#his ass is SO bony actually

[malconnorsupremacy]

Inej with brown skin I love you. Jesper with dark skin I love you. Wylan with freckles I love you. Matthias with a buzzcut I love you. Nina with a plump sized body and crumbs on your cleavage I love you. Kaz with a flat ass I love you.

[chiscaralight]

BOOTY POPPIN' !

men who just love their darlings' ass!

includes: nsfw! aventurine, childe, scara x afab!reader (separately), lots of backshots ! mirror sex, cum eating, dry humping, fingering, eating it from the back, i used the word ass a lot LMFAOO, outdoor sex, clothed sex, unprotected sex, slight mentions of exhibitionism, thigh riding, its all consensual, probably missed a couple of tags

new format! ill drop the second part of this for the boob lovers lmfao hope u enjoy! blade was also a last minute addition to this but I enjoyed writing for him. i was going to post this tomorrow bur I'm too excited to wait !!!!!

CHILDE.

childe loves your ass! you know it, he knows it, and everyone around you knows it. he doesn’t even try to hide it. why would he? your ass is perfect, he would probably write an essay on it if you ask! if you’re at home and you walk past him wearing something short be prepared, because there’s no way in hell he’s letting you get past him without some form of contact.

it’s the same when he’s fucking you! he’s sitting with his legs spread and you on top of him so he can set himself right in front of his full-length mirror. his eyes are switching between your adorable face and the view of your behind in the mirror! he’s kneading and slapping the flesh of your ass as he fucks himself up into you! his bony fingers are tracing the marks he’s leaving all over you while you’re a crying mess, but he’s nowhere near done with you. he’s pulling you off him and flipping you over so he can fuck you right from the back! his hands have found a home on the fat of your hips as he takes in the view. the dip of your waist into the curve of your hips and his eyes lock onto that fucking ass. he groans at the sight, dick twitching as he’s pistoning in and out of you. he’ll never get tired of it.

you’re even starting to think he’s doing things just to get you to bend over. Things that should be nowhere near his room disappeared under the bed, and the remote he was holding mere seconds ago accidentally slid so deep under the couch. he’s politely asking you to bend down and get it. when you do go in for it though, he’s already touching you! but you’re not even on the ground yet! you sigh, because you know swatting him away won’t do much but hold him off for half a second.

even when there’s nothing inherently sexual about what you’re doing! you’re just resting on the kitchen counter and he’s behind you, pressing his hard cock into you. you both end up coming untouched through the messy kisses and the clothes grinding, but you don’t even have it in you to complain.

AVENTURINE.

i’ve actually already written an ass-obsessed aven here, but i can’t get it out of my head!!! he’s definitely more subtle about it, but he’s still obsessed all the same. in public, it’s all fleeting touches. maybe he’s resting his hand there or slipping his long fingers into your back pocket. you help in protest as he silently curls his fingers into the flesh, but he only cocks his head to the side, mocking concern as he asks you what’s wrong. you can only roll your eyes in response.

Your eyes are rolling back behind closed doors though, as you’re laying flat with him beside you, staring at your bruised butt. those taunting fingers, after slapping your ass so much, are bullying your cunt as they’re pumping in and out of you. you want to tell him it’s too much, but you already agreed to give him one more orgasm and you do not want to disappoint:( But it’s a particular curl of his digits that has you arching off the bed and staining your thighs, his fingers and shockingly his face! you’re so embarrassed you could cry, but he only wipes his face with his fingers and licks it off. you’re trying to sit up, but he’s pushing you back down as he mounts you.

he knows how much you love him prone boning you, so as a reward for doing extra good earlier, he does! you’re practically weeping into the sheets as his hips meet yours over and over. he wastes no time in turning you on your side so he can see that face of yours. you’re all red and teary eyes as he doesn’t stop fucking you. his hand is rubbing the flesh of your sore behind and you can barely move! your little body is so spent, but he promises to take care of you with a kiss to your temple. but not without slapping your ass one more time.

he’s pulling out of you to drag your hips up. it’s his tongue that gets you reeling, darting between your puffy clit and dripping hole. he’s pushing you back onto his face over and over you’re releasing much more directly on his face this time! he apologizes, saying how much he couldn’t help himself because the thought of it stuck so much since you squirted all over him before ! Sure, I'll help you with that. The corrected text is: "apologizes"

SCARA.

when it comes to scara, he acts as if he doesn’t care. a body is a body. he’s going to tell you that the “ass or tits” argument is dumb, but his actions tell you otherwise.

he’s always finding some reason to press up against you! he’ll claim he just wants to get something from the shelf above you, but he’s dragging his clothes cock all over your ass!

even when he’s sat in his gaming chair, he has you facing him and immediately he hits an intermission in whatever game his playing, his hands are finding their way right down to the curve of your butt. but he’ll swear he doesn’t have a preference.

“your ass just happened to be in my hands' way,” as he shrugs it off. but you can see past his silly lie.

you didn’t think he’d be proving you right out in the open like this though. his car is parked at the end of some abandoned alleyway while he has you bent over the trunk! the cool metal is no match for the heat the two of you are emitting as he ruts into your walls.

he’s fisting your hair, spitting something about how good you looked. it wasn’t his fault! you’re the one wearing such a tiny skirt, how could he not get a piece of that? the nasty fucker only releases the hard grip he has on your hair so he can take another quick whiff from your panties. your strong scent has him powering up again, so he’s crossing his arm over your ass to grab your hips and fuck into you harder. the sound of your skin slapping is reverberating off the walls, and hard. you’re only getting louder, and he takes the opportunity to dip down into your ear again, warning you that you’ll get found out and show whichever passerby how nasty you are, taking him in so deep like this while anyone can catch you as quickly as it started.

the thought sends waves right down between your legs as his hands come in contact with your ass once again. he’s fucking you onto him as he cums, rolling his hips against the plush of your behind. and per his words, you have to keep it in the whole car ride home if you want him to fuck you again later.

BLADE.

even though blade doesn't talk much, he's very calculated with his actions. he makes sure he's thinking through everything to ensure he doesn't hurt you. it's also why you raise an eyebrow when you feel his fingertips very softly brush against your butt. and it keeps happening. you feel like you're going insane! the feather-light touches are running through your mind but the way he carries himself immediately after, it's like nothing ever happened.

so you start to retaliate. your bottoms are getting shorter and tighter day by day. it's gotten to the point where you're barely wearing any pants around him at all! you're constantly dropping things and bending over to pick him up, seating your half-naked behind just millimeters away from his fingers resting on the couch and asking him what's wrong whenever you notice him freeze up. more importantly, those small touches have stopped. you hmph in a small victory, not sure what you achieved but you feel satisfied nonetheless.

the hmphs and ahs that are spewing from you later in the night are nothing compared to the one of false victory. your shoulders are hunched as your back faced him. Do you think your actions wouldn't get noticed? think again. you're grinding your clothed cunt painfully slow against his clothed thigh. his hand connects with the soft skin as he tells you to speed up. two can play the teasing game but only one can win. your cries and pleas only fuel him further as you blurt out every apology your spiraling mind will let you. your legs are aching and your orgasm is moving in and out as you begin to tire out.. but your bladie isn't that mean, so he's repositioning the two of you to fix both of your problems.

his left leg is propped up on the couch, the other leg hanging off as his back rests against the arm of the chair. your body is flat against the cushions as he thrusts up into you (see sledge for reference). your cunt is sure, but he knows just the right angles to hit to make you forget that. but while you're lost in your world of pleasure, he's lost somewhere else. he literally cannot take his eyes off your ass. he's mesmerized, as each thrust keeps bouncing it around. his hands are gripping the top, pushing you down on him as you both cum against each other. even when he's pulling out and picking you up to clean up, he just can't get it out of his head !!! it's going to bother him for the next couple of weeks, maybe even months! but best believe he will be coming right back to enjoy the view.

[juno-verse]

Hold Me

Summary: Wanda tries to make you forget about your difficult day at work. She succeeds.

Men and minors, please stay away.

Praise, Dom!Wanda, Bondage, Using her magic FOR GOOD, her hands that's it, brief mention of more sex after, ONE Mistress

Random A/N: If you're wondering what happened to the succubus!reader fic, well, I've been overthinking the plot for the last two years. It's why I've been stuck with the second chapter and never getting satisfied with it. Turns out, I'm horrible with plots and I overthink story continuity and possible plot holes. I'm open to ideas tho!

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You texted Wanda that you were on the way home, a short and quick, ‘otw home’ which had the redhead worried. Usually, you were all exclamation points and emojis, eager to come home to her. In an instant, she knew that you had a difficult day at work. And being the loving partner that she is, Wanda hoped that she could help you take your mind off things. 

With a tired sigh, you unlocked the front door and stepped into the warmth of your shared home with Wanda. You could hear her shuffling around the bedroom as you sluggishly dropped your things by the entrance, shut the door, and slumped down on your couch with a groan.

Things have been so stressful the last few months, the last quarter of the year has always been the busiest season of all time. Add to that an occasional useless workmate and you get yourself a frustrating few months. You just wanted to whisk yourself away into a far-off island and forget about work.

“Is that you, baby?” Wanda shouted as she walked down the stairs, you groaned, “Yeah.” 

“And is my baby tired?” The redhead bent down to kiss your forehead softly as she stood behind the couch. You mustered what little energy you had to nod and grumble apologetically at her. Wanda sighed softly before walking around to lay down on the couch with you and pulled you against her chest. 

Wanda loved holding you close to her and how she could feel the warmth emanating from your soft body. Your weight was a constant pressure that brought her comfort, a constant reminder that you were here with her and that you were hers. 

“You want to talk about it?” Wanda whispered gently as she played with your hair and trailed her lips on your shoulder. 

As soon as the words left Wanda’s mouth, she regretted it. Because boy, did you want to talk about it. 

Wanda listened to you ramble on and on about an incompetent co-worker of yours. Catching a few mentions of a guy named ‘Mark from IT’ and his ‘lazy ass.’ And while she just watched and listened to your rant, all Wanda wanted to do was to make you forget about the stupid guy and let her hold you down. 

She hummed when needed, laughed when you did, and voiced out her thoughts about the godforsaken guy, truly pissed off for you as well. But Wanda was also getting impatient by the minute, what she had planned was all for you after all. So she started to run her fingers through your hair, unknowingly coaxing you into submission and relaxation.

You were mindlessly playing with her fingers while you kept up your slowing tirade against the man. You traced the bony digits and the veins visible on her arm. And Wanda just knows that, subconsciously, you need her to make you forget.

Wanda watched your fascination with her hands and playfully let her power pulse on her palm, a burst of glowing red light reflecting on your faces. You smiled tiredly at her little display and kissed the palm of her hand, “Ugh, if only you could just magic my stress away. Can you actually magic him away?” The little energy you had in your body started to dissipate at just the mere thought of the guy. Wanda could feel you slowly running out of horrible words to say about your coworker and just melting in her arms. 

The redheaded witch chuckled, her chest rumbling against your back. “I could, actually. But do you honestly want me to? You’re too nice.” Wanda peppered tiny kisses on your cheek, tickling your skin. You groaned, knowing that she was right, and you actually didn’t mean it, but you also knew that Wanda would, if you just asked. Even without probing your mind, she could notice how loud your thoughts were getting and she could sense the tiredness spilling out of your body.

“No, you’re right. But,” you sighed, “Dunno… Don’t have the energy to talk about him anymore.” Mumbling your words, you just buried yourself deeper into her arms instead. Your fingers continued to play around with her digits, your mind flashing images of the different ways she’s used them on you.

“And what do you have energy for, hm?” Wanda tantalizingly traced your back with her free hand, ticklish warmth running down your back as a soft hum emitted from your lips. 

“Dunno… Don't wanna think about anything. Just need you to hold me.” You were slipping more and more into a very tranquil and compliant state of mind, all from Wanda’s presence and her coaxing words.

“Okay, sweetie. Let me take care of you.” Wanda shifted the both of you so that you were straddling her lap and she had a tight grip on your thigh and back, a gentle hand resting on the back of your neck. “You did such a good job today, didn't you?” She asked softly as she kissed you tenderly. You hummed in approval and let out a satisfied sigh against her lips. 

The way she held you felt safe and gentle – so ready to whisk you away from the harsh, grim world, or in this case an annoying coworker. In Wanda’s arms, you always found home and solace. She was always willing to shoulder whatever ache you brought home. And tonight, she wanted to make you forget it all. 

“Just let me do all the thinking tonight, baby. Okay?” Wanda looked into your eyes and you gulped, “Yes.” You trusted this woman with your life, but at nights when you let her do anything she wanted to you, you were bound to be at her mercy.

Wanda stood up with you wrapped around her and carried you up to your shared bedroom. Upon entering the room, your favorite scent hits your nose in soft waves. Wanda had prepared all of this for you, and you swooned in her arms. You took her face into your hands and thanked her with a kiss, “Thank you, Wanda.”

Wanda reciprocated your kiss with a tongue against yours as she dropped you gently on the bed and placed herself in between your legs. Her tongue felt soft and eager at the same time. She took off your clothes, all the while kissing you so deeply, that you struggled to keep up with her pace. She pulled away with a smirk, all traces of her gentleness back in the living room falling away and replaced with a domineering gaze.

“Hands.” She demanded, and you placed them in front of her. You watched her closely, entranced by the way her fingers started to move with magic. Her delicate fingers flexed as red tendrils started to wrap themselves around your wrists.

They felt warm and gentle against your skin—like how Wanda’s touches always felt to you—as if they were mimicking the sensation of her hand. It was as if she was the one pinning you down rather than her magic. 

“How… how are you doing that?” You sighed as the redhead coaxed you to lie down on your back with your hands bound to the bed and your legs spread open for her. Wanda shushed you instead, insisting on allowing her to do all the work, “Shhh, my love. I said let me do all the thinking.”

Wanda sat up on her knees, trailing her hands up and down your nude form while admiring her handiwork. She smiled at the goosebumps that trickled all over your body, her magic shining a little bit brighter in response. Red always did look good on your skin, her magic looked good on you.

Positioning herself on top of you, you took notice of the glowing red in her eyes, and to you, she has never been more beautiful. You tried to reach out to Wanda, to touch her face and bring her closer to you – but to no avail. A dangerous laugh escaped from her lips and along with her laugh, the red bonds on your wrists grew tighter. 

“Please…” You begged, and for what? You were unsure, but you just needed Wanda to do something. Anything.

“Begging, already? I haven’t even started.” Wanda smirked as she left kisses on your sensitive neck. One hand wrapped around your throat while the other explored the expanse of your upper body. Her nails traced down your stomach, leaving light red lines in their wake. 

You jolted upwards as you felt red tendrils reaching for your breasts, playing with them, similar to the way Wanda does. Tweaking and pulling on your nipples, no part of your body was left untouched by Wanda and her magic. 

Her long digits traced your wet slit, teasing the entrance and gathering your wetness on her fingers. Wanda’s careful red eyes watched every arch that your body made and listened for every gasp that left your mouth.

“Tell me where you want me,” Wanda instructed, her mouth inches away from yours, so close that every breath she exhaled penetrated your lungs. Her fingers were so close where you needed them, but Wanda needed to hear it from you. She was dying to hear you beg for her.

Your entire body heated up in embarrassment, and you felt the heat spread all the way to your shoulders, too shy to tell her. The words seemed too vulgar to form in your mouth. Wanda’s brow arched inquisitively, waiting for you to make your move. “Come on now, sweetheart. You were just fine talking about someone else a while ago.” The redhead pouted mockingly, her voice a little bit too sweet.  

“I need you inside me, Wands. Please…” You begged softly, whines readily pouring out of your mouth. “Yeah, you need me?” She cooed, “How much, sweetheart?” The tip of her fingers toying with your wet entrance, enticingly and frustratingly, her fingers grazing over your folds.

You struggled uselessly against her magic, against the calming weight of her hold on you, desperation spilling out of you in waves. “S-so bad! I need you so badly, please!” You stuttered and Wanda took pity on you – two fingers slipping inside you with little resistance that it would have made you embarrassed if you weren’t in this desperate state. 

Her fingers rammed into you at a speed that had you gripping tightly onto her conjured bonds, fighting against an invisible force whenever you tried to arch your hips higher. “Stay down and take me,” Wanda angled her thrusts towards that spongey little spot inside you, a delicious warmth settling in your stomach.

“Do you like this, huh? Do you like it when I hold you down and give you what you need? Make you forget all your problems?” Wanda groaned in your ear, her hot breath tickling your skin. All you could do was answer with pleased grunts and eager nods as your mouth kept on producing sounds you were sure to be shy about in the morning after. 

Her other hand snaked up your throat, two fingers asking for permission inside your mouth, “Suck on them, baby. You’re getting too loud.” You instantly latched onto them, moaning around them and Wanda relishing in the vibrations produced by your throat. 

She was everywhere—or rather, her magic was. Nonetheless, it was all her. You could feel Wanda everywhere and you could feel her magic spanning the lengths of your body. Her magic was pinching your nipples, gripping your wrists, and holding your legs open. But her fingers, on the other hand, were working their miracles in your mouth and inside you. 

It was too much yet not enough, your clit throbbing in attention. Wanda cooed mockingly, “Such a spoiled girl, still not yet satisfied?”

Her fingers that were wet from your mouth then trailed downwards to press down on your lower stomach. Your insides pushed down on her fingers and you could feel every crevice of her fingers hitting the right spots. You could feel her inside you more.

The redhead’s mouth soon joined her fingers, her warm tongue drawing circles on your clit and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Bringing you closer and closer to the edge, all your body feels is her and you willingly give it. 

It’s not like you could fight against the restraints Wanda put on you, all you could do was grind against her tongue. Now that she had her fingers out of your mouth, obscene noises spilled out of you, “Wanda, I’m gonna cum! Please, can I cum?” Wanda hummed against your clit, pleased with the sounds you were making. 

“Such a good girl, asking for permission.” Wanda praised you and tightened her magic hold on you so possessively. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Cum for me.” She whispered against your clit, her warm breath and her fingers pushing you to the edge. That delightful warmth in your stomach turned into a raging heat then simmered into a throbbing fire as you came on her tongue and her fingers, so hard that you could hear your heart in your ears.

“Fuck, thank you! Thank you!” You screamed and thrashed against Wanda as she guided you through your orgasm with coaxing fingers and gentle caresses. When the pleasure dulled, you felt Wanda press a soft kiss to your inner thigh.

But as you calmed down, you noticed that the bonds had yet to loosen and gave the witch a curious look. 

She let out a wicked laugh before straddling your stomach, “Oh, you’re so very welcome, sweetie. Care to let your Mistress ride your face?”

[rainrot4me]

excuse me if this is out of line but can you make Ben sqrt or like just smth insane cause like he needs to be humbled fr… HE needs to be the one whimpering and begging smh😒…

Oh hell yeah.

TW: Bondage, male squirting, overstimulation, sexual torture

𐚁₊⊹

If he was going to act like a little shit, then he’d have to deal with you being a little shit too.

Ben whined, gasping on his knees as his eyes watered, tears pooling at the corners before falling amongst the black liquid spilling from his waterline. The hardwood floor felt so cold underneath his bare legs, digging into his skin and aching horribly.

He’d been here for an hour at least, he thought so anyways. It was getting hard to tell as he gasped again, hunching over and straining his arms tied behind his back with a leather belt. His own leather belt.

“Oh fuck… please…” He hiccuped, swollen and damp lips hanging loose, jaw slack against his words. His head felt heavy, skull clamping with every tense of his abdomen, every pulse of his thighs. But besides all of that, his cock hurt.

It was wonderful at first, his eyes rolling and teeth chewing down on his cheek, blissfully rolling his hips down against the vibration of the wand vibrator tied to his length. The head of the vibrator sat nestled right under his tip, pushing down against the head of his cock and pushing ropes of cum out one by one, his moans ecstasy filled.

But after his third time cumming with the vibrator on the highest setting, it didn’t feel all that good anymore. But then came the fourth time, then the fifth. By the sixth he wasn’t even fully cumming anymore, cock just spasming while his abdomen clenched painfully tight, tiny clear drop of liquid spitting out of his slit. It was painful as fuck.

This was his punishment after all. This, and you.

You just ignored him. Sat at your vanity, phone in hand, scrolling on whatever website looked the most interesting and just completely oblivious to what was happening behind you. Ben got a clear shot of the back of your head, your stupid ego tipping and making this whole thing happen.

So what if he was a little rude? So what if he wasn’t in the mood to be serious and actually listen when you were trying to tell him something important? So what if he had better things to do, like playing his Nintendo. Well, you told him what. Especially when you knocked his ass to the ground and put him here.

So now Ben’s jeans were slugged around his ankles, his shirt stuffed into his mouth and soaked with his slobber and tears, his hands clasped behind him. He looked pitiful, pathetic, and you wouldn’t even look. His moans were obnoxious, ragged whimpers and desperate muffled pleas to let him up, to turn the toy off, please. It just hurts now.

When his gut clenched once more, hips jerking and eyes slamming shut as his half-hard cock whined through another dry orgasm, you finally sat your phone down, swiveling your chair around. He could’ve cried.

“Princ- Princess, oh my god- please-” He sobbed, spitting the shirt sleeve that was shoved into his mouth down onto the hardwood beside him, shoulders hunched and neck craned forward as he tried to press closer to you, his bony knees digging and shuffling terribly. He stopped when you pressed your socked foot against his chest, leaning into the weight and whining his pain as the vibrator still continued, his cock screaming for relief.

“How many times have you came?” You asked nonchalantly, voice not giving a hint of interest as you stared at the elf’s deep red cheeks, his nose snotty and slobber and tears dripping down. He whined, his fists clenched behind him as he thought, cringing. “I dunno- Can’t ‘member- A lot, it’s been a lot-” Ben already knew that wasn’t the right answer, but he couldn’t take it anymore, could barely think to speak anymore.

“Eleven. It’s been eleven times, ‘kay? I think you’ve got one more in you.” But he didn’t. He was barely even cumming now, mystery liquids or nothing at all was all that would push out anymore, his cock spent and raw. The blond shook his head, his pointed ears fluttering and blushed as he sobbed, terrified as you kneeled down in front of him. “Nonono- Wait a min-” He hissed as your gripped his cock, your hand wrapped tightly around his girth and the toy that was tied on, clenching your fist. He tried to pull away.

His thighs were shaking as you reached up, empty hand quick to wrap around his throat and squeeze. He gasped loudly, coughing spit up as you cut off his airway, fingers digging into his skin. His mind was wrecked, thoughts barely piecing together as you began to quickly jerk him off, fist pumping as a nauseating pace. “Can’t-” He sputtered, gritting his teeth as his hips involuntarily jerked.

“Yeah, you can. You don’t get a choice.” You smiled sweetly, gazing into his teary eyes as his ears twitched and fluttered, face tight and strained as he gutturally whimpered through the grasp on his throat.

Pressure was building, not like he was going to cum though. He didn’t know what was happening, but he couldn’t fight against it, could barely register it as you began to smile with your teeth. His hips jerked forward, eyes clenched shut as he just sobbed, defenseless against your devastating pace.

His cock felt so tight, white hot pain running up and down his length, shredding him. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stop his knees from spreading, lowering his ass onto the ground and gagging as you gripped his throat tighter, lungs screaming and tight for air. He pulled hard against the belt around his wrists, knuckles white and raw as he finally let go, screaming into the overwhelming sensation that slammed into him.

His eyes shot open, watching through glazed vision as his cock sprayed hot, clear liquid onto your shirt, covering your torso. He thought he was pissing, mind absolutely shattered as he let his hips stutter through it, the pain finally subsiding as you tugged the last of the liquid out of his flaccid cock, wringing him completely dry. There was no telling how he even had anything left.

“Nasty fuck.” You grit as you shed your sopping shirt, tugging the vibrator off of his cock and tossing it to the floor, watching as your boyfriend’s body slumped to the floor. His face pressed into the hardwood, ass up as he contorted, limp against his wrist restraints. You watched as his ears twitched haphazardly, his lips hanging open as he sobbed into the wood, mumbling something you couldn’t understand.

You laughed, trailing to the bathroom as you went to grab a towel. Maybe he’d listen now.

[revelboo]

Hi author!!

this is actually my first time requesting—so I hope it isn’t awkward or out of place!!

I think it would be so cute if shockwave in Everything is Alright would somehow become the designed babysitter for all of readers sparklings!

I can either imagine this going surprisingly well or terrible (lol)

tysm! (btw feel free to ignore if it’s not ur jam, and I love how you portray starscream!)

-anon

🤣 One unsettling and slightly creepy babysitter coming up. He just won’t leave, so reader is forced to deal with him

Lonely

Shockwave

• Tense, you watch your daughter frown up at Shockwave. Thankful she can’t actually do more than warble incoherently, because you’re pretty sure she’d ask what’s wrong with his face. Or lack thereof. And despite your protests, none of your mates seem all that inclined to bluntly order the other mech to leave, so he just shows up. Looms awkwardly to make you uncomfortable and says very little. He’s at least mass displaced right now, because it’s worse when he just stands in a corner full size and stares. Skin prickling when he crouches to stretch out a servo, antenna flicking when your daughter grabs on, little wings flicking.

• Staring at the little seeker as she tugs at his servo, he awkwardly shuffles in a crouch where she wants him to go and the sparkling reaches out to grab a plush earth animal with her other hand and hold it out with a chirp. Sitting down, she warbles when he doesn’t take the plush, letting go of his servo to shove the toy in his lap before wobbling off to find another one. Showing him her toys apparently. And his head turns to find you watching him with a frown, Megatron’s twins curled into you. For some reason the sight of you with your young always fills him with a strange longing, making his processor chaotic with broken memories that aren’t really his.

• Running a hand over one twin’s head, you feel the little panels flare slightly under your touch. And watch your oldest son join his sister in offering toys to ‘uncle’ Shockwave. “They trust you,” you mutter and his head turns, that single optic staring at you. “Don’t you dare do anything to ruin that.” Because you don’t trust him at all, the lonely mech creeping you out no matter how much he hangs around.

• “You’re a good carrier. Fiercly protective of your young,” he growls, antenna flicking as another plush toy is placed in his lap. Your daughter warbling and chirping happily, while your oldest son is strangely silent. The little mech can vocalize, just choosing not to and he knows it worries you. Suspects the youngling might have inherited his sire’s outlier ability, but he’s not been allowed to scan him. “Yes, thank you. It’s a very lovely impossibly pink horse with a bony growth on its head,” he tells your daughter as she grins up at him and his spark aches. Feeling like something is missing, like this should have been his. A mate and young. But he’d never found a partner, never bonded. Even if he sometimes dreams of a human mate he doesn’t know, with a soft voice and hands. Coming online physically sick, hurting like someone’s torn out his spark when those dreams infect him.

• Wincing when one of the twins yawns and sinks his little denta into your thumb hard enough to make your eyes water, but not breaking the skin, you inhale slowly. Shuddering as he starts sucking your thumb with a muffled mnnn of noise. “I love my kids,” you mutter, even if two of them use you as a chew toy. Which is why you’re watching him like a hawk. As lovely as a break would be, you can’t trust him alone with your kids. And he’s staring at you, head tipped. ‘What’s that feel like? Love?’ He asks, sounding so serious you just blow out a breath. Biting back a smart ass comment, because Soundwave’s told you what happened to Shockwave. You pity him, but that doesn’t mean you have to like his creepy ass or want him near your kids.

[little-annie]

How they got stuck sharing the only remaining bed in the Hopper-Byers family home when they came to visit, they'll never know. (It involved some meddling on both Robin's and Dustin's behalf….. and Joyce and Hopper and Jonathan and El and Will, and literally everyone else who thinks they just need to figure their shit out and get together already.)

But they did.

And Christ if they weren't pissy about it.

They were roommates for God's sake, they saw enough of each other as is. But noooo, they had to get stuck bunking with each other for the weekend too.

They'd began bickering almost immediately when they'd entered the room and saw the state of their situation.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, no. Fuck you Harrington. I'm older-’

“By like a year -”

“I'm older and my poor boy bones are brittle. I get the bed.”

“Poor boy bones.” Steve huffs to himself, taking one quick glance at Eddie and beginning to strip, hoping that if he gets into bed first they won't have to continue this argument.

Eddie catches on almost immediately, undoing his stupid handcuff belt buckle with little struggle and kicking himself out of his jeans so fast he nearly eats the edge of the dresser to his right. “You're young.” Eddie states while trying to catch his breath, “The floor will do you just fine.”

They're both down to their underwear in a matter of seconds. Belts clanking, denim dropping and fabric flying. Eddie in his boxers, Steve in his white briefs that he's sure he hears Eddie snicker at even in his apparent displeasure.

Soon enough they're both trying to climb into bed, pushing and shoving, throwing elbows when the other one kicks out a bony knee. Both scrambling to get under the covers and claim their right to the bed.

Pulling the lone pillow swiftly beneath his head, Eddie grumbles. “What are you doing?”

“Getting into bed.”

“It's a twin Harrington.”

“Yeah and my hips hurt.” Steve answers, driving an elbow with regrettable strength into Eddie's ribs as he continues to try to gain some purchase on the narrow bed. “I'm not sleeping on the floor.” He wiggles around some more, at the moment hoping Eddie might just fall off onto the floor. “Shove over.”

Maybe they can manage to share.

“It's a twin!” Squawks Eddie while bracing himself against the nightstand, pushing Steve back with cold feet to his shins.

“And give me some of the blankets.”

“There's only one pillow!”

“So share.”

Both huffing, wriggling around, pushing and shoving, pulling at the single blanket and the only pillow, they try to get comfy on their backs. Which won't happen because they can't fucking fit that way. The goddamn bed is too narrow and Eddie's bony ass everything is digging into Steve's side as he hangs with half of his ass off of the bed.

“Lay on your side.” Eddie grumbles with a shove.

“What? Why?”

“Because we don't fit like this, Princess. Roll onto your side.”

Ignoring how that nickname makes his cheeks flare in the moonlit room, Steve starts to roll over, leaning to his left and moving to put Eddie at his back. Maybe that way he'll actually get some peace and qui-

“Not like that!” Eddie all but screeches, shoving at Steve's back so hard he nearly falls off, "You want my dick pressed to your ass all night?”

Truthfully that doesn't sound as awful as Eddie's making it out to be. The prick. Steve thinks he has a rather nice ass and Eddie would only be so lucky.

“Well you want your dick pressed against my dick all night? That's the only other option, Munson.”

Eddie clenches his jaw, sighs dramatically and mutters something to himself that Steve's not quite able to catch, before he actually speaks, “Fine. Fine! Just roll over so you're facing me, but just keep your hips back.”

‘Keep your hips back,’ as if Steve would just roll over dick first and press himself right up against Eddie.

Steve tries and fails to muffle his irritated groan as he rolls over to where he's facing Eddie on the same flat pillow.

God they're close.

Noses nearly touching.

In his moment of bitterness and just pure irritation at the situation, Steve had forgotten how pretty Eddie was.

His eyes are so dark in the moonlight.

The rest of him blanketed in a hazy midnight blue, his freckles akin to a star speckled sky.

Steve could never get tired of this view.

“Better?” Steve whispers, trying and failing to ignore the flutter of butterflies in his stomach.

Eddie's eyes search his for what feels like aeons before he answers. “Fuck you.” There's no real heat to his words, tone more so matching Steve's as he smiles with a lopsided smirk.

Steve rolls his eyes, teasing, if only to see Eddie sputter, “Mmmm, I'll take a rain check on that.” He delights in Eddie's choked off gasp before he continues, “But I will warn you, I'm a cuddler.”

“Course you are.” Eddie grumbles, crossing his arms in front of his chest and closing his eyes with a flutter of his long dark lashes.

After a moment of quiet Steve takes a chance and presses his foot to Eddie's, soft beneath his sole, and so fucking cold.

Eddie doesn't pull away.

“G’ night.” He whispers instead, pressing his foot just a touch closer, the breath of his words falling against Steve's lips.

“Good night.”

—

The next morning they wake in a tangled mess.

It's hot and sweaty and they're physically stuck together at all points where naked skin meets.

Which is pretty much everywhere.

Eddie's one hand is in Steve's hair as if throughout the night he felt the need to play with it, and his other is so tightly grasped to Steve's bare waist it almost hurts.

His nose is otherwise buried in Steve's neck where he can hear Eddie's faint snores and is sure there's the wetness of drool lying along his clavicle.

It's all a little disgusting.

But also kind of wonderful.

His one arm is numb where it lies beneath Eddie's head.

Steve shuffles enough to separate at least some of their sweat damp skin, noticing in the same instant how where Eddie's plastered against his hip, he's also obviously hard.

So much so that when Steve looks down there's a damp spot in his underwear.

Oh.

Maybe he'll take that rain check sooner rather than later.

Eddie groans in his sleep, hot air breathed against Steve's neck as he rolls his hips and this time lets a soft moan escape.

Yep, definitely taking that rain check now.

Maybe they'll figure their shit out sooner than everyone had anticipated.

“Get off of me, I wanna suck your-”

😉 The End

[ghostgirl-22]

I was thinking about how muscular, body and completely solid patrick is and how i dont necessarily think he has a bony ass cus weve seen his cakes but i think he knows how heavy he is and i think he likes to sit on art alot, whether hes straddling him or sat on his chest or his back, and i think art likes being crushed my him. He likes people putting their feet on him, standing on him, sat and crushing him like theyre some big mean bully or a weighted blanket. He tries so hard but to get hard

Here you are— thank you for this prompt <3

CW: MDNI NSFW

——

It happens for the first time when they're messing around in the dorm. It’s a rainy Saturday night and they can’t agree on what to watch. Usually they take turns with the remote. But Patrick thinks since Arts just flipping channels and hasn’t decided on anything yet that suddenly he doesn’t deserve the remote on his night. 

“Besides there’s a really fucking good hockey game on. History making.” Patrick points out.

Art doesn’t care about hockey. Not even a little bit. And Patrick really isn’t being fair. He never is. Art decides to hold his ground. He snatches the remote out of Patrick’s reach when he comes for it. 

Patrick chuckles but Art can see the inherent frustration on his face. “Dude come on you don’t even have anything to watch. You’re gonna make us watch this bullshit till we fall asleep,” he gestures at the television now playing an old episode of friends. 

“Well it’s my fucking day. If I want to watch this bullshit then—“

He’s interrupted when Patrick lunges for the remote again. Not a care for the fact that he’s launched himself on top of Art both of them falling onto his bed, Patrick reaching as Art holds the remote over his head. Just out of Patrick’s reach. Patrick grabbing at his arms. 

“Give me the remote!”

“It’s my fucking turn!” Art shouts back as they wrestle for it. Art can feel the difference when Patrick begins to use his weight against him. Patrick isn’t that much bigger than Art but he is bigger and he knows it. He eventually manages to pin Art to the bed, hands at his sides. Both of them sweating and breathing hard. And all Art can think is how heavy and warm Patrick’s body is, how good he smells even sweaty. How safe he feels with Patrick on top of him. so big and solid, easily holding him down. 

Patrick’s grinning and even though he’s clearly won Art is still squirming. Struggling like he has any hope of breaking free. Mostly because he doesn’t want Patrick to let go of him. But also, if Patrick lets go he’ll realize Art  has a boner. And how the fuck is he gonna explain that. 

So he keeps fighting Patrick off. “It’s my day! This isn’t fucking fair.” Art whines trying to press himself up.

“It is fair. Fair and square actually. Time to say uncle dude.” Patrick smirks. Shoving him back down easily. Shifting his pelvis to keep Art there and oh… oh fuck…in that moment Art swears he can feel the thick line of Patrick’s dick. Not exactly soft and quite notably bigger than his, pressed along his thigh. “Say it… say it,” Patrick’s laughing as he keeps Art down. 

Art is dizzy. Stomach suddenly full of butterflies. Squirming without realizing what he’s doing because it feelssogood. Squeezing his eyes shut like hes getting ready to drop on a roller coaster ride. Everything blue screening for just a minute and then he’s blinking himself back into reality as he feels wet heat spreading along his thigh. Holy shit. He just fucking came, god he just came in his fucking pants. He’s never gonna fucking recover from this.  

At the moment Patrick seems oblivious to it all, “dude are you okay? You look a little sick.” 

“I’m fine, you win okay,” Art says, knowing he’s gonna start turning tomato red in a minute. 

“Look how about if you give it to me now… you get it for the next two nights—“ 

“God Patrick… get off of me,” Art snaps. Shoving Patrick off and hurrying to his feet. 

“Dude,” Patrick sounds a little taken aback. “Hey man uh chill… im just messing around … here okay… take it. Don’t be mad.” he says, softly, holding out the remote as he watches art walk across the room and grab his towel. His gaze lowers to the dark spot on Art’s grey sweats and his brows furrow. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but doesn’t.

Art wishes at that moment that the floor could swallow him up. He disappears into the bathroom without another word and Patrick at least gives him the dignity of never bringing it up again. He doesn’t come everytime Patricks on top of him from that point forward but he does get hard.

The next time he jizzes all over himself… it’s not just in front of Patrick so it's a little harder to recover from. All he can think is thankfully he was at practice and not in a game. 

He manages an impossible shot to win the second set after an endless rally against the Carpenter twins. Before he knows what’s happening Patrick’s jumping excitedly into his arms. They fall onto the court in a fit of giggles, Patrick rolling on top of him. All of his weight on Arts chest. His big sweaty body practically crushing him against the court. Patrick’s got his hands in Arts hair. Kissing his forehead. “I fucking love your kill shot man.” He exclaims.

Art sighs taking deep breaths… trying to inhale his scent, not sure what it is about it but he likes the smell. He also likes how hard it is to expand his lungs under Patrick’s mass. He gets so lost in the giggling and the sensations that it just happens. He’s fucking creaming his shorts again like a freak. Just instantaneously. In front of Patrick and the twins.

He panics pushing Patrick off, sitting up trying desperately to hide himself. Patrick still giggling until he sees Arts face. “Shit did I hurt you?”

“No,” Art says. He hurries to his feet and grabs his sweater off the bench, holding it in front of him to try and hide it. The Carpenter twins wearing matching smiles as they approach the net. Art fakes nausea so he can leave practice early. If Patrick or the twins realize what happened blessedly they don’t say anything. But Art knows now there’s something wrong with him. Something really wrong. 

The next time it happens, Patrick definitely realizes it. They’re piling into a car with the only sober kid after a party at Stanford. The driver, Owen, is insistent that all 7 guys can fit in his little jeep. 

“Come on, just scoot over,” he shouts from the drivers seat, “it’s not a long drive. Does someone want to take the trunk?” 

Art’s a little out of it. Not fall down drunk or anything but definitely real fucking tipsy, borderline drunk. He’s dumbdrunk enough to agree to do this and not call a cab which is probably much safer. He’s leaned up against the car door, Patrick sitting next to him. They’re pressed together so close that if they got any closer their shoulders and thighs might fuse together. And still there isn’t enough space.  Two more guys are standing outside. 

“Man Patty your thighs are fucking huge, can you cross your legs or something,” Owen snaps. 

“How about this?” Patrick says and he lifts up and just plops down right on to Arts lap. Big muscular thighs and broad solid back, he settles against Art’s chest like a heavy warm blanket. “Happy?” Patrick hiccups. 

A couple of the guys laugh. “Shit Donaldson be careful, it might be a bumpy ride,” Art’s teammate Clyde Stanton says with a smirk as he scoots over to the middle seat. Art wants to snap back but he’s already biting his tongue trying desperately not to get hard. 

“No that’s genius… Jason get on Clydes lap,” Owen says, directing the others. 

Art closes his eyes. God… it’s happening. There’s not much he can do. No matter how much he tries to fight it… he’s getting hard. And he knows Patrick can feel it. No matter how drunk Patrick is, there’s no way he can’t feel Art’s dick. It’s not like he’s got a little chubby, no of course he's getting a raging boner. Thankfully Patrick’s not saying anything. He’s not even moving away or freaking out. He’s just looking out the window like this is fucking normal. Elbow resting on the side panel.  Uncharacteristically quiet while the others talk about the night. 

They aren’t in the car long, but every minute feels like 10. Art feels both absolute mortification and a desire to stay like this all night. Patrick wiggles just a little bit and Art and just that feeling is too much… Hands shaking, breath hitching. He can feel the wet heat spreading along his boxers. Fuck. 

He knows Patrick can hear him, feel him. He’s trying to come up with a way to explain himself in his head. “It’s your girlfriend. I was so drunk I was thinking about Tashi and it made me jizz in my pants.” It’s weak but it’s better than the truth. “I just like when you’re on top of me.”   

Even though he’s desperately embarrassed, his brain is still mourning the loss of Patricks body heat when he gets up. Art has to sit in the car a minute to make sure the wet spot isn’t visible on his jeans. God what the fuck is wrong with him? Why is he insane? He pretends he’s just really drunk so the others don’t ask too many questions. He feels his skin heating up when Patrick smirks at him while they ride the elevator up in the residence hall with the other boys. 

Art’s roommate is home already but he’s fast asleep, snoring in front of the television. They sit on his bed kicking off their shoes and then Art attempts to get up and disappear into the bathroom when Patrick grabs his arm and drags back onto the bed. “wait a minute.” Patrick says softly. Getting on top when Art tries to get up again. Straddling him on the edge of his twin. He starts undoing Art’s jeans and Art is instantly panicking. 

“Patrick what are you—,” Art gasps, trying to push him away. 

“Shh…” Patrick says softly, reaching his hand inside. Warm fingers inside his boxers, brushing up against his dick… art can feel himself getting hard again while Patrick is smearing his fingers along the already sticky mess. “Oh….Fuck.” He grins.   

“It was… it was Tashi…” Art whispers, helplessly.  

“Tashi?” 

“In the car I was… I was thinking about Tashi…” Art says quickly. Patrick’s grin gets wider, his eyes glittering in the dim glow of the television. Art can feel Patrick’s knuckles brushing against him.   

“What are you thinking about now?” 

Art shakes his head and Patrick frees his hand and grabs Art’s face between both hands to keep him still. To keep his gaze.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Patrick teases. “Hm?”

“Stop it,” Art whispers. 

“Please…I wanna know,” Patrick leans in, he licks a stripe along Art’s bottom lip and when Art instinctively opens up Patrick slips his tongue inside. He tastes like cherry red and amaretto. Art hums softly, letting Patrick kiss him. Kissing him back. All of this brand new and fucking thrilling. There’s so much of him as he leans forward… pushing Art back onto the mattress. His hand slipping back inside Art’s boxers gripping his hard on

”You wanna fuck me?” Patrick sighs against his lips.

“Fuck… i… no im not… im” Art squirms and suddenly he’s feeling the heft of Patrick’s very big, veryfuckinghard dick suddenly pressed along his pelvis. “Fuck. Oh… God… Patrick,” he gasps. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Patrick sighs. “You like when I'm on your lap. Makes you want to put it inside me.”

”no I—“

”You have no idea how fucking hot that was. All I could think about was slipping my shorts down and letting you slipinside while both of us pretended nothing was happening.” He whispers.  

”Fuck…Patrick… oh oh my god.” Art whines, he feels breathless. Patrick’s dick. His dick is so big. So full. So hard. So close to Art’s… pressed so heavily against Art’s pelvis. The more of Patrick’s body that covers him the harder it is to keep still. And then they’re kissing again. It feels so good. Too fucking good. Art’s panting, pushing, struggling he’s gonna fucking blow his load again in one second if he keeps this up. 

“Patrick!” He cries and Patrick pulls back just in the nick of time, looking concerned and mildly horrified.

”Are you okay? Did I misread…”

”No I… no fuck… no…” Art is breathless because its happening anyway… he’s fucking spilling all over himself.  “God…” he gasps, sitting up and Patrick climbs quickly off of him. 

“Dude I’m sorry I thought—“ 

“No it’s okay…it’s fine I’m…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Art takes a deep breath. “I uh…” he gestures awkwardly to his pants. “It’s just it fucking happened again… it happens when you… if you make it hard for me to move. It makes me…it makes me cum.” He can’t think of a more humiliating thing to admit to anyone. He can’t even look at Patrick anymore. He’s just staring at his lap. Legs hanging off the bed. His pants unzipped, dark spot all over his boxers. Yeah it doesn’t get much more humiliating than this. 

Then an infomercial playing suddenly very loud on the television makes him look up. His roommate interrupts himself, mid-snore and Art panics. It could be worse. His roommate could be wake up for it. Fortunately he rolls over to face the wall. And then a minute later he resumes his regular snoring cadence. 

“So…you like when I’m holding you down?” Patrick asks quietly after what feels like a century.

“Yeah,” Art mutters, still staring blankly at the tv. “I don’t know. You're just so big and heavy and it feels like… I like it, I guess. I mean apparently I really fucking like it.” He chances a glance at Patrick. 

He looks amused. “That’s kinda fucking hot.” He grins. 

Art laughs and Patrick does too. He feels relieved almost instantly now that it’s out. Now that Patrick just knows it suddenly doesn’t feel so fucking shameful anymore. 

“Okay so…” Patrick sighs, still wearing the ghost of a smile. “So like…what if I pinned you down and rubbed my dick against you till I come?” His soft gaze going dark.

Art feels his heart rate pick up. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and nods. 

He’s barely able to keep quiet with Patrick on top of him. Grinding hard up against his ass. Pinning Arts hands over his head. Panting and moaning in Art’s ear as he chases his own orgasm. Art coming twice with Patrick heavy on top of him. already thinking that maybe next time he wants Patrick to do it inside of him. That he wants Patrick to fall asleep on top of him. Keep him safe and full and warm all night. And maybe Patrick’s right. Maybe it is kinda fucking hot.

(Prompt was brilliant poor execution is all on me sorry lovely!)

[noonwardmoss]

Late Night Snack ♡

CW: somno (m receiving), oral (m receiving), blink-and-you'll-miss-it daddy kink, service reader(?), slight powerplay

Summary: Butcher and you haven't been intimate for a while, so your thirsty ass takes matters into your own hands.

Tags: @angelically-yours @konartiste-sideblog @chocolategiverzombie @bobabilbil @frank3nfag @tsundere-queen @daydreamingdarl

Notes: this is not beta-read don't kill meee

Smut below cut

Butcher didn't exactly remember how this dynamic started. All he knew was that it'd been going on for a while. You were a young thing prancing about like he'd sculpted the Earth. He couldn't not get a taste. And after that first one, he got another. Then another, and another, to the point you two were semi-frequently having sex.

He'd told you that you could come to him any time you needed it. He hadn't expected you to take that literally.

The day went relatively normal—they'd gotten a good amount of work done and retired at a semi-reasonable time. You were a tad more fidgety than usual, but it didn't raise any concern.

It clearly should have, though.

Not much time passed between Butcher falling asleep and waking back up—his body grousing awake at the feeling of clumsy fingers trying to grip his length from underneath his boxers. A soft voice sounded a small whimper. Your voice.

His eyes popped open, and he immediately came face-to-face with the figure mouthing at his pelvis. You must've been at it for a bit because he was already half-stiff in his sleep-slurred state.

Was he still asleep? On his luckiest nights, he'd dream of you like this—desperate for him, initiating…

“Oi,” he croaked, voice thickened with rest, “fuck're ‘ya doin'?”

At his words, your eyes fluttered to him. You made a pretty sight, hunched over his crotch and straddling his knees. He could see your pupils fluctuating in the dark, trying to discern his reaction as your cheek went to rest against his bony hip.

“Needed it,” was the only reasoning you provided, tone that of a whining pup. He could tell you were tired, too—but apparently not enough to prevent you from doing whatever *this* was.

A gruff, almost amused scoff shook through Butcher's chest. You always were a pouter.

“Yeah? And this is how you decided t’ get it?” There was a lazy playfulness to his demeanor—one that only encouraged you. As you nodded, one of his large hands found its way to the back of your head, carding through your hair.

“You said anytime.” He smirked at your defense.

You'd never been the one to initiate before. But now, you were the one who came to him—needy and desperate. He had to admit, he liked the sudden boldness. It made him feel wanted. Your sex lives were in no way vanilla by now, and he'd talked about it being on the table before.

Was that why you were so twitchy today? The idea was a bit humorous, you have been on edge from being horny and wanting him. A whining pup, indeed.

His thumb found its way to your lower lip, pushing inward to feel the soft heat of your mouth. In his current hazy state, it didn't feel real.

“That I did, pet,” he hummed, tone only slightly breathless. God, you made such an image… His cock had fully hardened now to strain against the cloth of his boxers. “Just didn't expect it to actually happen.”

His finger hooked against your bottom teeth, prying your jaw open just a bit more.

“It's been too long,” you admitted. His digit in your mouth made the words slur together. “I needed to taste you, sir.”

He nearly groaned at that word—sir. It seemed to be something you uniquely called him. No one else garnered such a tone of respect and reverence from you. How he earned it—placated you—he'd forever be clueless and impressed to.

“How long was too long, princess?” His dick twitched at the sight of you being so uncharacteristically greedy. He'd usually be pissed over being woken up so late in the night, but the prospect of you itching for him all day was a bit… flattering. A toxic bubble of pride welled up in him, even though any reasonable person would've been concerned.

“It's been weeks,” you huffed, and even in his half-asleep state, that surprised him. He tried to wrack his brain for the last time you two had sex, but his focus was more on the fact you hadn't done anything about your desire until now.

“You been aching for me for weeks, pretty thing? Couldn't find anyone else to help?” He tutted mockingly. As expected, you shook your head.

“No. Only want you.” You nosed into his length again, and he stifled a groan. Despite knowing that'd be your answer, he still felt a wave of satisfaction at your insistence. His hand tightened in your hair as he tilted your head back.

“Been a proper good girl, have you? Only wantin’ your daddy to take care of you…”

You nodded the best you could in his grip, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his cock through the cloth.

“Can I please, then?” You murmured, looking at him through your lashes as the vibrations of your voice traveled through him. He gave a low hum.

“You don't need to ask.” His answer came with a gruff tone, as though saying ‘obviously’.

He pushed the blanket completely aside and shifted so he was sitting properly against the headboard, pulling the fabric of his boxers as some sort of encouragement.

“Go on, pet,” Butcher huffed. “Take what you want.”

Your fingers eagerly found the hem of his boxers, hooking in and pulling them down. His length bobbed, hitting your cheek from the proximity, and you made a small noise.

You'd think after all the hookups you've had so far, the shock of it all would wear off and he'd just sit and enjoy it. But no. Every time he felt the gentle touch of your hands, it was like a goddamn dream. In an idle fantasy in his head, he'd often imagine you like this. Needy, almost desperate. Somehow, the reality was better than anything his mind could have fabricated.

You lapped at his tip near instantly, and he hissed through his teeth. Your eyes returned to his at the sound, mouth opening wide to tap him on your tongue. Christ, had he taught you that?

“Yeahh.” The word tumbled from Butcher's lips with a groan, fingers rooting in your hair loosely enough not to scratch your scalp. He wanted to be selfish and buck up—to take—but you were taking rare initiative. He wanted to savor the change in dynamic.

A low moan slipped from both of you when you wrapped your lips around him and swirled your tongue. While you lavished the tip with attention, your hand found the base and stroked.

A breathless puff of laughter was pulled out of Butcher, and he shifted his hips down a bit for you. A million things were going through his head, and they all involved you. All of this—this whole scene—was ripped straight from one of his more daring dreams of you.

“Just like that,” he praised, hand running through the strands of your hair. It only encouraged you to take a bit more of his length. You swallowed around him before bobbing experimentally, teeth just barely scraping the sensitive skin in the way you knew he adored.

A low groan rumbled from his chest, and his hips tilted forward. The mix of your enthusiasm and inexperience was sending waves of heat down his body.

A low ‘tsk’ escaped his lips at the grazing. “Teeth, baby, remember?”

You hummed again as an answer, the resulting vibrations making him jersey his hips. You gagged, but managed to keep yourself on him. The vixen you were, you knew how he loved the danger from the pressure of your teeth.

And well, if you wanted to play like that, he could certainly provide.

His large hands tangled tighter in your hair, pulling at a sign of encouragement. His pelvis stuttered before he pushed himself further down your throat, a breathy groan leaving him.

“You're doin’ good, sweetheart.” The praise was laced with strain, low and cracking. You moaned around his dick, picking up enthusiasm again.

If it wasn't enough for you to look so damn good, the sounds were driving him further insane. He let you control the pace momentarily, an itch to control bubbling under his skin with each moment.

“If you were in such a rush, y’ shoulda come to me sooner.” The low growl was punctuated by a push of his hips, fingers tightening in your hair to keep you in place. You drooled around him, sinking down a bit more with hazy eyes. And the two of you were too similar in this way—you both got pleasure by giving it to your partner in bed.

Your nails grazed his pelvic bone, barely digging in. There was an electricity that buzzed just under the surface of Butcher's skin, a tingling heat that began to cloud his mind. That, coupled with the fact he was still half-convinced he was asleep, created some feedback loop of fuzzy pleasure. The sharp sting of your nails had him bucking up into your warm heat, lolling his head back with a harsh groan.

You choked again, taking deep breaths through your nose to somehow willpower yourself to stay on his dick. Then, once you'd gotten your gag reflex under control, you sank all the way to the base, nose nuzzling his public hair. Your throat fluttered with the effort, dragging a breathy moan from the man under you.

“Ffuuuck yeah—yeah, good girl. Stay just like that for a bit, darlin’,” came his murmur, voice just barely more than a rough growl. The last of his breath was pushed out almost like you were taxing him, and with his praise came the soothing pet of his hand through your hair. You blinked the tears away to keep your eyes on him, face flushed in the dim lighting. You swallowed around him ever-so-often as you obeyed, staying flush to his pelvis.

And those teary eyes staring at him with so much desire nearly made him lose it.

There was a moment where he just felt overwhelmed—a rush of a million sensations he didn't know how to name rushing to his head and making it spin. A shuddering sigh spilled from his lips at them.

“Look at you.” His voice was but a ragged breath now, hand running down from the top of your head to your cheek to brush away stray tears that had fallen. “Such a pretty thing, you are, doll.”

His touch made you keen as you decided that was encouragement enough to continue. With a long drag up his length, you released a small noise from your throat. Your sounds weren't helping Butcher's current state much.

“Don't stop. Fuuck—yeah. Jus’– Just like that, sweetheart,” he rumbled with another groan. The feeling was enough to make his legs feel unsteady—and that feeling had him rolling into the wet warmth of your mouth.

He was embarrassingly close embarrassingly fast—but in his defense, it'd been a while, and he was barely awake. Not that you seemed to mind either way, though. The thrumming in your veins was nearly unbearable, the desire to please having been melting you for days. You wanted to please him tonight—which might've come at the cost of your own pleasure considering he could be too exhausted to do anything else.

His grip on your head tightened, his breathing growing increasingly shaky and his hands shaking with the effort not to just fuck your throat with wild abandon.

“Just like that, baby– Just like that… Shit, I'm gonna– F-fuck–” He was cut off with a harsh, breathless moan as you doubled your efforts. You needed to see him contort with the pleasure you knew he deserved again—almost as much as you needed air. His hips stuttered into your mouth with his thrusts, long and shallow with tire.

You pulled off, much to his displeasure, leaving your mouth open wide as your hand returned to his cock. Quick, hot breaths left you as you rested him against your tongue while you stroked him to completion.

When he came, you gave a small, sweet moan. His spend coated your tongue and lips, satisfying your taste buds in some cruel way that made your loins burn. Your hand gradually slowed as you swallowed, lapping at him lazily afterward until he was completely flaccid and hissing with overstimulation.

“I needed that,” he exhaled once you stopped, a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. The grip in your hair released, fingers soothing over your scalp as if apologetic for how hard he'd tugged. Then, his hand returned to its place on your cheek, wiping the drool from your chin. His eyes fluttered shut as he did so—it seemed he truly was, in fact, dead tired.

“Such a good girl, huh?” His eyes flickered down to your shifting thighs, catching the way they searched for any relief. He wiped some of the mess he'd left from your bottom lip, and you sucked his thumb into your mouth. Your tongue swirled it clean before you released the digit. The action caught him off-guard, a sharp intake of breath resulting. God, he wished he had the energy, but he was already struggling to stay awake.

“You make it goddamn difficult to last, princess. Can see how wound up you are,” he huffed, amusement and disappointment toward himself laced through his tone. You pulled yourself up, tucking him back into his pants before shifting to curl up into his side. He sighed as his arm went to wrap around you. Despite the fact you'd needed him for weeks apparently, you seemed content to ignore yourself for a little longer.

“You– mmh… don't want me to take care of ya, love?” He asked, a teasing lilt to his voice. He wasn't going to complain, but he'd certainly make up for it later. For now, though, he was well and fully exhausted. And the bed was comfortable. When you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, he hummed.

“I'll take that as a no, then. A bloody shame, but I s’pose you've tired me out.”

“Tomorrow?” Came your whisper after another moment, and his lips twitched upward.

“Whenever you want, baby.”

[mediumgayitalian]

Will would like to say, at risk of perjuring himself, that he did not intend to fall asleep.

Like, he wanted to.

And he did.

But it was not his original intent.

His original intent was to stabilize his patients (success), climb out the back window of the infirmary (success), stick the landing (failure is good for growth), meet Nico behind the Big House (success), and shadow travel to his cabin without throwing up (fifty percent is a pass). The secondary intent was to sprawl on his boyfriend’s lap, taking up as much space as possible in his massive, against-camp-regulations bed (how it is possible to be Dionysus’ nepo baby without actually being a child of Dionysus, Will shall never know), turn off his brain, and watch him play video games for a while.

The issue is that Nico is so comfortable.

Yeah, he’s bony. And yeah, sometimes he gets really into the game and forgets that Will is there, elbowing him in the face as he cusses at the screen in what sounds like ancient Latin. And yeah, the sound of a CoD lobby is the opposite of a sleep-conductive environment. However.

However.

While he may spend hours of his week standing on tables, lecturing on healthy eating habits and regular circadian rhythms via sonnet, and enforcing said habits via taser (rip Leo Valdez, you would’ve loved watching Will taser people for stress relief, come back alive soon), Will is what his friends and family call a ‘big fat hypocrite’.

He wouldn’t know healthy habits if they painted themselves bright neon blue (the easiest colour for him to see), stood ten feet tall, dressed in Malvolio’s outfit from Twelfth Night, and roundhouse kicked him in the teeth his mother spent thousands of dollars on (braces suck). He has not slept through the night even once his whole life. Yesterday, his two meals were 1) twizzlers and 2) audacity. He once measured how much liquid he had in his system on any given time and then drank approximately two point seven litres of RedBull to become, by volume, one half percent caffeine. (His heart did indeed stop. But it started back up again when Jason shocked him, so it was fine. Plus, he wrote it all down, so in reality it was science.)

Also, his dumbfuck peers keep getting themselves maimed, and he was informed unfortunately by Chiron that he cannot strike and leave them to suffer. (Accusing him of violating his First Amendment Right To Petition got him nothing but stable duty.) As of ten minutes before Nico picked him up, he was on his thirty-ninth consecutive hour of being awake. Probably. (He’s reasonably certain that climbing a tree on Friday morning and belting himself to the trunk, Katniss Everdeen style, for a quick catnap was not a fever dream, but one can never be too certain.)

Regardless. Point is, Will had cute boys to cuddle and Thoughts to Think. He had no intention of falling asleep.

And, yet.

He wakes up warm — the perfect kind of warm, wherein you feel akin to a soupified caterpillar in a chrysalis — or like a croissant lovingly shaped by the hands of an elderly chef in Paris and baked with care in a regulated oven — or like a wonderfully blubbery elephant seal baking on a slick rock — or like a space rock hurtling through the —

“Morning, Sunshine,” murmurs a very familiar voice. Following the very gentle murmur is a very gentle smooch on the forehead. Will, still mostly asleep, thinks he would sign off his soul without a second thought to ensure it happens again. “Or evening, rather.”

“Has anyone ever offered you their soul?” Will asks, fuzzy and disoriented. He tries and fails to blink the grogginess away, but the world around him stays dark, and the hand in his hair remains where it is, and he is so, so sleepy.

“Not yet,” Nico says. Will can hear the amused smile in his voice. “Why?”

Will yawns. “No reason. Timizzit?”

“Late, tesoro. Past curfew.”

Will groans, knocking his head gently back into Nico’s hold.

Of course his dumb ass slept through the evening. Of course he now has to drag himself awake and walk, in the blistering, nose-numbing frost (it’s sixty degrees, Solace) across camp, dodging feral harpy attacks (Apollo kids have harpy immunity, William), and trudging into his sad, small, lonely bed (gods above you are your father’s son) where he will of course be fully awake by the time he gets there. God really does give his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers. (You’re an atheist, William Andrew.)

“Why me,” he laments, refusing to move from his boyfriend’s lap. Perhaps he will simply wither here, warm, satisfied, and more importantly away from little siblings who will not stop squabbling even when their long-suffering older brother looks longingly and pointedly at a bottle of cyanide.

Nico snorts. “Because the gods are punishing you for your crimes.”

“I have committed no crimes! This is unjust! Partisan! I am Hester Prynne and she is me —”

“Your mother is going to hell for teaching you literacy.”

“Defamation and libel!”

“Shut up, Will, gods —”

But he softens the blow of his words by leaning down, hands on either side of Will’s face, and kissing him like he’s trying to breathe him back to life. Or keep him quiet, honestly, but he smells like woodsmoke and citrus and old leather so Will doesn’t really mind. Even if he did, the chapped skin of Nico’s lips serves as a very good distraction, as does the brush of his thumb over Will’s cheekbone and the cool press of his ring against Will’s heated skin.

“Stay over,” he whispers, shifting his lips to Will’s chin, his jaw, his neck. He scratches his teeth lightly against Will’s adam’s apple and his hemoglobin briefly forget how important their job is. “You don’t have a shift tomorrow and everyone at camp owes you, like, twelve favours each.”

“That’s very convincing,” Will mumbles, unsure if he’s referring to Nico’s sound logic or the breath he blows on the shell of Will’s ear, which makes his arrector pili muscles go crazy. (He could make a more convincing case for the logic if all the blood had not abandoned his brain. Alas.)

“I’m a very convincing person.”

He slides a hand under Will’s shirt and his already very weak resolve pulls out a suitcase, packs its things, and abandons its family to pursue a career in competitive shoemaking. Or something. Nico’s hands are very very cold and it feels really really good for some reason and Will is just one man, okay. He may have been named after willpower but that does not mean he possesses any. And Nico is a convincing person. He out-stubborned Death.

“Okay,” he gasps out, arching into the nail Nico scratches over the intensely sensitive skin of his hip, “I’m staying, I’m staying, please take all your wiles and ship them out into the sea in a wine crate ala Danaë and her newborn.”

“…You are such a deeply strange person.”

“And yet you love me so.”

Nico presses his smile to Will’s forehead. “Indeed, I do.”

[iamthecomet]

Idk what happened but I blacked out and wrote 1.5k words about Mountain fucking Dew's tits because I don't know, I needed to. So, uhhh, I hope you like it!?!?

“I wanna fuck ‘em,” Mountain voice is a mumble, shy almost. Dew notices the way the flush drags over his cheeks, down his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt. Too many clothes. Mountain is wearing too many clothes. And Dew, pinned to the bed by the way Mountain straddles his hips, can’t do shit about it.

Mountain flicks at one of Dew’s nipple rings. Dew waits, muscles tensing as Mountain gets a little braver and takes the ring between two calloused fingers and tugs. Dew’s breath hitches, an undignified noise bubbles up in his throat, escapes through his teeth.

“They’re too small,” Dew says, a whisper as Mountain tugs again and the sensation steals the breath from his lungs. “Fuck. Careful. Sensitive.”

“I know.” Mountains eyes are still glued to Dew’s chest his tits—or lack thereof. Dew can practically see his mouth watering about it. “Been thinking about it...what they’d look like with my dick between them. Can’t get it out of my head—”

“Aeon been fucking with you again?” Dew tries at a spike of levity and succeeds in getting Mountain to actually look at him—but it doesn’t help. Mountain looks wrecked already.

“No.” Mountain doesn’t step into the joke, doesn’t even entertain it. His gaze, hungry and desperate, fixes Dew to the bed more firmly than even his weight can. Dew reaches up, puts both of his hands on Mountain’s thighs. He squeezes. Drags his thumbs up and down, feeling rough denim beneath his thumbs.

“Just,” Mountain continues, “can’t stop thinking about it. I know they’re too small. I don’t care. Let me.”

Dew tilts his head, continues the rhythmic stroke of his thumbs along the inner seam of Mountain’s jeans. He’s proud of himself for keeping his eyes on Mountain’s face and not letting them drop down to his zipper. It takes an incredible amount of focus not to. So much that when Mountain twists Dew’s nipple ring again it comes out of nowhere, a shock to Dew’s spine that has him arching off the bed,  unprepared for the sharp bite of pleasure pain. Mountain doesn’t let up—not right away and Dew hands suspended in the purgatory of that feeling until he deigns to let him go.  

“Please?” Mountain asks, and Dew can’t think. Especially not when Mountain twists a little harder and everything narrows down to just this one feeling. Dew nods, flexing his hips up to grind a little against Mountain’s ass. An illustration of just how fucked up he is too. So hard that there is nothing beyond this room. So hard he’ll do just about anything for one crumb of relief.

“Yeah, yeah ok, Mount. Whatever you want. Just—”

Mountain lets go and Dew sags back on the bed. Body tingling. Feeling little electric pulses all the way down in his fingers. He knows exactly what he’s getting himself into—isn’t sure he can take it. But he isn’t a coward, and he doesn’t back down, so if Mountain really wants to drag his cock over the bony plate of his sternum and fuck Dew’s tits—Dew is not going to deny him.

Mountain moves quickly after that, hands flying away from Dew’s chest to his belt. Dew reaches up to help and Mountain bats his hands away. Dew places them back down on Mountain’s thighs again, feeling the muscles shift as Mountain moves. He doesn’t get off of Dew. He just shifts forward, scooting up a few inches as he reaches into his pants and pulls himself out.

Dew finally allows himself to really look then. To watch the way Mountain fists a hand around himself and tugs. The way he circles the head—squeezing just enough to make himself hiss.

A bead of precum pearls at the tip and Mountain leans, bending so he can rub it across the nipple he was just abusing.

Mountain’s eyes flick between Dew’s face and his non-existent tits.

“Push them together for me, firefly.”  

Dew does, as best he can, despite there being next to nothing extra there. He is all bones and skin, but he tries anyway. Tucking his arms in, hunching his shoulders. Watching the flesh bunch and push toward center—still nowhere close to touching, but Mountain groans all the same. The hand on his cock speeding up.

“You like them?”

Mountain nods. “Pretty.”

Dew wants to chide him, remind him that there’s nothing there but it’s the look on Mountain’s face that stops him—again. He’s so into it, and therefore, Dew is too. Pulling his hands up to cup the sides of his little tits to try to push them even closer together.

Mountain scoots up, lays the head of his dick at the base of Dew’s sternum. Then, he hunches over. Spit drools from his mouth onto the tip of his cock—onto Dew’s overheated skin. Mountain smears it around with his cock. Slicking up the gap between Dew’s pecs. He slides forward, aided by his own spit and groans. The tip of his cock bumps Dew in the chin. On the next pass, it meets Dew’s tongue and Mountain swears, head tipping back, just for a second, as his cock ruts along the knobby plane of Dew’s chest.

“Fuck.” He sounds so reverent. Dew’s cock kicks hard in his boxers at the sound. He flexes them up—finds nothing to grind against but it doesn’t stop that involuntary twitch.

Mountain’s head come back to center—tips down. Watching his cock move through the spit, and the narrow—bony—channel of Dew’s chest. Watches how the head of his cock meets Dew’s lips and Dew opens for it, laps at it, sucks the head in just a little before Mountain pulls back for another thrust.

Mountain knocks Dew’s hands way, fitting one hand on each of Dew’s nipple rings, he pulls them both toward center.

Dew keens. Head rocketing back, body arching as Mountain holds his tits together just like that and his thrusts start to speed up.

“Is it good?” Mountain asks, and Dew thinks he’s going insane. Isn’t that what he’s supposed to be asking? He nods. Drowning in the sharp, overwhelming, bite of this pain—the way it fizzles into pleasure at the base of his spine. His hips hump up, to nothing, hopelessly grinding against air.

It’s so slick sounding. Between Mountain’s spit and the pre-cum drooling from his cock Dew’s chest is glistening with it. Each one of Mountain’s thrusts sounding sloppier than the last.

“Your mouth, Dew, please.”

And how is Dew supposed to say no? How is he supposed to do anything except get his shit together and tip his head down, opening his lips for Mountain to fit the head of his cock into at the end of each rough thrust.

“Will you cum on them?” Dew asks, voice pitching up. Mountain pulls on the rings a little tighter, draws those little tits just that much closer together and Dew swears he sees god.

Mountain nods hard, thrusts already faltering, rhythm shuddering. “Soon.”

“Yeah? You going to paint them?”

“Uh-huh.;”

“Get them all sloppy—fuck—make a mess.”

“I’ll clean it up after too,” Mountain promises, and Dew’s stomach turns over, swooping hard enough to make him groan. “Suck you off too, if you want.”

“Yeah—shit—do it—c’mon—cum all over my tits.”

Mountain growls. He lets go of one of Dew’s nipple rings as he finishes one last thrust. Dew watches his fist fly over his cock. Mountain’s back arches, his head drops back, neck glistening with sweat, pulse racing through the veins there. Dew can’t look away when he cums, still twisting one nipple ring in his fingers even as he shoots all over Dew’s chest.

There’s a moment of quiet. Mountain’s fingers loosen. Dew sags back into the bed and Mountain does too—just a little—as he gets his breathing under control. His hands rest at Dew’s waist, fingers tapping little rhythms on Dew’s ribs—a song—probably. Dew tries to guess which one but finds his brain empty of everything except need.

It’s Dew’s hips, still grinding toward nothing, that bring Mountain back to him. His eyes refocus, searching Dew’s face.  Then he shifts back, sliding down Dew’s body until settles over Dew’s hips, giving him something to grind against again. Dew moans with it, the sudden delicious relief. Not nearly enough but better than nothing.

Mountain bends, green eyes locked on Dew’s as his tongue darts out and he chases a rivulet of cum with it, gathering it on his tongue.

“Mount—”

“Told you I’d clean you up then suck you off. Be patient.”

Dew stares at him, watches him lap up his own cum, tongue swirling around Dew’s nipples, clever teeth tugging on the rings just to hear the noises Dew makes when he does. Dew wasn’t going to rush him—doesn’t want to. He’d watch this forever if Mountain would let him. He hopes Mountain takes his time.

He hopes it takes all night.

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

extremely unpopular ship but. marc/luca with 24 + 21

marc/luca: 21 (biting) + 24 (dacryphilia)

Luca braces for it like he braces for hitting the ground after being highsided off his bike. Marc saying you’re nothing like Valentino or you’re just like Valentino. Or—God fucking forbid—being sorry about how shit the Honda is. Poor boy, wasting his career on a comeback that won’t deliver.

He never does. Which is half the reason that they’re doing this, in the first place.

It’s not an accident, is the thing. Luca enjoys making mistakes with his eyes wide open.

He grinds up into Marc, dirty, slow sweeps, right against his prostate. The wet squelch of lube echoes gunshot loud between them, accusatory—as does Marc’s breathless little gasp. Luca keeps at it, again, again, again, so he’ll get another one of those noises, but Marc only throws his head back, puts it against his shoulder, miles of smooth, tanned skin in his bobbing throat.

Pretty, Luca thinks, a hysterical little laugh stuck behind his teeth, shaking when he runs a forcibly idle touch over Marc’s waxed, soft thighs.

“More?” He asks, careful.

Marc nods—open-mouthed, greedy—and drags him to hold his cock. Luca’s hands are calloused, bony, dry. Probably doesn’t feel that good, in retrospect. Marc bucks into his grip anyway, fucks into his slightly unsteady fist with abandon, like he’s bending a bad bike to take a tricky corner.

Luca bites into the soft insides of his cheek. Focus.

So he leaves a bite on Marc’s throat next. Mean, deep—it’s right there, after all. Presses down hard on the imprint of his teeth he left on the swell of Marc’s pec, on his nipple, on the knob of his hipbone. They’re growing dark already, a splotchy purple-red on gold, ugly, round lines.

He keens, jolts, legs falling open, hooked over Luca’s skinny knees. It’s like pressing on the keys of a baby grand at random, only to find out everything sounds fantastic. His cock twitches in his hand, leaks. Each slide is wetter and easier than the last.

Christ. Luca sucks in a breath, tucked against the corded muscle of Marc’s neck.

But Marc is allergic to breaks or something like that. Twists his head around and tugs him up by his hair. They’re looking at each other—which should technically be sobering, a cold wash of reality, but only makes Luca ache to press a kiss on the corner of his shiv-quick smile.

In a bit, maybe.

“You really are mean,” he says, winded, in this dangerous, wild delight.

Luca arches an eyebrow, immaculate through the hell press of Marc’s ass around his cock, how it rakes over him like an electric shock. “You asked me to.”

“People don’t usually—ah, shit, see—first fuck is usually a warm-up. Very polite.”

Luca debates for a split second, five lights and off they go, prying the words from the bottom of his throat. I actually get off on making people cry, just like that. Decides against it at Marc’s dark, cutting stare, his open-mouthed, shameless hunger. Too much like feeding a shark.

Makes himself grin, instead. “I’m very polite. You always say that.”

“Asshole,” he says—in Spanish. Putilla, like Luca doesn’t know what it means. And he laughs through it too, this ugly, honking laugh.

It’s not what you call someone doing a favor, sort of. Luca keeps smiling.

Squeezes Marc’s cock hard, drags his nails all the way to his flushed, wet head. Marc chokes on whatever noise he was making, scrambles to scratch him back, at his wrist, legs twitching to cover himself up on instinct.

He lets them fall limp, though. Stares wide-eyed, expectant. Challenging. Luca croons something sweet-sounding, backs off just a little. His grip is too tight, cruel, but more pleasure now, working him over in quick, rough twists of his palm.

Nothing about it is pretty, exactly—except Marc crumbling against him, Luca is at his strings. Except Marc whining, high-pitched and raw, when he shivers and comes with Luca running a nail over his slit and biting down on his nape.

Luca grunts, muffled through Marc tightening up around his cock, through the pound of blood in his ears.

It’s probably the funniest—most absurd—consequence of going to an engineer’s birthday party, he thinks, nerves in overdrive, about to giggle or moan or come, same fucking difference, heart drumming against his ribcage, thoughts hitting every corner.

Marc hisses out a thick noise, holds his arm. There’s no real strength behind it. Luca gets back on with what could be called his meanness, smears Marc’s come over his own dick. Jerks him only a fraction gentler than he was.

He isn’t crying, yet.

Not like he asked to, not like Luca wants to see.

But maybe soon, he thinks, perverse and not caring all that much about it, heat prickling under his skin, spit pooling over his tongue. Luca gives him a light nibble on his earlobe as a reward, more intent than actual pressure.

“More?” Luca breathes out, barely a whisper.

Marc—lashes wet, fluttering, almost there—nods.

[thoraeth]

Big Mistake. Big. Huge. | Toshinori Yagi Fashion Headcanons

The man is extremely knowledgeable about clothing: he mindfully choses shapes and fabrics that can accommodate both his forms.

He takes inspiration from his favourite movies or musicals.

Before Kamino his aesthetic is inspired by army movies like Top Gun, Full Metal Jacket, Apocalypse Now, with cargo pants, combat boots and huge buckles.

He 100% eyed Jim Carrey’s yellow suit in The Mask and thought he would rock that fit.

After Kamino, he realises that all his versatile wardrobe is useless now that his body won't switch size anymore. It's just baggy stuff that makes him look even more scrawny and sick.

He goes back to square one and opt for a 50s/60s aesthetic: elegant suits and ties, wool cardigans, jeans and leather jackets, inspired by classics like Singing in the rain, James Bond and James Dean movies.

He raids the shopping district in his new form and the staff is frequently reluctant to serve him, scared or downright disgusted by his dark circles and bony figure.

As he's about to enter a luxury shop, some vicious shop assistants invite him to leave. He politely does so, before someone points out to them that the guy's All Might.

Toshinori returns a couple of hours later with three personal assistants, loads of shopping bags and an elegant suit that makes him look snatched. He buys half the store and pays with his American Express Gold.

The assistants keep bowing down and apologizing to him. The man just smiles brightly at them and leaves his All Might autograph on the receipt.

Back at the UA, he starts his “suit-only” fashion regime right away, being so adamant on it ‘cause he’s scared to be perceived as less professional without his muscle form.

People at UA will actually stop and stare a lot when he walks by. He thinks they still have to get used to his new form but they're actually staring at his waist and ass because he looks fine as hell in those suits.

[ghoul-slime]

Collegiality

Kinktober Day 24: Gangbang/Group

Pairings: Aether/Dew, Swiss/Dew, Rain/Dew, Mountain/Dew, Phantom/Dew, and little bit of Phantom/Rain, really a bit of everyone/everyone but mostly just everyone/Dew

Rating: Explicit

Words: 3,432

Tags/warnings: Gangbang, group sex, multiple partners, cum play, rough sex, tender sex, hair-pulling, poly ghouls, crying, begging, orgasm delay/denial, Dewdrop getting wrecked overall, Dew being a smug little shit until the big dicks come out

Basically: the boys line up all nice and run a train on Dew

Had this sitting in my drafts for over a year, then decided to finish it up for Kinktober, which I then promptly fell behind on! ( @papaslittlesunshine I swear I will finish the ACTUAL prompts you gave me next!)

Read here on Tumblr or over on AO3

It’s not often that they do this, not with all of them anyway. It’s not that Dew doesn’t love all the attention on him, it’s just that he rarely has the patience to sit there politely for such a long time while everyone gets a fucking turn with him. But since Phantom is new to the pack, he figures why not.

“Think of it like a welcome gift,” Aether had explained to Phantom, like he was inviting him out to dinner and not to take part in running a train on his brand new, exceedingly hot packmate.

Later that night he walks into the common room with Aether, nervous with anticipation, to find Mountain and Rain fussing with the pull-out couch, the mattress now unfolded and made up with blankets and pillows. Swiss stands nearby watching them, arms folded over his chest. When he sees Phantom walk in he flashes a grin and gives him an encouraging thumbs up.

A few moments later Dew saunters into the room. He’s wearing nothing but a thin black robe that he hasn’t even bothered to tie shut, with his hair pulled up into a tight little bun at the top of his head. He makes his way over to the pull-out couch before shucking his robe and tossing it over the back with a flourish.

Around him, Phantom hears the other ghouls start to disrobe, the sound of fabric rustling, belts clinking, and zippers coming undone. He stands there dumbfounded for a beat before he’s peeling off his own shirt and clumsily stepping out of his jeans and briefs, tossing them in a messy pile off to the side. He doesn’t know what to do, where to stand, or what to look at. For now, he plans to just hang back and watch.

Instead, Phantom is startled out of his thoughts as Dew steps in front of him, puts one hand on his naked, bony hip and points directly at him. 

“You. You go first,” Dew says curtly, before turning back to clamber onto the mattress, arranging himself completely unashamed on his hands and knees in front of the group. 

Dew looks back over his shoulder and sticks out his tongue. 

“Show me what you got, new guy,” he teases, before turning back around and spreading his knees just a little bit more. Making sure his newest packmate gets an eyeful.

Phantom’s breath catches when he sees that Dew’s been prepped already, pink little hole already wet with slick and lube. Phantom wonders if he’d fingered his ass open himself, or if another ghoul had helped him get there before dutifully taking his place back in the den. 

Phantom flushes, suddenly self-conscious, but Mountain and Rain are stepping in and guiding him to take his place behind Dew. Mountain’s hand rests on the small of his back as he takes himself in his fist, cock already impossibly hard at the sight of Dew spread out and waiting for him.

Dew wriggles his hips playfully, an invitation for Phantom to line himself up and sink in slowly, slowly, until he’s bottomed out and breathless. Until he’s fully seated inside the smaller ghoul’s hot little body. Distantly, he registers Mountain and Rain pulling away as he starts to thrust. He gives rapid-fire, shallow little thrusts, hips moving rabbit-quick and totally off rhythm, but Dewdrop is so tight around him, and so hot. He feels so unbelievably good and he realizes with a panic that there’s no way he’s gonna last more than a few minutes inside him like this.

Dew must be able to tell, because he barks out at him. “C’mon, harder. Give it to me deeper, new guy.”

And Dew is playing just a little bit cruel, Phantom thinks weakly, speeding up his thrusts and pushing in harder, because he feels the way he clenches around him on each stroke, squeezing blissfully tight around Phantom’s cock each time he pulls his hips back. After a few more strokes Phantom feels that telltale coil in his gut pull tighter.

He realizes it’s too late with a whimper, gripping Dew by the hips and giving him one more thrust, as deep as he can manage, skinny hips flush against Dew’s as he cums with a cry, emptying himself inside the smaller ghoul. 

He’s lightheaded when he pulls out.

Dew turns his head to the side and Phantom braces himself for more teasing, but instead he just reaches back and swipes one finger through the mess between his cheeks before winking at Phantom and licking it clean.

Phantom’s dick twitches pathetically, but just as quick as he got there, he’s being ushered back towards the end of the line by Mountain while he watches Rain step up to take his place behind Dew.

“Hiya, Rainy,” Dew says sweetly, demeanor instantly changed and ready to play nice for his favorite water ghoul.

“Hi Dew,” Rain answers back with a smile, just as sweet, a well-timed blush rising to his pretty cheeks. 

Rain climbs onto the mattress behind Dew, runs his cock through the slick mess between his legs a few times before he’s pushing in and leaning forward until he’s got his entire body draped over the back of Dew’s. Bracing himself with one hand, he takes Dew’s face by the jaw, turns him to face him - and then they’re kissing. Straining, sloppy kisses, all tongue and spit, as Rain humps his cock into Dew, his perfect ass flexing as he bottoms out with each thrust.

“Mmm, that’s right,” Dew hums into the kiss, “give it to me Rainy,” he mumbles, muffled against Rain’s lips.

Pushing himself back to meet every thrust with a high-pitched, showy little moan, Dew tells him that’s right, keep going, that he can take more, that Rain can give it to him even harder, harder. He tells him just how properly he expects to get filled up now that he’s in the water ghoul’s capable hands.

And Rain is so good for him, fucking in at the perfect angle every time and letting Dew shove his tongue halfway down his throat at he does it. Perfectly happy to give Dew anything he wants, as he always is.

Dew grabs for Rain’s hand and threads their fingers together as he fucks him harder, craning his neck back at an impossibly awkward angle just to keep kissing him as deep as possible. Lips slick with spit and fangs clacking together with one final deep thrust, and Rain busts inside him with a groan.

Rain stills while he catches his breath, still sheathed inside Dew’s hot, throbbing little body and admires the thin sheen of sweat starting to show down the back of his neck. He presses a kiss to the fire ghoul’s shoulder and pulls out to see his cum, now mixed with the load Phantom just fucked into him moments earlier, start to drip back out in a thin stream. 

Dew reaches down once again, drags two fingers through the mess, and pushes everything back inside himself.

“And that’s round two,” Rain hears someone say behind him with a chuckle, ears still ringing from the blood rushing from his head. It’s Swiss, he registers, biding his time near the back of the lineup next to Aether. Both ghouls have a hand curled around themselves, giving lazy little strokes as they watch the show play out in front of them.

A moment later and Mountain moves in, stopping to pull Rain close, wrapping his arms around his slender waist and dipping him down for a kiss. He releases the water ghoul, who makes his way back on shaky legs towards Phantom hovering at the edge of the group. Rain winds his arms around his new packmate’s neck and pulls him in for a sloppy kiss of his own. 

As interested as he is in seeing Phantom and Rain naked and pawing at each other, Mountain turns back to Dew, eager for his turn. The sight of Dewdrop, face down on the couch and panting, looking increasingly more used up - but still waiting for more, has Mountain growling possessively. 

He moves in and takes the little fire ghoul by the hips before pushing his entire length deep into Dew, bullying his way inside until he’s fully seated. He’s the biggest of the pack by far, and the stretch and burn of it drags a long, ragged moan from Dew, and for the first time that night, the fire ghoul’s smug demeanor starts to falter. Mountain pulls back, almost all the way out, just enough that he can watch the blunt head of his cock kiss Dew’s twitching, puffy little rim. And then he’s slamming back with a thrust hard enough to push Dew all the way forward on his elbows.

Dew moans again, a real moan, none of those overly showy, bullshit porno moans from earlier, his eyes rolling back as Mountain fucks him hard and deep. He sets a relentless pace, full-length strokes pulled all the way out and then slammed back in until he's punching out breathless cries from Dew with each powerful thrust. He fucks him like that, with big hands wrapped around Dew’s skinny little waist.

If he squeezes hard enough he can make the tips of his fingers meet just below Dew’s navel. With each thrust, he can feel the hard length of himself pushing out Dew’s taut little belly just so. The bulge of him inside is barely noticeable, but it’s enough to rip the orgasm out of Mountain so fast it hits the both of them like an electric shock.

Dew goes stiff with it, surprised, clamping down around Mountain’s spasming cock, milking every drop from him with a ragged cry. Mountain pulls out, and Dew groans at the loss. He reaches out with a shaky hand, an attempt to feel the wet flow of Mountain’s load dripping out of his hole, but not before Mountain beats him to it, catching the rivulets of cum dribbling out of Dew’s ass and pushing it all back in, deep up to the knuckles. He fucks Dew’s loose hole with two fingers until the little ghoul is moaning again, and the wet, slick sounds of Mountain’s fingers inside him fill the room.

Phantom and Rain abandon their lazy, post-orgasm kissing as their interests are piqued again, pulling away from each other to creep in closer for a better look at how increasingly wrecked Dew is starting to look after just three rounds.

Mountain grunts, satisfied, and stands back to admire his work - at the way Dew’s wet little hole has been fucked pink and puffy from the stretch of Mountain’s fat cock and long fingers.

Dew only gets a brief moment to catch his breath before Swiss bullies his way in with a grin, sidestepping Mountain and cracking his knuckles. 

“You ready for me, firecracker?” He quips, one big hand squeezing the base of his dick in anticipation.

“Yeah,” Dew nods, face down into the pillows and breathless, hair spilling out of the bun on top of his head. He reaches back with both hands to grab his cheeks and spread. He pulls himself open just for Swiss, to let him see what a wrecked little mess he is.��

“Make me take it, Swiss”

Swiss grins wider and pushes Dew’s head until he’s face down into the pillows. He spits a wad of saliva directly onto Dew’s clenching little hole, takes his hard cock in his hand, and buries himself to the base in one stroke. 

Dew yelps as Swiss grabs a handful of hair, fingers wrapped tight around his bun and tugs, pulling until the fire ghoul’s back is bent into a perfect, pretty arch. He fucks him without mercy, hard and fast and deep. The wet sounds of skin slapping against skin grow louder as Swiss sets a relentless pace that has Dew crying out, ragged moans and pleas of yes yes make me fucking take it until the springs in the couch are squeaking and Dew’s blush is bright red and spread all the way down the back of his neck and shoulders.

Swiss reaches back with his free hand and smacks Dew’s ass with a wide, flat palm. Dew cries out, caught off guard. Swiss gives him another one, relishing in the way Dew clamps down around his cock with each slap. He repeats until both of the little ghoul’s ass cheeks are bright red and angry and Dew is drooling into the pillows. 

He fucks Dew rough, until he has him split open on his cock and moaning like a whore, and then he lets go of his hair, brings both hands to those bony little hips and squeezes. Squeezes hard enough to leave bruises, digging his nails in to mark Dew up just the way he knows he likes. He tugs him in by the waist with a bruising grip, pulls him back and forth on his cock like a pretty little toy, slamming in deep enough to bully Dew’s prostate with every stroke, until Dew is scrabbling at the sheets with his claws and and sobbing into the pillows. Desperate for Swiss to touch him, begging him to make him cum.

Swiss obliges with a grin, reaches around and wraps one big hand around Dew’s stiff dick, hanging hot and heavy between his legs, bouncing in time with the thrusts wracking his body. Swiss jacks him off until he feels Dew start to flutter around him, until he feels him clench. Until he gets him right on the edge of an orgasm.

“Please ohhhhh!” Dew’s just about shouting now, gnashing his teeth between sobs as Swiss fucks his brains out. “I’m gonna ohhhhh!”

Swiss growls, heavy and deep, when he blows his load inside him, fisting Dew’s cock as he paints his insides with his release.

He jacks Dew off through it all, feeling the way Dew tightens around him, sees the way the fire ghoul’s tight little sack draws up taut, seconds away from an orgasm. 

From relief.

And then, at exactly the right moment, he uncurls his fingers and wrenches his fist away. He lets Dew’s dripping cock fall back between his legs, heavy and straining, so red that it’s almost purple at the tip.

Dew lets out a ragged cry at his ruined orgasm, tears spilling down his splotchy cheeks and soaking into the sheets as he chokes back sobs of frustration, desperately trying to hump his hips into nothing, chasing any sort of friction Swiss might grant him.

The multi-ghoul just laughs. And then he’s flipping him over so fast Dew’s head spins. He grabs him by the leg, fingers wrapped tight around one slim ankle and tugs him to the edge of the couch.

Dew’s chest heaves, choking out sobs between dragging in deep, shuddering breaths. Skinny little hips still humping at nothing as Swiss drags him around like a ragdoll.

“Please let me,” Dew is begging, sad little pleas between gasping cries and hiccups. “Swiss, please, I need to.. I…” 

Swiss is still holding Dew’s leg in the air with one hand when he reaches in with the other to spread him open with two fingers, watching the entire mess flow out and pool between his cheeks, until it starts to puddle, leaving a dark, wet spot on the mattress. 

“So pretty,” Swiss admires. “Made to be stuffed full of cock and filled with cum, aren’t you, firecracker?”

Dew looks up at him with wet, pleading eyes and nods.

Instead, Swiss just lets more cum dribble out, and then he’s running his fingers up Dew’s sticky, wet cleft and back down to his balls, still drawn up nice and tight. He pushes his fingers back inside, and feels how hot and wet and loose Dew is.

Dew squirms, tears streaming down his face in frustration as Swiss plays with his hole lazy and unhurried, agonizing in the way he just pushes the cum back up inside him and lets it all dribble out again. In and out, until he’s got his fingers coated and Dew’s entire body is shaking.

Swiss presses a kiss to Dew’s ankle before gently placing his leg back down on the couch and then he’s bringing his fingers to Dew’s lips, shiny and soaking wet with cum and slick and lube.

“Suck,” he commands, pressing his fingers between the fire ghoul’s lips. 

Any other time and Dew would fight back, hissing and spitting and loving the challenge, but now, fucked loose and pliant, tears still streaming down his pretty face from his ruined orgasm, and he complies immediately. Opens up and lets Swiss pet at his soft, pink tongue with filthy fingers. He wraps his lips around them and sucks. Hollowing his cheeks and suckling until Swiss is satisfied and pulls them away nice and clean.

“He’s all yours now, Aeth,” Swiss says, looking down at Dew reverently, before stepping aside for Aether to finally take his place.

Aether steps in to gather Dew into his arms, smoothing big, warm hands over Dew’s shaking body, soothing him, leaning in to whisper sweet words of praise into his ear, quiet enough that they’re just for Dew to hear. He leans in close, tells Dew how proud he is, how good he’s been for them, how well he’d taken all of them. How good he was for welcoming Phantom properly into the pack.

Aether parts Dew’s legs gently, gets him spread open nice and wide one last time. He presses in and folds the smaller ghoul nearly in half, leaning in and kissing him, deep and loving, as he slides inside. There’s absolutely no resistance, Dew’s body wet and loose and full with everything the other ghouls have given him.

Dew reaches up with shaky arms and wraps them around Aether’s neck, pulls him in as they kiss. 

And Aether talks him through it, sweet words murmured against his lips. He tells him how good he tastes, how sweet. His perfect Dewdrop. He fucks him with long, slow strokes, reaching in so deep and feeling how wet and full his little mate is with their entire pack’s cum.

Dew groans into his mouth, squeezes his arms around his neck and pleads against his lips. Little whimpers of pleasure as Aether makes him feel so good. Proud to know he’d taken care of his pack so well.

Aether kisses him in time with each push, each thrust hitting deep and perfect, bringing Dew’s flagging erection back to full attention. He whispers more words of praise against the fire ghoul’s lips as he takes his cock in his hand and strokes. He jacks him off and tells him how good he is. His sweet baby boy. His love. His mate. 

“Feel that, Dew” Aether asks as he bottoms out with a particularly deep thrust. “Feel how full you are inside?”

Dew nods, eyes closed and jaw slack as Aether fucks a litany of obscene, wet sounds out of him. With each push a little more of the mess inside Dew’s body dribbles out. Dew is stuffed so full that Aether’s cock is coated in it.

“That’s right, baby boy. Filled you all the way up, didn’t we? Oh, there’s so much inside you. That’s just how much we all love you, isn’t it, baby?

And that does it, Aether’s filthy, sweet words wring a surging orgasm out of him. Dew comes so hard on Aether’s cock he almost blacks out, his vision dark around the edges as he feels Aether spill hot inside him, adding one more load to the everything he’d already taken. 

They kiss, breathing ragged into each other’s mouths as they come down, sweaty foreheads pressed together. For just a moment, it’s only the two of them. 

And then Aether is taking Dew’s hand and guiding him down to feel where they’re connected, he presses the pads of Dew’s fingers against his own rim as he slips out. Lets him feel the hot gush of cum as he slides out, feel how hot and wet and completely fucked open his own little hole is.

Dew hums when Aether pulls away, satisfied and spent and boneless. He holds himself up on shaky elbows just long enough to see the way the rest of the pack is watching him with rapt attention before letting himself fall back to the pillows with a smug little smile tugging at his lips.

“Now,” Aether says, loud enough to pull everyone’s attention back to him.

“Who gets to eat him out first?”

[how-serene]

hello hello! <3

could you write for dbd ghostface with a reader who does urban exploration and stumbles upon a murder site? thank you so much!

Are We Tuned In?

Pairing - Ghostface (DBD) X Neutral!Reader

Summary - Perhaps some places are better left abandoned.

Word Count - 1.5k+

Warnings - no use of y/n, gn!reader, swearing, spooky shit occurs, proofread (somewhat), MDNI

A/N - lets both pretend that this request hasn't been sitting in my inbox since june... I had a lot of fun writing for this idea, and it oddly brought a sense of nostalgia as I was reminded of all the urban exploration videos I used to watch back in high school, so thank you for the request <3. P.S I did tweak the idea a little, hope that was okay.

Spring, 2003

Beams of sunlight split through the dark heavy clouds clustering the sky. The air was damp and heavy, a reminder that you only had so much time before the inevitable rainfall. 

“Lennon, hurry your ass up.”

“This shit is harder than it looks, give me a minute.”

You sighed, adjusting the weighted bag on your shoulder that held camera equipment. Lennon grunted, digging his bony fingers under the window that had swelled shut over the years. He gritted his teeth, and pushed his palms up against the splintered frame. It finally lifted with a harsh sounding scrape. 

“Finally,” you groaned, approaching the window. You peered into the room, squinting beyond the shroud of darkness that enveloped the space. It was as if the room was one gigantic hole in the earth, waiting to swallow up the next person who climbed through the window. 

“Did you bring the flashlights?” 

Lennon picked through his backpack, which held loose pins and patches curling at the ends. He produced a flashlight, and tossed it your way. You caught it, and shined it into the room. It was bare, save for a rickety chair shoved into the corner. 

You hoisted yourself up, carefully climbing under the window. The floorboards creaked beneath the weight of your body as you landed with a heavy thud. A thin layer of dust coated the wooden floors, which were discolored from age. Garish, floral wallpaper covered the walls, already peeling and faded. 

Lennon climbed through, muttering to himself. Suddenly, he cried out as his lanky body stumbled forward, nearly face-planting before you reached out. 

“Could you be any louder?” you hissed, stabilizing him. 

He huffed, and shoved your hands away. “Sorry, not all of us have the agility of a fucking cat.” 

You rolled your eyes, and slid the bag off of your shoulder, gently laying it on the ground. Lennon immediately dug out a silver cam-corder, while you grabbed your trusted digital camera. After a moment of adjusting – and assuring that the equipment worked –  you two were ready. 

“Alright,” Lennon said, aiming the camera at you. “Ready when you are, man.” The black lens stared at you like an unblinking eye, prepared to capture every twitch of yours. 

“You know I hate being on camera,” you whined, grimacing at the lens. 

“Just say where we are, and we can move on.” 

With the most deadpan expression you could muster, you caved in. “Today, Lennon and I ventured out to Anastasia Inn, a local bed and breakfast that was forced to shut down eight years ago due to bankruptcy.”

“And murder!” Lennon interrupted. 

You sighed, staring blankly at him. “Nothing was actually proven, just because some lady died in a bathtub doesn’t mean she was murdered, Lennon.” 

He shrugged, brushing off your argument. 

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, shaking your head. You two quietly walked out into the darkened hallway, using the poorly lit flashlights as a guide. The burgundy carpet held intricate designs of flowers, and vines, similar to the surrounding wallpaper. Warm oak doors were scattered along one side. Portraits of animal life and serene landscaping were hung between the empty spaces.

“Jesus,” Lennon whispered, panning the camera down the hall. “You think they could have hired a better designer.” 

It was certainly…overwhelming.  

You snapped a photo of the elongated hallway, illuminating the room with a white burst of light. When the light went out it felt as if the shadows grew closer, stretching around your presence. You stepped back, feeling as if it might actually materialize and touch you. A cold chill ran down your spine like water. 

“Hey, you alright?”

You blinked to find Lennon staring at you in concern, his wiry copper hair like a stain against the dark.

“I don’t know,” you mused, staring down the hall. “Does something feel off to you?” Even shining your flashlight failed to penetrate through the murky blackness beyond. You clenched your jaw, feeling your stomach turn. 

Lennon glanced around, swinging his camera over the walls. 

“It’s an old building,” he said, shrugging. “I would be worried if it wasn’t a little creepy.” 

You shook your head, trying to gather your nerves. A year of exploration and what startles you is a bed and breakfast of all places, you couldn’t help but scoff at the idea. 

Hillside Church was worse than this, you thought. You tightened your grip on the flashlight and cautiously pressed on. Lennon approached one of the doors, it led to a cramped supply closet that held an old, worn down broom and a bucket. Nothing worth capturing. 

You walked past him, your light leading the way toward another unopened door. Your hand tentatively wrapped around the brass doorknob, before pushing it open. 

“Please no racoons,” you whispered to yourself, squinting into the dark room. Your weak light by the doorway failed to penetrate through the room. So you stepped inside, your slick palms gripping onto the camera. It seemed to be a simple office space, as your flashlight shined on a grungy looking desk, with papers scattered over it. Curiosity drove you forward, as you walked up to the desk. 

Bold headlines from loose newspaper clipping stared up at you, with long paragraph stories attached to them. You plucked one of the articles from the desk, peering down at it. 

Revisiting The Roseville Murders: A Decade Later

In 1993, an unspeakable tragedy struck the town of Roseville. A town known for its quaint, close-knit community would soon fall victim to the hands of a masked murderer that very spring. Embark on this harrowing journey with me, as I – Linda Feldman – revisit the grizzly murders that forever altered the town of Roseville. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered, staring down at the desk. The flimsy paper shook in your hand, nearly slipping from your fingers. You turned, eager to share your discovery. “Lennon, you need to see this –”

The door slammed shut, vibrating the wall with its force. You cried out, dropping your light along with the article. 

“Very funny,” you grumbled, picking up the light and stomping over to the door. You pounded against the sturdy wood, feeling your heart lurch with every thud. “Ha ha, funny prank, now open the door!” 

“You alright?” Lennons muffled voice came through. 

“Yes, just open the damn door.” 

The door handle jiggled, as he struggled to turn it. 

“I- I can’t, it must be locked.” 

Your stomach turned at his words, feeling the blackness of the room press against your back. You grabbed at the doorknob, your sweaty palms coating the cold surface. 

“No, no, no,” you chanted, desperately pulling and twisting it. “You better open this fucking door right – Something scraped against the floor just a few feet behind you. Its presence somehow had gone unnoticed when you first entered the room. Now, it was monstrous, filling the corners of the room. They approached, so slowly, the drag of their footfalls echoing against your back. Tears brimmed in your eyes, as you let out a shaky breath. 

“Something is in here,” you whispered, as panic swelled in your chest. Lennon began to ram his shoulder into the door, wincing with every thud. 

“Why won’t it open!” he cried, pounding against it. A violent sob raked through your body, as you helplessly tugged on the doorknob. You could feel its misshapen existence reaching out for you, its twisted fingers just hovering over your waist. Its hot breath now fanned against the back of your head, close and near like a lover. A low rumble came from its chest, as if it were laughing at you. 

With whine the door came open, as Lennon nearly fell into you. You reached for his arm, dragging him down the hall without bothering to glance back. The sound of your thunderous feet resonated throughout the hall, as you and Lennon ran hand in hand. The sound of another pair of feet rushing after you pushed you forward, as if it were the devil himself. You both finally reach the open window, as if it were a beacon of light along a stormy shore. 

“Go, go, go,” you uttered, pushing Lennon before you. He climbed out, his long, clumsy limbs harshly landing on the ground. You soon followed after, pushing your body under the tight opening. Something grasped at the back of your shirt, forcing you to look over your shoulder. A horrid, white mask, taking on the face of a wide-mouthed scream stared back at you. A pair of dark, pitless eyes burned into your retinas, a sight that would haunt the very threads of your heart for years to come. 

You screamed, your face mirroring the one glaring down at you. With a forceful shove, you fell backwards, landing on top of Lennon who groaned beneath you. You wheezed, feeling the air leave your body from the harsh fall. Lennon crawled out from under you, and flopped onto his back. 

“Come on,” you started, pushing yourself up. “We need to get out of –

When you glanced up at the window the masked figure was gone, as if they were never there to begin with. One sentence flashed in your mind, if only for a second. Something you saw beforehand, an article that jumped out from the others among the table of newspaper clippings. It seemed so ludicrous, a silly name that meant nothing to you a few minutes ago. Now it feels like a stain on your mind.  

Who is The Ghostface?

[tricksh0t]

★ cassie

☾ cassian andor x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ written for andor but not much star wars connection, so you can read it for diego luna (movie in the pic is dirty dancing havana nights)

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 1.61k

cw: dom reader, sub cassian, overstim, spit as lube, feminization, from behind, mentions of spanking (none), groping, lots of swearing, arguments, improper resolution of arguments

"Why are you so concerned with being pictured as "the girl"?" Cassian crossed his arms. He looked amused more than anything, right in front of your face.

"I'm not concerned with being the girl." You say pointedly, making him actually pay attention. "I'm concerned that this community thinks this way at all."

"Nurchi and Timm are not the community." Cassian waves it off, literally and figuratively, except the grand swipe of his hand only manages to annoy you in this situation. "Besides, they were only joking!"

"You can only excuse Nurchi so many times for only joking. How many times has he threatened you over your debts?" You've never liked the guy. He has zero sympathy in a community where everybody knows each other and their circumstances. "And before you get started on how it's technically valid, that guy is an asshole."

"Rightfully so–"

"Being a hater is one thing. Being bigoted is another."

"Fine, I'll be the girl." Cassian says, and he's already jerking around wildly, fixing his hair crudely with some spit, wearing his jacket hung just past his shoulders and pushing his pants down into low-rise. His collar and shoulder bones are exposed skinny and rightfully bony, and when your eyes trail down, his hips are exposed too, alongside a bit of the skin right above his dick, just enough to make it look like he isn't sporting a good length, as if he had nothing going down there except an enticing cunt. You'll be dammed if the subtle shift of everything doesn't make him look feminine and hot.

"What?"

"I'll be the girl." He repeats, shooting you a wide smile. It quickly turns into a fake innocent look, complete with doe eyes and a slightly parted mouth.

Despite the situation, your anger burns. He's making light of a serious situation. "What do you think you're doing, Cassian?"

"Cassie, now." He says, batting his eyelashes. "It's a lot more fitting, isn't it?"

"Fine, you want to be the girl?" At that, Cassian's mouth lifts into a shit-eating grin. It persists as you grab him by the hips and walk him backwards into the wall. "You'll be the fucking girl."

His grin just turns more and more satisfied the more you lean into him. You let him think he's won the argument just to see confidence inflate his ego. Sure hands grab at your hair as you press your nose against his. His eyes are already half-lidded.

"Then again, it doesn't matter what you are behind closed doors. No one will see it anyway." You grasp his wrists in one hand and he gasps. His eyes widen, but he do nothing but watch as you push them against the wall, then up and up until his body stretches just far enough out of comfort. "Is this what you expected?"

Cassian chokes out a pathetic, "N-No."

His doe eyes are real now, except striken with visible shock and... arousal. Ha.

"You have two options." When you press your lips against his ear, he moans purely at the feeling. You've mercy enough not to mention it. "Either you back down and we can go back to arguing without poking fun at each other, or you can be the fucking girl and I fuck you right against this wall."

"Yes." Cassian agrees, but like the infuriating man that he can be sometimes, he doesn't make it clear.

You grab hold of his chin, making him yelp. You ignore that too. "What's your name?"

"Ca-Cassie!" He cries, wrists struggling in your hold, but when you let them go, they fall lax at his sides without strength.

"Good. Turn around. Hands on the wall."

He obeys your words in a flash, no tripping or getting them wrong, only his back greets you when it's all said and done.

You press yourself against him, hand groping his ass in his pants. Cassian pushes himself into your hand, arching his back to do so. Whether instinct or not, it's dirty either way, seeking either way, and yearning for your touch.

"You're a dirty girl, aren't you, Cassie?" Your playing around with his ass makes him whimper. He avoids answering, to which you squeeze his asscheek. "I asked you something."

"Yes." He spares a look back, bites his lip. Oh, that was totally on purpose.

You press yourself fully against him when you take your hand away, and he certainly enjoys it, moaning at the feeling of your bulge against him; and he's got zero shame about it, eyes locked onto yours.

"Cassie, Cassie." You repeat with the disappointed click of your tongue. You take his bottom lip between your thumb and forefinger. Cassian's tongue darts out to lick at your thumb. "Whatever will I do with you, girl?"

It's more of a rhetorical question if anything, as you twist his tongue between your fingers the next moment. As you undo his pants and begin pushing them down, Cassian licks around your thumb and other fingers like a lollipop, leaving you only to wonder what that might look like around your cock. You've had it in real life of course, but not from Cassie.

With his pants down, you fight the urge to press yourself between the flesh of his cheeks and instead to press your thoroughly wet fingers into his hole. In goes one, then two, then another; taken not with protest, but with content sighs or bold, enticing moans. Cassian's pressed his forehead against the wall now, and you take the moment to appreciate his nape, so fragile and vulnerable.

It's almost romantic, the kisses and nips you press to the back of his neck, the slow press and scissor and circle of your fingers inside of him. It's entirely not as you'd meant it to be, but this is girl, and for preparation, you have to treat her nicely.

Whatever comes after that, though—it's a free game.

At the loss of your fingers and the clink of your buckle, Cassian looks back. You click your tongue, "Ah, ah, eyes forward. You'll take it like a good girl, no complaints, you understand?"

His mouth opens for an easy answer, but the feel of the tip of your cock catching against his rim, he gasps, "Fuck yeah."

You press your cock in one swift go, it's easy. He's all loose for you with dirty spit but also he really wants it.

There's no wait, no build up. You won't grant him the gentleness of that. He pissed you off and you're about to show it. Each thrust into him slaps your skin against his, loud, but you won't care, and you won't give him any rest either. It's hard and fast, mind numbing.

Trapped against the wall, one hand beside his head and another holding his hip in a bruising grip, he's completely at your mercy with nowhere to go. No forward or side to side, just backwards, pressing right up against your body and taking your cock, and that's exactly what he does.

He pushes back against you with each thrust, meeting you half-way. He's needy, can't even wait to get it, can't even sit still and be a pillow princess. Even as your hips pounding into him slaps his ass, that pain is nothing compared to the pleasure of your cock.

But it is, still, a lot more than he bargained for.

"Shit! Slower–wait, don't! Don't." His mind's a mess. He doesn't even know what he wants, and like the greedy girl he is, he still wants for something.

"Which one is it?" You huff into his ear, "Slow down, speed up? Don't stop?"

Instead of an answer, you punch out a moan out of it instead. It's girlish and has shame burning in his cheeks, but he won't do anything about it at all because this is what he gets.

He feels crowded against the wall, trapped; sweaty and warm and actually, all too hot against your body, and his hand grips at the wall and slips because of the paint, because if he touches you he's sure he'll get a spanking. It's so feverishly good but also so damn overstimulating. Pleasure, heat, pain, overextersion, goosebumps, stings, and pleasure light up his veins.

He needs to finish right now or else you'll keep abusing his hole, fucking it open and open 'till he's kept gaping around nothing; then he'll surely miss the feeling. It's the only thought in his head.

"Please." Cassian moans, sure of what he wants now, "Please, I wanna cum."

Cassie doesn't know he doesn't have to beg for it, because you'd have gone ahead either way. Pleasure will keep coming and coming and coming without a break no matter what he does, drilling him into the wall. His body, weakened by your endless pleasure, gives way to your will and your harsh thrusts.

His cock presses into the wall, as with the rest of his body, and crudely, the constant movement and rocking of his body caused by your cock makes his dick slide along the wall. It's enough pathetic friction to have him gushing.

"Oh," Cassian moans as he finishes in white, streaky persistent ropes, "oh! Oh fuck."

For a moment, a content, toothy smile adorns his face. He's high off his peak, momentarily gone into the clouds and so lost from reality.

Except, then, as the high slips from his reach, you don't stop, and he was a fool to think you would. You haven't finished yet, and you'll chase your high and use his body for it.

The only way Cassian can respond is with a wagging tongue and another high-pitched moan. He dug himself this grave.

[bloomness]

chapter one: new moon masterlist

contains: swearing word count: 1.2k

“miller's on your ass today.” 

you sighed, your gaze flickering from the beautiful, authentic sun setting over the city’s buildings to the blazing, sun-colored dork next to you.  

“i mean really—“ he pulled out a gummy bear— from what seemed to be his never-ending side pocket stash —and stuffed it into his mouth. “you’d think the divorce would give the old bastard a revelation or something. but noooo, he’s still a bitch.” his confident gossip bubbled down into a dramatic murmur as he eventually shrugged his shoulders. 

you sighed again, head dropping into your hands as it throbbed, mind too scrambled to focus on keigo's deep interest in your manager's love life. “i need a job.”

“you have two.” keigo retorted as he moved to cross his arms. 

“i need another one.” you massage your temples before letting your hands fall to your sides. 

keigo scoffed. “you’re really not making enough?” 

“not if i don't want to be drowning in student debt for the rest of my life.” you complained. 

keigo pressed his lips together and scrunched his nose. it was the face he made when he wanted to argue on but knew better than to. the back of his head hit the brick wall behind you two as he too, stopped at a sigh. “well, i hear there’s a new club down the block. LOVE, or something?”

“love? like the word?” your voice peaked as you looked at him. 

keigo's fingers twirled around the string from his waist apron. “something like that.” the blonde's eyes fell to the sunset. yours followed them. “a couple of guys in my historical art class were talking about going.”

“the hippies—?” 

keigo cut you off before you could finish your comment  “my point is,” he leaned closer— most likely for dramatic effect, “they’re probably hiring.”

it was your turn to press your lips together now. 

“bartending isn’t that bad.” keigo coaxed and you almost laughed at how fast he was able to switch his opinion on this idea. but keigo kept his eyes on the sun, like he was thinking about his plans for the future too. a good future. “plus the tips make it so worth it.” he titled his head toward you, shooting you a sly grin. he nodded his head, ‘yeah?’ as he nudged your shoulder. 

your cold façade cracked into a warm smile. keigo always found a way to cheer you up. it was stupidly ironic. “i’ll apply when i get home.” 

“and you want to swear up and down that we aren’t friends.” keigo scoffed. you showed no mercy when shoving his shoulder though he just laughed loudly. “midnight is doing pretty nice though. the regulars are cute and who knows, maybe miller will consider giving us raises.”

a chortle escaped your throat. “yeah. like shit.” your lips didn’t remain curled up for long. your eyes faltered to a determined degree, your mind sharp on your goal. you had always tried your best to fight for yourself, nothing about that would change. nothing would change. a high tension that you didn’t even realize you had dropped from your shoulder like anchors. you were secure. you were safe. 

keigo kicked a rock at the ground, “my shift ends in thirty so i should head in.” he pointed back at the door. you nodded your head, giving him a small wave as he turned to go back into the bar. 

the orange and yellow kissed hue from the sun tinted your face. you didn’t think about how long it'll actually take you to pay off your tuition. you didn’t think about the piles of homework you'd have to do when you got home. you didn’t even think about how you’d last the last half of this twelve-hour shift. 

you just closed your eyes and focused on the sunshine’s delicate mark on your skin. 

just a block down the packed city was LOV, whose grand opening last saturday had a total of twenty-three arrivals.

“told you this was a shit idea.” a gravelly voice opined as he flicked fresh ash from the window sill and let it fall onto the dirted path outside.    

a low voice snarled in response, bony fingers typing away on his computer. 

“don’t know why the old man—“

“shut up.” tomura snapped. 

touya just grinned, “whats got your panties in a bunch, boss?” he shook his head in amusement, a stupid grin unreasonably placed on his lip. “you had high hopes or something?”

“shut the fuck up.” tomura eyes didn’t leave his screen, they only squinted as he muttered something to himself and his fingers swiped across the mouse pad of his laptop. 

“god— are you like, virtually wired to the internet or something?” touya trudged over to tomuras set up, finding a comfortable spot on the back of his chair to rest his forearm on and inspect what tomura was so fixated on. 

touya—surprisingly—was stunned.

“what the fuck is that?”

his laptop displayed a website page for a bar named moonlight. the layout was impressive alone; the backdrop flashed photos of a variety of very satisfied customers at the bar. an animation of a sparkling star shot across the top of the site, lighting up the bars boldly displayed name. and even—

“shit.” touya voice dropped to a whisper, mouth hanging dangerously close to tomuras ear. “look at that. they even got an interactive menu.” he disclosed, treating it as a cherry on top of moonlight's enormous advantaged cake. 

“how the fuck are these bougie ass motherfuckers packed every. single. fucking. night.” tomuras finger tapped rhythmically against his desk, seemingly mindless, but touya took notice.

touya pulled away, crossing his arms as his hip leaned up against tomuras desk. “we could use some better advertising.” he shrugged— acting as if he wouldn’t take huge offense if his comment wasn’t taken into consideration.

luckily, tomura could recognize touya's snotty tone for what it really meant and couldn’t be bothered to push it.  “yeah.” he sighed, elbows falling onto his desk as his hands found themselves tangled into his sea of unbrushed hair. “when you learn how to code, come back to me with that.” he taunted through gritted teeth.

touya rolled his eyes, even though he knew tomura couldn’t see. “whatever. we can’t be in the slumps forever.” scarred hands reached for his phone as he pulled up the website on his own. his feet led him to the back door, hand reaching for his coat on the rack. 

tomuras head peaked up at the sound of touya fleeting feet. 

“and where the fuck are you going?”

“out.” touya dismissed, eyes still glued onto his phone screen as he typed in the directions from the website onto his map app. 

tomura huffed out a heavy breath when the back door slammed shut. he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms and legs far before settling back into his— what he swears is —not-so-horribly crooked posture. “fucking hell.” he muttered.

eventually his finger fell back onto his keyboard, clacking sound blending into the background noise once more. 

touya sneered on the other side of the door. his gait was confident as he followed direction of the rising moon. 

masterlist next

“here it comes, here it comes” | LCD soundsystem