#He bit me in the ribs but was otherwise attentive.

[blackwaxidol]

I do not know what my problem is.

[ectologia]

♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝐼𝒩 𝒜 𝑅𝒰𝒯 ؛ 𝓀𝑒𝒾𝑔𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝒶𝓂𝒾

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ dubcon ﾉ noncon ﾉ forced breeding ﾉ forced pregnancy ﾉ clit spanking ﾉ creampie ﾉ misogyny ﾉ rut ﾉ baby trapping ﾉ feral keigo ﾉ piss ﾉ marking ﾉ profanity

Keigo’s bigger, softer around the edges but still with that slight cut of pristine muscle lining his torso and limbs. His wings thicken, puffy with a fat down blanketing them with gentle red bristles.

Sweaty too. He doesn’t want to wear any clothes. Granted, he says that all the time. But now it’s not just a want, it’s a need. A priority. He doesn’t feel fit to carry out his primitive desires when he’s being held back and restrained by all that stupid cotton and leather. He needs to be free, needs to let his manhood breathe. Otherwise how could he possibly carry out his responsibility as a daddy? That’s right, he couldn’t.

You leave him to his ludicrous antics of digging out nests in your bed. Making a fine art of curling every blanket, quilt and pillow in the house into a cushty barricaded circle atop your mattress, slapping at the cuddly pile of fabric with an almost crazed look, claiming that your “eggs” are going to be so warm and safe there. Or otherwise scenting you, rubbing his damp neck and hair all over your body, starting off with a gentle kiss to your temple, before sliding down your torso to rub his palms against that little pouch of flesh he knows he’s going to put his babies in, eventually.

Keigo doesn’t like the fact that you still insist on walking around the house fully clothed. He doesn’t, so why do you need to? You’re his mate, his wife, his other half. He knows it’s time to procreate, so why don’t you?

He follows you around the house on another one of your cleaning sprees. His nose wrinkles at the acrid scent of chemicals and lemon in the air, scratching at his throat and burning his sensitive nostrils as you continue to wipe the surfaces and spray away the scent of masculine sweat he worked so hard on drowning the house in. Do you really want another male entering his territory?

There’s only the slightest ring of yellow encircling his otherwise blown pupils. He tunes out after the first 10 seconds of your ranting and scolding. Something about how nobody’s going to “steal you away” if he doesn’t piss on the front door. Yeah, we’ll see about that, he scoffs to nobody but himself, plucking a bent feather from his rugged cape of crimson to flick and mould it back to shape, flicking at the fibrous hairs.

“Keigo, are you even listening to me?” You clap your hands in his face, attempting to garner his attention. “Hello?”

He doesn’t like that one bit, the flailed movements seeming all to similar to an opposing threat, a predator. He blinks away the carnal instinct to rip your arms out of their sockets and puncture your skull with his teeth. “Yes.”

“Well, it doesn’t fucking look like it. Can you repeat any of what I just said?”

“Stop pissing outside.”

“And what else?”

“And on the door.”

Glowing ember’s narrow as you huff, massaging your temples as you begin to pace, stomping about the kitchen with a cloth and spray bottle in hand.

He shudders at the sharp hiss of the pump, spitting at the granite counter and washing away his mark.

“Baby..” He draws closer, wings twitching at the irritating squeak of polished marble. Two large hands, both streaked with thick prominent veins clasp your waist in an attempt to bring your rear closer towards his erect, naked member.

“No, Keigo. Not right now, I’m busy.”

An elbow jabs at his ribs as you continue to scrub away at the surface, leaning over the edge with the pudgy mound of your pussy swaying against his cock and balls with a tantalising momentum.

Before you know it, the bottle is yanked out of your hand and chucked against the wall. The towel clutched between your fingers meets the same fate, ripped in two by a set of talons and left in shreds on the floor.

“Keigo!” You shriek, already pushing against him as he grips you by the neck. “Get off! What’s wrong with you!”

It’s a rhetorical question, and one he has no interest in answering anyway. Too busy with pulling the silk of your pyjama pants down to your toes, along with those stupidly skinny pieces of sheer string you seem to think pass as underwear. He can already see globs of slick bubbling along the apex of your pussy hole. He grins at the sight, running a bent knuckle through the valley of your puffy folds. At least your body knows what it was made for.

“Keigo, stop!” There’s a hint of panic in your voice, squirming as he squeezes the delicate tendons holding your spine in place. Holding you by the scruff as though you were a bad puppy.

He sighs, flecks of spit flying from his mouth in his crazed revolution. His wings extend behind him as he clutches his throbbing shaft in his palm, swirling and bathing the velvety tip in your cunny juice. “I’m sorry, chickadee. But this is just how it is in the real word.” There’s a solemn silence, a heavy seriousness to the air as though he wasn’t rubbing his pulsating slit against your clit, collecting its oozing wetness for an easier turn of events. “You gotta’ take what you want. Gotta’ just fuck it out. Otherwise, we’d go extinct.” He lets out a breathy laugh. “Wouldn’t we, honey bun?”

“Ngh — !” The edge of the counter jabs at your hip bones, rolling on delicate skin that’s sure to be bruised after the ordeal. Your waist bucks as he smacks his swollen tip against your nervous bud.

“Mmh, this is what you wanted.” He repeats the motion, flicking his wrist faster and faster until his spanking becomes rhythmic, slapping the sluggish weight of his member up and down on your pussy. It’s a strategic move on his part, torturing your poor sensitive clitty so you’ll be all that more grateful when he moves on to the main course. “Oh yeah? You like that?” He coos as your back hunches, unsure as to whether you’re trying to curl into the pleasure or away from the pain.

After collecting a sufficient amount of lubrication, he does the same, practically clambering onto the counter with your spine arched in his hands as though he were some type of feral beast or savage hound, hung and ready to fuck and breed his bitch. He squats over your quaking form, shoving you along the smooth surface until his drooling dick nestles itself neatly between the cleft of your asscheeks, bobbing against your scared twat with his tensed ball-sack swinging closely behind.

It’s a wildly contorted position, but one Keigo insists on nonetheless.

“Agh, I’ve been waiting for this.” He grunts. “I’ve been waiting so fuckin’ long, and you just wouldn’t let me fuckin’ have it.” Pulling and tugging on your swollen labia, he separate your sticky little slit until all that’s left to shield you is the tense ring of muscle defending your hole. “Well, that’s fine by me chickadee.” He slips inside with a breathy chuckle, giggling and chortling to himself even as you yelp in pain. “I’ll just do it myself.”

It’s fast paced with an ill rhythm. There’s no love or care to be felt in his thrusts, just cruel harsh punishment, a means to an end until Keigo gets to pump his babies into your precious womb, fill you with his chicks so you can finally be a family. A proper family.

“Agh, and we can do Christmas, and Halloween, and go to the beach.” The thought is almost arousing to him, motivating him into humping your rear faster. “Won’t that be fun, little bird?”

He can be sure you’re crying, or at least close to it. He pays your silent tears no mind, blaming it on the excitement of your new life taking will.

“Kei, please! I told you, I’m not ready!” You arch your neck to plead with him.

His smile falters, twisting into something much more sinister and lecherous. He clamps a palm over the back of your skull and turns you back to the wall, facing your pitiful expression away from him. “You don’t need to be ready. I’ll do everything for you.” A calm hiss meets yours ear. “All you need to do, is lay back and take it.”

He digs into your stomach, smashing your insides to pieces as you lay paralysed beneath him. Cold marble presses against your forehead, cooling your fever as Keigo claps into you from above, a heavy set of hung balls knocking against you.

“Keigo!” You chant his name, broken as you wail out a string of pained moans.

“Yeah, that’s what I wanna hear.” Keigo practically howls. “Let’s be animals baby!”

The domes of his knees crash down either side of you, evidence of his newly contorted position as he ruts into your cunt, foaming at the mouth where his teeth grind. “Yes, yes, yes. Fuck yes. Oh, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fuckin’ cum. Gonna’ breed this pretty muff full ‘a seed.”

“Keigo, no!”

Funny you seem to think you’re still in charge. After this, you’re never gonna be empty again. He’s gonna stuff you one kid after another and as many as it takes until you become his cute little housewife. The kind that only cooks and cleans and looks after his babies while he’s out working and providing. Oh yeah, it’s all coming together sweet pea.

Keigo belts with laughter as you scream, thrashing and jerking beneath him as he spurts, spraying his seed deep inside your belly and then some. He slips out halfway, looking down to admire the ring of white sewing your gummy crevice together. “Mmh, now that’s what I’m talking about..”

[badyan]

The clanks

"oh-…i can move, you don’t have to sit on the floor"

"I prefered it." he answers simply, not bothering himself to explain anything more than that. His metal feet clanked against each other as he sat on the floor nearby the bed where you were laying, doodling nothings in your sketchbook — the thing you have made a habit to do when you’re hanging out in his quarters while he’s busy.

And you have never seen him this busy before. Hours standing still at his workbench, staring down the poor blueprints, then pacing through the room, his steps more calculated than the clock’s clicks. Nights follow days and the first sun rays always wake you up because there’s no curtains or anything that can make this place cozy at its bare minimum — except for the soft cushions and pillows and blankets on the bed which he has gathered only for you, only because you asked, only because you wanted to spend more time with him.

The bed was giant, clearly made for two, but there wasn’t a chance in the last few days for you to feel the familiar weight sliding closer in the dark of the night, spooning from behind so carefully, his hands gently finding their rest on your waist. Something was haunting him for too long now and you wouldn’t mind waiting for him, no, never have you, but you simply started to get worried about his state — and you’ve approached him with that but was gently turned back to your rest. You knew that he wasn’t going to listen to you anyway — but you also knew you couldn’t just let him be in this alone. So, you’re staying with him for a while. Even if he barely talks to you, he could never deny your company.

And now you’re relieved to see him sitting down nearby to meditate a bit — for the first time during this whole time. You move closer to him, hand gently sliding onto the broad shoulder.

"You should take a rest now, hun…"

"I truly don’t have much time for that." he grunts, though he knows you’re right. And the constant feeling of your attentive eyes was the actual reason why he actually forces himself to set aside his work and go take a breather. Even if he can’t actually breathe nor focus on the meditation itself.

"I…understand.." you reply reluctantly, fingertips brushing along his long collarbone pistons in a little affectionate way. He relaxes his schoulders slightly, subtly giving you more room to caress, and interwhines his hands together in the meditation gesture.

You continue to glide your hand against his metal, almost trying to calm down its unusual warmth — countless hours of mulling over his duties must have caused him to overheat. Mindlessly, your fingers wander further, over his ribbed chest and up to his neck, where they stumble upon the shiny ends of his cable hair. And that soft clank of them gives you an idea.

You sit on the bed, right behind him. An unusual angle — were his shoulders and back always this wide…and somehow heartening to look at? Like you could lean on it and feel the safest in the whole world… He sit on the floor and you still have to slightly raise your hands to carefully grasp his hair, moving it all back. You can feel him flinch just for a bit and you can’t help but smile at him being startled by such a simple touch.

"What are you doing?"

"I’ll just put them up for you," you say softly, shuffling through the thick cables in your hands, feeling their pleasant weight and quiet clanking. He almost scoffs at your offering.

"There’s no need for that-"

"Hush now." you insist, hands brushing through his cables length. "I know how it feels when they start to clutter around and piss you off. Just let me help you a lil’ bit."

And he modulates a sigh, returning to his meditating posture. That’s where you take things into your own hands — and with that, you start to work. Carefully combing his hair, then parting down the center, then starting to weave some cables together in the order only known to you. Your hands go slowly, taking strand by strand so carefully, like it would hurt him otherwise — and Ramattra can’t help but to concentrate only on your movements, feeling every subtle tug and twist you made with his cords, but oh with such care, it makes his circuits warm up…

"What are you planning to make?" he asks after a few minutes of pure silence and, suddenly, you can sense something new in his quiet tone. A hint of hesitation…but in a good way. Oh, it clicks for you immidiately and you can’t help but to chuckle softly.

"Just braids" you murmur, leaning in to give him a sweet little kiss on the top of his head. Such a simple tender gesture, yet it almost makes him falter.

"Braids?..." his head tilts in confusion — and you have to grab it by the sides gently and turn back up.

"Hey, stay still! They’re gonna look great on you, trust me…" your adorable reassurance doesn’t leave him another choice but to surrender. Though, he does find himself enjoying this whole unnesessary braiding thing…Your presence so close and your gentle little hands doing some magic with his hair, these bulky cables following your lead, not without some struggling first, but still. It’s you — you’re doing something for him. You’re here, by his side, all this time…It’s enough to finally let all these irritating thoughts begone. His mind fills with nothings, sweet nothings indeed: your hands playing around with his hair and your breathing quietly making the peaceful rythm of the moment. You are with him.

Is this…the tranquility Zen is always talking about?

He doesn’t realise how long you two were sitting like this. He simply doesn’t care now — everything seems to matter less and less the more you’re tangling your hands in his cables. But eventually, you make the final tugs and withdraw from him.

"Here you go.."

"Already?" he asks too quickly, with an undertone of longing. The moment dissapears so fast, no matter how hard he hopes it to last just a little longer.

"It took me nearly an hour!" you laugh at his question, hands running down your little piece of art. Two thick french braids go from the upper corners of his faceplate down along his head, slightly resembling dragon horns which reach up laying on his shoulders where your hands carefully move them. The weaving was quite simple but made so thoroughly the ends don’t even need something to tie them up — the rubbery texture and the tight neat braiding hold the cables together without any additional knots.

"Now, turn to me."

He slowly does so, feeling how the movements of his head became freer. It feels almost like getting your body part replaced. The same, but somehow still different. He doesn’t feel like he dislikes it, he just isn’t used to the sensation, doesn’t know where to place it within his system — but when he sees himself in the mirror you brought up to his face, he understands it immideately. Love.

Not with the braids, though he does like the way they look on him. He is in love with you. That unconditional, utter feeling which makes his circuits overheat and that electric pulse go haywire till the HUD flashes with a bunch of new warnings. That feeling he thought he never ever would be able to share with someone…

And there are you, looking at him fondly, while being so busy adjusting the way the cables twist around his faceplate.

"You’re gorgeous…You already knew that, don’t you?"

"I-…" his voice stutters into a static — clearly from your sweet words — and he tilts his head slightly to admire your work. "I love it. Thank you, babe" his faceplate lowers to gently press against the crook of your neck, soft vibrations in omnicode expressing the whole of his feelings that he can’t quite place in words now, mimicking the tender kisses. And the way you slightly shy away from his touch, giggling and whining playfully that it’s ticklish — it only makes him fall for you even more, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you flush against his body in a tight embrace, letting himself nuzzle into your neck and get lost in your charming laugher.

A half an hour goes by unnoticed in the sweetest cuddles for the last week, accompanied by cute little pecks here and there, the soft sounds of your whispers, his quiet murmurs and the clanks of his cable braid’s ends when you playfully nudge him in the chest. Yet, suddenly, your eyes flash with an another idea and you pull away, leaving him puzzled and eager to just grab and move you back there for more cuddles.

"Now, you stay here." you lean against the wall and grab your sketchbook, opening it on the new page and biting down on your pencil, looking thoughtfully at your dear omnic, admiring the way confusion stirs within him.

"Why?"

"I need to capture your beauty" and you can hear him steaming from your words.

~~~~~~~

thank u for the idea, @statuetochka <з you make me feel so inspired with your art, hope this lil piece will make you smile

[tokiwarcube]

How They Celebrate Your Birthday

All the boys + Charles for this one!

Charles Foster Offdensen

Taking care of the boys is a full-time task, but that doesn’t mean he misses your birthday — not by a long shot. But be careful not to let your birth date slip — the guys would be all too happy to use it as an excuse to take all seven of you out to some insane party. Or you know, do, if that’s your style. A birthday is an excuse to celebrate, and there’s very little they won’t do to see Charles get sloshed — with his partner, nonetheless.

Otherwise, he really makes you feel loved throughout the day. Little notes in the morning, littered around the house — on the nightstand, the bathroom counter, by your morning mug. Among those are a request to let him know when you wake, so he can order in for you. He wishes he could stay for breakfast, truly, but he’s not going to wake you up at 4:00am on your birthday. God knows you work hard enough as is.

He checks in throughout the day, seemingly just a little more eager than usual to talk with you, and hear your voice. Call him sentimental, but he really wishes he could spend the full day with you. Alas, work calls.

Another note — Check under the sofa, be ready by 6:00. I love you, happy birthday.

He really shines when he comes home, though. A hand on the small of your back, adjusting the nonexistent imperfections in the perfectly-tailored outfit he had left for you, purely for the sake of touching, of holding. And from there, the night is yours. Dinner, dancing, a show… it’s all so cliche on paper, but he really makes you feel loved. A classical romance. He makes the cliche seem new, seem real, seem genuine.

Charles is a very, very attentive man, so it’s really no surprise when he brings out your real gift at the end of the night, and it just so happens to be the perfect thing. Although surprisingly, it’s not something you’ve ever asked for. Perhaps never even thought of, or seen — and yet, it’s so clearly tailored to your tastes. He’s good like that.

As the two of you are falling asleep towards the end of the night, he can’t help but check in — Did you have a good time tonight? As though he didn’t serve you your very own Hallmark moment. Again, he’s sweet like that.

Nathan Explosion

You know, for a man, who hates the media, he is pretty adamant on having a big party for you. Like yeah, he hates the publicity, but it’s you. And you deserve the darkest, most brutal birthday party of them all.

He knows you very well, don’t get me wrong, but he’s liable to overthink things a little. He could benefit a bit from some hints as to what exactly you’d like to do for your birthday… he’d like to avoid another Rockzo incident, if possible. But even if you do drop a few hints, he likes to surprise you with the results. You’ll have a lot of fun, but you might have a little heart attack first. He makes up for it, though.

Most of the heartfelt things are done earlier in the day, and the real party is reserved for night time. The boys already give him enough shit for how whipped he is for you, so a live performance is basically out of the question (lest the two of you be subjected to a healthy amount of ribbing from your peers), but that’s not to say he doesn’t attempt something similar. Instead, he writes, and has everyone record their parts individually — never quite saying what it’s for — and compiles it himself, solo. It’s not the usual production quality, but that’s not what you’re looking for — it’s sweet. Steeped in ichor and shadow, sure, but sweet nonetheless.

He’s usually pretty insatiable with PDA, and that doubles when drunk. But when drunk, on your birthday? You have to pry him off with a crowbar. He usually doesn’t talk actively about you in front of the cameras — God knows the media already knows way too much about the two of you — but tonight, he can’t seem to stop talking about how fucking awesome you are, and how it’s your birthday, and—

You’ll have a good time teasing him about it in the morning, once the hangover dulls.

Pickles the Drummer

Just when you think he’s partied as hard as he can, he finds a way to outdo himself. And your birthday is quite the opportunity, no?

Listen, if you want to have a nice, quiet day in, he’s happy to oblige. It’s your birthday, and he’s damn determined to make it the best one yet. And if that’s your version of a good time, he’s ready to get some takeout from that random place on the corner that you like — even though there’s a perfectly good Michelin 5-star restaurant in their house — and just hang out. Yes, really.

But if you want to get fucked up? Babe, we’re partying around the world. Fuck it, let’s go for a week! Best birthday ever, right? Whatever you say, goes.

It’s not all drugs, mind you — he’s got other things planned, too. The schedule just allows for a bit of inebriation in-between… or during. Listen, if you can deal with crowds while high, it’s real fun to go to a show or two. Everything is just so vibrant, so fluid — whether you’re up front with wide eyes or twirling in the back, Pickles makes it a very, very fun experience. And as much as he would like to get trashed beyond belief, the high tolerance does come in rather handy in moments like these — he’s happy to babysit you a bit, if it makes you feel more secure.

Surprising noone, he is a very, very good gift giver. After everything is said and done, and you’re both blinking awake the next day, that’s when he shuffles around to find the gift he set aside. He wanted to make sure it didn’t get lost in the haze, after all. Despite everything, he’s a fantastic listener, and somehow, he always seems to find that one special thing you’ve been looking for.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf

Complete royalty treatment — so long as he’s there (or, perhaps more aptly, the Klokateers are), you won’t be lifting a finger. He’s such a diva about it — you thought he was bad when it came to him, but with you? Beyond words. Consequently, this also means that everybody within a 50mi radius will know that its your birthday. He’s very embarrassing about it too, with how he takes the chance to coo about it whenever he gets the chance. Very saccharine — borderline patronizing, if you didn’t know him so well to know its the opposite — with an undertone of something you just can’t place. Although despite the embarrassment, you can’t lie — it does make your heart flutter just a little bit. You can’t tell if he’s getting off on it, or if he’s just excited to have a day where you have to let yourself be pampered.

He is very adamant about getting you an actual gift — not just sex, surprising everyone — and he’s really rather thoughtful about it. He listens a bit more aptly than usual in the months leading up to your birthday, and does his best to actually keep it a secret… with varying success. But it’s the thought that counts. When morning comes, he’s already at the foot of your shared bed, gift in hand. He doesn’t like extracting himself from your hold in the morning, but today, he’ll make an exception. Hard not to, when you tiredly paw at the gift — he places a quick kiss to your forehead before the gift is fully unwrapped, just out of softness.

He’s generally up for anything you want to do, and with the seemingly unlimited funds that come with stardom, nothing really bars you from fucking around on the daily… but now, he’s especially game for whatever you want to do today. If there’s anything you’ve been begging to drag him to do, now’s the time — he’ll do it for you, with only minor complaints.

To that end, while he does have the Klokateers wait on you hand and foot, you’re in charge of where the day goes. It’s your big day after all.

But yes, the birthday sex is phenomenal. That’s a given.

Toki Wartooth

Every birthday Toki’s had since joining Dethklok has been nothing if not extravagant — he makes it a point to live every day like it’s his last day on Earth, but birthdays? Birthdays go above and beyond — no holds barred. So with his partner, the love of his life? You may as well be royalty.

Although, in typical style, Toki strikes a perfect balance between heartfelt and lavish. He’ll buy you the world if you only ask — or perhaps, even if you don’t — but interspersed are his own, handmade gifts. This year he planned a worldwide adventure, but he also slotted in your favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurants into his scheduling. His planning abilities are lackluster for the average event, but he really puts his all into it for birthdays. (Although if you walk into Charles’ office at just the right time, you do gain a little bit of insight into who did the actual “organizing” part. Toki has the ideas, and Charles organizes it into something that won’t give you whiplash.)

He’s honestly so excited for your birthday, you’d think it was his own. He lets you wake up on your own, despite his own eagerness — but he can’t help placing a kiss to your lips as you blink the sleep from your eyes. Light, still floating on the ghost of your dreams, it’s a very sweet moment. That is, until he’s tugging you upwards to go on your adventures for the day.

One tradition he is very insistent on, is birthday cake. Very adamant about having a candle for every year of life — the number candles do not count — and making a wish. He always asks what you wished for, but don’t answer — it’s a trap. He’ll actively cover your mouth if you try to tell him, scolding you — didn’t you know the wish doesn’t come true if you say what it was?

William Murderface

Birthdays fucking suck — it’s another year closer to death, and nobody will fucking leave you alone, they give you all this shit you don’t want, and—

Yeah, that’s all bullshit. He loves birthdays, he’s just… never really celebrated them in a way that’s fun to him. Growing up it was all about going to the shitty little community park in town, with the hot metal slides that always managed to burn him, and if it wasn’t that, it was going to the run-down minigolf place on the outskirts that always reeked of stagnant water and old cheese. Boring. A chore. But recently, his tune has changed a bit. I mean sure, the boys aren’t always great at showing that they care, but they certainly make birthdays fun. Worth having. So despite having very little frame of reference, he really strives to make every one of your birthdays memorable, too.

Except again, he has… no idea what to do. Sure, he knows what you like to do, but you do those things every day. And it would be weird to ask, because isn’t it supposed to be a surprise? He spends night after night, quite literally, googling ideas on what to do. Unsurprisingly, Google isn’t very helpful in this department, considering the mass amount of wealth and time William has. It’s a miracle how he hasn’t been caught in planning.

But he really does put so much thought into the celebration, and is very, very particular about getting everything just right. He really takes the “diva” crown from Skwisgaar, on this occasion. This color is not the same shade he sent them, he’s certain of it, and it will be corrected before you have the chance to see it. Wh- yes it matters, this isn’t your favorite color, the one he sent was. Jeez, some people.

You’ve always known that he loves you, but it really bleeds through in all of the little decisions he makes for your big day. He’s more inclined to go big and flashy — and if you’re the type, he really does go above and beyond — but if you’re the quieter type, he sets the atmosphere perfectly. And he might be sweating a bit beneath the collar in the latter case, but it’s the thought that counts.

[chigirisprincess]

Vanilla Baby ⊹ . ࿐࿔

— Chigiri Hyōma + Nagi Seishiro

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, reader is an author insert, they/them pronouns used to refer to reader, they are afab, they wear a dress and heels, wear makeup, have long curled hair, and fair skin. Threesomes, love confessions, hookups, alcohol consumption, reader is tipsy, trans masc!nagi, oral (reader receiving), teasing, hair pulling, fingering, strap on sex, double penetration, anal, creampies, reader is called puppy, past relationships, established relationships, Nagi and Chigiri are queer. ⊹ Run time. 7.5k ⊹ Note. I swear this was just supposed to be a smutty drabble I don't know what happened! But! Please enjoy!

❝Drunken confessions and the ghosts of days gone past bubble over into something neither of you could have anticipated.❞

Bits and pieces of that night return to your fragmented memories through Hyōma’s teasing lilt and Seishiro’s knowing gaze. They make idle chit chat with reference to something you’re supposed to know. Like, an inside secret shared amongst the best of friends. You wouldn’t call Seishiro a friend. He was Hyōma’s teammate, colleague, and friend from high school. Whatever he was to you, he reached through Hyōma to you and nothing more. 

That’s why you numbed the pit of anxiety weighing you down with one too many espresso martinis. The heat on your skin and the buzz that thrummed against your rib cage distracted you from the nerves that tickled your belly and made your hands tremble. Seishiro’s languid gaze made you nervous. He studied you the same way he did the opposing team on the field. And he watched the way you squirm while holding conversation with Hyōma. You felt as though you were placed beneath a microscope to be inspected. For what? You couldn’t discern. 

Your tongue liked to loosen when warmth spread through your cheeks and your head felt pleasantly fuzzy. 

Hyōma learned many of your secrets drunkenly whispered across your pillow as he tucked you in for the night. Like your embarrassing John Green phase and the Edgar Allan Poe poetry you wrote whilst drowning within teenage angst. You were too nervous to admit them otherwise, always afraid that a big shot soccer player like him might find you too dorky or even weird if you were to confess all the little things that made you, you. Though sometimes you despised your propensity for growing so lax when you drank a little too much. 

The thought of confessing something to both Hyōma and Seishiro made your stomach turn uncomfortably and yet, the vision was so crystal clear in your head. You remember sitting between them on Seishiro’s sofa long after the evening had dwindled to a close. Your skin was warm and buzzing, your head lolled back as you gazed at Hyōma. They spoke words you didn’t understand. It wasn’t Japanese but your swimming mind struggled to follow.

“Can I tell you something, baby,” you giggled while sliding your hand up Hyōma’s arm, “Pretty please?”

His piercing ruby gaze shifted from Seishiro to you, “Of course,” he murmured, you remember him looking concerned, “You can tell me anything, my love.”

Your other hand grazed the length of Seishiro’s thigh, bringing his attention to you. Sleep had been in his eyes but he couldn’t bring himself to kick the two of you out. You weren’t sure why.

“It’s always been my biggest fantasy to be with two guys at the same time.”

You nodded your head like you were proud of yourself, a small “mhm” pressed against your lips as you allowed your eyes to fall shut. The memory made your face burn. You must have said something else, a comment insinuating the small crush you used to harbour on your boyfriend's teammate, or the very real and ever present attraction you felt for him. The thought made your stomach roll, in discomfort and in excitement. 

Hyōma wasn’t a stranger to fluidity, he indulged your curiosity on his past relationships more times than you could count. You had always been quite the opposite of him, calm and level headed whereas his blood pumped and rushed adrenaline through his body at the first sight of a challenge. Everything you had ever done was carefully planned out and meticulously imagined, you were made for monogamy and didn’t much like sharing but, there was something about Seishiro that felt a bit like fatal attraction. And, you liked it.

No matter how much you wracked your brain for anything more from that night, you couldn’t remember the expression Hyōma wore from your confession. Seishiro’s presence was like a gaping black hole in your brain. You remembered how big and rough his hands were, how warm it felt to be pressed in between the both of them, how his hair tickled your cheeks when he rested his head on your shoulder but nothing more. If you spilled your guts further, had named the man who was occupying the fantasies that played in your head on lonely nights, you couldn’t know, not if neither of them spoke a word to you.

That’s why you wilted at the latest gala Hyōma had invited you to, a sad and pathetic wallflower whose roots were beginning to rot.

The glass of champagne you kept clutched in your hands had warmed considerably after each fake sip you had taken from it. You didn’t want to worry Hyōma with your incessant waves of anxiety that made your knees feel weak and threatened to have you tumble to the floor if you took another step in those platform heels that were supposed to have been a source of comfort. The material of your silk gold gown clung to your sweat-dabbled skin uncomfortably. Images of clawing out of your skin flashed behind your eyelids with each blink you took. Your cheeks ached from the faux smile you glued to your lips but the thought of embarrassing your boyfriend was far too strong to force your mouth into the frown you wished to wear.

Reo gave you a strange look as he passed by, his arm wrapped firmly around the waist of his latest date but he said nothing. Shaking your head, you pushed yourself off the wall in search of the table you’d been assigned. Passing through throngs of bodies made your head spin. Heavy, heedy perfumes and colognes prickle your nostrils and feed the growing nausea in your belly. Your glass of champagne finds itself handed to the first waiter you see, an apologetic smile on your lips and a small “thank you” whispered into the crowd. 

Your glass of wine is filled to the brim. It sits neatly on the table beside your half picked at plate of hors d’oeuvres. An aperol spritz with mostly melted ice is placed beside your shiny gold clutch. Your plum hued lipstick sits around the rim. You don’t think before reaching out to grab it and down it all in a few gulps and procure your clutch once the glass is slammed back on the table. The low, warm lighting that filled the room felt romantic at the start of the night now just feels like a nuisance as you are shuffling through the galleria in search of a bathroom. Your heels click against the floor in an angry rhythm, your hair a tangled mess of curls that sticks to your lipgloss no matter how many times you push it over your shoulders.

The bathroom is stupidly ornate. With marble floors and counters, accented by gold and emerald encrusted mirrors, you feel small when you finally step into it. Thankfully, you find it empty and plop into the first chaise lounge you find. Your heart races and your chest feels uncomfortably tight. You haven't spoken much to Hyōma or Seishiro in the past few weeks. They had been busy with brand deals, training, and other public appearances. You had been sequestered in your apartment, staring at the half written paragraph of your latest novel. But, now that you were here with them even if it were at arms length, you couldn’t help but drift back to that night.

Memories of the past bleed with the scenes playing out in front of your eyes. With Hyōma in his rich, deep magenta shirt that had somehow begun to be slowly unbuttoned as the night progressed, and Seishiro in a pair of stupidly tight black dress pants, it became harder to deny the selfish, greedy little wants that ate away at your common sense. They looked good and smelled divine. You cunt throbbed with want, your head dizzy with arousal that you couldn't shake no matter how many times you pinched your thigh or dug your nails into the palms of your hand. It clung to you like a devious parasite, only to be satiated by giving into the carnal desires that you tried to keep at bay.

Pressing your thighs together, you shook your head in frustration, “This is so stupid!” You cursed to yourself, your voice bouncing off the lifeless white walls.

“What’s stupid?” a familiar voice asks, the bathroom door squealing open as they slide in, “Why are you hiding in here? Did something happen?

Concern laces Hyōma’s voice as he walks into view. His shirt has become even messier. Once pressed and steamed to perfection, was wrinkled with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His chest, gleaming in the bright light with sweat was in view, his shirt unbuttoned all the way to his belly button. The sparse beginnings of his happy trail peek through the opening. With a sigh, you press your hands to your forehead, forcing yourself to look away from him.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Hyōma kneels in front of you, his warm palms rest on your knees as he cranes his neck to get a good look at your hidden expression. Your body burns with shame and embarrassment. It stirs a pathetic whimper that you’re unable to suppress. His hands are soft, they slide beneath the hem of your dress as he coos to draw your attention. You don’t mean to do it, but your thighs part ever so slightly.

“It’s nothing, I'm just hot and my shoes are uncomfortable,” you whine, a half truth wasn’t a complete lie, “And I’m tired, the music is too loud, but I don’t want to make you leave early.”

Hyōma sighs softly, “If you’re not having a good time, then we can leave,” he peers up at you, eyes rounded and wide, “If my manager chews me out come Monday, I don’t care.”

“You should care.”

Your mouth dips into a pout, brows knitted together as you peer at him.

“I do, about you,” he says your name softly, pressing his thumbs into the fat of your thighs, “He’s always yelling at me about something or other, like the fact that I don’t post enough online.”

Cupping his cheeks, you lean down until your nose brushes against his, “I love you,” you whisper, your hair slipping over your shoulder as you inch closer to him. Your breath fans across his face and his lips part in anticipation.

Hyōma’s eyes flutter shut when your lips brush against his. A needy whine bubbles up and slips into his mouth as you kiss him, a shiver dancing up your spine. The few loose strands that have slipped past his neatly styled bun tickle your fingers which ache to tangle themselves within his hair, but had spent so much time getting pretty for you. He slides the skirt of your dress further up your thighs where the fabric bunches to expose the slightest bit of your frilly, lace panties. Panting into your mouth, Hyōma slots himself between your legs, pressing closer until he’s flush against you.

You’re vaguely aware that the door is unlocked. Anyone could walk in. With the music and conversation dulled by marble walls, you find yourself getting lost in Hyōma’s touch, searching for relief from weeks worth of tension that gathered in your belly. Without thinking, you slide your hand down his shoulder and the length of his arm and wrap your fingers around wrist, bringing his hand between your thighs. 

“I love you too,” he says before nipping at your bottom lip.

His fingers glide across the seam of your cunt, pushing against the fabric to rub a circle into your stiff clit. Your nails bite into scalp as you thread your fingers into his hair for purchase. The loud, heedy moan that pours past your lips effortlessly smothers the sound of the bathroom door slowly creaking open and then, gently clicking shut. It’s not the sound of dress shoes dragged against marble or even the sharp breath that rouses you; it’s the feeling of eyes, heavy on your figure. You know it well. Languid, yet startlingly intense, turning soft brown irises piercing. It was Seishiro. 

Your eyes snap open, meeting Seishiro’s in a heated exchange, “Hyōma,” you call, the last syllables of his name curling into a moan, “Baby, Sei- He’s…”

“Don’t stop on my account,” Seishiro murmurs, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Hyōma curses under his breath, peeling back to peer up at Seishiro. He has to crane his neck uncomfortably upward to meet Seishiro’s gaze. He stares languidly down at your boyfriend for a moment before settling back onto you, grazing over the sight of your hiked up dress and bare thighs. Licking his lips, Seishiro lets out a chuckle.

“Seriously, don’t stop.”

You wilt under his stare, your face warming in embarrassment, “Don’t be mean Seishiro,” you mumble, pulling your dress down to preserve some modicum of modesty. 

He exchanges a look with Hyōma as if to speak silently, leaving you looking between the two like a gaping fish in search of water.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Hyōma is quick to interject, crowding into your vision, “Seishiro was just going to leave.”

Your mouth drops into a frown, your brows pinching together, “No,” you protest, crossing your arms over your chest, “What was that look?”

“What look?” Hyōma sheepishly asks, wearing his guilt like an accessory.

“The look you gave Seishiro, the two of you have been looking at eachother like that since the last time we all got together,” you accuse, your pointed stare darting between the two of them, “Did I say something stupid? I’ve been racking my brain for weeks but all I remember is mentioning that I want to have a threesome.”

Seishiro snorts out a laugh, “You don’t remember what you said afterward?” You shake your head, “no,” nervously tugging at the hem of your dress. 

“Seishiro don’t,” Hyōma cuts in, “They’re already embarrassed enough.”

“No, I wanna know.”

Rarely, does Hyōma get worked up or frustrated off the soccer pitch. The look he sends Seishiro is enough to send a shiver down your spine. His usually gentle fuschia eyes narrowed and filled with the same fury you often see directed towards his rivals. Seishiro seems unbothered, running his fingers through his pale blonde hair with an eye roll.

“You told us that your ideal threeway would be the three of us,” he smoothly explains, his lips quirking up into a smirk, “You really don’t remember this?”

“Obviously not,” Hyōma sneers before turning back to you, squeezing your thighs to put your attention onto him, “Why don’t we get out of here hm, baby? Forget about all this?”

“I told you, I don’t want you to get in trouble, you’re supposed to be getting sponsors for the football club.”

Your answer doesn’t seem to placate your boyfriend. Biting down on your bottom lip, your frown presses deeper into your face. Your belly lurches with uncertainty as Hyōma sighs.

“They’re not wrong,” Seishiro points out, rocking on the balls of his feet, “I only followed you guys ‘cause our club manager wanted us to thank the owner of this place.”

Rising to his full height, Hyōma stands before you with his hands crossed over his chest, “Do you want to fuck my fiancé?” He asks, pointedly, “Because we agreed we wouldn’t mention it unless they brought it up first.”

“I must’ve forgotten.”

Seishiro shrugs his shoulders without a care in the world. His lazy smile growing wider by the second as Hyōma’s hackles rise.

“Bullshit,” he says, taking a step closer to the other man.

“Fine, I didn’t,” Seishrio confesses, his hands held up in mock surrender, “I wanna fuck your fiancée … And I want to fuck you, Hyōma.”

Hyōma baulks in shock, swallowing thickly, “Sei…” He mutters, “Stop messing around.”

They had history. It was often left unspoken, gifted to the wind and sands of time. Whatever it was, it was meant to die with the thousand other secrets buried in the back of locker rooms and in the middle of grassy fields. The tension was palpable even when you found yourself stepping into the picture, it only intensified, never able to dissipate no matter how entangled you became with Hyōma.

“I’m not.”

Swallowing, with shaky legs you force yourself to stand and step between them, “Stop bickering like children,” you hiss, wobbling a bit as you try to stay balanced on your heels, “Stop bickering and … and fuck me.”

Your chest heaves, nerves prickle beneath your blazing skin. Seishiro looms over you, stupidly tall, gangly, and scarily silent. Hyōma watches the two of you with wide eyes, his plush lip pressed between the blunt edge of his teeth. A gasp is wretched from your throat as Seishiro’s fingers glide up the length of your throat to the underside of your jaw, tipping your head back until your eyes meet. His muddy grey irises bore into you, searching for something you’re quite unsure of.

You can’t help but squirm as he tilts his head down, his breath fanning across your face before he takes the plunge and kisses you.

A full body shiver rolls through you and spurs you to twist your body out of his grasp, pushing your chest flush against his. Your hands find his hair without a second thought, tangling into the surprisingly soft, fluffy white strands. Seishiro moans into your mouth, his large, rough hands desperately grasping the fat of your hips. Hyōma saddles up behind you, his cock pressed snug against your ass. He pushes your hair away from your shoulder, exposing your sweat dabbled skin to him, pressing a balmy kiss to the flesh. 

“Hyōma,” your whimper into Seishiro’s mouth, “Be gentle, please.”

“Mhm,” he hums before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, hard enough that it’ll surely leave a mark.

Seishiro reaches past you to grab a fistful of Hyōma’s crisp shirt, furling the fabric around his fingers as if to meld the three of you together. Your cunt clenches with need, there's a thigh between your legs, you’re unsure whose it is but the pressure feels heavenly against your tender, aching clit.

The sound of pounding fists against the bathroom draws you from your stupor.

“Hey! Is anyone in there, the doors locked?”

“You locked the door, Sei?” You question, slipping out from between them to find your clutch, “Good, ‘cause I really don’t want a picture of the three of us being sold to the tabloids.”

Hyōma runs his fingers through his hair, “It’d be good publicity for your upcoming novel.”

Seishiro nods in agreement.

“Mm yes ‘cause getting caught in the bathroom at a soccer gala for underprivileged kids is going to make people wanna read sapphic courtly love.”

Brushing them off, you saunter up to the door, your clutch in tow, “Hey! The door won’t open. Can you find someone to come let me out?”

At the muffled sound of their agreement and trailing footsteps you gesture for your two men to follow you out.

“I’ll go grab our coats, Sei go call a car to take us back to mine,” Hyōma instructs, already two steps toward the main ballroom.

“On it!” Seishiro mumbles with a slight salute.

The two of you walk silently outside the venue, occasionally bumping elbows. The gust of cool evening air does little to soothe the flames that lap at your inner thighs. Your need only grows stronger as Seishiro slumps against you, his rich cologne crowding your senses. 

He hums a bit, nuzzling his face into your hair, “You’re so warm,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around your belly, “‘N smell so nice, like vanilla.”

You giggle, your head feeling dizzy from the attention.

“I’m already gonna sleep with you, you don’t have to sweet talk me,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, “But … I won’t stop you if you wanna, I like it.”

“‘M not sweet talking you, it’s the truth.”

The bubbly feeling that tickles your chest has you idly realising why he had so many fans. He didn’t speak much in interviews, he much preferred to slink away to the locker room to shower and get home for a nap, but when he did he laid it on thick. Even the most professional journalists blushed and fluttered under his languid gaze. Honeyed words all too easy to slip off his tongue. Your heart jumped as your thoughts drifted into indecent territory.

“Are you taking good care of my baby?” Hyōma asks as he bounds down the stairs, his arms filled with coats and goody bags, “Are you cold sweetheart?”

You shake your head, offering him a small smile.

“I’m cold, come warm me up,” you can hear the pout in voice, his arms wrapping around you just a little bit tighter.

“The car should be here any minute, you’ll be nice and warm soon enough.”

Still, Hyōma does his best to wrap his arms around the both of you, leaving on hand to cradle all the odds and ends in his possession. Seishiro purrs in contentment, like a sweet kitten only to sour when he sees the uber pull up to the curb. You find yourself squished between the two of them in the backseat, though the passenger side was empty save for their jackets. 

The thirty minute ride to your shared apartment with Hyōma feels more like an hour. Their hands wonder. Fingers poke and prod at your thighs, flitting up the hem of your dress until they were flashed with a bit of panty. Warm palms pressed on your shoulders and snaked their way beneath your top to feel up your tits. Blood pooled along the length of your bottom lip, the skin broken and raw from how your teeth dug into the flesh to smother any pesky moans that threatened to escape.

In the five minutes it takes to walk from the curb to the front door, you find yourself aching, hardly able to push Seishiro away. His palm was pressed against your cunt, humming to himself as Hyōma fumble around with the keys. Your shoes were kicked off into some dark corner, left to be found tomorrow afternoon, the moment the door flew open. Belts, socks, and shirts were discarded somewhere on the staircase. You feel suffocated by your nerves once you enter your bedroom, so exposed as you make yourself comfortable by the headboard.

Hyōma and Seishiro sit across from you, waiting for you to make the next move.

Maybe it was the fresh air that sobered you up, or if being inside your home made the precarious nature of this situation feel real. You decide to throw caution to the wind and pull off your slip dress. The intensity of their stares make you burn from the inside out. Hyōma’s gaze is filled with familiarity as he roves over each curve and dimple he knew all too well. Seishiro explores your body with all the eagerness of an untrained house puppy, drinking in the sight of your beauty marks and long since healed scars.

You’ve Seishiro half dressed before, but the sight of flushed skin and kiss bitten lips are new. You liked it more than you thought you would.

“You are so fucking pretty,” Seishiro mumbles, his eyes darting from your chest to face in a matter of seconds.

“Thank you, Sei, you’re not too bad yourself.”

Hyōma rolls his eyes, laughing, “What they mean to say is you look good,” he murmurs, biting his lip.

“You think so, pretty boy?”

He nods, a retort balanced precariously on the tip of his tongue.

“You should know better than anyone that Hyōma only ever says what he means,” you quip, sucking in a shaky breath.

The two men stare at each other for a moment. Another silent conversation but this time you’re able to read it a bit better. Years worth of tension and denied feelings bubble up to the surface, it's palpable and steals the breath from your lungs. You’re unsure who leans in first but soon enough, their hands are tangled in one another's hair, a grunt and a groan melting into the other's mouths as they kiss. It’s intimate, just as intimate as the kisses you share with Hyōma, you almost want to look away but you can’t. Your eyes refused to be pulled away. Their tongues taste and their teeth bite, lapping ichor and sweat, and the final years of their youth. 

You only blink when your eyes begin to burn. It is then that you remember you were sitting across from them, not simply a voyeur intruding with their peering when your name is passed between their mouths like a soccer ball. You're unsure who it comes from and who it is that echoes the sentiments with his own throaty groan.

Your palms begin to sweat. They turn your attention to you almost as if it were instinctive. Perhaps you squeaked or let out a throaty groan of your own, the sheer eroticism too much for your feeble body to handle.. You feel like prey, pinned between too hungry predators doused in blood and too tempting for them to ignore. Hyōma strikes first, laying one open palm upon the swell of your knee, smoothing his calloused fingers around the flesh as if to sample before tasting. Seishiro hangs back, apprehensive and calculated. He’s trying to pick the situation apart and find the best angle of attack.

“I like this set,” Hyōma murmurs, his back arching as he splays his body across the bed, “So soft, hugs everything just right, did you wanna look pretty for us?”

You find yourself nodding even though it wasn’t true, puffing your chest out a little but more as if to put yourself on display. Seishiro nods too, shuffling closer. The bed creaks under his weight, the old iron wrought metal as loud and squeaky as it always is. Perhaps, it’s louder amid the pregnant pause that hangs in the air. 

“Wanna take it off for us?”

Seishiro swallows when he’s finished speaking, draping himself across Hyōma’s body. Hyōma’s calf rests between Seishiro’s thighs. You don’t miss the pleased little sigh he releases.

Using your index finger, you slowly slide one bra strap down your shoulder blade. They watch with bated breath as you expose more of your sunkissed skin, and the tanlines you tried so hard to hide with your outfit for the evening. The other strap comes off faster, Hyōma’s squeezed your thigh in encouragement. Adoration swims in his irises. Somehow, it’s even stronger than it typically is, as if at any moment it’d leap out from his eyes and wrap itself around you.

Being watched makes you simper demurely, shyly using your hair to cover your breasts when you’re finally able to get the bra clasp undone. You don’t know who to look at, Seishiro who grinds himself into Hyōma, or Hyōma who touches you like you’re the finest thing he’s ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes upon.

Summer’s treated you well. It’s evident in how you glow in spite of your frayed nerves.

“Should I keep going?” You timidly ask, placing your hand overtop of Hyōma’s.

He shakes his head, tangling his fingers with yours, “No, let Sei take your panties off.”

Seishiro perks up like a puppy at the sound of his name, nodding his head before he’s fully registered what was being suggested. 

“I wanna take ‘em off … Maybe keep ‘em too? You won’t mind right sweetheart?”

“No, you can keep them,” you mumble without missing a beat, laying further back against the headboard, some of your catches on the swirling metal but you pay it no mind and melt into the cushions. Your legs spread, “If you get me another pair.”

Your inner thighs feel sticky. Surely, the pale white lace has gone translucent exposing your tender clit and the pink of your pussy hidden behind your bush. The gust of air that hits your cunt makes you tremble. Seishiro’s hands warm you right back up as they trail up your thighs, his thumbs effortlessly hooking around the waistband. Your heart drops and all the air in your lung evaporates as Sei’ shamelessly burrows his nose into your cunt and takes a deep breath before he peels the fabric away.

He hums happily to himself, pocketing your underwear without hesitation, “Can I taste you?” He asks with big, round eyes, “Pretty please?”

“You’re devilish Sei’, you know they can’t say no to your puppy eyes.”

Hyōma laughs but joins Seishiro between your legs, his long red hair spilling across thigh, “Let us taste you my love.”

Not that you were in any position to deny them, so badly wanting more than just a whisper of a touch, but Hyōma didn’t ask. He was telling you. Your chest fluttered, making you feel weightless as you spread your thighs a bit wider to accommodate them.

“Please,” you whimper, your hips twitching upwards, “Eat me out, my pussy’s so needy.”

“I know baby, I know.”

Hyōma cradles the back of Seishiro’s head, his nails pressing into his scalp, pushing his face into your cunt. Sei moans unabashedly into you, the reverberation sending pleasure zipping up your spine.

“Taste good, don’t they?” Hyōma asks, his lips against the shell of Sei’s ear. 

You think he nods his head, but it’s difficult to tell as he sucks your clit into his mouth, his nose deeply buried in the thatch of curls. All you see is tousled white hair and Hyōma’s smirking visage. 

“Yeah, that’s it, good boy Sei.”

“Oh fuck,” you groan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Your nails scrape against your bed sheets as you fail to gain purchase. Grounding yourself is a fruitless endeavour because Hyōma is quick to brush his lips along the length of your inner thigh, savouring how your soft skin feels against him. Your arousal and Seishiro’s spit slowly oozes between your cheeks, soaking the fabric beneath you. It feels obscene. Your chest might burst any moment from how your heart races so roughly, rattling your ribcage. When Hyōma’s tongue slips out from between his lips you fear you may have died and splayed before you was something out of your wildest fantasies.

Hyōma’s tongue joins Seishiro’s in lapping up the taste of you.

Their tongues slide against one another, up and down the length of your slit before settling on your clit. It’s wet, you’re wet, incredibly so. Your pussy pulses as your orgasm builds, your body growing taunt. The bedframe jiggles and squeaks when you throw your head back, the dull thrum of pain is hardly registered. Your mind’s a shifting sea of  rapturous pleasure that blinds you of anything else. 

There isn’t an inch of you left untouched.

Hyōma’s nails pierce your doughy thighs, little crescent moons blossom on the surface of your skin. Pink and pulsating from where it’s broken and begun to bleed. Seishiro strokes your hip and the underside of your knee, coiled around your body like he’s afraid you’re a mirage that’ll fade away before his very eyes. Your body feels as though it's been dosed in hot lava, it swirls along the dip of your belly button and seeps between your organs until you squirm in search of reprieve.

A soft jumble of their names drips down your tongue and oozes past your lips, “Right there, right there please,” you pleaded to no one in particular, “Please, I wanna cum.”

They melted into a singularity. Their touch and quick pants of heady breath indiscernible as you squeezed your eyes shut. Tongues swirl around your clit, drool and slick drip down their chins. With sloppy slurps and obscene moans, you find yourself on the precipice of completion. Tiptoeing closer and closer with each flit of their tongue, and the sloppy kisses that are pressed around your slit.

Somehow, your hands find their hair. 

Tired of uselessly grappling with your duvet, your fingers dig into their scalps. Eliciting even more debauched groans, a myriad of them fall right into you. Your thighs twitch and seize, your body growing stiff as pleasure bleeds down your torso and seeps through every pore, every piece of you. The fluttering feeling in your chest intensifies as your orgasm crashes into you. You release a wanton whimper, you cunt throbbing as you cum. 

Your back arches off the bed almost painfully, only to give way as your muscles turn to jello. You collapse against the bed with a huffy moan, a giggle bubbling up at the sight of Hyōma and Seishiro’s tousled hair. 

“What’s so funny, baby?” Sei asks, peering up at you from between your legs, “We made you cum and you’re laughing at us?”

Slick and spit make his lips and chin shiny, “Aren’t they such a brat?” Hyōma murmurs, resting his chin on Sei’s shoulder, “They should be thanking us for making them feel so good.”

Seishiro nods in agreement, a sly smirk growing on his lips, “You should be thanking us like this,” clearing his throat, he puts on a terrible impression of you, “Thank you Hyō, thank you Sei for making me cum soooo hard!”

“I don’t sound like that!” You pout with an eye roll, “I was laughing because you guys look cute all messy like this.”

Hyōma leans forward, his half clothed body pressing against your tender bare skin, “You think we’re cute? Well I think you’re absolutely adorable, puppy.”

“Hyō…. Not in front of Sei!”

Your embarrassed whines are smothered by the gentle kiss he pressing into your mouth. The taste of you lingering on his tongue fills your senses. Salted skin and the bitter tinge of your essence is laved over you. Your tongues meld against one another, desperate heady moans clashing with each.

“What? Embarrassed that you like being called puppy?”

Seishiro sits up, stretching his arms above his head. His unbuttoned dress pants sit low on his hips, exposing the wispy tendrils of his happy trail. He laughs at your expression, filled with mirth. Slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his underwear, he curses beneath his breath.

“I think it’s cute, puppy,” he murmurs, biting his lip, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The wink he sends you distracts you from Hyōma who’s weaved his fingers into your knotted curls and begun to suckle on your neck. His cock strains against his pants, his pre leaking through the fabric and smearing on your skin.

“You guys are the worst!”

“Don’t be a brat,” Hyōma mutters, before turning to Seishiro, “Can you come help be unzip, Sei?”

They hover above you, their hands roaming over each other's bodies. Clothing is tugged off on and thrown carelessly to the floor. Hyōma’s flushed, weeping cock stands stiffly to attention and drips precum all over your blanket. Seishiro’s wispy little happy trail leads your eyes to the fluffy blush that adorned his pelvis. Arousal hung like webs around the thatch of hair, his puffy, throbbing t-dick just barely peeking out. 

You trail your fingertips along the length of Seishiro’s torso, gently following along the scar that runs beneath his chest. His body is quick to react to your touch, he shivers, the muscles in his tummy fluttering ever so slightly. He moans when Hyōma gently combs his fingers through his pubes, just barely touching his dick. 

“You’re so wet Sei,” he comments with a smirk, “Did eating out my sweet puppy out really turn you on that much?”

Seishiro nods, his hand shooting out to curl around Hyōma’s bicep. 

“You’re so sensitive, baby.”

He nods again, pressing his body lip between his teeth. His grey eyes darken with, lust and urgency swim amongst his irises, “Don’t tease me,” he grits, frowning, “I’ll cum.”

“Just from that?” You ask, shifting to sit on your knees, “You really are so sensitive Sei, that’s really hot.”

Brushing the tip of your finger around his areola, you tentatively give his nipple a tweak. Seishiro jolts into your touch, “If you keep doing that, I-,” he warns before clamping his lips shut.

“Just from a little bit of touching?”

The corner of your mouth quirks upward as you peer at him, watching as his mouth falls open and out comes a coquettish whimper that makes your blood run hot with desire. His sloppy cunt squelches obscenely as Hyōma jerks him off, his neck bared to you as he throws his head back in ecstasy. Tweaking his nipples, you graze the tender skin of his jugular before planting a soft kiss to blossoming bruises.

“‘M sensitive,” he moans your name with a pathetic little expression adorning his features.

Seishiro falls apart under your ministrations quickly. He gushes all over Hyōma’s hand, his body twitching with pleasure from each brush and tug of your hands. Slumping against you, Seishiro lets out a quiet little mewl, tears of pleasure prickling at the corner of his eyes and dripping down your shoulder.

“We know baby,” Hyōma coos passively, soothing to Sei’s scrambled brain, “We know you are.”

Giving his cock a swift tug, Hyōma grunts prettily, using his precum to lube up his cock. A whine builds at the back of your throat, so quickly you can hardly stop it from spilling out and drifting over to Hyōma and Seishiro’s ears.

“You want us inside you puppy?”

You nod, afraid and untrusting of your voice.

“Go get Sei your strap-on,” he instructs, nodding his head towards the bedside table on your side of the bed.

Your strap on, lacked any straps or harness in the traditional sense. It’s sleek and silicon, rosy pink in colour, and sometimes vibrates if you remember where you put the remote. Grabbing the bottle of strawberry scented lube, you sat in between Hyōma and Seishiro.

“Spread your legs for me Sei,” you whisper, tentatively stroking his pelvis, “That’s it, that’s a good boy.”

A shudder wracks through Seishiro as you gently push the bulbous end of the feeldoe into him, gathering up his arousal to guide it inside with ease. He groans as the flared tip sits snug against his engorged, throbbing dick. Squirting a bit of lube into the palm of your hand, you stroke the strap, watching with a pleased smirk as Seishiro’s eyes grow lidded.

“Fuck,” he curses beneath his breath.

Batting your lashes at him you murmur in a sultry tone “Can’t wait to feel you inside me,” you state, giggling at the Japanese he spits out in response.

“Don’t tease him too much,” Hyōma chides with a smug expression, “He won’t hesitate to return it tenfold, my love.”

“Just like you do?”

He hums in agreement,“Come suck me off?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

“Help me Sei!”

Hyōma’s fingertips follow the length of your spine as you sink into all fours before him. He traces shapes into your skin and drags his nails against the flesh until you shiver. Seishiro mirrors your position, eager and awaiting your instruction. Drawing him in for a kiss, you wrap your hand around Hyō’s cock, languidly drawing your hand up and down.

Seishiro chases your kiss, following as you bring your head in front of Hyōma’s weeping tip. Sliding your tongue along the underside you follow the throbbing, prominent vein. Sei is sloppy but his fervent pursuit of pleasure makes up for it tenfold. He kisses your mouth over Hyōma’s cock, his free hand gently fondling his full balls.

Above you, Hyōma mutters something in Japanese. It’s not a phrase you recognise, no matter how you strain your ears you can’t begin to discern what it is he may have said. Whatever it is, it makes Seishiro flush, drool slipping down his chin as he suckles on Hyōma’s cock. He presses his eyes shut, embarrassment written across every inch of his skin.

“Open your eyes baby,” you coo, tugging on Seishiro’s messy white hair, “Want you to see me, Sei.”

His eyes flutter open, almost at your command. Large, slate grey irises tentatively peer back at you, mouth full of cock. 

“I need to be inside you,” Hyōma moans, his nails digging into your flesh.

“Please.”

You murmur around his cock, your eyes turned upward. Hyōma’s throat bobs as he swallows. Sweat drips down his lush body, his skin glistens deliciously. Sei mirrors you, gazing up at him with wide eyes and blush kissed cheeks.

Pulling off his cock with a pop, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Lipstick is smudged across, you notice it’s smeared across Hyōma’s dick, his lips, his neck, Sei’s too. 

“I need you both inside me.”

Hyōma lays against the pillows, pulling you by the hips to settle in his lap. His cock slides across your slick folds and you can’t help but moan. Seishiro kneels behind you, quiet and tender. The strap-on nudges against your ass cheek as he grabs your hips, his face nuzzling into your shoulder.

More lube is squirted between your cheeks and along Seishiro’s length. Bracing yourself against Hyōma’s shoulders, you bite your lip as his cock is nudged against your drooling hole. He sinks you down slowly, your walls stretching open to accommodate his girth. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, your heart skipping a beat as you’re filled. 

Seishiro plunged his pointer finger into your ass, slowly working you open. 

“Sei, please I need you,” you beg, twisting your neck around to look at him, “Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

“You heard them, be a good boy and fill them up, Seishiro.”

Seishiro snorts a laugh, “You’re so needy huh,” he quips, “All bark and no bite.”

Whatever witty retort you might have had dies before it can reach your tongue. Your breath and words are stolen from you with a swift quickness as Seishiro eases the tip of his strap against your asshole. The stretch burns but the pain effortlessly melds into pleasure. Hyōma’s fingers play with your clit, rolling soothing circles that make your head spin around and round.

“Shut up, Sei!” You grit with a pant of breath, your eyes rolling back into your skull as he bottoms out.

You’re full, incredibly so. 

Your limbs feel as though they’ve turned into led and weigh a hundred more pounds. You rest your head upon Hyōma’s chest, you can hear his stuttering heartbeat erratically pound against his ribcage as he slowly lifts your hip upwards until only their tips remain inside of you.

“You feel so good around me, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Gonna make me cum, God I’m so hard for you.”

The fluttery feeling makes a home in your chest, wrapping around your sternum and melting all the way down to your toes. Their cocks grind against each other whilst inside you, the feeling of it makes you stupid. There isn’t a single thought that fills your head, just pleasure. Heavy, thick sea of mind numbing pleasure that you wouldn’t dare to find yourself out from.

Hyōma throbs within you, Seishiro’s slick drips onto your ass as they drill into you at a surprisingly even pace. You vaguely register the sound of them kissing above you, you’re too fucked out to lift your head and watch. 

“Please,” you mumble into Hyōma’s skin for no reason in particular, “Please baby.”

The tension in your belly bursts quickly, your cunt squirt and throbbing as you cum. You feel it gush out of you, soaking both men and the blankets below you. Seishiro lets out a muffled sound of surprise, it’s followed by a chuckle and then a grunt. Hyōma twitches inside you, he’s on the bring too, cooing words in Japanese that cause Sei to move faster, fucking into you like it was his goal to make you addicted to the feeling of him driving his cock into you. 

“That’s it, good boy Sei,” Hyōma grunts, biting Seishiro’s bottom lip, “Good puppy, squeezing my cock so tight.”

Warmth spreads through you as he fills you up with his cum. Your head feels dizzy as you lay flat against him, your thighs twitching and inky darkness edging at the corners of your vision. His hips stutter for a moment as he chases his release, pumping his seed back into your hole. Seishiro pushes your hair to the side and plants a sloppy kiss to the nape of your neck. He collapses onto you, crushing you between the two of them.

“Fuck, I love you guys,” Sei murmurs, wrapping his arms around your torso.

Your body breaks out in goosebumps, shock thrumming through your veins. Did he just say that? Did he mean it? Or, was it just the post orgasm bliss speaking? Sometimes, he and Isagi joked that stupid often fell out of their mouths when they spoke before thinking.

“I love you guys,” you find yourself saying, linking your fingers with Hyōma’s he gives you a squeeze before humming.

“I love you two.”

© all content belongs to chigirisprincess. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

networks: @interstellar-inn @houseofsolisoccasum

[buckysgrace]

hello teasing and degradation queen🫠.i just want something so tense and u will totally nail it.

sat on billys lap cosily watching a movie in a blanket and suddenly a sex scene comes on. He’s just so horny for you. And he’s just touching you everywhere breathing heavily in your ear. But Steve’s sat on the other sofa also watching the movie. It’s just becoming so tense with his mouth on your neck saying he wants to ruin you.

After the endless teasing, Billy’s had enough. He makes an excuse for you both to go to the kitchen and fucks the shit out of you warning you to be quiet putting you against the wall, whispering in your ear degrading you.It’s so fast and he’s so hungry. Idk if u don’t like this tell me.

( finally changed my name btw I’ve been blocked twice cus ppl think I’m a bot 😀)

Oh bestie I love this, so very delicious ummm I hope you enjoy <3

CW: Spitting, degradation, Billy being a big tease and Steve is blissfully unaware

Billy had you pulled flush against his chest, his arm resting against your midriff and his fingers brushing soft circles into your skin. You hummed in response, trying to stay focused on the movie that was playing.

"It makes no sense," Steve pointed out from the opposite couch, his legs kicked up high on the cushions as he munched on some popcorn, "It's so outrageous, there's no way this could happen." Steve explained, looking in complete disbelief. You stifled a laugh, used to the way he seemed to overanalyze movies.

Billy glanced towards him; his eyebrow raised in disbelief before he nestled himself back against your cheek. You grinned at the feeling, slowly reaching your hand up to touch the stubble on his face. You grinned at the feeling as he shuffled you closer to his chest.

"I think it makes sense," You whispered towards Billy, tilting your head a bit so you could meet his startling blue eyes. You liked the way they looked in the night, how they seemed to shine, "I like it so far." Billy chuckled.

"It's not bad," He turned his head to press a kiss against the corner of your mouth, earning a grin from you, "I like holding you better." You giggled as his fingertips found your ticklish ribs.

"Billy," You laughed, thrashing against him as he continued to tickle you. You kicked your legs a bit, still laughing until he finally released his grip from you, "Stop it." You told him seriously between spurts of laughter.

"You two are disgusting," Steve spit out a second later, shaking his head as he looked towards you two, "Seriously, can we not do that here?" He asked, sounding like he was begging a little bit. You felt your body warming, feeling a little embarrassed as you nodded your head in agreement.

Billy decided otherwise as he tilted your head towards him, making sure Steve was still watching before he placed a sloppy kiss against your lips. You squealed as his tongue licked at your lips and dipped into your mouth. You found yourself giggling again as Steve aimed a handful of popcorn at the two of you.

"Watch it," Billy warned him as he pulled away, a trail of spit connecting between the two of you, "Your housekeeper will have to clean that up." He said dryly, watching the way Steve pushed his thick hair back and rolled his eyes.

You snuggled up into Billy's arms again, hiding your smile underneath the blanket as you turned your attention back towards the movie. Billy settled behind you, rubbing your sides gently as the room fell silent again.

You felt your eyes widening, a sense of awkwardness filling you as the actress on the movie began to undress. You flickered your eyes away, feeling a bit embarrassed as she became topless. When you looked back towards the screen, she was beginning to undress her love interest.

Your eyes flickered over towards Steve, watching the way he had paused with a hand of popcorn near his lips. You rolled your eyes a bit, feeling a grin forming at how easily your friend could grow distracted. Billy hummed softly behind you, his fingertips tracing up the length of your nightgown.

"What are you doing?" You whispered quietly, turning your head a bit so you could face him. He hushed you quickly, his fingers playing with the hem of your panties. You exhaled softly, your own sound of pleasure covered by the actress's moan as his fingers brushed against your clit. You stared at him, wide eyed as he looked down at you with darkening blue eyes.

"Your cunt is so wet," Billy breathed against your neck, his voice raw as his fingers dipped between your folds, "Have you been wet this whole time?" He teased you, his lips dragging across your skin as he spoke. You gulped hard, pretending to watch the movie so Steve wouldn't become aware of what was happening underneath the blankets.

"Steve's right there," You warned your boyfriend, unsure of the mischievous look that spread across his lips. You bit down on your own hard, feeling another moan forming in the base of your stomach as two of his thick fingers pushed inside of your fluttering cunt, "We'll get caught." You breathed out slowly, feeling the need to cover your mouth as he rocked his fingers inside of you.

"Well then don't be loud," Billy smirked as he pressed his lips against the corner of your mouth. He slowly flicked his tongue up, licking the curve of your lips, "Surely you can handle my fingers without turning into a little whore?" You nodded your head quickly, your body already feeling warm as he curled his fingers inside of you.

You did your best to keep quiet as he fingered you, slowly stretching out your fluttering cunt as his other hand searched higher underneath your nightgown. You bit your lip hard as his large, rough hand found your tits. He slowly moved them in circles, his fingertips just barely grazing over them as they hardened against the material of your nightgown.

You gulped hard, finding it hard to stay quiet as he continued to tease you. His lips were leaving rough kisses against the side of your neck as you began to grind your hips down against his thick fingers. A soft groan left your lips as you pressed against his hardening cock.

He was grinding himself up behind you, rubbing his hard bulge against your ass as he groped your tits and fingered your wet cunt roughly. You were having a hard time keeping your moans to yourself as you imagined Billy easily sliding his cock inside of your drenched heat. You wanted him so badly. You weren't sure you could take any more of his teasing.

"Shit," Steve drew you away from your thoughts as your eyes widened in worry, fearing that you had been caught, "I'm out of popcorn." He whined like a small child. You found your own whine forming as Billy withdrew his fingers from your cunt.

"We'll get you some," He sat up quickly, "I need another beer anyways." He came up with an alibi, as he nudged you up towards the kitchen. You followed him, your cunt feeling unbearably wet as you nearly ran into the kitchen.

You were all too eager as you gripped the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you until your lips met in a messy fury of tongue and teeth. You sighed, lifting your leg up towards his hip as he began to grind his bulging cock against your sensitive clothed cunt.

You whimpered at the sensation, shutting your eyes for a moment as your clit throbbed against the material of your underwear. When you looked at him he was grinning as his lips traveled down the curve of your neck.

“Shh,” His lips were dragging across your skin painfully slow, a line of saliva tickling you as he moved, “Don’t want Stevie to know, do you?” His finger was pressing down against your clit, rubbing it in slow deep circles as your hips slowly moved forward to meet his movements.

"No," You breathed out truthfully, rocking your hips forward to grind against his fingers. Your cunt was soaked, leaking against your panties as Billy continued to tease you, "Please fuck me." You moaned softly, feeling desperate to have his cock pressed deep inside of you.

"Such a naughty little slut," Billy smirked as he lifted your nightgown above your hips and began to pull your panties down the curve of your thighs. He sighed, leaning you over the counter a bit so he could fully admire your puffy pussy. He groaned, dipping his fingers between your folds again as if he was the first time he had looked at you, "All mine." He groaned as he shuffled forward, placing the head of his cock between your glistening walls.

You whimpered, gripping the counter as you glanced back towards the living room. Your mouth parted in awe and you did your best to keep quiet as his thick cock stretched your needy walls. You felt your eyes rolling back as the pleasure took a hold of you.

"Billy," You whispered into the night air, careful not to disturb Steve's movie, "Move." You begged him, wanting to feel him pressing deep inside of your fluttering cunt. You were done with the teasing. You were sure you'd explode if he continued his little game.

Billy chuckled as he delivered a swift smack against your backside before he gripped your flesh roughly in his hand. He sighed, rubbing his hand up the curve of your hip as he slowly bottomed himself inside of your wet cunt. You whimpered, your knuckles turning white from how tightly you were gripping the counter. You pressed yourself back, desperate to feel more of him inside you.

"Look at you," Billy grinned as his hands caressed up the length of your body. He sighed deeply, licking his lips in bliss as his balls pressed up against your skin. He squeezed your hips hard before he was pulling you back against his chest, grinding you down along his thick cock, "So fucking desperate for me." He mumbled as he kissed the curve of your neck, sucking against your sensitive skin.

"Need you all the time," You cried out in bliss, pressing your hips backwards in an urge to push him deeper inside of you. You whimpered again, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as his cock repeatedly hit against your bundle of nerves. You weren't sure how long you'd be able to last with him acting like this, "Feels so good." You whimpered, your toes curling against the tiled floor as his tip pressed against your bundle of nerves.

Billy groaned softly, his voice rumbling in your ear as he built up a steady rhythm. His fingertips dug into your hips, holding you in place as he dragged you along the length of his cock. Your jaw fell slack, your mind going fuzzy with how good he felt stretching your walls.

You knitted your eyebrows together, trying to hold back a whine as he pressed you forward, knocking you against the counter so your toes were dragging along the tiles. You gasped, holding onto the other side of the counter as you glanced back at him.

His blue eyes were dark as one hand snaked up your sides, moving up further until he was cupping one your tits in his hand. He groaned softly, moving his fingers against your nipple roughly as he continued to drag his cock inside of your fluttering walls.

"Billy," You whispered, whimpering lamely as he continued to hit that spot that made you see stars. You knew you were taking to long, but you couldn't help it. He felt so good, you wanted to savor every sweet second with him, "Fuck, don't stop." You pleaded with him, begging as his lips curled up into a smirk.

He leaned forward, his hand moving up until he was gripping the base of your neck. You gaped, your eyes widening as he gave you a light squeeze. He pressed his fingertips up against your chin until he reached your lips, parting them.

You opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out wide as you slowly met his hazy eyes. He groaned as he leaned forward, spitting a glob of saliva directly on your tongue. You swirled his warm spit in your mouth before you swallowed it, feeling twice as needy.

"Whore," He teased as he lightly smacked the side of your cheek. You whimpered, bearing your weight on your tippy toes so you could grind yourself back onto his thick cock, "Such a pretty little thing." He whispered, sending shivers up your back.

It was getting harder to control your sounds as you felt yourself clenching around him. You could feel every curve, every vein as your pussy clamped down on him. He sighed in bliss, dragging you backwards from the counter. You felt yourself beginning to protest, feeling the need to cry as he roughly changed your position.

He lifted you harshly, gripping your backside as you wrapped your ankles around his waist. You were a whimpering mess, your cunt squeezing his thick cock as he pressed you roughly against the wall. Your head hung back in pure bliss as you savored the way his cock stretched your walls.

"Oh god," You whined as you rocked your hips forward and dug your heels into his backside. You needed more of him, completely desperate to feel him pulsing inside of you. He grunted, pressing his forehead against yours as he moved roughly inside you, "You feel so good." You whined in bliss, looking up to meet his darkening blue eyes.

He moaned near your lips, his warm breath coating over your face as he clawed at your hips. He sighed, pulling you closer as he continued to press the tip of his cock against your bundle of nerves. You whimpered, rolling your hips roughly as you begged for more of him.

"That's it baby," He grunted harshly, one of his hands squeezing the back of your thighs, "You look so pretty all dumb on my cock." He groaned, licking your neck softly. You whimpered, gripping a hold of his blonde curls as your back rubbed against the wall from his strong thrusts.

"Want it so bad," You breathed out, moving your face close to his, "Make me cum, please baby." You begged, beginning to feel the muscles in your stomach coming undone. You whined, rolling your hips forward as you listened to the way your cunt was engulfing his cock. You tugged on his hair, whining as you felt your high coming down around you.

"Such a dirty whore," He chastised you, turning your face so that you were looking at him. Billy grunted as he rolled his hips forward, pushing his cock deeper inside of your fluttering walls. You exhaled deeply, your nipples rubbing against your nightgown, "Letting me fuck you while Steve is so close by. Greedy little slut." You whimpered at his words, only feeling fueled on as you began to grind your hips against him.

"Your dirty little whore," You nodded your head in confirmation as you felt your walls fluttering around his pulsing cock. You licked at your lips, keeping your saliva at bay, "Oh my god." You cried out, feeling the pleasure snapping inside of you as you came down around his cock. You moaned loudly, your cunt squeezing his cock harshly as you rocked against him.

"Fuck," He breathed out harshly, his lips brushing against yours as his movements became rougher. He gripped behind your hips, lifting you up higher as he fucked into you harder. Your head hit the back of the wall again as he searched for his high, "Fuck, so fucking good." He grunted in bliss as his hips began to stall. He pressed his body completely against yours as he came with a loud grunt. He filled you, his spunk coating your walls as he throbbed inside of you.

He panted loudly, his chest moving in unison as his warm breath coated your lips. You closed your eyes, enjoying the way you felt as he kept you in position against the wall. You giggled softly, rubbing your fingertips along his muscular skin.

You opened your eyes to meet his grinning face. You swirled your finger around his blonde, sweaty curls before you pressed your lips against his softly. You sighed in awe, feeling at peace when the sound of footsteps pulled the two of you apart.

"Jesus," Steve looked between the two of you in disgust, "If you wanted private time, all you had to do was ask."

[bumblingest-bee]

just saw assassins at my local community theatre!!! and i thought my fellow assassins fans would like to hear about it bc it was genuinely wonderful.

before the show started there was a medley of classic american showtunes about optimism and dreams playing somewhat creepily as everyone came in

the set used strips of draped fabric that looked like they came from a huge american flag to create a simple but effective circus-tent vibe. there were sideshow style posters up for things like "DEAD PRESIDENT FROM THE GRAVE" and "THE ELECTRIC CHAIR LADY!"

the proprietor was impeccably cast. handsome as hell with a big all-american tv show host smile and nothing behind the eyes.

the presidents were represented by the ensemble holding up photos of said presidents, which led to a hilarious moment after unworthy of your love where hinckley is converged upon by a multitude of ronald reagans chanting "there you go again! there you go again!" which incidentally is a scene from my nightmares

some of the standouts in the cast were czolgosz, who delivered the single best version of the bottle monologue i've ever heard, and byck, who was frighteningly believable and intense. guiteau was also very funny with impeccable comic timing and delivery

the balladeer can only be described as an elderly butch lesbian dressed as a cowboy. she was delightful and had a gorgeous powerful voice, however they only changed the keys of some of the songs for her! half the time she was singing so low it was hardly audible. nonetheless she was great and i want to shake the hand of whoever cast her. and she played her own guitar!!

fromme and moore were hilarious together. i loved them both but i thought the angle that the actress playing squeaky went for resulted in losing some of the vulnerability that makes her character compelling. otherwise they were just a brilliant duo and got the comedic nuances that a lot of other actors miss

the only gripe i really had was with booth, who (although he had the PERFECT voice, genuinely really really impressive) i thought at first was playing it too foppish and goofy to really pull off the gravitas that sells the show in the final sequence. and yet he came through in the end! i was so relieved when he pulled off the book depository scene.

which leads me to their oswald. he brought something i think a lot of actors don't, which is the fact that oswald's a little bit unhinged already. like this guy walked onstage, scrawny and shifty-eyed and nervous, with his ribs literally showing through his t-shirt, and i immediately was able to believe that this is someone so miserable and down on his luck that he's willing to kill for a scrap of attention or admiration. he was so intense and unnervingly hyperactive that it got uncomfortable to watch (which is a good thing in assassins).

i don't know if it was the small space of the theatre or just the fact that i was experiencing it live for the first time, but everything from another national anthem to the end was so emotionally raw and intense that it was overwhelming. i thought that since i know the show so well it would lose the ability to chill me. it didn't. i felt every single moment of that show and it was wonderful.

[babybluebex]

kicker | joseph quinn blurb

just a little blurb about pregnant!reader and dad!joe feeling your baby kick for the first time :) i know i haven't been very active recently and i apologize about that, work and school are killing me. hopefully i can crunch out some more blurbs and just be able to post something more frequently lol

“Joe,” you called, craning your neck to direct your voice down the hall. Joe had been in his office for most of the day, in various meetings and studying scripts, and, even though you wanted him to focus on his work, this demanded his attention. “Joe!”

“Yes, lover?” your boyfriend called from down the hall, and you pressed your hand to your swollen belly, excitement bubbling in your chest. 

“Come here!” you told him. “The baby’s kicking!” 

You heard Joe quickly scoot his chair out from his desk and pad down the hallway in his socks, and you grinned when you saw him, curls spilling messily onto his forehead, his glasses perched on his nose. “C’mere,” you directed him, ushering him close to you. Your movie was all but forgotten as Joe crouched on the floor next to you, and he slowly reached his hand out for your tummy. 

“M’nervous,” Joe said softly. 

“What?” you asked. “Why?” You rubbed your belly, feeling the fluttering kicks again, and you smiled down at yourself. “It’s just your baby kicking, don’t you wanna feel it?” 

“I do,” Joe said. “But… What if something’s wrong? Does it hurt?” 

“Not really,” you told him. “It just sorta tickles, really, feels like the butterflies. If something was wrong, I think I would be able to tell. He’s just moving around, baby, that’s all.”

Joe’s dark eyes were big and wide as he swallowed thickly, and he settled his warm palm on your belly, the same stretched skin that he dutifully massaged cocoa butter into every night after your bath. Joe was already an amazing father, attentive and sweet and understanding— if you wanted something, he would get it; if you wanted cuddles, he would give them; if you gave him a list of chores to do, things you could no longer do yourself, he would do them. And he never complained. He did everything you asked him to without a single word otherwise, and it made your love for him grow more and more every day. 

The moment Joe’s hand touched your skin, that ticklish butterfly feeling came back, and you watched Joe’s face fall into one of glee, his eyes bright and a grin on his lips. “Oh, wow,” he said softly. “Hi there, Baby. It’s me, it’s your daddy. Can you tell?” Another kick landed on his palm, this one firmer, making you jump a little bit, and you tittered out a laugh as Joe let out his signature gremlin chortle. “You’re a kicker, huh? Leave your poor Mummy’s ribs be.” 

“Too late,” you grimaced in jest, and you settled your hand on top of Joe’s, lightly taking his fingers into your grasp. “Oh, Joe. That’s your baby in there.” 

“Our baby,” Joe told you, his eyes falling onto yours with a gentle gaze. “We made him together.” 

“I know,” you said softly. Another kick hit his palm, and Joe leaned forward and kissed your belly, taking in your sweet perfume before he parted. “I love you so, so much. My darling boy.” 

“Aw, hell,” Joe said, his cheeks turning pink with the praise. “Thank you, lover. I love you too. And you too, Little Man.” He kissed your skin again, and you ruffled up his hair as your son kicked again. “I wonder if he can tell it’s me.”

“Probably,” you answered. “It sure seems like he knows. He wasn’t kicking too much before you came, just once or twice. But now he’s kicking up a storm.”

Joe’s cheeks went even darker, now with the tips of his ears, and he said, “I can’t wait to properly meet you.” 

[valleyrunearchives]

MedBay Mayhem

Rating: Teen and Up Fandom: Call of Duty (MWII) Pairings: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley Warnings: None

Chapter 1/1

Being a sniper, Ghost is used to waking up in odd places. Usually it’s whenever he’s closed his eyes for a few minutes to catch a couple of winks while waiting for a target in some sniper nest he’s made. He’s also woken up on rooftops and trees just because he used them to escape the insanity of the base’s occupants.

His least favorite place to wake up is in the MedBay.

Or

After a tough mission, Ghost wakes up in the MedBay.

Check out my Ko-fi!

Being a sniper, Ghost is used to waking up in odd places. Usually it’s whenever he’s closed his eyes for a few minutes to catch a couple of winks while waiting for a target in some sniper nest he’s made. He’s also woken up on rooftops and trees just because he used them to escape the insanity of the base’s occupants. Once he even woke up in Johnny’s bed after the scot had found him outside in one of the trees and brought him in. How Johnny had managed to carry a man of his size in without waking him up, Ghost has no idea. Never mind that he somehow got Ghost out of the tree without waking him as well. It was actually quite impressive. 

His least favorite place to wake up is in the MedBay. 

Most of the times when it happens, he can recall what landed him there. This is one of the outliers where he has no idea how he got here or even remembers exactly what he did to land himself there. He only knows that he hurts all over and it smells like that awful antiseptic smell that he hates so damn much. When he finally manages to pry his eyes open from where they felt like they were stuck together with glue, his arms are the first thing that catches his attention. They’re covered in thick, slightly pinkish bandages. His sleeve of tattoos is barely visible even from the edge of it from how wrapped they are. He attempts to take a deep breath only to wince as his chest constricts from the motion. Broken ribs? Or just badly bruised? 

“Simon?” 

He turns his head to the side to see Johnny sitting in one of the MedBay’s chairs at his bedside. He blinks at him for a minute as it takes his brain a moment to fully register him, “Johnny?”

“Aye. It’s me, Ghost,” The Scotsman scoots the chair up closer so he can slightly lean into Ghost’s space, “Are ye feelin’ alright?”

“Like I was hit by a train, to be perfectly honest. Otherwise, I’m alive. What exactly happened? How did I end up in the MedBay?” He shifted a bit to try and sit up. Johnny stops him and instead uses a small remote laid beside Ghost to raise the head of the bed up. Fancy. Ghost doesn’t remember the MedBay beds having them the last time he was sent here. He groans quietly to himself as his spine shifts from the movement of laying to sitting. He’s going to be so stiff when he gets released. 

He turns his attention back to Johnny as the other man sets the remote back down. He takes note of the almost forlorn expression on his face. That doesn’t seem good. He narrows his eyes at him, “What? What’s that look for?”

“Ye really don’t remember?” Soap asks quietly. 

“No? Should I?” He responds, almost snappily. What was Soap implying? Did something happen? 

Soap’s hands clench where they were clutching onto one another, “Aye. Aye ye should.” 

“Well,” Ghost huffs impatiently, crossing his arms as best as he can with the IV and all the bandages, “I don’t. So enlighten me.” 

The scot’s face twists up into something akin to both anger and anguish. It causes something in Ghost’s chest to lurch. “So ye don’t remember the mission?” He starts, voice low and calm in a way that’s almost frightening, “Ye don’t remember the enemy forces near swarming ye? Ye don’t remember ye demanding me tae set the charges I planted off, knowing full well that you would be caught in the explosion zone? Ye don’t remember the ceiling damn near collapsin’ on ye?! And me havin’ tae drag ye out by the straps of yaer vest?!”

“Johnny-”  He winces as his attempt to stop the man is met with Soap slamming his fists down hard on the bed, “Dammit Ghost! Why the bloody hell would ye do that!? Why would ye make me do that?!” 

“Johnny…” He tries again. 

Soap ducks his head to rest his forehead on the bed between his fists. The breath he takes is shaky, seemingly just a second away from crying. “Why Ghost… Why…” He mumbles into the mattress. 

He knows Johnny isn’t expecting an answer but gives him one anyway, “Because it was the only way.”

“Bullshite!” Soap spits. 

“It was, Johnny. It had to be then or it would’ve been never. If they had gotten away just because I could’ve been caught in the crossfire, there was no way I wasn’t going to make the same decision I did today.” 

Johnny sniffles a bit, “Nae today.” 

“Pardon?” He asks, confused.

“Nae today,” he repeats, back to that forlorn expression as he sits up fully again, “Three days ago. You’ve been out ever since the blast. Thought I’d killed ye… or put ye in a coma…” 

He winces a bit at that. He’s been out for three days? Shite, that makes Johnny’s fury even more justified. He sighs and runs a hand down his face, feeling a few more bandages on his face. Probably a few scrapes from debris hitting him in the apparent blast he subjected himself to. Still, his mind hasn’t changed. “Yesterday, today, or tomorrow; Regardless of the day, I would’ve made the same choice I did three days ago. It was either them with me or me with them. And I’d rather go out on my own terms.”

“And what aboot me? And Price? Gaz? Ale and Rudy? Do none of us mean nothin’ tae ye?” He shakes his head, “How do ye think we would’ve handled your death? Aye it may have taken out our targets, but your loss would’ve been far greater than that victory…”

His heart aches now at the tone the other has, “Johnny…”

“Nae… I can’t do this. Not right now. I’ve been here for three days, waitin’ for ye to wake up so I could smack ye across the back of the haed. Now it turns out it was all for nothin apparently,” The scot chuckles bitterly to himself, “Figures… Nothin’ moves the big, bad Ghost after all.” 

Soap stands up and starts heading out of the room. Simon is immediately flushed with the feeling that he doesn’t want to be alone. He reaches out a hand, calling, “Johnny! Wait! Don’t go!”

The other man stops and turns his head back to look over his shoulder, “I’ll be back. I just need a wee bit of space. I’ll tell yer nurse that you’re awake. They’ll bring you something to eat, I’m sure.”

Simon calls out again in one last attempt to get Johnny to stay. The man doesn’t listen and leaves the room without another word or look at Simon. Simon sighs heavily and lets his whole body go limp on the bed, “Fuck I stuffed that up…” 

He stares up at the ceiling blankly; Feeling more alone than he has in such a long time. How can he possibly fix this? An apology doesn’t seem like enough at this point… Not even for someone as kind as Soap is.  

[idontknowreallywhy]

Father’s Day - Aftermath continued

There have been some… demands. Mainly relating to that hug a certain someone desperately needed after this and this so… your wish is my command (and you are all dreadful enablers - I was absolutely intending to clean the bathroom this eve but I wrote this instead)

💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️

He didn’t hear them approach. Perhaps they had upped their combined stealth game or he’d been too caught up in his own thoughts. Either way the tentative “Scotty?” from Alan made him jump and some guilty impulse caused him to throw the card out of his hands and over the edge of the balcony.

A split second later, another impulse had him hopelessly grabbing for it and allowed a faint whine of distress to escape as it was caught by the swirling sea breeze and drifted towards the pool.

Alan and Gordon appeared at either side and they stood together in silence to watch its descent. Scott absolutely did not let out a sigh of relief as, at the last moment, some heaven-sent zephyr nudged it away from the water and underneath a sun lounger. He did not do that because he was going to burn it anyway and the pool might have saved him a job.

Gordon clearly failed to comprehend how Scott had been completely uninvested in the fate of the card and chuckled as he nudged his shoulder and said “We could have written you another one, Scoots.”

Scott’s grip tightened on the railing “No! You mustn’t! I mean it was sweet… thank you! But you shouldn’t… I didn’t… you can’t think…”

That thing about the words and the brothers again. He could sense them making eye contact behind his neck. Scott bit his tongue to halt the incoherent mess and took a deep breath to try again…

… which was immediately forced out of his lungs by the double envelopment of his rib cage. His intercostal muscles stood no chance against four well-developed arms with a point to make and no further words were possible, well chosen and coherent or otherwise.

“You DID and we CAN.” Gordon declared.

“We do!” Alan chipped in.

“But…” Scott wheezed.

“No buts.” Gordon growled.

“But…”

They squeezed tighter.

“Huuuuuhhhhhh… Need… breathe…”

The squeezing lessened marginally.

“Fine, but only if you don’t argue.”

“I… okok.”

The pressure was reduced enough for him to gasp in a decent breath, lift his arms and drop them around their shoulders to apply some crushing affection of his own. Some time passed, he wasn’t sure how much.

“I do love you both, you know that right?”

“Course we do!”

“You never let us doubt it, Scotty.”

“Oh… good. That’s good.”

He closed his eyes and savoured the moment for nearly a whole-moment-and-a-half before the guilt crept back in.

“I’m sorry guys, I…”

“Scott, don’t make me crush you again because I can and I will.”

“I don’t doubt it. Honestly though…” - he powered on through the brown-eyed glare from his left armpit because all of a sudden a little flare of hope had lit in his chest and refused to be quashed by common sense and he needed to know, needed to hear if it could possibly be true - “… you really think… I did ok?”

The Tinies lost their synchronisation then, as Alan yelled “YESSSS!” in Scott’s right ear and Gordon head butted his clavicle with a growled string of very military phrases disparaging his ability to understand the most basic of concepts.

Bruised and half-deafened, Scott allowed himself the smallest smile. He was mildly distracted by a faint clicking sound before Alan caught his attention again.

“The Bestest. That’s what it said, Scotty.”

“Allie, you do know that isn’t a word, right?”

“Meh, it’s word-adjacent. And hey, I’m 18 now, you don’t get to police my language anymore!”

Scott snorted “Try telling that to Grandma.”

There was some chuckling. Then he sighed “But it’s going to be better now he’s back.”

Gordon huffed then pulled back from the hug a little to frown at him.

“Yeah but you do understand that isn’t because it wasn’t good enough with you? Right?”

“But he’s DAD.”

Gordon seemed to be chewing on something so Scott ploughed on.

“Dad! Your actual Dad! Look, when he’s fully fit, you’ll know what I mean. It’s going to be way better, the way it was always supposed to be.”

Alan had gone a little stiff under his arm and was looking over at Gordon who cleared his throat and grabbed Scott’s hand where it still rested on his shoulder.

“Scott, I’m really glad you got your Dad back. And I’m thrilled that we got him back too. He’s amazing and we love him so much. But I think I speak for both of us…?” Gordon paused and looked at Alan who nodded vigorously “when I say it was always you. Even before… all the Guardian business… you were always there, dadding away like you weren’t just supposed to be our big bro. School stuff, swimming stuff, getting me out of trouble stuff…”

“You taught me to ride my bike and read me stories every night.” Alan gazed up at him with the very same eyes that had demanded just one more story, only the gleam in them was wiser and more determined now.

“Yeah, all that… The important stuff. We know he did his best but he was really busy and you were never too busy for us. Never. And we know how hard you tried when we were assholes and we knew you kept loving us and that’s the thing. Right, Al?”

“Yeah that’s the most important thing and you were definitely the bestest at that.”

Scott felt hot and cold and heavy and buoyant all at once. The words had now utterly failed him so he just held both little brothers as tightly as he could and hoped that would communicate what was needed.

“You’re having a hugging-Scott party and didn’t invite us?”

Virgil’s amused rumble from behind him gave barely a second’s warning before his much bigger little brother added his own muscle to the proceedings and pulled the little group back from the railings to allow John to slip in and cover Scott’s front. A beat, and then a slight grunt from the heavy lifter as Kayo leaped onto his back and wrapped her arms around Scott’s forehead.

Entirely smothered by siblings, his head light and his heart little more than a pulsating puddle of goop in his chest, the tiniest giggle escaped Scott. It looked back and beckoned to its little friends who fell over each other on their way to freedom and were eventually steamrollered by a full-throated cackle as pure intoxicating relief poured out of him.

He’d done ok.

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Down on the pool deck, in the shadow of the balcony, a man leaned quietly on his cane and drank in the incomparably beautiful sound of his children laughing together.

[1nsan3]

River Cartwright x Reader

I wrote this scene to go into the long River x Reader fic I'm writing but it ended up not fitting so I'm just going to post it on it's own!

Rating: G

Words: 405

River shows up at your door absolutely battered and bruised.

“God not again,” you gesture him in and out of the rain.

He smiles at you, but it’s obvious he’s in pain.

“I hope you’ll still sleep with me when I’m covered in blood.” You laugh, handing him an ice pack.

“I think I actually find you more attractive when you’re beaten to a pulp.” A brief glint shines in his eyes as he laughs before wincing in pain.

“I don’t know if that bodes well for me.” You smile and shake your head before grabbing the rubbing alcohol. “This is, um, going to hurt a bit.”

“Yeah I know. Just get it over with,” River winces when you tap the alcohol to his temple, but stays quiet otherwise.

“How’d this happen anyways?” you ask, grabbing a bandage. Tenderly you hold his face still as you bandage his wounds.

“Oh you know, the usual,” he says as he fiddles with the bandages.

“Oi! Leave ‘em alone. I might not be a good agent but I am a decent nurse. Now take this and go lie down.” You hand him some nondescript pills and point him to your couch, settling next to him.

“You’re a good agent,” 

“What?” You’re unsure if you’ve heard him correctly, his speech is mumbled by the fact that he’s clearly been punched in the mouth. 

“I said, you’re a good agent.” This time his message is clear, and it makes you blush but you resist the urge to hide your face.

“Thanks. Not sure what it means coming from you, but thanks.” 

“Oh fuck off,” River laughs. It ends in a wheeze from his bruised ribs but your smile is worth it. The meds must be kicking in because he reaches out to grab your hand, pulling you closer to him. You go willingly, the action spurring a warm feeling in your chest. River is almost never this affectionate with you. You settle your other hand on his stomach, one of the only places he’s not injured. Moving his hand up your arm he settles it at the base of your skull, pulling you to rest in the crook of his neck. You rest your forehead on his collarbone, breathing in the smell of disinfectant and his aftershave. Mostly you’re just glad that River is okay, but you can’t lie and say you aren’t reveling in the attention he’s showing you.

[jackactuallywrites]

Drunk and Disorderly

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x you

Rating: Mild, no smut or gore

Warnings: Mostly chill, Ghost does yell a bit— although you do have to exercise 😔

Summary: You’re working on breach (as in doors not babies) exercises and Ghost is overseeing yet again (sus)

Notes: I know I haven’t updated in forever but in my defence I wasn’t feeling it. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2343

ao3 link

You were starting to think that Ghost might be following you.

Of course, this might have been fuelled in part by your deep desire for the man’s attention; after all, there were a dozen reasons that a Lieutenant would be overseeing another training exercise, none of which had to do with you, but you liked to believe otherwise.

“If you spend the whole time mooning over him, I’ll put you in a headlock again.” Katy didn’t seem to feel at all the same about Ghost’s presence, her square jaw set in defiance as she sized up the men around her, always ready to prove how worthy she was of her place in the forces. Elle pulled a face at Katy, “Sourpuss. Let the woman dream.” Elle looked at the large, nondescript grey building, “I mean, there’s all sorts of nooks and crannies in these practice buildings, plenty of places for you two to sneak off to and shag.” A soldier nearby turned around, his brow raised questioningly, and you elbowed Elle in the ribs, “Queen of subtlety, you are! Just shout it from the barracks, why don’t you?” She hummed, “You know what, that’s a good idea!” As she opened her mouth to shout, you elbowed her in the ribs again, and she grinned, squirming away from you, “Well then, don’t tell me to!”

Katy snapped her fingers, “My God, is that all you two think about?” She tapped her fingers on her thighs excitedly as she walked, “We’re practising breaches. You can fuck a soldier any day. But you don’t get to play around with explosives every day.” You paused, “I- What? Babe, you’re literally part of the bomb squad.” Katy rolled her eyes, “Yeah, I get to drive around a little robot all day. They don’t let me blow shit up for fun. Except for today. And I’m not letting you two dickheads ruin it for me.” Elle pouted, but the two of you acquiesced, quieting as you walked along behind Katy, a pair of troublesome chicks behind the mother hen.

It was as though you were back in secondary school, the way the three of you clung together in the desperate hope that you’d be able to stick together as a group, and luckily for you, you did. Better yet, the commanding officer assigned three more women to your little group, two of whom you’d met before, the third a new face. Elle seemed to have sized up the other women as potential suitors, though by the slightly morose look on her face, you assumed her self-described ‘gaydar’ wasn’t giving her the results she wanted. Katy had clocked another ammunition technician and was already deep in conversation about the intricacies of ordnance and munitions, and Elle had swiftly gotten over the lack of romance and was happily chatting away with the other two, leaving you to scan the crowd, looking for Ghost.

It wasn’t hard to find him; his mask made for quite a distinctive look, though he was turned away from you, his hands wrapped around the straps of his tactical vest, busy talking with the officers around him. Though Elle gave you a subtle look out the corner of her eye, she knew enough not to make any mention of your quiet crush on Ghost in front of the other soldiers, allowing you to pine for the man silently.

You hadn’t seen him since your night out at the club, but the memory was still pristine in your mind: the way the two of you had danced, the jumper you still had bundled up underneath your bed, as well as the one under your pillow, the way he’d brushed his hand against your cheek so intimately. There was something between the two of you, no doubt about it, but as to what it was, you had no idea. It was no secret that there were fairly strict rules about fraternisation between ranks, even if they weren’t always followed, and Ghost had toed the professional line carefully; he’d danced with you and showed some tenderness in the way he asked after your injury, and brushed your cheek, yet the same could be said for Katy or Elle, and you hadn’t any plans on shagging either of them. What you wanted was confirmation, a solid sign of what Ghost’s intentions were, but unless you outright asked the man, you weren’t likely to get an answer.

Unfortunately for you, Ghost seemed to be able to sense your not-so-subtle staring at him, his head slightly turning, his eyes flicking from soldier to soldier until they finally landed on you. Even from a distance, his gaze seemed to pin you in place, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, and what was wrong with you? You were a soldier and a damned good one at that, and here you were, weak at the knees because some man was looking at you. He hadn’t even so much as kissed you, but even still, he was ever-present in the back of your mind, a forbidden fantasy to get you to sleep at night and to keep you going through boring tasks during the day.

Ghost was the one to break eye contact first, turning back to the officers and sending them out to start off the event, leaving you pining after him, wishing for him to look back at you. Once again, you caught the daydream in its tracks, forcing yourself to focus on the officers as they talked about the exact machinations of the task at hand, describing how you would be breaching the door and entering one after the other, making sure to check your corners. You could see in Katy’s posture, the way she was bouncing on her tiptoes, that she was desperate to start, the last word barely out of the instructor's mouth before she was pulling your little group forward to be the first into the house.

How it had gone so atrociously wrong, you weren’t entirely sure. Katy had placed the door breaches perfectly, and once they’d gone off, Elle had led the way into the house, kicking the door open with a well-placed boot, and the four of you had been ready to charge into the room to clear it when the door had been kicked back into Elle’s face, and that moment had knocked the front of your train of people off balance, though the momentum was still going forward, so you’d ended up as a dogpile on the dusty concrete floor, the soldiers playing the enemy surrounding you easily.

Naturally, you all thought it was hilarious. After all, you’d all practically flattened Elle, and she’d made a hamster-pitched squeak as she was pinned under three bodies, and it had been quite the effort to wriggle out from the tangle of limbs, feet stepped on, elbows accidentally colliding with faces as you struggled to your feet.

On any other day, that would have been it: a laugh and then a friendly correction by the officers before you tried again, but this was not one of those days. Ghost was at the head of the group of ‘enemy’ soldiers, his eyes expressing that of thunderous rage as he glared down at your small group. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen such anger, the amusement in your little group dying instantly, huddling closer together to weather the shitstorm that you all knew was about to rain down on your heads.

Elle was the first to receive his wrath, his gloved finger pointed at her as he delivered his judgment, his voice starting level yet raising in intensity as he went on, “That was absolutely fucking appalling. Corners. The first thing we teach you is corners, and you don’t check your fucking corner? What the fuck are you playing at?” Katy, having been the second after Elle, spoke in her defence, “Sir, with all due respect, this was my mistake-“ Ghost jabbed his finger at her, “Did I ask your opinion? She fucked up, you fucked up, you two absolutely cocked it up. Not a single one of you would have survived. Because of,” he pointed at Elle and Kate, “your idiocy, you would have gotten all of your squad mates killed. And you think this is funny?” Ghost or not, you weren’t about to let your girls take the blame, “Sir, it’s not just on them.” His eyes snapped to you like a hawk, and you couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the fury his gaze held, his eyes dark, “Not a fucking word.”

You could feel that flaming attraction beginning to falter slightly; you could excuse the mask, the reputation, and the being from Manchester, but not even god herself could slate your girls and get off scot-free. Your jaw clenched as you stared at Ghost defiantly, a battle of wills being fought silently in your locked gaze.

Impossibly, Ghost looked away first. Ghost, man of few words and numbered kills, averted his gaze. He sighed, tucking his thumbs behind the straps of his armoured vest, “Listen. You’re under my protection. Even the slightest fuck up means you could get killed out there.” His eyes found yours again, “I can’t abide anything happening to you. So I will be hard on you because I can’t allow failure. Alright?” Katy glanced back at you, her brows furrowed, but she didn’t question what she’d picked up on, turning back to Ghost and nodding, “Aye, sir.” The rest of your group of girls added their agreements, and Ghost pointed at the door, spinning his finger, “Let’s go again.”

You weren’t sure that you’d ever been run through so aggressively. Every single soldier had to take a turn at each role, breaching a different room in the building until you were sure the layout was imprinted in every one of your heads, and Ghost shouting ‘corners, left, right, sweep’ would be the lullaby to get you all to sleep at night. Elle didn’t even have the energy to make any snarky comments about Ghost riding you all, sitting down in the shower as you sat on the floor outside of it. “Babe.” You groaned in response to her, “I know, I know. He’s a fucking psycho.” Kate snorted from the bedroom, “One day. One day of hard work, and you two are whinging this much?” You picked yourself up from the floor, pulling the towel from around your hair and setting it back on the radiator to dry as you walked back into the main room, flopping down onto your bed, “You’re telling me you do this every day?” Kate shrugged, “If I wanted to sit on my ass, I would have worked in an office.” “This wasn’t extreme to you?”

A sharp rap at the door broke your conversation, and you sighed, “I’ll get it. You get Elle. I think she’s fallen asleep in the shower again.” “Fine.”

Out of everything, you hadn’t been expecting to find Ghost on the other side of the door. You stepped out, quickly pulling the door closed behind you, thankful that you were in your cargo trousers, a vest top, and a bra rather than your usual pyjamas, consisting of a threadbare T-shirt and a pair of loose shorts. “Lieutenant. Can I help you?” Ghost’s eyes darkened as he looked down at you, gesturing with his head, “Get your kit on. Let’s go.” You looked at him questioningly, and he reiterated, “Let’s go. Now.” Exhausted as you were, it was impossible for you to deny the intrigue that Ghost was providing you with, so you did as you were told, giving him a quick nod as you stepped back into the room, pulling the door to behind you.

Kate was wrestling a somewhat uncooperative Elle into bed, wrapping the duvet tightly around her as she grumbled. Kate looked over at you as you pulled on your shirt. “Plans?” “I- no. Exercise.” Kate nodded, “Uh-huh. Lieutenant?” Your silence was enough of an answer for her, and she rolled her eyes, “He touches you, and I take his balls. Superior or not.” “Love you too. In a bit.”

Ghost hadn’t revealed to you exactly why he’d come to you, but you weren’t about to ask, content to walk alongside him in silence through the base, your mind slowly turning things over as you swept your hair up into a bun. Would this be the transition from friendship to something more? From the stiffness in his back, it didn’t seem that way, but you were an optimist. It was only when you took the same road back to the large grey block building that you realised where he was taking you, seeing a few soldiers milling around the entrance. You turned back to look at Ghost, your eyebrows drawn together, “Dude. No.” “Did I ask?” You huffed, folding your arms over your chest, “No way. That building is all I see when I close my eyes—that and you shouting.” “That’s an order, soldier.” You groaned, “Ghost.” He placed his hand on your shoulder, his voice soft, his eyes pleading, “Please.”

It was strange to see a man like that beg, and you could feel your resolve beginning to crumble until you let out another irritated groan, “Fine! Fine. But you get three runs, and that’s it.” “Five.” “Three was the bargain!” Ghost grumbled, tilting his head from side to side as he stretched his neck muscles, “Four.” “My God. You’re a huge pain in the ass. You know that?” “I’ve been told. Four.” You’d gotten away with talking him down from the two dozen runs you knew he really wanted, so you gave in, “Fine! Four.” He gestured for you to walk over to the building with a jerk of his head, and you obeyed, feeling Ghost walk along behind you. You could almost hear the smirk in his voice, “Five?” “No.” “Six it is.” “Ghost!” He reached out to grab your shoulder, pushing you playfully, “An even ten should round us out nicely.” “Dickhead.”

[pavus]

kinktober day 9 : body worship. (yes, i'm behind.) @volotramp's bg3 kinktober prompts. ship : gortash x rosalind. rating : mature. words : 1458.

The kisses that rained down upon his collarbone and sternum burned like holy fire, as if her perfect mouth was the scourge she often wielded against herself. Behind the burn came an ache. Fingers pressed to a fading contusion. Bones cracking and popping and settling again. His chest rose and fell beneath her unfaltering attention, though it was not the only thing about him that stood to attention. 

Gortash angled his hips away from the careless brush of her body to avoid excess stimulation; that was the last thing he needed if she was so committed to taking her time. 

She did not seem to notice.

Instead, Rosalind shifted herself easily to the side, her body curling over his right thigh as she made her tender way across the soft flesh of his chest. The upturned tip of her nose rubbed against the coarse black hair beneath it, and he felt her sigh as she opened her mouth again, a rush of warm breath pouring over his skin before she found what she’d been looking for.

When she shut her lips around his nipple in a hungry suckle, Enver’s thighs spread and hips lifted. There was no other reaction to be had. Anything less would have only been expected of the dead and buried.

“Nnh, there,” Enver sighed, his hand digging deep into the spill of ginger hair that tangled at the nape of her neck. He coaxed her closer, groaning low in his throat when his encouragement hit its mark and the paladin in his bed pulled harder on his chest, pulling with the suction of her mouth and gasping when she could pull no harder. She released him with a wet pop. “Are you finished? How disappointing.”

But she was there again, rolling her tongue around the stiffened peak of his nipple before pulling it in as if she was no more than a ravenous kitten.

Perhaps that was not far off.

The hand that had settled against his waist pulled inward, her callused fingertips swirling through the dense hair that stretched across his stomach only to crawl downwards and disappear into the waist of his trousers. Her nails were blunt things, but they felt good across the sensitive skin of his belly. They had not had much time to steal from each other of late, but every time they did, Rosalind gifted him with this.

Worship. From her, it could only be seen as such.

Her dedication to his pleasure bordered upon zealotry. Enver sank back against the plush stack of pillows behind his head, his eyes falling shut as she moved from one nipple to the other, tasting him all the way, leaving no small amount of kisses behind.

With her mouth otherwise occupied, his drive for more left him reaching for her wrist.

He coaxed her hand downward, hoping to bring it between his legs, but found that she would not budge.

“I want more,” Ros pleaded with him. She slowed her assault to peer up at him, the pale gold and gray of her eyes shining in the morning light. Though he could see little of her face, he knew she was smiling. He felt the shape of it on his chest. “Allow me more time with you.”

Allow me.

Enver bit back another moan that threatened to slip its leash.

She laid another two dozen kisses along his ribs and stomach, exhaling shakily as she lingered above his navel, her thumbs massaging into the curve of his waist where his trousers pressed sharply in against his body. She touched him and marveled at him, and he watched all unfold before his very eyes, half-surprised, half-deserving.

Never before had someone taken their time the way she had. Quick fucks were preferable with noblemen, while the women had a strong preference for being adored, no matter the lip service being paid. There was crossover in either direction, but Rosalind was a first. Not the first, but a first.

Just as he’d been for her.

Toying over the hair that gathered against her cheek as she rested her head down near his thigh, Enver watched her. 

At fifteen, he’d wanted nothing more than to claim her as his. At twenty, he’d thought she owed him no less. At twenty-five, he’d pursued her like he pursued all others. At thirty, he’d attempted a different approach. At thirty-five, he’d cut the wanting out of his heart. At forty, he’d let it back in, no matter how strangely it settled amongst the scarring. At forty-five…

At forty-five, he’d given up entirely.

At forty-six, the sudden loss of her dredged up everything he’d put aside in an instant. He’d done anything he could to bring her back to him, only to discover that she stood as his foe.

And now, Enver watched as she unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down over his hips, past his thighs and calves and off entirely. A glow burned in her cheeks, as if her delight at having him at her mercy was enough to light her from within. Her tired eyes sparkled, somehow, even with such a weight weighing upon her. Circumstance was not enough to dim her, he found.

He believed that nothing could.

Letting himself rest back against the mattress, the corner of his mouth curled. His expression arranged itself into something familiar, some half-smirk that she’d claimed was dangerous when they were both barely old enough to know any better.

“Is that it, then?” he teased. “Are you quite done?”

He could not sound frustrated with her if he tried, not as she laid down between his legs, knees bent and ankles crossed, her pink toes curling eagerly as she found her place.

“Not yet,” Rosalind said, squirming down into the bedding until she found absolute comfort. “Unless…”

Enver arched a brow. “Unless…?” he echoed.

His precious paladin chewed on her lip, rocking the swollen thing back and forth between her teeth. She didn’t want to elaborate; he could see that much in the quick dart of her eyes and hear it in her hesitation. If she said nothing, he could not agree.

“Unless you’d rather I stop.”

They hadn’t spent an abundance of time together since their first night, but he could recall every moment as if they all still happened to him, pleasure layered upon pleasure in every thought and every memory. He knew what her mouth felt like. He knew the rough skin of her palm and her gentle grip. He’d taken her cunt and her ass and anything else she offered him.

But she had not been given enough time to do this. This was new, and this threatened to take his breath away, as if he was some sexual novice rather than a man with more practice than most of Baldur’s Gate.

“Curiosity demands otherwise,” Gortash ventured. The low gravel of his voice made her toes curl again. The sight turned his smirk to a smile. “No, no, I do not want you to stop. Have your way with me, hero. I would love to see what you plan on doing next.”

The points of her ears darkened. She shifted, fitful and flushed – the way she always did when that word rose to his lips.

Hero.

“Well? Go ahead.”

His cock ached against the pulling fabric of his underwear, but his discomfort waned as she lowered her lips to the soft, hairy muscle of his thigh. Her breath was a sweet thing, something that almost tickled despite the heat that poured through him when he felt her mouth pressing again and again against his flesh. She kissed him there once, then twice, then three times, each higher on his thigh than before.

And then, she moved. She shifted her attention to the other, one arm curling beneath the hook of his knee to keep him stable and keep herself still.

As she moved, her mouth brushed against the straining arch of his cock, but only for a moment.

Only long enough for him to bite out a particularly nasty curse.

“Would you like me to stop now?” Rosalind asked. 

Her voice went quiet and malleable at its edges, and when she glanced up at him from between his legs, her pupils were pools of black. They were endless things, as if he might truly understand the infinite if he continued to stare down into them. 

She was teasing him. If not teasing, then coaxing, urging, hoping. Had she always craved validation so much? Had everything always hung on one precarious point?

Yes, she had.

As had he.

“Don’t…” The word splintered on his tongue. He swallowed hard and shut his eyes, head tipped back and fingers curling tight into the bedding. “Don’t stop.”

[astarab1aze]

so, i shall share with you my magnum opus of a headcanon:

furie has a fleshy if somewhat perpetually half-hard dick laden with angular ridges and ribs, thick around but otherwise average in length, framed by trim white hair. its a bit strange at first glance, but it's colored to match his scales, eyes, and hair, sporting a flesh-white-lilac-violet gradient. his balls are also of average size, and the seed contained within glows faintly once exposed to air, viscous, thick, and much. not only this, but when aroused, the glow within spreads to his ass, stomach, and chest - a dim but ethereal sort of purple. not circumcised.

loux's is literally whatever size, shape, length, width, color your muse wants it to be (and he can absolutely do the same with his ass). in standard form, it's a smidge darker than his usual skin tone, long and thick, and decorated with the beginnings of a jacob's ladder. two black bars through his frenum toward the base. it's meaty, but he's a grower not a shower so you wouldn't really know right off the bat. his balls are heavy, but about average size as well. neither of which are particularly sensitive, so it may take him a good long while to get off at times, and he was - unfortunately for everyone - blessed with an unreasonably high stamina. he keeps the whole area clean and trim, period full stop. circumcised.

vayn's is nestled into manicured tufts of dark pinkish silver, average in length and girth, a pale, cool pink slightly darker than his usual skin tone, and soft and smooth in texture. his balls are also on the smaller side. nothing to write home about, but proportional to his body. it is incredibly sensitive, however, as it doesn't see much use - trained to be so. even the slightest bit of attention will have him a shivering, drooling mess. his cum is thin, but boy is there sure a lot of it. circumcised.

kaede's is a little darker than his natural skin tone as well, a tannish pink, and deceptively large for how small he is. thick around, roughly about 7 or so inches long, with a slight upward curve, settled into trim midnight hair. it's soft to the touch, but tends to be very hot in terms of temp, darkening in color for this reason. it's not as sensitive as, say, his mouth or ass, where even a lick or a little touch would have him shaking - touch his dick and he'll shiver and sigh, but not nearly to the same degree. his balls are of average size and his cum is relatively thin - he's also a squirter.

asuka uses a strap, but they're a little freaky in their utter lack of experience, so everything they use they get from sites like b-d. they're always big, bigger than they can personally handle without effort, and firm but not so firm they're hard. their favorite has ridges and ribs along the shaft, a rounded point at the tip, and is marbled in brown and gold to match their feathers - make it feel like its theirs, if you follow me.

mharra's is about 6.5-7" in length, settled into a nest of thick, black hair. meaty, weighty, and uncircumcised. it's slightly darker and tanner than his skin tone, and the vein is a smidge more pronounced than usual. it curves ever so slightly to the left. his balls are pretty average, nothing to write home about there, and his cum is perhaps the least potent, least quantitative. he's also not terribly sensitive, and has a stamina comparable to that of loux's.

hydre's can be anything he wants it to be, as he is a shifter god, but he prefers long, girthy, and intimidating nestled into bluish-white hair with a thick knot at the base. his cock has layered ridges and is textured for optimal stimulation for his partners. similarly to furie, it is colored to match his dragonhide, fading from pale pinkish white at the tip to sapphire blue at the base. big and very full balls, he cums a lot, and it is a bluish-white as well. do not count on a quickie with him ever.

[jerzwriter]

Celebrate

Thank you to @brycesgirl for the suggestion: Ethan, Kaycee, celebration from this ask. (I don't know litg, so I hope this works!) As always, I ignored the 100-word thing, but it's under 1,000 and that's huge for me! lol I hope you enjoy it.

Book: Open Heart (Post-Series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Kaycee MacClennan) Featuring: Tobias Carrick Rating: Teen Words: 869 Summary: Ethan isn't happy when Tobias announces he's leaving on a WHO mission. Kaycee humorously helps him understand why while getting a little payback to boot. In the end, is there anything to celebrate? A/N: Participating in @choicesseptemberchallenge2023 Day 22 Friendship

“Oh, these are perfect!” Kaycee beamed as the balloon bouquet was delivered to the diagnostic team’s office. “He’ll love this!”

Ethan looked up from behind his desk and grumbled something unintelligible under his breath. Ignoring his lack of enthusiasm, Kaycee continued arranging decorations.

“You know, if you start feigning the slightest bit of excitement now, Tobias might actually believe you’re being supportive when he arrives.”

“You’re wrong,” Ethan deadpanned. “If anyone could see right through me, it would be him.”

Noting Kaycee’s raised eyebrow, he quickly corrected himself. “Next to you, of course... dear.”

“Fair attempt at a save,” she grinned. “I don’t understand why you aren’t happy for him. Being selected for this mission is a big honor and a phenomenal opportunity... not just for him, but for the team and Edenbrook, too. The positive media coverage alone has been helpful, and he hasn’t even left yet.”

“Mmmm,” he replied, barely paying attention.

“Oh, I see,” she replied sarcastically. “We’re only supposed to be enthusiastic about WHO missions if the person is using the trip because they’re too much of a wuss to face the feelings they’re developing for the love of their life. I understand now.”

It worked. She had his attention.

“Wait... what? That’s not the only reason I went on that mission!”

“Only,” she smiled triumphantly. “So, are you finally admitting that was one of the reasons?”

He could argue and try to make his point, but he merely smiled with a shake of his head.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Hey, I accepted your proposal twice,” she winked. “I’ve obviously let it go, but I will be ribbing you for the rest of your life, so...”

“Fair enough,” he grinned.

“But Ethan, honestly, why aren’t you being more supportive of Tobias? He’ll never admit it, but it would mean so much to him.”

“Because it’s six months. That is too long to be away from the team.”

“Says who? Harper and Baz both agreed to pick up cases, and we have the new fellow beginning next month. We will be more than able to handle our caseload. Otherwise, administration wouldn’t have approved this.”

“So we have to bring a new fellow up to speed down one permanent member?”

“Dr. Ramsey, are you saying we can’t survive without Dr. Carrick?”

“What! No! Of course not!”

“Then what are you saying, my love?”

He didn’t appreciate the condescending tone, no matter how adorable she looked delivering it. But that wasn’t what was eating at him; it was his inability to come up with an answer as to what had been nagging at him ever since Tobias made his announcement.

“It’s OK, you know,” she whispered.

“What is?”

“To admit that you’re doing to miss him.”

“I did not say I’m going to miss him!”

“Of course you will!” Kaycee insisted. “There aren’t that many people who find your curmudgeonly demeanor endearing, and now one of them will be on the other side of the world for half a year... just when you’ve gotten used to having a buddy to watch Red Sox games with again.”

Ethan inhaled deeply as he leaned back, acceptance reluctantly settling in.

“I suppose I will miss the ass.”

“See!” Casey beamed. “It kind of sucks when someone you care about just takes off on a WHO mission. Of course, Tobias told us about his, but...”

“Are you finished?” Ethan interrupted.

Happy to know she hit her mark, Kaycee sat on Ethan’s lap in a fit of giggles.

“I am,” she replied with a quick peck on his cheek. “It’s OK, baby. I already talked to Bryce. He promised to make some time for you while Tobias is away.”

“You what?”

“Hush, hon. It didn’t cost me that much; you can thank me later. For now, I need you to help me set up the room. Breakfast will be arriving any minute, and I want everything to be set up before Tobias arrives.”

“Too late for that,” a voice chimed from the door.

“Tobias!” Kaycee yelled. “Why the hell are you early! I wanted this to be a surprise celebration!”

“Oh, it’s a surprise, all right,” he jeered as Ethan sighed uncomfortably.

“How much of that conversation did you hear?”

“Enough,” Tobias grinned. “Admit it, man... you love me.”

“I’ll admit no such thing!”

“Ethan....” Tobias chided, when Kaycee stepped in.

“Tobias, really? It took him how long to admit he loves me, and I do some things for him that you just... don’t.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Ethan spat as two of the people most dear to him chuckled at his expense.

“It’s OK,” Tobias said with a pat on his friend’s shoulder. “I know the truth now. So, you need help with the decorations?”

“For your celebration?” Kaycee mocked.

“Hey, if he’s not gonna help.”

Ethan stood up with a huff. “Sit down and shut up, Carrick. I’ve got this.”

Tobias quickly claimed Ethan’s seat, placing his feet up on his desk. “Man, I’m feeling the love.”

“I didn’t really plan for this,” Kaycee laughed, pointing to Ethan decorating as Tobias hogged up his seat.

“Gotta give it to you, kid,” Tobias grinned. “You really know how to celebrate.”

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

[tickly-trashcan]

Sweet {Obanai x Mitsuri}

“Kanroji, we have to save some candy for the trick-or-treaters…”

Mitsuri unwrapped another candy bar and shrugged. “We’ve hardly had any. The candy will go to waste otherwise!”

Obanai chuckled and picked through the candy bowl himself, taking a gummy while Mitsuri nibbled away at her chocolate. They had two trick-or-treaters so far, and even though they only had a scary movie playing, ready to answer the door at any time, they were a bit bored.

Mitsuri sighed. “Iguro, is there any chocolate left?”

Obanai checked the bowl and dug around, pulling out a chocolate for Mitsuri. She beamed. “You’re so sweet!”

Obanai smiled and put a hand on her leg, gently rubbing his thumb against her knee. She leaned back into the couch with a smile and ate her chocolate, jumping as someone in the movie was murdered. “Ew… I still don’t really like horror movies.”

“Do you want me to change it?”

Mitsuri shook her head, but continued to cringe away from the screen. Obanai squeezed her knee reassuringly, drawing her attention. He offered her a shy smile and scooted a bit closer to her, rubbing her leg a bit.

“I can try and distract you a bit if you’d prefer.”

Mitsuri grinned. “Oh?”

Obanai traced up her leg and put his hand on her hip, drumming his fingers lightly. Mitsuri raised an eyebrow, a smile growing on her face as Obanai began to tickle her gently, making her giggle.

“Igurohoho!” She giggled softly, leaning against the arm of the couch as Obanai followed her, dancing his fingers up and down her sides as she began to laugh more. “I didn’t– I didn’t expehehehect this!!”

Obanai hummed. “I’m full of surprises, I suppose.”

He scribbled his fingers up to her ribs, making her squeal and clamp her arms down, her head thrown back over the arm of the couch as Obanai chuckled along with her. She laughed brightly, drowning out the noise of the scary movie. “Igurohohohooo!! What ahahahabout the– the trick-or-treaters??”

Obanai shrugged. “If we can’t hear them, then more candy for us, right?”

If there was anyone that came knocking on their door that night, they were not heard over Mitsuri’s giggles.