#manhandling twink hours

[h-a-unted]

Reacher's cover is blown, but it's a lovers' quarrel.

— Season 3 Episode 6: Smoke on the Water

[argentinesunshine]

Franco Colapinto is picked up like a ragdoll by adoring G-Drive mechanics after driving to P2 in the 2021 ELMS 4 Hours of Red Bull Ring (x)

[smallnico]

durge desensitizes to casual positive affection and friendship compilation

also known as real feline durge hours. esper's companions look at them and say Is Anyone Gonna Manhandle That Murderous Twink and then not wait for an answer. contexts/explanations under readmore for the curious

lae'zel and esper do morning exercises and meditation together. most of the time they pass the time in silence, but sometimes they're joined by the local wildlife. esper is a great fan of showing their friends things they might find interesting as a form of affection instead of words, especially with lae'zel, since they have a common discomfort with small talk.

esper doesn't like looking at themself in the mirror, so their makeup is always ancient and haphazardly applied, a fact that distresses the more image-conscientious shadowheart. she and esper have a sibling-like relationship fuelled by mutual amnesia and goth solidarity, among other things, but sometimes a sister has to take it upon herself to fix her stinky sibling's wings.

i already expanded on wyll and esper's dynamic a bit in this piece and i didn't feel like drawing the same thing twice, but suffice it to say, they have absolutely no idea how to talk to each other, but still look out for each other. the joke here is about how i've done a couple of long rests in-game with just alcohol i've found. hey 5 camp supplies is 5 camp supplies

jaheira unearths esper's forgotten mother issues. no real things to add here. no thoughts only cub.

gale said way back in act 1 that esper reminded him of tara, and esper isn't leaning into that on purpose per se, but as i said for lae'zel, they like getting their friends things those friends might enjoy. they also love chaos. show your evocation wizard some love by bringing him extremely destructive spells to play with. show your durge some love by casting chain lightning and letting them watch

i have no justification for this one lmao. esper isn't a Huge fan of being picked up and hefted around like a sack of oats, but maybe they should've thought of that before being small and scoop-uppable. socially, esper and halsin don't click especially well, but esper is fundamentally a creature, and therefore pretty easy for halsin to understand. obviously they don't mind that much :J

esper and karlach voted two most touch-starved nerds in faerun, they help each other cope by sleeping in a cuddle pile like cats. karlach runs warm even after getting her engine tuned up, but esper doesn't mind. she's cozy

astarion is by far the person esper is the most verbal with, probably because he's the only one who really thinks the durgeisms that slip out are funny and #relatable. everyone else errs on the side of caution with esper, but astarion knows he's allowed to take liberties with them, and he does. they have the same sense of humour. these two freaks are completely insufferable together because they're vibing so hard on a level incomprehensible to everyone around them, but astarion can put a stop to esper's self-destructive internal stress engine, and esper can drag him into helping and working hard. the others have no choice but to tolerate them as a couple because no matter how unhinged they are as a unit, they're so much worse for society on the whole as individuals. do not separate them

if you read all this, hope you enjoyed this illumination of esper's party dynamics, i love you <3 enjoy

[bwoobiez]

Subby Sebby [NSFW || Sebastian x GN!Reader]

— CONTENT: anal, mild mention of kink (hair pulling, praise), rough sex

— AUTHORS NOTE: I need more submissive sebastian in my life

SUMMARY: Fucking Sebastian in the ass is fun, via strap or cock

It was painful when sebastian took your length for the first time. He couldn't help it - the poor guy’s hole was so small compared to your girth, causing him to whimper with every inch that disappeared inside his body. You cooed words of comfort the entire time, a bunch of “goood boy”s and “that's it…” along with some headpats and kisses

The sight and feeling of this fucking twink beneath you was just incredible. You loved watching the mix of pain and pleasure flash across his face, the way his brows furrowed then raised and how tears welled at the corner of his eyes. It was precious.

The first time was slow and passionate, getting him used to the feeling and savoring the moment. You couldn't keep your lips off each other the entire time

Sebastian reached his orgasm way before yours, like not even 10 minutes into it. He had many in a row, actually. You found the fact that he came so fast to be so adorably pathetic, so from then on you used that to your full advantage

Prostate orgasms were nothing like he's ever experienced before, and he was immediately hooked. He was willing to have sex anywhere as long you guys didn't get caught

He loved how much of a slut he felt like whenever you were rough with him. For him, it was mostly the mental aspect of anal; it felt so feral and “forbidden”. What you guys did was considered “taboo” in Pelican town.

It felt even more taboo underneath his parents’ roof. Maru and David working on their science experiments, Robin running her shop, meanwhile their whore of a son would be in the basement getting plowed.

He'd be bent over his couch while you pulled his hair back. The force of your hips could damn near shatter his pelvis (it was just so easy to manhandle this lanky emo man)

Of course, ropes of cum just shot out of him like crazy. Orgasms back-to-back. Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful. So you did it again for the next hour

[sinfulcries]

🍵 Call me the tea anon.

I’ve never done something like this as I’m kinda new to Tumblr so sorry if this is a bother.

But can I have a strong tiger villain reader who kidnaps hawks. He would treat hawks like a pet or force him into being their submissive mate by putting a callor on him, scratching his arms or legs as a way of marking him, and biting his neck.

But when the reader gets in the mood they decide to force him to have sex with him against his will. The reader would cum in him many times for hours until he breaks.

I’m sorry if this is too graphic and too much and I hope you aren’t uncomfortable with this.

predators and prey - hawks x male reader

author’s note. my tip sticky. anyways i wanna breed keigo so bad, you just know this twink has the tightest ass LITERALLY he would take my cock in so good.

tw. DARK CONTENT, noncon, animal hybrids, kink, size difference, dacryphilia, spit, belly bulging, manhandling, no prep, forced sex and penetration

Tiger hybrids were such fascinating species indeed. Though they were much rarer and tons more intimidating than their feline counterpart, they certainly had their own intense and alluring charm. Others practically praised the ground you walked on— You were so exotic that people would instantly turn their heads to admire just how handsome and confident you looked, striding around the city with such a cool aura.

If tigers were considered to be at the top of the food chain, birds just like Keigo ranked somewhere at the bottom.

Although he was quite pretty with his golden eyes and high cheekbones— good looks outweighed in his strength making him weaker than most animal-human hybrids. He was nothing but a pretty bird with a pretty body. And other tiger hybrids would be stupid if they didn’t pounce on him, the moment he showed just the slightest bit of vulnerability.

You were never afraid to use your brazen strength to your advantage. It was part of your nature, being so aggressive and rough with everyone you interacted with. However, The sight of Keigo made the animalistic urge in your gut claw at you from the inside.

Especially now that he was underneath you, clawing at your bicep all while begging for you to let him go— The tears in those cute big eyes only ensured that you kept your grip on him nice and secure being extra careful so that he wouldn’t be able to escape. Not that he wouldn’t be able to with how weak he was compared to you.

“Stop struggling, You wouldn’t want me... harming those beautiful wings of yours would you?” You teased letting your fingernails scratch at the sensitive bone, a muffled sob only leaving Keigo’s lips in response.

The man could feel his heart racing every time he felt your sharp claws on his skin and your warm breath against his nape. It was obvious that you wanted to devour him— have him ruined by the time you were done having fun with his tiny body however as you hastily ripped each piece of his clothing off, the fear coursing through his veins made his cock twitch with masochistic anticipation.

Keigo was absolutely gorgeous— There was no doubt in that, if he wasn’t, you wouldn’t have chose him to be your mate but seeing him trembling beneath you, pale skin flushed pink and cock twitching pathetically against his stomach, you could feel your cock chubbing in arousal, a dark smirk worming it’s way slowly onto your lips.

“Now that’s a fucking sight...” You groaned breathlessly, taking his leaking cock in your hand before jerking him off at a steady pace, relishing in the way his body jerked upwards into your touch. Keigo could slowly feel his mind melting with the numbing pleasure that you were providing him; and the stimulation on his sensitive cock only made matters worse for him as he started craving for even more.

“Mmf—!” The blonde moaned girlishly, shutting his eyes as he felt himself shooting ropes of cum on his stomach, your calloused fingers now inching downwards from his cock to his ass. This was so fucking embarrassing! Keigo felt so filthy, and you loved every second of it— your eyes shining brightly in twisted fascination.

“Hm you seem loose enough, I’m feeling a bit impatient today..” You murmured, fisting your length before pressing the head against his tight hole, teasing the man by spitting on his face, a sick smile plastered on your face as you watched the fat gob roll down his eye and down to his cheek.

Wordlessly pushing your fat cock inside of him, Keigo let out an inhuman scream, the cloth in his mouth now deemed useless with how loud his voice was raised. Giving the smaller male an amused chuckle, you took your time in marveling at the way your cock would disappear inch after inch inside of his ass. And though Keigo was sobbing in pain, wings flapping uselessly behind his back, You only gave him a second to adjust to your size before fucking him nice and hard on your mattress.

Keigo was positive that he was going to break! You were so rough with him! Manhandling and fucking him as if he was a mere rag doll. Each and every deep thrust made his body jolt with pleasure, the air in his lungs getting knocked out of him every time you slammed into him balls deep without a single regard to his well being.

Keeping a tight grip on his waist, You let out a deep groan as you watched the man crumble beneath you. You were certain that he’d look even prettier passed out limp on your cock. “God— I can see my cock moving in your tummy. You’re so fucking tiny, so easy for me to destroy.” You laughed, pace unwavering as you snapped your hips vigorously against his— Your thrusts slowly turning sloppy as you felt your high approaching.

The blonde could vividly feel your cock rearranging his guts— he was going to become a mother! The thought of birthing your children only made his ass clench tighter around you, milking your cock of all it’s worth as you came deep inside of him, filling his womb with your hot cum.

Keigo looked pathetic now that he was leaking with your cum, however you were far from finished! And stuffing the pretty boy with more of your cum was the only thing that occupied your head. Giving the man’s cheek a firm slap, You smirked, “Don’t look so relieved yet, Keigo. We still have to fill that belly up with more cum.”

[deliriiuumm]

i’ll be the end of your affinity to cut and run

Fandom: The Sandman

Pairing: Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/ Hob Gadling)

Rating: E

Word count: 5,986

Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Pub Owner Hob Gadling, Bartender Dream, Service Top Hob Gadling, Bratty Bottom Dream, Friends With Benefits, Overstimulation, Body Worship, Tattoos, Scars, Pining while fucking, Anal Sex, Pub Sex, Edging, I Want That Twink Obliterated, Idiots to Lovers (implied), The Love Is Requited They're Just Idiots, Dream's Strange and Off-Putting Laughter, Character Study, Relationship Study

Preview:

Being with Hob makes wanting easier. When he’s around, Dream can’t stop himself from wanting to be used and objectified. To be shoved against the wall, manhandled onto the bed, to be disrespected, and taken advantage of. To feel. Hob understands this and gives him exactly what he wants and this sends Dream into a state of constant desire.

As usual, Hob and Dream are the only ones left in The New Inn after closing hours. (Bartender Friends With Benefits AU)

Read on Ao3

[eryiss]

Summary: Natsu and Bickslow hooked up on their first night together, and found an instant connection in each others' beds. Freed and Gray took things slower, with gentle kisses and stolen glances. Two couples with different dynamic, enjoying each other's bodies on the same night.

Notes: Hi all. This is the final of the Bickslow x Natsu, Freed x Gray trilogy. As you can tell from the summary, it has adult content so be aware. And, so it's clear, this is two separate ships, not an OT4. Hope you all enjoy it.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Part 1, Part 2

Tags: @selfawarecobalt, @jemmahazelnut, @morbidflames

Two Types Of Lovers

=Bickslow & Natsu=

Natsu clicked open the can of Red Bull, downed the drink without stopping for breath, and tossed it into the trash. Bickslow simply sat back with his hands behind his bed, leaning against the headboard of his bed. His dick was hard, creating an obvious tent. He didn't care, too interested in the show of his boyfriend's bobbing throat and slightly parted lips as he finished the energy drink.

The fact Natsu was naked, sweat-slicked, and had Bickslow's cum dripping down his stomach made the sight particularly more enticing.

They'd been in bed for hours, fucking and kissing and making out like animals. Being in a long distance relationship was hard - pun intended - and so their sex life had taken a hit. Their phone and video-call sex life had skyrocketed, but man on man time was basically non-existent. So, when Natsu had taken the train up to meet Bickslow for the weekend, both men had decided that they were going to make up for lost time and screw one another like their life depended on it. That had started nearly five hours ago, and neither man was ready to stop.

"There ain't no shame if you can't keep up," Bickslow said from the bed, grinning as he climbed out of the bed. "Got some Viagra if you can't get it up for a while."

"Young guys don't need Viagra," Natsu scoffed. "Guess that's why you've got some, huh?"

"You little bitch," Bickslow laughed. "I'll get you back for that."

"If your old man joints can catch up with me running away from ya, then go ahead," Natsu turned and smirked, his cock just as hard as Bickslow's. Hm, the firecracker was hung like hell and unashamed to show it. "You wanna get back into bed or what?"

"Nah," Bickslow smirked.

"Nah?" Natsu parroted.

"Yeah, you pissed me off," Bickslow shrugged, taking a step forward. His broad, heaving chest was almost touching Natsu's, and the firecracker looked up at him with a cocky attitude. Natsu had risen to the challenge. "Make it up to me."

Natsu, not needing to be told twice, smirked. He took a small step forward, pressed their naked, sweaty bodies together, and wrapped his arms around Bickslow's waist. With a horny grin, he leant up and kissed Bickslow with ferocious passion, grinding his hard dick into Bickslow's in a sexy gyration. He heard Bickslow moan into the kiss, which only spurred Natsu to grind in a more teasing, slutty way. Bickslow had practically moaned when Natsu told him he used to dance, and Natsu was happy to show off to him.

Removing one hand from Bickslow's waist, Natsu began to roam his hand over the other man's chest and abs. They were wet from the activity, a mingling of sweat and cum, and Natsu pulled away from the kiss to lick his fingers of the sweet, horny cocktail. Bickslow watched him with wide eyes, and Natsu relished in the attention.

"Holy crap Firecracker," Bickslow moaned. "You know how hot you are, right?"

"Hot enough to get you back in the bed?"

"Better," Bickslow grinned. "Much better."

With firm hands and powerful strength, Bickslow suddenly turned Natsu around so that the twink had his back to Bickslow. He knew Natsu loved to be manhandled, so he roughly shoved the man forward, pushing his waist against his desk. Natsu seemed to lean over on instinct, his plump, muscular ass on show. Both men were switched, but Bickslow loved how quick to play the horny sub Natsu could be.

Bickslow ran his hand down Natsu's spine, stroking him firm and hard. Natsu groaned - he loved any touch, it seemed - before playfully running a finger down the tempting crease of his ass. Natsu shivered and pushed back into it, and Bickslow grinned.

"Come on," Natsu whined. "Fuck me old man."

"Old man?" Bickslow asked, immediately removing his hand and grinning when Natsu pushed back. "You really wanna have me tease ya, don't you Firecracker?"

"No, didn't mean it," Natsu argued, voice begging. God, he sounded hot like that. "Sorry."

"You will be," Bickslow chuckled.

He leant down and gave Natsu's ass a firm, hard smack. He waited for a moment to watch Natsu's reaction - thinking that maybe he shouldn't have done it - but when Natsu bucked so hard into the desk that an ornament fell over and he moaned like a damn pornstar, Bickslow knew he'd stumbled upon a darling little masochist. Better yet, Natsu was a masochist who had just earned himself a spanking.

With a featherlight touch he knew would drive Natsu wild, he ran his hand over Natsu's reddened ass cheek. Natsu groaned and tried rutting his ass against Bickslow's hand, but Bickslow simply placed a firm hand on his lower back to keep him still. When Natsu stopped moving, Bickslow spoke.

"You called me old. I'm two years older than you, not twenty," Bickslow said, voice firm and sharp. "So, yer getting twenty spanks. How many have you already had?"

"One," Natsu grunted, voice low now.

"Yeah, that's right," Bickslow praised. "Now, count out the rest of them for me."

SLAP

"Two."

SLAP

"Three."

SLAP SLAP SLAP.

"Four. Five. Si-ahh-six."

Bickslow was relentless with his spanking, knowing that his boyfriend could both take the pain and would want more. Natsu was a man who thrived on intensity and would much prefer a fully painful whack than a wimpy slap, and Bickslow was happy to oblige. Natsu's voice was getting more and more shaky after each hit, and his ass was getting redder and redder. Bickslow loved the sight of it.

Once all twenty spanks had been delivered, Bickslow ran a cold hand over the man's bruised ass to calm him. Natsu raised his ass up to meet Bickslow's palm, and the larger man grinned. He quickly ducked down and pressed his lips into the middle of the red mark, kissing his work.

"You really feel sorry, Firecracker?" Bickslow asked.

"Yes," Natsu whined.

"You ever gonna call me old again?"

"Fuck yeah, if you're gonna do that again," Natsu snarked, looking over his shoulder with a flushed face and a smirk. Bickslow grinned back, but pinched Natsu's ass and twisted, making him moan.

"You're lucky you're so cute, boy," Bickslow told him. "Grab the edge of the desk and don't let go."

"Yes sir," Natsu teased, but Bickslow decided he would have Natsu call him that again.

Natsu did as he was told, reaching over and grasping the far edge of the desk with both hands. Bickslow took a moment to appreciate the sight. Natsu was fucking delectable at all times, but bent over Bickslow's work desk, with a spanked ass and a straining cock, his muscles tense and his strong back flexing, Bickslow could cum just watching him. But, well, fucking the man to oblivion was much more fun.

With his hands on Natsu's waist, he leant down so his body was pushed over Natsu's. The man moaned at the feeling and Bickslow had to hold back a groan himself. Feeling Natsu against him set his body on fire.

"You ready baby?" He whispered.

"Fuck me," Natsu demanded. "Hard."

"Whatever you want," Bickslow grinned.

He was standing upright a moment later, one hand at the base of his cock. He had foregone a condom as they both were tested and squirted only a small amount of lube on his dick. Natsu had said he loved the burn of being fucked, and Bickslow aimed to please.

Without mercy, he thrust forward, plowing into Natsu's waiting hole. The man groaned loudly, his back arching as he was filled by Bickslow's tormenting dick. Bickslow showed no restraint nor patience as he thrust in and out of the man's tight hole, hands tight and digging into Natsu's waist. His entire body ached from the past few hours, but that spurred him on. He had always wanted to feel his body close to explosion as he fucked his man, and he'd never been as close to this as he was in that moment.

God, everything about this was incredible. The feeling of Natsu fully taking him, rucked up against the desk where Bickslow worked every day, was euphoric. It was dirty, forbidden, and animalistic. Bickslow had never been with someone who could keep up with him like this.

"God you're so hot baby," Bickslow groaned. "You know that right? Hottest motherfucker on the planet."

"Look in a mirror sometime," Natsu moaned, voice strained and body flexing beautifully.

"I do. I'm second to ya, baby," Bickslow grunted the words, slamming hard into Natsu's prostate and making him shudder and groan. "I don't say shit like that lightly, because I'm hot as fuck too."

"Hell, yeah you are," Natsu grinned.

Bickslow didn't once stop, spurred on by the intensive burning filling him and the rising need to cum. His dick was straining and aching with use, and he knew that when he came, it would be explosive and overwhelming. Everything with Natsu was explosive and overwhelming, and Bickslow had grown to crave that feeling.

"You close baby?" Bickslow asked through gritted teeth.

"Been close since the spankin'," Natsu hissed.

"Let go baby," Bickslow ordered.

With renewed speed, Bickslow continued his barrage of thrusts into Natsu's ass. He let his bruising grasp of Natsu's waist waver slightly, letting the man lift himself up ever so slightly. Natsu groaned, his body tensing tighter and tighter. His back was flexing, biceps straining, and fuck he looked so goddamn hot like that.

"Oh shit," Natsu yelled. "Shit. Oh, fuck yeah! FUCK!"

Natsu's ass tightened around Bickslow, and the larger man groaned and shivered. He watched as the man below him gripped the desk as tight as he could, rutting and thrusting back into Bickslow's dick as cum hard over the desk.

Holy shit, Bickslow put his laptop exactly in that place. He'd never be able to use this desk without thinking about this again.

That was so hot!

An explosion of pleasure filled him, rushing through his body and into his spasming cock. Cum spurted out as he roared into the silence of his apartment, his body burning in every sense but literal. He rucked and fucked Natsu fast, hard and relentless as he rode out the wave of his orgasm, hack arched and head lolling in pleasure.

"Holy shit," He whispered as he slowly pulled out, reaching for some tissues to clean Natsu's ass of his spunk. "That was the hottest one. We can't beat that."

"We totally can," Natsu said, voice hoarse but a grin on his face. He slowly stood up straight, and Bickslow already felt his dick twitching at the sight of Natsu's writing abs and tense chest. Every part of this man was so sexy.

"You think?"

"Hell yeah," Natsu grinned. "Unless you're too much of an old man to keep up?"

"Yeah, you're definitely getting a spanking again."

"Ain't a problem for me," Natsu laughed, trailing his nails down Bickslow's chest. "But I saw ropes and handcuffs in your closet. How about I tie you to your bed and ride ya until you're seeing stars?"

"Sounds totally fucking hot, baby," Bickslow proclaimed. "You better ride me good though."

"As if I could ride a man like you and not give it my all," Natsu laughed. "Get your old ass on the bed."

Bickslow laughed and did not argue. In the bedroom, whatever Natsu wanted, Bickslow was going to give him.

----

~Gray x Freed~

"You can take the bed; I don't mind being on the sofa."

Gray managed not to mumble the words, thank God. Throughout the day, there had been moments when he'd fallen into a bashful and almost blushing version of himself. He'd worked hard to recover his image from his teenage years, becoming a cool, calm and collected guy who was happily confident in himself and his body. Being around Freed, and letting his boyfriend get to know him in a real sense, had made him nervous. He didn't like it.

When he'd invited Freed to stay for the weekend at his place, he had done so thinking that they'd share the bed. It was natural. They were a couple, after all, that was what happened. But now, he felt like he'd misjudged it. What if Freed wasn't ready for that?

"No," Freed said plainly, from where he was sitting on Gray's bed.

"What?"

"I said no, that's not going to happen," Freed reiterated, as if stating a fact. "This is your bed; you should use it."

Gray knew he was blushing, but it didn't matter. What did Freed mean by that? Was he being considerate and offering to take the sofa for himself, or was he telling Gray that they would be sharing the bed? Freed hadn't seemed like the forceful type, so it was probably the former. Freed wanted them to sleep apart and was being polite about taking the sofa instead; that was all.

"As for me," Freed continued, either not knowing about Gray;s struggles or simply ignoring them. "We'll improvise."

"Improvise?" Gray asked.

Without speaking, Freed simply took Gray's hand and pulled him closer, so that he was standing inside Freed's spread legs. Freed leant up, placing a hand on the back of Gray's neck, and pulled him into a slow kiss. Gray found himself reciprocating without a moment's thought, the feeling of Freed's lips against him calming him better than anything he'd ever felt before. Freed had that effect on him.

Freed gently pulled Gray down, not with force, simply guiding him lower. To be comfortable, Gray needed to rest, and found himself sitting on one of Freed's thighs, straddling it without realizing it. He still didn't stop kissing.

It was hypnotic, and Gray was fully under the spell.

"Gray," Freed whispered, pulling apart but only barely. "There is no pressure either way, but you need to know this. You are one of the most enchanting, handsome, tempting men that I have ever met. Anything you want, and anything you wish to do, I know that I will want it too. Do with that what you will."

"Okay," Gray mumbled, nodding.

That was helpful, actually. Part of Gray's nervousness was not knowing if they were on the same page with where they were. He didn't know how to bring up those conversations, and Freed had just put everything out there without blinking. So, that was something.

What else was something was the fact Freed found him 'enchanting, handsome and tempting.' He'd been called handsome a few times, but never enchanting nor tempting. Mainly, whenever he was given a compliment about his looks, it was sexy. Yeah, it went straight to his ego, and it wasn't like he didn't know he was hot, but it got a little boring after a while. Maybe Freed had known that. Freed was thoughtful like that. Gray should tell him.

"You think I look hot, huh?" Gray asked, because dammit he couldn't be real about things, could he? "Knew doing those video calls in my boxers was getting to ya."

"I think," Freed began, seeming to pick his words carefully. "That you have the body of a man cut from stone, that every inch of you is utterly delicious to look at, and I would love to call you my lover. However, I also think you are a man with thoughts and opinions of his own, and those should be leading what happens tonight, not my desires."

Ah fucking dammit. That was smooth and thoughtful. Motherfucker.

"And," Gray said, and had to force the words out. "What if those thoughts and opinions matched up with your desires, but I'm not quite sure about it yet."

"Then, if you're agreeable, we simply kiss," Freed said. "And if something more happens, then we let it happen."

Well, that took the complications out of the situation. Gray was about to say that, but Freed cupped his chin and leaned in for another kiss. Gray kissed him back this time, adding a little more umph to it and licking Freed's lips as an invitation for more. Freed was opening his mouth immediately, and Gray decided to let himself be enveloped in the kiss, and let Freed take the lead for now.

At some point, they'd lied down on the bed, with Gray on top of Freed as they lazily kissed. Gray could feel his hands roaming over Freed's firm, cut stomach under his shirt, and the feeling was tantalizing. Freed's own hands were still cupping Gray's cheeks.

Without realizing it, Gray was unbuttoning Freed's shirt, and pushing it to the side.

"Damn," He whispered, leaning back and looking at his boyfriend. "You're ripped!"

"Somewhat hypocritical of you, darling," Freed chuckled. "Remember, I've seen you shirtless many times now. You're most certainly more muscular than I."

"I don't know," Gray shrugged. "You're looking pretty enchanting, handsome and tempting right now."

"Then perhaps you should do something about it?" Freed asked. Not pressuring him simply assuring him that the offer was still there.

Gray didn't let himself think too much, and instead leant forward again and started to kiss Freed with more passion. His hands were roaming around Freed's chest and abs, and he could feel Freed pulling his own shirt over his shoulders. They pulled apart for just long enough for the shirt to be pulled over his head, before it was thrown to the side. He saw Freed looking at his torso with a smirk, and that gave him a jolt of confidence. He could do this. He was Gray Fucking Fullbuster dammit.

With spurred on movements, he all but tackled his boyfriend to the bed, who laughed. The sound was swallowed by a deep kiss, as Gray leant against Freed and ran his hands down Freed's body yet again. This time, though, he had a target. Freed's belt.

Holy shit, even the thought of it sent a thrill down him.

After fiddling with the belt buckle, Gray pulled the belt out and discarded it to the side of the bed. He didn't once stop kissing Freed softly as both he and Freed kicked the man's pants off. They kissed for a moment, but temptation filled Gray and he pulled apart to see how hot Freed looked in his boxers. But… he wasn't wearing boxers. He was wearing a jockstrap. And not a jockstrap that would offer any support either.

It was tight, figure hugging, and clearly meant to be sexy. Gray raised an eyebrow at him.

"I am a patient man," Freed assured him. "But I'm also an optimist and had a feeling I knew how this would end."

"Cocky son of a bitch," Gray chuckled.

"If you don't like them, I can take them off," Freed said with a small smirk. Well, that certainly took the pressure off. Arrogant bastard.

"Bet I can strip before you can," Gray challenged.

He was naked before Freed could even blink, a handy little talent for moments like this. Freed was sitting back on the bed, still wearing that bulging damn jockstrap, and looking Gray's naked body up and down with clear attraction. Gray felt his cock swelling at just the sight of it, and he gave his boyfriend a little flex of his biceps to really give him a show.

It was weird. It was so clear that Freed found him sexy, and Gray actually loved knowing that. Maybe it mattered who thought he was sexy.

"You ever gonna take those off?" Gray asked, grinning. "Getting kinda lonely."

Maybe Freed was the man to challenge Gray's speed at stripping, because the jockstrap was taken off within a second. Gray took a moment to appreciate just how hot the man he was dating truly was. Strong and toned in every way, with a body made up of sharp angles and cut muscle, and the beautifully long dick made Gray's mouth water.

It had been too long that Gray had been with another man. He forgot how hot a sexy man could be.

Wordlessly, they were kissing again, this time with Gray sprayed out on the mattress with Freed on top of him. The weight of the other man was just incredible, and Gray loved it. Freed really was stronger than Gray had given him credit for. It was amazing.

As they made out, their hands tenderly roamed over each other's bodies. It was soft and gentle and delicate, and exactly what Gray needed. He was confident in many ways, but he wasn't going to rush to bed. And now that he had Freed in his bed, over him and kissing him, he felt no need to rush nor to run towards fucking. Freed was the first time Gray had understood the difference between fucking and making love, and dammit he wanted to make love to Freed.

Spurred on by confidence, he ran his hand down Freed and grazed the man's hard dick with his palm. Their dicks had gently butted against each other as they kissed, but this was the first time either man had gone to touch each other's cocks.

Freed let out a little hiss of breath but smiled.

"That okay?" Gray whispered.

"Yes," Freed said, gentle but firm. "May I do the same?"

"Yeah," Gray panted, smiling.

Freed was kissing Gray the next moment, his hands still roaming up and down Gray's legs, but rising higher than they had before. Gray felt his boyfriend's large hands cupping his balls for a moment, before stroking Gray's hard dick softly and cautiously. Gray burrowed his face into the crook of Freed's neck and groaned.

"Good, hm?" Freed teased gently.

"Don't be a dick," Gray mumbled. "There's enough dicks to deal with already."

"That's true," Freed laughed softly, pressing his lips into Gray's hair in a soft kiss. "You ready?"

Gray nodded, and a moment later he felt Freed's hand gently stroking his cock up and down. He groaned, softly bucking up into Freed's palm before remembering that he had a role to play too. He took hold of Freed's own straining dick and began to stroke it at the exact same pace Freed was stroking him. He groaned a little, but Freed's lips were on his own a moment later, and they were kissing again.

It was gentle, but more intense than anything Gray had ever been through. Their limbs were tangled, naked bodies writing and pushing against one another, and it was perfect. Gray ran cold whereas Freed's body felt hot, and it was a perfect contradiction.

Freed's cock was slick in his hand, lubed up by the man's own precum. Gray loved the feeling of the thick shaft gliding up and down in his hand, and the little moans that Freed was making as he slowly jerked him off.

But that was nothing compared to what Freed was doing.

He was stroking Gray's cock with expert control, and it was taking a hell of a lot of effort not to buck and thrust into the jerking hand like a horny teenager. He was moaning and groaning into the kiss, trying and succeeding in getting his body closer and closer to Freed's, feeling the heat of the man's strong chest and firm abs. God, everything about Freed was so hot, so enticing. Gray loved everything about it.

The feeling of orgasm snuck up on him, and not something he was familiar with. When he jerked himself off, there was a moment of pleasure which immediately went away. This was different.

It was an experience.

The feeling of growing anticipation had been fizzing under the surface the moment Freed had pulled him to him. It had grown more and more, with each kiss and removed piece of clothing, the growing need got more and more intense. It was like the rising of music, or the growing anticipation of a dramatic scene in cinema, but visceral. His body was almost glowing with the feeling or need getting larger and larger.

He wan panting as Freed jerked him off, his own grasp on Freed's cock tightening as he felt cum spurting from his cock. The orgasm didn't overwhelm him but delighted him. It was a brilliant feeling of wondrous pleasure, and just as intense as he wanted it to be. This was a night of gentle, growing love, and the shaking orgasm that hit him was perfect for that.

A moment later, he noticed Freed's eyes clenched shut, and cum hit Gray's chest a moment later. Gray chuckled.

"You been saving yourself for me?" He teased gently. "That was a hell of a cum-shot."

"What can I say," Freed smiled, leaning up and peppering kisses over Gray's jaw. "I intended to make you feel good."

"It fucking worked," Gray told him, shifting slightly so Freed was straddling him as they kissed. "That was so good, Freed. I ain't ever… I mean a guy's never… holy shit that was good."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, darling," Freed chuckled. "You're beautiful when you orgasm, has anyone ever told you?"

"Nobody's ever said beautiful before," Gray shrugged, and Freed smiled slightly.

"Well, you do," Freed leant up and pressed a final slow, chaste kiss onto Gray's lips. He could feel their hard cocks jutting again, but before he could make a comment Freed spoke again. "As much as I'd like to keep going, and trust me I would, I think we should stop for tonight. If you don't mind."

"I don't," Gray said firmly. "Can I ask why?"

"Honestly," Freed began, cheeks red and gaze averting. "I think today has been perfect, and tonight has been the best way to finish it. And as much as a small part of me is screaming to keep going with this, I can think of no better way of completing the night with you in my arms, in your bed, sleeping by your side."

"Really?" Gray asked, voice a little happy. Gray was kind of a romantic, and Freed seemed to be like that too.

"We have so few truly perfect moments in our lives," Freed shrugged, still not looking at Gray. "We should enjoy them when they arise."

"Yeah," Gray nodded. "We should."

And, leading Freed to lie beside him, Gray pulled the covers over them and curled into his boyfriend's chest. Freed was right, this was the perfect way to end this evening. Perfect.

[joshslater]

Breeder

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon. (Repost without the photo from another tumblr post)

I can’t remember the last time I came that much. Pump after pump of cum up his ass, and as I pulled out, one final squirt between his butt cheeks just to make more of an impression. I looked at his tight, pink T-shirt, his tight, leaking asshole, his smooth, slim legs, and his white calf-high Nike socks. “Fuck, I needed this so badly,” I exhaled and threw myself down on the bed next to him. It was my fault he was almost fully dressed, just barely out of his shorts. When we entered his apartment my juices were almost spilling over. We just kicked off our shoes and I started to grope him while we quickly moved to his bedroom. It had been such a stressful couple of weeks with tons of extra hours. Every day I felt drained of all energy the moment I stepped back into my apartment and hadn’t even had the energy to masturbate since… I don’t even remember. A month? More?

“I could tell,” he said, turning his head sideways looking at me. He was cute, even now that post ejaculation clarity had set in. My eyes had landed on him almost immediately once inside the bar. The radiant blue adidas baseball cap that we wore backward on top of his dirty blonde, shaggy hair and boyish face pulled me in. He was thin, so for him to have such tight clothes he probably shopped in the kids’ section. Just what I was looking for. A tiny twink I could just manhandle and drive hard. Kind of made me feel bad now for how one-sided that fuck must have been.

“I’m… It’s just with everything I haven’t been around much lately.” “Hey, don’t worry about it. We got plenty of time, if you want.”

He was still wearing the backward baseball cap as he lied on his front, looking at me with intense eyes. He wasn’t cute. He was gorgeous. Had I spent more time looking at his face than his butt walking to his place and his back being here I would have noticed earlier, but my dick had made all the decisions up until now. God, he must still be leaking cum into his bed given the size of the load I dumped in him. I wanted to tell him, to help him clean up.

He was biting his lip, still piercing me with his look. “Have you ever played puppy?” That came as a surprise. I’ve never understood that kink, and not just because I always top. I know some tops enjoy barking orders to a pup, or even dress up as an alpha dog, but it’s never been a thing I’ve understood nor at all considered.

“Can’t say that I have.” “Wanna try?”

He propped himself up on his arms, knuckles under his chin, elbows into the mattress. He was back to looking sweet and cute. I felt like I kind of owed him, but it’s not like I was doing him a favor either. Worst case it was nothing interesting and I could check another thing off the list.

“Sure, why not.” “Yass. I’ll get the things.”

He jumped out of bed and hurried out of the bedroom. If it wasn’t for the age check at the bar I wouldn’t have guessed him to be over 17. I assume he has a lot of creams in his bathroom and a strict diet. But then I would never miss a day at the gym. Different things are important to different people. “Take off your clothes” he shouts from another room somewhere. I slowly got up, and couldn’t help to look at the wet spot on the bed sheet where his ass had been.

I took off my jeans, my socks, my watch, and my shirt. I was just about to step out of my jockstrap when came back into the bedroom. “Keep that on for now.” I did as he said. This was his scene to direct. “Put these on.” He handed me a pair of leather wrist cuffs. Up until now it wasn’t clear who would play what role, though I had kind of assumed I would play the dog. Was I the dog? Would he also be a dog? I was kind of liking the uncertainty. The leather cuffs were high quality, and about as easy to secure as you could hope for when doing it on yourself. “And these,” he said as he gave me a pair of thigh straps, also leather. They were easy to secure, though I had no idea where this was going. He was rummaging in one of the drawers for something, and finally found a bottle of what I assumed to be lube. He proceeded to squeeze out a generous amount on the butt plug part of a tail plug. I’ve never seen one in person before. The plug part wasn’t that big, but the tail was huge.

“Now, get on all four.” I dropped down onto the floor. I was actually a bit anxious about this. I’m not an anal virgin, but I haven’t done a lot. I don’t even own a dildo myself. He walked behind me and I braced for impact, but he put the plug on a table and picked up something else. He crouched next to me and attached the wrist cuff with the thigh strap using a short chain with two metal clasps. Then he did the same on the other side. I wasn’t really sure what the purpose of the chains was. It would make moving around a bit awkward, but not stopping me from standing up or anything. He then positioned himself behind me and stuck a lubed finger up my ass and begun to wiggle it. “Not used to this, I feel.” He was damn right, but I was determined to take it like a man. He removed his finger and picked up the butt plug

I could feel him press the plug gently against my asshole, probing it lightly, only to then make a surprise, hard push and shove it all in at once. As soon as the sphincter grabbed it and pushed it into place I knew something was wrong. A shudder went like a wave through the body, and I yelped like a hurt puppy, surprising myself. I tried to cover my mouth as a reflex, but my armed yanked my leg, tripped myself despite already being on all four, and face planted on the carpet. “What the fuck!” I wanted to say, but what came out was an inarticulate “Whaaaff”. Getting real scared now I got up on all four again and frantically struggled to stand up, but somehow the body wouldn’t comply. It was like I couldn’t really grasp how to do it. I realized I was whimpering when he began to stroke me, petting my head like the back of a dog. “There, there. Calm down. There is nothing you can do about it now.”

He stood up and stepped away, while I was trying to figure out what was going on. I took a  step forward using my right arm and leg. That worked. I took another step with my left arm and leg. My mind was a whirlwind like I couldn’t focus on anything. I wanted to stand up, but how could you stand up if you are already standing? I let out an “Aooo” of frustration. He was back by my side again with something in his hands. What was his name? Did he ever even tell me his name? “Here, this should make you calmer” He stroked the back of my head a few times, and as much as I hated it, it was soothing. I then felt something cold. He was putting a chain around my neck, and then clasped a leash to it. I don’t know why, but suddenly the noise in my head went silent.

“Good boy!” He stroked my head again. “Let’s go to the door and clean up your mess. Heel!” We started walking out of his bedroom and down his short hallway toward the door.  My shoes laid randomly dropped on the floor, and a third shoe. It was one of his. A bright blue Nike air max shoe. The other one was neatly placed next to a row of other shoes. “Did you do that?” he asked and pointed at his shoe. “Bad puppy! Get it.” I raced ahead and bit into the heel of the shoe. It was still warm and smelled of his foot. It wasn’t that cheesy smell of reused socks or the sour note of workout sweat, but a light, earthy smell of everyday feet. Almost a bit like hay. “You like that?” I realized I was breathing in heavily with my nose in his sneaker, biting the ankle collar. I froze. I felt shame. Like I was doing something I shouldn’t be doing.

“Haha, it’s OK,” he said, and ruffled my hair. He proceeded to grab the other two shoes while I placed his sneaker on the floor and tried to dig my face into the opening. I didn’t get very far, but I manage to lick the inside bottom of the shoe. As it turned moist it released more fragrance. I could imagine him out on the streets, sweating during a hot day. Perhaps dashing to catch a ride. It wasn’t a pungent smell, but it was virile. It was the smell of someone with stamina. Then he stole it from me. “Hey, we have more cleanup to do.” I whined as he placed his shoe next to his other one.

Then he dropped on all four too and displayed his ass for me. “You left a mess here.” He didn’t have to say more as I attacked his butt cheeks with my tongue to clean them from my drying cum. It didn’t take many licks to clean him up around the butt hole. I then proceeded to lick the butt and to try to get my tongue as far up his ass as I could. While the taste was all mine, I kept breathing in his scent. It wasn’t at all as rewarding as the shoe. He was clean, had a citrus and cedar tree cologne, and hadn’t sweated much during our brief sex. I wished I would have worked him up harder. I know I could have made him exhausted from pleasure if I wanted to. He must have been squeezing now because my cum just kept coming out of him.

Abruptly he got up, mid lick. “Aw, you’re so hungry. Puppy needs food,” he said and walked into his small kitchen. I followed as fast I could. He opened the fridge and pulled out a few Tupperware containers, and dumped the contents into a dog bowl. He placed it on the floor. Brown rice, salmon, and broccoli. “There. Eat it all up. Puppy must stay strong for daddy.” I dove headfirst into the bowl and started to munch down the bowl of fridge-cold diet food. I realized I was starving and somehow this bland mush felt really satisfying. I started at a ferocious pace, but as I got down to the last quarter I was beginning to feel full. While grateful for the food, how could daddy know how much I could eat. Daddy? What was this nonsense? He’s a fuck I don’t even know the name of I picked up at a bar to breed. I was the top dog here, the alpha. This had to stop. I should stand up, take my stuff, and go. But I couldn’t stand up. I was already standing up. In frustration I howled.

He came back into the kitchen. I hadn’t even noticed him gone. He was wearing shorts again, but a different kind. Grey sweatpant shorts. He quickly sat himself down on the floor next to me, with crossed legs. He grabbed me and gently but firmly tipped me over so my head fell into his lap. “Puppy having a bad dream?” he asked. He didn’t sound mocking or sarcastic. His hand was stroking me on the side. I whimpered into his sweatpants. I could smell him again, the scent of a viril young man. I borrowed my head into his crouch and breathed heavily. I could smell his dick. Citrus, cedar, and precum. I began to lick the cotton fabric. “Good boy. Good boy.” I did nothing to his dick, but I could feel mine swelling in the jockstrap.

He gently pushed me away from him, got up, and filled another bowl with tap water. He placed it next to the first bowl. Then he held out one hand in front of me. I had to get up on all four from my lying position to see what was in it. Two white pills, one small and round and one larger and longer.  "Here, take these. They will make you stronger and better.“ I sniffed but all I got was his scent. I licked up both pills in one go and plunged my head into the water bowl to get some water to swallow them with.

He got down on the floor with me again, and started to remove the wrist cuffs and thigh straps, all while stroking me on my back. "I don’t think we need these anymore,” he said. I had no idea what he meant. I was just happy he was touching me. My dick was happy too.

“Come, let’s make you ready for the night,” he said, got up and left the kitchen. I got up on all four and did my best to catch up with him. He walked to his bathroom and opened the door. I rushed to get in before him. “Hey, hey,” he lovingly scolded me. He turned on the light and revealed a large bathroom. Shower, bathtub, washing machine, lots of bottles of shampoo and jars with creams, and a large dog cage. “Sit,” he commanded.

I immediately sat down, pushing the tail plug in a bit. I felt a wave, like a shudder going from the ass through the body. He was looking through the large cupboard. “Ah,” he said and pulled out a small jar. He put on a disposable latex glove, and kneeled in front of my. “Let’s take care of that for you,” he said and freed my dick and balls from the jockstrap. He then dipped a few fingers in the jar and begun to massage some ointment all over my dick and balls. I didn’t recognize the faint smell. I could feel my private parts getting warmer, but if that was the salve or just him rubbing me I couldn’t tell. Then he put everything back into the jockstrap. “Let’s marinate that for a while and tomorrow you will last hours.” I didn’t understand him.

Then he went to the cage and opened it. I could see that the floor of the cage was filled with clothes. T-shirts, sweatshirts, shorts, trunks, socks. It all looked like gym clothes, or at last lazy day attire. “Come here, get in your cage.” There was a small part of me that wanted to hesitate, so I didn’t run in but deliberately walked. I could feel my dick and balls heating up as they fully erect rubbed within my jockstrap. As I got close and closer to the cage I could smell it. It somehow made me excited and I sped up my stride the last few steps into the cage. It was just filled with different scents of him. Not citrus or cedar, but him. Socks he had been running in. A T-shirt he had slept in. A pair of sweatpants that had been through a lot. I just kept moving my head all around the cage. In indecision I just laid down and started to wiggle and rub against everything.

He closed and latched the cage door. “Good night, puppy. Dream about fucking me.” He didn’t need to tell me that.

[lenchi]

QUESTIONS FOR MUNS OF CANON MUSES

@thefoxy-vigilante​ said: 13. What canon character do you really wish your muse could interact more with?

@heart-ruled​ & @frimaerke​ said: 6 . What is the general opinion of your muse’s fandom about them? Do you agree with it?

13. Tbh . I reallly wish he could interact more with aiden’s and marcus!!! BUT my BIIIG wish is for a defalt or bagley to finally appear .. i seriously am DYING for interactions with them!!! defalt was a HUGE inspo to my wrench, and he’d just adore bagley; plus, he thinks aiden’s the coolest!! ^v^

number 6 is a horribly long rant. jesus christ. i hate the fandom’s perception of wrench so much so i went. rabid.i see the fandom wrench, all i see is red. now, i could go on for HOURS. but this is just my BRIEF thoughts on him :))

6. My general opinion of how the fandom views wrench is .... bad. like, really fucking bad. im not afraid to say i hate most takes on him!! most of the fandom reduces him to “haha funny skinny twink off the shits ahhahahah” without ever considering his CANON anxiety and depression ( and poor eating habits ). PLUS they really think that wrench would take off his mask willy nilly, or just for the uwu ship feels; honestly he WOULDN’T? hell, he knew marcus for like AGES, and the ONLY reason he even ever saw his face was bc his mask was forced off of him when the fbi beat him up n kidnapped him. and dont even get me STARTED on the nightmare that is he fandom’s wrencus. People ONLY use him as a token twink white boy to be manhandled by an uncharacteristically aggressive and huge marcus ( who is BLACK ) and treat him like a thing to be man handled. the fandom’s seriously ruined wrencus for me, even though it could have been a cute ship. and he’s the only reason marcus fanart even exists like 99 percent of the fucking time, too. STOP MAKING MARCUS AGGRESSIVELY MANHANDLE HIM, FANDOM!!! HE’S SUCH A SWEET GUY HE WOULD NEVER!!  

and NO. wrench isnt a tall twink uwu boy who takes off his mask and changes himself for other people. he is a highly traumatized man with a lot of mental health and anger issues that manifest themselves in chaotic ways. he is not a twink, he has SERIOUS weight issues, and shouldnt be called a twink for that. he is loyal, and not sexually aggressive OR submissive. he doesnt take off his mask often at all, not even for people he’s close to or likes. he is a pyromaniac.  he doesnt even care if he dies, he just wants to amke sure if he does he’d go out w a bang. HE LITERALLY COULDNT CARE LESS WHAT HAPPENS TO HIM BECAUSE HE DOESNT SEE MUCH WORTH IN HIMSELF, BUT ISN’T ACTIVELY SEEKING DEATH. he’s a daredevil. he’s not uwu scardey cat. and for god fucking sake -- i cant believe i even have to SAY THIS -- STOP WRITING HIM IN NONCON. THAT’S NOT OK. IT’S NOT COOL. IT’S NOT GOOD SHIP MATERIAL NO MATTER HOW MANY SICKENING FICS OF THIS THERE ARE.  I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT I HATE IT !!!!!!!!!

Of course, i am well aware that the entire fandom isnt like this. but to the ones who ARE like this? honestly. fuck yall . this is a GRAVE misinterpretation of wrench and it NEEDS to change. so does treating marcus like just an extension or boy toy of wrench. he’s not the main character,. marcus is. give him the spotlight he deserves. 

[rk1kheadcanons]

As android society evolves, they develop beauty standards that aren’t like human ones at all and they make Connor one of the ugliest androids comparatively while Markus is seen as the ideal

That "goofy looking" statement Hank made 1 year, three months, 5 days, 14 hours, and 30 seconds ago really stinging about now to Connor.

Connor knew that it was possible that the concept of their standard of beauty would become skewed at some point. He didn't expect to be left out in the cold this badly.

Markus Manfred is the most beautiful android man to exist...too bad his spouse is so plain looking.

Connor heard "knuckle dragging, swamp monster" instead of the term 'plain'. He is ready to fight, and thank all the powers that be that Markus was there, by his livid spouse and had just as good of hearing and reflexes or those two android ladies would be thirium stains.

How had Markus missed how alike Connor abd North were to throw hands at a moments notice? Maybe he did have a type. Unlike North, Connor was also a emotional mess, and when Markus stopped him from committing murder, he turned in the hold Markus had on him... and cried.

Now it was Markus turn to be irritated that some dried up, run of the mill AX models had the audacity to make his beautiful Connor self-conscious about his non-existent ugliness. Awkward, yes. Dorkily goofy, absolutely! But, ugly? Connor could

N E V E R.

Markus sat there and comforted Connor. He knew androids were as petty as humans, if not more because of their perfect memories. Markus had a sneaking suspicion his 'looks' were tied to what he original purpose was.

If Con had been any one else, they'd see him as beautiful as Markus did or even the androids Connor personally saved from Cyberlife did. There were several of the models, male, female, and other, that had huge crushes on Connor but respected his marriage to Markus. They'd talked about this before and they would talk about this again.

Markus had a idea.

"Why don't you dress up like you do when you want my attention and you think I dont know?"

"Markus, stop sullying my conquest to get D, it's a time tested, fool proof action, only for these hags to see me at my most beautiful."

Connor looked down at his watch on his wrist he'd bought specifically when he was petty o'clock. He didn't stutter.

Markus just stared at him mouth agape.

Okay, Connor was spicy today. It was the bitterness they dare call him ugly or plain that fueled his little twink heart with unbridled rage.

" If you do it, I'll promise we'll have a great time afterwards. I'll even do some of the extra manhandling like you like." Markus smiled, hopeful of negotiations. This conversation was wild but Connor looked up with a look of interest. Bingo.

Connor comes in clutch with his favorite Dolce and Gabanna suit on, a beautiful rose-textured, Royal blue suit, a gift from no other than Markus himself, and tunes are changing pretty fast.

What was "plain" is now "unique" and "beautiful". Some can't even get past his pretty hair now thats been tapered close on the sides but the top is a riot of curly ringlets. Connor is preening; he hears them.

And they hear him while Markus is doing his utmost to blow his back out. Markus thought he was real cute, too. Well, a part of Markus was real honest and did.

[areiton]

call & come (send up an SOS)

Read on AO3

~*~ 

1.

Rhodey gets the call in the middle of a date. 

Well. 

Not the middle. 

Rhodey gets the call when her mouth is around his dick, his balls tight and aching. Blonde hair is caught in his fist and she’s got a gleam in her pretty blue eyes, as he fucks her wet hot mouth, and he’s gonna come, jesus christ and--

His pager goes off. 

Carol comes off his dick with a wet pop and smirks at him. “You wanna get that?” She licks her lips and uses her hand to jack him off. 

She’s got these callouses on her hand from the joystick of her bird, and they drag over his cock in the most delicious of ways. 

“No,” he pants, and she laughs, and moves to take him back in her mouth, and he catches her by the jaw, pulls her up and kisses her, licks the taste of himself out of her mouth and pinches her nipple just to hear the growly little moan she gives up. 

“But I gotta,” he adds. 

He swipes it up, and three little letters blink up at him. 

SOS. 

He sighs, and glances at Carol. She’s sprawled against her sheets, a hand on her cunt and his mouth waters at the sight. 

The pager goes off again and he says, “Got a phone I can borrow, gorgeous?” 

~~ 

He scowls up at a fucking frat house. 

It’s a goddamn frat house, didn’t they outgrow this shit? 

He scowls, and it’s only a little bit because he left Carol biting her orgasm into her arm while his cock ached against his jeans. 

Most of it’s because Tony went to a goddamn frat house. 

He finds Tony quick. It used to surprise him, how he could always find Tony, like a compass pointing north. Now--now it’s just a skill he’s grateful for and let’s it pull him through the party to where Tony is holding court, surrounded by twenty undergrads who look like this might be the first time they’ve ventured out of the labs. He’s perched on a blond giant's lap, and there’s something frenetic about the way he’s moving, his words starting to slur. 

Rhodey once watched Tony defend a PhD thesis, drunk and running on two hours of sleep in seventy two. 

He doesn’t fucking slur. 

Rhodey’s gaze narrows on the hand on Tony’s waist, the way it’s too tight and holding him in place and he bites back a snarl that wants to rip out. 

He’s horny and his best friend is being manhandled and drugged by a fucking frat boy. 

“Honeybear!” Tony crows, and gives a happy little bounce in his new friend’s lap. Rhodey reaches for him, and--

Tony scrambles free and into Rhodey’s arms, tucking himself against Rhodey’s side like he belongs there, a smile brighter than the sun tilted up at him. 

“You’re drunk,” Rhodey says, patient. “Time to go home.” 

Tony grins and let’s himself be guided out of the fucking frat house and Rhodey has a moment, watching a pair of girls making out against the wall, where he regrets it, the way he left Carol, the way he’s still horny and annoyed. 

But Tony called. 

And he came. 

“You smell like sex, Rhodes,” Tony complains, and Rhodey growls, and drags him home. 

~~ 

2.

He's asleep when the pager buzzes. 

He only notices because it's tucked under his arm, near the pillow, and it sends him scrambling across the bed to get away from it, cursing and rubbing his arm. 

"What the fuck, what the fuck," he grumbles, and the damn thing buzzes again. 

It was his idea, is the thing. 

Tony was a walking disaster, and underage to boot, a messy twink with enough money to buy anyone's affections and Rhodey--

Rhodey took one week to realize that was the worst idea in a whole long list of bad ideas. He bought the shitty pagers and tossed one to Tony, and said, "If you need a rescue or a pick up or anything--send me an SOS." 

"I don't need you to play white knight, honeybear," Tony said, curiously staring at it and him. 

"I know you don't," Rhodey told him, even though he did. "But I want you to have that option. If you need help--" 

"Send up an SOS," Tony echoed. 

The thing is--Tony didn't ask for help. Not when he was drowning in assignments and SI work, not when his mom dragged him away from campus for a week in Tuscany, not when he got caught with coke on him at a party or when a boyfriend got too handsy. 

So Rhodey gave him the pager and prayed Tony would use it in emergencies. 

The first call was startling, and terrifying, and Tony had blinked at him over three boxes of donuts, seemingly as startled as Rhodey was that he'd used the damn thing, or maybe that Rhodey responded. 

It was never serious. 

But Rhodey always answered. 

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, looking at the address that popped up and sighing. 

Studying would have to wait. 

~~ 

It takes him less than thirty minutes to dress and make his way across campus to the address, and he blinks at it blearily. It's a restaurant. 

A nice one. 

He groans, and wishes fervently for coffee before fixing a polite smile on his face and pushing inside. 

He sees Tony right away, sprawled messy and far too casual, across from Howard. 

He bites down on his curse, and scoots around the hostess busy with a nice white couple and approaches. Tony's gaze flicks to him, and his eyes brighten. "Rhodey!" he crows. 

"Hey, man. Did you forget we've got that lab this morning?" 

"Shit-" Tony breathes, jerking in his seat. His coffee sloshes and it's too creamy and sweet, but Rhodey eyes it anyway. "I gotta--Howard, I have--" 

"Go," Howard grumbles. "God knows you aren't actually listening to me." 

"Board meeting on the 3rd, new patents pending, rework the Icarus propulsion tech. Mom has a charity thing the 5th she wants me to attend. Anything else?" Tony asks, sweetly, but his smile has teeth. Rhodey huffs, reaches across the table, snagging bacon from Tony’s plate, and it makes the tension rising between father and son break. 

And there's bacon. 

"I'll see you the 3rd," Howard says and Tony tosses off a sloppy salute as he slides out of the booth and Rhodey crunches on his stolen bacon. 

"Let's go, Rhodey, wouldn't want to be late." 

Rhodey nods at Howard and follows Tony from the restaurant and back toward their apartment, and it's only when Tony sighs and the tension drains out of his shoulders does he bump his best friend companionably and say, plaintive, "But you're buying me breakfast, right?" 

Tony laughs, and it's star bright and happy. 

~~

3. 

Pepper's eyes narrow when she sees Rhodey in Tony's office. It's rare enough that anyone is there that he had to wipe a thin layer of dust from the top of Tony's desk. 

He's settling in real well as CEO, then. 

"You do not get to rescue him today," she almost hisses and Rhodey smile, all innocent and beatific. 

"I'm just here to see a friend," he says, spreading his hands. 

She snorts, patently disbelieving, and yeah, ok, that's fair. Rhodey's leave never comes as coincident, and for it to run smack into one of Tony's few visits to the East Coast and the quarterly stock meeting--well. 

He's only surprised that he hasn't been called yet. 

"When did it get started?" she asks, and Rhodey blinks at Pepper. She's been part of Tony's life, making sure it spins properly, for almost three years now, longer than anyone but Happy and himself, and it startles him that she doesn't know the origin of the SOS. 

"College," he says. Shrugs. "Tony was always gettin' himself into trouble. I couldn't babysit constantly, so I got us these pagers." He grins down at the clunky thing. Tony hates it but Rhodey refused to let him upgrade. "Told him that if he ever needed me, all he needed to do was call." 

"And he actually did?" she says, skeptical, and Rhodey grins. 

It took six months for Tony to start using the damn things, and then he used them almost obsessively. It was almost a game. 

He missed it, the calls for coffee, the time he and DUM-E got super-glued together, the petulant frown on Tony's face when he burnt his last box of mac and cheese. 

"Have you ever missed one?" she asks, and Rhodey blinks at her. 

"Of course not," he says, and Pepper's eyes narrow, her mouth opens--

And the pager goes off. 

Rhodey smirks and waves the little black box at her. "Duty calls, Pep," he drawls, and pushes himself out of Tony's desk chair, where he's been lounging like he belongs there, and strolls out of the office. 

She sees him a few minutes later, one arm around Tony's shoulders, the younger man talking animatedly while Rhodey steers him effortlessly toward the elevators. 

She watches them and wonders if either of them can see what she can. 

The fond smile on Rhodey's lips, the eager light in Tony's eyes, the way they tipped toward each other, the way they didn't seem aware of the world around them. 

She sighs as the elevator slides closed behind them, and straightens the files she prepared for this eventuality, and squares her shoulders, stalking into the conference room to finish the Board meeting. 

Rhodey, she thinks, ruefully, isn't the only one who comes so readily to Tony's rescue. 

~~ 

4.

"Sir, you can't come in dressed like that," the maitre d says, a little desperately. 

Rhodey spares her a second glance and the true this--he feels a little guilty. He's in a pair of sweatpants he stole from Tony, SI logo plastered down the leg. A faded, too thing MIT t shirt with holes in the collar. 

He was comfortable, reading a book Happy had suggested because for all that Tony liked to give Happy shit for his taste in TV and literature, the man had only ever passed on books that Rhodey enjoyed. 

He was comfortable, two beers into his evening and happy to spend it relaxed, when he got the call. 

Tony called. 

Rhodey came. 

Didn't mean he was gonna change out of his sweat pants to do it. 

"I just need to grab something," he says, flashing a smile, all the cocky self-assured ego that Tony had taught him. 

It works, and he finds Tony tucked into a corner of the restaurant, a bored expression on his face as he sits across from a gorgeous blonde. 

"Tones," he says and smiles at Tony's friend. She is pretty. 

Nice rack too. 

From the confused little furrow in her brow and the blank look on Tony's, Rhodey thinks she probably has a bigger bra size than IQ. "I'm gonna need to borrow him, darling," he says. 

"Oh, are you going?" 

"National security," Tony nod sagely, and Rhodey rolls his eyes, and drags the smaller man out of the damn five-star restaurant. 

They take a shitty cab back to Rhodey's apartment without really talking about it and Tony strips down to a Air Force tshirt he steals from Rhodey's dresser and plaid pajama pants that puddle over his bare feet before curling against Rhodey's side and stealing his beer.

"Want me to order pizza?" Rhodey asks. 

"Chinese?" Tony says, hopefully, and Rhodey rumbles a laugh, adjust to the weight of the other man against his side and reaching for his phone. 

"She wasn't bad," Tony says, after he's ordered and Rhodey is reading again, one hand drifting through Tony's hair. He's laying quiet against Rhodey's side, uncharacteristically quiet, and the small admission draws Rhodey's gaze. "She was just--" 

"Not smart?" 

Tony nods, miserably and Rhodey sighs. "Why do it then? Why date the ones you know aren't smart enough to keep up with you?" 

"No one can keep up with me," Tony says, and he sounds so forlorn, so lonely, it makes Rhodey's chest hurt. 

"I can," he says, without thinking and Tony's gaze flicks up, wide and startled. Too open. It makes something in his chest go tight and aching and he smiles, a quick teasing thing. "If I can, you can find someone else who will." 

Tony grins and the moment slips past, but it doesn't go away, as they eat Chinese, as Tony sips his beer and listens to Rhodey read to him, as they curl together in Rhodey's big bed, and the darkness. 

He can't stop seeing the hope, copper bright and shining, in Tony's eyes. 

~~ 

5.

The thing is. 

The thing is, he’s been with Tony now--best friend, brother, keeper, something--for almost than he hasn’t. Tony is as much as much a part of him as his mama, as much as his uniform and his duty, and he can’t imagine a life where he doesn’t answer, when Tony calls. 

He can’t imagine who he’d be, if he weren’t the other half of Stark & Rhodes, of Tones & Rhodey. 

He doesn’t even want to imagine it. 

He does, however, wish he could sleep a whole night through, sometimes. 

He glares blearily at the phone that replaced the beeper two years ago, when Tony’s finally died and couldn’t be revived. 

Tony will never admit it, but Rhodey’s pretty sure even he misses the clunky relics of their childhood. 

The phone flashes, red and white, SOS bright in the dark and he thinks, just for a moment, of not answering. 

Of calling or sending Pepper or Happy or just pretending he hadn’t gotten it. 

He yawns, hard enough his jaw cracks, and crawls out of bed. 

~~ 

He pulls up to the club and send a text because he loves Tony, he does, he’ll chase him down and rescue him even in the dead of night, but there’s a limit and they are closer to forty now than thirty, and he’s not dragging him out of a club. 

He send the same text to Happy, and then slouches in his seat, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. 

It takes less than ten minutes, which might be a new record, before Tony is crawling into the passenger side of the truck. He smells of booze and sex, and Rhodey arches an eyebrow and Tony shakes his head. “Not mine.” 

Rhodey makes a quiet noise, and pulls into traffic. Tony is quiet at his side, long enough that Rhodey finally glances at him, and he’s a little surprised to see Tony watching him. He’s quiet, and there’s eyeliner smeared under his eyes, making them larger than normal, and he’s still. 

“You ok?” Rhodey asks, softly and Tony smiles. 

It’s a tiny smile, familiar and sweet,and it makes him ache, because that smile is his. 

Shy and boyish and so real it almost hurts. 

“Why do you come rescue me? I’m not an idiot child at MIT anymore, honeybear,” Tony says. 

“Why do you still call? You don’t need me to rescue you,” Rhodey answers, and Tony laughs. 

He reaches out, tangles their fingers together and squeezes. And even after twenty years of sharing space and life, Tony’s casual way of touching makes his heart flip and plunge and soar. 

“I’ll always need you to rescue me,” Tony murmurs. 

Rhodey squeezes his hand, and they lapse back into silence. And then, coaxing and sweet, Tony says, “Will you buy me donuts?” 

Rhodey laughs. 

~~ 

+1

 His fingers rub over his phone, compulsively. Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

It’s been eighty-eight days. 

~~ 

At first, he’d tapped it on his leg, while he lay in a medic’s gurney, and demanded to know what the hell happened, demanded to know where Tony was. 

No one answered, and his phone was trashed, and by the time he had one again--they’d told him.

A bombing. 

Mass casualties. 

Tony Stark, missing. Presumed dead. 

Rhodey threw a fit, when they said that, a screaming raging thing that ended with him strapped back to his goddamn gurney, a needle in his arm. 

“You’ll hurt yourself,” someone said. 

He fucking hoped. 

~~ 

He stares at the night sky and he stares at the bunk above him, and he stares at the blank sky outside his plane window and the desert beyond the helicopter and the wide open sky that he’s always loved and hates now. 

Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

~~ 

“I heard you’re still looking,” Stane said, and Rhodey stared at him, blank and unemotional. 

The older man--Tony’s partner, Tony’s godfather, Tony’s but not Tony--smiles, oil slick and cold. “You can’t keep looking, Rhodes. There’s nothing to find.” 

Rhodey smiled, regulation sharp and precise and empty. “Sir.” 

“You’re still looking,” Pepper said, and Rhodey stared at her. Tony’s friend, red-eyed and barely held together, and he squeezed her hand. 

“Don’t stop,” she said, fiercely. 

“Ma’am,” he breathed. 

~~ 

The dust stings his eyes, and he wants to close them and he wants to scream, and he wants--

Tony. He wants Tony. 

The phone is quiet in his hand, a dead talisman. Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

~~ 

“You keep chasing a ghost, you’ll throw away your career,” his CO warned him and Rhodey stared into the middle distance. 

“Are you ordering me to stand down?” he asked. 

“Would you listen, if I did?” 

Twenty years and a thousand SOS calls, a thousand rescues when Tony never once needed him, and now--

His phone was quiet and still and his jaw clenched. “No, sir.” 

~~ 

“Colonel,” someone shouts, and Rhodey watches a patch of mountains explode on the radar and his heart squeezes. 

Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

~~ 

He didn’t sleep. 

He didn’t sleep because when he slept, he dreamt, and Tony wasn’t missing there, he was dead, a bloody broken body with so many others, and Rhodey was too late, an unanswered call. 

He didn’t sleep. 

He just hoped.

~~ 

The helicopter blades thrum and all he can hear is taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

They bank and search and all he can feel is taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

“Sir!” 

He falls out of the copter and into the sand, stumbling, and his heart goes taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

~~ 

Tony clutches him, sobbing silent, and his fingers dig into Rhodey’s fatigues, into his skin, and Rhodey holds him close, presses Tony’s head to his chest, and feels it. 

Taptaptap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptap. 

He bites back his sob, and tightens his grip. 

“I’ve got you,” he breathes into filthy hair, into Tony, lips brushing over his temple. 

~~ 

Rhodey holds him, when Tony falls asleep against his chest in the chopper, heartbeat steady under his skin, and the rhythmic tapping fades away. 

He’s here. 

He’s safe. 

He’s home. 

[remywrites5]

if it's not any trouble could you please do a spideypool prompt? one with peter knowing wade is deadpool and wade knows that peter is spiderman (because let's be honest with ourselves wade would know spidey's ass and voice anywhere) but spidey doesn't know that wade figured out his identity. I really hope that makes some sort of sense! thank you x

           Peter didn’t get to have nice things, that was just the nature of being Spider-man. Since being bit by a radioactive spider, Peter had lost his uncle, his love life had been in shambles, and he’d lost Mr. Stark. People in Peter’s life leave, either by choice or in death, and the only person Peter could really rely on was his aunt.

           He thought he’d had something different with Wade. After all, Wade wasn’t exactly the damsel in distress type and with the super healing factor Peter didn’t have to worry about Wade getting hurt. The only problem was that Wade Wilson was dating Peter Parker, not Spider-man, and Peter didn’t know how to tell him.

           It normally wouldn’t be an issue. After six years of being Spider-man, Peter was used to living a double life, keeping Peter Parker and Spider-man separate. Sometimes it was difficult with Wade because Wade liked to flirt with Spider-man whenever they ran into each other. Peter had to try and not take it personally as that was just how Wade was. He’d flirt with a very shapely potato if the mood struck him.

           The only reason why this had become an issue was because Wade had been asking Peter to move in with him. It made sense, seeing as Peter was over at Wade’s most nights when he didn’t have patrol. And economically speaking, Peter didn’t have a lot of money. He barely made anything with his job at the Dailey Bugle. Just enough to afford his rent and some low cost food. Although he was almost done with college, he did plan to get his master in Chemical Engineering, which meant probably another four years at least.

           The only reason Peter wasn’t jumping at the chance to live with Wade was because he remembered what it had been like trying to sneak out of the house back when he lived with Aunt May. It had been a nightmare and apparently he hadn’t been that successful at it anyway since she’d known he’d been sneaking out. He wasn’t sure he could do that with Wade. Besides that, Wade was very nosy and would ultimately go through Peter’s stuff and find his suit.

           “Petey,” Wade whined, holding Peter close on the couch while they marathoned all three of the Lord of the Rings movies. Yet another reason why Peter couldn’t move in – whenever he spent the night Wade would cling to him like a barnacle on a whale. Peter would never be able to untangle himself without Wade noticing and waking up. “Why do you hate me?”

           Peter rolled his eyes. “Where exactly did you get that idea?”

           “You won’t move in with me!” Wade exclaimed, hugging Peter tighter. “You big meanie. Or actually small meanie.”

           “I’m not small!” Peter said indignantly.

           “Yeah you are,” Wade said with a lopsided grin. “You’re a small bean. Want to just eat you up.”

           Peter hit Wade’s chest in retaliation. “Shut it or I’ll go home and you’ll just have to see if Frodo and Sam take the ring to Mordor on your own.”

           Wade gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

           “I would,” Peter said, settling down with his head on Wade’s chest, listening to his strong, steady heartbeat.

           “Sam and Frodo are gay for each other, right? Or is this a no homo situation where one of them is going to catch a case of the not-gays at the last minute?”

           “Sam ends up married with children,” Peter told him.

           “Spoiler alert!” Wade said, pinching Peter’s ass. “Ew, I don’t know if I want to finish these movies then.”

           “There’s always Legolas and Gimili,” Peter offered with a shrug. He’d been trying to get Wade to watch Lord of the Rings with him for months. Next obstacle was getting him to watch all the Harry Potter movies. Anything that Wade found too nerdy he automatically had an aversion to. At least he’d seen Star Wars.

           “Ooh some inter-species romance, I like it,” Wade cooed, kissing the top of Peter’s head. “So taboo. Perfect bear and twink combo too!”

           Peter snorted and watched the Fellowship form at Rivendell. He was glad he had successfully changed the subject for at least a little while. He wouldn’t be able to evade Wade forever and if he kept this up he was going to lose him just like everyone else.

                                                           ***

           Peter had originally met Deadpool (because he was Deadpool at that time and not Wade to Peter) at Starbucks. Peter had been getting himself a caramel macchiato when Wade had walked in behind him. “Oh em gee, you’re like the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and I’ve met grumpy cat in real life. R.I.P.”

           Somehow they had ended up drinking coffee together and Peter had found himself oddly charmed by Deadpool. They’d talked and laughed together for a good two hours before Peter realized he was so unbelievably late for his advanced chemistry class. They’d made plans to meet at the same Starbucks the next day. From then on it had become a bit of a routine with Wade always insisting on paying for Peter.

           The first time they had kissed, Peter had grabbed Wade and climbed him like a tree, shoving Wade’s mask up and kissing him desperately. There had been three weeks of coffee dates while Peter waited for Wade to make the first move. Eventually his patience had waned and he had attacked Wade like a desperate man.

           “Oh baby boy, I had no idea you were so horny for me or I would have ravished you weeks ago,” Wade had said after finally breaking the kiss.

           “You can make it up to me now.”

           Wade squealed in delight. “Ooh Petey, I’d love to!”

                                                           ***

           Peter sat in between Wade’s legs, back to chest on the couch, with Wade lazily pressing kisses to Peter’s neck. It was warm and comfortable and Peter wished that this were his life. It was kind of his life but it could have been his life full time if he just had the courage to tell Wade the truth. Hadn’t Wade earned his trust by now? They’d been dating for four months already.

           “Hey Wade?” Peter said softly, muting the TV as they watched the Back to the Future trilogy because Wade could not believe Peter hadn’t seen it.

           “Yeah baby?” Wade responded, nipping playfully at Peter’s earlobe.

           “I- I have to tell you something,” Peter said, swallowing thickly out of nervousness. He laced his fingers through Wade’s and held his hand tightly, frightened of letting go. “I’m…I’m Spider-man.”

           “Oh,” Wade said softly. “Baby…”

           “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Peter said, beginning to ramble in hopes that if he spoke enough then Wade might not have a chance to leave or kick him out. “It’s just that this all happened so quickly and then I didn’t know how to tell you and I –“

           Peter was cut off by Wade putting his hand over Peter’s mouth. “Baby, I already knew.”

           Peter broke free and stood up. “What?” he said, his jaw dropping.

           Wade whined and did grabby hands at Peter, wanting him to come back into his embrace. “I knew you were Spider-man. Obvi.”

           Peter’s brow furrowed. “How did you know?”

           Wade rolled his eyes. “Seriously Petey? I’m intimately acquainted with your ass to the point where I draw it in great detail when I’m bored. You think I couldn’t recognize that delicious behind in a skin tight supersuit?”

           Peter’s jaw dropped. “You never said anything!”

           “Neither did you!” Wade shot back accusingly, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think we were in a don’t ask don’t tell kind of situation. I figured if you wanted to talk about it you would bring it up.”

           “So you don’t…you don’t care?” Peter asked, walking forward and straddling Wade’s lap.

           Wade quirked an eyebrow. “You thought I’d mind that you’re a super hot hero that can swing from buildings and catch cars in midair? It’s like you don’t know me at all, baby!”

           Peter laughed and grabbed Wade by the shirt, kissing him deeply. “I was so worried. I thought you wouldn’t like me anymore. I thought you’d be mad at me for keeping secrets.” He peppered Wade’s scarred skin with kisses in relief.

           Wade giggled like a schoolgirl, turning his head and capturing Peter’s lips. “Petey, I don’t expect you to tell me everything. That doesn’t mean that I don’t know you. You’re my sweet little love muffin and when it comes to dat ass I’ve got a Phd.”

           Peter sighed happily and buried his face in Wade’s neck. “I love you,” Peter told him softly, divulging yet another one of his secrets.

           Wade brought his hand up and stroked Peter’s hair. “Love you too. Does that mean you’re going to move in with me, baby?”

           “Yeah,” Peter said, nodding his head. “I’ll move in with you.”

           “Good,” Wade said, manhandling Peter back into his original position. “Now stop interrupting the classic tale of a boy traveling back in time to get it on with his mom.”

           Peter snorted and unmuted the TV. “Yes dear,” he teased, settling in against Wade. This was his life now. It was unexpected but so very welcome. Wade was always exceeding his expectations. Finally Peter had something nice to call his very own.

[smol-syub]

Do you ever think about Yoongi being into older men? Like, we all expect him to be dating one of the members but he’s secretly dating someone much older, muscular and with facial hair. Like yoongi described in that interview a couple years back. And imagine how they were manhandle Yoongi, and Yoongi’s always had a muscle kink so to get manhandled would always turn him on. It’s twink yoongi hours

I do! Only because he mentioned his ideal type being just that (well he didn’t say ideal type but it was suggested) that actually reminds me of a series I read which goes along those lines, it’s called “telling me to stay (like i never asked)” and it’s yoongi with the rapper vasco, i’m not too familiar with vasco but it is a pretty hot series.

[bubblebumkush-blog]

“We don’t have to do anything...”

Climbing out of the van, the closet white boy wondered what was to come. The black stud who brought the boy here says as he unlocks the door. “We don’t have to do anything today, we’ll just chat.” *A drink* *Some casual conversation* *Then my hand is grabbed* “Come boy.” I followed instantly. My untouched boyhole, puckering as I follow him into the bedroom. My eyes widen at the sight of the stud’s husband stroking himself as he watches the black bull push my face down onto his bed. My pants forced down to the floor as I feel his lips spit on my tight boyhole. I try to say wait, but my mouth is muffled by his husband’s cock. Throating me as I try to plea for him to stop. They didn’t care. They just wanted to make me their toy. Just minutes of stretching and sucking before the 4 hours of pounding I receive from them both. Taking turns which each of my holes. My whimpers for them to stop were again ignored. He was too big, it hurt so much, but as they kept going, I felt the pain melt into pleasure. The whimpers of “Please stop..” changing to moans of “Yes... yes... more!” Both of them covering me chest and holes with their sticky love honey. The black stud and his husband hovering over me as they play with their new holes (my holes). Telling me how much of a good boy I was before cutting me loose. The pat on the ass and his finger probing my freshly widened hole. “Don’t be a stranger.” I never felt so violated and used in my life... And I can’t wait to go back! (Hey folks! Hoped you enjoyed my little blog post of my experience recently! I’m a still in the closet twink who craves black dick and being manhandled. I’m in Massachusetts. South coastal area. HMU studs! This boy wants more!

[thejovianmute]

A Different Way Home, Ch 1 (FMA, Roy/Ed)

Title: A Different Way Home

Author: TheJovianMute

Rating: Explicit (in later chapters, this first one's pretty mild)

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist (any, since it's AU)

Pairing: Ed Elric/Roy Mustang

Tags: Alternate Universe, Prostitution, Hooker Roy, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rape, Violence, PTSD, Eventual Happy Ending

Summary:  Roy's standing on a freezing street corner, his body for sale and his pride long-since-gone, when the boy in the red coat approaches him.  

Author's Notes:

A long while ago, in a brief burst of confidence, I posted my first fic.  Since then my confidence tanked, and I haven't managed to convince myself to do it again.  Then Ed and Roy Week popped up on my dash, and I remembered I'd started a RoyEd fic which would pretty much fit the bill.  So I pushed myself to finish the first chapter properly, and here I am, posting it with an hour to spare - go me!  I'm determined to keep going with this one - I'm not a fast writer, but I'll get there eventually.

This is set in a modern-day, alchemy-less Amestria.  Roy's a little more broken than the one we know, and has fallen a lot further down.  I've come across a few hooker-Ed fics but haven't yet found one with Roy on that side of the fence, so decided to flip the tables.  There's some dark stuff in later chapters, but the payoff will hopefully be worth it - hurt/comfort is pretty much my favourite thing <3

Chapter 1:

Roy shivers in the freezing night air, the chill of the bricks he's leaning against seeping through the worn cotton of his t-shirt.  He'd kill for a jacket, but he gets more attention without it; the t-shirt a size too small to show off the lines of his body.  He no longer has the definition he once did, knows he's skirting the edge between slender and 'too thin' these days, but that seems to appeal to a certain sort of customer.

Not that he's having much luck tonight. He's been standing on this frigid corner for half an hour already without a hint of interest.  Business is always slow on a Monday night, he knows, but hopefully it will pick up - not only does he need the money, but even just five or ten minutes in a heated car would give him a chance to warm up a little.  He rubs his hands together, trying to create a little heat with the friction.  It's times like this that he almost - almost - misses the desert heat.

Roy's scanning for potential marks when he catches sight of the figure in red walking his way.  He squints a little to try and make out more detail; his vision is particularly poor at night, faces little more than shadowed blurs until they get within a couple of feet and he can make out actual features.  The figure's small, though, and has what he assumes is a spill of long golden hair over one shoulder.  Roy spares a moment to wonder whether the girl knows what kind of risk she's taking, walking through this part of the city alone at night.  It's none of his business, of course - and considering where he's ended up it'd be a little hypocritical for him to be giving advice on poor life choices.  The girl slides from his thoughts quickly enough as he goes back to looking out for tricks, occasionally stamping his feet, trying to restore circulation to his icy toes.

But the figure in red stops in front of him instead of continuing on past, and - despite what is indeed a long blond ponytail - the flat chest and angled jawline he can finally make out reveal the error in his assumption: this isn't a girl at all, it's a teenaged boy.  The boy has his hands shoved into his pockets, feet planted solidly, his expression a mix of curiosity, determination and defiance as he stares at Roy intently.

"Can I help you?"  Roy asks mildly.  

The boy's eyes are a bright, almost luminescent amber beneath the sodium glow of the streetlights, matching the fall of golden hair.  It's a striking look, especially paired with the black pants and shirt, topped by the blood-red coat.

The kid continues to stare at him, and Roy is just about to let loose a sarcastic comment when the kid abruptly finds his tongue, blurting:  "How much?"  The words seem to startle the boy as much as they startle Roy, if his mortified expression is anything to go by.

Roy raises an eyebrow, and then makes a show of looking the boy up and down.  He's not the best judge of age, but he doubts this guy is older than fifteen or sixteen.  "I don't fuck kids," he says bluntly.  The boy is cute, but even if underage was his thing - which it isn't - he wouldn't risk that kind of pick-up out in the open like this.

The boy's expression darkens, his face flushing with a sudden anger, but he makes a visible attempt to rein himself in before replying.  "I'm not a kid."

Roy raises both eyebrows this time in blatant disbelief.  

The kid scowls at him.  "I'm eighteen.  I'm a goddamn university student."    

It's possible, Roy muses, looking the guy over again.  He has something of an ageless face himself, able to pass for twenty as easily as thirty - another thing that draws his clientele to him.  The kid is short, only a scant inch or two above the five foot mark, but his build is solid enough, his shoulders square.

Still, it's better to be paranoid than arrested.  "ID?"  Roy asks.  

"Seriously!?"  The kid explodes, muttering dire invectives under his breath.  "I'm being IDed by a hooker?  What the fuck is my life?"

"You're welcome to try a hooker with a more flexible moral code if you so desire," Roy says, gesturing further down the street to where he knows some of the other guys work this time of night.  There's a small group of them that band together for protection, but Roy's always been a loner.  

The boy glances in the direction Roy indicates, but quickly shakes his head. "No.  No, I want you."  His cheeks flush pink with embarrassment as he says it, but his mouth presses into a determined line, as if daring Roy to doubt his resolve.

And that is interesting.  Roy wonders what exactly it is about him that's drawn this particular kid.  He knows that his mixed-race features are a draw for some men: the raven hair and dark eyes of his mother, combined with the pale Amestrian skin of his father.  But generally it's the bigger guys that go for the Xingese look; the ones who get off on having someone smaller and lighter to manhandle and dominate.  It's not something Roy particularly enjoys, but he's not in a position to turn down anyone willing to pay for his time.

Speaking of which.  The kid is reaching into his pocket now, still scowling, pulling out his wallet and flipping it open, sliding out a small rectangle of plastic.  He holds it up for Roy to inspect with a defiant expression.  It's unexpectedly appealing, the stubborn little V between his brows, the determined jut of his jaw.  So many of the men he encounters are jaded and emotionally numb, using him to try desperately to feel something, that this kid's spirit burns magnesium-bright in comparison.

Roy looks down at the card, making out the colour and layout of a local driver's licence, but in the dim lighting he hasn't got a hope of reading the text, and he curses his deficient vision yet again.  Still, it makes little sense for the kid to show him a licence which proves him to be under-age, so odds are it backs up his claim.  It could be a fake, of course, but these days the fakes are so good he probably couldn't make out the difference even if he could see.  

"All right," Roy allows, deciding to go with it for now.  

The kid puts the card back in his wallet and shoves it back in his pocket with apparent satisfaction.  "So, how much?"  He asks, repeating his original question.

Roy is somewhat nonplussed by the kid's stubborn determination.  The guy's gorgeous and seems personable enough, if a little forthright, and Roy wonders what the hell he's doing picking up a hooker.  The kid could walk into any gay bar or club and would draw men like flies to honey -

Roy knows exactly how popular young-looking twinks are with the gay crowd.  

Still, it's not Roy's place to question the motivations of his clients, he's just here to do his job and get paid.

"Four thousand cenz for a hand, six for my mouth, ten if you want to fuck me.  I don't fuck without protection, and anything kinky costs extra."  The spiel is rote by now, and Roy rattles it off without even an internal flinch - unlike his first few days on the job, when every crude word had bruised his sense of self to the core.

The kid considers this for a moment.  "What about if I want you to, uh, fuck me?"

Roy manages to keep his expression bland despite the unexpectedness of the question.  It's not something he's been asked for before - which is fortunate, because he's not the sort who can get an erection on command.  He's not sure he could get into it enough to be able to fuck a client; he can't recall many previous tricks who have genuinely turned him on.  And it's been a long time - longer than he wants to think about - since he last had sex because he wanted to.

His first instinct is to reject the request, tell the kid that that particular activity isn't on the menu, but something makes him hesitate.  There's a long-buried part of him that's flickering to life, tentative embers glowing faintly in the darkness.  The kid is gorgeous, there's no denying that, but Roy's had good-looking customers before and looks have never been enough to jump-start his engine alone.  It's a combination of everything about this particular kid - his earnest eyes, his stubborn, determined mouth, and the bright, aggressive flare of life inside of him - that draws Roy like a moth to a flame.    

He thinks, to his surprise, that maybe it's something he could do with this kid.  With him, rather than to him.  It's a dangerous way to think - he learnt a long time ago that trust and hope in other people only ever leads to pain - and moths are all-too-often consumed by the flames they seek.  But still, that faint, tentative flicker of desire is there inside of him, and he thinks that perhaps it could be fanned into flames of genuine - and perhaps mutual - want.

"Fucking's ten thousand, either way," he says, hoping it comes out more casually than he feels.

The boy nods acknowledgement, seemingly unaware of Roy's inner turmoil.  "So, where do you, uh… usually go, to do… it?"  He asks, wincing at the awkwardness of the words.

"Car or hotel, generally," Roy answers, resisting the way his mouth wants to curl into a smile.  The kid's naivety is amusing, but Roy can't quite help finding it adorable as well.  

"Would it be all right to go to my place?"

Roy shrugs.  "If you'd prefer.  It doesn't make any difference to me."  He usually ends up in cars or hotel rooms because his clients don't want a whore sullying their their own beds - even if they don't have wives or girlfriends to hide him from.  But Roy has no issue with the idea itself - a home is likely to mean heating, and a reasonably comfortable bed.  

The kid hesitates, and then asks boldly:  "What about if I wanted you to stay all night?"

"The entire night?"  Roy raises an eyebrow, and the kid nods confirmation.  

On a slow night he makes a couple of hundred.  On a good night, he can take home a hundred thousand, although those are the nights he ends up crawling into bed at dawn, feeling scoured and hollow and used.  But to be out of the cold for the entire evening is pretty appealing; tempting enough for him to apply a discount on what he'd otherwise be tempted to charge.  

"Sixty thousand," Roy says.  "Payment up front."  

Roy wonders whether the price will be enough to scare the kid off.  He hardly looks like the sort who has hundreds to burn on hookers whenever he feels like it.  Nothing about him indicates wealth: his boots are worn and scuffed and the tears in his canvas satchel have obviously been mended by hand.  Nothing he's wearing is designer or labelled.  He looks like any other university student, with enough cash to scrape by, even if the last few meals each month are instant noodles.

But the kid doesn't so much as wince, nodding as if the amount is entirely reasonable.

"All right, then," the kid says with satisfaction.  "It's a deal."

"Agreed."

There is silence for a few moments as the kid's expression transforms into something uncomfortable, his gaze sliding off to the side and his weight shifting from one foot to the other.  It's the sort of awkwardness he usually sees when somebody is working themselves up to ask for something particularly kinky or degrading. Roy has a moment to start worrying about what exactly the boy wants to do to him, before the kid seems to come to some kind of conclusion, raises his chin defiantly, and pulls the glove off his right hand to reveal a fairly high-tech prosthesis.

"Will this be a problem?"  The kid asks, holding the hand out towards Roy and curling each of the metal fingers closed and then open again.  With his other hand in a fist, he reaches down to knock on his left thigh, which echoes hollowly.  "Leg, too."

And that is not at all what Roy expected; he actually has to work to keep the surprise from his expression this time.  The boy walks and moves so naturally that Roy would never have suspected two of his limbs weren't natural if he hadn't been told. The mechanics and joints visible in the flexing right hand are more advanced than anything he's seen before, and the boy's obviously had them long enough to make controlling them second nature.

Still, he imagines that two missing limbs could potentially make things awkward when it comes to intimate relations, and for the first time he has some inkling of why the kid is approaching him rather than going out to a club to pick up.  He can only imagine the kinds of reactions the kid might receive from random hook-ups, especially in the gay scene, which tends towards the worship of bodily perfection.  

But Roy has no issues with damaged bodies, not after the kinds of physical trauma he's seen, and the damage inflicted upon his own.  If anything, he finds himself feeling an odd kind of brotherhood with this boy and his imperfect body, and he has a sudden desire to show the boy that desirability has nothing to do with being physically whole or perfect.  Maybe that's something he'll get a chance to do tonight.

"They're not a problem for me," Roy says, letting his expression speak his sincerity.

The kid's discomfort evaporates, his grin blooming fierce and radiant.  "Great!"  He declares.  "Let's do it!"

Roy lets himself smile this time - the boy's awkward enthusiasm is ridiculously endearing.

The kid winces as he twigs to the accidental double entendre, but he recovers quickly and holds out his hand.  "Oh, hey - I'm Ed."

Yet another surprise - most of his tricks remain deliberately anonymous, and those who give him a name use obvious aliases.  Roy never asks, and never offers his own in return.  But he has no doubt that Ed has just handed him his actual given name without a second thought, and something in Roy warms at this small display of openness and trust.  It also compels him to offer the same in return, despite his better judgement urging him to remain safely behind the shield of anonymity.   

"Roy."  The name sounds almost foreign to himself, it's so rare that he has reason to use it these days.

Roy reaches to shake the outstretched hand, realising at the last moment that he's reached out with his right while the kid's offered his left.  There's an awkward moment where he's forced to switch hands before grasping the one offered.  For a moment he just assumes the kid must be left-handed, and then it hits him - of course the kid prefers to shake with his natural hand rather than the prosthesis.  He wonders what other adaptations the kid's had to make to fit into a two-handed world.

The kid - Ed - doesn't seem ruffled by the moment of awkwardness, his grip firm and sure.  Roy doesn't think he's ever shaken the hand of a trick, either; apparently it's to be a day of firsts.  So far Ed isn't so much bending the rules of convention as shattering them, and Roy's usual ability to keep himself at a distance along with them.  He has to remind himself that no matter how friendly and sincere the kid is, he's still just a client.  It's one night's work, and then he'll probably never see the kid again.  

"Shall we?"  Roy asks, as Ed continues to simply stand and grin at him.

"Oh! Oh, yeah, hell yeah! Let's go."  Ed gestures for Roy to follow him, and Roy obediently falls into step beside him as they continue on down the street together.

Ed has no fucking idea what he's doing.

And Al is going to kill him.

He certainly hadn't set out to hire a hooker tonight.  He'd been fed up and frustrated as he'd left campus this evening, bored of the same rut his life has been stuck in lately, sick of the same paths he's been treading and retreading day by day.  The afternoon had dragged interminably and he'd grown more and more antsy and irritable, even snapping at Al when he'd called to let Ed know he wouldn't be home that night.  By the time he'd shoved his books into his satchel at the end of the last lecture, he knew he had to do something to try and break himself out of the petulant, pigheaded mood he'd sunk into.  He'd decided to start with something simple and take a different route home - he'd figured that maybe he'd stumble across a new take-away place, or a comic book shop he hadn't come across before.  

Instead, he'd found Roy.

The guy had caught his attention from a distance: a slender figure with his back temptingly arched, shoulders pressed against the bricks behind him, one knee bent with his foot flat on the wall.  He was only wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and Ed shivered sympathetically - the guy must be freezing his ass off.  All the same, the t-shirt did offer a nice view of his flat chest and belly, and the long, toned muscles of his arms.  

As he'd got closer Ed had filled in more details: straight black hair that fell to the tops of his ears, the shine of it a silver halo lit by the streetlight above, a stark contrast to the paleness of his skin.  His eyes were dark and alert, flickering to each of the evening travellers as they passed him by, assessing them intently.  He was the sort of good-looking that Ed found most attractive - sharp, lean and confident, with just a hint of danger about him.  The heat of want flared in the pit of his belly, startling him with its intensity - it was rare that Ed felt so attracted to anyone on first sight.  

It had taken Ed an embarrassingly long time to realise that the guy was a hooker.  He'd already passed several men loitering along the street who had watched him go by with the same contemplative gaze, but he hadn't really thought anything of it.  It wasn't until he found himself in front of the guy that all the pieces fell into place.  A few moments later he realised he was standing there staring like an imbecile, and was receiving an assessing look in return.  

"Can I help you?"  The guy had asked in a rich, smooth tenor.  He was well-spoken, his accent precise and refined - not what Ed had expected from a street worker, and for a few moments he was taken aback.

And then, without any actual input from his brain, he'd blurted: "How much?"

Ed was caught somewhere between horrified and aghast at his own impulsiveness.  Of all the stupid, impetuous things he'd ever done, this had to rank up there with the best of them.   What the hell was he thinking?  Had his dick somehow taken total control of his brain?  He'd never even had sex before, much less with a guy, and now he was suddenly deciding to proposition a gay hooker?

But the desire was still there, bright and hot and growing as he stood transfixed by the guy's dark, astute gaze.  Ed wanted him, wanted to feel the warmth of his mouth and solidness of his body against Ed's own.  So why the hell shouldn't he hire a hooker, if he wanted?  It wasn't a crime.  It wouldn't hurt anybody.  It's what the guy did for a living - there shouldn't be any shame in it, for either of them.  Ed had to lose his virginity some time, so he might as well do it in a way that let him call the shots.

And he had the money, sitting in the bank account he and Al jointly shared.  The legacy of their absent father, he and Al had sworn never to resort to it out of need - and they'd fucking stuck to it, supported themselves without any help from the asshole's pity cash.  But that meant the money was still just sitting there, and Ed felt a satisfying sense of pleasure at the thought of how displeased the bastard would be to know his son was contemplating using it to hire a gay hooker.

Meanwhile, said hooker was giving him the once over - and calling him a goddamn fucking kid.  Well, if Ed hadn't been resolved to go through with this before, he certainly was now.  If there was one thing he was good at, it was pushing back against assholes who thought he was too young to do something.  He was old enough to drink, drive, and hire a goddamn hooker if he wanted, and he'd damn well prove it if he had to, despite the indignity of being carded by a sex worker.

Once they'd sorted the details, Ed had a moment of sobering realisation - having sex with this guy was going to mean getting naked.  Which - yes, ok - should have been obvious from the outset, but forward thinking had never been Ed's strong suit.  He had no idea how the guy was going to react to his prostheses.  It wasn't like he was ashamed of his artificial limbs; they were hella useful, and he'd have a much fucking harder time managing without them.  But the looks and comments and questions got damn tiresome after a while, so he typically went gloved simply to avoid the hassle.  It wasn't something he'd could avoid if he was going to fuck this guy, though, and he had no idea how the guy was going to react to a double amputee.  

But Ed wasn't a coward, and he wasn't going to let fear get in the way of something he wanted.  He took a deep breath, lifted his head, and pulled off the glove - putting it all out there for the guy to see, even as he braced for the reaction.  

But none of the expressions he expected - distaste, awkwardness, or worst of all, pity - materialised.  The guy looked thoughtful for a moment, and then met his gaze evenly and said it wasn't a problem.  Ed wasn't always the best at reading people, but he knew a genuine reaction when he saw one.  The guy had seen his disability, acknowledged it, and accepted it - without any kind of judgement.

That's when Ed realised that he was kinda gone on the guy.  It was entirely ridiculous - it wasn't as if he really knew anything about him: they'd spent five minutes together and barely exchanged a handful of words.  But even the little he'd seen made Ed think that Roy was someone worth getting to know, and he'd found himself wanting to, just as much as he wanted to fuck the guy.

It wasn't a smart thing to want, not from a hooker he was paying to spend the night with and then would probably never see again. He tried to resign himself to the fact that Roy would be gone come morning - all they'd ever have, most likely, would be this one too-short night.

But then again, he thought, his irrepressible optimism twisting it back around - they had this night.  Even if they never had anything beyond tonight, he was still going to be able to talk to Roy, touch him, connect their bodies in the closest way possible and get to know him as well as anyone could in a span of only hours.  This night was his and he wasn't going to squander it, or waste time wishing it was something more than what it was.  

He was going to spend the night with Roy, and that was pretty fucking awesome, no matter what happened afterwards.  

"Shall we?"  Roy asks, breaking him from his reverie, and they set off down the street together.

So that's how Ed finds himself escorting a hooker back to his apartment one freezing Monday evening.  It might not be the most well-thought-out plan he's embarked on, but he doesn't think he's going to regret it. He darts a glance at Roy, and finds Roy looking back at him - Ed flushes with nervous embarrassment and Roy gives him a knowing smirk that gets him flushing for an entirely different reason.  Ed's not sure how even just the curve of Roy's lips can be so damn sexy.

Even if Al does kill him, Ed thinks this might be worth it.