#one of those fuckers did it on purpose

[walking-loather]

"their hands brushed as she handed over—" blah blah whatever do u know how HARD that shit is to manufacture???? To authentically brush hands or what the fuck????

[batsplat]

your negative takes on recent tennis rivalries pleaseeee🙏🙏🙏

ps. you’re a treasure

okay so I'll do the copy paste thing from what I did just cut from the initial post, which was my polite 'I'm attempting to write a reasonably neutral post' approach

so, this may come as a shock, but obviously I'm a bit of a fan of rivalries. we do have some bangers in tennis history, rich narrative texts, but... well. the landscape out there hasn't been great for the past decade or so. sometimes you can get invested in match-ups between specific players that are fun to watch and interesting tennis-wise, but it's all very much about the sport rather than the personal relationships between the different players. I enjoy matches between all three or ryba, sabs and iga!! but also. they are coworkers. you do kindaaaa get the sense sabs and iga aren't particularly fond of each of other, but it's all perfectly cordial. again, the tennis is great, I support them in all their endeavours, but it's very much the tennis itself you need to look for for the drama (also they don't play each other as much as I'd like, but that's a conversation for a different day)

you do still sometimes get some fun beef but it's very much isolated dumb stuff like the fritz/rinderknech "have a nice flight home" thing. this isn't going anywhere story-wise but it's fun in the moment

speaking of men. obviously the most important rivalries for the last however many years have been between various big three/four members, and federer/nadal specifically is extremely popular. tennis-wise, I still think federer/djokovic was the most fun match-up, and at least there was a little tension there because federer used to hate djokovic. they've played a lot of matches that are worth watching!! also they've finally mostly retired so it's not super relevant any more, but well tennis fans as a collective are very big three-pilled so you'll hear a lot about these blokes

and now there's alcaraz/sinner. they've only really had one match that was good start to finish (uso 2022), but definitely some fun ones (miami 2023 and wimbledon 2022 are probably the other ones that stand out, their most recent match was very much in the 'long does not equal good' category). plus, they're quite good at producing highlight reel content, like this one point everyone remembers (shown here from every angle... tennistv produces longer videos for single points than the wta releases for most finals). it's an interpersonally warm rivalry between two young guys who are both very successful and will presumably win everything for the next decade. again, I'd suggest trying to become a fan of one of those two

this was the polite way of phrasing it!! everything below here is quite rude and negative, peace and love to all

okay, let's ditch the thin veneer of neutrality, here's what I actually think: it is completely baffling to me how popular quite a few of these rivalries are, I don't get it, I have never understood it, I will never understand it. tennis went 'what if we had rivalries without narrative tension' and everyone just kinda rolled with that? mind you federer/nadal early confrontations were happening at the same time as clijsters/henin, who were like?? dude it got so bad henin said she had never been friends with clijsters so nothing clijsters and her father said could hurt her ("nothing was broken between us because there was nothing to break" ???? ffs). which is obviously not true!! but it's so... she denied the friendship ever existed and called it all pr like that's so SAD! look, this is beside the point, I'm not talking about henin/clijsters here, I do understand why people aren't that into a rivalry that was at its peak like two decades ago and federer/nadal were still playing slam finals in 2k17 (a dark dark time for some fans, federer had already HAD his decline and then he was suddenly winning slams again like tf). and to some extent I go 'well clearly people will just be into anything if you have two successful blokes' but there's clearly quite a lot of genuine passion there? like I'm not denying the passion EXISTS, people do clearly care about these guys, it's not all a psyop by Big Fedal who have suckered people into caring for these two dudes. and I'm not denying the tennis is great! I still personally prefer the match-ups that involve djokovic, and also the match-ups that involve none of those three, but fundamentally I have been watching these matches for like!! so many years! it's part of my childhood, I have enjoyed plenty of these matches, the tennis is obviously otherworldly. I have hot takes on a bunch of their matches, I can have the goat debate with you, I can give you the rundown on surface-specific match-ups and how long since nadal won a set on hard court against djokovic and federer's peak year domination rate and what they all did at madrid and blue clay and yec and golden masters and all that shit, of course it's part of my dna as a tennis viewer too!! I did usually have a slight order of preference in my head when I was watching big three match ups to have someone to root for (it's different now but back when I was a kid it was djokovic > nadal > federer, these days federer's redeemed himself a little bit in my eyes by having the decency to retire and I was radicalised against nadal). but like!! what's the narrative hook! I need somebody to explain to me what the story here is. these guys are all very good at tennis and they are racking up their titles and it's so!! whatever!! no tension no arc no real interpersonal development once federer stopped being so bitchy about djokovic. twenty plus slams who CARES, what are they doing this for! it's all so?? ugh

anyway now that I've taken a potshot at the most popular rivalry in men's tennis, I should quickly back it up by saying I feel almost the exact same way about the second most popular one (at least on tumblr) and also feel nothing for alcaraz/sinner. that one was still like... vaguely palpable? when alcaraz was clearly a way better player but struggled in that match up and also was way more invested in the rivalry than sinner was. but well, sinner is world number one now so THAT'S been ruined. again, sit me down and explain to me what the narrative stakes here are. like, if sinner wins that roland garros match, he'll be fine? alcaraz will be fine? everyone will be fine? their relationship is basically 'friendly coworkers', zero chance of anything more substantial developing there. now, don't get me wrong, I'm not gonna pretend like I'm massively into the current state of the women's game when it comes to rivalries either, but at least I have a base level of fondness there for the top players and am ideologically inclined to hype up any rivalries there whenever they come along. also, quite frankly, it DOES matter viscerally more to them!! iga spends a lot of her time kinda like,,, on the edge, the way she was in tears when getting physio after the naomi match, united cup last year, a bunch of her 2021 matches, like she's so intense and so tightly strung on the court that you do really get the sense that a loss could just cause her to have an existential crisis. there's so many unanswered questions about her ultimate potential off clay, I'm still proper curious about her story develops. and then with aryna, she's obviously ALSO so intense but in a different way, and she feels every single emotion so completely and entirely and iga has beaten her in one of those infamous semifinal chokes and it's kinda... you know, aryna also feels like she has something to prove, and you can tell they both really really want to beat each other. there's something there!! it's something real! I'm always seated whenever we actually get to see them play

that being said, yes, obviously I do think we're not exactly peak rivalry potential in either gender. the men's is more egregious because the way the game has shaken out since like,,,, 2004, is incredible top level domination by just a few guys. and now, yes, I'm aware I'm a fan of another sport where this was also incredibly true. but. the key difference is that the aliens had the decency to not be so fucking boring about it. sure on paper they were as a PACK winning everything, but good lord were they screaming crying throwing up whenever things went mildly wrong for them. like!! they despised each other and they needed to beat each other, which makes ME care!! I'm not saying I NEED rivals to hate each other, though it sure does help for my investment levels, but I need a narrative hook! borg/mcenroe had a narrative hook, evert/navratilova had a narrative hook (unfortunately that narrative hook these days is 'being united in transphobia'), agassi/sampras had one HELL of a narrative hook. noughties wta tennis about fifty million narrative hooks!! when I watch alcaraz/sinner, I just try and enjoy the tennis (though their roland garros match was mid as shit so what's that all about) but like... I don't care? or I care because one of them has pissed me off recently. I do fundamentally watch most of men's tennis as a hater, and admittedly this is accumulated bitterness over way too many years, but I do also think it's frustrating! tennis gets in its own way with this whole gentleman's sport business, the amount of wanking people do over federer/nadal in particular is truly insufferable... this is a sport filled with millionaire tax evaders and they'll have you believe that smashing a racquet is not only not fun (obviously it is) but also some kind of arbiter of morality. congrats to nadal for not smashing a racquet in his career!! could we please get his thoughts on gender equality in prize money? oh... okay. hm. this isn't supposed to be some gotcha, these guys all suck. but ultimately I would prefer not to engage with this sanitising and pearl clutching, given they do all suck, over shit that fundamentally does not matter while giving them a pass over all the stuff that DOES and instead maybe just have some fun. maybe you need to be single-minded and kind of dull to be good at men's tennis these days, maybe it's inevitable, doesn't mean I don't find them boring and pointless. there's some people who just enjoy like,,, watching greatness, endlessly racking up numbers and reaching the pinnacle of the sport or whatever, that's not me, I need there to be a story

thing is, right, obviously I'll still watch these matches (though I have massively turned it down this year, especially on the men's side - I did have a kind of breaking point this january where I was like 'wow I don't think I can ever care about anything any more?' and broadly speaking this has proved to be correct). I've tried hard to like a lot of these men because, god knows, it'd be a way more pleasant experience if I could trick my brain into it, but I can't! I think they're dull! fundamentally I'm too embedded in this world to ever be able to leave it. but I think it's funny when fans go 'oh people who are into drama don't appreciate the actual sport' like buddy I can basically guarantee I know more about the sport than you do. I Just Think that actually interpersonal relationships do also enhance the actual sports, like this shit is a conversation right,,, it has its history, it's a development over time in terms of your tactics and your knowledge of your opponent's tactics and so on, your expectations going into every match. when you have an interesting interpersonal dynamic, the sport also becomes more interesting... it's actually pretty straightforward lol. a lot of tennis is in the head, rivalries are also in the head, you're playing the other guy (gender neutral) as much as you are the actual ball. I get super annoyed by fans who are too busy being nostalgic to actually enjoy the players we have now, and I really don't like it when people call iga boring for instance, but I do also have a little bit of that. love the game, hate a lot of the players, simple as. bring back agassi calling his pet parrot more interesting than sampras in his autobiography, we used to be a proper sport

[tojisteddy]

Acknowledge Me

or: Simon finally gives you attention after you piss him off.

“The power it takes, to make me cry that way. Baby, I hate me when you get under my skin.”

cw: 3.6k words (lord), 18+ MDNI, Toxic!Simon/Meanie!Simon, smut with plot, daddy kink (daddy, pa), dubcon, p in v, dacryphilia, degradation (like hell), water park amusement, pvssy slapping, creampie, marathon!, intoxicated sex, pet names (lovie, doll, pup), overstim, orgasm denial, straight debauchery, after care, y/n visuals.

a/n: acknowledge me by doja cat was the big inspo.

Were you a fucking stupid brat?

Or were you simply itching for attention that you deserved?

If you told your friends, they wouldn’t call you a fucking brat. Stupid? Yeah.

For being with a man who didn’t hesitate to curse you out when you annoyed him. Simon Riley didn’t even flinch when you started hearing those hiccups over the phone, he could already picture your trembling bottom lip, huffed out cheeks and tears forming at your water line. If anything it pissed him off further.

“Don’t fuckin try it with those tears [+]. I fuckin told you, you tell me where the fuck you’re goin. Why the fuck did I have see you move to five different bars in three fuckin hours and you didn’t say a word to me about it till now!?” Simon yelled through the phone.

“You and your dumb ass friends are too fuckin reckless—“

“—Don’t call them that-“ you chided.

“-Oh, I promise you lovie, I don’t give a shit.” his voice with venom.

For fucks sake, it was supposed to be a fun night out and if you were one of your friends, it would’ve been. You and your friends loved bar hopping, enjoying the vibe wherever you went and free alcohol that men and women would order for you. You don’t remember how many bars ago, but your phone died somewhere in the middle and you did spend about five minutes at the last 6 bars trying to find an outlet before your friends dragged you away to the dance floor. That had to count for something, right? You did try to get some form of life on your phone for thirty minutes!

You’d finally gotten to an outlet, right next to the fucking bathroom. ‘15 missed called 4 new messages.’ A string of curses leaving your mouth once you dialed that memorized phone number. And there Simon was, talking to you out the ass while the music was booming in the distance, you had your phone in one hand and a finger in the other trying to hear him properly, the smell of only-god-knows from god-knows-what filling your poor nose all so you could attempt to fix your accidental boo-boo :( — but that bastard had to have you crying in the club.

Like you were thirsty for his attention. you were.

No, none of this was your fault. You didn’t need to update the 6’4, blonde, hunk of a damn brat, when he hadn’t even bothered to contact you in a month.

Yup, the ghost was actually known for ghosting you.

Purposely declining your calls, leaving your texts on read or worse: replying with a ‘k’ when you tried to meet up when you knew (least for the most part) he kept to himself. When he was stationed near by, he was at his own fucking house minding his own business. He was the worst. And the cherry on top?

The fucker had your location on.

You swore he did this to get a rise out of you, to see you teetering off the brink of sanity— and you had to attempt to reel yourself back in every. fucking. time. You weren’t his little plaything, you didn’t need him.

“Don’t fuck with me.” you mumbled, salty tears hitting your mouth. Those would be the last for the night, you swore it. It was like the liquor finally left your heart and went to your brain. Liquid courage.

“What’dyou just say t’me?”

Louder, “I said, don’t fuck with me! I’m sick of your shit Simon!” You snapped. You weren’t an angry person, you’d just hit an annoying wall you needed to get though. The annoying wall called Ghost Riley.

“You always- always come out of the fucking blue ‘nd think you tell me what to do! I’m not a fucking idiot, I know what the fuck I’m doin! Don’t be bitchy at me cause I like to have a little fuckin fun with my friends even when you’ve been ignoring me. Fuckin ignoring me instead of telling me what’s up! The fuck do I gotta do to get you off my dick?!”

“You like the messy shit, Si! You like seein me pissed at you just so you’re the one who has to come and fix it! I can’t stand it. You should go find a bitch who likes that shit because I don’t! I hate how I feel right now and I hate that you can’t be one of those kind boyfriends who’ll come and fuckin hold me nice and shit! Hell, maybe I’ll go find someone to hold me realll nice like since you fuckin won’t!” You spat, nose flaring, you were trembling with rage.

“Pup,” one word. Cut throat. Yanking you right back down to reality. “You take your pretty ass home, ‘nd I’ll go easy on you, yeah?”

You felt your chest rising and falling rapidly, you were frustrated that he clearly didn’t listen to your little rant but you felt your panties get damp. Just a bit. Just like always when you saw a punishment coming. You couldn’t help yourself.

“I-“

“—She’s busy right now please leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeeep.” Your friend, Sharon, has snactched your phone out of you hand, quickly interjecting your conversation with the man and hanging up. She hiccuped, nodding her head in satisfaction.

“You can’t spend the whoooole night by this stinky ass bathroom. Let’s go daaaaance, or-or drink.” She giggled, taking your hands. “Or both!” She squealed at her own words.

Fuck it.

You went out with your friends so you could have a good time, and that’s exactly what you were going to do.

Simon had such a nice way of breaking you down to your knees, so you were the one sobbing and begging then bringing you back up. He didn’t do it often, he wasn’t that fucking mean, but he did it when you really pissed him off. Simon needed you to understand— you weren’t in charge. He was. The man doesn’t remember exactly what you did to piss him anymore, it had been a long and grueling month for him anyway. But he had to follow through with something because he’d be damned if he had to actually apologize, you being with your idiot friends didn’t help your case. So he threw it in the melting pot of why he had a right to bully you.

The motherfucker couldn’t help himself.

When he entered your empty and annoyingly small studio apartment, he added another mark to his ‘reasons to fuck babygirl up’ list. He told you to take your sweet ass home, didn’t he? And where were you?

He’d make sure the neighbors knew exactly who the fuck he was.

It should’ve been easy for you to check in, no? He worried about your safety above all else, but it always seemed to fly out the window when you were with your friends who were notorious and extreme party girls while you just went with the flow. He didn’t not like them sober, it’s when you went clubbing you, for some reason, would get hard headed, defiant. It pissed him off, which would always lead to an argument. Usually he’d come snatch you up while you were tipsy, you’d have a cry in the car, mumbling something about how you just knew the man didn’t like you or take you serious.

And partially, Ghost didn’t. He brushed your insecurities away at first, thinking nothing of it as you went about your life. But you kept being on edge drunk or sober. So he would be right there, finger fucking you otherwise while the car was still in motion. And maybe you were right, maybe he wasn’t the sweet and soft boyfriend you wanted who’d hold your cute little hand when you made him angry. He wasn’t the type to coddle you, chicken peck your face with kisses when you felt down. Simon Riley was the gruff and overbearing man you needed to set you straight, keep you grounded when the world went to shit.

That’s what your cute little tantrum was about, least part of it was. Simon knew he was distant, you just needed a reminder he was yours and you were his. And only his. You craved him like you needed food, it was obvious to anyone who saw you two together. He chuckled, couldn’t believe you even suggested fucking some other man. As if they could handle you, as if they knew what you needed.

He’d set that attitude straight.

The shower was running when the front door of your flat closed behind you. There’s no way you left it on this whole time, did you? You didn’t remember. The night turned into a long one.

No, you didn’t get black out drunk like your friends suggested. You had another shot or two, deciding to stay on the sober side with your DD. You two did smoke a fat blunt before hitting another club though, that made you feel like you were starting to lose your hearing. But it mellowed you out completely. The anger you felt, all that angst and sadness? Gone like a snap of your fingers. The person who was yelling and crying earlier? Technically it wasn’t you, you just needed a little peace. A little medicinal help.

After singing and dancing as hard as you could, your drunk friends taking blurry photos and videos of you that you’d probably post later, you persuaded them it’d be best to get something to eat and head home around two am. It took thirty minutes to find a convenience store that was open so you could chow down on something, and fifteen to get home. With a basically empty bag of chips in one hand, purse slung over your shoulder like a duffle, a bag of junk food in your other hand, low red eyes and a small smile— you finally got home.

You’d deal with that asshole tomorrow. Or next week— maybe next month if you gave enough of a fuck like he did.

Who knows.

You sat the bag of food on the coffee table, right now the priority was your skin care routine, then eat, then zonk out till 2 pm. You still can’t believe you left the shower and the bathroom light on that was now blinding your eyes but whatever. You’d turn it off as soon as you were done since it was warm due to the slight steam.

Routine, routine, routin— you stumbled over a pile of clothes. Large male clothes— okay, maybe you were in the wrong apartment.

Not your first rodeo.

You’d just slowly back out and try looking for your apartment. No big deal.

But the shower curtain swung open and you tripped over the clothes, falling right on your ass with a yelp.

“Ya can’t be that fuckin drunk, can ya?”

Your eyes darted open, right at the familiar deep cockney accent— Simon Riley was right there in the flesh, water dripping down his scarred and large body, making him dazzle like a God in that fucked up bathroom light.

Now that was blinding.

“Hello? Are ya listenin?”

Oh, he really wanted an answer.

“ ‘M not drunk.” You said breathlessly. Intoxicated? Yes. But not drunk. The shots had worn off ages ago. Hell, maybe your high was too at the sight of this brute.

What the fuck was he doing here?

The blonde ignored the confused look on your face. Taking a towel that sat on the sink and drying his hair. No point in drying off anything else, he was about to sweat.

So were you.

Simon continued on, stepping past you and you quickly got up, following right behind him like a starved puppy. For someone who hated your apartment, he sure walked around like he owned the place. Nude, large cock swinging, and the look of annoyance written on his handsome unmasked face.

He sat on the bed, manspreading nonchalantly. Knowing you were looking at it, your eyes immediately went elsewhere.

“What do you want?” You mumbled out, shifting from foot to foot.

As if you didn’t know what was bound to happen.

The older man laughed, sarcasm dripping down his throat.

“Be good ‘nd strip, won’t repeat myself.”

“Si-Simon!” Your breath hitched once a large hand came down on your ass, once for good measure.

“Who?” He slapped his thick member on your ass, sliding it through the crevice of your cheeks.

“But- but Simon-“ another slap.

“You’re gonna make it worse for yourself, call me proper.” He smacked his cock over your glistening folds. So fucking wet.

“Daddy mmph,” You moaned.

“All this ‘b-b-but’ bullshit from ya. You’ve pissed me off more than enough. You’ll take all of it today.” Simon slipped inside your hole, filling you to the brim even with half of that girthy cock in you. You both hissed, fuck, it was always so good when he was inside your walls. Simon slowly started to rock his hips into you, slowly but surely making sure you took every inch if his manhood had to offer.

It was when he bottomed out, you knew you were in for it. Simon wasn’t talking to you, he forced your head down on the bed, forcing your back to arch further as he thrusted right at your spot. Over and over and over.

“Gonna cum pa, gonna cum.” You stuttered, feeling the pit in your stomach starting to turn.

“No you’re not.”

“—But—”

“I dare you [+]. I know you’d just looove seein how that turns out.”

You hiccuped, tears brimming as Simons pace got faster. You could feel him throbbing inside you but he wouldn’t cave. He was making the both of you suffer over a petty argument— a mistake that in any normal relationship wouldn’t be that serious.

“I- no- anngh— I need to cum—”

“-You don’t need shit you greedy. fuckin. bitch.” He grunted, swatting your ass with every thrust.

The man yanked you up by your tosseled hair, “You had your oh-so lovin Daddy fuckin worried about’cha so you can be safe then when I finally get a hold of ya ‘nd tell you to go home, you ignore me. Threatenin to go fuck some idiot, but he couldn’t fuck you like I can? Can he? Can’t keep you pretty ‘nd upright? Can he?” His hand trailed from your throat to the buldge at your stomach. He scuffed, “now you’re itching t’cum just because I have my cock right here in ya? Fuckin dumb bitch shit,”

“You a dumb bitch?” He asked, making sure you were fucking him back. Ripples forming on your ass with every thrust.

“Noooo.” You cried out, trying to get away but it only made the brute dig into you further.

“What?”

“No sir.”

“Thaaats right princess. You're my smart little girl, listen to me next time. Good on you- fuck— for tryin to salvage yourself.” He huffed.

You didn’t realize your own toes curling at that small praise, your body trembling as you reached your peak.

“Hold it, did you just fuckin cum? When I told you not to?” He growled, forcing you to look at his eyes that were practically red with anger.

“Wait, wait, wait.” You really couldn’t help yourself, you’d been holding it for how long? And you were still kinda high which made you feel the sensations ten fold, Simon was drilling into you like no tomorrow and then he gave you an inch of kindness after being so mean to you this whole fucking time.

Your body unconsciously took a mile.

“Nope.” He yanked you back to lay your back on him, the rest of his drenched length in you, and lifted your leg so it was over your head, legs parted like the red sea. The first smack on your cunt for the night had you screaming, water spraying out.

Simon gripped your chin, forcing you to look down at the mess you created while harshly rubbing your pearl, still thrusting into you from behind, “You wanna act like a greedy bitch and think with your pussy? Then you cum like a greedy fuckin bitch. Cum you dirty pup.”

And he kept smacking down on your poor cunt, unable to stop yourself from cumming and squirting. Completely creaming Simons girthy cock so that a ring of cum formed around the base of his length.

“Daddy I can’t-“ you keened.

The man scowled, “-Shut. the fuck. up. You never shut the fuck up, the only thing I wanna hear is how fucking wet that pussy is. Keep fuckin cummin like a dirty slut you are.”

And you did.

You were wetting the bed like a dog. Water flying everywhere with every thwack of Simons hand on your abused and misused clit. You didn’t even know how many times you had cum by that point. Words? What were those? You wouldn’t even be able to read a street sign or name your favorite color if asked.

You were seeing pure white, the only thing you could hear was the loud squelching of Simon pumped himself in and out of you. He pulled out for a second causing you to whine at the loss of him, but he slipped back into your tight walls, fucking you in a nice missionary.

He gave your face a few light smacks to the face, tutting “Ah, ah, ah, pup, don’t you fuckin pass out. Eyes on Daddy.”

You managed to pry those long lashes open, hooded and lower than they could ever get when you were high.

“Therrrre my pretty girl is. Look so good bein fuckin stupid on my dick doll. This is alllll my girl needed. A good lesson, yeah? Remind ‘er who’s boss, huh?” He smirked, dragging himself down to you so your legs were at your chest.

“Shit baby, feel you squeezing down on me. Wanna cum with me? Missed me given it to ya just like you always need?” Oh, you were crying again. Yeah, you did miss his mean ass.

And his mean beautifully scarred up face, the mean way his muscles flexed when he did anything, his stupid fucking mouth that had to say some stupid shit touching your full lips, his disgustingly sexy muscular yet pudgy stomach with a happy trail touching your stomach everytime he wrapped those arms around you. His massive presence when he stood next to you, mean brown eyes watching while you did your hair, your makeup, or got dressed. Heartless hands that rubbed your neck everytime he didn’t know how to comfort you because that asshole trying his hardest to understand you.

And that undeniably cruel, overly massive cock fucking you like you were the final girl getting a well deserved an award for making it out the trenches in a horror film.

Your head was full with the thought of daddy, daddy, daddy— you shook your head but you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. You hung on to whatever bullshit that man gave you. Only him. Always him.

“Wan- I wan it pa! Wan your cum in me.” you babbled through your sobs.

“Course ya fuckin do. Can’t do shit without me.” The older man crooned. He finally planted his lips on yours, you moaned at just the feel. Pink walls fluttering in ecstasy as he filled you to the brim. Slow thrusts making sure he pumped everything he had into your perfect cunt.

So much for not crying anymore.

The only sound you could be heard in that studio was you cries, like a fucking baby, bouncing off your thin walls. The headboard was finally able to rest, you knew for a fact your neighbors probably despise your being now.

“Why didn’t you- you come see me? I wanted- hicc- I wanted to see you. But- but- you wouldn’t come see me! Wouldn’t even talk to me on the phone,” You sobbed, tripping and falling through your words. “you must hate me.”

The older man rolled his eyes, “Didn’t ever say tha’. How can I hate’cha ‘nd your mine? Doesn’t make sense mama.”

“Didn’t call me though.” You were sprawled out on the bed now, fat tears escaping your eyes. The blonde was sitting on the bed, grabbing the bottled water that he kept in the nightstand, opening it and putting it to your lips to drink. You did, lifting just enough for a bit to go down your bound to be sore throat and flopping back on the bed.

“Was busy swee’art.” Half truth, half lie. Though it was habit, he was trying to keep you in the loop of his life this time. But old habits die hard. The man forgot to reply. His work schedule was fucked, and he was busy spending his free time moving house. The house he planned to give you, it just wasn’t ready yet. Simon was actually being good for you, for once.

“You’re not always busy Si, you just don’t like my annoying voice!” You whimpered.

It took everything in the older brute to not laugh, you were bein so fucking cute. Babbling nonsense but still clinging to him like a lifeline. Still wanting, still his baby girl.

“Told ya, you weren’t annoyin. Got a nice voice, so get it out silly skull.” He cooed, sitting you on your bottom to face him.

You sniffed, moaning and groaning in annoyance but choosing to accept those words. And only those though.

“Fucks sake, Stop it.”

“I caaaant.” You whined, profusely wiping your tears.

“No, dummy.” Simon pushed your hands off your own face, gently wiping the tears with his thumbs that continued to poor out, “Yer gonna throw a fuckin fit if your face ends up bein puffy cause you wipe your tears so damn rough. Take it easy.”

No one knew how to wipe your tears better than the man who created them.

“I wanna make up, you don’t want to?” That was as close to an apology you’d ever get. Always.

A proper Ghost apology was rare as is and you wouldn’t be getting that after your little tantrum tonight. So you ate up what you could get.

“I wanna- I wanna make up too Daddy.” You croaked, dragging out your words. Adorable princess.

“Pfft,” he ruffled your now messy, sweated out hair, “I gotcha.”

“Up you go.” Like a feather, Simon lifted you from the bed, walking to the bedroom you too had been at who knows how many hours ago. He gently sat you on the counter of the sink,

“Let’s get you all ready for bed, yeah?”

a/n: I really love meanie!Simon the most. Let me know what you think about him.

[roturo]

-; ੈ♡˳ MINISKIRT

JJK MEN REACTING TO YOU TEASING THEM WITH A MINISKIRT! ★༉‧₊˚✧

(gojo satoru, geto suguru, choso kamo, nanami kento)

contents: smut, nsfw, sub behavior, PRAISE, miniskirts, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, whimpering, overstimulation, edging, jealousy, sub-space, fluff, possesive behavior, all of them being DOWN for you, and lovesick for you.

A/N: wrote this while watching the office and drunk so npr, and proabably took so long to write because of this.

gojo satoru

He knows what you’re trying. That’s why he doesn’t give in. And it’s much more difficult when that tiny miniskirt is the color of his eyes, matching perfectly with a top as small as your skirt of his hair color.

Bending over the table just so he could see the matching panties while you ‘try to have a closer look to what Nanami is showing you’ – And he doesn’t know what angers him more, the fact you’re doing this to annoy him and probably other people behind you are watching your panties which he’s trying to cover with his body, or the fact Nanami is more likely watching your tits through that tiny top you’re wearing right now. 

He pinches the back of your thigh, making you squeak and sit again as a reaction– looking to your side finding Satoru giving you a glare easily expressing ‘stop what you´re doing’ – and maybe that’s what makes you more eager to tease him now that you’re feeling the wetness coming out of you.

And you know he’s suffering right now. Not only because he’s jealous, but because you’re giving a small piece to someone else of what he supposed it was his.

“Nngh- please baby, i’m sorry- but I couldn’t stand him watching how precious you looked” His cries went to deaf ears as you rode him, edging him for the third? fourth? time. He had some ‘childish’ (that’s what you called it) outburst because he couldn’t stand you teasing him like that, and suddenly after pinching your thigh moved you towards his lap after you sat so you could feel his raging erection and broke Nanami’s chair with the cursed energy he couldn’t control coming out of his body. Something completely new for him.

“Please princess, it was just- You’re so beautiful I can’t let anyone to- I… I just can’t get enough of you.” He ghosted his lips with yours, trying to kiss them but you wouldn’t let him. You were close to another orgasm too, he was yearning for your touch, begging to whatever god stronger than him so you could give him permission to cum.

Who would’ve thought, huh? 

If Mahito, Sukuna or any of those fuckers watched him lose control to a girl they woulc’ve laughed at his face, but if they experienced how good it was to be inside of you, feeling your liquids coat him and his pelvis while they come out of you— even though you don’t let him cum, they would’ve understand. 

But he won’t let them get even 2 meters near you.

You started kissing his neck, marks that will be very prominent in just some hours, his whimpers bringing you to heaven even with how slow you rode him, just one thrust and he swears he could cum– overstimulation taking the best of him, you just pecked his lips one time and did as what he imagined and failed to keep it in.

“Aw baby, you ruined it! Why couldn’t you wait for me? Wanted to cum so badly? It’s okay, but cum again, okay? Be my good boy and make me cum again mhm?”

geto suguru

Are you doing this on purpose? Or you don't really notice? He swears people could see his raging erection from 10 meters afar, quirks of having a big cock, i guess.

And it’s so fucking embarrasing trying to hide it with the shopping bags you gave him to carry, not only he looked in an awkward position while walking, but the friction– and having you infront of him walking with that mini skirt, would make everyone crazy.

He swears he could just cum while walking and watching your hips move and tease him with your body. 

But you just were clueless. Getting excited to find the store you were looking for and do small jumps which had him rolling his eyes to conceal his need for you.

And he was getting needy. Spraying kisses all over your neck when he back-hugged you, he was making it obvious now! Rubbing himself on you, he needed it.

When you finally arrived home, he couldn’t stand it anymore, throwing away the bags somewhere in the kitchen carrying you– having to steady yourself by grabbing what you could from his back and not fall face into the floor while your legs were hanging on his front.

He carried you all the way into your bedroom and dropped you down softly on your bed while he plastered kisses all over your thighs mumbling about how much he missed being between your thighs and how you’ve been playing games with him this entire day.

You were suddenly overcome with excitement. Your clit throbbed and you desperately needed release. Your breath hitched in anticipation. All you could think about was letting Geto finally give you what you’ve been planning this whole day. 

“You’re so perfect. So perfect f´me– and all you been doin’ this day was tease me with that tiny skirt of yours baby- had to control myself to not go crazy over ya’”

At times like this, where Geto is kneeling right in front of you with his face buried in the middle of your legs, you are grateful that you lived alone. Because it means you don’t have to hold back your moans when Geto swipes his tongue on your clit. You don’t have to hold back as he roams his tongue around your entrance.  You know you genuinely lost it when he wrapped his lips around your bud, giving it a hard suckle that made your hips bucked. Out of instinct, your hand went to his hair. Gripping around the strand of it just to push his head closer to your cunt, letting the tip of his nose pressed against it. 

He inhaled, he fucking inhaled to let your scent filled his nose as if his tongue isn’t enough to make you feel stars.  Soon enough, you are on your knees, with your face buried on your pillow, tears pooling around your teardox as Geto has his mouth back to your pussy. His tongue moves in and out your hole to build up your orgasm. 

“What happened to my teasing girl mhm?”

choso kamo

Poor him. How did he end up in this situation? He swears all he did was give a small peek through your skirt because how couldn’t he?!

You were bending in front of him! And you’re even meaner because you know he has a crush for you since….ever. Kinda embarrassing to be honest. Because he acts like a kid having a crush, even worse, like when a little kid had a crush on their old brothers/sister friends… 

But. He won't lie he loves when you punish him like this. Because you praise him for being such dork for you. 

"It's okay, baby, you're doing so well for me right now," you lean down and place small kisses on his tear-stained cheeks, his red nose with his black mark and his eyelids eliciting a broken sob from him, "Think you can handle a little while longer, puppy?"

And he’s not thinking very clearly right now– Not when you’re pumping his cock in that tempo that has him seeing stars and crying out loud for you.

“yesyesyesy princess– oh my god- oh my fucking god… i´m sosososoooo lucky to be here with you baby, I love you soo much, i’m so, fuck, nngh!”

He was coming for a fifth? six? time right now. He swears he heard something about you telling him you won’t stop jacking him off until he cums dry. 

Choso looked at you, sniffing and wrapping his hand around yours, "But I want to fuck you now..." He mumbled barely audible to you, and you had to close your eyes and take a deep breath or you would've done what he told you to.

And he’s fucking excited for that. To fucking lose his mind and body to you. To dump all his cum wherever and whenever you wanted.

nanami kento

This little fucking pervert! He acts like this ‘oh so mature guy’ when he’s just as down for you as you are for him. He tried not to fall for you once he saw you for the first time in a mission both of you coincidentally crashed into. Being from another part of the world and suddenly connecting through these annoying curses.

But what annoyed him the most was how ‘inappropriate’ you are while working. Wearing those miniskirts of different colors for work. For work!

How is he supposed to focus? How is he supposed to train? Not when you’re moving your legs with that skirt that barely covers your butt and he easily sees the figure of it and your lips begging to be released to be tasted. By him. 

And you finally have him where you wanted, right between your legs. 

Your moans echo inside your bedroom, and maybe tomorrow you will have your neighbor file a noise complaint to you, but you didn’t mind. To have Kento’s attention only to you worth everything. 

At first, Kento wasn't the biggest fan of the size difference between you two, he felt almost too big compared to you.

Well, that was before he knew how good could fuck your needy cunt.

You were just barely holding onto his shoulders, leaving scratch marks that he would not even bother covering up, holding you with ease against the wall. "That's right, bunny, say my name and mark me, let everyone know I'm all yours, let them hear how good I fuck you," Kento whined and clung to you, feeling his cock pumping in and out of your small body, tilting his head forward to look down at the connection between your bodies.

The obvious outline of his length on your lower belly made him roll his eyes to the back of his head, your trembling legs wrapping around his hips, keeping his cock buried deep inside your pulsing pussy, feeling it wanting to milk every drop of his cum.

"Fuck me, more... I need more of your cock kento, please~!"

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

It Feels Like Home (Logan Howlett x F! Reader) Part 1/?

A/N: This is dedicated to anyone that requested a soft/hurt comfort Wolverine story. This is only the first part, I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: "The Worst One" Logan 'Wolverine' Howlett x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + for language, mentions of abuse/assault, nightmares, showering together (non-sexual), being sick (cold), Logan being protective, deadpool and wolverine spoilers.

Word Count: 3.8K

It was just another boring Monday evening at the bar when you first met him. The floors were sticky, the jukebox in the corner crooning, drowning out the conversations only mildly interrupted by the cue balls smacking together. 

But when he entered, the room seemed to shift. His shoulders were slunched down, making him seem small but it did little to deter the others in the room from outright staring. And who could blame them? As he slid into the stool across from you, lifting his eyes to stare at you, you could feel the liquid pool inside you. The dark brown hair, tussled from running his fingers through it, lips swollen from constantly biting, and those eyes. It takes a moment before you realize he’s asked for a drink while you’ve been ogling him at your bar. 

You turn grabbing the whiskey and a glass, turning back and shouting when the owner, Jim, grabs your wrist tightly. “We don’t want you here,” he sneers at the man, no not a man a mutant, the last mutant. 

“Just give me one drink and I’ll go,” he sighs, tapping the bar with two fingers. 

“You’re not wanted here,” Jim lets go and pushes you further down the bar, ignoring how your feet stumble and you hit the counter hard, wincing. 

But the man at the bar doesn’t. “Take it easy,” he warns, eyes narrowing, “she didn’t do anything.” 

“Jim,” you clear your throat, putting down the glass and rubbing at your side, “we can give him one drink, right?” 

Jim glares and you lower your eyes, before he sighs loudly, “One drink, then he gets the fuck out of my bar.” He sticks out a finger towards you and you slowly raise your head, “and don’t fucking talk to him.” 

Jim walks back towards the office and slams the door, and you step forward, pulling out a fresh glass, putting it on the bar, and filling it. “I’m sorry about him,” you grab a rag and start cleaning glasses, “he can be a real asshole sometimes.” 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be talking to me,” you stop and glance up, catching him staring at you as he quickly drinks the shot. 

“I can talk to whoever I want,” you go back to the glasses, “and for the moment, I choose you.” 

You grab the bottle and pour him another drink, ignoring those around you staring daggers into the side of your head. “You’re making some enemies,” he grabs the drink and downs it, eyes widening slightly when you fill it for a third time. “But I get the sense you don’t give a shit.” 

“I don’t,” you raise your head, leaning on the bar, tossing a finger back and forth, and raising your voice, “these fuckers try to make it seem like they are holier than thou by judging you. But we’ve all made mistakes in our life.” 

He swallows, tapping his fingers and watching as you fill the glass, “I made more than a mistake,” he raises the glass to his lips. 

“So it was on purpose?” the glass pauses and he lifts his eyes to meet yours, “because if that’s the case it changes things.” He narrows his eyes, lowering the glass with a clink as he sets it down hard on the bar, the liquid sloshing over the rim. His silence is telling and you break contact and go back to cleaning glasses, “maybe we started on the wrong foot,” you put the glass down with a sigh, telling him your name. 

He doesn’t respond and you roll your eyes, “This is usually the point where you tell me your name.” 

“Seems like you already know all about me, bub,” he grabs the glass and tosses it back with a wince. “I’m the Wolverine, the fuck up, the murderer,” his glare could melt iron but you don’t bend easily keeping his gaze, “but they call me Logan.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you pour him another drink, “so what brings you to town?” 

Logan furrows his brow, “what the fuck?” 

“Business or pleasure?” you continue, ignoring him. You giggle when you glance at him, seeing the utter confusion on his face, “I’m trying to change the subject. I think you’ve had enough doom and gloom for a lifetime.” 

His eyes soften for a second, so quickly you could have blinked and missed it before he scoffs, “I’m just passing through.” 

“Where are you headed?” 

“I-” he hesitates, “I’m not sure.” 

“Stop fucking talking to him,” Ron one of the regulars stands behind him, and he slowly turns to look at him. “The boss told you to serve him one drink and get him the fuck out, are you hard of hearing? Stupid bitch.” 

“What did you say?” Logan turns all the way around and stands. The tension is electric as other patrons stand and take a menacing step closer. 

“Enough!” you shout, coming around the bar to stand in front of Logan, ignoring how he’s so tall he can see over your head. “Everyone stand down,” you lift your arms out like wrangling a bunch of raptors. “Ron, don’t be a fucking asshole!” 

Suddenly a gun shoots off to the right and you flinch curling in to cover your head, and a warm body wraps around you, tugging you into their chest. “What the fuck is going on here?!” Jim holds the shotgun and you straighten up, hands pressed to Logan’s chest, his hands still wrapped protectively around your waist. “Get your hands off my fucking bartender,” he swings the gun towards Logan who pushes you behind him. 

“Why don’t you lower the gun, bub?” Logan lifts a hand toward Jim. 

“You don’t tell me what do,” Jim aims the gun at him, “now pay your tab and get the fuck out of my bar.” 

Logan keeps an eye on the weapon, covering you with his body and pulling his wallet from his pocket, grabbing a hundred dollar bill, and putting it on the bar. He turns to look at you over his shoulder, his voice quiet when he whispers, “see you around, sweetheart,” before taking off through the side door. 

The silence stretches, and Jim lowers the gun before turning to you with a glare, “My office, now!” 

The ass-chewing you received that night should have been enough to deter you from ever speaking the name Logan again but the next night when he showed up sitting in the same stool at the bar, you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. “Hi,” you whispered, glancing around the mostly empty bar, Jim was off for the evening, and the other patrons already lost in their cups. Tuesdays were always the slowest. 

“Hey bub,” his voice is gravely and sends shivers down your spine. He waits for you to pour him a drink before catching your wrist softly when you pull back with the bottle, “you okay?” 

You pull from his touch and put down the bottle, his hand quickly retreating thinking you don’t want his touch. You put out your hand, palm up and he watches you for a moment before slowly putting his hand in your waiting palm. You squeeze, smiling at him, “I got my ass chewed out, and threatened to lose my job but besides that nothing. Jim knows he needs me.” 

“I’m sorry I got you into trouble,” he looks around, “he around tonight?” 

“No, he’s never in on Tuesdays. And he usually leaves by 11:30 each night.” The edge of his lips curves for a second before he tosses back the drink, understanding what you’re trying to tell him, and he nods. 

“That’s good.” 

The rest of the week passes much the same, Logan showing up well after midnight when the majority of the crowd and Jim have retired for the evening. The two of you sharing stories over whiskey, and 80’s power ballads. There was something safe about having Logan there, an understanding between the two of you, you’d never experienced with another. 

Each night he’d wait as you locked up the bar, walking you to your car before taking off down the street, an uneasy friendship forming. But everything changed on Saturday. You woke with a splitting headache and a fever, tossing and turning in bed, sweating through the sheets you reached for the cell on the bedstand, and texted Jim you wouldn’t be in. 

The whole day was miserable, laying there sick as a dog and trying to keep down water and some soup from the cabinet. It was around 11:00 pm when you felt the fever finally break and you lifted your phone to see the time. It only took a second through the haze to feel the utter terror take over. “Logan,” you gasped pushing back the blanket and getting dressed as quickly as possible, the whole process taking you longer than normal. 

Logan stumbled out into the alley, the crowd cheering behind him as his inebriated body slammed into the trash cans. “Taking out the trash!” Jim shouts with a grin before spitting on him and slamming the door shut. 

He didn’t bother getting up, it wasn’t worth the effort. He lowered his head back and looked at the stars sprinkled across the sky seeing a swell of clouds looming in the distance, his heart starting to beat faster at the sting in his eyes. He closes his eyes as the first drop of rain falls from the sky, and he lets it quickly drown him, his clothes plastered to his skin. 

“Storm,” he whispers her name, his chest tightening as he struggles to breathe through the pain. His friends are dead and gone, and it’s all his fault. He’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t hear the footsteps getting closer. 

“Fuck,” you blink, glancing down at him and he slowly opens his eyes squinting as the water drips down his forehead. You purse your lips for a moment before sighing and leaning down, balancing the umbrella in one hand and reaching for him with the other, “Come on, help me.” 

“Leave me,” he slurs, cursing when you don’t quit, “fuckin’ leave me!” 

“Nope, not happening,” you drop the umbrella and quickly get soaked in the downpour, “come on, time to get up.” He growls, and you see the beginning of his claws break through his knuckles, “going to stab me?” You raise a brow at him, “then do it.” 

His claws retract and he sighs loudly before standing on unsteady legs, his body leaning forward to faceplant when you grab him around the waist. “Fuck,” he’s heavy, and you struggle before getting him upright and leading him toward the parking lot. 

A couple of men stand outside the door to the bar by some bikes and you try to hide his face as you shuffle him toward your car. “You finally taking one of the boys up on their offer?” they jeer at you and you smile tightly walking faster, and cursing when you hear the boots sound behind you. 

“Come on,” you urge the man beside you, “they can’t see you.” You reach the car, open the passenger door, and shove him inside, quickly shoving in his leg and turning around to lean against the door, blocking him, your breathing fast and hard from the effort. 

“Wait,” one of the men stops, squinting through the glass, “is that, that fuckin’ mutant?” They all freeze looking between the man slumped in your car and you, and you back up as they move closer. “You like mutants, slut?” they close in and you reach for the key in your pocket, hand quickly finding the pepper spray and sliding the safety off. 

The words spewing out of their mouths are vile, the rain soaking through their clothes as they corner you into the streetlight. The smell of their breaths reeks of alcohol and you go to pull out the pepper spray when one grabs your wrist and twists, smiling when you let out a painful gasp. “Oh, come on slut, we know you like it rough,” he grins.

“Let her go,” they all freeze, turning and staring at the man leaning against your car. 

One of the men, grabs your arm and pulls you into his chest, his hand running over your breasts, “and what are you going to do about it?” You squirm trying to get away from his touch, and the claws extend, his hand quickly leaving your breast to push you behind him. 

“You don’t want to do this,” Logan warns, pushing off the car and standing straight. 

“Oh, I think we do,” the man in front of you smiles, pulling brass knuckles from his pocket. You watch with wide eyes as they pull out a variety of weapons; guns, knives, and even nunchucks. The air is electric, the streetlight flickering as if it senses the tension before one of the men shouts, “Come on, let’s go!” 

Logan grins, “Let’s fucking go.” 

You drop to your knees and crawl through their legs, scrambling up before the axe drops and reach for Logan, coughing up a storm and trying to catch your breath, his claws retract as he grabs you pulling you into his chest and looking down at you with a furrowed brow. “What’s wrong-”

“Don’t kill them,” you hold the lapels of his coat, nails digging in as he growls at them over the top of your head as if they made you sick, “it will only make things worse.” 

“I won’t kill them,” he pushes you behind him with a grin, “just a little light maiming.” You nod and turn towards the car, sitting in the driver's seat escaping the rain and turning on the heater. The screams are quickly drowned out when you turn up the music, reach for a towel from your swim bag in the backseat, and dry your body the best you can. 

A few minutes later the passenger door opens and Logan plops beside you. He’s covered in blood but you don’t comment, tossing him the towel and heading towards home. The ride home is silent and when you pull into your house, he gets out before the key is out of the ignition. You scramble out, watching as he walks back towards the road, “where are you going?” 

“Listen,” he stops looking back towards you, water dripping down his face, “I appreciate what you did back there. But that is where this partnership ends, I don’t need your charity. Just follow the rest of the world and hate me, it will save you a lot of trouble.” 

He turns away and you follow, “Listen, it’s freezing outside, and I know for a fact you have nowhere to go. It won’t kill you to accept help for a night.” 

“No,” he turns angrily, “but it could very well get you killed. Those guys back there were ready to assault you for helping me. Imagine what people will do to you if they find out you let me stay here. I have enough blood on my hands.” 

“So you’re going back to the park to sleep?” you put your hands on your hips, his brow furrowing. “You’ve been at the bar every night for the past week. You leave when I do and I see you go into the park.” 

“You stalking me, princess?” he sneers. 

“No,” you shake your head, shivering, “but I see someone that could use some help. And I am offering it. Take it.” 

He watches you for several moments, and you feel your fingers start to lose feeling from the cold, shoulders trembling as you tuck your hands into your jacket. “Fine,” he bites, following behind you as you lead the way to the door, hiding your smile. Your fingers shake, the key struggling to find the lock and he holds onto your hand, his hands solid and warm helping you unlock the door before quickly pulling away. 

“You need to get warm,” he mumbles quietly, locking the door behind him and pushing you further into the house. The water pools beneath you and he frowns before sweeping his hands under your legs and lifting you into his arms. “Where’s the bathroom?” your eyes are wide as you wrap your arms around his neck, nodding towards the stairs. 

He doesn’t break a sweat as he carries you up and into the bathroom. He sits you down gently, quickly going to turn the shower on, the steam filling the room. You struggle with the zippers and buttons on your clothes, the shaking worse now that you’re out of the rain and he watches for a moment before sighing loudly. 

“Trust me,” you snap your head up, raising one brow and gasping when his claws descend on his right hand, “I won’t look.” 

“What are you-” the words evaporate when he runs the claw down your front, you close your eyes waiting for the pain but nothing happens except your clothes falling to your feet in ribbons. When you open your eyes you see his back, stiff as he faces the door, “thanks.” 

He doesn’t reply except to nod, and you pull back the curtain and pause, hesitating for a moment. “Do you want to join me?” His head snaps to look at you, his eyes on your own, never straying lower. “I don’t mean anything sexual, I just….I just thought we could both be warm.” 

His eyes change, less of the harsh lines, something complex, and his eyes keep yours as he starts to strip. You give him a moment when he hesitates at the suit hidden behind his clothes and you get under the hot water, letting it warm you up. A moment later the curtain moves back and he fills the space behind you. 

You turn towards the wall, letting out a harsh cough, and he leans around you reaching for the soap, “you’re sick,” he doesn’t bother phrasing it as a question, “why the hell were you out in this weather?” 

You turn, looking at him, water dripping down into your lashes, “I knew you would come. I thought if I could stop you before you went inside and I wasn’t there. I was trying to protect you.” 

His eyes soften, and he nods, “let me take care of you, sweetheart.” He rubs his hands together, holding them hesitantly before you step into his touch, allowing him to wash you. You relax under his touch and he turns you, stepping behind you to press his chest flush to your back, your head leaning back over his shoulder as he rinses you under the hot water. He repeats the process with your hair, allowing you to close your eyes and rest your head on his chest while he cleans you both. 

It’s the most intimate you’ve ever been with a man, and you’d had sex several times before. But something about this was different, his hands tracing over your body was not sexual both of you getting comfort from the touch. 

You lift your head, and he freezes almost as though you’re going to tell him to fuck off, but instead you pump some shampoo into your head and gesture for him to bend down. He does without complaint and his eyes drift closed as you wash his hair, his hands resting gently on your hips, you take your time, washing off the dirt and grime. You can’t help but wonder when the last time he had a shower was before you’re directing him under the water to rise. His lips release a soft moan, and you smile softly seeing him so relaxed. 

He slowly opens his eyes, seeing your lips turned up and he tugs you back into his chest. The water begins to turn cold, and he quickly leans down to turn it off, before pulling you back into his arms and resting his head against your own. You feel the ghost of his lips press to your forehead before he reaches for the towels and wraps them around your body. 

He gets out first, reaching a hand out to help you out before drying you completely. “I think I have some clothes that might fit you.” He pauses, looking at you questioningly, “my ex left some of his clothes when he skipped town, they might fit you.” 

He nods, watching as you go into the bedroom, coming back out in fresh pajamas and handing him the shirt and boxers. You leave him to get dressed, waiting in the hallway and leaning against the wall with your eyes closed, your head throbbing. 

The door quietly opens and you stand up straight opening your eyes to see him in the black t-shirt and plaid boxers. “Goodnight,” he mumbles, walking past you back towards the living room. 

“Wait,” you reach out without thinking, hand landing on his shoulder, solid and so warm. He glances down at your hand and you go to pull away when he reaches for it, holding it lightly in his own. “You can sleep with me,” you swallow down the nerves, “if you want. No pressure, just..I don’t want to be alone tonight.” 

He watches you, contemplation clear on his face weighing the pros and cons. He gives a shallow nod, squeezing your hand before letting go. You don’t question it, turning back towards your bedroom, Logan’s footsteps following close behind. You tug the curtains closed, flicking on the fan overhead and pulling down the covers, Logan’s hand hovers over the t-shirt before pulling it off and climbing into the bed. 

You can’t help the way your eyes trail down over his muscles and a smile tugs just barely at the corner of his lips when he opens his arms and you collapse into them. He reaches across, flicking off the lamp and you both relax into one another, sleep quickly claiming you as his breathes even out. 

Sometime around 3 am Logan begins to stir, his arms around you tightening and his breath quickening.You grogilly rub your eyes and lean back, watching his head thrash back and forth as he starts to mumble. “Jean, Scott, Charles, Storm, Beast-” he repeats the names tormented and you put a hand to his chest feeling his pulse race. 

“Logan,” you whisper, rubbing gently the crease between his forehead, “it’s just a nightmare. Come back to me,” he stills, his heart still racing beneath your palm but he slowly blinks open his eyes. “You’re safe,” you whisper, his hand clutching the one on his chest tightly, his eyes wide, frightened from his dreams. “You’re safe, come back to me,” you tighten your grip on his hand, “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Everyone leaves me,” he whispers, brokenly, pressing his forehead to your own, your heart shattering for this man. 

“I won’t,” you shake your head, wrapping your arms around him and pulling his head into your chest, “you’re safe here, you’re home.”

I hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think!

[barleyo]

Girlfailure.

Older BF! Toji X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: i hate toji sm, why did i write this :( anyways, to any of you who like this sick fucker, i hope this does him justice

Tags: pwp/some plot, age gap, cunnilingus, fingering, scumbag toji, overly cheesy pet names, etc.

Wordcount: 1.2k

When you came home for spring break, the only two things you could think of were one, how many hours would you have to work to afford the upcoming semester, and two, how badly did you just fail all of your midterms?

The answers to those questions became extremely clear as you crunched the numbers in your head. Sitting at eleven-fifty an hour for eight hours a day, five days a week, you'd just barely scrape by with tuition and textbooks. And as far as midterms went, shit, at least you tried. 

If you were more delusional, you'd say your professors had it out for you, but ever the realist, you knew you simply fucked yourself over this time. Hours of studying in the library, and for what? A fourty-two in calc and a fifty-point-something that your organic chem professor didn't even have the decency to round up? 

Stepping into your boyfriend's— was that what he was?— apartment, you felt the desperate craving for a square root curve on those exams, and dick. Always dick. 

All a financially irresponsible, deadbeat father of an older man could offer a "bright" girl like you was just that. Lots of it too, seeing as how you stuck by Toji. 

He was nice enough to invite you to stay at his place over spring break, for the purposes of having a warm cunt nearby at all hours, and to get you out of the shitty dorm room you stayed in any other night. 

"Oh, smart girl's back," Toji said, lazily murmuring at you from his couch. "Had a nice drive?"

You dropped your luggage at his door for him to bring to his bedroom later. His muscles weren't just for show, so you reckoned he could get off of his fine ass and put his thick arms to work. 

"No." Tired feet shuffled your body over, plopping you over his lap, face down. "Well, yeah, the drive was fine. I just don't feel like much of a smart girl."

He snorted indifferently, hardly registering your words as his greedy hand rested over your ass.

"Teacher's grading you too hard, or are y'just gettin' lazy on me?"

"Tch. Did you even graduate, asshole?" You pushed yourself up onto your elbows. "What do you know, anyways?"

Unimpressed, Toji yanked a bit of your hair. Gentle, but enough to force you to look at him. 

"Don't be a little shit. I did, and even if I didn't, it's the real-life stuff that matters. Bein' a book nerd never did anyone any good." He dropped your hair. "Street smarts and all that."

Street smarts. Jesus, what a joke. You cringed internally, remembering how the soon-to-be dropouts from last semester would claim that's what they had. All well and good to be street smart, you thought, seeing as the path you were going down would probably put you on the street. 

This was just the beginning. Whether you were overthinking or not, you were sure that if you didn't pull through for finals, you'd end up failing out. Maybe you were pretty enough to strip. Could be a back up plan, if only you could lose the "Freshman Fifteen" you quickly gained on campus, compliments of the stress eating and cheap, sugary energy drinks you found yourself addicted to. 

"I'm gonna fail out," you said suddenly, nibbling your bottom lip. "I don't know why I thought I could 'do' college. My dad was right."

Toji hated when you got like this. Not because he cared about your stress or ever-present anxiety. That's actually what he liked least about you, that and the fact that your college was forty, far minutes away. No, he hated having to deal with your self-doubt. No time to throw a pity party. No patience to reassure you.

That's the hard part about dating younger girls. He got older, and as he liked to think, wiser, but they stayed young and emotional. Such a drag. A real bummer for a thirty— okay, thirty-eight— year old man who was simply too old for this shit. 

If he wanted any, though, he knew he had to play the game. 

"C'mon, tootsie, it's not all bad. You're a smart one, yeah? And y'only got a couple months until you're done for a bit."

"Hmph."

Damn it. Women. Nothing he said would be good enough. At least there was something he could do that he knew would help. 

"Oh, I missed that baby. That's real good." You felt his warm breath fan over your thigh as his fingers plunged into you. 

Curl and twist, pump, pump, pump. That's all he could really do for you, you knew it. 

If you could ignore how well Toji made you feel, you would probably see what a bum he was. Living in a shitty apartment at his age, gambling and drinking as if money was no object, smoking enough to stain his couch with the smell of ash. Even knowing what his profession was couldn't quite deter you. 

In a life where everything was so dull, so predictable, you sort of liked the danger of a man like Toji. The risk. The wild ride that was his life. You weren't exactly Mary, Queen of Scots, but the old you would have a few questions about your current relationship with the destitute brokey that was glued to your cunt. 

The you now, through, was holding on for dear life, soaking up every second of slick, wet warmth that Toji could give you. Thick fingers prodded deep, curling against the tip of your cervix. Thick scent from a long gone cigarette lingered in the air. 

He was amused really. He would laugh, if he wasn't so desperate to be in your pussy again. Times like this, when he got a taste of you, made him wish he would go and visit you on campus. He wouldn't though, god knew he wouldn't. Every couple of months was good enough for him, lord forbid he use up his mileage to drive out of the city.

"Stop pushing me away," Toji mumbled, pulling your hand from his forehead. "Brat."

His tongue was sharp and purposeful. There were times when he would be messier, play with his food a little, but he was focused. Just not in the way you wanted him to be.

He set a rhythm for himself, a strict guideline. Every time you sucked in a deep breath, he pushed his tongue down harder against your clit. Every gasp was rewarded with a curl of his fingers. Each squirm was punished by a little nip. 

It worked, bringing you close to the edge, just to deny you. If you had it your way, his tongue would lather you and glide over your clit uninterrupted. Sadly, he was in charge, and as the bastard he was, he wanted things his way. That meant a bullying force behind each pump of his fingers, and a teasing swipe of his tongue to ease the brutality, just a bit.

There was no way he could hold you off forever, no matter how fun that sounded, so eventually, when you hands started to grip his hair too tightly, he gave a loud slurp to your pussy. 

If orgasms were money, you'd be a Vanderbilt, but they aren't. For the time being, you were happy enough just being Toji's girl. 

"Hey, To'?" Your messy hair and smudged mascara were a prize to him, a totem of his raw, sexual prowess. He hummed in response. "So, about my textbooks for next semester...?"

He sighed deeply, dragging from his well deserved post-fuck cig. 

"We'll see. Maybe if my parlay hits, doll."

[hazbinshusk]

Hi there! I saw your prompt request open so I thought about...Blitzø x Fem! Angel! Reader from the Kiss Roulette with #39 Prompt. A tentative kiss.

The C.H.E.R.U.B.S made heaven looks so bad after what they did in the living world. So, an angel is informed about this so she apologizes to the Imp's company. Knowing there's no need to fight between both worlds. Blitzø feels some kind of warm and kindness coming from the angel. Wanting to get to know more about her and the heavens. Maybe even teasing her about wanting a taste from heaven with a kiss...With fluff and maybe spice (I kinda had the idea a bit but the rest can be up to you)

So, I already sended you this request but then I found out I wrote the wrong number (Hope not to go wrong with this one this time so I dediced to wrote the name in case I wrote the wrong number).

thank you for being so patient! I had a little fun with it so it fit my voice a little better, but I hope you still like it :) also 'bible-thumpin' boytoys' might be one of my favourite bits of dialogue I've ever written for blitzø. anyway, heres...

prompt #39: a tentative kiss

“Okay… you wanna run by me again exactly in the fuck you are?” Blitzø says, an eyebrow raised as he lounges back in his chair, feet kicked up on the desk between you. His expression reads as disbelieving, but he still manages to take the moment to let it turn appraising, even predatory as he runs his gaze down over your figure. “’Cause you don’t look a single fuck like those cotton candy freaks that fucked with us up top.”

You smooth your fingers over the fabric covering your thighs, banishing non-existent wrinkles from your slacks. You were perched straight-backed on the chair opposite him, entirely aware of the three other demons listening in from the other side of the door. “I’m a CHERUB… or, well, an associate of CHERUB. I’m not heaven-born, I just liaise with the department.”

“Ohhh, so you’re one of the goody-two-shoe-fuckers that get to go topside after they bite it?” the imp asks, leaning forward slightly. His tail waves slowly back and forth behind him, and part of you wonders if he’s doing it on purpose – like he’s trying to offend you by making sure you notice every one of his demonic traits. “You must’a been borin’ as shit to end up with the Holy Rollers.”

You shrug a shoulder, amusement twitching at the edge of your lips despite yourself. “Must have.”

“So, what?” Blitzø continues, a kind of cavalier smirk playing over his features. “Your bosses all pissy ‘cause we kicked your buddies’ asses halfway back to heaven and now you’re… what? Here to make it even? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, you’re cute an’ all, but I’m pretty sure we can serve your ass back to ya on a silver platter.”

“You think I’m cute?” you ask, and Blitzø grins. You shake your head, holding up your hands in surrender. “I’m not here for some kind of avenging angel deal. Dearie told me… told the department how it all went down, and—”

“That bambi bitch’s name is Dearie?”

“—I wanted to apologise for what happened.”

Blitzø’s eyebrow arches again. “You wanted to apologise. Not your bosses.”

You swallow, pressing your lips together.

Shit.

You weren’t exactly here on sanctioned orders; Lord, if anyone found out that you’d hijacked a portal to come down here… well, you’d probably end up in the same predicament as Cletus, Colin and Keenie. And honestly, spending the Father only knows how long trapped in the mortal world with them for company… Maybe you should have thought this through.

“I, uh… it’s important that the relationship between Heaven and Hell stays civil—” you say, and the imp snorts in derision.

“Yeah, you feathery fucks seem to be real concerned with keepin’ the peace.” he replies snidely, and your brow furrows in confusion at the comment. He leans forward in his seat, giving you that appraising look again that makes something inside you flutter. You push it down, swallowing. “Speakin’ of, shouldn’t you have a rack on you?”

“Excuse me?” you say, offended, and you can’t help but glance down at your chest automatically.

Blitzø snickers, letting his own gaze linger there for a moment before he waves a hand towards the space over your shoulder. “Wings, sugar. Shouldn’t you have a pair?”

“Oh,” you feel a blush creep into your cheeks at your presumption. “I do, they’re just… kind of a pain to have out all the time. Besides, this way I can… blend in a little better down here.”

Blitzø huffs a laugh, pushing himself up out of his chair. “Nice try, tits. But there ain’t no sinners down here that look like you.”

That fluttery feeling blooms inside you again, tickling low in your belly and floating into your chest as he rounds the desk towards you. He leans against it, claws curled around the edge of the desktop beside his hips, his legs only a few sparse inches from your knees. You jump slightly as you feel something touch your ankle – the point of his tail brushes against your pant leg as it waves slowly beside him. The imp’s smirk widens at your reaction.

“And none of ‘em dress like that, either.” he points out. “Pride ain’t exactly the place for business casual.”

You glance down at yourself again, at your pressed pants and button down, before looking back up at him from under your brows. You find yourself trying for the same playfully sarcastic tone he’s been using on you. “You saying I should have tried for the leather look?”

Blitzø blinks, caught off-guard by the change in your tone. Then, he smiles again, sharp-toothed and thoroughly entertained. “Definitely. Personally, I’d love to see those legs of yours all wrapped up in tight, black…”

“Mr. Buckzo—”

“Call me Blitz.”

“Blitz,” you correct yourself. “I’m here to try and establish a diplomatic relationship between—”

“You ever thought about it?”

“Huh?”

Blitzø grins. “Takin’ a walk on the dark side. See what you were missin’ out on by playin’ good girl for God all those years on Earth. They might have invented their own brand of fuckin’ up in Cloud Cuckoo Land, but I can guarantee your bible-thumpin’ boytoys ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

You flush, and that seems to amuse him more. “Are you… seriously… hitting on me right now?”

Blitzø’s smile doesn’t waver. “You tellin’ me you’re not interested?”

Casting a glance back to the door, you struggle to find an appropriate response. You jump again as he suddenly leans forward just as you turn around to face him again, bracing himself over you by gripping the arms of your chair. It effectively cages you in, and your breath catches in your throat as it brings his face so, so close to yours.

You swallow, and he smirks.

“I… I came here,” you repeat, trying to keep the waver out of your voice. “To try and mend… fences between our organizations…”

“Mm. You wanna make amends?”

You nod, biting your lip. Blitzø’s eyes flicker down to catch the movement. His tail is switching slowly behind him again.

“You wanna make it up to us for what your dick co-workers did?”

“I—”

“Show me how much.” he challenges, eyes half-lidded and downright… seductive. You shift in your seat, face aflame. “C’mon… you know you want to. One little kiss to show me how much you care… maybe a quick, five star fuck if you feel up to it—”

“Jesus Christ…” the curse comes out as barely more than a breath.

“Look, at you. Takin’ the Lord’s name in vain.” he chuckles. “Careful, baby. You spend too much time down here, and you might find you like it.”

“It’s Hell, not a holiday.” you point out. “I’m not exactly worried about wanting an address change.”

“Yeah?” he retorts teasingly. “Prove it. Give me a little taste of Heaven.”

You waver for a moment before your sense of reason finally gives way to your curiosity. You reach up, curling your fingers in the front of his coat. Blitzø actually looks surprised as you lean up, meeting his lips hesitantly with your own.

They’re surprisingly soft and warm against yours, and the stiffness in his body eases as he relaxes into the embrace. When you pull away, you exhale in the hopes of steadying yourself. Blitzø meets your eye for a moment, and then his lips are on yours again, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

You can feel the sharp points of his claws in your hair, against the soft skin by your ear, but instead of unnerving you, you find it excites you, spurs you on. When your lips part he touches his tongue to your bottom lip, and you sigh into his mouth. Your hand leaves his chest to slide over the side of his neck to curl around the nape of it, and you’re surprised to hear him moan quietly into the kiss. It thrills you more than it should, as does the way his tongue slides against yours.

Your fingers brush against one of the spikes at the back of his head, and you jerk away from him, his teeth grazing your lip as you do. Blitzø blinks as though dazed, shaking himself as you suddenly push your chair back and stand, the chair legs screeching obnoxiously against the carpet.

“I should… I should go.” you stumble over the words, grateful that the imp doesn’t move to follow you as you back away from him a few steps. “My… my friend can only keep the portal open for so long before they notice I’m gone. So, I should…”

Blitzø nods, recovering himself. “Right. Yeah. Yeah, you should… yeah…”

You give him an awkward, tight-lipped smile, holding out a hand for him to shake. “It was… thank you for meeting with me, Blitz.”

He laughs at your sudden propriety, shaking his head in amusement as he closes the distance between you and takes hold of your hand. Instead of shaking it, he turns it over, bending down and brushing his lips against the back of it. Blitzø holds your gaze as he does, and you can’t help the bashful smile that flickers over your face.

“Anytime.”

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[beef-brisket]

@things-arent-what-they-seem66 @fanofstuff01

Hanahaki Disease

The day of the failed extermination was the end of many things for Lucifer. The end of Heaven's terror, the end of his isolation, the end of the Exorcists, but most importantly, it was the end of the First Man.

He had his fun, taunting Adam for anything and everything, his weight, his wives, his attitude. He knew there was no way in Hell Adam would ever be able to beat him, let alone hurt him. But it was fun to rile him up, fucker did put his hands on his daughter. He deserved it.

Feeling Adam's mask break open under his fist was so incredibly satisfying, but not as much as feeling the bones in Adam's face crack and snap as he landed blow after blow. Just when he was about to do something horrific with his Hellfire, he felt a warm touch on his shoulder.

Looking up, he was met with the face of his daughter, begging him for mercy. Of course, Lucifer felt a teeny tiny weeeny bit bad when he saw how much golden blood covered Adam's face and clothes. But that feeling quickly left when he crawled out of that crater to spew more self-righteous bullshit.

After that, everything was a blur. The sudden silver blade sticking out of Adam's chest, to him falling, landing on the ground with a sickening crack. The tiny maid on his back, stabbing him over and over. And laughing while doing it.

Lucifer watched as an angel with one arm ran over to Adam and pulled him onto his back. Her begging was hard to listen to. It was affecting a deep part of him that was making him feel sympathy for the pathetic bastard. He couldn't have that.

So, he threw them out. Every single one of them. Forcing the army to leave their dead to be feasted on by the cannibals.

Lucifer helped his daughter rebuild. He even cooked some pancakes for everyone.

It wasn't until he was sure everyone at the hotel was asleep that he went out to check the carnage. At least, that's what he told himself. But it was a useless lie as he beelined for Adam's body.

Lucifer felt sick as he saw the state of it. Most of his stomach was gone, his limbs bitten down to the bone. But the most painful thing was his wings. They were broken, snapped, and torn apart. Eaten.

He was eaten.

Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, the man twitched. And groaned. A bubbling noise escaped his throat, golden blood running out of his mouth.

He's alive.

Lucifer knelt down, his hand hovering just above his chest. It was definitely raising and falling. It was very weak, but it was still happening.

That's when Adam said his final words.

Adam: ...h-hate... you...

Lucifer watched as his eyes became empty. No feeling or purpose behind them. No holy light.

The day of the failed extermination was the end of many things for Lucifer. The end of his old friend. The end of all the good memories he had from Eden. The end of his hope to repair things with Adam.

But, the day after the failed extermination was the start of many things for Lucifer. The start of seeing Adam's chest slowly start to raise again. The start of Adam's stay at the Hazbin Hotel. The start of Lucifer's own personal Hell. The start of hanahaki disease.

It started the first day Adam was at the hotel. The man looked broken and defeated. He didn't even argue with Charlie when she told him about what he'd need to do to stay here. And she wasn't holding back, and neither was Maggie.

She had her spare pressed into Adam's neck the whole time. But the light in his eyes was gone, the need to fight back. He was still healing and was quite the horrid sight, but even that didn't give him any mercy from the members or workers at the hotel.

He watched Adam limp his way to the room Charlie said was his. The whole time, he said nothing, even when Lucifer made a few small threats to his life of he tried anything.

Lucifer felt a tickle in his throat, and he coughed and cleared it.

Lucifer: Hm. Weird. Better not have caught anything form those fucking angels.

Little did Lucifer know that was the start of something truly horrible.

[fhrlclln]

miguel o’hara x assistant!fem! reader pt. 2

hi!! UR GIRLY JUST TOOK THE UPCAT (ISKOLAR NG BAYAN WISHING 🤞🏻✅) anyways here’s part 2 cuz i desperately needed to cool off after taking that very hard exam but anyways.

here’s part 1 of this lil dirty fic!!

nsfw under the cut

｡･:*˚:✧｡

miguel wouldn’t admit it but… it was kinda pathetic on his part he had to go so far to poke you around until you two exploded with each other. not that it wasn’t his thing for snapping at people but he did sometimes take a lot of that behavior of his on you. but he couldn’t help it, you know? do you even know how fucking hard he was controlling himself back the moment you signed up for him? how eager you were to work beside him when the spider-society was created? did you even know the nights he spends jacking off when you came around wearing that same black pencil skirt you were wearing that hugged your ass so perfectly? how the way you practically challenged him on arguments and so? how that look on your face when he towers over you made his dick go hard?

no.

so yeah, your his fault really.

“fuck…” he groans out as you gripped his hair tight between your fingers. nails scratching his scalp as you bucked your hips against his mouth, cunt rubbing on his face as he slurps, taking every juice your sweet pussy leaks out for him. only for him.

“so sweet, cariño. ‘s practically happy to see me.” he sighs out between his kisses and slurps, drowning in, giving you every bit of pleasure like he feels when you tell him or practically whine for him to give you more. he’ll give you everything really.

“miguel. please. need you more.” you huff out, it’s been a good handful of minutes since he started devouring your cunt like a starved man. man practically ripped your underwear with his fangs and hands as he threw it somewhere across the room. but you wanted him so much more, practically missed the way he was towering over you a while ago.

“what’d i say, huh?” he breaks away from your cunt, lips messy and wet as you stared down at him with teary and lustful eyes. “i’m being nice.” he kisses your thigh again, nipping it lightly as he finally stands up. your eyes shoot down to see the evident bulge on his spider suit but you knew that wasn’t the entirety of it knowing that damn suit is so damn tight on his body. not that you didn’t like the

“it’ll be even nicer if you get in me.” you cooed, a little breathless as you opened your legs wider. he lets out a little laugh as he ducks down to kiss you. you sigh happily between his lips, getting to grip his shoulders as he starts removing the buttons on your blouse.

“mhm. can’t even wait for it, huh? that desperate for cock, amor?” he grins between your lips as impatience took over him when he saw your pretty little bra concealing your breasts, he had to cut it off as purposely retract out those claws he’s hiding making you squeal at the sudden movement. the sharp snap of your bra shredded.

“miguel!“

“shut it.” he says, tossing the ruined lacy bra over his shoulder as you pouted, wriggling out of your blouse as he bends down to capture your nipple between his teeth, careful to be gentle knowing his fangs. you sigh out, caressing his tousled hair as miguel turned his attention to the other one while his hand reached to cup his crotch, groaning as he relieved the pressure a bit in the area.

“mierda. open those legs wide again, cariño.” he commands, tapping your thighs. “hurry up.”

impatient fucker. you roll your eyes, even in sex he was still taking the leadership role. “if you weren’t so keen shredding my bra off, we would be doing so much-“

“that mouth ain’t gonna shut up, huh?” he tsks as he grips your hips tight, pulling to him for your crotch to be flushed against his making you shut up.

“‘s rude interrupting me every damn sentence, you know.” you grumbled grinding down, gasping a bit when the warmth of his cock was replaced, expecting his tight suit you were gonna be grinding on. you look down, seeing the suit opened in that area, you look puzzled, knowing how advanced his suit is but you didn’t expect this? you thought the feature was mainly for his upper body, seeing countless times he was injecting himself with that drug he uses. rapture?

“that’s cool.” you tilt your head to the side, grinning seeing how flushed red his cock was. the tip angry and swelling with precum.

“and it’s rude to stare, sweetie.” he retorts from your previous complaint. he grips himself as you place kisses on his neck up to his lips, hugging him close as your feet wrapped around his tiny waist, the tip of his cock nudging between your folds. he sighs out, pushing in as he rests his forehead against yours. breaths mingled, heat tingling, the way your walls welcomed him with that searing wet warmth he dreamed of every night. fuck, he was in heaven. you gripped his shoulders hard, clawing on his muscles, he was big, too big and girthy but you couldn’t stop now.

“‘s so big, miguel.” you whined, naked breasts squishing on his hard chest, nipples hard as ever as you stared at his red beady eyes. “so big…”

“yeah, i know, but you can take it, can you? i know this sweet pussy can take it.” he whispers, kissing you softly. “be a good girl and take my cock.”

“mhmm…” you moaned as he slowly but surely pushed in further, gripping your ass tight as he slapped them both making you whine.

“so good, so fucking tight and wet. ‘s dripping.” he chuckles as you groan out when he bottoms in, crotch flushed against each other, your clit close to his abdomen.

“oh, god…” you tap his shoulders, wanting him to move but he knew you had to adjust first to his length, he didn’t wanna hurt you in anyway.

“be patient.” he whispers harshly, slapping your ass again, making you buck your hips.

“i am!”

“doesn’t look like it, amor.” your heart flutters again at the endearment. miguel smirks as he gives in, liking the way you get all so shy all of the sudden. he thrusts experimentally, feeling your walls slightly unclamp around his cock which makes him groan out when you clamp around him again. you stare down to where his cock is finally moving, it’s all a stupor now in your mushed brain as miguel grinned from above when he stills for a moment, half of his cock out, leaving you writhing for the fullness you crave.

he slams back in almost immediately, you yelp gripping tightly on his big biceps as he starts thrusting, pounding into you relentlessly now. miguel groans as he watches you helplessly gripping on him, he knew you’d tire out as he watches you with smug-ass grin when you lean backward, elbows resting on the desk, head tilting back as you closed your eyes, a chorus of moans and whimpers coming out of your lips as he fucks you good.

“good girl.” he praises as claws on your waist, biting his lip hearing those wet squelches emit inside of his lab along with your breathless voice begging him for more, to go harder. he, of course, listens as he adjusts you to tower over your leaned frame. kissing you with much tongue and teeth. his hearts pounding uncontrollably when you spit out how good he is and when you finally open your eyes and grin at him when you catch him staring at you in daze and quiet admiration.

shit. he’s got it bad.

he groans when he notices you getting a little pitchier in your moans, your legs around his waist constricted and your walls clamped around his cock tight, signaling you’re almost there. he smirks, one hand reaching down to rub that clit a few times, still pounding hard until you finally shoot up and squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck, bucking up ferociously as his cock still drove into you.

“close. ‘m close.” he pants, groaning out as you watch him in awe when fastens his pace, slamming in hard as he cums inside you. you smiled, feeling the warmth shoot inside you as miguel panted and slumped down a bit in front of you with his one hand keeping him leverage from crushing you and ruining the desk with both of your weights. a moment of silence transpires as you caress the back of his neck, kissing him lightly of whatever skin you come in contact with as miguel panted next to your ear.

“that was not supposed to happen.” he says, a little stupefied as you chuckled, rolling your eyes as you cup his cheeks for him to look at you. seeing those red eyes dilate, practically teary and puppy eyed when you peck his lips. he pulls out slowly, you two hissing together at the loss of contact as the cool air of the lab regulated your sweaty bodies.

“maybe it did have to.” you only say, a much more deeper meaning behind it as miguel went quiet, the expression on his face clear as ever, he was thinking about it. you smiled, pulling him down for a kiss in which he happily obliges.

“mierda, woman. you still not tired?” he asks between kisses in which you giggled, shaking your head causing him to growl as you widened your eyes.

“let me rest first, o’hara!”

“you started it-“

“i did not!”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

EYY PART TWO FINISHED AND LEFT IT ON A HAPPY NOTE <3 MORE MIGUEL FICS TO COME GUYS IM NOT DONE 😈

[golddustwomanwins]

CAN’T CATCH ME NOW

Patrick Zweig x Reader

I don’t even know what this is. Really angsty, even though I’m usually not into that.

You’ve been seeing Patrick for a few months now. Not really a couple but not not exclusive either. It was casual, a bit of fun. While he was off touring, you focused on your classes occasionally meeting up with Tashi and Art but mostly you stuck to yourself. Every once in a while, when his schedule allowed it, he visited you on campus. You liked having him there. His hair all wet from the shower as he lied on your bed watching you go through your notes of the seminar.

“I’m here once every few months and you’re trading me for notes,” he whined. Despite popular believe, he was quite needy when it came to your affection. He fed off of it, yearning for the attention you so rarely gifted to anyone. It almost felt like an honor. Like he was chosen to be in your presence. No one got to win uptight-you over but him.

Naturally you were quite the private person, you didn’t hold your thoughts to yourself on purpose but it aggravated the people around you. Especially Patrick. The nosy fucker would’ve loved to crawl inside your head and bury himself under all those thoughts you kept closed off.

He didn’t notice the shift in you over the months. Did you seem more closed off than usual? Yes. But who could tell the difference. It was probably due to exam season closing in. You always grew a little tense during that time.

So when he got off the plane in early June and Art greeted him with the words “She’s way weirder than normal, in a total mood. We haven’t seen her in weeks.”

He drops his bag on your dorm room as you sit on the window sill, window wide open, barely acknowledging him. You were dressed in one of his old shirts, long legs dangling off the window sill as a slight breeze caught your curls.

“What, don’t I get a proper greeting anymore?” He smirked as he approached you, trying not to get thrown off by the stuffy air in the room. The window was wide open for Christ sake. Why was his throat feeling like he’d been screaming himself raw then?

“Baby.” He brushed his knuckles along your cheekbone but you turned your face away, huffing.

“Not right now, Patrick.”

“Not right now?” He mocks. “I’ve been on a flight for eight hours to see you and you’re not in the mood right now?”

He doesn’t want to be an asshole but this was his way of coping. He could see you closing off and it was hurting him. So he needed to hurt you back. Crossing his arms in front of him he watched you turn your head to glare at him.

“I need to be alone right now.”

“Why?” He pushes with a frustrated huff. “What happened? Why are you being this way?”

He just endured his flight partner drooling on his shoulder for hours, sitting in a cramped seat with his knees up to his ears and a tiredness clawing at his bones. Only the thought of seeing you got him through that.

Suddenly you slip off the windowsill and walk past him.

“Wait—“ he doesn’t even know where you’re going but he follows you. “Don’t walk away from me now. Talk to me.”

Little did he know that talking was not one of your fortes. Talking was the last thing you wanted to do. Even if you did want to how would you word it? That you’ve been feeling like an open wound, gaping for everyone to see? That every minute he spend away on tour it kept your thoughts spiraling, creating worst case scenarios? You felt like you were decaying, only growing better when he would visit and you hated that feeling. You loathed that you got even a little better once he was there, only for him to leave you once again.

You didn’t want him, if you couldn’t have all of him. You’d rather have no taste at all of him than only glimpses here and there. So you needed to get rid of him. And you only knew how one way.

Walking over to the door you open it up for him.

“I’m sure you can stay with Art as long as you’re here,” you say.

“I don’t want to stay with, Art.” He rolls his eyes. “I didn’t come here for Art, I came for you.” He wasn’t good with emotions. This was supposed to be easy, casual. Then why did it feel like his heart was withering away in his chest?

“God what is with you?” He pressed.

“I don’t want you here, Patrick.”

He almost recoiled at your words. Ouch. He stopped in his tracks, trying to reach for you. You felt further away than ever and you were standing right in front of him.

“I—What?”

You go and grab his bag pushing it into his hands.

“Leave.” You press.

Patrick is not that easily pushed away. He won’t give up. Dropping the bag he was in front of you in one step, trapping your wrists. Your pulse was fluttering beneath his thumb.

“Stop running away and tell me what’s wrong,” he said, his eyes searching your face for a speckle of warmth. Anything but that ice cold gaze you offered him.

“Why are you mad?” He asked.

“I’m not mad,” your voice shook a little. “Just leave me alone, okay? I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffed. “Art said—“

“Don’t listen to anything Art says. Listen to me. Leave.me.alone.”

“I’m not gonna let you push me away.” His grip tightened on your wrist and you felt tempted to pull away. Your skin was burning where he was touching you, almost setting your body alight.

“Leave me alone Patrick or else—“

“Or else what? Huh?” He egged you on.

“I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want it.”

He laughed acidly. “Done with me then, yeah?”

His voice was cold but you could see right through him. Patrick was bitter and he was hurt. Shouldn’t have expected anything else, he was good for one thing and one thing only. You were bound to grow tired of him.

“You’re done with me.” He repeated. “Did I do anything wrong?” At the risk of sounding desperate, he tugged you in, your scent familiar. It wrapped Patrick in a hazy cloud, wanting to lean closer and nuzzle your neck.

“This is not about you, Patrick. It’s my decision.” You turn your head away.

“So that’s it then.” His hands slipped of your wrist. “It’s over, just like that?”

“Yeah it is.”

He nodded multiple times, staring down at the dirty carpet. Hurt turned into anger turned into revenge. Hauling the strap of his bag over his shoulder he looked at you, no ounce of affection left whatsoever.

“I guess you got rid of me then, free to fuck your way around.”

Something in your chest shatters but you go to hold the door open still. “No need to make this ugly, Patrick.”

He laughed again but it was devoid of humor.

“Yeah right.”

“We said this was casual from the beginning,” you reminded him and his jaw clenched for a moment.

“If you just wanted to fuck someone else you could’ve said so.”

He turned to leave but anger sparked in you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you breathe. “You’re so desperate to be loved you’d take anyone. Get over yourself, Patrick. There were no feelings involved in this relationship.”

He turned around ice cold glare in his eyes. “I’m desperate for love?”

You laugh. “You beg for it. Walking around like you want to fuck everything that has tits and an ass or just an ass but you secretly only want for people to want you. With your fuck-up parents it makes sense. But it’s not my job to love you.”

“Fuck you,” he hissed and you smiled. Good. He was angry. He would get over it.

“Already did that. Wasn’t that great,” you said and he straightened but something flickered in his eyes. Something vulnerable and raw.

You closed the door in his face. “Goodbye Patrick.”

[evilminji]

You know one of the purposes of Lining?

Shock Absorption.

If the Zone is the Inter- and EXTRA-Dimensional Lining, connecting, containing, and generally powering all of Multiversal Creation? The Great Primordial Soup? The Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, from which we came and too which we return?

If the Zone itself is basicly the place between Universe, where your soul goes to get washed down, cleaned up, recharged, and sent out to wherever the next random portal takes it? To BECOME whatever you happen to find? An infinte recycler and Multiversal management?

The great metaphorical Yggdrasil, grown far beyond few branches, into an incomprehensible forest of one?

Well!

That kinda changes things! And also nothing! Because it means that those who remain? Are basicly squatting in the DMV's attic. Have built bunkers, under the country's main power generator. They really SHOULD move along. Granted, there is no one to MAKE them... but like...

That's cause no one thought anyone would NEED too?

Lol. Don't they feel silly? Anyway, I'ma put MY house over-! *wander off to go squat in the rafters*

Yeah, the CONCEPTS are native. But those probably just generate naturally. It's all the Souls constantly flowing through. Lots of background Sentience and Memories and such being washed away into the air. But? Then these lil souls were like "yeah, but if THEY get to stay... me too! D:< " "no, you can-" "ME TOO" and then they stopped listening and did what they wanted.

Good thing we have literally infinte amounts of room.

T...there's so MANY, you guys.

But! Not the point here!

*smacks white board* Realities! The Die too sometimes! And get born! A beautiful process, really. You can find Reality Beads if you know When and Where to look, some times. They, OBVIOUSLY, don't last for very long. Since they are basicly just seed universe. The explosive growth takes them almost immediately out of our range of perception, as they Begin.

Foundations of all Life and such.

But good God are they MAGNIFICENT!

However, sometimes? The REVERSE happens. If you find the area of the Zone your in? Is getting... "wavey" is the best way people describe it. Distorted. Fun house mirror. As though your vision has weird wrinkles that are distorting and stretching your view of things? Get Out. FAST.

If it's only SLIGHT? Barely noticeable? You can grab your Lair. IF, and ONLY IF you are NEARBY! If not? Remember. Things can be replaced. YOU? Can not.

Cause that "wavey"-ness? Is the final stage of Realm Entropy. The universe that portion over the Zone is covering and connected too, is all hollowed out. And about to CAVE IN. You DO NOT want to be there when that happens!

Remember! You see "waves"? Fly for three days!

Get to the edge of the affected area then KEEP GOING for a full three days flight. Warn everyone in you path. We stay safe together, guy. Collapses are NO JOKE. People get... well. Let's just say it's NOT a nice way too go.

Knowing this of course? We should all be SAFE right? Respectful if Awed distance from Reality Seeds, run like he'll if "waves"? We Gucci?

.....Sooooorta.

*flips Whiteboard to other side, to reveal a cartoonishly drawn Supervillian labeled "Asshole"*

Behold! A Terrorist!

It's a charged word. Not used lightly. But THESE fuckers? Oh ho ho! THESE fuckers?! "Ooooh~! Look at MEEEEE! I'm gonna play with FORCES I DONT UNDERSTAAAAAAAND! Destabilize my whole funckin UNIVERSE! Kill countless TRILLIONS OF TRILLIONS! Cause life was bad to me personally and I'm mad about it! Wah wah wah!!" ASSHOLES!

These fuckers? Cause Collapses. Blow Outs. Weird Fucked Up Cancerous Real Growths. You ever seen the Cleaners? No? You don't WANT TOO. They are basically eldritch, deep sea, angler fish looking mother fuckers THE SIZE OF SOLAR SYSTEMS. They travel in SCHOOLS.

BIG ONES.

When Realities collapse, they "fall off" as it were. Detach. And have to get recycled. All the countless impurities of Life eaten way to a blank slate. So it too, can start again. Thus the Fish. But! They ALSO eat anything "problematic".

Like tumors. Cancers. Poisoned, Multiversal Threats. Those quote on quote "God Killers".

Yes. Yes this IS part of why you DONT want to be near a Collapsing Reality.

No I WON'T explain how I know.

I DONT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.

*smack the board with pointer* pay attention.

Jason Todd. Not! An Asshole. Sexy thighs. Fancy lil hair strip. We all miss him. But! He's off living his "no really, I'm totally alive, guys" hot girl summer or whatever. We are going to respect that! But!!! How did that happen? When he was DEFINITELY Hella dead?

Superboy Prime-y Pants. Who IS an ASSHOLE.

Because THAT fucker? PUNCHED HIS REALITY SO HARD IT NEARLY SHATTERED. Oh, no, I'm sorry! He punched SOMEONE ELSE'S reality! Because he is a tantruming MAN CHILD! And NOW? Now, Your Majesty, that WHOLE ASS Reality is more hair line cracks then border walls! One good shove? It'll cave in. Killing every soul inside.

The Cleaners are ALREADY circling.

It needs to be patched. Immediately. But that's not something normal ghosts can DO. The Zone won't LISTEN to us. Nor allocate the energy for it. The Concepts of Healing? We can't even FIND them.

We need help.

Please help them, King Phantom. You're the only one who CAN.

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[lilliths-not-just-httyd-blog]

every time people find a reason to start clowning on david seymour, i've learned to immediately ask myself "did he manufacture this himself and what he is trying to overshadow?"

it's very fun and cathartic to clown on the guy, don't get me wrong. but i do genuinely worry that, in many cases, he's aware that we love doing it, and is trying to bait us in one direction by making a scene of himself so that we're not looking in another when something important is happening. think how the woke sushi meme, for a while there, was seeming to overshadow the actual important discussions about kids not being fed.

news headlines will latch onto whatever is eye catching. sometimes it's the shock value, sometimes it's the absurdity, sometimes it's the comedic aspects. and i have to wonder if david is intentionally conducting himself in a way that tricks people into latching onto those eye catching spectacles.

there is no way this man is dumb enough to believe that everyone likes him and his policies. he's arrogant but he's not that dumb. and i'm sure he knows that he can leverage our hatred of him for his own gain.

i'm beginning to really believe that privatisation has been the goal from the start. it would be very easy. you simply implement a bunch of really shitty policies that fuck up the economy even more than it already was. you keep making shit worse on purpose until public services such as healthcare, ferries, social housing, all this shit is barely afloat. and right when it's about to go under, you sell it off to private firms for a cheap price. easy two step privatisation scheme. and all the while you distract everyone with unserious scandals like woke sushi and land rovers.

keep your eyes open for as long as these guys are in power. i do not trust these fuckers with anything. i'm very concerned that there's some major scheme in the works here that we're all falling victim to, something designed to strip us of public services. hell, even the fucking treaty principles bill could be a massive part of that scheme. look how massive a shitstorm that's caused; and rightly fucking so, anyone who messes with te tiriti needs to be held to account. but why the fuck is david so damn committed to this stupid fucking bill which he KNOWS will not and should not ever pass? (other than the fact that he'd a racist todger)

what else are they trying to distract us from seeing?

fight as many of these shitty bills as you can. regardless of whether it's all connected to a wider scheme or not, whether david is intentionally trying to distract us or not, whether i'm right or wrong, they still need to be fought. the economy is still being massacred regardless. bigotry is rampant among the elite. people are suffering. there's obvious government lobbying and corruption going on. we can't let anything slip under the radar.

and sweet fuck, i hope i'm just reading too far into things. if only so i don't have to give david the credit of being that intelligent ;-;

[stinmybubs]

"I want you."

AN: Hi hi! I haven't ever really posted on tumblr because I'm so obsessed with reading lol, but I just decided to say fuck it and write wtv I think of.

18+!! Please be advised there will be mature content! Minors I cannot control you but DNI if you do see this, thank you so much!

AFAB! Reader! x Bakugo Katsuki

Bakugo is a hothead, we all know this as a fact. Getting close to him wasn't that easy, you found him a bit annoying because of his constant yelling every time someone tried to be nice to him.

You never considered Bakugo Katsuki as your type, maybe Kirishima, Midoriya, a little bit of Denki, hell Mina sure was up your alley. But the way you saw the hot headed boy changed a bit overtime, it was his calmness. He never really got out of line unless provoked or wanted to show off a bit. Which you found awfully cute.

It was the little things. Noticing how he treated those he kept around him, just the cute ways he'd refuse to make eye contact with people especially when he was embarrassed.

Sooner or later you found yourself staring at him more often, noticing how beautiful he was, yeah beautiful...but also how awfully hot he was. His biceps, chest, arms, legs, everything was just so ugh. The way he looked in tank tops just made you drool.

AN: Okay okay I'm getting off track of actual head cannons I am so sorry its been so long.

B Katsuki He notices how you stare, and cant say he hates the attention you give him, of course he loves it. He revels in it.

B Katsuki You never noticed, but he always kept an eye on you. Not only was he too afraid to speak to you but he knew you didn't see him in a good way. I mean you made it pretty obvious from the beginning and by the way you used to look at him. He was never too good at properly talking to someone. Especially people he liked. So he started with small things, trying to be calmer even though everything everyone said was stupid. He just wanted you to like him, but he didn't know if you ever will.

B Katsuki When he noticed the staring, his heart skipped. It made him nervous and he never knew where to look. But now, its time to show off even more knowing you're watching. He tried looking over from time to time to see your reaction to what he was doing, did you like it? But one time he saw you looking everywhere but his face and the smirk on his face when he found out...his ego inflated so much that day.

B Katsuki The worst part of trying to drop hints at Bakugo was hot but frustrating, the way you'd purposely bend over in his line of sight, or the way you'd purposely unbutton your shit whenever it was "hot." But the fucker never even looked your way or said anything.

B Katsuki Oh he noticed, he noticed your little tease. And how he longed to touch you. But what pissed him off about you doing this was how the other boys could see this, especially on one particular day.

Class 1-A decided to collectively work out together, especially try to motivate the non-athletic classmates. Your workout clothes weren't that different from the rest of the girls, a tank top and some work out shorts. You and the girls were kind of slacking off until Bakugo came over yelling for you guys to stop fooling around and actually work out or in his words. " Leave ya' takin up space." And with that the giggling was over.

"Ugh..." You groaned, leaning against a wall to regain your energy. You quickly grabbed the small towel you had resting on the bar while you were attempting to bench press, wiping the icky sweat from your forehead and chest.

"Eugh, water...need.." This time you weren't even attempting to be a tease, you just wanted some fucking water. You bend over to check the time on your phone, lowering your head with a hand on the wall, resting your eyes with a sigh.

"Ugh...we've been here for only 30min." You sigh, lifting yourself back up and stretching your back. Not realizing the fuming Katsuki staring at you.

"Oi' fuckers I didn't say you can stop workin' out!"

Bakugo yelled, noticing a handful of guys staring at you. Denki, mineta, Kirishima, and Sero. Now he's pissed.

AN: Uhhh, this turned out to be wayyyy more than headcannons. Safe to say that this is going to have a pt.2! Yay my first 2 parter! I cannot write long stories so :3 Oh! I am recently getting back into writing so I am very sorry if the grammar is horrid and the story sucks it was off the top of my head as I wrote, no pre-plan, no nothin. I am very sorry! But thank you for reading. <3

[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART TWO)

It was weird being in my doctor's office. Even weirder sitting out in the waiting room while my son Braden was getting the news confirmed. I wondered if the other people there had any idea or could read how much I was hiding my anticipation and excitement. Trying not to get my hopes up TOO much.

Too late for that, though. A week before, Braden had peed on the pregnancy test. I wasn't a water sports guy, and Brade wasn't a water sports guy, but it became our regular weekly ritual. Stepping into the master bathroom and then Braden pulling out his dick to pee on that stick.

It took several months to conceive. It was disappointing, at first. But Braden was the optimistic one. "You got strong swimmers, Dad, I know it. Let's just enjoy the act of making our first kid together."

So we did. Each time we fucked - and that's all we did now and would do now until conception - it was with a purpose. We had the idea of pregnancy in our heads. And we spoke them out loud. We talked about baby names while I slow pumped my raw dad cock in and out of my hot Marine son. We talked about the changes Braden's body would undergo once he got knocked up.

But the thing that drove me wildest, that drove Braden wildest, was the incest. Once either of started talking about how my son was also going to be my grandson, or how I was gonna give Braden a baby brother, how I was gonna fuck his little brother into existence inside of Brade... well, both of us would cum explosively.

Maybe those extra hard cums did the trick. The pregnancy test got a plus sign. It was wild to watch my son's soft cock grow instantly hard at the news. I certainly boned up.

"Bill?" came the doctor's voice as he popped out into the lobby. "Wanna come back?"

Dr. Fiedler was my general practitioner, and had been ever since he took over the practice from his father. He was still young, mid-30s. I had felt self conscious coming to him, but Braden insisted that he felt more comfortable with Fiedler than with some new doctor.

I tried to read the man's expression as he led me back, but he had a poker face. Until we got closer to the door and I saw a smile form on his lips. Hell, yes.

Brade was shirtless on the examining table, sitting up for all of his hunky perfection to see. God, if Fiedler touched my son in any way... get a grip on yourself, Bill, I told myself.

Braden's smile calmed my weird jealous streak. He didn't have a poker face, just pure joy. Already he was putting his T shirt back on, which I kind of regretted. We'd definitely have to fuck when we got home.

Fiedler motioned for me to sit in a chair while he pulled up his rolling desk chair.

"Well, Bill, I've told Braden the news, but he's for sure going to be a father."

"Yeah?" I replied with a beaming smile that I couldn't suppress. "That's incredible... I mean." Catching myself, though not in time.

Fiedler laughed. "It's OK, guys... I think it's beautiful." He looked back and forth between me and Brade. "Why do you think my dad retired early?"

"Shit!" Braden exclaimed with a laugh. "For real?"

Fiedler nodded. Doc was a handsome, cute fucker, I'll give him that. And the fact he'd bred an incest baby was wild to think about. "They've made some real advancements in fertility pills," the doctor said. "I'm sure Braden here doesn't need them."

"It took us a while to conceive," I admitted. Maybe I was concerned and wanted to make sure everything would be OK.

The doctor gave a quick nod. "Yeah, it takes longer with men." He looked over at my son. "Braden's all Y chromosomes, so if the sperm that reaches it is also Y, it won't take."

"So it's going to a boy?" Braden asked excitedly. No one could accuse him of being a dumb jock, though he was committed to researching pregnancy in a way he never got into studying in school.

"It's a boy," Fiedler assured us.

The doctor spent the next fifteen minutes filling us in on the next stages and then pulled out a pad. "Here's an obstetrician I can recommend," he said, writing down a name. "Dad and I used him, so he's sympathetic."

I took the paper. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, Doctor, how many kids have you...."

"Three," Dr. Fiedler answered. "And we're working on number four now." Somehow, the guy could say it in a way that was endearing as it was lewd. He turned to Braden. "Fatherhood's the best, Braden... and nothing like the first time."

***

There were phases. The excitement period over the news. Braden and I fucked at least twice a day. Trying to relive that moment of conception. Getting deeper into our sex talk. Choosing that baby name. I never thought I'd be one of those ego-centric guys who'd name his kid a junior. But once Braden went on about he really wanted our kid to have my name, I got real into the fuck, real into making out Brade, and real into the idea. Our first son was going to be Bill, Jr.

Then came a two month stretch of morning sickness. With Braden, it wasn't just the morning. He had it rough. I felt bad. I did my best to look out for him, even with my long hours. I got into the rhythm of bringing work home or tackling some on the weekends. It wasn't ideal, but it meant I could step up and do some of the basic household stuff. I'd gotten used to Brade taking care of all that.

In a strange way, it was like I was 18 and doing my share to help Susan out as we raised Braden. I could envision doing this once Bill Jr. was born. It would be even better, since my son was conceived with purpose, with love. Conceived with Braden.

Around the time the baby bump started showing, Braden felt better. Then the pregnancy hormones started kicking in. My son could get moody... sullen, angry, manic... but damn did he get horny. I'd wake up to him sucking me. Or he'd pounce on me when I got home, pulling me by my tie back to the bedroom. It was like our fucking honeymoon.

It got better. Once Braden started swelling, I got even more turned on. I was caught off guard by how much that growing belly and that overall pregnancy thickness would turn me on. I learned not to go rough when having sex, but that was better, too. Just pumping into my hot son while I watched that big round swell where my soon-to-be-born son was. Seeing that pregnancy gut sway lightly but tightly on his midsection. Where our son was.

And Brade's taut muscular chest grew rounder as he body prepared to make milk to feed the newborn when he arrived.

Bill Jr. was a big baby. 9 and a half pounds. I was over the moon, but it was the smile on Braden's face that thrilled me the most.

"We did it, Dad," Brade said as he held our infant son in his arm. He was still in a hospital gown, and even so he looked hot. Braden could look hot in just about anything, I decided. "Bill, Jr."

I saw our son squirm. "He's a feisty one," I said.

Braden laughed. "Was I, Dad?"

I shook my head. "Nah, you were a docile infant. Even as a toddler you were quiet. I don't think we're going to be so lucky."

"Probably not." Braden's eyes were on our son, taking in the miracle of a new life he'd brought into being. He looked up at me, then. "He's gonna be like you, I know it."

"We'll see."

***

I was proud of Braden. Nothing is like parenthood to make you grow up fast, but it was wild to see him step into responsibility. I wasn't able to take paternity leave since to the outside world, I was just helping my single-parent son out. That was the only tough part of this, the fact that Brade and I had to hide our relationship and the fact we'd made a son together.

The first couple of months were amazing but also tough. No sleep, changing diapers, the feeling of always being on shift. And my son and I weren't having sex. Brade wasn't ready, and my own libido was taking a hit. I jerked off in the shower from time to time for a quick release, but that was it.

Until one day I came home to see Brade shirtless on the couch, breastfeeding Bill Jr. It was just, I don't know, angelic, beautiful. Brade in his prime of youthful masculinity and parenthood. Feeding our son.

But there was the physical sight of Braden's body, too. The pregnancy weight was mostly gone but not entirely, and the fullness gave his ex-Marine muscle a beefiness.

"Hey Dad," he said softly as he looked up from Jr to me. "How was work?"

I shrugged and sat down across from him. "Work's work," I replied without wanting to go into the stress of my day. Brade didn't need me to unload that on him. "Nice to come home to this."

Braden laughed. His voice was deep now, a man's grown voice, and sexy as hell. "To what?"

I leaned back. I was chubbing up in my trousers. It was inappropriate sure, but my son was so hot and the neglected sex drive was coming back with a vengeance. "You. Feeding Junior." I paused. "Is that wrong to say?"

Braden got what I was thinking. He shook his head. "I didn't know you were a milk guy."

"Never was," I said, thinking back to when Susan was breastfeeding. "It's you, Brade, the fact you give me this gift."

His voice got soft, emotional. "Let me put Junior in his crib, OK?"

I nodded.

I was in a weird mood when I went to the bedroom to get out of my suit. I felt like I'd sullied something good and perfect about parenthood. Maybe my son would be freaked out. I'd hung my suit up in the walk in closet and had removed my tie when Braden entered the bedroom, still shirtless.

"Junior left some for you, Dad," he said in a quiet tone that I knew was lust. "We doing this?"

I felt my dick rock hard in my briefs. Braden could probably see that beneath my shirt tails. "It's probably wrong, isn't it?" I said.

Braden stepped up. "Inside this house, inside these walls, it's not fucked up, Dad," he said. Throwing back the words I'd told him more than once. My heart beat double time and my breath stopped as he grabbed my hand and guided up to his bare pec. Brade had let his chest hair grow in and there was soft fur all around the swollen nipple.

"You get sore tits?" I asked as my fingers played with the fleshy nib.

He nodded. "Yeah, a good sore though. Means our son has a healthy appetite."

"Oh Brade," I hissed as I leaned in for a kiss.

When you're in an ongoing relationship, particularly with your own son, you can't really rank the sexual milestones, but this definitely ranked up there in hotness. Me and Brade connecting for the first time since the birth of our son. I plunged my tongue into his mouth and felt his flutter back against mine. I could tell he was horned up now, and as I felt up his full pecs, his own mitt reached down to grip my boner.

Braden was the one with willpower to pull back. I could see the erection in his loose shorts.

"I don't think I'm up for fucking yet, Dad, but why don't I lie back and let you nurse me?"

I nodded dumbly. Not bothering to take my dress shirt off, I watched Braden strip and get on the bed while peeled down my underwear to free my hardon. Already I was leaking, dripping clear sap steadily off the tip.

My son's dick was hard, rock hard as he lay back on the pillow, legs slightly spread and his hand cupping his milk-full chest muscle. "Sorry to make you wait for sex," he said.

"Buddy... you should never feel pressured," I said. "But I won't lie, I've missed this."

I crawled on the bed, on top of Braden. Part of me was sad I couldn't be inside him, but even the feel of his nakedness and warmth beneath me was incredible, particularly as our cocks touched.

We kissed, and I did my best to go soft and slow before pulling back.

"You sure it's OK if I have a taste?" I asked Brade.

He nodded, with a grin. "More than OK. The idea is hot to me, too, Dad."

"Fuck," I hissed. This was kinky as hell. But as I kissed along my son's neck and down that hard upper chest, I got crazy excited. My lips traveled along the softer, fleshier part of his pec, dusted in his hair, before I found that swollen nipple.

I licked and sucked at it. I could taste the sweetness there, but milk wasn't really flowing out. That was Ok, I guess. Junior had probably tapped that teat dry.

I felt Brade's hand on my head, massaging my hair. Then I heard his deep, masculine voice. "Kind of munch a little, Dad. Gently, then suck on it at the same time."

Fuck, my son was coaching me on how to nurse at his tit. It took a second, but I coordinated the actions and was rewarded with the flow of his milk.

I moaned excitedly as I tasted Brade's breastmilk, swirling it around my tongue, then swallowing as more came out. I learned to coax more out. It tasted different than what I expected but both rich and watery at the same time.

I was going wild, but it turns out Brade was, too. I could hear the urgent excitement in his voice. "Fuck, Dad, this is so hot! Do my other tit."

The right one was more swollen and raw-looking but Braden didn't seem to mind as I latched my mouth on it and suckled hungrily.

His left hand cradled my head while his right went down to stroke off. I wondered if I could get him to cum like this, but I realized I wanted more. It had been too long since we'd had sex.

Relinquishing his teat, I gave it one last soft kiss then scooted down to taste my son's prick. He was leaking like crazy - like father, like son - and when Braden realized what I was doing he let go other than to feed his dick to me.

It took five bobs and my son was spurting into my mouth and throat, hard. He'd been majorly backed up.

"Dad!" he gasped as he gave it up. "Oh shit!" The aftershocks were intense for him, so I finally pulled off, gently lapping the dribbles which kept coming.

He still had a horniness in his voice. "Want me to suck you?" he asked as I rose up to look him in the eye.

I shook my head. "Can I feel a little more, buddy?"

That made him laugh. "Leave some for Junior," he said but twisted to reach over for the lube in our nightstand.

I took the bottle and squirted some on my prick, kneeling up to show it off for my son. Brade always loved seeing my dad cock and I loved showing it to him. Maybe before long it could be inside him again.

But that would have to wait. I tossed the bottle aside and leaned down. I still couldn't believe the miracle of life and the way Braden's body was producing milk like this. I licked around his tit and then placed my mouth square over it.

This time I had the knack down. I suckled and felt and tasted the milk in my mouth. I didn't want to overdo it, so I just went fot it. Storking furiously as my son breastfed me.

I came hard. As I rode out my orgasm I finally pulled off, resting my face against his meaty chest.

"Love ya, buddy."

"Love ya, too, Dad. So much."

I scooted up and met him in a kiss. I'm sure he was tasting his own milk. Braden was still hard and I hadn't gone soft myself. Maybe we'd go for a round two but just then we just enjoyed the closeness and connection.

"Dad...?" Braden finally said.

"Yeah, Sport?" I said, massaging his Marine-buzzcut hair. We'd talked about what life was going to be like now that he'd served out his enlistment contract, but the stay at home dad thing was more and more appealing to him. And I was getting very into the idea of supporting Braden that way.

"You know I think you're an incredible father, right?"

I leaned up. "I guess I could see where this is going," I said with a wry sadness. I knew that while I'd done my best raising Braden, I hadn't always been the best dad.

He had a contrite look on his face. Maybe a little hurt that he had to be saying this. "I just want you there in Junior's life, maybe in a way you weren't in mine."

"Oh buddy..." I said, heavy in emotion.

He cocked a grin to defuse the heaviness. "Maybe you just knew the hard-to-get approach worked on me."

I laughed, which made Braden laugh.

"I'll do my best, son," I said more seriously. "I want us on the same page when it comes to parenting."

"We will be, Dad," my son said in earnestness. "I know I'm going to learn from you."

****

It was a month before I was fucking Braden again. It was even off to the races with the pregnancy talk during sex. But I didn't need to check up on my son's birth control pills to know he was taking them religiously. I could trust him totally. We'd talked about how we wanted another son, maybe two more, but we wanted a break and time to enjoy raising Junior.

And for all the ups and downs between me and my son as a couple, and yeah the occasional fights, I knew we were of one mind with what we wanted for our family.

[reccyls]

Victor's Main Route: Mad Love Chapter 23 + Letter

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The condemnation of the Nox Liberator member Terra did not take long at all.

-----

Jude: Talk, fucker.

Terra: I- I’ll talk, I’ll talk! So please, stop–

The man known as Terra was apparently someone who had borrowed money from Jude some time ago, but fled the country before it was time to pay back his loan. He returned to England after his business abroad took off and he became incredibly wealthy. Jude had just been planning to go and collect his money, but in a happy(?) coincidence, Terra just so happened to be our next mission target.

Jude: Heard ya made a big fortune overseas. Jude: So ya ain’t gonna have any problems paying me back, right? Principal, plus every bit of interest!

Terra: Eeek!

Ellis: Oh and you know, that shop over there is pretty nice.

(This is chaos.)

Jude had tracked down Terra’s location and stormed over, and Ellis and I were along for the ride. As soon as Terra saw Jude, he tried to make a break for it, but Jude kicked him to the ground, and began demanding his money back. Ellis and I were just watching from the sidelines, and Ellis was also making idle conversation. Everything was just… too much.

Jude: Tch, the hell are you two yappin’ about?

Ellis: Oh, is it over?

Jude, continuing to beat down Terra, clicked his tongue at us. And then–

Terra: I can’t, I can’t pay you back!

Jude’s glare turned a hundred times nastier as he looked back down at Terra, cowering by his feet.

Jude: What was that.

Terra: I gave them everything, there’s nothing left!

Terra had made his fortune by trading the raw materials used to make illegal drugs. The drugs he made were primarily marketed to those skirting the line of poverty. He sold them for cheap initially, but the more addicted his customers became, the higher he would raise the price. Eventually people would reach a point where they would not be able to pay even after selling off everything they had, and so they would die after sinking into poverty and addiction. He had twisted and destroyed the lives of so many people. Aside from that, he also developed drugs that could enhance people. And like the other executives, he used commoners as test subjects for his drugs, regardless of whether they were part of Nox Liberator or not.

(He gave the money to Nox Liberator…?)

I was confused, and wanted to ask for clarification, but…

Ellis: Ah.

Jude: Tch.

Terra had fainted. With a devious smirk on his face, Jude ordered Ellis to grab Terra.

Jude: You like using people as guinea pigs so much, let’s see how you like it. Jude: Bet he’ll give us a good show when he wakes up.

The way Jude’s smirk deepened made chills run down my spine. I looked away, trying my best not to watch.

-----

(And that’s the third report done.)

There was only one target left for this mission.

(Arms smuggling, indentured servitude, black market trading, drug manufacturing, human experimentation… and murdering so many innocent people.)

The unending list of evil deeds was enough to make me sick.

(Nox Liberator isn’t just doing violence for violence’s sake. They are working for a greater purpose.)

At first, I had thought they were a group of like-minded people who banded together to carry out their aggressive activities. But “aggressive” wasn’t nearly enough to describe what they were doing. They were making clear moves to develop their own private military force.

(If they managed to succeed in overthrowing the monarchy, would they really stop there…?)

As I began to tremble as I thought about the possibilities, I heard a knock at my door. When I opened it, I saw that it was William.

William: Are you ready?

I picked up the bag that I had prepared since the time I started writing my report.

Kate: I’m ready.

With a smile and a twirl of his cloak, William spoke.

William: Then let’s go to meet our final target.

The sound of his footsteps echoed down the corridor.

-----

We arrived at a large mansion in a prime location in London. This was where Ignis lived, the man who was supposedly Nox Liberator’s second in command. He was a count, and head of a prestigious noble family. He had a very good reputation due to his frequent charitable activities. He had also earned admiration for how he treated people equally despite their wealth or lack of it, and his humble and earnest nature. However, for the past few years, a number of mysterious money transfers had taken place under his name. This was how he had been identified to be a financer of Nox Liberator.

William: Let’s hurry and finish this so we can go back. William: You’ve been on a lot of missions, I’m sure you’re exhausted.

Kate: Um, well, I- huh, W-William? 

With his hands in his pockets, William began casually walking to the front door of Ignis’s mansion.

(We’re definitely going to run into someone like this!)

I frantically reached for his coat to stop him, but he merely smiled.

William: Fear not, the stage has been set.

Kate: What do you mean?

I realized something was off as we walked down a hallway.

(I haven’t seen a single other person.)

There was no way such a large mansion wouldn’t have an army of servants working there. I looked over to William curiously, and he laughed.

William: About an hour ago, Her Majesty ordered the dismissal of all the servants in this house.

Kate: What!?

I couldn’t help but raise my voice in shock.

William: The only people in this house are Ignis, his wife, and his eldest son. William: Her Majesty was aware that this would be the site of the final condemnation, so she left the only members of Nox Liberator here. William: The others were sent to the residence of Ignis’s second son, who lives near the outskirts of the city.

I didn’t expect that.

William: Unlike the rest of his family, Ignis’s second son is a supporter of the queen. William: It caused a lot of conflict within the family, and as a result he was disowned. William: It was quite the scandal in high society at the time. The family’s affairs are still gossiped about to this day. William: The reason had been a mystery for some time. Now I’ve finally found out.

He stopped in front of a large door.

Kate: If all their servants were sent away, won’t the three left behind think something is wrong? Are they still going to be here?

I wouldn’t be surprised if they had fled.

William: That’s where our dearest queen’s aide steps in. William: He sent them a false message about how the queen was almost dead, and that they should get ready.

With a pleased smile, William pushed open the door. Sitting at a luxurious dining table, Ignis and his family turned their eager gazes to us. But the moment they saw William’s face, they turned pale and abruptly stood up.

William: “Sit.”

In the blink of an eye, all three sat back down. They were straining with all their might but could not move.

William: This is an order from Her Majesty. William: Executive of Nox Liberator, Ignis–Lord Carter–, his wife, and his eldest son… William: Using your charitable activities as a cover, you engaged in human trafficking. William: You donated the funds from those activities to Nox Liberator, and also began illicit manufacturing of explosives. William: Those explosives were used in the recent kidnapping of the queen, and resulted in numerous injuries and deaths.

William’s voice was cold and calm, almost as if he were reading out the accusations from a script. Standing beside him, my hands curled into fists as I remembered how senselessly so many people died.

William: Over the years, you have killed over one hundred people. William: There is no chance of rehabilitation or redemption for your sins. England has no use for people like you. William: Her Majesty’s orders are thus: “I order them put to death.”

In the silence that followed, the only other sound was that of Ignis’s wife and son’s chattering teeth. Ignis was pale-faced.

Ignis: What sins have I committed?

He glared at William. Though he was trembling, he still continued speaking.

Ignis: There is no freedom for the poor. From the moment they’re born, they spend their entire life having everything taken from them. Ignis: People like us give meaning to their tragic joke of a life. Ignis: They should be honored that their lives can be of use to the country.

(What…)

I was stunned into speechlessness. William had an uncharacteristic frown on his face.

Ignis: What’s so wrong about giving their lives meaning? It’s not like they all died right away. Ignis: They could live like millionaires by selling their body parts. Ignis: We never forced them into anything. They were the ones who were so desperate for money they chose to sell their body parts. Ignis: If they died from it, that’s not our fault. It’s just the consequences of their own actions.

(How dare he.)

It wasn’t surprising that people who were so poor that they were desperate enough to cut off and sell their own body parts wouldn’t be rational when suddenly showered with a large sum of money. If they spent everything at once and were again left with nothing, they’d return to Ignis to sell off more parts. The more they cut off, the less they were able to do, and the more they deteriorated. And there was no one to save them. Just imagining it made me sick to my stomach, my chest hurt.

Ignis: Worthless people like them found value because of their bodies. Why wouldn’t they be happy?

(...He hasn’t been condemned yet.)

I grounded myself and stood up straighter. And I spoke to Ignis.

Don’t claim they were happy. (+4/+4)

They weren’t worthless.

That isn’t happiness.

Kate: You have no right to claim whether they were happy or not! Kate: You have no idea what they were feeling when they died! Kate: You have the gall to declare what people feel, to assign value to people’s lives, and profit off of them. Kate: And you killed so many people with your bombs.

Even now, I could still hear the sound of explosions in my ears. I still remembered the fear, the pain, how I couldn’t breathe, how I desperately wanted to be saved. I still remembered the panic and the sight of smoke drifting into the sky. There were wounds that would never heal fully.

Kate: We… we–

My hands curled into fists in my skirt, and I looked Ignis directly in the eye. This was retribution for all the lives he had taken.

Kate: We find your sins unforgivable.

There was nothing else to say. It was time for evil to be paid unto evil.

William: Excellently put, Kate.

Ignis looked like he was about to argue, but William took a step forward.

William: Regardless of whether Her Majesty ordered this or not, I have no love for people who trample over the freedom of others as you have. William: Especially those who believe they are granting freedom when they are doing no such thing.

He turned his gaze towards the silverware on the table.

William: It would be a shame to waste this chance, so why don’t you meet the same end as all those people you destroyed?

He pointed to the knife and fork sitting on the table beside Ignis.

William: “Use each piece of silverware one by one to dismember yourself. Keep going until you die.”

Ignis’s Wife: No-!!

Ignis’s Son: My hand, my hand, it’s-aaaargh!!

They grabbed forks and knives, turning them against their own eyes, their stomachs, and their chests.

Ignis’s Wife: It hurts, it hurts, aagh!!

Ignis: No, stop, a-aaaaghh!

Ignis wept and cried out as he thrust a knife into his own stomach.

Ignis: No, no! I was going to give him new legs! No!

I began to feel sick as the tablecloth was stained deep red and agonized screams filled the air.

William: We have no further business here.

Putting an arm around my shoulder, William led me out of the mansion.

-----

William walked me to my room. But I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in bed.

(That was horrible… But so many people died like that because of them.)

I put my hand on my face and took a deep breath. But just then, I heard a soft knock at the door and the sound of someone entering.

Victor: Kate, are you okay?

Victor was standing in the darkness of the room.

Victor: William said that today was hard on you, so I wanted to check on you.

Kate: …It was pretty shocking. But I’m okay. Kate: Thank you for worrying about me.

I tried to push myself up, but he stopped me.

Victor: No matter how many times you witness it, there are some sights that you can’t get used to.

He sat on the edge of the bed and began stroking my hair softly.

Victor: You are a wonderful, hard-working woman. But because of that, you push yourself too much, at times.

The feeling of his fingers combing through my hair felt so good. I began to relax a little. I smiled at his gentleness, but suddenly remembered what Ignis had said.

Kate: When he was being condemned, Ignis said he was “going to give him new legs.”

Victor’s hand stopped moving.

Kate: …You know what he was talking about, don’t you?

Victor: You always see right through me.

He laughed ruefully, and began stroking my hair again.

Victor: Tomorrow, I am going to deal with that person. Victor: I must be the one to go.

There was such sorrow in his expression that I grasped the hand that was carding through my hair.

Kate: I’ll go with you.

Victor: Huh…?

Kate: I am a Fairytale Keeper, aren’t I?

I sat up and smiled at him.

Kate: It’s my job to record the moment when evil is paid unto evil.

His surprise gave way to a short laugh.

Victor: If I said that I have a favor to ask of you, what would you say?

He gave me a choice, but there was only ever one answer I could give him.

Kate: Leave it to me.

Letter: I am waiting for your return

Dear Kate,

I was so worried about the weight of what I was asking you to do that I started writing this letter before I knew it.

You’re a hard worker, so I know that you will do your best to witness the scenes of condemnation with your own eyes so that you can record them properly.

But if it’s too much, it’s okay to look away, sometimes.

My priority is, as it has been since a long time ago, to ensure your heart does not gain any new scars. When you are sad, I feel sorrow too. When you are hurt, I feel pain too.

So if you don’t want me to suffer, then make sure you put yourself first, always.

I pray for your safe return.

Victor

[silveryshards]

Magazine

NSFW! KiriBaku implied. Solo!Kirishima. All characters are 18+, this is time skip era.

Tags/Warnings: Masturbating, porno magazine, himbo life, masturbating with a magazine, Kiri dumb

Word Count: 723

A/N: This was inspired by this post on Bluesky!

Kirishima didn’t use porn. Not really. He kind of felt it objectified people? And that didn’t feel…manly.

But when Denki and Hanta bought him a porno magazine and left it in his apartment as a prank… well, one look couldn’t hurt, right? He chuckled at the note: “Kiri, we didn’t know what your preference was, choose your own porn.”

He tossed the one with the naked woman in the trash and picked up the one with the posing, muscular…manly man on the cover. It was even hero themed. The man on the cover was wearing…

Oh fuck. He was wearing a Dynamight themed thong. Fuck fuck fuck…

His cock lunged to life in his shorts. Kiri groaned and flopped on his bed, knowing he would need to deal with the heat pooling in his hard cock. Those fuckers picked this one on purpose.

Kirishima finally read the title, and it was: “Dynamight’s New Lingerie Line & Sex Toys”. Oh. Fuck. Him.

He whipped out his phone and texted Kats: “Bro! When did you approve sex toys and lingerie??”

And why didn’t he tell him?

After staring at an empty screen for a minute, his cock achingly throbbed with his heartbeat and reminded him, hey fucker, I’m hard here!

Kiri opened the magazine and flipped through it, page after page of muscular men all wearing Kats’ merch. Thongs, boxers, leather. He bit his full lower lip between his sharp teeth and palmed himself through his shorts.

A low groan escaped his lips as it created some friction, giving him a fraction of relief. The next page he flipped to had…oh fuck oh FUCK. The next page had fucking Kats, completely naked, manspreading on a leather couch.

If his cock ached before, it was so hard it hurt now. He lifted his shirt to his mouth and bit down on the hem, yanking down his shorts and boxers. His massive cock sprang from them and slapped up against his toned abs.

He knew it was…big. Mostly by the fact that even in his big hands it looked huge. It was already leaking precum that dripped onto his abs. The head was starting to be an angry red, the veins pronounced, and it throbbed with his heartbeat.

Kiri sat back and wrapped his hand around his aching length, the precum drooling from it acting as a perfect lube. Groaning around his shirt he started running his hand up and down the length in fluid strokes.

Red eyes fell back on the two page spread of his best friend and secret love. Katsuki was man spreading on the couch. From their high school days and stolen locker room glances he already knew Kats kept things tidy.

The pale, heavy looking sack sat between his thighs, tidy and hair free. His cock. Fuckkk… Katsuki’s cock was beautiful. It was thick and not as long as his but that didn’t matter. Its head was a dusky rose.

Kiri started drooling around his shirt, stroking his cock harder, faster. His eyes dragging up Katsuki’s image. His familiar toned abs and full tits made his cock ache more. It wasn’t enough.

He needed more…he needed…

With a growl Kiri pulled his hand off and wrapped the image of Katsuki around his cock. He thrust his hips up into the magazine, imagining it was his best friend’s hand around him. His head threw back and pulled up his shirt further as he moaned.

His hips bucked up hard and fast into the image of his best friend, heat pooling in his belly. He wasn’t gonna last long. Not even close. A feral growl rumbled in his chest as the pleasure built further and further.

“Fuck, Kats!” he growled around his shirt as he came.

Thick, white ropes erupted from his cock and through the magazine, panting his abs and chest in white as they tensed. His eyes were rolled back as each pulse sent waves of pleasure through him. 

He heard a familiar click of a tongue, “Tch, I didn’t. That’s a fake magazine I made and told Dunce Face and Tape Arms to prank you with. Good to know you want me like I want you, Red.”

Part 2!

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