#and now that this is done i can get back to comic work :muscle:

[actualjenna]

2024 SELF PORTRAIT 🥣 ENJOY MY SOUPHEADS

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hope you feel better soon!

I am riddled with ailments, but I stay silly!

[goldenstring6123]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTNXxJ8TM/

THIS IS SO CUTE PLS I CAN SO CLEARLY SEE THE LADS MEN DOING THIS 😭 and the comment section had me dying where is evb finding these MEN 😔🙏

Lnds: Sleepy time!

Warning: No warnings, afab!reader, fem!reader

Authors note: Fluff (not a lot of it) and a bit of domestic stuff.

Sylus:

It had been 30 minutes since you left the bedroom. Sylus was already well on his side of the mattress, reading the news while waiting for you to come back. He thought you were just up and about doing your normal routine of drinking herbal tea and doing skincare, but it was taking you far longer than usual.

He settled the tablet down on the nightstand and walked out of the bedroom. He searched for you in every room he passed by, and when he arrived at the guest bedroom at the end of the hall, there you were, perfectly tucked in under the unused duvet.

You were curled into a ball and too engrossed in the video you were watching; you didn't even notice the black fuzzy threads wrapping around your weird curled-up position. You lifted off from the bed, and when you came to, the view was of Sylus' back as you involuntarily made your way back to his bedroom.

"So you're not going to put me down?" you asked, paying attention to the video again. "Are manners not a thing anymore?"

The brooding man didn't spare you a glance. "I'm not open for discussion. You're supposed to sleep in my bedroom. Our bedroom."

"I just wanted a bed all to myself," you uttered. Here you were, planning what to watch and what to eat for the whole night, and this guy managed to foil it.

"I don't share the same sentiment, sweetie. You have the bed every time I'm overseas on a work trip. It's even infested with your colorful pillows," he opened the door to the bedroom and reeled you in, gesturing to your side of the bed which had vibrant pillows and bed 'pets,' as you like to refer to them.

"You really can't sleep without me, can you, Mr. Big guy? Afraid that someone's under the bed or something?"

"I'm more afraid that you're going to ravage my food pantry when you're not in my line of sight."

"The guest bedroom is nowhere near the pantry and I don't ravage it—I simply take a few snacks," you clarified. "Greg would be sad if the food spoils."

"Either way, you sleep in my bedroom or my couch, nowhere else, sweetie."

"Admit it: You like my company, don't you?" You gave him a cheeky grin.

"Yes, yes," Sylus agreed sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "You make a good meat shield when we get attacked in this bedroom."

"Oh wow. Reduced to a shield." You rolled your eyes in return and slipped under the covers. "That's Onychinus' leader for you."

"Right. Are you done now? I still have an early schedule for tomorrow."

"Alright, alright. I'm heading to bed now. You can sleep."

"Good. Now come here." Sylus opened his arms and you found yourself huddled right into it like it was the perfect mold. You shifted a bit and could feel his muscles relax against your back.

"Why did you feel the need to sleep in the guest room tonight?" Sylus asked under his breath.

"I was planning on reading comics all night. Tara recommended a new romance comic which I like, but knowing you, you'd probably take my phone away."

"Then it looks like I will be the bad guy tonight."

"Maybe. Until you fall asleep." You shrugged.

You hear the handcuffs being pulled out.

Shit.

Xavier:

3:02 AM, it says on the clock. You weren't on the bed. It was cold and it was proof that you never went on it, which was odd considering you told sleepy little Xavier that you were going to stay over. Poor little tired hunter was exhausted after a day's work and couldn't help but doze off while watching you do your little night ritual of moisturizing and doing a facemask.

Xavier sat on the side of the bed, letting out a big yawn. He didn't know where you were, but all he knew was that he didn't like being alone. From his palm, a faint whirlpool of light emanated, enough to guide him through his dark abode. His first thought was maybe you were watching in the living room. You weren't there. He then headed to the small bedroom right beside his, a spare one for guests, but it went unused when you both shared the same bed now.

He tried his best to quietly open the door. There he saw a little bump on the mattress and it made his heart squeeze; you were adorable and looked so small. Xavier tiptoed and folded the blanket away from you. He took a deep breath and lifted you up bridal style, pressing you against his chest.

"hm?…Xavier?" you slurred, vision dark and blurry.

"I'm moving you to our bedroom," he kissed the top of your head and continued his journey to the other room.

"You were sleeping," you paused, looking for the word. The drowsiness didn't seem to go away. "didn't want to…disturb you."

Xavier wanted to say something, but he and you both arrived at the side of the bed. He gently laid you down and placed a pillow between your limbs, which you automatically hugged. Xavier crawled to his side of the bed and yanked the cover over the both of you. Though you both weren't exactly touching, the little hunter's heart eased at your presence.

Gladly, he went back to sleep, hoping to maybe see you in his dreams.

Zayne:

Zayne's house was far too quiet when he arrived. It was only 7 o'clock, and by then you'd usually be in the kitchen, peeking your head out with a ladle in hand. There was no "welcome back" nor a simple "hello," but what did he expect? You were mad at him.

It's a shallow fight, really. Zayne decided to put you on alcohol time-out and took your hidden beers that you were so ready to drink after a grueling day at work. Zayne's judgment was far better than yours because when you get drunk beyond mental capacity, you tend to make a mess of the house, and you turn into a rage-filled, feisty lady. Moreover, you'd been chain-drinking for the whole week, and Zayne was getting concerned because you kept having hangovers.

His hands twisted on the knob to the little library of his house, where he would always find you on nights like these. There you were, curled in the lazy boy sofa and turned away from him. You were awake, but you didn't want to look at your lover.

"I'm home," Zayne declared.

"Dinner's in the fridge. Heat it up," you responded and closed your eyes. Zayne's footsteps grew closer and closer to you, and you felt his palm land on your shoulder.

"Your back will hurt if you sleep in that position."

The sofa might look soft and admittedly it's pretty comfortable to sit on for a long period of time, but with the curled-up position you have, it was bound to hurt when you fall asleep.

"I'm perfectly fine," you replied.

"Don't be stubborn." Zayne decided to pick you up. You wanted to thrash and get out of his grasp, but then you would look childish.

"I don't want to be with you tonight."

Zayne kept his lips in a thin line. He's more than aware that you're saying that because you're mad, but still—It hurts to hear it from you.

Gently, Zayne settled you in the middle of the bed. "I'll sleep in the living room. Stay here," he whispered and tucked the blanket over your shoulders. It was dark in the bedroom, so you couldn't exactly see him. You rolled over to face away from your lover and patiently waited for him to leave.

1:34 AM. You couldn't sleep. A can of beer would do you some good, but your tongue wasn't craving the bitterness of it. Instead, your mind looped over to a few hours ago when you said something that you didn't mean. It was harsh now that you think about it.

Now Zayne is keeping his distance from you. The owner of the house is sleeping on the couch.

With two pillows and a blanket in hand, you made your way down the flight of mahogany stairs. The living room was in full view, and Zayne was fast asleep on the couch. You nudged the two ottomans to the space between the coffee table and the main sofa. Then you threw the pillows and spread the blanket wide, letting it flutter down while you made yourself fit on the ottoman chairs.

You left a few spaces between you and Zayne, one that was filled by the cold pillow.

2:46 AM. Zayne stirred awake and found a blanket draped over his body. Beside him was his supposedly angry lover, clutching the hem of his shirt. He stared up into the chandelier above and took the pillow that was bordering between them, used it as his own, and pulled you closer, nudging the blanket over both of you even more.

Rafayel:

He's standing by the doorway, tapping his foot while a plushie was tucked under his armpit. He was frowning, and you could even see it through the dark.

"What?" you asked, shining the phone his way.

"So you're going to leave me alone tonight? Is that how you're going to play?" He was mad-mad, but that's why you were confused.

"Hey, drama king—you were complaining earlier in the day about my bad sleeping habits—I'm giving you the bed now so you can be at ease, but now you're mad at me again. Do you want me to sleep on the floor of your bedroom or something?"

"Duh? Of course not. I'm just complaining because it's true, but I never said you should sleep in the guest room."

"Then are you going to be alright with my sleeping habits?"

"No."

"Then sleep alone."

An audible gasp could be seen on the expression of the Lemurian. He looked so offended with the end of the conversation, but you weren't having it, so you plopped back onto the bed and hid under the covers, hoping that he'd go away.

The moment you peeked back out, you were rapidly crushed under heavy weight, making you sink to the bottom of the bed. Rafayel lay spread out on top of you, keeping you in your position and crushing you underneath him.

"Get off me! You're heavy!" You struggled underneath the blanket, nudging him and kicking him, but he pretended to be a dead body floating in the water. Rafayel kept still; if verbal convincing won't work, then he'll have to make you change your mind.

"Fine! Fine! I'll sleep with you!" you screamed. He rolled to the side, propped his elbows up, and rested his head on his palm. You just wanted to rub that triumphant grin off his face. He happily scooted underneath the blankets and hogged your side of the bed, wrapping his hand around you and shutting his eyes.

You didn't want to make a big deal of it further and decided to head to bed as well.

You were stirred awake by a strain in your neck. The lids of your eyes lifted at the electrifying pain that traveled to your head. You squinted, barely able to process the faint blue outside the window. Your body was spread out again, and nearby you could see Rafayel making use of the awkward space he was left with.

Guilt washed over your tired body.

Without much thought left, you held onto two pillows and let your body slip down to the carpeted floor. You hugged the pillow and placed another one under your head, liking the furry texture that brushed the side of your bare arms and legs. You closed your eyes again and let the tiredness wash over you.

It was cold for a summer morning. A large yawn escaped your lips and you patiently waited for your eyes to focus, and when they did, your eyes widened immediately at the beautiful sight of a sleeping Lemurian. Rafayel, too, was now on the floor, using his own arm as a pillow.

You tapped on his shoulder, and he just pulled you down back to the floor. "Five more minutes," he groaned, burying his face in your collar. Luckily, it was a Saturday, and you didn't have to go to work. You could indulge him in the meantime.

Author's footnotes: lol the tiktok was very cute, something that you'd see in a rom-com enemies to lovers sort of romance story. It would be a pretty redundant snippet if every situation is the same for the love interest so I took the liberty of changing things a bit.

Layout by me, using Canva Premium | Do not repost

[oceantornadoo]

the ex-wife chronicles pt.4 (ex husband!john price x f!reader)

masterlist | next

follow and turn on notifications: @tornadoowarning

tw: smut. heheheh. also drunk actions also unedited

The rest of the week passes in a blur.

The men meet their mandated therapists. Sure, they’ve had psych evals and required sessions before, but these are new ones, therapizing with what happened to Soap in mind. It’s where another part of your job comes out: nanny. You have to build them up after sessions break them down. Learning what makes them tick: Ghost’s tea, Gaz’s candies, John’s cigars. Soap visits in the afternoons, going straight from physical to mental therapy. The routine is grueling and quiet a change from their normal activities when they aren’t on a mission. That’s why Friday becomes a mandatory pub night.

“Now, I’m not saying to solve your problems with alcohol,” you preach to Gaz, your third glass of white wine in hand. So what if you’re taking advantage of their Frisky Friday deals? “But sometimes, you need to get drunk with your team.” The word ‘your’ is hard and heavy in your mouth. “The people you work with. Coworkers.” You correct yourself. He nods slowly, clearly also impacted by his third drink of the night (tequila and lime).

You scored the last booth in the extremely packed pub. Gaz sits in the middle, with Ghost and Soap on his left and you and John on his right. You restrained yourself from stumbling when John waited for you to get in, instead of sitting near his sergeant, but you were too drained from the week to question it. The booth’s only meant for four, and with how much muscle this group has, you’re all thigh-to-thigh under the table. 

“‘Ve got an idea.” Soap pipes up from across the way. He’s been nursing a beer while Ghost occasionally sipped on his scotch. Doctor’s orders are no alcohol, but you told him he owed one drink for his troubles. “Was tha’?” Gaz replies. “Never have I ever.” Everyone groans, even Ghost and John. That you find comical, sending you snickering and leaning on your shoulder towards Gaz until John tugs at the belt of your jeans. It’s under the table but somehow sends the whole group stock-still, watching. You send a glare towards John, and he sends you an unimpressed stare back. 

Gaz starts asking Soap about his favorite drinking games, giving you enough cover to reprimand your ex-husband. “Don’t do that.” You whisper sharply. He leans forward into your airspace until his lips meet your ear, soft stubble rasping against your cheek. “Y’ were about to fall into Gaz’s lap.” It’s pissed you off, this handsyness of his that’s been suddenly acquired in the past week.

His hands on your stomach during the ATV ride. His thumb swiping under your eye as he murmured ‘eyelash’ under his breath. A guiding pat on the back as he moved behind you in the kitchen, completely unnecessary with how much space there was. A squeeze to your shoulder after his therapy session before he shut himself in his room for hours.

“What if I wanted to?” You snip. A lie, but cutting all the same. John Price is too practiced to show his emotions on his face, but you are were his wife. You can see how he grinds his jaw under his beard, how his eyes flicker with darkness. That same disregard for compromise that shows up in his file, time and time again. Except in the military, he’s done enough good deeds to earn it. With you, he has years to make up.

“Let’s play!” You turn back to the group, aiming a smile at Soap. He cheers, nudging Ghost who gives him a mellow look underneath his black balaclava. Soap completely ignores it.

“Aye, hen. Never have I ever shot at hostiles while hangin’ from a heli.” Gaz grumbles and takes a swig from his drink. Ghost’s eyes seem to sparkle at the memory. Soap gestures at Gaz to ask the next question, to which he rolls his eyes. “Never have I ever fucked a coworker.” You can tell he meant it to call out Soap, who makes a production out of guzzling his beer while Ghost takes a slow sip, but they all freeze when you and John drink at the same time. 

You didn’t expect him to admit it. You wonder if there were others, if you were the start of a pattern.

Then you wonder why you care.

“Cap’n!” Even though he seems more laidback than the others, you’ve never seen Soap so…loose. He’s only had half a drink too, but there seems to be a weight off his shoulders. John doesn’t respond to his taunts, simply raising an eyebrow. After a second, he shrugs and gives a non-answer. “A man’s got to have his secrets.” Soap shrugs, then turns to you. “Doc?” You shrug as well, fighting the urge to tuck your chin under the heat of four pairs of eyes. You haven’t worked your way up and invented a whole new occupation just to fold after a few drinks of wine, but you do like to stir the pot. “Don’t know why you’re singling me out, Soap. Seems here everyone does it.” He snorts, satisfied that you won’t given in. “Righ’ ye are, hen.”

The game gets fiery as Soap delivers another round of drinks (and a ginger beer for himself). You learn new things about the team: Gaz has a sister that loves to prank him, Soap’s nickname does not mean what you think it does, Ghost likes to tell bad dad jokes. John seems to be more restrained, commenting on the others while refusing to acknowledge his own answers.

As Gaz starts his fifth drink, there’s a twinkle in his eye that puts you on guard. “My turn. Never have I ever been married.” Underneath the table, your thigh goes rigid. John can feel it, you know, which means Gaz can as well. It’s a giveaway you’ll allow only due to the new glass in your hand. You sip slowly.

John does too.

He could have lied and no one would’ve known. He’s not drunk, on his second glass of whiskey when you know he practically has a tolerance. 

Ghost doesn’t seem surprised, so you wonder if he sniffed it out. On the other hand, Gaz and Soap are frozen, like someone dumped a bucket of water over their heads. Their eyes are on him but Ghost’s are on you. You feel akin to a mouse caught in a trap.

“Cap?” It’s Gaz, questioning something he never knew about his mentor. Like a son discovering his father’s lie. John swallows slowly, then cocks his head with that disarming close-lipped smile of his. “A few years ago. Not married anymore.” Gaz makes a noise in the back of his throat. You take an extra sip of wine for good measure.

“Doc?” Ghost asks. The sergeants turn their gazes to you, no less interested. The bare skin on your left hand vibrates under their attention. “Mine was a while ago. We were young and…”, you trail off, shrugging. 

“Ain’t tha’ funny.” Ghost grunts. You cock your head at him. “What’s that?” His eyes flick to John, then back to you. “Both were married awhile ago. Might’ve crossed paths at th’ license office.” Soap and Gaz laugh; forced, choked sounds. You smile slightly, then look down into your glass of wine. You don’t look at John.

“Makin’ it sound like I’m a hundred years old, Ghost.” John shoots back. With his approval, or more lack of disapproval, the game continues on. You nod at certain intervals, drinking when necessary. When Gaz asks if you’re okay, you mutter that the wine got to your head.

“C’mon, sweetheart.”

“You’re insane, Lieutenant Price.”

He snorts into your hair, tucked under his chin as you cuddle in the early Sunday light. A rare weekend of leave, hunkered down in the flat you share in London. Six months ago, he reasoned it was easier to split one rent instead of paying for two, since you were both barely home. Things are still in boxes and there’s no art on the walls. No bedframe either, a full mattress on the floor covered in floral sheets you insisted on. 

“Two Lieutenant Prices. That’ll fuck with the Captain.” Your Captain is a piece of work, but not enough to the point where you’d get married just to fuck with his head. “You really know how to propose to a girl, John. I’m near fainting over here.” He snorts, the bare skin of his chin brushing your forehead as he nuzzles him. Last night, you told him he’d look good with a beard. He said he’d look like a bear, which made you growl at him until he bent you over the couch (the singular piece of furniture you own) and fucked you into its cushy fabric.

“Stay here.” You whine as he gets up, a terribly ugly roll out of the bed because of its proximity to the floor. There’s scratch marks on his bed, new ones on top of those that had barely healed. You’d been sent on a training mission, separated for a month, and couldn’t wait to get your hands on him. Lover. Boyfriend. John.

“Close your eyes.” You closed them, sitting up and wrapping the sheet around your bare body. He never got you gifts, and neither could you, too busy being grunt workers to the captains you both got tossed around to. It was a miracle you were granted leave together. Something that had never happened before.

“Open.” He was sitting, no, kneeling in front of the bed in a fresh pair of boxers. You squinted at his face, confused. His eyes flicked over somewhere to your left and you followed them and – 

Oh.

“John.” The ring is beautiful. Older than the minimalistic styles now, which means he didn’t go out and buy it. “Baby.” His face is open and calm, always self-assured. A second look reveals a twitch in his jaw, a tell. “It’s a ring.” You point out stupidly. He laughs, something that’s become deeper recently, which you blame on his newly acquired cigar habit. “Found it in the bin an’ thought ya might like it.” He jokes. “John.” You plead.

“Marry me, sweetheart. Become the better Lieutenant Price. Yell at me when I get you pregnant and your back aches. Pick out the grey hairs in my beard.” There’s something in your eye. It’s the only explanation for the tear that trickles down your cheek, the one he swipes at with his thumb and brings to his mouth. “I can’t be a housewife, John. I mix my colors with my whites in the wash and I’m more comfortable with a gun in my hands than kids and I can’t plan a wedding.” He captures your lips in a kiss, then pulls back smiling. “Let’s elope and I’ll get a vasectomy. What’dya say?” You think. You think about how you don’t even need to think. Then you nod.

“Let’s get married.”

Soap calls it a night an hour later, muttering how he needs to take his meds. There’s an ache in his voice when he says it, mourning his past life. Ghost follows him out with a hand hovering at his shoulders. Gaz sticks around longer, talking footie with John and making eyes with a woman across the bar. He’s gone half an hour later, his arm around her waist and his mouth at her jaw.

“Forgot how easy it is.” You mutter, eyes on the sway of her hips as they exit the bar, Gaz turning back and winking. It makes you feel like a bitter hag, mourning the fun you used to have. John nudges your knee with his own, compelling you to look up. “What’s easy?” You nod in the direction of the doors. “Pickin’ up someone for the night. Not thinkin’ ‘bout the next day.” He grunts in agreement. John signals a waiter, mutters something to him, and then turns back to you. “You sayin’ you haven’t fucked anyone in a decade.” You scoff and roll your eyes. “I have, in fact. Used to be just like Gaz, pickin’ up someone new everytime I got stationed somewhere. Fun for a few nights and then gone.” John takes a sip of his drink, his jaw straining with effort.

“Gets tirin’ after a while.” He grunts. You blink, then nod. “Playin’ coy about the dog tags, the scars an’ the bullet wounds. Wakin’ up in the middle of the night an’ not bein’ about to explain a nightmare.” Though you haven’t been in combat in a while, you can relate. There’s a new layer of horror when you’re trying to heal soldiers and you get a glimpse inside their head, the bloody carcass of the beaten thing they call a brain, warped by gunpowder and bomb residue. 

“Why’d you tell them you were married?” You wonder aloud. He shrugs, shifting the hand that’s been laying on his knee. Because of the movement, it slides between the two of you, the tips of his outer fingers grazing your thigh. You should pull back. The wine argues you shouldn’t. It wins.

“You’d rather I lie?” This time it’s you shrugging, your leg pressing closer to his. He doesn’t pull away. “I wouldn’t have cared. You don’t owe me anything.” His other hand leaves its position on his drink and finds your wine glass. You watch, enraptured, as he brings it to his mouth and swallows. You thought he hated wine.

“I think about it.” He murmurs. You know the answer, but you ask anyway. “Think about what?” He turns to look at you, blue eyes searing into you. “Our marriage. ‘Fore you came, still thought about it.” Before you can answer, a paper container of fried food pops out of thin air. The smell wafts over and you perk up immediately. 

“Are those cheese curds?” You became obsessed after your first trip to America when you were stationed in the Midwest. “C’mere.” He wraps an arm around you and pulls. You decide not to question it and stay silent.

“Open.” There’s a cheese curd in front of you. Obediently, you open. He hums as he places it in your mouth, your lips wrapping around his fingers and tasting the grease on them before letting go. As you chew, he pops one into his mouth, licking at his thumb. You whine at the loss of fried goodness. “Still a vulture with food, hm?” Instead of answering, you reach for another one, but he pins your hand to the table with the hand that isn’t around your waist. That’s when you register your position on his lap, propped on his leg as he feeds you a treat you didn’t think he knew existed. (You were divorced by then, no contact for a few weeks.) The way you’re sitting is unprofessional and comfortable and so delicious when he feeds you another bite. And then another. It continues until the container is empty and your belly is full and your head is slightly clearer.

You look up and he’s there. Bearded and wrinkled and hardened. The bright blue of his eyes has dulled into a stormy ocean grey. His hat is stupid and you want to curse whoever bought it for him. There’s no ring on his finger and by the sound of it, no one waiting in his bed. And you, his ex-wife, are here in his lap, your thigh pressed against the hardness that strains the denim of his jeans.

There’s crumbs on your face. He’s seen you pimply on your period and heaving after a bad hangover and squatting in a dark forest after a spoiled MRE (who knew they could go bad). Yet, he still yanked you onto his lap and now his face is tucked into the crook of your neck, sniffing. His nose brushes the skin behind your ear and trails around it until your earlobe is between his teeth. 

“John.” Your hands curl into the khaki fabric of the black button-up he wears. He groans into your neck, shifting you further into his lap. “John, you’re drunk.” He licks at the skin above your shirt and you gasp, the feeling so alien. You’ve been celibate for a year now and this much physical contact, all-consuming with the man you once loved and made vows to, is overwhelming. John doesn’t answer, tongue occupied with licking the salt on your skin. Your view is blocked by his stupid, stupid hat so you rectify the situation by taking it off him and plopping it on your own head. He pulls up immediately.

“You’re drunk too, sweetheart.” He hasn’t called you that in years. Something inside you clenches, too difficult to tell if it’s your heart or your core or the space in between. “C’mon.” He pushes you off his lap and out of the booth, hands at your hips to help you stand. John crowds your back as he guides you to the one-room bathroom. Are you really doing this, with him? The  monsters of your marriage turn out to be just trees when you think back, blurred by the pressure of him behind you.

“We’re not fucking.” The bathroom door opens, and shuts closed with a click. “Tha’s fine.” You’re pressed against the wall. “And I’m not getting on my knees in this filthy bathroom, John.” A knee slots between your thighs. “I ain’t either.” You scoff. “Then what-”

“Y’gonna let me kiss my wife now?” He shuts you up with a kiss. Lips you haven’t felt in ten years, five months, and three days. Not that you remember that last fuck, the night before you agreed to sign the papers.

His hands pull you forward, your clothed cunt sliding against his denim-clad thigh, and you whine with understanding. It was your favorite way to get off (still is, but no one else can do it correctly) when you were together. Grinding against him, the seam of your jeans hitting your clit as you pant into his mouth. Strong hands guide you up and down and wetness pools in your underwear, simple cotton ones you didn’t think anyone would see. You bite down hard on his lips, wanting him to feel your frustration at how well he still knows your body. All he does is smile against your lips.

“Now y’r quiet, pet. Ten years an’ so fuckin’ predictable.” You whimper at the new nickname. His presence has changed from upstanding to all consuming, his words from sweetheart to pet. Lips trail down your cheek, your jaw, your neck. That godforsaken hat is still on your head and almost slips off, but the strap catches on your chin. The pressure in your core is unbearable, encouraged by the firm muscle under you that hits every angle. Your hands curl around the nape of his neck, nails digging into the skin there, wanting to make him hurt a little. To feel the same bodily betrayal that seeps into your veins, murmuring all the reasons this is wrong. Except all it does is urge him on, those paws tugging you up and down.

“Probably soakin’ through your jeans, huh?” He murmurs in between bites to your jaw. “Not possible, would have to be wet for that.” You attempt. He growls, bearlike. “Can fuckin’ hear the sound of you, pet. Don’t play dumb now, I know you’re close.” You give up on being coy and tuck your head into the nape of his neck, losing steam as your thighs burn. He makes up for it, maintaining the rhythm that has something coiling deep in your core.

“John, John, I’m right there, will you-” He bites the juncture of your neck, a vampire in another life. You squeak at the thrill it sends down your spine, at how you tip over and into your orgasm as your cunt clenches and spasms. He helps you through it until you beat at his back and plead for him to stop, your voice almost gone from all your whines. John gently places you on your feet, your head against his chest as you catch your breath. And he just stands there patiently, hands at your waist until your breathing evens out.

“Feel ok?” You nod, then shake your head. “That can’t happen again. It’s not- this isn’t professional and I’m going to be here a while.” His hand sneaks under your shirt and presses into your stomach, like he’s checking for something. “Yeah, baby. Whatever you say.” You tug on his shirt until he meets your eyes, choosing to not acknowledge the hold he has on you. “I’m serious, John.” He kisses a spot near your lips and you mourn that he ignored them. “I’m serious, too. Let’s get you back now.”

It’s a short walk back to base, time passing by as fast as the stars overhead. When you reach the barracks, you shoo him away and tell him to go through the back entrance. All he does is pat your ass before walking away. When you walk through the entrance, smoothing down your shirt, you stop at the light in the kitchen. Ghost sits statue-still, nursing a steaming mug of tea. Eerie, since you thought he and Soap weren’t sleeping here. That thought floats away when he opens his mouth.

“Nice hat, Doc.”

Fuck.

-

comment if you spot the t swift lyric! it's not from this decade (2020s) if that helps...

[jamieroyjamieroy]

Having trouble writing my wips so I’ve written this little ficlet. I’m hoping it helps get my brain back into writing.

Enjoy this little whatever it is!

“We need to get married.”

The casualness catches Tommy off guard once the words register. It was said in the same tone someone would say ‘we need milk’. Like passing along some mundane information, like it’s a statement that has been made hundreds of times before and will be made a hundred more times in the future. No excitement, no emotion. Just a fact. They need to get married.

Hundreds of thoughts, fears, hopes and questions fly through Tommy’s mind in the blink of an eye. His brain still trying to catch up with the dramatic change in conversation, it’s trying not to freak out and go with the first instinct of running. Tommy takes a deep breath, he has done a lot of work to not act on that instinct. “Evan. What did you say?” Tommy asks wanting to make sure he heard correctly so he can react appropriately. Not that he knows what that reaction would look like.

“We need to get married.” Evan repeats not looking up from his phone, the tone in which he drops this bomb hasn’t changed. It is still said like it’s a fact, a forgone conclusion. Evan could be saying ‘today is Thursday so tomorrow is Friday.’ Tommy isn’t completely freaked out by the notion. Well he is but he isn’t going to jump to conclusions like the time Evan asked him to move in. Or the time Evan said he didn’t need feelings to sleep with someone. Tommy has begun to adapt to Evan’s impulsiveness and he gives them both a moment to process what was said. Time for him to remind himself how much he loves Evan and being hurt by him isn’t inevitable. Time for Evan to realise what he has said and how he has said it. Tommy can pinpoint the moment the words register for Evan.

His head pops up so fast Tommy is sure Evan has pulled a muscle in his neck. The pained expression on his face could be from that or the fear of having spooked Tommy once again. Evan drops his phone and approaches Tommy slowly like you would a terrified animal. It would be comical to Tommy if the realisation that he did this to Evan didn’t hit in that moment. He put that terror in Evan’s heart. He could kick himself for that.

“Hmmm interesting idea, could be an A plus idea one day. But today I’m going to have to give you an F for the execution. Gonna need a little more enthusiasm and romance next time you ask.” Tommy smiles wrapping his arms around a confused Evan. “Maybe hold off until we get past the moving in stage?”

“Ah, oh. I’m. Ugh. I said that out loud didn’t I?” Evan leans his head on Tommy’s shoulder and hides his embarrassment and fear. Tommy runs a comforting hand up and down his back. “I’m sorry Tommy I wasn’t thinking. Well I was but the, the filter between my brain and my mouth doesn’t work sometimes. I, I don’t. I’m not. That wasn’t a proposal.” Evan stutters out, Tommy relaxing a little when Evan’s arms wrap around him despite the tension in Evan’s own body.

“Hey. It’s ok. Remember we agreed no more running. No more assumptions. We talk. We work through it. We stick together. I’ll admit it shocked me to hear that. But I’m not leaving.” Tommy does his best to emphasise his words so Evan believes him. “Want to tell me why you had that thought?”

Tommy’s question hangs in the air, Evan’s face still hidden away. The two of them standing in the middle of Evan’s living room wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying slightly as both their heartbeats settle back to a normal rhythm. He begins to wonder if Evan will answer him. A low short chuckle tickles his neck.

“It’s so stupid.” Evan lifts his head, the tears in his eyes has Tommy worried until the chuckle comes again. “I was thinking about trying that new recipe I found last night. A few of the ingredients I need to get from a specialty shop so I was searching for locations.” Evan is smiling now, looking less distressed and concerned so Tommy relaxes more. They are still swaying, more like slow dancing if they were at a middle school dance, Tommy doesn’t let go. He hums to show he is listening, not interrupting.

“Anyway I found a place and it’s near the park I take Jee to sometimes. Then I thought about how cute she looked playing dress up the other week when I was babysitting. Which led me to think about how cute she looked as the flower girl for Maddie and Chim’s wedding. Annnddd then I thought how adorable she would look at our wedding as our flower girl and my mouth was running before my brain caught up with it.” Evan admits his embarrassment clear on his face.

“That’s an interesting train of thought.” Tommy tries to keep a straight face but he can’t help the feeling of butterflies in his stomach when Evan mentioned their wedding. He is not ready for that, neither of them are ready for that. Not yet. But the idea of marrying Evan, that Evan is thinking of their wedding excites him. Terrifies him. But the thought of losing Evan again, losing him for good is far more terrifying.

“I’m sorry Tommy I didn’t mean to.” Evan is cut off by fingers grabbing his chin and lips kissing his. Evan opens for Tommy, sinking into the kiss.

“Like I said I want more enthusiasm and romance next time you ask.” Tommy kisses a stunned and silent Evan. Tommy hooks a hand in Evan’s shirt and pulls him towards the bedroom, only breaking the kiss to remove their shirts. He is going to show Evan that talk of their future doesn’t send him running anymore.

[fuwushiguro]

Hi love! Your content is great and always makes my head spin🤤 I was wondering if you could maybe do fitness trainer Toji with a plush reader? Like you go to the gym wanting to slim down and ask for a trainer and before any of the other loser trainers can get to you, Toji steps in. He is constantly reassuring you the entire time And at the end of the session he just can’t resist from not touching you🥺🫶🏼 thank you in advance and I hope you have the best day possible!

I can literally imagine Toji quoting this in his head as he hears you talk negatively about your body (not proofed I'm lazy) warnings: chubby!reader, body issues, raw sex, slightly public, praise etc etc lmk if i missed any

"Huh?"

"I literally need a gym trainer who's going to help me look like a rake."

"I- what? A fuckin' rake? What are you talking about?"

"My boyfriend cheated on me, and of course the girl he slept with is tiny. He left me for her... I don't want him back but I want to prove a point!" you explain, looking at him with hopeful eyes, desperate for him to help with your mission.

He stared at you, and it scared you a little. You aren't sure if you've said something wrong or if he just had no interest in your tragic love life. But you can only assume he doesn't get many clients with this attitude.

"Fine, kid. But listen, I'm not helping you 'look like a rake'." he tells you.

"B-But..."

"I'll help you train. If you lose weight, whatever. If you gain muscle... I think that'll be a better revenge body to make your ex regret leaving you." he explains.

"O-Oh... really? Okay, I trust you."

He smirks at that.

It's not often he's trusted by women.

"I hate sit ups." you pant, breathlessly.

"It's your last set, just do it 'n then you can go home." he tells you, as he sits beside you drinking some water from his comically large bottle. By the size of it, you'd think he'd be the one who had been working out for the last hour.

"C'mere." he shuffles his body so that he's closer to you, positioning your legs and hips like you're weightless. "You might find it easier now. I'll stay here, gimme ten more."

"Ten?!"

"Do it."

You sigh, lying flat as you mentally prepare yourself for how bad your stomach is about to ache. Your cheeks fill as you blow out a puff of air. You're painfully aware of his eyes on you, and honestly, you're embarrassed. You begin to sit up again and again as you think about his incredible physique. About how he surely thinks the same way as your ex boyfriend.

Your eyes lock with his with ever sit up you perform, his hands grabbing your knees to keep you in place. Your noses almost touch and his eyes are filled with what you can only assume is disgust. You're humiliating yourself trying to make yourself appear more attractive to the male species.

"Aaaand done, good job, kid." he smiles at you, his small mouth scar pulling slightly as he does. "So, wanna make this a regular thing?"

You hold up a finger as you catch your breath, eventually nodding. He holds his hand out to you, helping you to your feet with ease. He walks away from you, tilting his head and indicating for you to follow. You aren't sure where he's taking you, but you follow mindlessly.

"My calendar is in my office, I'll get you booked in for a few sessions this month and then you can just give them your card details at the fron desk." he explains.

"Sure, sounds good." you smile, he walks into his office first and holds the door opening, closing it right after you come in. Your ears prick when you hear the door lock, but for whatever reason you don't feel alarmed.

The air is knocked from your lungs as you feel his hands on your waist, lifting you into the air and practically slamming you onto his desk.

"W-What are you doing?!" you gasp.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, it's almost polite but not really. He's expecting one answer, and luckily for you you're nodding before you can think of declining. He hikes up your leg and squeezes your plush thigh as his lips connect with yours. "You're so soft... so fuckin' perfect."

"Shut up." you laugh, you try to kiss him again but he pulls away.

"I'm serious." he lifts your up your sports bra and tosses it aside, grabbing a handful of your large chest. He pushes you backwards so that your spine is flat against his desk, tugging off your leggings with no hesitation. He peppers kisses across your tender skin. Your thighs, your tummy, your heavy tits. "There's nothin' wrong with your body, y'know? Your ex is a fuckin' pussy."

Your body tenses up, feeling horrendously aware of how exposed your figure is and how he's examining you.

"I- I was too heavy for him." you pant, unsure whether to try and chat casually about it or make a run for your clothes and the exit. "I don't blame him."

"You weigh the same as paper to me, darlin'." he smirks, picking you up and making you wrap your legs around his waist. He slams you against the wall as you makeout heavily. "You want this cock? F-Feel how hard I am for ya?"

"P-Please. You're so big.. please fuck me." you beg. You paw at his shirt, desperate to feel the muscles that you could clearly see beneath.

His facial expression is almost menacing as he knows he's won, he's got you exactly where he wants you and you're begging for his cock. Thick fingers dig into malleable flesh, bruises of his name signed into your skin like a binding contract that you're his new favourite play thing.

"You're so fuckin' perfect, sweetheart. Love cute bodies like yours..." he tells you, staring into your eyes to catch your expression, grinning at the way your cheeks flush and a bead of sweat forms in your hairline.

"Aah! Ah, fuck.. 'h my god..." you moan, the embarrassment overwhelming you and the feeling of his heavy cock splitting you open making your heart race.

He begins a brutal pace, easily holding your body up with one muscular arm as he slams into you, his free hand tweaking your pert nipple. The way your eyes cross dumbly as he ruins your insides almost makes him blow his load on the spot.

"Too— mmmnn.." you moan, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Too what?" he laughs a little, "Too? Have I fucked you so stupid you already can't think? Oh sweetheart... think I'm in love." he tells you as he kisses your neck.

Your fingers scratch his back repeatedly and he can only his from the pain and pleasure of it all. He's happy to be marked by you, he's going to do the same to your insides after all.

"'m gonna cum, I'm— ah—!" your cunt tightens around him as you finish, and soon enough he's pressing his body as much as he can into yours, pinning you between him and the wall as his balls tighten and he paints your desperate, wanting walls.

You pant against each other, neither of you moving for a while. All you can bring yourself to do is catch your breath and stare into his jade coloured eyes. And eventually, he helps you down and offers you a towel before sitting at his desk and checking through his calendar.

"Are you free Friday night?" he asks.

"O-Oh, Toji, I'm too exhausted from that workout to even think about my next training session." you chuckle a little, wiping yourself down before collecting your scattered clothing.

"No, baby, I'm takin' you on a date." he smiles at you earnestly. "Perfect body, perfect pussy, and newly single. You're crazy if you think I'm not taking full advantage of the opportunity to make you mine."

© 2023 fuwushiguro

[coyotes-rules-of-change]

Part 3: Christopher

The long awaited continuation of my first series—I’m assuming… If you missed the first parts, please feel free to enjoy Part 1: Kellen and Part 2: Adam before you continue on with Christopher. In terms of content warnings, Kellen is still quite rough and aggressive, but it seems as though the new and improved Adam has helped the raging jock tone it down a bit.

Kellen wasn't sure what had happened with Adam. He knew two realities: one where Adam was an insufferable nerd who was Kellen's submissive ticket out of academic probation. But now Adam was an insatiable twink who got off on Kellen's abusive nature, and now Adam has become an almost addictive part of Kellen's life. Kellen had always been unwaveringly straight, but now he continued to use Adam's ass as a routine receptacle for his pent-up aggression. Instead of Kellen bullying the nerdy Adam into completing his schoolwork, Adam seemed to feed on Kellen's demeanor, controlling every rough and raging moment of their daily fuck sessions. It clearly drove Adam's prude of a roommate crazy, leaving the poor Ben rapidly departing his several accidental intrusions with an unmistakable look of shame.

But Adam's sexual hold over Kellen left his primary motivation unmet. Kellen needed another way to boost his grade. Lucky for him, nerds were everywhere; he just had to select one. Kellen scanned the dining hall. He considered a business major sitting in a booth. The kid, Kenneth, made a habit of dressing professionally and was always down for a deal, but Kellen needed to be sure his geeky clothes could guarantee good grades. It dawned on him that he could use Adam's roommate, Ben. It would be gloriously sadistic, and Ben was actively failing to hide the fact that he'd noticed Kellen across the hall and was nervously attempting to blend in. That did seem like a fun idea to Kellen, but a new victim crossed his path.

The D&D club had just finished its lunch meeting, and one of the hapless members walked right in front of the jock. D&D, comic books; the perfect nerd just walked right in front of him and out the dining hall doors, unaware of the follower he'd managed to pick up.

Kellen paced his stalking to ensure he caught his new grunt in the dormitory stairwell. "Hey, nerd..."

Christopher barely had any chance to react before being shoved against the wall. Comic books spilled across the ground, and the pudgy fanboy stared up at the menacing jock with an imposing figure matching those of the superheroes on the covers of the comics now plastered on the floor. But instead of heroic deeds, these muscles worked to intimidate and scare.

"Do you enjoy math, nerd?" Kellen's stare bore into the poor bookworm.

"Well... uh, no, not re—" Christopher barely managed to stutter out his response before Kellen barrelled on.

"No, you don't get it, do you. You enjoy math, dweeb."

Again, Kellen doesn't wait around for Christopher's stuttered response. "Wait, but I don't think—"

"This is my math homework." Kellen holds up a few papers. "This is due tomorrow. You can meet me tomorrow morning, nine o'clock, in the locker room at the school gym. It had better be done."

Kellen releases Christopher and turns to go, but against his better judgment, Christopher talks back to his departing bully.

"But wait! I already have my own homework! And I have a class at 8:30! I can't meet you at—"

Again, Christopher is interrupted, finding himself slammed up against the banister.

"You see these muscles, right?" Kellen didn't wait for a response. "You don't have to read your little comic books to know that I can fuck you up. You'll be there. Tomorrow. At nine."

Kellen turns to go, and Christopher slumps to the ground. This time he's wise enough to stay silent as the asshole jock strides out the stairwell door.

——————

The whole encounter in the staircase baffled Christopher as much as it terrified him. He wasn't sure why he'd been selected for this daunting task but was pretty sure the stupid athlete saw the comic books and thought he was bookish and nerdy. He really wasn't; quite frankly, he was good at math, but it wasn't anything he considered fun. Why do jocks like him think a love of comic books translated into unlimited intellect and a life of devotion to school work? Life is not the Big Bang Theory—in fact, Christopher had a few failing grades of his own, but the jock selected him. What could he do about it?

Christopher was worried about being able to complete the assignment until he actually looked it over and realized he'd covered this stuff in high school. Unfortunately, tomorrow's "assignment" turned out to be a backlog of nearly a week of work. Frankly, this guy was dumb if he made it into college without being able to pass high school-level assignments. It also wasn't until Christopher was finished and he went to write the name in at the top of the assignments that he realized he didn't even know the guy's name—yup, this guy is pretty fucking stupid.

As Christopher drifted off to sleep—later than expected due to the added work—it dawned on him this might not be the last time he'd have to do this. He wished he didn't have to worry about the dumb jock's work. It was that moron's mess to get out of, not his.

——————

The following day, Christopher decided to head to the meeting point early. He suspected the jock wouldn't react kindly if he were late. Ten minutes early, Christopher and his Spiderman graphic tee walked in the gym doors at the school rec center. Only then did he realize how out of place he'd be. It was clear from his short stature and paunchy frame that he'd never walked through those doors in two years as a student here. It took a good half a minute before he realized he'd stopped the moment he'd walked through the door. Regaining his motor function, he awkwardly walks up to the unattended counter. After waiting a few eternal moments, a huge black guy enters through a back door.

"Can I help you?" the man asks dryly.

Yet again, Christopher can only stutter. Only this time, it's because he's starstruck and intimidated, staring at a man with the broad frame of a superhero. In front of him was Kyle, the front desk worker, but in his mind, Christopher was staring up at a man who looked more like M'Baku from the MCU.

Growing frustrated, Kyle tries to get something out of the mute kid in front of him. "Can I help you?"

"I... uh... well, I—uh..." Finally, Christopher managed to muster a thought. "I need to go in..."

Kyle looked inconvenienced. "Are you a student?"

"Uh... yeah."

"Just swipe your I.D., kid."

Kyle returned to the back room, leaving Christopher in his awkward haze. It was for the best. Had the interaction lasted any longer, Christopher might have found himself attempting the Wakandan salute to fill the tension. And that would not have been beneficial... or appropriate.

Christopher walked to the row of turnstiles, slowly pushing through after swiping his card. Then he looked up. Christopher found himself surrounded by physiques ripped from the covers of his comics. This was getting more challenging. Frozen just beyond the turnstile, he realizes he might like the comic books for more than just their storylines. Presented with the real-life muscular forms of his favorite heroes in every corner of the school gym, he realized he was getting a little hard. Another scan of the room, and he jolts, realizing his nerves since entering the building had burned through a lot of his early start. He needed to be in the locker room in just one more minute... Fortunately, a steady bustle through another door allowed him to figure out where to go. Unfortunately, he had to walk across the long room packed with sweaty athletes. Christopher locked his gaze on the door and sped through, using every ounce of effort to ignore everything around him until he pushed into the locker room.

Like the gym behind him, the locker room also bore a smattering of athletic physiques... but he should have remembered what the locker room was for. Every muscle was on display: pecs, abs, biceps, thighs, calves, more. He was lucky that—at least for the moment—none of the jocks in the locker room were actively changing their underwear. The panorama before him left him genuinely paralyzed. Right on cue, the bully from the stairwell came around a corner into the view of his latest victim.

Kellen sported nothing more than a towel and a sly grin. The physique he had on display was just like Captain America, but Christopher knew he was nothing like the upstanding model citizen from the comics. Nonetheless, Christopher was flushed. The muscular form in front of him made him harder than he'd ever been despite the sheer terror coursing through him.

Kellen just leaned in and grabbed the papers Christopher held in his hand. He looked it over. "This looks right, not that I'd know. I'd better get good grades or else..." Kellen flexed a bicep. "I'll have to teach you a lesson."

Christopher just gulped.

"Here's my phone." Kellen hands over his phone with an empty contact pulled up. "Put in your number. If I text you, you respond. If I tell you to meet me, you show up—on time. So far, you're doing great."

Christopher still stands frozen and mute but manages to take the phone and enter his number.

"Here's your next round of work. I have my class at three so we'll need to meet before then. You have a lot to do in the next few hours. Good thing you skipped class, right?"

"I— I— I—..." Christopher knows he won't be able to pull off such a tight turnaround, but his brain is overloaded. He can only stutter.

Kellen turns to go, but then turns back and gets out his phone. "Oh wait, I almost forgot." He opens up his camera app and snaps a selfie. One where the camera is placed low, around his waistline, aiming up the grooves of his abs and capturing his cocky smirk just beyond his hard pecs. "Let me send this to you. I'm gonna need a contact photo, right?" He hits send and walks away. Christopher feels the text alert buzz in his pocket. He regains his composure and blazes out of the rec center at top speed.

——————

Kellen figured the nerd that interested in comic books would flush at the sight of all those jocks in the locker room. The little weakling couldn't even speak! Frankly, it couldn't have gone better. At noon, he decided he'd send his summons to the little ant.

Meet me at 2. Dining hall

He was met with a few seconds of the three dots (...) before the nerd replied.

We should just meet at the gym again

In literally any other instance, he'd punish this kind of insubordination. But if this little dweeb wants to head back to that locker room, Kellen was more than happy to make that work.

Sure, bro, see you there

——————

Kellen arrived twenty minutes early. He disrobed and posted up in the shower, where he could see over the top of the curtain once the nerd showed up. He thought he'd rattle the little fatty with a full view of his naked body since his shirtless torso already turned the little guy into a temporary statue. The anticipation burned through the remaining minutes until two o'clock came... and then went.

2:05. Kellen is getting frustrated. But then again, he looked forward to the beat-down he'd get to deliver his insubordinate slogger.

2:10, and Kellen was about to end his time in the shower stall, reaching for the knob to shut off the water, but just then—

"Yo, Kellen! You here, bro?"

Probably just one of his dumbass teammates. "Over here, bro."

Kellen turned off the water so he could grab a towel before the other voice could get to the shower stalls. He's in the middle of drying off when—in an instant, out of nowhere, a bulky form appears behind him. It's all so out of the blue, but Kellen processes the sudden contact from behind in quick fragments... A compression shirt covering hard muscle pressed against his back; his waist gripped by strong calloused hands; A pair of gym shorts restraining a thick cock teasing his ass; an exhale brushing across the skin of his neck as the one standing behind him moves in for a kiss... Desire welling up inside him as he takes in the man behind him—

And in another instant, Kellen pushes away and whips around. He's face to face with... who is that? He'd never seen this jock in his locker room before. Kellen was about to come unhinged at the initiation of the homoerotic violation. "Who the fuck—"

But the new jock cuts in with a far more casual tone, "Whoa, Kellen, bro! I'm sorry I startled you."

Kellen's still blazing on in his rage, "What the hell was that?!"

The jock just grins and moves in towards Kellen, peeling off his Spiderman compression shirt, "I thought we were meeting in the locker room at 2, bro."

And then, acting just an impulse faster than Kellen's straight defensive rage, the new guy has his hand on Kellen's cock. Sparks jolt through his psyche, allowing the homophobic hostility to be overcome by hunger and desire. The feeling swells, and Kellen's world shifts. Christopher, the pudgy comic book nerd he'd met yesterday, was Chris the jock, Chris, his best bro.

Christopher loved the tales of heroism and hope found in the pages published by Marvel and DC of those—often in peak physical shape—using their stature, both physical and otherwise, for good. It was a world where those who looked just like his bullies were the best of humanity... well, humanity and the broader universe.... well, the broader universe and the multiverse... And maybe, as he became all too aware of that morning meeting that unknown asshole jock who shoved him against the wall in a stairwell—maybe, he enjoyed those big muscular men beyond their presence in the plot lines.

The new version of Chris loved superheroes, too, growing up as the MCU took hold and bloomed into a cultural cornerstone. He watched multiple A-list stars debut as new hero after new hero, unveiling muscle they'd gained just for the role. Through high school, the fanatic teen had taken up weight lifting—at first, just to be close to the novice jocks and then realizing some hard work would earn him a coveted form of his own. By the time he'd reached college, he'd set his sights on a career path as a sports physician and trainer, allowing him to interact with muscle daily. And the marvel-worthy body he'd built for himself meant he walked among jocks and their sculpted forms as an equal. They even recognized his heroic obsession by referring to him as "the fifth Chris"—after Evans, Hemsworth, Pratt, and Pine.

However, Chris's obsession with muscle was more than personal and professional. He had several of his bros on the hook for routine sessions for worship, wanking and other forms of general pleasure. Some of them justified it as straight bros being straight bros, and others were more emotionally invested. Chris didn't care either way as long as it was muscle and pleasure. "Muscle and pleasure" were all Chris cared about and his entire reality revolved around those things.

But Kellen's reality was split in two. He was waiting in the shower to intimidate Christopher with his physique and sense of shamelessness for his own enjoyment and, frankly, to indulge his penchant for psychological torture. But now, he remembers heading for the showers, knowing Chris would join him, and they could jack each other off before heading out to the workout floor to lift. Christopher's first visit to the locker room that morning was just another morning for Chris; Kellen's exhibitionism was matched and escalated by Chris until they were making out against the lockers. At the same time, their hands ran across their brawny frames. That photo Kellen sent to Christopher—the first thing he'd sent the flabby wimp—was just one of many suggestive photos frequently exchanged between him and Chris. And that first meeting with Christopher was just one of many times he and Chris had fucked in the stairwell. In this case, Chris had pinned him against the banister while he thrust his thick cock powerfully into Kellen's muscled ass, but they traded off who topped and who bottomed regularly. But of course, that's where they'd end up after Chris coyly walked past him in the dining hall while making sure to give his jock cock a firm squeeze. Kellen knew that was the sign that he should follow Chris to one of their secret spots.

Kellen could still remember the plump comic enthusiast he'd known for just over a day, but his head rolled back as the pleasure of his best bro's grip on his cock overtook him. He could also remember how straight he was; years of locker room shenanigans in high school and college all followed up with the obligatory "no homo" tag. Now those same homoerotic displays from Kellen's high school days were received differently in the college locker room when another freshman jock met the provocative pageant with his own brash acts. The daily game of gay chicken between bros inevitably gave way to overt sexual acts. Kellen was still straight, but he now had two former nerds whose routine fuck sessions he craved. Adam was a fixed booty call who thrived off his aggression, but Chris was now woven into his college memory as a constant presence in nearly every workout. And he extracted and reciprocated every one of Kellen's provocative and vulgar impulses until they worked themselves up into a sexual frenzy.

He knew it was the first time he'd done this, but his impulse followed the lead of nearly two years of memories this new reality had bestowed—he reached into Christopher's gym shorts and pulled the meaty shaft out of its confines. The jocks moved in closer, their pecs and abs coming together, one hand exploring, groping, rubbing, caressing the hard muscle, the other moving up and down the rod of the other bro. Lips meet, lusts rise, and breath grows heavy. Chris' thoughts are overwhelmed by the feeling of his hand running across his bro's wet skin, feeling the firm muscle underneath. The pleasure of his fingers tracing the familiar contours of his bro's body mixed with the bliss of Kellen's firm stroking up and down his cock. He loved how much Kellen loved showing off. He loved Kellen's attention to detail as he honed his physique. And most of all, he loved that Kellen loved his MCU body just as much as he did.

Kellen moans and tightens his grip. Chris moans and tweaks a nipple. Kellen's hand drifts south and gropes Chris' ballsack. Chris playfully bites Kellen's lip. The moaning and groaning swell, and jock seed shoots upwards, landing on two sets of abs.

"Mmmph…" Kellen just moans in his post-nut bliss, leaning back against the wall.

"Yeah, that was good, wasn't it, bro?" Chris changed the subject. "I gotta know. You find a nerd to get your grades up?"

The question jolts him out of the haze. Whatever this… curse was he was dealing with, that inquiry was laden with irony and insult. Resentfully, he responds with a pointed "No."

Chris didn't seem to notice. "I'm gonna go lift." He uses Kellen's towel to wipe off the cum on his chest before he slips his Spiderman compression tee back on, "I wanna shoot a thirst trap later to show off these gains to the comic book nerds on my TikTok."

Kellen was left leaning against the wall, stewing, reminded of his unfulfilled objective. Yet again, he was feeling pent-up, restless, angry, engaged— He texted Adam.

In 5 minutes, your ass is mine

And, of course, Adam replied:

OMG Yaaasss Daddy!!!🍆🍆🍆

[lehguru]

SLEEPING BEAUTY + TRAFALGAR D.WATER LAW

you're doozing off on his office, law finds it lovely

info: pure fluff, modern au-ish, its been a while since i last wrote sum for law so bear with me. this was a request! — ko-fi

it was hard to drag law away from work. whenever he got his face buried on his books and papers, your boyfriend would simply melt away into his own bubble; no matter what you tried, he wouldn't leave his desk until he completed all his work.

the only thing you could do was stay with him.

they were his treasure, but law didn't bat an eye when you picked up a Sora, Warrior of the Sea volume to read; the ink of his pen kept on flowing consistently as he took notes of whatever he studied. the comic was fun and you liked it a lot—law managed to rub his fanboy behavior on you—, but your eyes constantly kept on drifting back to his side profile. seeing his eyebrows furrowed in pure focus and the way his jaw muscle twitched once in a while, it made your heart skip a beat.

while you were watching him, your head now resting on top of your crossed arms, you didn't realize that you were slowly falling asleep. as your blinking got more frequent, you let out a yawn and your boyfriend finally looked at you.

law let out a chuckle and placed a hand on your cheek. "i'm almost finished. you can go to bed, if you want to."

you shook your head softly and, with his thumb, law caressed your cheekbone. "no, i want to wait for you."

he simply answered a soft 'alright' and went back to his studies, but his hand was now softly massaging your scalp, making you close your eyes. even if he tried to focus again, your cute face was distracting at that moment—his eyes always kept on drifting back to you.

with a sigh, he closed his book and turned to you. feeling that he stopped playing with your hair, you opened your eyes slightly, your eyelids way too heavy, and gave him a soft smile.

"are you done?" he nodded. "you looked pretty, all focused like that."

he chuckled and shook his head, of course you still had energy to say things like that. he got up and placed one of his hands on your lower back, the other hooking under your knees. "let's get you more comfortable, angel."

as he was walking towards your shared bedroom, you kissed his jaw and murmured something, it was so quietly he almost didn't hear it. "i love you, mr.doctor."

with another soft chuckle—you seemed to be the only one that could make him smile and chuckle like that—, he answered. "i love you more, sleeping beauty."

2024 © content belongs to lehguru, do not repost, translate or feed it into ai without permission

[arc-misadventures]

MFK with Jaune: Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, and Selina Kyle

Jaune: MFK XII

Nora: Oh Jaune-Jaune~?

Jaune: No, you can’t have your grenades back.

Nora: But, that’s not…?!

Jaune: You aren’t allowed to test peoples bone density with your war hammer.

Nora: But, it’s only, Cardin… Wait! No, that’s not what I want…??

Jaune: You can’t have another, McSchneer Lumberjack Burger. They banned you after you demanded more maple syrup bacon strips, and subsequently destroyed the counter when they said no.

Nora: That’s not what I wanted to ask!

Jaune: It’s not; Then what is it?

Nora: MFK~!

Jaune: Naww fuck…

Nora: Harley Quinn, Pamela Isley, or Selina Kyle~?

Jaune: The ladies of, Batman’s Rouge Gallery? Why them?

Nora: Why not them?

Jaune: …

Jaune: Fair enough… Okay… I would kill, Poison Ivy.

Nora: Aww… but, I thought you liked us red heads~?

Jaune: I do, but it’s more of personality/mind set kind of thing. I understand why she wants to save the environment, and all that. But, considering her powers she could make plants that absorb the pollution, and cleanse the environment like nature currently does. I mean, we’ve got algae springing up the can digest plastics, and there are mushrooms capable of absorbing nuclear radiation. I mean come on! Poison Ivy could easily do that, and make something ten times better at doing that! But, no let’s kill all the corrupt businessmen, politicians, and everyone on the whole god damn planet to save the environment! That’s sounds lovely~!

Nora: Okay… that sounded personal…

Jaune: Sorry, but environmentalists annoy the hell out of me! I mean come on! Let’s stop using all fossil fuels, and natural gas to prevent the world from ending in the next five years, a notion that they have said a dozen times in the last three decades! Not to mention that idea would kill millions in a matter of weeks if implemented?!

Nora: …?!

Nora: So…

Nora: Who ya gonna fuck…?

Jaune: Harely Quinn.

Nora: Oh really, you got a thing for clowns~?

Jaune: No. I have to pick, and of the two I would like to sleep with, Harely Quinn. I’m curious about how flexible she would be, among other things…

Nora: Nice~!

Jaune: And, lastly I would marry, Selina Kyle.

Nora: Why her?

Jaune: Admittedly I like, Catwoman the most out of the trio. I like her mature elegance, that femme fatale, and saucy air about her. Plus, I read the comics, she a romantic at heart with, Bruce Wayne. Granted unless written as so, Selina never overcomes, Bruce’s obsession with being, Batman. But, in the stories they do get together, they form a strong lasting pair who grow up to have a loving family together with.

Jaune: I want that too…

Jaune: You happy, Nora, have you got your answer.

Nora: I’m ecstatic, Fearless Leader~! I’ll see you later~!

Jaune: …

Jaune: Somethings off with that smile of hers… I don’t like it…

~~~

Nora: Alright ladies, have you made your decision?

Cinder: Perfectly! I will be going as, Catwoman. I already have a catsuit that I know, Jaune will absolutely drool all over~!

Nora: Oh, nice! It really shows of your phat ass! He better give that a nice hard slap when he sees it!

Cinder: I’ll give him plenty of reasons to do just that~! Now, Neo will be using her semblance to dress as, Harley Quinn. She is also flexible enough to play the part~!

Nora: I’m sure, Jaune will love that~! Don’t pull a muscle out there , Neo!

Neo: 😁

Nora: No, I’m being serious, he will pull some muscles when he’s done with you!

Neo: 🤕🥴

Nora: Oh~? Kinky, I like it~!

Cinder: And, lastly, Emerald will be using her semblance to appear as, Poison Ivy!

Emerald: Are you sure this will work? He hates, Poison Ivy.

Nora: That means he’ll hate fuck you to get rid of that pent up rage~!

Emerald: Oh…? Oh~? Oh that sounds like fun~!

Cinder: Alright girl, let’s head out! Let’s show, Jaune what’s it’s like to be embrace by a trio of femme fetale’s~!

Emerald: Thanks, Nora, we really appreciate your help!

Nora: No problem ladies! And, good luck!

Nora: Cause… you’ll need it… oh boy you’ll need it…

[wayneskluv]

and they were roommates — h. quinn

summary: silly lesbian roommates

word count: 690

warnings: implications of masterbation at the end

pairing: roommate!harley quinn x f!reader

authors note: non canon harley cause she’s not so insane so just pretend it’s harleen quinzel | i’ll do a part 2 if anyone wants one 😭

You were sat at your desk, your fingertips gracing the keys as you mindlessly type yet another essay that will not, in any way, be useful in the real world.

“Hi.” You hear a high pitched voice from behind you, the New York accent belonging to your roommate, that you sort-of-definitely-have-a-thing-for, Harley Quinn. “Whatcha working on?” As she speaks, she leans in closer, having absolutely no concept of personal space.

You let out an exasperated sigh, that you cut off with a chuckle. “Nothing special.” You say, your eyes never leaving the screen. A small smile tugs at the side of your lips, feeling the lingering presences of Harley from behind you.

“Sorry, Harls. Gotta work on this.” If you’d turned around, you’d have seen the over-dramatic pout she was putting on.

It was almost comical how she could make any small gesture and it would instantly pull your attention her way. You did, in fact, turn to look at her finally and were caught off guard by the playful pout that was now on her lips. It brought a sudden rush of air, almost as if you’d forgotten to breathe.

“No reason to look at me like that. I still have like… another hour, at least, to work on this. Can’t let it get too close to the deadline.”

“I wasn’t doing anything.” Came the quick answer from Harley. It was almost like she could sense where your eyes would be looking next, because now she was standing in the way of your computer screen.

“You could be doing something other than working.” She whined, leaning back over and placing her hands, on the edge of your desk, on either side of your keyboard.

“Oh, yeah?” The flirty words roll off your tongue before you can stop them, almost muscle memory at the point. Your head peers round her waist, trying to focus on your work and not the close proximity.

She laughed at your inability to focus on the task at hand. The proximity between the two of you, she knew, had to be distracting for you too. “So,” her hands moved, and she stood a little straighter, allowing you a proper view back at your computer screen.

“What do you have planned for the rest of the day?” The flirtatious banter was easy with Harley, but there was an understanding beneath this playful behaviour which felt nice.

“Nothing.” You replied, though the tone of your voice, the body language you were exuding said the exact opposite. Harley was enjoying the back and forth between the two of you; the feeling of tension as her proximity continued to remain very close to yours.

She had been waiting for the moment where you’d have no excuse, no excuse to not ask her to hang out more. And this was the perfect opening, she was offering to spend time with you, outside of your shared apartment.

“Wanna do something?” She says, “You know, together. When you’ve done.” Her voice is almost too eager, if she didn’t have such a bubbly personality, you’d have been more curious.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You reply, this was what you’d been waiting for. That invitation, that openness. The playful back and forth banter between you was one thing. And your roommate situation was a whole entirely different situation, which felt like it was a bit of a hindrance to this budding, whatever was going on.

“Maybe something to eat,” she started, “Something outside of these walls.” She was so hyper-focused on the space between you, your proximity, you felt almost as if she was breathing for the both of you.

“Yeah, sounds great.” In your concentration, you dart out your tongue to wet your bottom, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by her.

An hour later, you finally click the save button and close your laptop down. You stand up, stretching as you move with a small groan, and you head toward Harleys room. As your bare heels hit the floor, you hear the prettiest little whines coming from her room. You’re about to knock when you hear a low whimper of your name.

[wreckedandpolemic]

Dry humping and specially cumming into pants always makes me think about regret me universe ngl

here’s three times you made him cum in his pants, since you asked so nicely xx

you’re both so needy, so desperate to get off, that neither of you are particularly fighting for control. you’re literally humping his leg, thigh muscles bunched under your soaked cunt as you grind against the lace of your panties. matty’s lips are wrapped around your nipple, licking and sucking and biting greedily. you whimper as pleasure creeps up your spine, his name spilling from your lips in a frenzied litany. back arching, you writhe in his lap, shifting your weight to let matty grind up against your core.

mmh, matty, fuck, you gasp, throwing your head back as he lifts his head to kiss at your neck. his hips rock up against yours, whines of your name and please and fuck stumbling from his lips. y’gotta cum f’me, princess. make me cum, too, then i’ll fuck you. or you can fuck me, m’not feelin’ picky, i just— shit, yes! you cry, shaky moans torn from your throat as matty’s hips meet yours at an angle that sends blinding pleasure washing over you.

by now attuned to your body, matty repeats the motion perfectly, once, twice, three times, until something in you breaks. you pitch into oblivion, chipped red nails digging into his shoulders as you cum shockingly hard. in the same split-second, matty twitches, jerks, goes still. he grins up at you dopily, wiping your sweaty hair out of your face and planting a kiss directly between your tits. hm, i like the sound of you fucking me.

then, there’s a time you’re feeling mean. your legs are spread, your soaked cunt on display as you bring yourself to orgasm after orgasm. the mattress under you is soaked, your chest heaving, and matty sits obediently cross-legged at the other end. god, feels so good. bet you wish you were fucking me dumb like this, huh? you murmur, honestly surprised you can still string sentences together.

matty nods frantically, eyes glued to the toy pressed against your clit. too bad. maybe if you could fucking behave yourself, you’d get to make me feel good. he’s so hard it has to ache, straining against his jeans as the muscles of his stomach twitch helplessly. you’re listless with ecstasy as you coax another orgasm from your overworked body, moaning his name like it’s the only word you know.

fuck, fuck, fuck, m’sorry, i didn’t mean to, i— matty whimpers, tears pooling on his lashline as a wet patch spreads from where the tip of his cock presses against his jeans. god, y’like watchin’ me that much? you tease. such a freak. was gonna let you fuck me if you kept being good, but you obviously don’t need it.

he looks fucking heartbroken, and you laugh cruelly. please, he breathes. you’re so fucking beautiful, look so hot when you cum, please let me make you cum, he begs. c’mere, you say, and matty’s eyes light up, thinking you’re relenting as he scrambles up the bed.

the expression he wears when you push the toy into his hand is almost comically crestfallen. go on, baby. don’t you wanna make me cum?

and then, there’s the time you’re all over him, teasing him and kissing him, mouthing over his cock through his boxers as he thrashes above you. matty’s hands are tied behind his back, big arms straining against the rope desperately. his hips jerk upward, pleading softly, and you grin. hm, i’ve got some work to get done, princess. he gasps brokenly as you climb off him, tucking yourself into a chair and opening your laptop.

mommy, please, he says weakly, lips swollen and shiny with spit. need you. you click your tongue. mommy’s busy, darling. if you can figure out how to get yourself off, go ahead. you add condescendingly, slowly chipping away at some email to your manager that definitely could have waited a couple of hours for you to fuck matty’s brains out. but it’s not as fun that way.

you watch him over your laptop screen, facedown and grinding against your mattress. please, mommy. m’so fucking turned on, so hard f’you. your eyes are glued to his ass, the muscles of his back as they ripple with every movement. wanna make you feel good. please. y’could just use me. promise i’d be good, he pleads, voice thick with desire as he ruts into the mattress.

don’t push your luck, princess, you chide, even as arousal hums insistently between your thighs. be a good boy and cum for me, then we’ll see, yeah? you’ve abandoned any work you could have been doing, keeping up the pretence for matty’s sake as you squeeze your thighs together wantonly. mmh, oh, god, fuck— he whimpers, voice pitching up as he draws closer. he cums with a whine of your name, spilling into his boxers and leaving a wet patch on your sheets. dirty boy, you smirk. think you can go again?

[sanzaibian]

Well, I'm a skinny guy in my thirties, with thinning hair that's starting to turn gray. I've dedicated a good part of my life to work, to the point that sometimes I think I've forgotten how to live. My hair, in a way, represents exactly that too; it's nothing special, it's average and boring. Sometimes I think about getting a crazy haircut and showing a bit of rebellion, but I Know that’s not gonna happen. I think I'll always be the proper average guy with no great adventures of youth to remember...

PS. Congratulations on reaching the milestone! Well deserved, you're an amazing writer!

“Welcome to the normal barbershop ! Thanks for having chosen our service !” You are duly welcomed as soon as you enter the shop. “Today, Qianglong, Tyler’s assistant, is going to cut your hair !”

A giant man, easily surpassing 1m80 in height, buff to an almost comical degree, with jet black hair cut in a short but tidy spiky undercut appears. His guns are in full display, as he wears a gray and cyan tank top whose sleeves descend so far down that you could reasonably fear it will tear open. He approaches, towering over you, and looks at you in the eyes. He almost seems to be judging your character through his deep brown eyes… before looking up, likely at your messy thinning mop.

You two stand in silence a while longer, making you shudder in the anticipation. Is he judging your hair ? Thinking it cannot be saved ? Or that you’ve done a poor job caring for it ? Although you would tend to agree with these observations, you cannot help but feel down at the thought of him thinking that, lowering your eyes down in shame. And although your eyes meet the absurdly big monster hiding below the black shorts, the sole effect of that sight is but a raise in your own much shyer creature.

Suddenly, Qianglong moves towards the cutting area.

“跟我来吧。” He orders in a very deep voice, which you interpret as ‘follow me’.

You do just that, and sit on the comfortable chair he points to you. For a temporary shop, it is actually very well-decorated, and the luxury of comfort is absolutely not forgotten. You look forwards and are met with your reflection. You do hope that this… hunk of a man will be able to manage something with your mess of hair, although you don’t bear much hope for something beyond the smallest of changes.

Right back to the usual.

Well, that would basically be what you would have asked… if you didn’t see that Qianglong guy drawing out clippers, without even any guard on it. What is he doing, is he going to cut your hair without even asking what kind of cut you want ? And… what’s with these size 1 clippers ! You wanted a change, but you’re not sure you can commit to such a drastic one as this !

“Excuse me…” You start, quite apprehensive in front of such an intimidating man. “Are you not going to… ask me what I want ?”

The hunk looks at you, and without even changing his facial expression a muscle, answers :

“You already said.” He states with a very strong Chinese accent.

Oh yeah, that’s right, you did say what you wanted when you booked that haircut… but now that you think back on what you wrote, you’re starting to have second thoughts… What will everybody say once they see… whatever has happened to your hair ? How will they judge you for doing something crazy like that ?

But before you can even start amending your order, you feel the cold metal of the hair clippers.

And the buzzing sound.

It has started. There’s not going back, now.

The barber starts delicately by shaving off your hair on your right side, starting from your ear to the back. He moves his hand up, down, up, down, drawing rows of baldness right at the base of the top of your hair to the bottom of your head. Your hair falls down in droves, the part still untouched by male-pattern baldness, leaving raw skin in its wake. It almost makes you feel a bit depressed, as something so important is being so indiscriminately removed from you.

But when the clippers are about to reach the very back of your head, he suddenly stops. He walks to the other side of your head, and resumes the shaving of your hair, this time at your left side. What is he doing ? You though that he would make you bald, or something ! But now he is leaving in the back of the hair ! Is he… wait… He is…

Qianglong turns the clippers off, leaving you with a somewhat wide row of more or less thin hair from the crown down to your neck. That shape is so distinctive, having always appeared in cartoons as one of the villain’s hairstyles, yet something you would have never even dared thinking of getting for yourself.

A mohawk.

Before you could start even processing that realization, the barber comes back with a bottle full of a white lotion. It seemed a bit weird, a bit… jittery when you looked at it. It almost seemed like it was boiling or something… And all of a sudden, it was spread across your hair. The bottle was now empty, but the barber had both of his hands in your short hair, spreading further the white… goo ? that he put inside.

As he does that, you notice that he is pulling out your hair, and that… it was growing longer at the same time ? What the fuck, how is he even doing that ! But not only pulling the hair, some spots that you know for a fact were bald before the clippers’ passage were suddenly sprouting new life. Which he immediately started pulling on.

However, suddenly, you felt a hot drop fall on the bald side of your head. Looking at it, you noticed that the white goo is not only growing your hair… it’s also draining it completely of color ! Out of the tip of your whitening hair are accumulating drops of pure melanin, that condense and fall on your skin, feeling warm. The drops don’t only fall on your head, they also fall on your arms, on your torso, and on your back, staining your shirt.

“对不起，we have washed clothes.” The hunk grumbles, as he continues pulling, pulling and pulling, without end.

A bit annoyed that your shirt is stained like that, you start undressing, failing to realize how your skin is absorbing the drops of melanin from your whiter and whiter hair. Those drops start coursing through your skin, creating intricate shapes that only a professional could ever design. Some color even manages to sneak its way inside, as some red also appears inside the work of art that your body becomes.

Suddenly, the barber leaves, leaving your much, much longer white hair drooping inside the white goo. Not sure of what to do, you start looking around, but everything seems a bit distant… You have a hard time making out the details, far away, as it all feels jittery and a bit dark. Are you having eye problems ? You aren’t old, so it shouldn’t happen ! Yet here you are, looking out into the darkening room in which fog seemingly starts to fall.

Although when you look at the desk right on front of you, you can see everything clearly, when you try and concentrate on something further away, you ave a hard time making out what it is… with all the fog… It almost seems like a concert… yes… the adrenaline of the concert, the room all dark except for the members of the band playing and singing… what ? Rock, punk, ska, you can’t tell… but it’s good shit. And you love being in this kind of ambiance, smelling the warmth of all the compressed human beings jumping and dancing in rhythm, hoping to have their idol lay eyes on them.

“Please raise head.”

The deep voice of Qianglong suddenly snaps you back in reality. The fog has disappeared, the light has returned, and you can once again make out all the details of the reality. What happened ? What was that… daydream ? You can’t really tell, but it felt so familiar, and sooooo stimulating.

Something you want to do as often as possible.

But now that you’re back in reality-land, you notice that, yes, you have the back of your head pressed against the headrest. Well, it’s its job, but when you have a mohawk, that’s not something you’d want to do too often. So you push your head to the front, letting the barber spread a cyan-blue-colored lotion, though feeling the texture it feels very much like hair gel.

That product has already been spread at the top of your head, giving a blueish tint to the white hair. Although, seeing how it has spread, it almost looks like it has been absorbed by your hair… how strange. No matter, the barber brandishes a comb, and starts pushing your hair up, up, up and up, spreading at the same time the colored lotion. Looking at his technique, he is going quite slowly and delicately, pushing your hair to higher heights than you ever thought possible.

You cannot contain your smile, as you see the mohawk taking really shape, as a long ridge traversing your whole head, connecting with your neck at the end. Although you would never have requested that to a barber, you cannot help but be proud of that new hairstyle you now wear. You look fierce, you look hot, and even though the signs of age haven’t disappeared from your face, you still feel younger than you ever have.

And youth are known for their spirit of rebellion.

You thank Qianglong for the amazing cut, but before you leave, he points to you the fact that you forgot to dress back up. Looking at the stained to no end shirt you came with, you decide to take up on his offer of “washed clothes” (what a weird way to say clean clothes). And when he comes back with a truly big tank top plastered with a design that is reminiscent of hard rock themes, you gladly accept.

And no sooner have you put it on that you feel yourself feeling it just right, your lean muscles clinging on the cloth. By now, the only thing that is lacking would be a bass or an electric guitar, and you would be a whole new persona, so far from your workaholic self ! don’t you think so ?

… well, I must admit that I didn’t think you would have this realization this fast...

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Can we get more wolverine polycule??? Theyre so cute for her

"Way to go, champ," Wade said, kissing your nose. "Knew you could do it, did it feel good?"

"Yeah," you manage, snuggling into the warmth that's offered. Tomorrow you'll be sore. Tomorrow you'll be limping at work and you'll just tell people you tripped on a rug. But that's not a right now problem. Right now you're sleepy and warm, tangled up with two walls of muscle keeping you pinned to the bed.

Behind you, Logan laughed softly and buried his face in your hair, "You did good, Princess. Do you want Ice?"

" 'm okay, Lo," you murmur. But despite your protests, you find yourself laying half ontop of Wade, your head on his shoulder with Logan'warming lotion in his hands.

"Can't have you miserable tomorrow after you fucked us both stupid today," Wade reasoned, stretching lazily as he met Logan's eyes over your head.

They could go again. Few more times. But. They could do that tomorrow while you were at work- it had been... a while since you'd been able to come play with them like this. The pain made you tense and the tension made you think and the thinking only made it worse. The more tense you were, the more painful it was to even have sex. You'd blow them if they wanted, sure but. They liked this. Their girl in their bed. Satisfied and not just sitting on the sidelines.

Logan worked down your back and hips, smirking when you sighed. "That's it, pretty girl," he coaxed. "Took such good care of us-"

"You did most of the work," you point out.

"Soul-sucking blowjobs are work," Wade put in.

"Did so good you shut Wade up. Fucking miracle worker," Logan snorted, popping your backside affectionately.

When you don't answer, from your spot face down on Wade's chest, he pushes hair out of your face and grins, "Out cold," he said.

"Good," Logan rumbled, kissing the back of your neck and pulling a sheet up over you. "Gonna need her beauty sleep." He laid down on your other side and threw his leg over you, effectively pinning both you and Wade in one place- where he'd know if you got up. Where he'd know you were safe.

"Breakfast in the morning?" Wade asked, stretching.

"Sounds good." It was better now. You smelled right. Like them. Tomorrow's problems were tomorrow's problems. Right now, nothing was wrong. The feel of your bodies were imprinted on him properly and it felt right.

_____________

When mottled arms wrapped around him in the shower, Logan hummed, "Where's Y/N?" he asked.

"Showered, dressed, and fucking baby sitting," Wade whined.

"Babysitting?" Logan growled, "What the-"

"For not fucking liking her her sister is really quick to drop off her fuck trophies at the ass crack of dawn," Wade sulked, thudding his head against Logan's back.

Logan growled, "How'd I not hear-"

"She met them downstairs. Kids slept on the couch for a bit while she hosed off all that sweet sweet-"

"So much for breakfast," Logan grunted.

"Yeah. She took them out already. Guess she figured if she fed and walked them they'd be easier to wrangle. Cute kids. Less bitchy than their mom."

Logan snorted. He'd see about that. He also wondered if their parents knew you were fucking BOTH the men you lived with. You tended to avoid telling your family anything you didn't have to.

By the time they were done fucking around, dressed and out of the bedroom, you were back. And in full 'Cool Auntie' mode. Clearly, this might not have been an expected visit, but it didn't take long for Wade and Logan to notice the near hero worship on the faces of the three boys who were sprawled on the furniture and playing with Mary.

"Listen, Homie," you're telling the oldest, "I got you you first date and I have pictures that can ruin your life, don't test me."

"No you don't," he scoffed.

"Oh, oh honey," you laugh, "I took you to your first comic convention dressed as a tiny baby Hulk-"

He visibly paled and you grinned, "I got pictures that can ruin your mama too. So. Try me if you want to but remember. We existed before Life 360."

"Hey, Shush," the middle kid asked, looking up from his phone, "what was it like when dinosaurs roamed the earth?"

Wade snorted when you mimed throwing a plastic cup at him, "I dunno, Peanut, what was it like?"

"Fuck you, Wade."

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Hi! Can I plz request MM!Donnie with a fem reader? So basically, reader is the queen bee of the school, she's the popular girl, ect. So Donnie and reader have liked each other for a while, but he's too scared to make a move, so she has to flirt and make the move on him?

Tysm!! <333

Popular’s Crush (Fluff-ish)

MM!Donatello x reader

A/N: Here you go! Donnie and a popular reader💜 It is worth noting that I’ve never been in an American High School, and therefore aren’t sure how the cafeteria truly works. Buuuut, I think this still works💜

Warnings: Spelling lol💜

“Don’t turn right now”, your best friend said, cutting you off mid sentence, as you were telling her about your weekend, her eyes flickering between you and whatever was behind you at the other end of the cafeteria. “He’s here”.

You bite your lip with a small smile, knowing exactly who your friend was talking about. It was one of the turtles.

“Is he alone?”, you asked, only loud enough for her to hear, keeping the rest of your busy table in the unknown, as they talked about their own weekends, seemingly not noticing you and your friends' little conversation. “Is he looking this way?”

“No, he’s with friends and his brothers”, your friend answered, leaning a little to the side to get a better look. She then hurried back in her former position, looking at you with a smile. “He’s looking!”

You turned around in your seat, looking towards the food line, where you saw Donatello with some of his friends, just behind his three brothers. He was standing as if he was watching something his friends showed him on their phones, but his eyes was nowhere looking at the screen. They were looking right over the top in your direction, meeting yours. You tried to smile at him, but before you could move a face muscle he looked down on the screen in front of him, a small panic in his eyes as he tried to act as if he had been watching it the whole time.

You sighed in annoyance as you turned back towards your friend. Your friend shooting you an apologetic look.

“It’s as if he doesn’t even notice!”, you groaned, poking lazily at your food with your fork, suddenly having no interest in eating.

“I don’t get it”, your friend said. “I could have sworn he was staring at you”.

“Maybe”, you mumbled, thinking of a way you could catch the attention of your crush. Nothing had worked in the past year. You have had a good eye to Donatello, ever since he and his brothers started attending your school. He was different from any other guy that you had had a crush on, well, other than the fact that he was a mutant turtle that had trained in the art of ninjutsu ever since he was a baby. He was by most classifications, a nerd, a far cry from the usual jocks you found yourself falling for. When he wasn’t with his brothers, Donnie hung out with the other nerds from his grade, talking about anime, video games, movies or comic books. But Donnie wasn’t the stereotypical nerd from the movies, who feared the big jocks or a sudden beating. Donnie was sarcastic and did well with words. He was for the most time calm, and took everything in a roll. And to be honest, you found him much more charming than any other guy you had found yourself interested in. Which only made it more frustrating for you, when Donnie did not return your looks, nor tried to start up a conversation with you, like all the other guys had done.

But unbeknownst to you, Donnie’s friends started pushing and poking him with teasing smiles, having noticed the way he had looked at you, and his panicked expression when you saw him.

“Look”, one of them said, poking Donnie’s cheek with a big teasing smile. “Don’s blushing”.

“Am not”, Donnie said, slapping his friend's hand away, turning to follow the line as it moved, his brothers grabbing a tray each as they moved forward.

“So you’re going to pretend that we didn’t just see you make eye contact with (Y/N)?”, his friend asked as Donnie grabbed a tray, getting a look at the school food with a grimace. He still remembered the days he used to dream about school, and so far it had been everything he had dreamed of… except the food… and the confusing thing that was crushes.

“I still think you should just talk to her”, one of his other friends said, letting the kitchen lady slap a lump of… something onto his tray. “You have looked at her for a year now. It might be time to be that brave mutant turtle hero and go talk to her”.

“But I can’t”, Donnie sighed, looking at the not so nice smelling food in disdain. Maybe he should ask Scumbug for a lunchbox instead of this slack. “She’s popular and I’m a-”.

“A mutant that saved the world a year ago?”, his friend butted in, following Donnie to the table his brother had taken a seat at. “Surely that will get her just a little interested”.

Donnie sighed in annoyance, poking at his food. Why did he tell his friends about his crush on you in the first place?

From your table, you sat and watched Donnie along with his friends and brothers, as he started to dig into the food in front of him, your eyes burning into the back of his purple hoodie, frustration building up inside of you.

“Right!”, you finally let out, slamming your fork down onto your tray, causing your whole table to stare as you stood up, your friend looking confused. “I guess that if you want something done, you have to do it yourself”. And then you walked off in the direction of Donatello’s table.

Donnie’s tablemates saw you coming before Donnie did, his brothers exchanging excited glances, waiting for the moment Donnie would notice. But he didn’t. At least not until you tapped his shell, making him turn to see who wanted his attention. Donnie almost choked on the food in his mouth when he saw you, his friends giggling among themselves as his nervous reaction.

“Hey, Donnie”, you smiled, ignoring the way his tablemates seemed to find great interest in your presence.

“H- hey, (Y- Y/N)”, Donnie stammered, causing the boys to snicker, his face growing hot. “W- what are y- you doing h- here?”

“She attends the school, dummy”, Raph said, very amused by the scene unfolding in front of him. “And you’re supposed to be the smart one”.

Donnie shot him a glare. This was not the time to be funny at his expense, especially not with his crush standing in front of him.

“Well, I actually wanted to talk to you”, you said, grabbing a gentle hold on the string of Donnie’s hoodie. This action caused him to freeze, his glasses sliding a little further down his beak.

“A- about w- what?”, he asked cautiously, way too aware of the hand that tugged lightly at his hoodie string.

“I wanted to hear if you would like to hang out someday”, you smiled sweetly.

Donatello stared at you, as if he did not fully believe the words that came out of your mouth. “R- really?”

“Yes”, you smiled, feeling confident by his stunned expression. “Got any plans tomorrow?”

“No!”, Donnie exclaimed, eager to finally get a chance to be alone with you.

“Actually”, Leo started. “We’ve promised our dad that we would-”.

“I haven’t”, Donnie said, shutting Leo down real fast. “I have no plans tomorrow”.

“In that case”, you smiled brightly. “Meet me outside the school after the last class. Then we can go to my place and hang out. Deal?”

“Deal!”, Donnie exclaimed, happiness written all over his face.

“Okay then”, you said, letting go of his hoodie string. Donnie almost seemed disappointed when you did so, having enjoyed your hand so close to his face. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Donnie”.

“See you…”, Donnie said like he was in a trance, watching as you walked away, feeling the bubble of joy growing in his chest, ignoring the giggles and teasing smiles from his friends and brothers. You and Donnie was finally going to spend some time together.

[monster-disaster]

[orc] Zorag Iron - 2/3

orc!Zorag Iron x human!Reader - 2/3 Good to know: smut

Summary: Your argument with Zorag takes a sudden turn.

The rain is still heavy and restless. It pours from the dark sky, drumming on the roof of the van. The wipers on the windshield move back and forth without pause. Their clicking is a constant noise in the background, mixing with the songs coming from the radio. None of you pay attention to it. You can barely see the road through the window, and you definitely can't see the name of the streets.

"They will still be open, right?" You ask, glancing at the clock. If they didn't decide to close sooner because of the weather, they should. You only hope you didn't come all this way for nothing. And the orc next to you thinks the same thing. "I hope so," Zorag grunts. "If not, I will find someone to take care of the orders."

"Turn to the left," you are the one who breaks the silence again. "Now, Zorag!" "That's the wrong way." "No, it's not. I have been there before." "Me too," he continues to argue with you, passing the left turn completely. "I know how to drive, Ruby." You roll your eyes. "Of course, you know." His frown deepens. You aren't even sure what he looks like without the wrinkle between his thick brows. "What do you mean by that?" He grunts. "Why can't you listen to me?" You ask him, pulling your arm tighter in front of your chest. "That was the right way." "Or maybe…" Sarcasm drips from each word he says. "Maybe there are several other ways to get to the address."

You know he is right. And you want to pull on his hair because of it.

Soon, you reach your destination, and fortunately, the gates open in front of you immediately. One of the workers shows you where to go, and Zorag parks down in front of a building that looks familiar that you have in the lumberyard. Nobody is outside, but you can hear the others working inside. "Stay here," Zorag grunts. "I will be quick." The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. "I bet." The line of his jaw clenches into a hard line but says nothing. The only reply you get is the hard thud of the door as he pushes it shut.

Zorag is at his wits' end with you. But he always feels like this when you're around. No matter what you do or say, there is a twitch in his stomach that makes him want to spank you and kiss you senseless at the same time. You are bossy and bratty. You always want to tell him what to do and how to do it. You always think you know better, and you are not afraid to tell him that. He has every reason to dislike you, and still. Here he is. Half hard, even after your comment about his quickness. He can't help it, though. The van is small compared to him. You were close to him the whole time, with your sweet scent mixed with the rain. Your shirt clung to your body, showing off the soft swell of your breasts and the gentle slope of your collarbone. Your hair is still a mess even after drying in the warmth of the car.

You sit and watch the men take the planks out of the back. Zorag helps them. The hood over his head hides half of his face, but you can still see the thick tusks between his lips. You can't hear what he says, but the deep rumble of his words reaches your ears and resonate in your core. He seems even bigger next to the humans. He towers over them with his broad shoulders and muscles that make his coat stretch around his arms. You can't help but stare at him the whole time.

When everything is done, the orc sits back in the car and starts the engine with a roar. The end of his dreadlocks is wet, dripping down onto his thighs. The dark jeans he wears soak them up.

"Well," you speak up. The air is heavy and tense between you two. "I'm glad it's done." Zorag just grunts. "Thanks for coming with me," you try again. He nods but says nothing.

The tension doesn't lessen, and you start to worry. Maybe you really pushed him too far? The thought almost feels comical. There is no way Zorag would get mad at you just because of a snarky comment. You two do it all the time. That's the base of your relationship. You are angry at him, he is angry at you, and that's it. Life goes on. At least, that's what you try to tell yourself the whole way back to the lumberyard in your hometown.

You don't try to speak with him anymore, and he doesn't say anything either. Your eyes are on the window, watching the trees passing by through the rain. The forest is dark, and it seems unforgivable. Lush greens surround the mountains in the background. Their tops disappear in the dark clouds. The sky flashes here and there, and thunder shakes through the air.

You can't wait to get home.

When the van stops in the protection of the storage, you can't help but sigh with relief. The day was longer than you anticipated. The sun is ready to disappear behind the trees, and the dark clouds are still thick and loud. Another flash. Another rumble.

For a second, you just stare at the orc when both of you get out of the car. You are leaning against the door while he puts the keys back in their place. He is still tense and quiet. You can see his taut muscles even through the layers of his clothes.

"Zorag?" You break the silence after biting your bottom lip almost to bleeding. He grunts in acknowledgment, and you roll your eyes. "Hey," you sound almost angry. "I'm sorry okay? My comment clearly hit a sore spot, and I apologize for it. I didn't mean it." Apologizing to Zorag is new. You feel awkward, and you just want to be done with it.

And you are clearly doing it wrong.

His body froze for a long second before turning back to you with a low growl. His dark eyes seem even more dangerous than the storm outside. The hoops around his tusks glint under the dim light of the storage.

"Hit a sore spot?" He spits. Oh, oh. "I mean…" you gasp. "I didn't mean it like that. I just… It was too much, and I know that now." Before you know it, he is in front of you. His tall form towers over you, caging you against the car as you press your back to the door some more. "Why are you so upset about it anyway?" You ask him, frowning. When your attempt to apologize takes you nowhere with the orc, you choose another route. You argue. You want to fight because you are familiar with it. You know what to expect from it, and in a strange way, it gives you comfort. So you are almost shocked when, instead of snapping at you, Zorag smirks. And damn, he is really handsome when he does that. The curve of his lips is crooked because of his tusks, but it still stirs something in you. "What?" You snap. "What are you doing?" Tension keeps your back straight against the van. "If you really want to know how long I last in bed, you only have to ask." You scoff. Heat creeps up on your face. Your lips open and close as you try to come up with something. "I don't- I mean- I-" "Don't lie to me, Ruby," he warns you. "Maybe my nose is not as good as the shifters', but I notice everything." His words fan over you as he leans closer to your ear. The ring in his nose feels cold on the warm skin of your neck. Your whole body shakes at his closeness. "What are you doing?" You gasp.

What is he doing, really? Zorag isn't even sure himself. The only thing he knows is that there is no way he will let you go this time. You and his own thoughts drove him crazy the whole way back to the lumberyard.

"Tell me you don't want it," he says. His voice is a low rumble. "Tell me you don't clench your pretty thighs every time we argue. Tell me you don't get excited when we fight." You really want to tell him all those things. They are on the tip of your tongue. Lies. Lies. Lies. "That's what I thought," he hums when you say nothing.

The kiss starts slowly, giving you a chance to say no. Just a brush of his lips across yours. Soft and warm. The loops on his tusks are cold. For a second, you are not even sure if he can kiss you fully because of his teeth, but then he presses his lips against yours. His tongue slips into your mouth, demanding everything you can give him. One of his arms wraps around your torso, pulling you to his body and away from the car. He is devouring you. Cradling your head in his large palm, his thumb caresses the soft spot under your ear. His chest is large and hard under your hands. You burn and ache in his arms. The feeling of his tusks pressing into your skin makes you gasp against his lips. Your mind wanders to how it would feel between your legs.

After a while, he breaks the kiss but doesn't step away from you. His breath is hot against your cheeks. Your lips are swollen, and the throbbing between your legs is in sync with the rapid beating of your heart.

"Well," you gulp. Your nails dig into his coats to keep him close. "You proved nothing." His laugh is booming. The pleasant sound runs through your body. "I really hoped you would say that," he grins with mischief in his dark eyes. His arm falls away from your body after another quick kiss as he lowers himself to his knees. Oh. "Here?" You gasp, looking around even though you know nobody else is here. The door of the storage is open, the rain still pours, and you can barely see the forest surrounding the yard. "Here," he replies. "I don't think this pussy could wait any longer either." Your back falls against the car again. His thick finger brushes over your center through your jeans. Your stomach twitches at the feeling. A breathy gasp leaves your lips when he tugs on your pants and panties until they are thrown down on the floor a few meters away from you. The cold air sends shivers through your body, and your toes curl with anticipation.

Your scent fills Zogar's nostrils to the point the blood in his veins flows and burns with desire. His mouth waters at the pretty sight of your pussy. His palms smooth over the flesh of your thighs, gripping the back of your knees to pull your legs apart until he can see your folds. Wet and aching. One of your hands is on the van behind you as you try to keep your balance while the other is already in his hair. Your grip on his thick locks is almost painful. It fuels his need for you. Zorag leans in, licking over your wetness once, twice, three times before he delves into your pussy. His tongue swirls through your folds, around your clit, and inside your entrance. Your juices coat his taste buds, his lips, and his chin. And all of a sudden, he has no idea how he could live without this anymore. Urging him on, you pull on his hair and grind your burning cunt against his face. You almost ride him, and he is more than happy to be used by you. He licks and teases, grazing his tusk over your clit. "Zorag!" You cry out his name. "Fuck!" His cock is hard as he listens to your moans and groans. His name leaves your lips like a prayer. One of his fingers finds your entrance while his lips close around your clit. Your frantic breathing changes into sobs at the sudden feeling. Pleasure burns your veins, and the coil in your stomach is tight and ready to snap. Zorag pumps in and out of you, curling his finger just the right way to find every spongy spot that makes you scream and beg for more. "Please," you moan. His cock twitches with every sweet word that leaves your lips. "Please, don't stop. Zorag!" He recognizes your orgasm even before you do. Your clit throbs on his tongue, and your walls flutter around his finger as you chase your release. He is the only one who keeps you from falling as your body jumps and shakes with pleasure.

"See?" He grunts, standing up. His arms slide around you to keep you on your legs. His mouth is full of your taste. His deep green skin glints with your wetness. "It's so much better when you stop being so bossy."

You want to hit him.

- Masterlist Ironridge Masterlist Patreon

[greenleaf4stuff]

As a fellow “Celebrimbor is secretly buff/has a sleeper build” truther I’m Screaming at that one pic you reblogged lmfaoo. Poor Adar won’t know what hit him. Adar can pick up whole elves one handed he’s probably used to being the strongest person in the room meanwhile Brimbs got enough muscle to give Adar princess treatment and is just too polite to use it. Or waiting for the right day to surprise Adar with it lmao

Yaaay and hello, fellow "Celebrimbor is buff, actually" truther, thank you so much for your ask, I fully agree! :D <3 (It's this pic, isn't it?)

I actually love that idea so much and it's been stuck in my head as well; I have a WIP that makes use of such a scenario because it has *so* much potential, but I am sadly nowhere near posting it. I really like the idea of a surprised/flustered but ultimately very intrigued Adar reacting to Celebrimbor's muscles.

But you know what, it's not like I have multiple WIPs to finish and several things to edit, have a little snippet of how that concept could go that I just cooked up. I love the concept too much not to use it. Enjoy!

Hidden Assets

Celebrimbor made to side-step the uruk in front of him, only for Adar to take a step as well, landing him right in front of the smith again.

The elf paused. "Would you kindly step aside so I can continue to work?"

Adar only narrowed his eyes in response and remained as he was. "No. You haven't taken a break all day and are clearly exhausted. If you want me to move, you will have to move me yourself."

The smith heaved a sigh. The other's concern was certainly touching, but he did wish to get that last piece done before he retired for the day.

Also, well. Adar clearly thought this was a challenge that Celebrimbor would - could - not take up. The chance to surprise the other a little was just too good to pass up on.

A smirk spread over the smith's lips. Judging by the uruk's resulting expression, he had not expected that kind of response. Before the uruk could even open his mouth again, the smith had stepped up to him, reached down-

and grabbed Adar by the back of his legs. Only to then hoist him up in one smooth motion. The uruk was too stunned to even make an attempt at stopping the elf.

Which was how Celebrimbor ended up standing in the middle of his forge, grinning rather smugly, with a very bewildered looking Adar in his arms, legs dangling alongside the smith's hips.

The uruk's eyes had widened comically as the elf picked the other up, and he'd had to extend his hands and wrap them over Celebrimbor's upper arms to make sure he didn't lose his balance.

There was a moment of perfect stillness, and then the elf began to walk over to a table he wasn't currently using, onto which he deposited the uruk in his hold - albeit gently.

Perhaps he should have known the other would use the positon to cross his ankles behind Celebrimbor's knees and keep his hold on the smith's arms. The uruk had no inhibitions about fighting dirty after all.

"Don't tell me you have been hiding all that strength from me until now?" The other sounded almost incredulous.

Celebrimbor batted his eyelashes in a show of innocence. "Well. Just because I do not carry a big sword and scary armor doesn't mean I am only a politician. First and foremost, I have always been a smith, who tends to engage in rather physical work. As you know."

He leant forward, and now his grin turned almost sly. "I might not have your rather powerful physique, but I can still handle myself just fine."

"Indeed," the uruk breathed, and squeezed Celebrimbor's muscles as he looked at the other appreciatively.