#but instead im writing this....

[vincess-princess]

we, the psychos

ch. 9

Word count: 2103 Warnings: - A\N: a day late, but the update is here! i figured tommy hasn't been in a spotlight for a while so this is all his pov

The laughter only stopped when they loaded Tommy with a double dose of laudanum. He slept like dead through the night, without his usual nightmares. Which would be nice were waking up not extremely miserable afterwards.

It took a lot of effort just to open his eyes. The grey light from the window, though rather dim, hurt to look at. Tommy’s vision was blurry, and his body felt like a puppet with cut strings, like it stuck to the mattress and had to be scraped off with a switchblade.

The switchblade came in the face of Duff carrying a fabric bundle.

“Well, good morning, my merry man,” he said cheerfully, placing the bundle at Tommy’s feet. “See your fit’s over. That’s good.”

“But at what cost,” Tommy croaked, pushing himself up on the bed. His head immediately reacted to the movement by exploding with such pain Tommy dropped back onto the bed with a groan. “I never want to take this medicine ever again.”

“Unfortunately, that’s the only thing that works,” Duff shrugged. “C’mon, don’t be a baby. I’ve got something for you.”

He unfolded the bundle, which, as Tommy feared, turned out to be a hospital robe.

“One of the laundresses got it tailored to your height.”

“No-o,” Tommy moaned, turned over to the wall and covered his head with his pillow. “I’m not putting that on.”

“Yes, you are.” Duff’s tone didn’t change a note. “You’re not special.”

“If I weren’t special I wouldn’t have an, um, ‘fancy’ ward,” Tommy mumbled. And also would have been punished for the fight.

“Well, beside that.” Duff didn’t relent. “Listen, you’re not having lunch until you put this on.”

“It’s lunchtime already?” For some reason Tommy thought it was morning. Though the grey skies looked the same at any time of day. “Why haven’t you woken me up for breakfast?”

“We couldn’t. You slept like a corpse. Dr. Duren told us to let you rest.”

Special princess, Wharton’s voice said in his head. Though if he truly was a special princess, he wouldn’t be forced to wear the hospital robe.

“Can I see the doctor?” Tommy asked.

“Now?” Duff frowned. “He’s seeing other patients, not sure if he can spare time for you before lunch… What do you want from him?”

“I wanna ask him something.”

“Alright, I’ll go check. Maybe he’ll fit you in somewhere. But you aren’t going anywhere until you put on the robe!”

“You are a horrible, horrible person,” Tommy said.

“I just treat all the patients equally.” Duff looked offended. “This is a public asylum, there are people of all walks of life here. And, regardless of their past, they deserve equal treatment. You included. C’mon, I don’t have all the time in the world.”

“You will burn in hell,” Tommy promised, sitting up on the bed. The fabric was rough and thick. God, it would hang off him like a potato sack.

“For treating everyone equally? I doubt it,” Duff huffed. Tommy managed to annoy him.

“This is just stupid,” Tommy complained, slowly undressing. He hoped Duff would get the hint and turn away, but the nurse kept watching him indifferently. “If people are to be treated equally, they would be born equal. But they’re not. Hey, could you not look at least?”

“No,” Duff disappointed him again. “What if you decide to pull something while I look away?”

“What, is that an impression you have of me? That I’m capable of something like that?”

“I haven’t formed it yet. But I do already know that you’re a spoiled whiny baby.”

“Hey!”

“The longer you dress, the fewer the chance Dr. Duren will see you.”

“Ugh.”

Tommy slowly unbuttoned his shirt, carefully folded it and lay it on the bed. His trousers soon followed suit. He needed to change underwear, but with Duff looking… no, he’d better do it at night.

Tommy was right about the robe. It did hang off him like a potato sack. The person it was tailored for was way wider in the shoulders and the hips, and the shoulder seams went like halfway down Tommy’s sleeves. The trousers separated into pant legs somewhere a bit above the knee. It was the worst outfit Tommy saw in his life.

“Not bad,” Duff said when he was done.

“Not bad? Not bad?!” Tommy almost screamed. “This is an atrocity! A crime against humanity! A horror beyond comprehe-“

“Save all that vocabulary of yours for Dr. Duren.” Duff rubbed his temples tiredly. “Now let’s go, I need to escort you to other patients. I’ll see about Dr. Duren and come back with the results.”

Dread washed over Tommy. Other patients were going to see him in this. Yes, they wore the same clothes, but they fit them. Psychos of their status weren’t supposed to look good. Tommy might be a psycho too, but he was different.

“Tommy.” Duff was calm, but there was something in his tone that made Tommy swallow all the objections he was going to unleash.

“Coming,” he could only say as he shuffled out of the ward after Duff.

***

“Oh, Tommy! How you doin’?” Mick greeted him warmly. “Your fit had us all scared. Is that a common thing?”

Oh, right, the laughing fit in the canteen. Lamenting the loss of his dignity, Tommy almost forgot about it.

“Depends,” he shrugged. “A couple times a week. And always at the least appropriate of times.”

“Yeah, that sure was not a good time to laugh,” Mick agreed. “But all that matters is that it’s over. And you’ve got new clothes, I see. How does it feel to be one of plebeians?”

“Horrible,” Tommy grumbled. “I’d rather kill myself than wear this.”

“Nah, it’s not worth it. You’ll get used to it.” Mick patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s go rake some leaves, or Simmons is gonna get big mad.”

They weren’t given proper rakes, of course. Instead they got shovels with blunt edges. These could still serve as a weapon, only with a little bit of effort, but the next step would be raking the leaves with hands so that was the best option.

“Do we have to…” Tommy grimaced, holding the shovel with two fingers like it was something disgusting. He just stepped in mud, and his boots – the last of his normal clothes – now looked just as awful as the robe. Tommy’s mood tanked completely.

“At least pretend you’re doing something,” Mick said, slowly moving the shovel back and forth. It didn’t gather a lot of leaves and was largely useless, but it did look like Mick was working. But Tommy felt offended by the entire concept. Why does he, a nobleman, have to work like a servant out in the cold, standing in mud? Did he not deserve some privileges? His father was a sponsor, after all!

Tommy stood upright and threw the shovel on the ground.

“I am not doing anything.”

Mick rolled his eyes. “You do you. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Tommy found a drier place under a tree and sat down there, observing other patients work. Nurses watched them on the other end of the garden and didn’t notice his impunity at first. But only at first.

Then one of the three nurses on site spotted him. He walked up to Tommy and squatted in front of him. He didn’t look angry or irritated, but there was something behind his indifference… something that said “don’t fuck with me”. And he badly needed a haircut. No wonder half the hospital was wearing long hair – the nurses couldn’t even provide an example.

“Tired?” the nurse said, tilting his head, a mocking glint in his eyes – or was Tommy imagining things?

“I’m not going to do this.” Tommy waved at the patients working.

“And why is that?”

“Because that shouldn’t be patients’ work. Hire a gardener or something.”

“With pleasure - if you provide the funds.” The corner of the nurse’s mouth curved ever so slightly.

“I’m not the one you should be asking.”

“Well, then you are not the one to make such requests. Grab a shovel and go.”

“No.”

The nurse sighed. “I don’t remember you: you must be new. What’s your name?”

“Tommy.”

“Alright, Tommy. Listen. You’ve got two choices now: to pick up the shovel and work, or to have a talk with nurse Simmons. You know nurse Simmons, don’t you?”

Tommy nodded.

“Then you know he’d not exactly the right person to bring your work complaints to. To him, the nurse is always right and the patient is always wrong. And he doesn’t like when patients are wrong.”

“Are you threatening me or what?”

“I am not threatening you. I’m just telling you of possible outcomes. The one to threat you would be nurse Simmons. So are you working or do I call him?”

“Call whoever you want. I’m not doing unpaid labor.”

The nurse smiled, and it was even more unnerving than his resting face. “As you wish.”

He rose from the ground and strolled to the other side of the garden. For a bit Tommy considered hiding in a nearby bush – there would be no scolding if they couldn’t find him – but then shamed himself for it. He was not afraid of some nurse. Even nurse Simmons.

He swiftly changed his mind when the man approached him. He was approximately the same height as Tommy, which – did that asylum collect tall people or something? Tommy couldn’t even use his height advantage here.

Simmons, lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed, towered over Tommy. The nurse that called him stood a bit farther, clearly lingering to enjoy the show.

“Thomas Lee, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Stradlin here said you don’t wanna work.”

Aha, the nurse’s name was Stradlin then. “Work for free,” Tommy corrected him.

Simmons raised his eyebrows. “Sorry? You suppose we should pay you?”

“I suppose you should pay a gardener and not force patients to do his work.”

“Well,” Simmons smiled unpleasantly, “we’ll consider it. Now get your ass up and work.” He picked up Tommy’s shovel and handed it to him, then pulled on his sleeve with such force he almost lifted Tommy from the ground. To his surprise, the rough robe fabric withstood the test with honor.

“Hey! Don’t touch me!” Tommy yanked the sleeve out of Simmons’s hand. “I wish to talk to Dr. Duren, and until I do that I am not doing anything.”

Simmons gave him a long, apprehensive look, and then, to Tommy’s surprise, nodded slowly.

“Very well. Cannot deny a patient access to his doctor. Come with me.”

Tommy blinked in surprise. Did this really work? Were all Stradlin’s promises a lie?

Without looking back Simmons headed down the path to the asylum. Tommy almost ran to catch up to him.

“But Du- Michael said Dr. Duren’s schedule was all busy.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll find some time for such an important patient,” Simmons said without looking at Tommy.

Well, that was an approach Tommy could work with. And what was Duff talking about then? Just wasting his time?

Tommy turned around to see Stradlin stand back there, following them with his eyes. And smiling.

They entered the building, and Simmons led Tommy down some corridor that he hadn’t been in yet. As they walked farther from the entrance and the canteen, Tommy grew nervous. Wasn’t Dr. Duren’s office on the second floor? They had already passed the only stairs he knew about. Maybe in the back of the building there was another?

Then Simmons stopped in front of a door. Metal, with a small barred window at eye level, it didn’t look like it could lead to Dr. Duren’s office at all – more like a yet another ward.

“This is Dr. Duren’s office?”

“Waiting room,” Simmons said, unlocking the door. “The door to the office is inside.”

He opened the door, but Tommy couldn’t see what was there from behind Simmons’s wide back.

“Then why is it dark there?”

“Because we don’t waste oil on scum like you,” Simmons grinned, suddenly very unfriendly, grabbed Tommy’s forearm and pushed him inside, into the darkness. When Tommy, panicking, grasped at the doorframe, Simmons slammed his fingers with his fist so painfully Tommy cried out and fell to the soft floor, clutching his hurt hand to his chest. The door behind him closed, and he was now in complete darkness, save for a small square of light coming from the hall through the barred window.

Behind the door Simmons was laughing. “The doctor will see you soon,” he said, and then he was gone.

[secretmellowblog]

Feeling normal about Javert and Eponine today

[riminiscensce]

Poor Ajaw bro😭

He will definitely go to you to snitch on Kinich, and while at it, he’ll throw in some make-believe stories that makes Kinich sound like a horrible person.

“Kinich said he’ll feed me to the saurian mountain king!”

“Kinich was going to throw me at the desert!”

“Kinich wanted to sell me to criminals!”

The only thing that makes his claim believable to you is how he was cutely trying to wipe his tears with his tiny, pixelated hands.

And one more thing to make you believe him even more:

“I-I just wanted to hang out with him, I had no one to play with and I thought that m-maybe we could’ve spent some time together as friends…”

That was an obvious lie, he would never say that.

But it works well enough to persuade you to talk some senses into Kinich.

The saurian hunter doesn’t even know what happened when you came barging into his place telling him to apologize to Ajaw, and you weren’t at all pleased to see him.

Then Kinich finds out Ajaw lied about him.

“I didn’t do anything he said—“

“Are you saying Ajaw is a liar?”

“Yes,”

“Hey!” Ajaw growled, but quickly clearing his throat to get back into his act. “I mean—It really happened!”

Then Ajaw decided to pull off one of his secret moves to persuade you:

“D-Don’t you trust me?” The dragon frowns, dots of tears still in the corner of his eyes while clutching onto your clothes like a little kid. “I-It was so scary…! I keep getting nightmares about it and—“

Then he continues to sob on your shoulder, saying how he can’t even bring himself to tell the full story at how terrified he is.

He felt an immense wave of success when you start to comfort him.

When you weren’t looking, Ajaw would sneak a glance at Kinich, quietly laughing at how helpless he has gotten.

And Kinich felt intensely mocked by it.

But before he could do anything else, you left with Ajaw, telling him that he’ll stay with you until Kinich can bring himself to apologize.

As the hunter continues to watch you baby Ajaw from afar, the dragon would always grab any chances he gets to rub it in Kinich’s face.

It was sweet revenge.

[duchi-nesten]

remember when i joked about cujo being a secret agent?????? well him and perry the platypus are friends and meet up once a month to drink and spill tea

[choccy-milky]

modern seb as rodrick bc i still havent gotten over my crush😩💖

[peachesofteal]

Johnny who comes home to his girl all excited to see her because it’s been a long two months, you know?

He strips down and crawls towards you across the bed, preoccupied by his dreams of spreading your legs and burying his face in your pussy. Too preoccupied.

You’re so sleepy when he rolls you onto your back, barely able to open your eyes or say his name, and when he finally pulls your knees apart-

His heart stops at the sight.

There’s another man’s cum leaking from your hole, dripping down your cheeks onto the sheets beneath you, clit and lips still swollen and throbbing.

He rears back like he’s been slapped, and that’s when he hears it.

His LT’s chuckle.

“You’re just in time Johnny.”

[crsssie]

God, I want Childhood Friend!Tim Drake

childhood friend!Tim whom your family trusts with your life for some twisted reason despite your protests about how he's more reckless than you

childhood friend!Tim who your friends all pester you about — well aware of the silly crush you've had on him since childhood

childhood friend!Tim who scared your family shitless when he revealed he dropped out of high school to search for his adoptive father

childhood friend!Tim who despite his status as drop out, your family still asks to have him over for dinner

childhood friend! Tim who has been at every single major event in your life whether in or out of his Robin mantle, flowers always in his arms as he greets you

childhood friend! Tim who has a file of photos of just you

childhood friend! Tim who happens to be... adding to that file at the moment

"Stop covering your face." He mumbles, fingers reaching to clasp around your wrist as you crane your neck to hide from his camera. "Please? Come on. You always look so pretty like this."

You only squirm in response.

"Come on." He whispers, pulling your wrist from your face as he's breathless from the way you look. "There you go. You're so pretty like this, birdie."

You try focusing on the way his camera clicks, but your eyes roll further back as he gives you a particularly harsh thrust — making you see stars. You trust that he wouldn't share the photos even if he was at death's door. You trust him with your life, but it doesn't mean you aren't embarrassed that he wants a photo of you like this so bad.

"Ah, Tim." You try, voice coming out in a whimper.

"Yes, birdie?"

"Close."

"That's right, birdie." A hand moves down to hold you down by the hip, speeding up. "Let me see that gorgeous look on your face when you cum."

You make him swear on his hard drive to never let the photo that he gets of you fucked out see the light of day. (not that he would've either way. only he gets to see you so vulnerable.)

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 140

"What?" Geralt asks, frowning, a furrow in his brow. "I turn into a wolf every full moon." Jaskier repeats. "How-" "You were always away on a hunt. You'd just meet me back in the morning." "...You were a werewolf this whole time?" "..Yes. I- I'm sorry, Darling. I never wanted to lie." "Why didn't you trust me with this? Did you think I would hurt you?" "No! I thought I would hurt you. I'm not myself on full moons, Geralt. I can't even remember them. All I know is that the moon raises, i feel this ache in my bones, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up the next morning, nude, with a full stomach of what is HOPEFULLY nothing gross." "...You've not transformed in towns, have you?" "No! Of course not! I'm terrified of hurting someone, Geralt! That's the only reason I'm telling you now! I got the charts mixed up, I thought the moon was still a week away, but it isn't, and we're near a town, and I need you to keep me restrained." A long pause settles between them. "You want me to guard you?" "Guard them. From me. Keep me trapped in a shack and- And lock it up tight. Chain me, hurt me, knock me out, whatever you must do. Keep me from being a danger. I never wanted to be a terrifying beast, Geralt." Jaskier says, with those damned wet doe eyes of his. Geralt agrees. Because he doesn't know a world where he wouldn't. Mere hours later, Jaskier is sat against a beam in an old rundown barn. He's tied up with rope, and chained on top of that. There are no windows in the barn, the door is fully barricaded and locked, and Geralt guards it. "You really should guard it from outside" Jaskier had said. "I'm not leaving you to do this alone. You never should have had to." Geralt replied. Thus, Geralt stands and watches as Jaskier pales and starts twitching. The moon is rising. "It's coming- I'm going to be a beast." Jaskier says with fear, before the transformation takes the air out of his lungs. Geralt watches in horror and awe as Jaskier's body changes, changes, changes.... In... Into a songbird? sitting on the ground is a fat little songbird. It easily hops over the ropes and chains, now much too lose to hold it. Him. Oh my gods. Jaskier's not a werewolf. He's a... were.... werebird... And not even a scary one. Jaskier starts pecking the barn floor and Geralt rubs a hand over his face in exhaustion. He prepared for the worst, and instead is treated to watching Jaskier struggle to bathe in a trough. "Jaskier, it's too deep." He tells the bird, as it fluffs up it's wings. "Jaskier, you're going to-" Jaskier tries to take a step into the birdbath, only to fall, dunking his whole fat little body into the depths of the trough. He flails about in the water, chirping panickedly. Geralt rushes to his aid, gently lifting him out of the water with gentle hands. Perhaps guarding over Jaskier will still be a challenge after all.

[ckret2]

So y'all know the Gravity Falls production bible that leaked three weeks ago. Someone in one of my discord servers pointed this out:

And, naturally, that spawned an entire AU.

AU Concept: Ford was kicked out instead of Stan and takes a job as a trucker to makes ends meet since he couldn't go to college, while still studying the weird and anomalous however he can.

Ford driving around from quirky small town to quirky small town, drifting through the liminal spaces of truck stops, meeting odd people in isolated diners, seeing strange things out on the road—a deer with too many eyes bounding across a two-lane highway, a flirty woman at a rest stop who doesn't blink or breathe, mysterious lights in the sky at night, inhuman growls on the CB or 50-year-old broadcasts on the radio—and taking notes when he stops for gas or food.

Aside from having gotten kicked out before graduating high school, Ford's the same person he is in canon.

He's still an ambitious guy, and here "ambitious" means working hard and saving as much money as he can—so, a long haul owner-operator who spends weeks at a time on the road. (He goes through a LOT of educational audiobooks.) Plus, this is the easiest way for him to get to travel the country; and since it looks like his "travel the world" dreams with Stan are dead, he'll take what he can get.

Since he's never in the same spot long and carries his life in a truck, almost all of Ford's research is in his journal. His bag of investigation supplies has an instant camera, a portable tape recorder, a thermometer, a flashlight, rubber gloves, and a few zip lock bags—and that's about it. It has to share space with all his clothes, toiletries, and nonperishable food when he's on the road. He doesn't have much opportunity to closely examine anything odd he finds, unless he's lucky enough to run into something when he can stop for the night. He has to cram his paranormal research around the side of his full-time job.

He doesn't live in Gravity Falls, but he knows it exists. Every time he moves—to Chicago, to Nebraska, to California—he seems to inch closer. He currently lives in Portland and usually hauls loads between the Pacific Northwest and Chicago or New York. He stops at the truck stop outside Gravity Falls when he can and has gone fishing in town a few times. He doesn't have the benefit of extensive research to know that this is the weirdest town in the world; but it seems pretty weird to him, there are local rumors about the town, and he's had some weird experiences in the area.

Plus, he can't explain it, but it's like the town's calling to him. He wants to move there, but it'd put him over an hour outside of Portland where the nearest jobs are. Maybe if somebody chucked him like $100k to build a cabin in the woods; but what are the odds of that?

He does know Fiddleford. Truck broke down somewhere and Fiddleford kindly pulled over to fix it on the fly. They looked at each other, had mutual knee-jerk "dumb trucker/hillbilly" reactions, and within ten minutes both went "oh wait you're the most brilliant genius i've ever met." Fiddleford's living the same life he was in canon before Ford called him to Gravity Falls—with his family in California, trying to start a computer company out of his garage—but they make friends and keep in contact.

One time Ford stops at a kitschy roadside knickknack store that also sells new agey magic things—crystals, tarot cards, incense, etc. He bought a "lucky" rearview mirror ornament that looks like an Eye of Providence in a top hat and hung it from his cab fan, and ever since then he's had weird dreams whenever he sleeps in his truck.

Things I don't know yet: what Stan's up to; or why Ford's the one who got kicked out. I tend to believe that in canon Stan wasn't just kicked out because he ruined Ford's college prospects, but rather because the family thought he deliberately sabotaged Ford; so in this AU, Ford would've been kicked out over a proportionate crime.

[starscream-is-my-wife]

This is part 1 of a continuation for my other post where LL Megatron gets trapped in the G1 universe, I was thinking about how someone would go insane in this cartoon world and thought "what if Megatron had someone else to accompany him" so, I gave Starscream an existential crisis

Edit: pt 2 here

[jesuistrestriste]

nsfw (18+) cw : switch(sub leaning)!art donaldson, switch!fem!reader, art is a sensitive softie, dry humping, cumming in pants, mutual orgasms, fluff, porn with some plot

wc : 3.3 k

"Did you have fun?"

Art's words sound out softly against the background hum of his car's engine. You rub your hands together between your thighs, trying (and failing) to properly warm them up after being in an ice rink for over an hour. You look to him from the passenger seat and smile at his slightly eager-to-please tone, your cheeks burning from the cold. You should have worn a scarf.

"Yeah," you hum, "I did.. I haven't been ice skating in forever, it's been years.."

He laughs softly and nods, almost sheepishly, "yeah, same.."

-

It's the end of November, nearing the start of December, and tennis season is well over. Art still goes to the indoor courts pretty consistently, but he's decided to shift all of his focus to you now that he has the free time to spare.

The two of you met about a month and a half ago; he'd been rushing to meet Patrick at some restaurant near campus, and he had slammed right into you when he'd been looking down at his phone to text Pat back. Wide blue eyes met yours and his tender hands had come up instantly to steady you on your feet as he stuttered out at least five 'im so sorry's. Somewhere in between those apologies, he'd gotten ridiculously lost in your features. The way your lashes batted up at him, the soft smile on your lips, the way you chuckled at his idiotic carelessness.

And you had forgiven him pretty quickly, so that helped.

The whole thing was incredibly cliche; the both of you could see that now.

He'd gotten your number that day only because he had practically begged to get you a coffee sometime to make up for the whole ordeal. His wind-swept blonde curls and furrowed brow made him look just like a dumb little puppy, pleading with you to keep him and collar him, so it wasn't hard for you to rationalize giving him your digits then and there. He seemed genuinely sweet, unlike so many other guys at Stanford. You'd give it a shot.

Seven dates later, and you two were officially toeing the line between "what are we?" and "let's move in together". Art, in particular, was completely infatuated. He would always look at you like you were the only reason he was breathing and moving. It was a little bit insane how hard and fast he fell for you.

And so he resisted the urges.

The ones that would coil in his lower stomach when he held your hand, and the ones that would throb in his veins when he pressed his lips to yours. All of them. He'd move at your pace. He wasn't one to push.

-

You nod and smile, before you pull your clasped hands from your lap and attempt to blow hot air in between them. Art's car was taking longer to warm up than normal.

He watches you for a moment before he shakes his head and tugs his hands out of his coat pockets.

"I told you to bring gloves," he jokes lightly, reaching over to envelop your hands in his warm palms, his calloused fingers curling over yours.

Your face heats slightly, and you chuckle as you look down to his grasp on you. After a long beat, your eyes raise to look up to his again, and he swallows thickly before his left thumb strokes over one of your knuckles. The little touch, the gesture, is so him. Always wanting to provide and comfort, but never wanting to risk shaking the foundation.

He’s never made the first move, it was always you.

"Thanks," you breathe out, your gaze darting just momentarily down to his pink lips.

It's hard for you to ignore the way he quickly wets them while the tense silence hangs in the air.

Art's feeling a steady thrum of tightness in his chest. How is it that he still gets nervous around you? He's kissed you lots of times before now.

And yet, here he was: still shy, still tense, still nervous.

"No problem," he whispers, hearing his heartbeat pound in his ears, "is.. is this better..?"

A gentle nod from you is all he perceives before he feels the warmth of your lips press against his own, and the tension that’s been brewing all evening finally reaches its boiling point.

He melts into it instantly, into you; leaning in to breathe into your open mouth when you pull back for just a moment to tilt your head the other way. His hands leave their position around yours, and move to clutch your waist as he pivots in the driver's seat to face you more. He's never felt so on-edge in his entire life, the sensation of a familiar sort of hunger starting to ignite in his belly.

Your touch moves to the back of his head, pulling off his thick beanie and tossing it to the back of the vehicle as you kiss him with rapidly increasing passion. You feel his tongue slip out to lick over your bottom lip, and you slack your jaw to let him taste you better. He laves his soft tongue over yours, moaning into your mouth. You swallow that noise down, and the next one that comes right after; just like you always do.

He tastes faintly like sweet peppermint gum, which he had been anxiously chewing earlier on this particular date in order to self-soothe. You had just looked so pretty with the cold first nipping at your skin when he came to pick you up; it scrambled his brain on the spot.

"Ahh," he whines shakily as he feels you tug his head back, your left hand tenderly fisting his curls, "hngh.."

You hum and smirk before you lean in to lick over his neck. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop any more needy sounds from spilling out, and his hands pull at the sides of your coat. Shit, he can feel himself swelling in his jeans. For a second he thinks the zipper might pop.

Once your tongue finds his weak-spot, right below his ear, he's jerking forward in his seat and letting out a choked moan. His hips rise desperately, trying to seek out some sort of friction, but all he can feel is his cock rubbing against the inside of his briefs — not nearly enough to put out the fire in his gut.

"You okay?" you breathe out lowly between kisses to his pulse, "this okay?

He nods feverishly. A reflexive buck of his pelvis follows suit.

"Can we... I dont know-" you whisper against his skin, and Art thinks he might die. He's so keyed up right now, he'd do anything to get to feel you under all of the layers.

"Please."

And there it is. He couldn't even stop himself before the word was already out and drifting into the minimal space left in between your bodies. You pause your lips and pull back to look to his eyes.

A hand moves from his hair to his cool cheek. "I- I'm ready to do more... If you are too, I mean.."

He's nodding before you even finish; and his pupils dilate into big, black, iris-eclipsing saucers as his brows pinch up and he whispers back to you.

"I want to touch you," he trembles, "I really, really, really wanna touch you..."

You feel a sticky heat cling to the inside of your panties.

Ugh, he's always good at making you feel this way, even if in the past it was relatively unintentional. Sometimes he's been too innocent for his own good.

"Can I?" he whispers, breaking apart your thoughts, like the very syllables have been beaten out of the depths of his desires.

You let out soft sigh through parted lips, taking in the look on his face before you're crawling over the center console and into his lap. Your body settles comfortably over his thighs, and then your head bumps up against the roof of the car. You make a slight noise of surprise, ducking down with a soft giggle, and Art's right hand instinctively raises to protectively cup the spot on your head that had hit the interior. He looks up at you, letting out a breath of a laugh before lifting his brows to wordlessly ask if you're alright.

You kiss him again instead.

He gasps and swallows as he feels you further straddle him, and his hands move to start unzipping your puffer as he kisses you back. It's easier said than done when his hands are shaking, but he manages and then helps you shrug off the coat before it gets tossed into the oblivion to meet his hat from earlier.

A string of spit connects your mouth to his as you pull back, and he drinks in the sight of you above him; your thermal long-sleeve clinging to your skin so tight that he can see the outline of your bra underneath.

You lean in once more and kiss his jaw twice before letting your hands wander down to help him take off his own jacket. Once it's off and on the car floor with the other pieces of discarded clothing, your palms move up under his shirt to caress his bare skin. You feel his abdomen shudder as your nails graze the pale flesh there.

"Where do you want me?" he asks breathlessly, his eyes already glazed over with arousal and a wish to please you.

"Anywhere.."

".. Here..?"

His hands reach up to palm your breasts over your top, and he relishes in the soft moan it elicits from you. The sound of it rings out in his head and then he can't help but whimper as he leans into your body, his cheek to your jaw. Art's hands slither hastily under your shirt and then to your back before he fumbles with the clasp of your bra. You smirk softly and fondly as you feel him struggle, and you decide to maneuver your touch up to the back of his neck. Your fingertips tease the back of his hair. Teasing turns to stroking, and suddenly you're petting him to ease his nerves. If he had a tail, it'd definitely be wagging; you can feel him buzzing with eager energy all over.

Once the bra is popped open, he gently pulls back to look up to your eyes and then he's huskily whispering up at you, "can I take this off of you?"

"Yeah, take it off-"

He doesn't waste a second once he sees you raising your arms, nearly tearing the top in the process of getting it up and over your head. The bra comes off quick right after; he doesn't even notice that it's red (his favorite color). With how much is going through his head, it's a miracle he can even manage to undress you without losing it...

The moment that you're bare in front of him from the belly-button up, he sags back in his seat and takes you in. His lips parted in a gentle 'O'. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." he moans lowly, his palms pressing to your lower stomach before they slide up and cover your soft tits, "you're so beautiful, oh my god.."

You moan when you feel him start to knead your breasts under his tender touch, nipples pebbling in response, and you roll your head back with pleasure.

"You're.. s-so sweet," you groan.

He squeezes your chest again before he leans in and presses a kiss to the right side, and a kiss to the left (it's only fair). He looks up to you through heavy lids before he surges forward with a renewed sense of passion and attaches his lips to one of your nipples.

"Shit-!" you gasp, and your hands tighten in his blonde locks, "ugh, don't stop, Art.. that feels nice.."

He moans around your squishy flesh and then his eyes flutter shut as he flicks his tongue over your bud and suckles. His mouth is warm and wet and perfect. His teeth brisk your sensitive skin.

A sharp moan slips from your lips in response, and then your hips jerk over his quickly. Just once; just enough. It's denim on denim, thick fabric dulling the sensations, but god- the pleasure bites perfectly at the both of you.

Art can barely process how good it feels before he's drooling around you over his tongue and rolling his own body up, trying to meet yours again. Wordlessly begging you to keep going.

Please, please, please do it again.

You breathe heavily and then rock down over his lap again, chasing the stream of electricity that it sends up your spine from your cunt. There's a mess of slick seeping from you as you push your clothed clit against Art's bulge, humping him like some sort of depraved teenager, but it's going to get you there.

Hell, it's getting you there quicker than you thought.

"Ooh, fuck," he hiccups out against your skin, releasing your breast from his mouth as his eyes fly open and then promptly roll back into his head, "ohh god, oh g-god.."

You rock a bit faster over him, a little moan escaping with each needy motion, and you move your hands to hold his shoulders for leverage. You feel him wrap his toned arms around your middle.

"Sh-Should I move too?" he gasps.

You can feel his thighs quivering.

If you really focus, you can even feel his dick throbbing in the confines of his pants.

"Yeah, ohh, yeah.. yeah, move, move.”

In an instant, Art's hips are grinding up to meet yours while his hands move urgently to hold your waist. He buries his face into your neck and tries to bounce you on his lap in his grasp. Up, down, up, down, over and over and over. Like he’s fucking you; buried deep inside your oozing pussy.

"you feel so good," he breathes out, hardly taking enough air into his lungs to get the words out, "this feels... f-feels so good.. ohhh-"

A few stuttered whines slip from your mouth and then you're working harder to press yourself further down over his erection, trying your best to relieve the scorching heat building in your core. More, more, more, you just need more.

"fuck me..!"

It tumbles from you unexpectedly, and the young man under you chokes on a guttural groan that's already halfway out. His nose crinkles with pleasure, and he swivels his hips harder to rub his boner against your crotch. He tries to speak, he really does, but all of the words get swept away on broken, strung-out whimpers that clog his throat.

You two are fogging up all four windows in his car, and anyone who's looking on from the outside will know exactly what's going on just from the shaking alone.

"Shit, you're gonna make me—“

Art cries out as he digs his heels down into the mat below the pedals; his toes curling as he registers the rapid feeling of boiling tension brewing in his balls, seeping out and pulling his limbs taut against yours. He's so close.

"—you're gonna- 'm gonna come—“

He tries to warn you, shuddering when he hears you squeal in response, and he has to force his eyes open and crane his neck back so that he can savor the sight of you falling apart on top of him when he tips over. A small part of him wishes he was being hugged by your tight, gummy walls; but this was perfect for now. It was what you wanted, so it was what he wanted too.

"Fuck, Art! I'm almost—!"

The sound of his name coming out of you like that sends him spiraling, his cock pulsing in his boxers with want.

"Me too, me too, oh god, pleasepleaseplease-"

You two are rutting and thrashing against each other like a couple of animals, breathing heavy and moaning as you both try to maintain eye contact in those split few seconds before everything fades away.

"Can I come?" he trembles, and you can see wetness glistening over his lash line, threatening to spill. He can’t say it now, but he's barely holding it all in.

For you, he'd wait.

Even if it felt impossible.

You speed up your humping, the seam of your jeans slotting perfectly against your swollen clit as the warmth of his cock sends you hurtling towards the finish line. You nod down at him, moving your hands from his shoulders to his flushed face, "yes, god, please come with me!"

It only takes three more snaps of his pelvis against yours before the both of you are gasping and crying out simultaneously as the hot coils burst loose; Art's back arching up from the seat as you curl over his chest and yelp. He's moaning, voice cracks and all, as his legs shudder under your seat over them. His hands fly up to hold you close, almost like he's scared you'll somehow slip away.

"fuckyesfuckyesfuckyes, please, god, i'm coming so hard..!”

He whimpers helpessly, feeling sticky heat bloom against his kicking length as each wave of his orgasm floods his system. It's wholly all-consuming, his vision whiting out around the edges before he has to squeeze his eyes shut and give up the sight of your face as you climax. He thinks he might legitimately pass out.

You're left wheezing over his lap, groaning pitifully as you feel a wave of slick and wetness drench your underwear while the height of your own peak ebbs, and you finish yourself off fully against his thigh as you come down. One of your hands reaches down to rub yourself over the soaked fabric, and you twitch before falling forward into his frame.

You both jolt a bit while the aftershocks keep you feeling pleasantly numb, but it's blissful.

It's completely and utterly blissful; it just feels right.

Him being so close to you, you being so close to him. Sharing something so deeply intimate and yet feeling so comfortable and so safe— it was like something clicked into place.

One of Art's hands reaches to your upper back, rubbing it comfortingly as he tries to steady his breathing.

".. Woah," he whispers in awe, fingertips tracing soothing patterns on your skin, "that was.. really.. haah.."

A little shiver passes through him and he then decides to cut himself off before he lets slip something dumb and ruins everything.

You gain some semblance of consciousness back and lift your head upright slowly, gazing down to him. His hair’s a mess, his blue eyes shining with low lids, and his bottom lip looks freshly bitten.

"That was really good," you chuckle breathily, finishing his sentiment for him. You were good at that- helping him feel whole.

He just nods and you get to watch his cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.

"I... I was thinking.." he starts, only to shy away from your gaze by looking down.

"Yeah..?"

You stroke his hair, pushing it back from his sweaty forehead.

"Well, I just, we've been, like, 'seeing each other' or whatever," his eyes reluctantly raise again to look up into yours, "and, I just thought that.. we might..."

"We might...?" you smile as you urge him to speak up for himself.

He can only muster a soft, shy chuckle at first.

"I just thought that we might be.. together.."

Your breathing catches, only for a moment, as the word—and the weight of it—sits heavily in the dense air being kept trapped in by the car's doors. Art swallows thickly.

"You wanna be together?" you whisper, barely audible.

He seems hesitant to answer that.

But he does anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

A soft smile creeps onto your face, and then you lean in to brush your lips against his. He closes his eyes in preparation for a kiss, but it doesn't quite come. They flutter back open, and his fingers twitch idly on your lower back.

Please say something, he thinks. He's holding his breath.

You murmur against his mouth, delicate and earnest, with a shrug almost gracing your shoulders as you speak to him. You want to let him know that he doesn't have to be scared to tell you what he wants.

That it's okay.

That you want the same thing.

"Okay.. then let's be 'together'.."

[rafayelsbelovedbride]

Does Rafayel really have to choose MC over Lemuria?

Of course, it looks like in a world where Lemuria is revived, MC cannot be there with him; and similarly, in a world where MC is by Rafayel’s side, Lemurians are forced to live on land, subject to all kinds of abuse out of human greed.

But I don’t think Rafayel even considers MC and Lemuria as separate sides. He did try to do that but in the end, I think, he doesn't want to choose one over the other. The thing is, even without the bond he shares with MC, Rafayel truly cares about all of his followers including MC (even the cat that he took care of for a short while).

If we look at how he acts with people around him, it is so easy to see that he is a very caring god. He attends Talia’s wedding to give his blessings. He prepares a gift for her, he designs her a necklace that would match her wedding dress. Through all the bickering, he sees that Thomas looks up to him and he lets him be by his side. He makes Thomas his manager and invites him to the new year’s celebrations.

He helps others hold the Seamoon ceremony for the deceased, and if that is not possible, he brings the flowers for his follower to the funeral of the man who harmed her.

He cares about the children enough to held special workshops for them, and donates art supplies. He cares about the students he gave lectures to in Linkon University when he was just there to keep an eye on MC. He gives them honest feedback, he lets them criticize his works and he remembers them by their names.

And even when he realizes that one of his students was working with Ever dissecting Lemurian hearts, even when he gets angry at the sudden reveal, Rafayel gives the student a chance to explain himself and lets him go, trusting that the student will maybe find the right path in the future.

Honestly, I think, you have to be a special kind of evil to attract Rafayel’s wrath. Because no matter how hasty he may come of time to time, he is a very patient and understanding person. That’s why he still respects the elder Lemurians even if he keeps running away. That’s why he is still with Amund, listening to his advice even when he obviously doesn’t really like him that much.

No matter how much he tries to appear as a cold person, people around him are always aware that they are in the embrace of his warmth.

And, I really don't think he values one over the other or even makes the MC vs Lemuria comparison at all. The thing is I don’t even think Rafayel’s conflict is directly related to his love for MC. Because, even before MC became his follower and he gave her his heart, Rafayel considered Lemuria’s flame as a poor imitation of the sun, a fire that is not hot but just merely warm. And, he did not like the weak warmth emanated from a flame placed in the middle of a cold and dark room. He wanted to break through the surface and bask in the sun’s glow. Maybe, he had doubts about how the Lemuria worked, how the ceremony was held from the very beginning.

And I think that’s also related to why the Sea God ceremony appeared to “fail”. That disastrous ceremony happened the exact way it was told in the prophecy, stating the fire would go out only to be reignited by him. He still left that ceremony with a newborn flame in his hands. A flame that shook the foundations of Lemuria. And I think the flame Rafayel was supposed to have and the flame he actually has after that ceremony is as different as the fire in the temple and the sun.

I kind of think there were two souls in the beginning. One was supposed to take the heart of the other, and make the heart itself the faith that ignites the flame. And the other was supposed to mix into the sea and disappear, only to come back again and reclaim the heart. And continue this never-ending cycle. This heart, taken by force in such a violent way, could only provide a lukewarm flame that cannot be compared to the power of the sun.

Past Lemuria existed as these two souls stole their warmth away from each other to keep this place, in the bottom of a fissure in the deep sea, warm. The past Lemuria existed through the torturous cycle that had to be upheld by Rafayel and MC.

And, maybe that’s why Rafayel considers his attraction to MC as an addictive painful feeling. Maybe that’s why he’s willing to burn by his love for her. And maybe that’s why it is really important that we see Rafayel leaving these feelings behind and embracing love as an inspiration rather than pain. He's ready to break the cycle now and bring Lemuria the sun, instead of a small flame.

I think what happened during the ceremony was MC showed Rafayel a way out of this cycle by giving him her purest faith without Rafayel taking her heart. Although, they still failed in the end. And ended up continuing this cycle for many more years.

So, maybe the good ending for this story is a good ending for both MC and Rafayel, and Lemuria. A good ending where the Lemuria thrives under its new sun’s glow, and a good ending where MC and Rafayel are always by each other’s sides like two koi fish swimming in a pond.

A good ending where Rafayel doesn't have to choose a side and keeps all his followers safe as the caring god he is.

[mysicklove]

boys who love overstimulation live in my head rent-free. because who can really like something like that? it hurts so badly, and it makes their mind go terrifyingly blank, so why do they not use their safeword? why do they let you torture them so?

closing their eyes and letting out the most broken and pathetic sobs with every second to pass by. they cant do anything, just have to sit there and take it while their tip throbs and tears flood their eyes. sobbing out, "too much! its-stop it! im sensitive!!" while you kiss their cheek and force their thighs open.

the boys who like the way they feel powerless under you. they cant fight back against the overstimulation, their mercy belongs to you completely. there mind goes blank during this time, only focused on your movements and the pain. in the back of their heads they can hear the lewd squelching noise of the cum dripping down their shafts mixed with your cruel movements. the way their body jerks when you reach the head repeatedly and their wrists tighten against the sheets to bare the pain.

but the whole time they are looking at you with most lovesick eyes. some smiling at you while tears running down their face, while others plead for you to give them a break. either way, the next time you touch them, they are begging you for more after they orgasmed.

izuku, kyojuro, denki, keigo, reo, armin, douma, eren, tengen, bachira, isagi, zenitsu

[ohbo-ohno]

Kinktober Day 4 - (Leather or) Latex

Soap x F!Reader - 2.5k (on ao3)

summary: Johnny doesn't tell you about an allergy of his until he's already got you writhing and needy beneath him. (Reader POV)

cw: dubcon, reader & soap are drunk but not so drunk they can't consent (but alcohol is mentioned throughout the drabble)

You giggle against Johnny’s lips as he pushes his hand up your shirt, big calloused palm running over your stomach and wrapping around your hip. You return the favor, letting your fingers creep under the neckline of his wife beater and running over the dips of his muscles. 

You knew he was buff – could see it clear as day, even before he flexed his arms and winked at you from across the bar, the cocky ass – but feeling him beneath your fingertips, feeling the way his muscle moves as he runs his hands over your body has your thighs squeezing together and your heartbeat racing.

Most of the journey from the taxi he’d hailed to your apartment door is a blur, just you and Johnny stumbling into and around each other as you try to keep your lips locked for as long as possible, hardly willing to separate for even a breath.

You’ve always been a bit of a needy (see: horny) drunk, but the heat coursing through you feels like a whole new level of lust. You feel warm all over, the gusset of your panties already sticking uncomfortably between your thighs when you haven’t even really gotten past first base. 

If you’d had one less drink, or one more friend at the bar looking out for you, you know you wouldn’t have risked taking Johnny home to your apartment the same night you met him. But you’re delighted that sober-you had taken a few risks so that drunk-you can reap the rewards via a very sexy Scotsman.

“Fuck, lass,” he grunts in one of the few moments you have to pull away for breath. “Cannae think with ye pressed against me like tha’.”

“Like this?” You purr, practically pinning him to the wall of the elevator and rubbing yourself against him like a cat in heat. You’d be embarrassed if you couldn’t feel his obvious approval pressing against your stomach.

“Yes,” he hisses, groping your ass with both hands. He’s got you tugged out of the elevator and moving down the hallway before you even realize you’re on the right floor, nipping your neck lightly as he waits for you to find the right door.

“C’mon, c’mon, hurry up,” he urges, groping you through your short dress and nearly making you flash the empty hallway. 

You giggle, pressing your ass against him as you finally manage to stop fumbling long enough to get the key in the lock and shove the door open, both of you stumbling through. 

He’s got you pressed against the door as soon as it closes, your thighs locked around his hips and your dress rucked up around your stomach. You’re panting into his mouth as your teeth clash against his, writhing as much as you can against the bulge pressed to your core.

“Bedroom,” you urge, hands twisted in the front of his shirt. He pulls back with one last bite to your lips, mirroring the smile on your face. He’s already flushed, pink high on his cheekbones and pupils blown wide. Your grin turns shy, some semblance of awareness returning now that you’re finally home. 

“Where?” He asks, voice so low that it’s almost all growl. You surge forward enough to press more kisses to his mouth, closed mouth despite the way he tries to worm his tongue between your lips.

“First door on the right,” you say against his cheek, arching to rub your pussy against him, combing your fingers through his sweat-damp mohawk. 

He doesn’t put you down when he pulls away from the door, and the display of strength nearly makes you melt against him. You wrap your arms tight around his neck, sucking hickies into his throat as he quickly strides towards your room. The natural movement of his body keeps you lightly grinding against him, just enough stimulation to keep your head foggy with alcohol and lust.

You bounce lightly when he drops you on the bed, your laugh cut off when he quickly follows and drops his weight over you. 

“Johnny!” You cry, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and pulling him close. “You’re heavy.”

He laughs along with you, pressing hard kisses against your lips. “‘M too big for ye, bonnie, ‘s tha’ it?”

You let your look turn seductive, eyes half-lidded as you drag your nails over his back. “Not sure about that, handsome. We’ll have to wait and see, hm?”

His moan is downright pornographic, hips jerking against your stomach and biceps on either side of your head bulging. “Oh, I’m plenty big, lass. I’ll fill you up just fine, ‘nd then some.”

You hum, pressing slow kisses across his cheekbones. “I’m hearing a lot of talk so far.” You press yourself up against him, dress hiked up high enough to reveal your white panties, the gusset nearly translucent from your arousal. “You sure you can back it up?”

Your taunt works almost too well, Johnny’s narrowing before he’s shoving your dress up and over your head, leaving you in your matching bra and panties. He moans as he throws your dress to the side, diving straight into your chest and kissing your tits through the lace of your bra.

You run your hands through his mohawk, scratching along his scalp in encouragement as you press your knees to his ribs. The second he starts dipping his head further down your body you grab his tank top, yanking the hem of it until he looks up at you from where he’d been kissing your stomach.

“No more foreplay,” you whine, tugging his top until he gets the hint and tugs it off. “Just want you to fuck me.”

He smirks against your belly, big hands rubbing up over your hips and waist. “Yeah? Needy thing.”

You cock an eyebrow, dropping one leg to rub your knee against the tent in his jeans. You don’t bother saying anything, letting yourself smirk when he moans and drops his head onto your plush skin. 

“Alright, alright,” he pants, and you feel a flush of pride when his hands are trembling just a bit as he unbuckles his belt, discarding it without care and pushing his jeans off just as quickly. 

You can’t help but moan when his cock bounced up to press against his stomach, red and hard and so clearly aching. You want him in your mouth almost as badly as you want him in your cunt.

“Ye’re good for the ego, hen,” Johnny teases, lifting himself enough to press against your stomach, showing the both of you just how deep he’ll sink inside of you.

“Shit,” you whisper, writhing beneath him. “God, you better be able to last.”

He barks a laugh, twisting one of your nipples in playful retaliation. “Ye gonna have yer way with me?”

You hum, wrapping one hand around his cock and biting your lip. “Hope you can go a few rounds, baby.”

“Don’t worry,” he purrs, and you find yourself suddenly flipped around, resting on top of him, pressed stomach to stomach. “I’ll keep you busy for hours, lass.”

You giggle, pushing up with your hands on his chest, squeezing the muscle there and arching your back to present your tits for him. Your ass rests against his cock, the warm length of him pressed against your panties. 

“Condom?” You ask, tugging your underwear to the side so you can fully press yourself against him. His hands are hot on your hips, fingertips pressed into the fat of your ass so he can guide you into grinding against him.

He furrows his brows, moves you a little more quickly over him. “No,” he says simply, pushing himself more firmly against him. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You frown now, placing one hand on his chest to hold yourself steady and looking down at him. “No? What do you mean no? We need to use a condom.”

He sighs, exasperated, and jerks his hips up against you. You gasp when the head of his cock nearly slips into your slick hole, your body jolting up and away on instinct. “Wait, wait, Johnny, condom!”

His sigh is verging on pissy now. “Ye really telling me ye don’t want me to come inside of ye? Don’t want my come dripping out of ye, a treat to remember me by?”

The thought makes you shudder, but there’s enough rationality left in your head for you to scooch forward enough that his cock isn’t pressed quite so directly against you. “Johnn, seriously, we need to use protection.”

His eyes narrow, clearer now than they have been since he hailed the cab nearly an hour ago, and you find yourself flipped back onto your back without any warning. 

“I cannae use one,” he says, eyes trained on your tits as he speaks. “Latex allergy.”

Your eyes narrow, sobering more quickly now. “What are you talking about–”

He ducks his head to your chest before you can finish your sentence, locking his lips around one pert nipple and sucking. You gasp, arching up further into his hold as words slip away from you.

“J-Johnny,” you try, yanking on his hair when he won’t listen. He pulls off a moment later, but only just long enough to start yanking your bra over your head. “Seriously, we need to use protection–”

You’re cut off again, grunting your displeasure this time when he flips you easily to your stomach. You huff, pushing yourself up on your hands and glaring over your shoulder.

“I already told ye,” he insists, pressing kisses over your shoulders and slipping his cock between your folds, your underwear tugged to the side enough to leave you revealed to him. “I cannae use them. Ye want to fuck, or ye wanna take a trip to the ER when my cock stops working halfway through?”

You hesitate, all of your instincts telling you to say a resounding no and kick this jackass out of your apartment, but well… you’re more worked up then you’ve been in months, and he’s already gotten this far. It’s not like you don’t take birth control, either.

The decision is taken out of your hands when you feel the plush head of his cock notch against your hole, then a stretch that has any hope of denial yanked right from your chest. You go a little blind as he steadily fills you, breath hitching and fingers gripping desperately to your sheets.

“Tha’s it,” Johnny moans above you, hips jerking just once and making you squeal. “Fuckin’ take it.”

“Johnny,” you moan, eyes squeezed shut. “C-condom.”

He growls above you, bullies himself to the hilt and huffs when you yelp. “Already said no, lass. Besides,” he says as he pulls out nearly the whole way, his voice breathy. “It’s too late now.”

He sets a steady but relentless pace, hips smacking against your ass as he fucks you relentlessly. You have no hope of quieting your moans, reduced to nothing but animal desire. 

“Fuck, ye feel so good, bonnie,” he moans above you, sinking his teeth into the side of your neck until you reach back and tug his hair, forcing him away. “Gonnae fuck ye full, yeah?”

“Johnny, Johnny,” you cry, pressing back against each of his thrusts as much as you can, mindless with your pleasure.

“What?” He pants, smacking your ass once and driving another moan from you. “What’re ye bitchin’ about now?”

“Feels so good,” you manage, worming one hand beneath your body so you can rub as best you can at your clit. “Gonna- gonna come.”

“Yeah, yes, come on my fuckin’ cock,” he groans, voice rough. His thrusts are deep and harsh, penetrating you so quickly that you can hardly keep your fingers steady enough to get yourself off. “Yer squeezin’ me so well.”

“Gonna come, gonna come,” you chant, clit hot and slick beneath your fingertips. You feel like you’re hardly breathing as you finally find the perfect rhythm, your pace matching Johnny’s as he tries to rearrange your guts.

You melt into nothing but a puddle as you finally manage to find your peak, ears ringing and every part of you buzzing as you go limp underneath Johnny.

“Fuck, fuck,” he pants above you, losing what little rhythm he had. “God, hen, yer so– shit, gonna come inside ye, gonna fill ye up.”

You whine, some distant part of you upset with that, but you can’t bring yourself to complain, God forbid trying to stop him. Johnny presses bites across your shoulders as he gets closer and closer to his own orgasm, the bruising pain only dragging out your own euphoria.

You’re so wrapped up in your own pleasure that you hardly realize when he comes, only distantly aware of the way he collapses over you. 

You bask in your orgasm for as long as you can, tolerating the sweaty man giving you nearly all his weight since he comes with a cock for you to clench down on as your body floats through the aftershocks.

Eventually, your discomfort with Johnny on top of you becomes too much to tolerate and you shift uncomfortably, grumbling. “Get off,” you moan, trying to buck him off and failing terribly.

He complies easily enough though, rolling off of you but keeping you held tight to his front. His cock slips out of you a moment later and you wince at the feeling of spunk dripping between your thighs.

You wriggle out of his arms a few minutes later, groaning when he holds tight. “Johnny, let go.”

“No,” he pouts, wrapping his arms tight around your chest and burying his face in your neck. “What happened to a few rounds?”

You groan, throwing your weight away from him and hardly managing to move an inch. “Unless you want to give me a UTI, I’ve gotta go to the bathroom.”

He moans, sounding a bit like a kicked dog, and you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Don’t wanna let ye go.”

You hate the way your heart warms at that and only just manage to keep from smiling. “I’ll be right back, Johnny. Promise.”

He props himself up on an elbow to look down at you, eyes narrowed as he studies your expression. “Fine,” he finally decides, flopping away from you and down onto his back. “But hurry.”

You can’t help but laugh as you head to the bathroom, affection keeping you from any lingering grumpiness. You do your business quickly and discard what’s left of your clothes, finding yourself eager to finally get a true taste of more than just Johnny’s mouth.

He’s propped himself up against your headboard when you step back into the room, cock already chubbing up against his thigh at the sight of your naked body. You can’t help but smirk, feeling sexy under his hungry gaze.

“Now,” you say, sauntering towards the bed and letting your hips sway. “How about a few more rounds?”

He’s already grinning as you climb onto the bed, hands reaching for your body as you settle over his thighs. “Oh, bonnie,” he says, lips cherry red from your kisses. “Ye and I have a long night ahead of us.”

[x-amount-of-posts]

I NEEEEEEED Kurt shippers. or just Kurt insane people to know that the german word for tail is also german slang for penis

"You like my tail dont you" said in german ("Du magst meinen schwanz, oder?") will be read as "you like my dick dont you" by a german

this isnt to discourage people from using the word Schwanz, the oposite, i want people to write Kurt saying that because he WOULD

[choccy-milky]

seb's 2 modes around clora 🥰👿