#hes not doing it on purpose but like. if this goddamn man says one more fucking thing about me being too young to be disabled.........

[procyonloser]

Serial killer AU pt 3, same warnings

Adam felt sick, but he couldn't bring himself to vomit, no matter how much he wanted to. He had enough food to keep going, but Lucifer wasn't about to bring him more if he did chuck it all up again, and Lucifer knew that. He seemed to do this on purpose after he brought Adam food.

He swallowed, throat threatening to not work, but he forced it down. He forced Lucifer down. No matter how many times he'd sucked him off, Lucifer always seemed thick, coating his mouth, a flavor that wouldn't leave him and one that overpowered any of the food he'd had prior.

But that wasn't even the worst of it. Lucifer had begun to fuck him, not just his mouth, like he had the last few days. Adam couldn't say no, not if he wanted to fucking survive, he just accepted the fact that this was going to have to be part of that life now, but he would hope alcohol might burn the worst of his memories out of his head.

Lucifer always took him on the floor, and he would always pull on Adam's collar, regardless if he was fucking him from behind, on his back, or making Adam ride him. No matter what, he made Adam know who owned him.

He'd not cum from it, but he would get harder than he wanted to - left with dreams that kept his thighs sticky upon waking up, only to be met by reality.

"That's a good boy," Lucifer mumbled, pulling out painfully slowly, letting Adam feel every inch, and how cum began to start spilling from him, down his legs. "Have you thought about how you'll benefit me yet, Adam?"

Adam froze, pushing himself to sit up, looking at Lucifer in confusion, panic skyrocketing through him. "Haven't I ... I've been...I thought-"

"What, because we had sex?" Lucifer asked in some astonishment, eyes wide, laughing as he asked it. "Oh, Adam. I can get that anywhere, there's entire apps dedicated to anonymous hookups. You're not special because of that. I want to know what you can actually do for me."

This wasn't fucking fair. Hadn't he dealt with enough in his life? Yeah, he'd been kind of an asshole, but his entire life had been a big goddamn game of kick the man while he's down, so sure - he was a dick, but he had to be, because anything else just made his life worse.

And now, he had to play jester to a fucking lunatic.

"I can help you," Adam got out, voice colored in desperation, body shivering. "With the bodies. I can't walk, but I could help you process the bodies. You'd be able to kill again faster? The... The media would freak the fuck out if your rate increased suddenly."

Lucifer hummed slightly, acknowledging Adam, though the only thing that seemed to catch good interest was the idea of scaring the media.

"A.. and if I'm an accomplice, then I'm not going to rat you out, right? Even if I could escape, I'd be just as guilty." Adam thought it was a good argument, but Lucifer only seemed mildly amused.

"Why would I want you?" Lucifer asked, and Adam's stomach sank, and his shoulders fell. "It's funny to me, that you're so eager to continue living. I looked you up, and as far as I can tell, you have no real friends, no popularity, there's an entire Facebook page of women complaining about you, your band is a joke, and it looks like your family disowned you a long time ago."

Adam only looked at the tiled ground, vision beginning to go blurry.

"It's not like you're some heartthrob either, you're chubby and you apparently live out of your van. So, it seems strange to me that you want to live so badly you're trying to appease me at every turn. Why is that?" Lucifer asked, tilting his head.

Adam didn't answer immediately, tears begging to run down his face.

This was probably it, wasn't it? Lucifer was bored of him.

"...I just wanted to believe I'd eventually be happy." Adam whispered, in a small voice, speaking truths about himself he'd never really told anyone before. There'd been so many months in his life he could have ended it all, but he kept telling himself if he held out a bit longer, eventually, he'd have a good life. He'd been wrong.

Lucifer reached out, to caress his cheek, tilting his chin up, but Adam closed his eyes, stray tears running down his face. "I don't want to die."

"You won't," Lucifer said in a more reserved tone, leaning in to lick the salt from Adam's face. "Not yet, little bird. Not yet."

[tempertyzias]

the torment of having a totally supportive and well-meaning father who is unintentionally the most discouraging person you know

[princessmyriad]

.

[sixosix]

wanderer can fly; you cannot. he makes it his problem.

“What? Giving up already?”

“Shut—” heaving, you barely have the energy to flip him off, “shut the fuck up. Fuck off.”

Wanderer chuckles, all low and mean, as if his entire purpose in life is to ridicule you. He continues ascending overhead, moving and looking like an angel, but the words that come out of his mouth are far from angelic. “Careful, now. I know you overestimate yourself, but I won’t save you if you continue to scale a mountain with one hand.”

“Stop agitating me on purpose then!” You nearly slip from the intensity of your yell, but thankfully, it isn’t your time yet.

“How can I? You’re cute when you’re mad.”

Grumbling, you focus back on the mountain. Cute when mad. He must think he’s goddamn adorable, then.

You’re starting to lose sight of dents or protruding surfaces to get a hold of, and the mountain is getting steeper. You curse under your breath. If only you had Geo or Dendro—that’d help a lot much more. Maybe even Anemo, but that would be admitting defeat to the man who’s currently watching you intently.

Wanderer scoffs when your breath hitches, the surface you’re holding onto crumbling. He descends until you’re eye level. “Idiot, I told you that it’d be safer if we didn’t climb this all the way.”

“I know my limit.” Maybe. You may or may not have gotten a little over-competitive and jumped a few times, but that shouldn’t be a problem.

“Not more than I do,” he says.

“Don’t say it like that, weirdo.” You appraise the mountain overhead and, with a sunken stomach, realize that he’s right. There’s still a long way to go, and it’s a long fall back.

“Damn,” you say. You turn to Wanderer and blink up at him with wide eyes, hoping he would take the hint without having to say it outright.

Wanderer sighs, holding out his arms. “Jump.”

“Are you serious?”

“I won’t let you fall—of course I’m fucking serious.”

You grit your teeth, wondering if it’s easier to humiliate yourself and jump into his arms or to let gravity do its work.

“Hey,” Wanderer says, gliding closer and hovering an arm behind your waist. “No stupid ideas. Just jump and hold onto me.”

It’s always unsettling when Wanderer is not acting all bratty, like you’re not quite sure if you should goad him back to being mean or watch him bristle when you point it out. It’s been happening too often recently. That must be saying something about him if his soft moments are scarier than his jabs.

Wordlessly, you reach out for his shoulder with one hand and hold back a yelp when the lack of balance causes you to slip. You hold on tight around his neck, eyes wide and heart jittery. Wanderer secures his arms, moving in one swift motion. Before you even know it, he has one arm on your back and the other under your knees.

“How convenient it must be to have a ride as your companion,” Wanderer mutters in amusement at your relieved face.

“Yeah. That’s why I keep you around,” you say as he glides upward, barely straining from your weight. He looks as unaffected as ever.

He looks as infuriatingly and devastatingly beautiful as ever.

“Ha,” his smile is all sharp, “and not because you have a little crush on me?”

“You follow me around because you do. Don’t get it twisted.”

He snorts, tipping on something a little more genuine. You wisely decide to stop ogling at his face and enjoy the view of the sky instead. The blue of his clothes and the shade of his eyes are much prettier, but you’d rather lose that than start squirming in his arms. Not when he’s carrying you bridal style and all.

Finally, he descends, hardly disturbing the grass with his grace. He sets you down, arms crossed, as you pat yourself off from dirt and stuff.

“Well?”

You eye him warily. “What do you want?”

“Some semblance of manners will do,” he says, then leans close as if he’s baring his face for you. He’s been less and less subtle recently, too.

Nonetheless, you find yourself smiling. The things he’d do just to get a kiss—it nearly makes you laugh out loud. But then he’d start getting all irritated like a cat, and you much prefer when he’s sweet like this. Sweet in his very Wanderer way, you mean.

You kiss him on the cheek. He puffs up like some proud peacock. He calls you adorable all the time, but he’s the one who’s acting like this. It’s no wonder you keep him around.

[rise-my-angel]

More headcannons about the Starks being doms!!! Pleaseeeee!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay starting off saying, all Stark men are doms, just in different ways. But let's start from the eldest down.

Brandon Stark:

Easily a hard dom. He was short tempered and described as very distinctly as having "wolfs blood". He loved fighting and always kept his sword sharp and with him. I have a distinct theory that he was a power bottom, preferring women on top of him but without actually giving them that control. Probably didn't talk a lot, and when he did was just purposely filthy. He also definitly liked to take things rough, considering Barbrey Dustin says this about him.

"I still remember the look of my maiden’s blood on his cock the night he claimed me. I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing."

That is some hard dom behavior right there.

Eddard Stark:

If there was a Stark who was closest to a switch then the others, it would be Ned. But I think that is more because Ned is just rather vanilla in comparison. There is zero reason to believe Catelyn likes being in charge in the bedroom, but I also think Ned is far more of a soft dom. Not very talkative, probably more intimate, and he doesn't push Catelyns limits. But he does in fact, go hard.

The man gave her five children, and Catelyn literally implies in the first book that Ned fucked her so hard she was in that afterglow pain only a man who goes rough can give.

"Her loins still ached from the urgency of his lovemaking. It was a good ache."

Submissive men do not fuck so urgently they leave their wife laying in bed sore as fuck from getting pounded. Ned is probably the least kinky of the present Starks, but certainly still a soft dom.

Benjen Stark:

We see he has a very dominant personality, how easily he takes control of a conversation and establishes himself as someone to be listened too, but considering he clearly joined the Nights Watch at an early age, it's safe to say Benjen grew up a man whom was just not involved in sexual encounters.

If he did fuck, he'd likely be more of a soft dom with a side that likes to tease and be playful, but I assume he's either never or had very little sexual encounters to say for sure what he'd be like as one. But in his everyday personality, he certainly commands authority when necessary which is proof of dominance enough for me.

Robb Stark:

If there is the biggest example of a hard dom, it's Robb. This man takes you like a goddamn wolf. Flipping you onto your hands and knees, shoving you further into the furs of his bed, going fast enough you can't catch your breathe and rough enough that you feel him well into the next day. He will yank you up to his chest and purposely mutter depraved shit in your ear, mock you for your pleasure knowing it works you up more when he does it. Calling you derogatory sexual terms in bed to keep you in that subspace (he doesnt say them to hurt your feelings you know its all part of a kind of rougher roleplay essentially).

We've seen him take command in every situation. He knows how to seize control of a conversation even with opponents as difficult as Jaime Lannister. He doesn't falter, knowing he has everything in his favour and is sure of himself. Putting men twice his size like Greatjon Umber in his place but still managing to secure his upmost dedicated loyalty at the same time.

Robb probably the most forgets to be romantic in bed, but he makes up for it any other time. It's just in bed, when Robb is fucking you, he is rough and mean. You both know its with love and you both like it, but he is a true hard dom.

Jon Snow:

If his brother is the definition of a hard dom, Jon is the definition of a soft dom. Jon is incapable of being mean to you, truly being mean. He'll never whisper filth for the sake of it, never try to mock or embarrass you, will never use anything close to something derogatory towards you in what he calls you. Jon is passionate, raw, and very intimate about sex with you, and he needs a lot of both skin to skin contact and he needs to be able to kiss you as much as he wants.

But, he is also very controlling. More then he realizes. Jon is unpredictable in bed, because what he wants varies wildly. Sometimes he takes you slowly, but goes for hours to the point he is still inside you as you pass out, which he keeps going. Sometimes, he is rougher then he even realizes. Jon leaves bruises all the time from how tightly his hands grab at you alone, and he goes rough to the point sometimes you almost are pushed too far, but Jon somehow always ends up making you crave it.

You basically will never choose how the night goes. Jon always controls you in bed, and you let him. It works him up to an endless degree that you so completely trust him with you to the point he basically owns your autonomy in bed. He can convince you to do anything knowing you'd let him, and he won't give you what you want because he knows your needs and limits better then you do.

Jon is soft and loving with you in bed, but he is a dom through and through. Jon alone is the one in total control in the bedroom and he will always keep it that way.

[milkteabinniechan]

HI! How would Chan deal with his smaller partner intimidating him and also turning him on by being more assertive and in control? Would he lean into it or feel conflicted? Is it even something he secretly craves, not having to lead in private as well? (I have binged your entire masterlist and it's flawless - it has moved me to send my very first SKZ ask. Thank you for writing such hot, hot things with my favourite boy.

♡Simon Says - Chan

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: bf! Chan x fem! reader

warnings: angst, dom reader, size kink

a/n: thank you so much for the suggestion! lmk if y'all want a full fic♡ and I am so, so, so sorry it has taken me so long to answer these!

“I can’t reach it!” you stretched your arms out but it made no difference at all. The perfect coffee mug was perfectly out of reach. You grunted and stretched farther, standing on the very tips of your toes.

Chan came around the corner chuckling softly, “here, let me get that.” He towered over you and grabbed the coffee mug in one easy motion. He brought it to your face, his cocky smile growing wider.

You quickly snatched the coffee mug from his hands and stomped away. There was a significant height difference between you and your boyfriend. It was glaringly obvious when the two of you would walk down the street together. You noticed people staring and whispering under their breath. It didn’t really bother you.

They most likely were wondering how the two of you had sex. And if you could stop them on the street and confront them, you’d march right up to them and declare: He fucks me great. He fucks me hard. He fucks me soft. He can pick me up and spin me around like a goddamn ragdoll. I’ve never had this many orgasms in my entire life. But instead, you let them whisper and wonder. It was entertaining, at least.

But today, with the coffee mug. You couldn’t get Chan’s smug little face out of your mind. He knows that you have a favorite mug. And he put it on the highest shelf. On purpose. You sat on the couch stewing. Just boiling in your anger until you thought of a perfect way to teach him a lesson. A lesson in humbleness. A lesson in humiliation. A little experiment to see just how much your big, strong boyfriend could handle.

Chan made himself comfortable in bed. His boxers ruffled up and scrunched against his muscular thighs. He lazily placed his arms up over his head and let out a long sigh as his head fell back onto the pillow. You stood in the doorway for a minute, drinking in the sight of him. There was just something so delicious about dominating such a strong, confident man. You could barely contain yourself as you made your way over to the bed.

“Hi, baby.” You whispered as you crawled in next to him. Chan smiled softly, patting your head and giving you a small kiss on the cheek. Your face split into a devious grin, “Let’s play a game.”

Chan’s eyebrows raised at your blunt statement. You weren’t asking him, you were telling him.

“Uh. Sure, baby. What game?”

You propped yourself up on your knees to face him. Your eyes flicked with desire and a hint of something else that Chan didn't recognize.

“Do you remember the kid’s game ‘Simon Says?’” You spoke in a low tone, your face inching closer to his.

“Yeah. I think so. One person is ‘Simon’ and everyone else has to do whatever that person says, right?”

“Very good! And tonight, I’m Simon.” You smirked.

Chan chucked softly and shrugged his shoulders, nodding slightly. “Sure, baby. Whatever you say.”

Your heart felt ready to burst as you watched your big boyfriend agree to what he believed to be a simple childhood game. “Great. Simon Says, get on your knees.” You said firmly.

Chan furrowed his brow, his face twisting with disbelief. “Are you serious?” He huffed but soon complied and assumed the position on the floor beside the bed.

He looked up at you, his face slightly red from embarrassment. You glanced down at him from atop the bed. You smiled proudly and gave him a few taps on the bed. “Good boy.”

He lets out a small whine upon being called a ‘good boy’, his cheeks turning a bright red. For someone that was as tall and powerful as he is, he turned into a shy mess pretty quickly. You smirk victoriously at the sound of Chan’s submissive noises.

“You like being my good boy, don’t you?” You speak softer, running your fingers through his hair.

Chan avoids eye contact for a moment, unsure of how to answer. He’s never seen you act like this before. And he never thought that he would be enjoying it as much as he was. The thin material of his boxer shorts left little to the imagination as a long, thick outline began to grow beneath them. Precum was already soaking through the front as you gripped his chin to force him to look at you.

“I can’t hear you. I asked you a question.” Your voice is a little cooler now. Chan swallowed hard and locked eyes with you.

“Yes… I like it. I like being your good boy.” His cock twitched as he spoke. Like a truth serum that would always reveal his true desires. And right now at this moment, he desired to do anything you wanted.

Your eyes sparkled as you thought of the possibilities. What you could make him do. What were the limits? He was such a pretty mess, you just had to see how far the two of you could go together.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthoress @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star

[cevansbrat0007]

Sweet Tooth Deluxe

Summary: Ari teaches you a much needed lesson about ignoring him. Takes place directly after the events in Sweet Tooth.

Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Pussy Spanking, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @daykrisr999 and @curls-and-eyeliner. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Jesus, God you’d been at this for hours.

“Omigodfuck!” You sob, shoving your face into your lavender comforter. When Ari had promised to make your “pussy cry”, you hadn’t imagined he meant it like this. “Goddamn, Daddy. Please!” 

Well, fuck. While you’d also never called a man Daddy before, that name had already slipped from your lips several times tonight.

“That’s right, sweet Bird.” Ari snarls as he fucks you, his hips snapping wildly second after second. “You do need a Sir. You do need a Daddy. It’s about time you fuckin’ realize.”

“Uh huh!” 

“I should spank this juicy ass every day.” His hand comes down hard, making you cry out. It wasn’t the first time either. You were gonna be so sore come tomorrow morning.  

“Yes! Omigod, you should!” You bite the comforter, loving the way your man is so easily mastering your body. You’d earned this. You’d deserved this. 

Yes, Sir. Yes, Daddy. More, please.

You feel a large hand gently grasp your throat, forcing you to pull away from the blankets. “Wake the fuck up, sweet Bird. Watch how good I’m fuckin’ you. Tell me how good it feels.” A soft whine escapes when he licks the side of your face. 

He was marking you in this moment. Reminding you that you belonged to him. 

“I’m sorry!” You wail, loving the sound of wet flesh slapping against your own. You were so turned on, your body so needy. Shit, you could hardly stand it.

“We ain’t done, greedy girl.” Ari repositions you then, fisting a hand in your hair so that you can finally get a good look at yourself in your brand new floor length mirror. The same one he’d purchased for you for moments like these.

You look so well fucked that you hardly recognize yourself. Ari flashes a feral grin at the sight of your reflection, loving the way you moan for him when he adjusts the angle of his hips.

How dare you withhold your affection? Your attention? All because he’d accidentally eaten the wrong pie? Well, he’d show you.

“”Today.” He grunts, nibbling at your neck as he reaches around to lightly strum your clit. “You’re gonna learn how to talk to your man when he makes a mistake.” His palm slaps your wet cunt for good measure, the sound echoing throughout the room.

“Please!” 

"Say the words, brat! Before I bruise that ass!"

He bears down, increasing the already brutal pace. Fucking you harder. Oh God, this man was gonna be the death of you.

"Ohshit! Ungh!" You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. "Daddy please fuck me!"

Ari adjusts his rhythm, purposely slowing himself down. He had a lesson to teach, after all. And if he was meant to learn a lesson, then so were you. 

One shattering orgasm at a time.

END

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[heartofwritiing]

We could make such a pretty picture

Paring: musicianbur x photographer!reader

Summary: you are lovejoy’s tour photographer and wilbur likes to tease you.

authors note: this is so rushed and unedited mostly just my stream of consciousness that popped into my head while i finish up the zombur fic! its almost done!!

warnings: fluff, short, flirting, a little suggestive maybe, i use a cringey (?) line idk take it as you will lmao, unedited!

“Make sure you get my good side darling.”

Before every show backstage, Wilbur would always tell you to quote: “get my good side” whatever that meant. It was impossible to get his bad side. Every angle Wilbur Soot always looked ethereal, and that had nothing to do with your photography skills.

You would gaze up at him from the pits, readily pointing your camera to capture any shot of him playing his heart out to the screaming fans behind you. Rightfully so, you couldn’t deny how good he looked up on that stage.

Skin glistened with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, and the light eyeliner slightly smudged in the corners of his eyes. His lips pulled up in a smirk as he flipped his hair in a certain way when a beat dropped. It was undeniable now, that he was doing this on purpose. He was goddamn attractive and he knew it.

After the show you would always sit in one of the green room chairs, keeping to yourself and letting the excitement of the after-show buzz from the band fill the room. You were scrolling through the photos, admiring your work on a picture of Ash with the lightning just right when you felt a presence creep up behind you.

“That ones quiet good,” Wilbur’s voice made you jump out of your skin, and he laughed at your startled state.

“Thanks,” you replied, returning to scrolling through your pictures but Wilbur stayed right by your shoulder. Sounds of his bandmates laughter filled the space, he couldn’t care to jump into their conversation. Too entranced by your photography. Wilbur had never truly seen your work before. Of course there was pictures the band used for the instagram account, but those were taken by their previous photographer.

You were new, and Wilbur had briefly seen your work before. Only two shows into the tour, you didn’t have the time to sit with the lead singer and exhibit your entire portfolio to hkm. But seeing how you captured his presence on stage so well, with the white strobe light hitting him at just the right angle, caused his interest to be peaked even further. It made him want to get to know you better.

“you know, we make such a pretty picture,” you can hear the deviousness in his voice and the underlying meaning behind his own lyrics he was using towards you. It warms your cheeks and you avoid his eyes that are burning into the side of your face.

You cleared your throat and repositioned yourself in your seat. “whatever you say, its all you up there on that stage,”

The next night, standing once more in the pits, camera ready as the first chords of 'Portrait of a Blank Slate' blasted through the venue speakers, and screams exploded around you. As the color lights switch from dark blue to deep red, Wilbur saunters to the microphone and begins singing the first lyrics.

You lift your camera up to your face and look through the viewfinder to be met with an up-close Wilbur, who is pressing his lips right into the microphone. A smirk pulled the corner of his mouth when he peeked open his eye to catch you pointing your camera at him. Cheeky bastard.

As he sang the next few lyrics, his hands lift up to the top part of his shirt where it was unbuttoned. Running his index finger from from his collar down to his chest, he sang; ‘shes an artist, paints across my chest,’ while sending you a quick wink.

Your mouth parted in utter shock and felt your heart beating in your ears. How does this man do this to you? You hadn’t even known him that long, but he was making you feel dizzy with the slightest little actions. You quickly shook away any thoughts popping into your mind and took a couple more photos of him. The last one was of him leaning back while strumming the next chords, then you moved on to capture more of the other band members. You just had to force yourself away from him before you got carried away.

That same night later on the tour bus, you were going through your photos again. One in particular caught your eye, it was of Wilbur with the red lights behind him casting him in a dark glow, and his guitar lifted into the air while he threw his head back. Infamous rockstar pose, you decide to call it. You chose a couple more to post to your professional instagram account, tagging the band members each in their respective photos.

About an hour later a notification came up on your phone that a mutual had commented on your photo. You checked it and immediately felt butterflies fluttering in your stomach at the words on your screen.

@/WilburSoot: Told you we make such a pretty picture ;)

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[eddiestightywhities]

“Shit.” 

Eddie mutters the curse under his breath when he can't seem to release the clasp on his St. Christopher chain.

He'd plopped himself down next to Buck after arriving home from dropping off his fourteen-year-old budding socialite at a friend's house, having already kicked off his boots and hooking an arm around Buck's still crossed-at-the-ankle legs, getting comfy with them resting over his lap—well, his lap and the arm of the sofa, because Buck has the longest pair of pins in the whole frickin world.

“Nope, I'm afraid shit can't possibly be the answer to seven down, Eddie, because even though it starts with an ‘S’, and the third letter is definitely an ‘I’, twelve across has got to be 'Skating', which would make the second letter a ‘K’,” Buck says with mock-seriousness as Eddie is still attempting to take off his chain. “And anyways, I don't really think the answer to the clue ‘Dermis’ could legitimately be shit, not by any stretch of the imagination; ‘Dermis’ sounds too… I dunno. Scientific? Medical?”

Eddie snorts his amusement at Buck, and Buck grins back at him with that particular twinkle in his eye that Eddie has come to think of as belonging to him.

He really tries his best not to be possessive over his best friend, knows he has no right to anything like that, but Eddie can't help being in love with Buck, no matter how much he wishes he wasn't.

Eddie's been fighting his desires his entire life, regardless of the fact he knows there isn't a damn thing wrong with being gay. But growing up in Texas, with a family as traditional as his own? It means Eddie hasn't ever felt entitled to getting the things he wants in life.

Buck must notice Eddie struggling, then, because he immediately drops his pen and the crossword puzzle book Eddie picked up for him yesterday at the newspaper stand near the firehouse, and is now swinging his legs off the sofa so he can scooch further up to Eddie, until he's almost on top of Eddie, and is saying, “Here, let me get that for you, Eds.”

Eddie freezes.

He knows he should shoo Buck away like he's supposed to, do the right thing, but ever since Buck started dating Tommy—and ever since Buck broke up with Tommy—Eddie's been pretty bad at being well-behaved around Buck.

Buck doesn't exactly make things easy, though. Never has, truth be told. He's always been a really tactile kind of guy, and right now his tactile nature is trying to murder Eddie, dead, dead, dead.

“Lemme just…” Buck's tongue is poking out of his mouth and resting against his bottom lip in concentration—and Eddie knows he should look away but can't—and then he's leaning right into Eddie's space, like he goddamn belongs there and, oh god, Eddie can't take this. He can't. He can't fucking breathe let alone act like this isn't bothering him, like it isn't turning him on like he's a horny teenager again, like this isn't everything he wants and has dreamed of. “Eds, just… lean forward a little would you, so I can—a little bit more, man, c'mon, don't be shy, I just need to…”

Buck really is on top of Eddie now, big arms wrapped around Eddie's head, musky cologne in Eddie's nostrils and warm breath in the shell of Eddie's super-sensitive ear and fuck, he's practically straddling Eddie now, right thigh pushed up against Eddie's junk, oh hell, and Eddie is panting softly and only about two seconds away from moaning his best friend's name like the pathetic hot mess that he is, Jesus fucking Christ.

“Got it,” Buck mutters, and just as he goes to lean back and pull away from Eddie, Eddie hears his internal monologue say: Yeah, I've got it real bad. 

Then something just—snaps inside of his brain before it's shutting down completely and his heart is in his throat as he finds himself whispering, “Screw it,” while he grabs onto both of Bucks biceps with purpose because he's terrified that if he doesn't, they might leave him forever.

“Wait,” he says. Pleads. 

Buck's right thigh is snug against Eddie's left one, the other still in Eddie's lap, his gorgeous face right there next to Eddie's, so close Eddie can almost feel the prickle of Buck's stubble.

“Eds?” Buck whispers, and his breath is mingling with Eddie's and Eddie hasn't prayed for a long, long time, but he's praying now; praying that he's not about to fuck up the best thing, bar Christopher, that has ever happened to him; praying for redemption; praying that Buck might want Eddie even just a fraction of the amount Eddie wants Buck.

His voice breaks when he says the only thing he can. “Don't go.”

Eddie wants this so, so badly, just this one thing, that's all he's asking for, and he's willing to beg for it if he has to—swears he'll never ask for anything again as long as he fucking lives.

“I'm not, Eds, I'm…” Buck trails off, frowning a little. He swallows audibly and licks at those sinful lips that are right fucking there and then says, “What, um—w-what exactly do you mean by 'don't go', Eddie?”

Eddie's heart is thumping so hard against his ribcage it feels as if it's going to burst right out of his chest, and Buck has to be able to feel it too because his solid chest is pressed up firmly against Eddie's, and Eddie can't believe he's doing this and seriously might just pass the fuck out any minute now—

“I don't…” Eddie shakes his head.

Fuck.

Is he really doing this?

“You don't know? Or you don't want me to go—like, as in go home?” Buck's asking. Eddie can't breathe. “Or do you mean, like, go, uh, g-go away from—from right here?” Buck swallows again and Eddie has never wanted anything more than to lick a long stripe up that prominent Adam's Apple of Buck's. “Do you mean don't go from this, Eds? From… from you.” And that last part doesn't sound like a question, it sounds like Buck gets it, and like he isn't horrified by the idea or amused by it or as if he's pitying or mocking Eddie.

Unbelievably, it actually sounds a little like Buck might just want Eddie, too.

Eddie screws his eyes shut, and all he can manage to say is, “Yeah, Buck. The last one.”

Buck is then slowly, gently, sliding his cheek up and down Eddie's, and Eddie finally knows exactly how it feels to have that stubble dragging against his own and there is no fucking way on Earth he could hold in the almost sob-like breath that leaves his lips as Buck's line themself up with Eddie's trembling mouth.

He's gripping Buck's arms so tightly he's scared he might leave bruises there but can feel Buck smiling as he says, “Can I, Eddie? Please?”

Is this really happening?

“Fuck yes,” Eddie urges, and then Buck is kissing him; slowly; gently, and with so much of something that feels like it could be love that Eddie wants to cry.

Then Buck's pulling away, yet not really away because it's only barely enough to let Eddie swallow the boulder-sized lump in his throat and try to catch his breath—only he doesn't quite manage to catch the tear that escapes the corner of his left eye. Somehow, though, that's okay, because Buck kisses that, too—and Eddie finds himself letting it all go, then, and smiling back at the man he's been in love with for almost six years as he cries, because he can finally feel all the colours of the rainbow on his face.

“Eddie, you have no fucking idea how long I've wanted to do that,” Buck chuckles, and Eddie leans in and tilts his own head back slightly and Buck's down a little to press lips against Buck's birthmark, smiling like a fool through his tears.

Buck puts his arms fully around Eddie's shoulders and hugs him, tight.

Eddie just breathes him in until he feels settled enough to look at Buck without welling up again.

“Skin,” Buck says then, bringing his hands to Eddie's face and holding it, brushing thumb pads along Eddie's cheeks and drying his tears because he wants to, and can. Eddie squints in slight confusion at the word, before Buck's revealing the meaning behind it, telling him, “Seven down, Eds, it just came to me: It was the word skin. Yours is—man, it's even smoother than I'd imagined. So, so beautiful. You're beautiful.”

“God, I fucking love you, Buck,” Eddie blurts, because he can't help it. “I'm—I'm in love with you, Evan, and I just—I'm sorry it's taken me so long to tell you that, taken me too long to get my shit together and pull my head out of my—”

“Beautiful, insanely perfect ass,” Buck laughs, and then he's kissing Eddie again, like they've been doing this forever, and Eddie's kissing him back and laughing, too.

“Stay,” Eddie begs between kisses. “Stay forever, Buck.”

Buck looks at Eddie like a man in love and says, “I'm in love with you too, Eds. So, yeah, sure, I can do forever,” he promises.

And Buck always keeps his promises. 

.

happy pride to my beautiful firefam 🌈

(unedited pls forgive me!)

[luvvrz]

Burning [Logan / Reader, 18+]

AKA: YOUR LITTLE PUPPY! THROW THAT MAN A BONE!

Additional tags: Pet play ig but not really? Subby Logan, Servitude, Meowwwww

OTHER WORKS

Soft. Too god damn soft.

This was one of the rare instances when Logan wasn't being the gruff, stick-up-the-ass old man everyone knew him to be. I mean, an attempt was certainly made, but it was hard to act accordingly when you were on top of him like that, riding him like you were fuckin' made to do it.

Those hips of yours are sin incarnate, and he's unsure of where to look. His eyes keep fluttering, and it's one helluva fight trying to keep them open, but he's managing - because you told him to, and he'll be damned if he doesn't say how high when you tell him to jump.

Finally, he decides to settle his gaze on that pretty face of yours, unsurprised to find your eyes already on him as you moved. Your hair is stuck to your forehead in a sweaty mess, yet you've never looked more like a goddamn angel than you do right now. With the light flooding through the drapes as your backdrop, your face twisted up just the way it always does when he fucks up into your g-spot, it's a miracle he hasn't already lost it.

You're calling him your puppy again, and he's unashamed of the way he whimpers - though, he'd deny it until his last breath if asked. He was the goddamn Wolverine, not some sniveling dog - though, it always sent a spark of electricity up his spine when you referred to him as such. Especially as you give the leash around his neck a firm tug, making him snap back to attention once more. His eyes are glazed over to all hell and he can barely even fuckin' see anymore. Everything is you.

"Thank you, baby, thank you."

His voice is already broken, and he's acutely aware how it wavers almost desperately - but you love it, if the way your pussy flutters in response is anything to go off of. Always so tight, so wet for him, and it's fuckin' filthy the way you get off on parading him around like your little pet.

But that's what he is, isn't he? An animal, put on this world to please you.

You're bouncing faster still, more purpose, and it's taking everything in him not to thrust up to meet you. But you like control, you like having him wanton beneath you. A little bitch, that's what he is right now. Your property. His dick is throbbing, needy, and he's sure you can feel it - you'd been teasing him for an hour prior. You know his sanity is draining, that's what you're going for. Reminding him that you're the only one that can make him feel like this, you're the only one that can control the fire burning within him.

And you get to decide whether it's snuffed out, or keeps burning.

[freyito]

"ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴘɪʟʟᴏᴡꜱ" || ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ & ᴋᴇɴꜱʜɪ ᴛᴀᴋᴀʜᴀꜱʜɪ

✧ a/n: can't believe my first piece of 2024 is a part 2 to this booby fic... but goddamn i need my head in kenshis boobies rn. it'd make everything better...

🗒 cw: gn reader cause everyone can have boobs, bonus points!, not proofread

✎ wc: 750

⎯ Johnny Cage

Good GOD does Johnny love burying his face in your chest any time he can. He mainly does it when he's had a bad day. It's a great way to destress, he says. He promises there's nothing more to it. And he's right.

Sure, Johnny can be provocative and that charm doesn't exactly disappear. But seriously, this is like way too comforting for him. The stress of directing, making something worth it, it all dissolves when he's face first in your chest.

And he talks. He talks and talks. Will not stop yapping. His entire day, whatever he's done, something about movies. Every word muffled because he refuses to leave, or even lift his head off your chest.

So, when you return home after a particularly bad day, you decided to try Johnny's method of destressing. Johnny's on the couch, watching The Princess Bride for like the 27th time. It's the perfect time to strike. And strike you do.

Before he can properly welcome you home, your face is pressed between his tits within seconds. Sweet, sweet heaven. You understand now. You understand everything. Your stress dissipates, tensions of the day gone, immediately.

You can barley hear Johnny giggling and joking, you're too caught up in a euphoric daze. You only lift your head when it feels like you can't breathe. Johnny stares down at you with the biggest knowing grin ever. He's not gonna make fun of you, even with that hint of mischief in his eyes.

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

Kenshi is disciplined, he likes to think. So he doesn't he really even think about burying his face in your chest. On top of that, he's pretty busy. The OIA, the Taira, the Yakuza... it's a lot. You don't seem him at home much.

However, in those rare moments he gets with you, some time's he'll lay his head on your stomach or your thighs. He enjoys the kind of connection, some sort of contact after a hard day of work. It grounds him.

But oh, come on. We've seen how big this guy is. Massive tits. C'mon. It takes you a while to build up the courage to go for it. But when he's wearing tank tops, compression shirts, etc... it's so hard to restrain yourself.

Kenshi KNOWS. Sometimes he does it on purpose. But when you start stalking him, keeping your distance, plotting... he wonders what's gotten into you. He makes it a game, kind of. But you're winning. As hard as he's trying to keep up with you.

You find the perfect time to execute your plan. You two are cuddled up late into the night, savoring the rare moment of touch. Without warning, you seize your chance. You roll over onto his chest, head first into those big naturals. Silence cascades over the both of you. Oh, it's even better than you imagined it. Soft... warm... inviting... it's a shame he keeps them hidden. Kenshi doesn't know how to react. Eventually, after several minutes of agonizing silence (and pure bliss between this guys pillows), he finally wraps his arms around you and even pulls you a bit closer.

⎯ Hanzo Hasashi

Hanzo also considers himself controlled. He's above acts like that. Or so he thinks. He won't outright plank into your chest, but when there's downtime, he quite enjoys laying on your chest, with your arms around him. Reading a book or something. That's just the way he likes to wind down.

We've all seen the side-boobage on this man though. Untapped market right there. It'd be a shame NOT to put your head between those pecs. Like, it'd be a sin not to.

One night, during some much needed time alone, you find yourself wrapped up in Hanzo's arms. It's a quiet night, he's finding it hard to fight off sleep. He's been busy, and it's been a hell of a week for him.

His defenses are down, so you take up the opportunity. Awkwardly, you wiggle in his arms, flipping from your back to your face. What awaits you is reminiscent of the gates of heaven. God, you could live like this.

Hanzo's mind is fried, so he doesn't quite understand. To him, you feel more like a weighted blanket. Which ends up making it even harder to stay awake. He's trying to savor every moment with you, but sleep is quickly catching up with him. Waking up to you still resting your head on his pecs however... part of him is glad he was too tired to understand.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[bengiyo]

Ben's Big BL Blurb

I was traveling for a few weeks, and there's no way I'm doing individual posts for every show I've been watching, so here's my thoughts on all of the shows I'm currently enjoying, in the order I'm most enjoying them.

Twilight Out of Focus

This show is fucking excellent. I'm not that keen on taking a break from our leads to see other couples, but I do like that BL continues to be the way that these guys are figuring out they're attracted to each other. Mao moving so smoothly into his boyfriend era, and knowing how he's feeling, has been excellent. I also really loved Hisashi knowing they needed to not be together all the time.

The Trainee

Jane is so attractive, and I'm so happy for Off. This latest episode was a lot of fun to watch for Ryan, because it's nice seeing him be more actively engaged in things happening around him. Pai seems far more settled now that she knows she has a place. Pah is clearly still a mess. Tae seems like he's good at what he does. Ba-Mhee falling for Judy is NOT IDEAL, and Judy is over the line.

Overall, I'm actually interested in seeing them mirror interns crushing on their mentors with two different pairings as a point of comparison. I also like how every week feels like the work goals make sense.

The Miracle of Teddy Bear

Besties, so much is happening in this show. There is daddy drama, wife drama, dead son drama, and so much more! These episodes are so long, but I'm really engaged with everything happening on this show. Job and Inn are really fucking good in this.

I Hear the Sunspot

I'm so glad that Kohei made his feelings clear, and I'm enjoying seeing Taichi figure out how to respond to them. We once again had a camping trip that did not give me what I wanted, but I did like Kohei being clear that he's still interested in Taichi. Finally, I liked the little confirmations that Kohei is taking to sign, and that Taichi is interested in that journey.

Knock Knock, Boys!

I'm so proud of Best! He has played Peak in this restrained way for so long, and it paid off in this most recent episode. I love that this story started with a gay man running from himself and his feelings, who then realizes that he can't run away from people who care about him anymore because they won't let him. I love that everyone being patient with him gave him what he needed to finally accept himself and say what he needed. I've really loved the way Thanwa tries to support Peak.

I'm also overjoyed for Almond and Latte, and I need them to fuck nasty before this show ends or I will be so disappointed. Latte is quietly one of my blorbos of the year with the way he is always clear about who he is and what he wants even as he is okay with where Almond is in the moment. They're an excellent pair.

Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko

RISA IS OFF THE BESTIE LIST FOREVER! I will never forgive her for outing Hiroko to Ayaka just so she could ask Ayaka to choose her instead. Also, fuck those Bettys at the bar, who definitely know Hiroko's business, and that she's not out at work. Why talk about her to a stranger who called her senpai?? I'm relieved that Hiroko knows that Ayaka likes women now, and am curious how we move forward at this point.

I also need to know who this woman was who hurt Hiroko, because nothing makes me sadder than when we have to hide from other queers.

Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding

Thanks to @isaksbestpillow I was actually able to start this on my trip. I didn't want to start a show on a trip, but I could not resist. I really love that Ishida is in his late 20s and struggling with direction and purpose after his initial plan blew up in his face. I love that he's recognized so quickly that he's developed feelings for Mitsuya-sensei, and I love that Mitsuya-sensei is open about who he is. It's about goddamned time that we saw an age gap story of this kind, because so many meaningful relationships I've had are with gay men older than me.

Takara's Treasure

This quiet little show makes me so happy every week. I just desperately need for Taishin to figure out what he's feeling, and for people to help him realize what he's feeling. Takara's my favorite kind of pretty boy: the ones who are obviously and poorly masking incredibly turmoil. I love that Taishin sees through this and wants to help Takara. Excited for him to get to take care of him when Takara gets sick.

Century of Love

I've been having a lot of fun with this show, but episode 8 felt like a huge wobble. I love that San was so committed to Vee the whole time, but the back and forth about the stone was tedious. San giving up the stone as a way to signify that he was over the memory of Vad was nice, but we didn't reconcile Vee's theft and the emotional cost of that.

Love Sea

MAHASAMUT!! WE FINALLY BEAT THAT NASTY OLD MAN'S ASS!! Mut trampling over a bullshit breakup and kicking Rak's dad's ass instead was so satisfying that it almost makes up for Mut having little identity outside of his relationship to Rake, or the terrible arc that Mook and Vie are having, over the last few weeks. I have been playing Stomp for the last few hours because I needed them to kick that man. Mut did not hit him enough.

New Shows

There's a bunch of stuff I have to sort out over the next few days. I'm not going back to My Love Mix Up TH, but I do plan to start 4 Minutes. There's also another J-BL in the grey I got some help finding called Sugar Dog Life.

Shout out to @lurkingshan for helping me watch a few things while I was gone, and also @twig-tea for keeping me apprised of which new shows I probably need to pick up.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 26

part 1 | part 25 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobia, recreational drug/alcohol use

He’s marching over the grass with a couple of varsity guys; two on his left, two on his right; V-formation like a flock of geese. Jason's at the head of the group, self-assured purpose of a leader, and it’s weird, seeing this little runt all grown up. The kid used to worship Steve; used to follow him around practices like a lost puppy, called him Captain before he’d even earned the role.

“Is this freak bothering you?” Jason asks. His voice is harsh, winded, winding up for a fight. Steve can see it in his stance: the tightening of his jaw, the clench of his friends’ fists. Plant your feet.

Steve’s gotta shut this shit down before it goes where it always does. Smashed plates, broken bones. All pissing contests flow toward the ocean or whatever.

“Nah, man,” he answers, standing up to dust himself off. The coke zips under his skin, makes him jittery and hot. Hard to play it cool. “We’re good. Busted my ass on the rocks; Munson was just helping me up.”

Munson. Like they’re buddies. Like Eddie’s thumb isn’t still damp from Steve’s tongue.

Jason doesn't seem to buy it. Little pastor-cop in training, he narrows his eyes and turns on Eddie. “Were you following him, Freak?”

Eddie's eyes flash in warning, a muscle jumping in his jaw. Steve shifts his weight to stand in front of him, and his fingers twitch around empty air. He wishes he had his nail bat with him; kind of wants to glue the handle to his palm.

Never know when monsters will come crawling out of the woods.

"Well?" Jason barks, "Answer me!"

His lackeys all pipe up then, the guy to his right sneering, "Not so talkative without his lunch table to stand on, is he?"

"Look at him shaking," adds another.

"Think he was trying to do some Satanic ritual shit while no one was looking?"

"I don't know," says the guy on Jason's left. "Looked like they were sucking each other off to me. Hey, maybe Harrington’s turned fag.”

“Andy!” Jason warns, and Steve—

Steve staggers forward with three arrows in his chest. One for every letter of that stupid fucking word that's been haunting him for years; raging fire in a black box in the far reaches of his brain, belching thick, black smoke, singing his fingertips whenever he gets close enough to touch it.

He wonders if Andy can taste the sulfur in it, too.

“No, go on,” he seethes, voice deadly calm when he lays a hand on Andy’s chest. Steeple his fingers, tips his chin. “Say it again; don't think I heard you right.”

Andy swallows hard, grinds his teeth; tenses to square off for the fight, but Jason throws an arm in front of him. "Easy," he says.

Easy. Down boy.

Andy snarls and backs off.

Jason lowers his voice, searching Steve's face. "You sure you're good? Can't be too careful with..."

His gaze slides over Steve's shoulder, his nose wrinkling in disgust. Steve's never wanted to risk a concussion more. "I'm fine," he grits out, balking at the diplomatic bullshit that's about to slither from his mouth. "Really. Thanks, though, man; appreciate you looking out for me."

Jason gives him a serious nod. "Any time."

—

“So, uh…” Eddie squints at Steve once Jason and his goons run along. His arms are hugged tight around his middle, and he's biting his lip; nervous jiggle of his leg. “How, um— How are we playing this, exactly?”

Steve scrubs at his face; swoons where he stands. Feels like all the blood's drained out of him without the adrenaline to prop him up. Goddamn, he's still so drunk. “Playing what?” he asks, confused.

Whatever it is, it’s already been played, hasn’t it?

Fight’s over; Steve’s exhausted. He just wants to go home.

But then Eddie shakes his head and tuts softly at the ground, his expression gone sour and sad, and there it is again. That feeling that Steve’s fucking everything up somehow.

He’s so tired of that feeling.

Slowly, so slowly, he reaches out a hand. Skims Eddie's side; leather jacket, bony hip, and then he hooks his pinky finger into the belt loop of his jeans. Tugs, just a little. Not hard enough to topple him, just—

Enough.

He hopes.

—

part 27

tag lists in separate reblogs with the tag "#trailer park steve au taglist" if you'd like to filter that content, comment and let me know if you want me to add you tomorrow (21+ only, please confirm your age if you're asking to be tagged)

[dark-konohagakure2]

heya ~ i love you deidara stuff and im a heavy simp for that man qwq can you write someting like "Deidara being jealous" kinda stuff? bc i see him as someone who likes to "mark" his property. Maybe something sfw and nsfw only if you d'accord with it 👀

tw: dubcon, possessiveness, jealousy, biting, cockwarming, exhibitionism, degradation, marking, manipulation

All characters depicted are 18+

Deidara is a hot-headed young man and he can get jealous rather easily, and he just barely has enough self control to hide it. He's especially possessive of his Akatsuki partner that he's had for a few months now, she's cute and seems to like his art, and that's all he needs to become smitten.

His jealousy won't flare up until he sees that damn Uchiha talking to her, not even flirting with her or being friendly, just... talking to her, but seeing someone he loathes so much being around his partner is enough to start his possessiveness streak.

Needless to say, Deidara doesn't take his eyes off her for even a moment now, treating her like a wandering child instead of his equal and an adult. Part of him wants to put a leash on her to keep her next to him at all times, but these thoughts only come to him late in the night when he's fisting his cock to thoughts of her.

Eventually his jealousy reaches a fever pitch one day seemingly out of nowhere, and he's dragging her away to berate her about her alleged infidelity towards him for the horrible, unforgivable crime of talking to her male teammates.

"What have I told you, hmm?! Not to talk to other guys, especially that goddamn Uchiha! But you never learn do you, dummy?!"

He decides that it's time that he marks his property, and Deidara can mark her up with three times the efficiency thanks to the mouths on his hands and the one on his face, he'll leave the bite marks on her neck, shoulders, chest, and he'll even bite into her cheek, wanting to make sure she can't hide the marks of his ownership.

But much to his anger, she does somehow find a way to hide all bite marks, even using makeup to cover the one on her cheek. Deidara is furious and can only come to one conclusion; she has to be doing it on purpose, and she's forced his hand into taking drastic measures.

He'll force her to sit on his lap during the next Akatsuki meeting, his cock hurried deep inside of her, the sensation making her squirm and tremble, but she can't do much in front of everyone, since she'd lose all their respect if they found out what was happening, although the members with Dojutsu such as Pain and Itachi (and Tobi unbeknownst to her and Deidara) are able to tell what's going on almost instantly.

The humiliation is enough to make the poor girl cry, much to Deidara's satisfaction, and he'll coo comforting words into her ear while still keeping his cock buried deep inside her womb. He'll teach this entire thing like a lesson she just has to learn, and Deidara is more than happy to be her teacher.

"Aww don't cry, I know how embarrassing this is for you, but this is what you get when you go ahead and make me all jealous on purpose, un!"

That little lesson he gave her should be enough to convince her to never leave his side or provoke his jealous side again, but if she does, Deidara wouldn't mind taking things up a notch and fucking her in front of the entire organization next time.

[right-there-ride-on]

Chronology of Major Gyjo moments (sources cited)

Gyro refuses to leave Johnny behind despite making it a point that he won't be slowed down by him

Chapter 14 - Across the Arizona Desert: Continuing on the Shortest Route

2) After being attacked, Johnny states the only one he trusts is Gyro

Also, early example of Johnny being willing to give the corpse up to save Gyro (even before Sugar Mountain!)

Chapter 27: Tusk (Part 3)

3) Gyro disobeying his father and familial tradition by giving in to his urge to save Johnny (and thereby fight like a 'true man' for what he wants)

Chapter 35: The True Man's World (Part 3)

4) Gyro putting his faith in Johnny to defeat their attacker. When Johnny thinks he's failed, he cradles Gyro's face and asks for forgiveness. (it's a major moment. to me)

Chapter 44: A Silent Way (Part 5)

5) Ok this one is just a little sus but I'm putting it in anyway: Gyro dreaming of that time he slept with one of his patients, only to immediately wake up and have a domestic scene with Johnny. For what purpose...?

Chapter 45: The Promised Land Sugar Mountain (Part 1)

6) Johnny gives up the corpse parts for Gyro (again), immediately followed by them drinking away their sorrows into the sunset. Who's doing it like them.

Chapter 48: Tubular Bells (Part 1)

7) Gyro finds the Golden Rectangle, previously described as, “… the foundation for every perfect structure for beauty" (Chapter 43: A Silent Way, Part 4) in Johnny eyes, and refuses to answer Johnny's question about where he's finding it. The implications of what Gyro thinks of Johnny's physical appearance are obvious.

Chapter 52: Wrecking Ball (Part 2)

8) Gyro sacrifices his hand, his only other point of reference for the Golden Rectangle, in order to save Johnny from a hit he probably could have tanked. Even Gyro looks a little surprised at himself... Also, they are all over each other this arc. Gyro is especially protective.

And, a little later:

Chapter 53: Wrecking Ball (Part 3)

9) Once it's revealed that Valentine intends to kill the rest of the racers (at least the ones who pose a threat to him), and makes an attempt on Johnny's life, Gyro attempts to convince Johnny to drop out, implying that he would drop out with him.

Of course, this is immediately followed by Johnny begging Gyro to, at the very least, help Lucy and see what she knows about the corpse parts. Seeing Johnny's distress at being so close to his goal only to have it snatched away from him convinces Gyro to stay in the race (something that will ultimately get him killed) and theorize how they can use the spin to defeat Valentine (via the stirrups). He tries to play it off but goddamn he is in love with him.

Chapter 72: Ticket to Ride (Part 2)

10) Shuiesha coloring may imply that Johnny is wearing Gyro's shirt beneath his own?? It's got the same collar and everything.

First appearance of this coloring choice is Chapter 63: 7 Days in a Week

11) Exchange of secrets no one else knows (they are each other's most important person!)

This panel in particular:

Chapter 76: D4C (Part 9)

12) And last but not least, thee set of chapter titles ever, in which Valetine attempts to bargain with Johnny to spare his life in return for bringing back Gyro. Johnny refuses, not because of any moral quandary about saving the life of an evil man, but because the Gyro brought back would not be the same. On top of that, he recognizes Valentine as a liar.

When it's all over, Johnny just breaks.

And that's the end of the chapter!

Chapters 88 and 89: Break My Heart, Break Your Heart (Parts 1 & 2)

13) Johnny's Goodbye (I like this scene more in b+w what can I say)

Chapter 95: The World of Stars and Stripes (Outro)

Obviously Johnny and Gyro have a lot of smaller moments too, but these are the ones that come to mind when I think of them!

[holidayinhell]

The Laundry Room

Characters: creepy/intimate Whumper, captive Whumpee CWs: captivity, noncon (mostly implied but eh), sexual/noncon nudity, food denial, discussion of amputation, classic whump shiz

In the early days of his captivity, Whumpee was allowed to sleep on the couch in the basement. Now he spent his days chained up on the floor of the wash room, tethered to the column in the center of the laundry room with a radius of no more than twenty feet to roam about. The cold of the cellar was inescapable. Sometimes, late at night, he would secretly turn on the dryer on its lowest setting and press his face to its warmth. It was one of the only good things left in his life anymore. Now all he had to look forward to was the sweet release of sleep and laundry day once a week.

“Whuuuum-peeeee!” Called a singsong voice from the top of the steps.

Whumpee swallowed. No matter how many times this happened, he was never prepared for it.

The wooden steps creaked in protest under Whumper’s heavy boots. The tall man rounded the corner of the basement into the subterranean laundry room, where he found his favorite captive chained to the central support beam, exactly where he’d left him.

“Got a little something to keep you busy.” Whumper grinned, dumping the contents of the laundry basket he was holding onto the floor. “Turn around.”

Before he finished giving the command, Whumpee had already presented his captor with the zip ties securing his wrists behind his back. Normally Whumper would remove the binds the moment he got home, but he'd had already been back for hours. Maybe he was busy with something else. Or maybe he did it on purpose.

Whumper retrieved his switchblade from his pocked and flipped it open.

“So I saw something on the news again today.” Whumper informed his captive, snapping the plastic ties with his knife.

“Apparently someone found an old hat in the woods. They think that it’s one of yours. It started another search for you, if you can goddamn believe it, and it’s even bigger than before. There’s helicopters and scent tracing dogs and all.”

Whumper unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather strap through the loops of his pants. “That’s some crazy persistence, all for one person. Like, move on with your lives, people. What’s it been, a whole year now?”

“Ten months.” Whumpee replied weakly, rubbing the red marks on his wrists.

“Shietttt, has it really been that long? I was just kidding.” Whumper said playfully, his voice laced with something sinister. “Well, you know what they say: time flies when you’re having fun.”

Fun. Is that what this was?

“I’m just glad they haven’t given up hope yet.”

Whumpee knew he’d misspoke the second the words left his mouth.

“Wrong, Whumpee.” The air went heavy. Whumper shot a disdainful glance at Whumpee, his eyes narrowing with contempt. “People need to stop searching. They need to give up already.”

Whumper was still clutching his leather belt in his hands. For the sake of his physical wellbeing, Whumpee decided to ignore the comment completely.

“Uh, so separate these by color, then?” Whumpee asked as he pawed through the dirty laundry on the floor, desperate to change the subject.

Whumper’s mind was still on the search. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, like usual. Remember to run the sheets—“

“On delicate mode?” Whumpee finished his thought. “Mhmm. Got it.”

Whumpee busied himself by sorting through the dirty laundry pile while Whumper loomed by the room’s entrance. Whumpee watched him cautiously from the corner of his eye. The sociopath was silently brooding, his eyes fixed on Whumpee’s form.

He wished Whumper would fuck off and go back upstairs.

Doing laundry once a week was one of the only tasks he was allowed to do, and as depressing as it was, he actually looked forward to it. It was one of the only things he had to keep himself entertained with. 

In the early days of his captivity, Whumper had allowed him to watch the small tv in the basement living room and provided him with an endless supply of magazines and books. And to think, Whumpee thought he was a prisoner back then. Like most everything in Whumpee’s life, his privileges had been taken away one by one. 

Whumper removed the tv within the first month. He never gave Whumpee a reason why. Next were the books. Then the couch. And soon enough, Whumpee found himself chained to a pole with his wrists zip-tied behind him for ten hours at a time, praying that his captor would at least remember to feed him that day.

Whumpee started a pile of lights, darks, and colors, sorting each garment into its designated pile. Whumper remained in the doorway and watching his captive intently, his presence entirely unwelcome.

“So, um. Did you make something good for dinner?” Whumpee piped up, breaking the tension of the silence.

Ever since he’d been captured all his brain would fixate on was food, and the only thing he could think about currently was the sumptuous meaty smell that had been tantalizing his tastebuds for the past hour.

“Mmm.” Whumper nodded, crossing his arms and stepping into the room. “Roast chicken and mashed potatoes. Garlic bread too, just from the store.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened hungrily.

“No leftovers I’m afraid.” He added.

“Oh.” 

Whumpee crumbled in on himself. That meant no dinner tonight.

Whumpee opened the cabinet above the sink to retrieve a box of detergent. He popped off the lid and scooped the plastic measuring cup into the powder, leveling the mountain of excess with a swipe of his finger.

“You should wash your clothes as well, Whumpee.” The tall man remarked from across the room.

“Uh, yeah. I will.” Whumpee agreed, continuing to avoid eye contact. He placed the pre-measured cup of detergent on the counter, turning to gather up the sorted pile of white clothes from the floor. He chucked them into the washing machine, sprinkled the soap crystals on top, and closed the lid.

He really wished Whumper would go away now, but the tall man stood firmly in place. Whumpee knew where this was going.

“I said you should wash them, Whumpee. That means to take them off.” 

Whumpee stiffened. God fucking damn it. 

Not right now. Not that he wanted to go through this shit ever, but Whumper seemed to be in an especially odd mood this evening.

Whumpee did as he was commanded. It wasn’t worth the fight. He lifted his pale blue button-up over his head, not bothering to unclasp the buttons, and tossed it into the pile of colors. He removed his socks and pants and did the same. Finally he stood in nothing but his white boxer-briefs, awkwardly shimmying them down his thighs until they slid down his legs and hung at his ankles. Blushing, he stepped out of them and walked over to the washing machine, chucking the underwear into the load of whites as it filled with water. 

A chill rocked his body when Whumper approached from behind.

The larger man pushed his hips into Whumpee’s back, pinning him squarely against the machine as it hummed to life. “Mmm. I should make you walk around naked all the time. Don’t you think?”

“It, uh… it gets really cold down here.”

“Psht.” Whumper draped his arms around Whumpee’s neck. “So I’ll buy you an electric blanket. That’d be nice, right?”

“Sure. But, please, I really do need my clothes.”

Whumper’s arms traveled down the sides of Whumpee’s torso and trailed inwards to find his ass. One hand delivered a crisp smack, which immediately left behind a glowing red mark. He smiled, scooping a buttcheek into each palm, jiggling what little flesh was there.

“Your ass is so tiny.” Whumpee quipped.

Yeah, that’s what happens when you average 400 calories a day for nearly a year.

“Yeah. I’m pretty skinny now.”

“You look good like this.” Whumper purred into his ear as he delicately stroked the length of Whumpee’s back. “But I do miss the ass.”

Time to go away now, Whumpee thought. Please, please just go the fuck away.

Whumper smacked Whumpee’s ass again, scooping it up and grinding the denim fabric on his crotch against the thin man’s perfect, bare skin while caressing his neck with his hot, wet tongue. He took Whumpee’s earlobe into his mouth and suckled it lightly, biting down on the soft flesh with only a tiny amount of pressure.

“Mm, you have goosebumps.” Whumper murmured with a self-satisfied grin. “Did that turn you on?”

Two of Whumper’s fingers traced the curvature of his ass and found Whumpee’s entrance. The digits dabbed at the hole gently, teasing and prodding the skin but never pushing inside. The firm touch sent an involuntary shiver up Whumpee’s spine. Whumper smirked at his reaction and nibbled at the side of Whumpee’s neck.

He was so cold, the warmth on his neck felt good. But nothing else did.

“I keep thinking,” Whumper cooed, Whumpee melting into him for heat. “Maybe it’s finally time to give your friends closure. Feels cruel to keep dragging things out like this. They need to stop looking for you.”

For the first time in months, Whumpee felt a vague twinge of hope. 

“What? You mean that you’ll--?”

“What I mean is, they’ll be looking for a body.”

Oh. Oh no.

“W-what?” Whumpee stammered. He twisted out from under Whumper, his chain rattling against the floor as he side-stepped his captor. “What does that mean?”

“I feel a little guilty about it. The search for you has been going on for ages, and now they’re bringing out helicopters and shit? That’s a waste of taxpayer money. The cops could be out there doing real good.”

“No. What did you mean by ‘body’?”

“I was thinking we could chop off one of your legs or something. Maybe just a foot.” 

“No!” Whumpee shrieked. “You can’t!” He delivered a feeble push against Whumper’s chest, pivoting out from underneath him. His heart was pounding in his ears so loud, he pressed his hands to cover them and doubled over in fear.

The reaction took Whumper by surprise. “Bad joke.” he offered, placing a calming hand on the other’s shoulders. 

It wasn’t a joke.

The tall man rubbed his captive’s back until Whumpee’s breath finally evened out. It felt like a betrayal, the way his body responded so well to Whumper’s comforting touch. He jerked away from the sociopath’s reach.

Whumpee blinked incredulously at the man, his cheeks burning with anger. “Don’t.” he spat.

“What?”

“Don’t you fucking dare--”

“Excuse me? Don’t I fucking dare do what?”

“Don’t fucking joke about mutilating me!” Whumpee shouted.

“Hey.” Whumper cautioned. “You’re being too goddamn loud right now.”

Whumpee was frenzied, his chain skittered around as he paced around in a tight circle, pulling at chunks of his hair.

“How long are you going to keep me here?!” Whumpee demanded. “How much fucking longer!?”

“As long as I goddamn like.”

“Just let me go. Just please…” Whumpee pled tearfully, his emotions see-sawing violently between anger and complete despair. “You got what you wanted from me. Why won’t you let me leave…?”

Whumper shrugged. “It never was a part of the plan.”

“Fuck you!” The captive yelled. “I fucking hate you!”

“Whumpee.” Whumper warned with a stern finger, “it’s time to shut the fuck up.”

“I HATE Y—!”

Whumper grabbed a length of chain from the floor and yanked it towards him, forcing Whumpee to the ground by the shackle around his ankle.

Whumper continued pulling the chain into himself, dragging Whumpee’s body across the cold cement floor with every tug. It all happened too quickly for Whumpee to process.

“I should bash your face into the concrete again.” He growled, standing over his collapsed body. Whumpee could taste blood in his mouth. “But I’ll give you one last chance. I guess I didn’t say it explicitly enough last time, so hopefully this time it fucking sinks in: you are here to stay. There will be no more talk of kidnapping, or rescue, or freedom, or fucking escaping. No more of that. You’re here. You’re mine. This house--no--this room, is your whole fucking world, and I am your god. Get used to it.”

Whumpee lifted his head slightly and shot a fiery glance in Whumper’s direction.

“You better wipe that look off your pathetic face while you’ve still got one.” Whumper flicked his switchblade open.

He lifted one of his boots and rested its rubber sole on Whumpee’s back, pressing him into the floor. Brandishing the knife overhead, he commanded Whumpee: “Show me why I choose to keep you around. Remind me that you haven’t fucking forgotten your sole purpose in life, or I’ll saw your leg off right fucking now.”

Face-down on the floor, Whumpee let out a sigh so small only he could hear it.

He knew what he had to do. He didn’t have any other options. Silent tears rushed down his cheeks and fell soundlessly to the floor.

And so out of self-preservation, Whumpee thrust his hips into the air and pushed his face to the floor, his bare ass on full display. He shifted weight into his palms and spread his legs out, his dick and balls tumbled forward, swaying slightly while he found his balance. His hands reached back behind him, blindly tracing the outsides of his thighs, following a line up and over to the round cleft of his butt cheeks.

Choking down a sob, he forced his ass apart. He disgracefully presented his hole before Whumper’s shining, ravenous eyes.

The captor’s jeans fell to the ground. The man dropped to his knees, settling himself in the space between Whumpee’s open legs. 

“When I’m done with you, you are going to fucking thank me like your life depends on it.”

The sudden, high-pitched beep of the washing machine pierced the quiet of the room, signalling that the washing was done. 

Whumpee didn’t dare move an inch.

“And after I’ve filled you up,” Whumper’s hot breath hit his ear. 

“You’re going to tell me exactly which limb to cut off.”

((more Whump oneshots))