

Zilch has a plan to catch the Nail Man red-handed, but he won't tell what it is yet. He needs to prepare some stuff. So in the meantime, Yuma and Halara hold hands at several different crime scenes.

While Shinigami keeps blabbing about stripping detectives, Halara fucks off to who knows where and Yuma returns to the church to meet with Zilch. Zilch leads Yuma to the nearby woods and reveals his master plan to lure out the Nail Man by taking a doll with a slip of paper on it to the forest, and writing the name of someone for the Nail Man to kill...

"Yuma Kokohead," of course.

Yuma is terrified of being used as bait, but Zilch promises he'll intervene before the Nail Man can actually kill him, it'll be fine. So Yuma the pushover gets tied to a tree...

Halara unmasks the cloaked figure to reveal the priest of the Metal Fox Church, as they suspected. The priest begs for mercy - he was only trying to protect the people of Kanai Ward by purging it of corruption (and letting an innocent man take the fall for it)...!

Yuma thinks he might not have to rely on Shinigami's powers this time, but then...

Bosch leads them back to the church where Seth and his Peacekeepers are threatening Yakou.

And with that… it’s Mystery Labyrinth time!

Zilch’s voice is back to normal inside the Labyrinth. He seems oddly relaxed around Shinigami - because he insists this is not real and actually a dream. #atheist4lyfe

Yuma deduces that Zilch's name was written in the woods by the nun. She witnessed Zilch’s mistreatment of his animal companions and tactless assholery - but the thing that pushed it into murder territory was actually her recognizing the crest of the Alexander family on his fur coat. The full truth comes to light - the Alexanders have been known for generations as prolific trophy hunters. They “live alongside nature,” sure, but it’s a heavily controlled and subdued “nature.” This is antithetical to everything the Metal Fox Church stands for, so the nun, devout to her faith, believed Zilch to be an invasive threat to their way of life, and the peace of Kanai Ward.

And, since this revelation is taking place in the Mystery Labyrinth, of COURSE she gets a cool Mystery Phantom.

The gang also, like, solves the actual mystery.

Then once they find all the evidence they unmask the true culprit and his copycat, and the Priest's and Worshipper's souls are reaped.

Zilch is horrified. Somehow he didn't expect this was actually going to affect reality. Shinigami assures him that he won't remember any of the Mystery Labyrinth anyway, so...

Aaaaand eventually they do leave the Labyrinth. Halara is back to their usual steely exterior.

The masked priest in front of them drops to the floor dead. A scream from the church can be heard, presumably because the worshipper has just done the same. They go to check it out.

Then… Yomi shows up. He intimidates the group and doesn’t seem to deem any of the detectives worth his attention… until he notices Zilch.

Shinigami wonders if he recognized the Alexander family crest... but Yuma makes the connection and realizes Yomi might have had some sort of connection to the impostor on the train. That's pretty scary to think about. Was this the guy who tried to kill off all the Master Detectives coming into Kanai Ward? He seems dangerous...

Good thing Yomi has a devoted right hand to play around with. In front of everyone.

But anyway, regarding the Nail Man situation, Yomi decides to throw Seth under the bus, and punish him accordingly.

Bye Seth! Or should I say... Steve. :noes:

After his near-death experience, Zilch has a change of heart and decides he doesn't need a fur coat after all (seeing as it almost got him killed). Halara accepts it as payment for their services solving the case.... at least Zilch's half of it - Yuma still owes them a small fortune.

And with that the day is saved. Yuma plays a bit of baseball. Halara has a comfy new bed for their beloved strays. And Zilch... has a lot to think about.

-----

HELLO BOBA FANS!!! Thanks for your patience waiting for this update! I hope you can tell I've been working on this very hard (in between assignments for cartoon college)! The post didn't even fit all the images I made for this chapter - I'll be sure to post the other ones separately. At some point.

This chapter was an interesting challenge to write, trying to hammer down Zilch's character - how to make him distinct from his impersonator, but similar enough to lend credit to the impersonator. It took a while but I think I've finally landed on a solid backstory. I'll be posting more about him in the next installment of Boba AU - Zilch's Gumshoe Gabs. Then after that will be Chapter 2! Super excited to rub my gay little hands all over that one.

If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you liked this, then please... I beg of you... draw me some Zilara ;_;

BOBA AU MASTERPOST: [link]

[lemon-muncher]

Yooo, its Aly. I have a request for you .

Can you do Sub!Bakugo and Sub!Kirishima getting pegged/ fucked by GN! OR Male!Reader it can be separate or a threesome does not matter to me <3!

TY, AstonomicalAlyy 💫.

Hehehehe😈

I saw this and got super excited. I'm gonna do this one in the style of a headcanon post cause I wanna do both Kirishima and Bakugou separate and together. Anyways, enjoy! Oh, I tried to keep this as gender neutral as possible...

Katsuki Bakugou

-One word: Slut

-Katsuki Bakugou is an absolute slut for anal play. It confuses you, and him. Something so vulnerable with his head strong personality just mix ... and you suck it up ;]

-Despite stating he's the dominant one in the relationship, he's very submissive when being fucked. He's a sucker for good old fashion doggy style. He wants you fast and deep inside of him, rearranging his guts in all the best ways.

-Starts off with heavy groans (he's trying to hold on to his dignity) by the time you replace your fingers with your cock, those groans turn into high pitched screams. Sometimes you think he's chanting in an ancient language from his incoherent whines

-If you're feeling generous or just want to hear his pretty crys and don't feel like gaging him, he will somehow get his spit everywhere. You can't tell me when he's fucked out of his mind that he doesn't drool. (Definitely inspired you to dress him up as a dog... you pervert;] ) Yeah, there's always huge pools of saliva left on your sheets afterwards

-I know I call you guys perverts but HIM?!?!?! He is the kinkiest mofo, besides Denki Kaminari, to exist. He's definitely had fantasy of you fucking him stupid infront of Midoriya to prove he has you all to himself. Yeah... you've probably thought of it to

Eijiro Kirishima

-Resident good boy

-He's a big guy, that doesn't mean he doesn't want to be treated like he's made of glass. Such a pretty pillow prince

-Needs to be soft dommed. You would probably have to take up the role of a service dom because as a sub, Ei is just kinda useless... He's sensitive, so after an orgasm or two his body and brain have no energy.

-Prefers to be fucked slow but hard and deep. Even though he's practically unbreakable due to his quirk, a few deep thrusts into him and he feels like you reached his throat. He wants to break from the feeling.

-A fan of being able to look at you while having sex. He finds it more romantic:>

-His moans.... AHHHHHHHHH they're so pretty. His moans come from the bottom of his throat, they're long and sultry. Just hearing them makes you throb a little.

-Definitely the type to be a silent screamer when you finally hit his prostate head on. His head falls to the pillows under his head and his large hands reach out to hold on to you. Has definitely accidentally activated his quirk from this at least once.

-Call him a good boy. He thrives off of praise inside and outside of the bedroom. He needs to know he's doing a good job, he'll cry without it....

Katsuki + Eijiro

-A worshiper and a brat..... oh boy

-Bless your soul for having to deal with them. You have to be a service dom and a brat tamer at the same time. It's exhausting but it's worth it to see your boys satisfied.

-They both are attention whores, they want you to look at them and only one of them. Eijiro turns into a brat and Katsuki...he just gets worse. Eijiro will start to act out so you can shift your attention towards him, even if for a second. Katsuki becomes a nuisance, he'll rile you up around his friends only to ignore you the second you decide to indulge into his games.

-Most if the time, you usually end up having Eijirou in a full nelson, his feet close to his head as you pound into him. He'll be gaged as punishment for acting out. Edge him for hours and when you think he's had enough, immediately go into overestimating him. Milk him of 3 or 4 orgasms. He wants you to stop but also to keep going. He just wants to feel you.

-As you edge/overstim Ei, Katsuki will be restrained to your bed post with a sounding rod in his cock. He is also gaged but can hear and see everything. You leave him there to watch the two people he care about satisfy each other without him. It definitely turns him on but makes him lonely as well. Once Eijiro is too fucked up to comprehend anything, you move to Katsuki.

-The second you unchain him, he'll start sobbing, telling you how sorry he is for misbehaving. After a stern look, he'll think of every way to praise you. His mind will probably go to trying to suck you off but you have other plans.

-Put him in a headlock and fuck the shit out of him! Be as rough as you want. Pull his hair, force your finger down his throat, smack him like a common whore. He loves it. His eyes will roll to the back of his head in no time and drool will fall from his lips.

-He thanks you..... HE THANKS YOU LIKE A GOD ....I love it

- After a few rounds, Katsuki will collapse next to Eijiro, both of them having sheepish grins on their fucked out faces. All you can do is stare in exhaustion at the sight. It really is beautiful

Yes....just yes

[steddiehands86]

~*TW: gunshots*~

Eddie didn’t feel the gunshot at first. Saw instead the horrified look on his friend’s faces: Dustin’s face going white, Steve’s chocolate eyes widening in alarm, Robin screaming in terror as Nancy scanned the tree line.

He took a halting step, then another before he stopped, looking down as a ruby flower bloomed under his shirt and hearing Steve’s footsteps hurrying toward him.

Just as he was about to fall, knees knocking together in sudden weakness, he was caught by Steve’s strong arms carefully winding around his waist as he gently laid him down on the ground.

“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” was all he could hear through the muffle in his ears, momentarily deafened by the sound of the bullet.

He could hear Dustin’s high pitched voice screaming over the walkie, Robin frantically encouraging him to stay awake, to keep breathing as best he could because his torso was on FIRE.

And Nancy? She was an avenging angel, a Valkyrie coming to his rescue.

Her sharp eyes scanned the path ahead to see Jason and his cronies, the blond clutching his hand in pain because of course he wasn’t holding the weapon properly. She swiftly swung her bag around, pulled out the pistol Eddie was sure wasn’t there before and aimed at them. Her voice rang clear and firm, carried through the trees by a soft, gentle breeze, “I’m going to give you guys to the count of three to get out of here before I start firing.”

The boys ran, Jason stupidly dropping the weapon in his haste to get to safety.

Eddie was shaking as his vision blurred, watched them stumbling over the forest path.

“Robin-” Her voice was calm as fuck, eyes never strayed from watching the jocks run off, “Robin I’m going to need you to listen to me right now.” Nancy still held the pistol aloft just in case, “I need you to go over there, quick as you can, and get that gun. Don’t touch it with your bare hands, we’re going to need it.”

Robin hurried over, wiping at her eyes as she did as she was asked and trying to get her own breathing under control.

“Hey Eds,” Steve brushed his fringe from his clammy forehead, Eddie’s gaze filled with the sweetest, kindest face. Pure puppy dog concern with a strange wash of determination. Daddy in control written on every feature. “This is going to hurt, I need to get this bullet out but I’m going to be as gentle as I can.”

“Steve we gotta get him to-”

“Where, Dust? He’s a fugitive, we can’t chance him getting an infection, or ripping through shit making it worse.”

“How do YOU know it’s not somewhere life threatening?!”

Steve rolled his eyes, as if this was the conversation they needed to be having with a dusting of ‘we don’t have time for this’ flavoring his tone, “Ever since the mall fire I’ve been taking EMT courses.” He shrugged, looking almost embarrassed at his confession as he whipped off his yellow sweater. “Need you to look at me, Eds. This is going to fucking hurt, but I’m going to make sure you’re okay. Do you think you can nod for me that you understand?”

Eddie, wide-eyed and frightened, awed that Steve was so cool headed about all of this, not to mention that Eddie was eyes to hairy tits and wondered what it was like to just…live there right in between those magnificent pecs- odd what his mind decided too focus on while he was bleeding out at Skull Rock, nodded mutely.

Steve’s smile was blinding as he ripped at the soft material, “Perfect, you’re doing so good Eddie.”

He wanted to be good for Steve, just as long as he could keep looking at this Adonis for his last moments, Eddie was floating. High on adrenaline and pain he could only feel a weird tugging at first, legs numb and tingling before absolute fire as something went in-

“I know Eddie,” Steve crooned low and deep, gripping his jawbone tenderly, rubbing his thumb over Eddie’s tear-stained cheek, “-almost over- got it right-”

Eddie’s scream echoed through the clearing, bouncing off the rocks making Steve wince in sympathy, “Here Dust, put this in your pack-”

“Are you serious?!”

“We’ll need the evidence for later, buddy. It’s gross, make sure you wash your hands.” Steve smiled down at him in reassurance, brushing Eddie’s hair back with a clean hand, “you did so well. Don’t worry, we’re going to get this bandaged up, and then I’m going to take you to my place. You’re going to be just fine-”

“Steve-”

“Nancy,” Steve warned, voice firm and brooking no argument this time, “They’re never home. And if he’s in my room, they’ll just assume he’s me. Trust me, they don’t care.”

It was in snapshots, how Eddie remembered the rest. He recalled Steve’s warm, tacky hands gripping his face and telling him ‘just keep breathing- in and out- that’s good’. Felt the wrapping, the sting of having his midsection jostled as they wrapped him up, feeling the blood gushing just a little before the pressure eased. He floated seemingly through the air but knowing that wasn’t quite right- he smelled a spicy, soft cologne and sweat- through the forest until they reached Steve’s car. The trees rushed by in a blur of hunter green and dark brown, the sunlight peeking through to dazzle his vision making him feel like he was flying to Heaven, cushioned on a firm thigh. He blinked, then feeling the forced air of what he could only assume was the hallways of the Harrington home, feeling the soft springiness of his mattress smelling of sage and cedar wood.

Steve’s now clean hands coaxed Eddie to swallow down painkillers, antibiotics, and washing it down with crisp cool water. Before utter blackness took hold he felt the gentle press of lips at his temple, Steve whispering, “I’ll be here when you wake. You’re safe.”

Safe with Steve, the king of his heart.

[reflectismo]

One of the most interesting quotes I’ve read from John about the dynamics of the band, just had to share!

"I hear tell, I said, "that you can all be downright rude - and have been."

"Of course we've been rude - but only rude back," he [John] explained.

"Have you any clue about the things people say and do to us?

"We're not cruel. We've seen enough tragedy on Merseyside. But when a mother shrieks, 'just touch him and maybe he will walk again,' we want to run, cry or just empty our pockets.

It's a great emotional drag, and this is where Paul helps out. He's the diplomat with the soft soap. He can turn on that smile like little May sunshine and we're out of trouble.

"We've a very tight school, the Beatles. We're like a machine that goes boom, boomchick, chickboom, each of us with our own little job to do.

We're just like dogs who can hear high-pitched sounds that humans can't.

"We can be talking to some character and, suddenly, if he becomes a drag, we can all put the shutters up, freeze him out and he would never know.

"It's amazing. Like radar. I can pick up Ringo's mood just by looking at him. It's our own mutual protection mechanism. If we didn't have it, we'd fall apart."

"How important is all this screaming to you?" I asked him.

"We need it like a camel needs water or the Black Watch needs the bagpipes. When we don't get it we mope around like were in a condemned cell. But George, good old George, is the optimist.

"He blames it on the sound or the microphones and keeps us going.

That's why we want to make films and write songs - for the time when the screaming stops.

"The moment one of us steps out of line, gets too big for his boots, we send him up so high he's soon back to being human again.

"Believe me, we don't want the Beatles oversold - but we don't want them sold short either. We're going to remain normal if it kills us."

— The Daily Mirror: The one that bites – Donald Zec dissects Mr J. Lennon. (March 1965)