#fic tings

[blorbocedes]

BROCEDES! ROOMMATE AU + UNEXPECTED VIRGIN!

‘Take a shot if your body count is more than 5!’

Most of the crowd drinks, even those with obviously shifty eyes and guilty demeanours. Lewis drinks.

He was coursemates with Adrian the previous semester and had to hear his bitching and moaning about the bitches he gets – the lack thereof, spots him drinking too. Nico’s standing at the end of the couch, expensive loafers careful to step around the sticky spilled beer.

He nurses his red solo cup, untouched. Lewis frowns.

‘Take a shot if your body count is double digits!’

Fewer people drink this time. The crowd goes ‘ooh’ at the ones who do. Technically, Lewis’ is 7 – 8 if you count the blowjob and her getting her period at the last second, opting out. But college athletes have a reputation to maintain, so Lewis finishes off his cup.

This time, Nico is watching him. Smiles when their eyes meet and does a mock salute, lips still not grazing his drink.

What the fuck? What could it be? It bothers Lewis that Nico’s not being honest. He's seen Nico half-lidded hanging off some guy’s arm at a party or cuddled into some girl to know better. Although, since Nico has access to all the population instead of 50%, it would make sense if his count is twice as high.

A pretty girl in a low cut top and blonde highlights taps Lewis on the arm to dance with her, and all thoughts of his roommate and how many people he fucks are forgotten.

A few hours later, the party has died down. Cold pizza and the music is less in-your-face, more indie. A small group gather on the floor playing the laziest truth or dare with a half empty bottle of Bacardi. The guy beside Nico is in an obnoxious leather jacket and tight pants, and his hand rests on Nico’s thigh.

It falls on Lewis.

“So… Lew-iss,” Natalie? maybe asks, voice slurring a little. “Do you remember when you first met Nico?”

Nico raises an interested eyebrow. Of course he remembers. However, Lewis is aware they asked the question because people think him and Nico are secretly hooking up because they live together, and since Nico’s seen with everyone. His teammate Felipe and his girlfriend are within earshot.

“Nah, man. I don't remember shit like that. I remember when I like, lost my virginity.” Lewis offers as bait.

Nico frowns, it's cute on him. Brows wrinkled up.

Naomi(!) bites. “Tell us about how you lost your virginity.”

“That's two questions.” Lewis leans back, flashing his most charming gap-toothed smile. Everyone's too drunk to keep track of whose turn it is.

Nico disappears off with Mr. Skinny Jeans.

It's a little while later when Lewis has smoked a spliff to clear his head, rejecting the blonde highlights girl’s offer back to her dorms which is on the other side of campus, when Nico returns, hair mussed and shirt buttoned more than it was when he left.

“Home?” He asks. Lewis follows.

Nico’s a pretty chill roommate. He grew up with a silver spoon and an only child, so he has no concept of sharing. Instead, when he orders Thai, he makes sure to order for two so that Lewis doesn't try to eat any of his dumplings. Lewis gets to have the flat to himself a lot since Nico disappears for the night, returns at early hours of the night with glitter on his cheek or bite marks on his neck and a cheeky smile before collapsing on the couch. Lewis can't complain, it makes bringing girls over easier. And when Nico is studying, he keeps to himself. Lewis will know, because there will be an extra coffee for him. In turn, Lewis gets rids of the bugs in the flat – the first time Nico seeing a cockroach asking if they should call pest control or sue their landlord for unhygienic living conditions.

“Why didn't you drink? At the body count question?” Lewis asks, breaking the amiable silence of their walk home, and the lack of filter signalling he was drunker than he thought.

Nico hums thoughtfully. “Cause that would be a lie?”

Lewis tries to make sense of that, doing math in his head. “No…? It wasn't about the exact number, just if it's more than.”

“Yeah,” Nico smiles, unlocking the door and stepping side. “That would be a lie.”

Lewis rolls his eyes. Nico and his riddles and his games. “It would only be a lie if you're a virgin. Which you're not.” He snorts at the thought.

Nico’s eyes flash dangerously. “Yeah?” Nico turns around, effectively trapping Lewis between the door. “You think about who gets in my pants a lot, Hamilton?”

Lewis feels a flush rise in his neck. Thank god for melanin, if he were Nico he'd have two giant red spots on his cheek right now.

“I don't care who you sleep with. Or don't sleep with.” Lewis tries to go for gruff, chill, but it doesn't quite land. He gets out of Nico’s cornering, going to the couch. “It's just weird you’d lie considering Jenson–”

“Oh if Jenson said it, it must be true.” Nico’s sarcasm is shrill and annoyed, betraying how drunk he is.

It does make Lewis pause. Jenson has a habit of embellishing stories of his conquests. The fated twins threesome never happened, he had separately hooked up with twins. Lewis remembers Jenson bragging in the locker room how he rocked Britney’s world and Lewis had worn his his shin guards with a little more force than necessary.

“Rock my world?” Nico rolls his eyes, leaning against the wall. “Hardly. We made out for forty minutes until he came in his pants.”

TMI because now Lewis is inundated of images of Nico, mouth swollen and bodies entangled while fully clothed.

“So you're actually a virgin? What about all those people?” Lewis is still trying to wrap his head around it. Nico is the most sexual person he knows. He eats yoghurt off the spoon distractingly, and has no shame walking around the apartment naked. Very sexual liberation chic, and Lewis had to draw up boxers boundaries.

Nico wrinkles his nose. “So you get with the easiest lay on campus and you're the only person he won't fuck. Do you want to admit something's weird and wrong with you, or do you just go about inferring you had sex? It's not like I'm going to correct them.” He must see something on Lewis’ face because he interjects, defensively offensive, “Don't ask why it's better to have a reputation. I know your tells. You drank twice.”

Lewis chooses his words carefully, gentle like he's not trying to spook a wild cat. “I'm not judging. I'm just surprised. Nobody figured it out?”

Nico softens at the tone. He sinks on the couch beside Lewis. “Honestly, you're the first person to notice.”

Lewis finds that sad. “Hey, we don't need to talk about this if it's a sensitive topic. I'm sorry I –”

“Jeez, Lewis. I don't have trauma, I'm just frigid. A pricktease. Nothing bad ever happens to a Rosberg.” Nico works on the complicated laces of his boots. He hates being pitied.

Lewis leans over. “It's really not all that cracked up to be. The first time, at least. Cause you're bad at it and you don't know how to pace yourself. Lots of people wait until they're ready. My first time, it was this girl I was seeing after GCSEs. We couldn't find a place so we got in my dad’s old Subaru. Lasted like 30 seconds. Wiped the whole place down but I was convinced he would know somehow. Come Sunday, I went and told him. He hadn’t the slightest clue. So that was an awkward drive to church.”

Nico gawks him, crumpling into himself laughing. Lewis regrets being a vulnerable and oversharer of a drunk. Nico’s gelled hair has come undone from hours of partying and falls over his eyes. Lewis is never going to open up to anyone ever again.

“On God's day, Lewis?! And you think I should save myself until marriage? Find myself a nice, righteous wife?”

“Someone you trust. Someone you're into.” The room spins a little. Nico Rosberg is a virgin.

“Someone who’d remember when we first met?” Nico challenges. "That's not very nice, is it? I can't believe you forgot--"

“You were checking out an encyclopaedia on space at the library. I wanted the Senna autobiography. We were 12.”

Nico’s eyes go wide. Lewis holds his gaze.

[angeart]

"I think you’re the first person who’s ever done that for me."

“What, pointed a crossbow in someone’s face? Or scared off potential customers?” 

Scar inhales sharply, “You chose me.” 

------

art for @mochiwrites fantastic fic and like an arrow, you broke me down, because it makes me insane

[alrightbuckaroo]

Happy Wednesday, everyone! Today, I bring you a snippet from chapter two of my 5x05 coda, come home to my heart. Chapter one is already up if you're interested :)

TK moans into the kiss, feeling Carlos’ hand wrap around his waist and remind him that this is real. Tonight wasn’t a dream born out of muddled memories of missed dinners. His husband is home, attempting to let domesticity in again.

Carlos draws back from the kiss, staring into his husband’s eyes. He never wants to look away from them, ever again.

He kisses TK again before saying, “You look like Heaven,” breaking the silence with a confession. One that, in another life, would be cast away to a booth and projected on damning, unforgiving ears.

“Funny,” TK replies, a true smile gracing his face. “I think that’s where I found you.”

Thanks for the tags:

@thisbuildinghasfeelings, @eclectic-sassycoweyes, @carlos-in-glasses, @nisbanisba, and @whatsintheboxmh! You're all in the queue <3

No pressure tagging:

@herefortarlos, @heartstringsduet, @reyesstrand, @lemonlyman-dotcom, @honeybee-taskforce

@actual-sleeping-beauty, @lightningboltreader, @mikibwrites, @nancys-braids, @never-blooms

@basilsunrise, @bonheur-cafe, @carlos-tk, @captain-gillian, @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut

@welcometololaland, @rmd-writes, @reasonandfaithinharmony, @three-drink-amy, @theghostofashton

@your-catfish-friend, @irispurpurea, @ironheartwriter, @orchidscript, @paperstorm

@guardian-angle22, @freneticfloetry, @fifthrideroftheapocalypse, @decafdino, @strandnreyes

@sheholdsthemoon, @sanjuwrites, and here's an open tag <3

[cohldhands]

okokok what about reader teasing Kiba in public sitting on his lap and lowkey grinding on him?

nonnie you're speaking right to my soul so ofc this turned into something not so short and with mutual crush!kiba in mind | kiba inuzuka x afab!reader | nsfw; minors dni | wc: 4k | public shenanigans, teasing, brat behavior (from reader), lap dance (kinda), brief mentions of konoha 13, mildest of dubcon, hands-free orgasm (m!receiving) | reader + others from konoha go on a camping trip, reader sits in kiba’s lap, it devolves from there

kiba relishes in the feeling of your ass against his pelvis. of course, the first several times he experienced it were innocuous: scooting past him in a crowded market; grappled holds and struggling bodies during training; sharing a bed or sleeping bag on more than one occasion. he did his best to keep his hands at his sides, tense and clenched, to let you move against him in the most innocent of ways. the friction, the plush of your flesh—he couldn't help but find himself throbbing beneath the fabric of his bottoms.

he knows it's a delicate game to play, his attention being fully caught by a friend, but the brunette isn't one to ignore what he—or his body—wants. he knows it would only be a matter of time before the facade crumbled.

you tried not to pay any mind to the strain under his pants, but soon it became blaring, something you couldn't ignore as you'd see and feel exactly what he was trying to hide. 

something you had to actively fight instigating.

you did well, for the most part, behaving yourself around him despite it all. you turn kiba on and call his attention with barely any effort, and a part of you savors the visage of his flustered face and darkening eyes, innocent moments of life morphing into moments not so innocent at all.

more often than not, you find yourself imagining the way he’d gasp and groan if you put in the intention to grind against him, how his face and the tips of his ears would blossom with color and how he’d look at you, flustered and glossy-eyed. how his large hands would hold your hips, fistfuls of a fighting attempt to stop himself, to keep you going, to do whatever felt right.

because kiba, too, knows how to send your blood coursing and how to ignite your skin with little effort, and he basks in the confirmation when he catches the sticky-sweet scent of your arousal on the air, or watches as your pupils dilate and push the boundaries of your irises.

you did well, even through training sessions and packed markets, impish temptations and what-ifs—until the yearly autumn camping trip.

every october, you and the others who grew up with kiba hike your way out to a spot young team ten found years before you arrived in konoha: a clearing four miles outside of town, full of soft grass and surrounded by towering trees; a river to the east, maybe two-hundred yards from the main camp; space for a central fire for cooking and gathering. old shrines are carved in rock outcroppings not far, and during the summer, lightning bugs fill the clearing like twinkling stars.

initially, the sleeping pads and tents all surrounded the central fire, nestled together as if you all were on one big mission. however, as time passed, and those in the group started to pair off into couples, the tents spread out, within eyesight but out of ear-shot.

after a couple trips out to the campsite, you and the brunette had a system. you two were of the few single people, and setting up camp with each other, helping with tents threatening to escape in the wind or having extra citronella for the mosquitoes, had its benefits. it also allowed you the opportunity to get to know him in an environment he seemed to thrive in: under the brilliant night sky and embraced by autumn's cool breeze.

the young inuzuka preferred being near you as well, not just when camping but at all times. the only way he could ever explain it to himself is it was right to be near you. but now, with his body desperately craving your warmth, the coyness of restrained indulgence in his chest and words, and the sight of your ass in your leggings, he isn't sure being out in the middle of the woods with you is the best idea.

"looks like it's just me and you this time," you sigh as you place the bundle of firewood and kindling next to the fire kiba’s nursing. when you look around, you watch as shino and choji, both of whom would normally be around 'your' fire as well, set up their section of land with their new partners. they aren't far—no one is, really—but there's almost a whole world between yours and kiba's campsite and the rest of them.

"seems so." his eyes are intent on the dancing flames, brow furrowed in concentration as he leans forward in his chair to stoke the campfire, a cool breeze rolling through. he has a blanket draped haphazardly over his shoulders and gathered in his lap, and he’s wearing a hoodie and loose-fitting joggers, the fabric thin. "which is fine. shino's a traitor, anyway."

"i heard that." the dark-haired aburame interjects, his attention not breaking from feeding tent poles through fabric.

"oh, leave him alone." you grin at kiba as you speak in a hushed voice. your eyes wander over him, taking in the angles and shadows highlighted and cast on him from the flickering fire. you refrain from lingering, and you switch your attention to naruto as he runs across the clearing to shikamaru and temari's tent, grabs something, and runs, followed by shouts and laughter. "let him have his moment."

"since when are you a shino defender?" the brunette grins, taking the moment your attention is diverted to slither his eyes along your body. you’re in a pullover and leggings, such a simple and effective outfit, and his eyes glaze over your silhouette in the warm light. he watches as you shiver and take a mindless step closer to the bright fire, still captured by whatever naruto had decided to get himself into.

“oh, hush. you’ll have it one day, too.” you tease and cross your arms over your chest.  you grin as shikamaru chases after naruto, who passes what you can now make out is a strip of condoms to ino, who jumped at the opportunity to aid in the irritation of her teammate. a pang in your own chest stabs at your sternum as it hits you: you’re surrounded by couples. you don’t react to it, though, other than inhaling a deep breath and exhaling the barbed air, quiet and sharp. 

“i’m not jealous, if that’s what you’re saying.” kiba says before he joins as a spectator to the commotion. he laughs under his breath, his expression lighting up with amusement as he watches shikamaru grow increasingly frustrated. “besides, i wouldn’t wanna risk naruto stealing my condoms and playing capture the flag with 'em.”

you laugh, a light and genuine sound, and kiba’s eyes fall on you once more as his ears ring at the music of your laughter. “i guess that’s fair.” 

your eyes flick around your plot in search of your camping chair, and you pull your brow together and start walking around as you don’t see it. 

“what’s up?” he asks, shifting in his seat to follow you as you meander around your tents.

“i think i forgot my camping chair at home…” you answer, rummaging through your pile of bags and miscellaneous supplies. 

“wanna sit?” he leans forward and starts to collect the blanket in his hands to stand and take it with him.

“no, no,” you shake your hands at him, motioning him to stop. “i can sit on the ground; i’m not—”

“no, that’s ridiculous. not while there’s a perfectly good seat right here.” he motions down with his hands, intending on referring to his chair. based on your reaction—a perched brow and a smug inclination in your eyes—he’s thankful it’s fallen dark outside as a blush creeps into his cheeks and tingles his ears, realizing how he sounded. he hops up from the chair, eyes wide and hand extended toward the now-empty seat. “i-i mean here. there. you can use mine.”

“kiba… sit down. i’m not gonna make you stand.” there’s a forced softness to your voice to ensure you don’t say the wrong thing. 

“i—”

“actually, can we share your blanket? sorry.” you ask in earnest as a sudden shiver causes you to cut him off. with the sun fully set, and a chill carried on the breeze, you hadn’t realized the temperature dropped as low as it did until the spell of the camp’s spectacle was broken. that, and ino passed the metallic, square tickets back to naruto, who was inevitably caught by shikamaru’s jutsu that only brought on cheating claims from both naruto and ino. 

the brunette swallows the thickness in his throat, salivating at the mere thought of you against him. he could tell you were genuinely cold, though, and despite having the blanket around him to keep his half-mast length hidden, he nods. in truth, with you and the fire both beside him, he had been too hot this entire time, even with the thinnest clothes he could find out of what he brought with him.

“yeah, come on.” he motions you over with a movement of his head, and he scoots back and widens his legs to accommodate for you as his arms fall open, blanket in hand. “did you not bring a thicker jacket, either?”

you walk over to him, and the world goes quiet for a moment. with the way he looks up at you, the hill of fabric in his lap from his hardening length, and the heat radiating off of him, your heart skips. warmth grows in your cunt as his face relaxes, only slightly, taking in the image of your silhouette in the camp light yet again. 

noise catches up with you as you turn around and lower yourself into his lap, ass settled against his pelvis. he’s burning underneath you, scorching as you settle into your spot. “i did, but it’s in the tent, and you’re right he—jeez, you’re hot.”

“thank you,” he grins into the two syllables as he drapes the blanket over you, adding you behind the shield from the cool wind before his hands make haste into his pockets. “and you’re a brat.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you roll your eyes, blushing more at the feeling of his sturdy body and ever-swelling member. you shiver as you gather the blanket in one hand, closing you both off in a cocoon of fleece. “and you haven’t seen the half of it.”

the second bit is said under your breath, a hint of something you’re not sure how to pinpoint—a challenge, maybe, or a lighthearted threat, perhaps. bratty behavior, you settle on, and you suppress the chuckle bubbling in your throat. 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” his voice is husked and falls more quiet then he anticipates as he leans closer to your ear, his eyes locked in on the dancing flames. his hands clench, tightening, nails pressed into palms as a grounding reminder to behave. 

“it means,” your heart jumps in your chest as you take hold of the support bar for the armrest, your words threatening to fail you when you need them the most despite the wild smirk donning your lips. you shift against him, weight and warmth giving his cock the stimulation it craved, a slow and seemingly innocent notion that causes him to twitch underneath you. “that using you as a furnace is the least bratty thing i could do right now.” 

an sharp inhale, sucked in through his clenched jaw, followed by a forcibly controlled breath out. one moment, his hands are confined to his pockets; the next, they’re clinging to your hips and pulling your backside against him, nails digging into you through your layers, your body flush to his—all disguised by the blanket shrouding your bodies. fistfuls of a fighting attempt. he throbs again, blood rushing to his cock.

heat prickles at his skin, arousal mixed with a tinge of embarrassment, and you grin in satisfaction at the hitch in his breathing, your eyes taking in the remainder of the camp.

“or can you not handle it?” you murmur, a lilt in your voice as you glance over your shoulder and offer another slow.

“i-i—” his words falter as you grind against him, his eyes darting around the clearing.

“kiba? speechless and worried about others? i’m surprised.” you don’t hide your shit-eating grin, an expression that grows as he clears his throat and looks away from you, grip still firmly planted on your sides.

filthy words claw at his throat. for once, kiba isn’t sure what to do. he’s caught, suspended in time. you’re here, right on top of him, and the only solution he can conjure up to his current situation is to drag you into his tent. having you off of him, away from him, isn’t an option, but there’s so many people around—

you hear yours and kiba’s names called out, naruto’s voice reaching you from across the clearing has he half-jogs to your encampment. 

“h-hey, naruto.” kiba answers after another quiet clearing of his throat. 

“hey!” you wiggle in your seat as the blonde approaches, straightening up with a smile of greeting. “what’s up?”

the brunette coughs, shifting in his spot, his pelvis leaning into you.

“me and a few of the others were thinking of exploring the old shrines around here, tomorrow after breakfast. wanna join? oh, are you cold? i’ll add another log to the fire.”

kiba’s body tenses, strings pulled taut as naruto buzzes around like a bee, oblivious to the sinful reality in front of him. his grip on you tightens, as if it was possible, a grounding and fighting attempt to keep from bucking into you.

“that sounds fun,” you answer, glancing back at the brunette again, trying not to focus on the throbbing cock pressed to your asscheeks before returning your attention to the young uzumaki. “and yeah, i was, but kiba’s good for keepin’ warm. i wasn’t expecting it to get as cold as it did.”

“yeah, man, kiba’s good for that, for sure! you have a blanket and everythin’ for tonight, right? i can give you an extra; hinata always grabs the extra stuff that i forget.” naruto laughs lightly and rubs the back of his head.

you feel kiba’s chest vibrate against your back, a low rumble of something you’d swear is a growl if you heard anything. as if it’s possible, you’re sure his body temperature increases.

“yeah, i’ll be good going to bed tonight. thanks.” you offer another smile. 

“damn, kiba, you look like you’re gonna explode.” the blonde laughs. “you all right?” 

“fine, naruto.” kiba attempts something less than a scowl, but neither you nor naruto are convinced. “i think i trained too hard yesterday; just sore, is all.”

“well then you’re no match for me! can’t train too hard to run konoha.”

“uzumaki, get out of my face with that bullshit.” kiba smirks, the best he can provide given the level of frustration brewing in his chest and the pressure in his abdomen. he needs naruto to leave, for you to grind more against him, to indulge him in one of the many fantasies he had about you. “i’ll be hokage thanks to how hard i train.”

naruto opens his mouth to retort, but hinata’s voice cuts him off as she appears from behind him. “can you both save the hokage fight for later?”

“right?” you add, eyes falling on hinata. 

“but he—” naruto starts.

“oh, don’t even—” kiba interjects. 

“it’s been a long day,” the hyuga holds her hand up, silencing both of them, before taking hold of the blonde’s arm and glancing up at him. “and we have another long day planned for tomorrow. i’m ready for bed, and you’re coming with.” 

both of the men glare at each other before succumbing to hinata’s wishes. 

“fine.” kiba sighs.

“fine…” naruto pouts.

“see you in the morning. good night,” hinata adds with a smile to you.

“good night.” you return, and you watch as they turn their backs to you, hinata navigating a rambling naruto back to their tent. you pan over to shino and his partner, the closest to you and kiba, who are now in their tent, entrance still unzipped as they set up their sleeping arrangements. your eyes then flick to neji and tenten, the second closest campers, both of whom are wide awake: tenten intent on oiling her weapons by the light of the fire, and neji laid next to her on his side, reading a book. 

some had already disappeared into their tents, lights and campfires out, and others stand around the dwindling central fire, watching until its cool enough to admonish their attention from it. 

the moment you’re confident there are no eyes on you, and before kiba can get a word in edge-wise, you circle your hips against him, faster—as if your pace you’re could be remotely considered ‘fast’—and deliberate, your hand leaving the chair and bracing on his upper thigh.

the sound that comes from the brunette is something caught between a pleasured groan and a sigh, shock and pleasure and suppression all wrapped into one. 

you need to hear him more. moisture collects in your underwear, adrenaline coursing through your hot veins at the risk of being caught, at the teasing, the knowing exactly what you’re doing to him. you’ve long forgotten the cold, or the dying fire, or the fact you haven’t fully set up your sleeping pad. right now, you’re concerned with taking this as far as you both will allow it.

before he can convince himself of anything otherwise, kiba’s large hands begin to rock you with ease, back and forth against his length, using your clothes and hips as leverage, still, as he starts to lose himself in the moment. he, too, no longer cares about much else other than the sensation of you on him, grinding against his clothed, fat, swollen cock. 

“still have nothing to say?” you prod, your voice increasingly quiet against the sounds of the forest, crackling fire, and hushed, distant laughter.

“you’re pushing it.” he huffs against your shoulder, leaning forward, needing a different angle to have you on him in just the right place. a warning, maybe, or a threat, perhaps. either way, his mind is slipping. the more he focuses on your sweet scent, or the ebb and flow of your movements, the more the dizzying and intoxicating premise of pure hedonism lured him in, beckoning him to follow his instincts rather than behave. 

his voice makes you shiver, cunt throbbing with heavy and demanding pulses, urging you to give in, to throw caution to the wind for the sake of indulgence. 

you stiffen your body, prohibiting his maneuvering of you as shino comes out of the tent, looks for something outside before grabbing a bag and taking it back inside. three… two… one…

kiba opens his mouth to speak, to quip back at you in your moment of stillness, but once aburame disappears again, you change the position of your legs and bounce against him, shallow and quick movements that choke out any of the words he could have mustered. 

instead, he pants, delicious music that rings in your ears. his eyes flicking to the crevice of space between your chests to watch your backside on him. the molten liquid in his veins surges, his heart a savage thing in his chest as he scans the crowd—which isn’t much of a crowd at all. 

shikamaru puffs on a cigarette as the main fire dies, his eyes on the white and grey swirls of smoke leaving the bonfire and his mind likely eons away; neji readies the tent for tenten, who is packing away her freshly-cleaned weaponry. 

“i-if you keep—fuck,” the words attempt to crawl from his throat as a familiar pressure builds in his abdomen. his cock is a twitching mess under you, clear slick soaking his head and coating the inside of his joggers. more mild embarrassment tingles his cheeks and ears, his pulse heavy in his palms, his ears, his length. 

“if i keep what?” you purr, your torso angling forward as you replace your movements with slow, languid rocks. still subliminal, as you watch shikamaru put out his cigarette and bow inside the flap of his tent. still intentional, as you focus your hips on his fully erect, teased cock. the thrumming in your sopping core has become background noise, the level of his pleasure being your driving force, and you’re too committed to stop, curiosity and genuine desire fueling you. a small part of you is relieved, finally being released from the weight of keeping kiba’s effect on you a secret. 

his forehead rests on your shoulder and heaves out another breathy moan, quieted against your back, his skin fiery and sweat dewing his hairline. he’s too far in to stop you, nor does he want to. in fact, this game you both are playing only solidifies his craving for you, sensing the authenticity beneath the raw human desire. 

“if you keep moving like that, i’m gonna cum.” the strangled confession reaches your ears and reverberates in your mind, the desperation in his tone sending you reeling.

your heart rampages beneath your sternum, your pulse pounding in your fingertips at his husked, breathy voice. you switch your pace, back to the shorter, bouncing movements, and his cock tenses underneath you, hands clinging to you in a losing attempt. 

your gaze is pulled by movement at neji and tenten’s site. tenten offers a small wave goodnight after she smothers the remnants of her campfire. you freeze, return the notion. kiba’s hands shake as they anchor you against him. she pulls the tent door closed, and the wood of your bonfire crackles as it splinters and crumbles under its own weight.

you continue grinding, relaxed and heavy movements, pressing yourself into him as if you could close any more distance. a small breath escapes you, weighty and tinged with pleasure of your own. you’re enjoying this, far more than you thought you would, and you want him to know.  

“l-like that, shit.” his nails threaten to puncture through your clothes as he jerks you against him, guiding you with the pace and fervency he craved. he no longer senses anyone outside—though the threat of someone appearing is still high—and he’s desperate to truly feel you grind on him, his mind clouded and one-tracked.

you comply, biting back a mischievous grin as he uses you in tandem with your own rhythm, the blanket falling from your hand as it finds purchase on his other thigh. you turn your head as he lifts his from your shoulder, and your eyes fall half-hooded as he nuzzles himself in the curve of your neck, his mouth hot as he huffs against your skin.

“fuck—” tension wracks his body, his breath hitched in his chest and shaking hands holding you painfully still, before his aching, slick-covered cock throbs violently beneath your plush flesh, a spot of warmth blossoming in his joggers. he moans in your ear, a depraved and gravelly thing, and the sound sends goosebumps along your now-hot skin. his hips buck with each spurt, and his thick cum seeps through his pants, wetting your leggings. 

“mmm,” you hum, satisfied with your endeavors. you move against him as much as his grip allows until he relaxes beneath you. the pressure in your cunt is blaring, an urgent call to attention from your body. 

“happy?” he asks with a raspy, quiet voice once his breath finds him, and his grip lightens on your hips. 

“i am. i’m warm now.” you chirp, turning in your spot to flash playful smile before attempting to peel yourself off of him and stand. “thanks for sharing your blanket with me. i think it’s time for—”

quick hands secure you back in his lap, one on your opposite hip and the other taking hold of your jaw. he turns your face to meet his gaze, head on, his eyes dark. when he speaks, his voice silken and carnal. “oh, you think i’m fucking done with you? i'm just getting started.”

© 2024 cohldhands. all rights reserved.

[tingyyytingsss]

This might have been my craziest hear me out when I was a kid.

Liiiiike I can't formally explain the hold he had on me at 12.

[schrobrm]

'99

[vicsbasement]

light & gold

Charles watches from a distance as Carlos moves slowly through the garage. He shouldn't be this obsessed with helping his teammate with menial tasks, but Charles never claimed to be a normal person, anyway.

this fic is a gift for @moossings because she had a bad day and i wanted to make her smile. the fic isn't what i had in mind but sometimes you're days away from suzuka and you pressure yourself into writing and finishing up on a wip that drove you insane anyway

[ghost-tings]

alright guys some options for the unnamed aftg fic starring my sweet baby boy elio josten

yes I did Google some stuff so baby racoons are called kits and yes baby foxes can be called kits to they are more often referred as cubs so keep that in mind

also very funfact about elio is that because he was born and raised on the run he doesn't have a concept of gender (yes is this also a funfact because onke of the drawings/ sketches I have planned is him in a dress yes it it cuz fuck gender norms)

[astoldbyaja]

Warrior (HBO Max) Li Yong x Black Female OC X Zing x Bolo

I've got a 38 chapter work in progress from the Max series warrior if anyone is interested in reading. I may post it on here. It's smutty and violent i'll tell you what! XD

[hellofanidea]

curt has a crush on arthur 🎤🎤

This got away from me so badly, and it now is its own ficlet! It does get heavy during the latter part, however, so tw for alcoholism, PTSD, character death, and people being shitty to each other in the throes of those.

"Y'know Curt's got a thing for you?" Bucky grins at him one night, closer to five sheets to the wind than three, leaning into Arthur's space outside of the O Club.

There had been a few of them who wandered out initially, chasing fresh air to clear their soaked heads, but then the band had started up again and they had followed the music inside in search of dance partners. Arthur had expected Bucky to be first amongst them to go, but he had stayed when Arthur lingered under the night sky, and now he understands why.

"Not sure you're meant to say shit like that, Major," Arthur laughs, mostly out of shock at the way Bucky seems perfectly at ease with the idea. "Gonna get somebody a blue ticket home."

"Naw," Bucky scoffs, still smiling, though it's starting to look more like a leer. "Ain't runnin' to tell nobody. Just figured I'd try my hand at bein' a wingman."

He laughs at his own joke, swaying away and hiccuping drunkenly.

There's no need, Arthur wants to tell him; him and Curt have been slipping into dark corners together for a bit of stress relief for nearly two weeks now. He wonders if he pieced together Curt 'having a thing for him' from the newly charged air between them, or if Curt really had said something to him. Wonders what either of those could mean.

"You're a good friend," he tells Bucky instead, and means it. "You're also drunk as a skunk. C'mon, we should head back inside before you sober up enough to remember this in the mornin'."

Bucky makes a dismissive noise, but turns towards the door with him anyway.

"You're not gonna give me anything to take back to him? What kind of a wingman are you makin' me, Foster?" He complains.

"Well, considerin' I didn't try to punch yours or his lights out when you said somethin', a real lucky one, sir."

Several Years Later

"Y'know Curt's got a thing for you?" Bucky slurs, and Arthur feels his heart drop to his knees.

It's hot in the VA hall they've piled into for the reunion, and Bucky's been on fine form all night, to the point that some of the boys who didn't know him as Air Exec or CO or POW had been looking at him funny, and Arthur had to volunteer to take him outside for a moment. Let him cool his head in the relative privacy of the side alley. Catch his breath. Shiver off some of the burn of whiskey in his stomach.

And Arthur has been doing so well recently, but now he wants that same burn something fierce. He should go back inside, send Viv or Buck to take care of Bucky. Find Ev and get out of here before he follows Egan the way he always does eventually, and throws away three months of stone cold sobriety over the invocation of a ghost that he's never without anyway.

He doesn't go back inside. He stays next to where Bucky has his head tilted back to the sky, his eyes closed. Ignoring the tremble of his fingers, Arthur takes out a cigarette and lights it.

"Yeah, Bucky," he sighs around the filter. He doesn't have the energy to play along, or the heart to stop him.

"What, no joke about a blue ticket?" Bucky asks.

Irritation abruptly curdles in Arthur's stomach. He can't tell if Bucky's really back in Thorpe Abbotts in his mind, or if he's just trying to get a rise out of him. It reminds him, bitterly, of the Stalag. Bucky growling at him at him like a cornered animal, digging his fingers into Arthur's bruises; Arthur letting him, because at least it made him useful.

"I'm a civilian, now," he reminds Bucky. "Me 'n' Ev get caught it's jail, remember?"

The other man has the decency to look uncomfortable at the reminder, kissing his teeth unhappily. His closed eyes remain turned up to the pollution-hidden stars.

"Yeah. Forgot that." A heavy pause, and Arthur feels himself tense. Bucky's winding up for something, drawing his arm back to throw a curve ball. Definitely looking for a fight of some kind, and Arthur hasn't taken any of the bait so far, but he's come pretty close. "You 'n' Ev moved pretty fuckin' quickly. After Africa."

"Don't," Arthur snaps.

"I mean, I've heard the stories, you practically jumped him right there in the desert, right? Fucked him all the way up until you got yourself shot down. Wrote him fuckin' love letters from a Nazi prison camp, for fuck's sake." Bucky's eyes open. There's something dangerous in their piercing blue. "I bet Curt's body wasn't even cold when you jumped on his dick."

Arthur had never snapped at him in the Stalag, had taken his licks from Bucky like a good little soldier and kept on trotting after him. It had been worth it then just to feel the ache. Even more worth it for the times when Bucky wasn't at his lowest ebb and he would try to silently make it up to him.

Now, though? Arthur doesn't have that kind of patience left in him. Not even for Bucky, not when it's about Ev, about Curt, and not really about either of them at all, but about Bucky needing something he thinks he can only get by finding a sore spot and poking.

He has to know it's coming, but Bucky doesn't dodge when Arthur throws the punch. It's a good hit, or a bad one, something crunching under Arthur's fist in a way that instantly overrides the fury that had risen in him at Bucky's provocation. Bucky goes staggering, hands up at his face, and Arthur stares in horror at the aftermath of what he's done.

"Jesus, shit, Bucky, 'm sorry, 'm so sorry, are you alright?" He jabbers, frozen to the spot.

Just out of reach, Bucky sways. He's making grunts and groans as he seems to fight to stay upright. When one of his hands moves, red spills from between his fingers like wine, trickles down the backs of his hands, and drips onto his dress uniform. It's all over his tie. It'll stain, badly, and Arthur can't stop staring at it, even as Bucky straightens out and makes a throaty 'whoop' noise.

"Always knew you had a helluva swing on you, Foster," he laughs thickly.

His own blood is all over his lips, and he's still laughing, and there's too much happening at once, too many pasts layered together in Arthur's head. The smell of burning skin draws him from them, then the pain in his fist. Not just his knuckles; he had curled his hand tight around his still lit cigarette to throw the punch, and the end was now searing into his palm.

Finally, he drops it. If he lets it burn him a moment more than he needs to, that's between him and God and his ghosts.

[joannasteez]

crying, laughing, loving, lying - being comfortable is no good

pairing: roman reigns x angel (black oc) warning: this little chapter is all angst and unfortunately barely features angel. but i'm giving backstory!! no other warning besides swearing and talks of divorce. authors note: i love imperfect characters. so yummy. first chapter found here. word count: 1700

roman loves his job. he loves the campus. and he loves his office —which to him, despite seth's modernistic sneering, is wholly traditional—outfitted tirelessly to suit a timeless sense of taste. dark wood furnishings and overly warm lamp lights. deep shelf walls and old brass ceiling fans. the neat clutter of sports paraphernalia surrounding unread midterm papers —which detailed in their own ways and intellectual fashions, the steady rise of sociopolitical tensions of pre-world war-two society through a 1936 olympic games lens — and once looked over defensive plays meant for forthcoming football games. and this here was his little heaven, his peace, but said peace was being tainted. squandered and spat on. because of all the days he'd chosen to settle in at the office on campus versus doing work from home, she, had stopped by to see him this day. to parade around that pitiful frowning in her lips and the beautiful, un-useable ring she'd never bothered to just get rid of.

and he was very specific about not getting it back. about not wanting it back. about her even selling it, if thats what she wanted. since she'd always done what she wanted anyways. what difference would it make if she sold the eighteen karat in exchange for whatever dress or lamp or table caught her eye? roman really couldn't give less than a shit what she exchanged it for, just as long as he'd never have to see it again. because all the memory is stored there, in the all those beautiful cuts of diamond. but then again, as he said to himself, 'amina does what she wants', including showing face when showing face was exactly what he didn't need. 

he seems to be the only tired one in all this. the only struggling survivor, hell the only survivor really. amina's face feening to look written in a perpetual state of guilt which was complete, utter bullshit. but then again disingenuous was her forte. and roman was sure that the divorce lawyer was the happiest they'd ever been. maybe even eating off the money they'd made at the expense of his failed marriage. but who knew. at this point, who fucking knew. 

his glasses give the ring clarity. a shine. making his jaw twitch and his foot shift till his knee jumps. all of which are involuntary. and this burns his core, the very base of his belly, because why does the discomfort take him so wholly?   unsullied and lacking compassion as it travels his skin. 

he can feel her eyes fixing into him. screwing hot over every line and detail of his freckled face as she waits. and oh does roman make her wait. letting the silence drown the room till theres nothing but the whipping spin of the ceiling fan and the warm lamps singing with a buzz.

"are you gonna say something?"

and all he can remember is his bed. the distress of the sheets and the boiling heat in his body. her moaning and then the absolute fright. the guilt as she forced her body away into the wall, the sheets surrounding her, drowning her up to her neck. his fingers cold from the breeze. 

the ring still on her finger. why even keep it on?

something in roman's skin flares. a burning irritation. an anger bought on by the existence of anger itself. because why should he be reduced to something this wild and ill-controlled? why should he be the one suffering, feeining stability. why should a simple ring bother him so much. he was, is, better than this, better than the pity written in her eyes. he hated this. why didn't she just fucking sell the damn ring. 

"hows terry doing?", that name like poison on his tongue. the whole memory of it coming up to dry his throat till he's tasting bits of bile. his fingers flexing as he takes to fingering over the stacks of papers at his desk. "still enjoying my headboard?" 

"don't do that...", amina's eyes averting. guilt, guilt and more guilt. "...don't, don't bring him up like it's on him". 

"oh?". a scoff but a laugh too. disgust and amazement. but he's irritated too. surprised. "is this accountability? are we in the end times finally?" 

she sighs exhausted. "roman". 

"amina", exhausted too but wryly so. to dig into her skin in any way he could. 

and when she takes her beat, which he finds annoyingly dramatic, staring into his eyes with all the sincerity drawn up from her gut to say "i'm sorry", he still can't find the will to care. 

and he tells her as much.

"i. don't. care", pushing the ring with his finger over toward the edge of his desk. the fast motion threatening to knock it off the surface if not for amina snatching it mid drop. "take the ring back. pawn it. sell it. shove it in an envelop and burn it", rising from his seat to take a stack of book at the side of his desk to the deep shelf wall. his body tall and wide and rife with anger. "i don't give a shit. i don't want it". 

he can hear her shifting to get up too. her heels clicking small. cautioned steps. not so far but not too close. and now he's sees that's just been the regular state of affairs for everything concerning them. an arms distance of romance. 

"it belongs to you". 

one of the books tighten in his hand. a hard cover stress ball. "the simple fact, that i keep saying i don't wan't it, and you keep shovin' it in my face, really just lets me know you’re here to twist the knife". he shelves the books impatiently, the slotting of them ending, each, with a thud into the wood. "just give me this one thing. listen to me this one time". 

amina takes her turn to bristle. to advance at him and laugh. mirthless and mocking. 

"you wanted the wedding in the summer, so we planned it for july. you wanted to move back home, so i followed you", each click of her heel harsh against his office floors. straining to creak till it's edging into his skin. "you wanted the bigger house and you didn't want me to work and you didn't want me to hang around certain men. i always listened to you". 

'no', roman thinks. whipping away from the shelf. his ears scorching. "wrong", his pointing finger toughing into his chest. "i didn't want you around terry because he was a dog in fucking heat every time you were near him. and everything was always negotiable. i never forced anything". his blood pumping sharp and wild. "you liked me making decisions. you liked being taken care of. i made shit a playground for you, and you ran it to hell till you got caught". 

"negotiable? really?", amina's voice shrill and wavering. "like its a fucking business deal? well so much for a fucking merger of equals”. the ring clutched in her fist, her balled fingers pushing into his chest as she clicks up to him. no longer an arms length away. "you just knew that you knew what was best all the time". 

and when he refuses to accept her forcibly pushing against his chest, the ring falls. 

"and the one thing i didn't know?", his face a breath away from hers. the warmth of vanilla filling his nose. making his screen cringe and his jaw tighten. "that my wife was getting fucked cervix deep in my bed by terry, every other weekend since the night of our wedding". 

"it wasn't every other weekend". 

he laughs. from his belly and with a soft trembling in his nerves. his body uncomfortable still. bothered by the shake of his own anger. "but it was in my bed, in the sheets i bought".

she sneers. her eyes rolling harsh.

"everything with you is always, i and me". 

"yes amina", his tone patronizing. "because you cheated on me. you never even tried", his head shaking. "im not the villain in this". 

her eyes glisten. welling to threaten the breaking out of tears. 

"i had no voice. no say. no room to make mistakes with you. everything was always handled. i couldn't breathe". 

"why not say something?"

"you wouldn't have listened". 

he scoffs. "you don't know that", walking briskly to his desk. collecting the stacked papers to shuffle them inside the thick leather of a messenger bag. he needs desperately to leave. to come from under the thick air of the room. "because you never considered trying. and thats the one thing you can never say i didn't do. i always tried to make you happy. making things comfortable". 

"being comfortable isn't this good thing you keep making it out to be". 

he was over it. over the heat boiling his skin. over the aching in his chest. the lumping in his throat. the sharp pricks in his eyes. the mindless way his jaw twitched to tighten. and he was over seeing amina. he needed something liquid, strong and relieving. and he had papers to grade, he didn't need this. not now. not ever again. 

"if no one has ever told you before, i need you to know that you are filled with a concerning amount of bullshit". 

amina snatches up the things she came to his office with. being sure to leave the ring. "well look at us being two peas in a pod". 

her heels click out of his office. the silence enveloping him again. his shoulders heavy and his eyes tired, from the lateness of the day and the threat of tears. 

and the ring is still there. still and unmoving. his fingers curling to fist but lacking the heart to pluck it from the floor. 

his phone buzzes. angel's name popping up against the screen. a warmth fighting greatly to overtake him as he opens up an image she's sent, but it fails to do anything worthwhile. the chill in his bones icing over so easily that his nerves feel beholden to deaden with a cooling. 

text message | angel : ready when you are

and the heart to reply is void in him. more piqued that amina had destroyed his mood so much that it'd left him hollow enough to leave you unanswered. and God was the urge there, just not great enough to overcome the anger pushing deep in his skin. 

[babybucks]

wish me one more day to stay

buck/eddie | teen | 1k words

buck-centric + death as a narrator + processing buck's suicidal ideation

Death marks Buck as soon as he takes his first breath. She places a kiss on his head, close to his left eye—a reminder that he is tied to her as much as she is to him. He was made to be a sacrifice. A life for a life. A son for a son. It doesn’t work that way. Or: How Buck learns to live, as told by Death.

read on ao3

[sirwow]

I wish straight people were real..

[klarolinexluv]

I have so much inspiration to write right now but I’m not awake enough for my brain to function properly. Send help.

[shoolb]

"At least she’d still be warm."

check out through the valley to life by @mayybirds

[start id:

a digitally drawn comic made up of ten panels, featuring an abstracted scene from the resident evil fanfic "through the valley to life" by @mayybirds, where ethan breaks through to eveline in chapters 3 and 4.

the first panel is entirely in black and white, featuring a dilapidated room, an upturned wheelchair in the background. the dark gray background turns to white further down the panel, where ethan and eveline stand off, eveline with her hands straight out and exuding black mold, while ethan's hand reaches up to cover his face, standing his ground.

the second image fades into an image of eveline hiding in a vent, with a pair of legs walking past it in search of her. the image fades into black mold.

the third image is a snapshot in time surrounded by dark mold. eveline is younger, with a capital 'E' pinned to her chest and an unknown scientist in a lab coat injecting a needle into her arm.

the fourth image is a snapshot in time surrounded by dark mold. it simply depicts a larger hand harshly gripping a smaller person's wrist, assumed to be eveline. this image is accented by a burst of red-tinged black mold.

the fifth image is a snapshot in time surrounded by dark mold. a hazy white light surrounds mia winters as she bandages the wrist of someone off-screen, assumed to be eveline. behind mia floats the annabelle tanker in the water.

the sixth image is a pitch black canvas with a textured red tinge at the bottom.

the seventh image depicts a large reaching hand in inverted black and white on a spill of textured red and black, obscuring half of a face outlined in white.

the eighth image depicts eveline outlined in white on a black background, her one visible eye wide in shock. the canvas fades to a red-tinged white. an inverted black and white portrayal of ethan hugging a person that is partly obscured.

the ninth image depicts a background of eveline's stick figures in white on a black background. in a starker white, a stick figure of a woman is on the far left while a stick figure of a man is on the far right. in the middle, a stick figure of a little girl. the image fades to white.

the tenth image depicts ethan hugging an old woman, eveline. they are both in black and white except for eveline's red scarf. they are surrounded by a burst of protective black mold.

end id.]

[laufeysons]

i don’t know how to reconcile the fact that i have so much merch that i can never look at the same again. i wore my 1d shirt out to breakfast on monday. he was alive then. now the next time i wear it he won’t be?? what?? i have my 1d vinyls on display in my room! i look at them every!day! seeing them yesterday morning and seeing them this morning were completely different and it will ALWAYS be different. i’ll never be able to go back