#sticky taffy

[kawaii-sugarii]

Day 14 - Love

People fall in love, people fall out of love, but what's important is that you cherish the memories you made with those you hold dear to your hearts.

I challenged myself to draw all of my ships (minus Calem and Prancy, these two are dense af), and the idea I came up with was a pile of photos highlighting their moments together. And I also messed around with some brushes to add a sunlight effect to it. Definitely the one I'm most proud of.

@dorkaarts

[maretriarch]

folykls trickster mode would have bubble tape headphones

[ofallthingsnasty]

I need to... Sit down... Aeough...

An Education [NSFW/18+] Dracule Mihawk x afab!reader x Roronoa Zoro

cw: afab!reader [no pronouns used]; implied D/s relationship between reader/Mihawk; mention of Shanks x reader; vaginal fingering; oral sex [reader receiving] wc: 2.1k // Read on AO3

The afternoon sun filters through the tall windows, long columns of light stretching across the cool, stone floor. Zoro stands in the middle of the room, a sword held tightly in his large hands, and he repeats the same motions with it again and again like a meditation, a mantra with a rhythm and cadence that only your master could have taught him. You stand in the doorway, observing his movements, almost grateful that he is so deeply focused that he doesn’t seem to notice you. Beads of sweat trail down his temples, thin rivulets running down his neck and dampening his shirt so it clings to him like a second skin. His biceps strain against the fabric with every swing of the blade, and he grunts softly with each movement, a noise that registers as almost lewd when hits your ears; your legs press together almost on their own as you continue to observe him from the shadows, and a slow, aching heat begins to build.

You’d watched him for months, day after day, sometimes forgoing your afternoon chores just to observe him; gardening and doing laundry seemed far less interesting in comparison. Zoro barely acknowledged you when he wasn’t training, merely grunting in appreciation when you served dinner and took your place beside Mihawk, curtly nodding at you as he passed in the halls, not even raising his head to look at you when you left clean clothes in his quarters. He even ignored your occasional intrusions during his weekly bath, avoiding your gaze entirely as you muttered some flimsy excuse that you were dropping off fresh towels, never even looking your way no matter how long you lingered.

There was something odd about the way he elected to ignore you; he had no qualms about engaging with Perona, spending his free time quarrelling with her as if they were siblings separated at birth, but with you, it was different. It would almost seem as though he was avoiding you, perhaps denying his own passing fascination with you, just as you did with him.

“You’ve taken a liking to him, haven’t you?”

You stiffen at the sudden low, quiet rumble of Mihawk’s voice; you had been so captivated watching the moss-haired swordsman that you hadn’t even heard Mihawk approach, a mistake for which you silently scolded yourself. His large hand comes to rest upon your shoulder, fingers sinking into the fabric of your shirt, and your heart drums guiltily in your chest.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you mutter, barely above a whisper, as you turn towards him. You drop your gaze to the floor—he hasn’t yet required it of you, but you suspect this is not a time that you should try to meet him as an equal.

“It’s alright, darling, you needn’t worry.” He places a thumb and forefinger under your chin and tilts your head up towards him, golden eyes quickly darting over your face to understand the apprehension etched into your expression. “As I’ve told you before, your eyes may wander so long as your heart belong to me.”

“Then yes,” you finally admit after a moment—quietly, shakily, despite knowing that there were no consequences for honesty. “I have… taken something of a liking to him.”

“I see.” He trails his fingers down your neck, and the beginnings of a smile form at the corners of his mouth. “Then perhaps I shall have to see about accommodating your desires.”

Your pulse races at his suggestion, a detail you’re certain Mihawk would quickly pick up on. “…Oh?”

“I had been thinking that it would be wise for young Roronoa to have a more, shall we say, well-rounded education. A life worth living involves more than more than wielding a sword.” Mihawk’s hand moves to the back of your neck, and he leans down, pressing his lips softly to yours for a moment far too brief. “Wouldn’t you agree, mi amor?”

You run your tongue over your lips, tasting him still, and allow yourself a grin. “I couldn’t agree more.”

**********

This wouldn’t be the first time that you’d entertained another man since becoming Mihawk’s close companion. But that red-haired pirate who unabashedly calls you his lover when he comes to visit, whose tongue tastes like ale and sweetness, whose hands learned your body with a startling swiftness, is nothing like the young swordsman who now stands at the end of your bed. No, that man who Mihawk begrudgingly calls his friend knows exactly how to please you and spoil you, gives into all the desires and whims that Mihawk insists you earn with patience, undoes all the hard work that Mihawk puts into your own education with just a few nights of debauchery.

Zoro, who stands nervously before you, shifting from foot to foot as a blush settles on his tanned cheeks, will be nothing like that—not yet, anyway.

Mihawk presents you to Zoro like you’re a prized possession, a bottle of fine wine he pulls out only for special occasions or an antique piece of furniture that requires careful handling. He leans down now and again to kiss you tenderly as his hands roam your body and he points out all your most sensitive spots, elucidating on just how you like to be touched, how responsive you can be, what sweet little sounds to listen for to know that he’s hit the right spot. He runs his fingers down your neck to demonstrate and you shiver, your nipples hardening, a soft gasp escaping your lips. Despite the guest in your bedchambers, your focus is on the way Mihawk handles you, and how all this slow, drawn-out teasing is only making you more ravenous.

“Look, I’m not that inexperienced,” Zoro interrupts as Mihawk’s long fingers begin to spread your pussy lips open, showing off how drenched you’ve become from his long, slow tease. “I know what to do.”

“Perhaps that’s true, Roronoa,” Mihawk responds coolly, sliding a finger inside you as he speaks. “But you ought to understand that you must learn about every lover individually—they aren’t all equal. Some like to be touched softly, and others roughly, and everything in between. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“That’s ri-ight,” you stammer through a moan as Mihawk adds another finger, and Zoro’s expression of discomfort slowly becomes one of fascination, his eyes drawn to how yours body responds to Mihawk’s measured touch. You look up at Zoro, whose gaze is too fixed on the fingers dipping inside you to notice your stare, and bite your lip as your gaze drifts downwards; despite any protests he had lodged about this private learning session, the way his cock strains against his trousers seems to suggest he’s a willing student after all.

It’s almost unfair how Mihawk so expertly manipulates your body, his fingers crooking up to stroke your walls while his thumb circles your clit. Your hips buck up into his hand almost involuntarily and you grasp for him, gripping his shirt in your fist as a familiar warmth builds in your core, your body tensing. As your eyes clench shut, your mind wanders and you wonder if Zoro is enjoying the way you thrash about under Mihawk’s touch—if his cock throbs at the sight of your wet cunt being toyed with, if he’ll go back to his quarters tonight and fuck his fist thinking of you, shooting hot ropes of spend onto his toned stomach imagining just how good it would feel to be inside you.

The tension inside you snaps at the thought and you let you a sharp cry as you’re seized by an intense rush of sensation. He slows his movements, letting you ride out your waves on his hand as he languidly pumps his fingers in and out of you, not letting you overstimulate yourself. As the last warm waves of your climax move through you, Mihawk withdraws from inside you, leaving you with a sudden feeling of emptiness. Before you have a chance to whine and plead for more, he maneuvers himself behind you on the bed, and lays your limp body back against his chest, propping you up like a doll on display.

“Now, Roronoa—why don’t you give it a try?”

Zoro’s nervousness is surpassed by his curiosity, and the mattress quickly shifts as he sits beside you on the bed. His touch is rough, hands calloused and scarred, fingers wandering over your body hesitantly, as though you might shatter with too firm a touch. His thumb grazes your nipple and he looks at you expectantly, a smile creeping up his mouth when you sigh at the sensation. Mihawk softly strokes the side of your face, always keeping a hand on you as Zoro explores the expanse of your form. You are yours for Zoro to play with, to pleasure, to enjoy, but only for now, and only with permission—it is abundantly clear you will always belong to Mihawk.

Zoro moves down your body at an achingly slow pace, as if he’s trying to restrain himself from reaching for your needy cunt too quickly, trying to savor the feeling of your softness under his palms. When he finally reaches the heat between your thighs, he tries his best to mimic Mihawk’s earlier ministrations, and his thick fingers glide over your slick pussy lips. He lets out a shivering sigh as your wetness coats his fingertips; his touch isn’t one of experience, but he certainly is a quick and eager learner. The pad of his middle finger lands on your aching clit and starts to move slowly over it, Zoro’s teeth sinking into his lower lip as he watches the way you start to squirm under his touch.

“Why don’t you use your mouth, Roronoa?” Mihawk says, voice tinged with lust. “See what kind of response that garners you.”

Zoro looks to you, as if to ask for permission despite Mihawk’s suggestion; you hastily nod, wondering if he’ll be as apt a pupil when it comes to using his mouth. He lays on his stomach and settles between your thighs, wasting no time in devouring you like a man starved, his tongue darting in and out of your cunt, lavishing your swollen lips, He’s enthusiastic, and his technique lacks the refinement you’ve come to anticipate from a skilled lover like Mihawk, but Zoro demonstrates that he has the potential to become quite accomplished—and you are certainly willing to let him practice all he pleases.

Your thighs begin to quiver as you feel that tension beginning to coil inside you again, and you move your hips against Zoro, grinding into his tongue as he moans into your drenched cunt. Mihawk’s steely arm suddenly wraps around your midsection, pinning you to his torso, and he growls into your ear: “Hold still, mi amor—he won’t learn if you do all the work for him.”

You hold back a defeated whine do as you’re told, holding yourself still and resisting the urge to press against Zoro’s mouth as he greedily laps at your swollen clit, a puddle of his spit and your juices starting to form underneath you.

Mihawk’s clothed cock presses against the small of your back, pulsing every time you moan and whimper, groans rumbling in his chest with every little sigh; it always gratifies him to see you receiving such pleasure, nearly as much as if he were the one providing it. While his restraint is admirable, you feel yourself growing even more heated and ever closer to your climax at the thought of just how he’ll ruin you as soon as Zoro leaves—thoughts of just how he’ll pin you to the bed like prey, your face pressed into the mattress as he mounts you from behind, caging you in with muscled arms, stretching you with his thick column of a cock until he spills himself inside you, claiming you as his.

A strangled moan creeps up your throat, and that strong sensation begins to claim you again as you convulse into a chain of spasms. Zoro licks and sucks at your clit with more fervor as you shudder and cry out for him, almost pushing you to the brink of painful overstimulation. With a low, guttural groan of satisfaction, Zoro finally pulls his mouth away and looks up at you, seeming almost feral as he grins, his face covered in your slick. “How’d I do?”

“You did well,” you manage to mutter after a moment, offering him a teasing smirk as you lean back against Mihawk and catch your breath. “But master Mihawk and I still have so very, very much to teach you.”

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Four

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Descriptions of past domestic violence, past abuse, past sexual assault, SANE exam. Death scene in relation to reader's job. Stalking. Feelings of fear and anxiety. Trauma. PTSD. Medical inaccuracies, hospitals, medical procedures, medications, nurse!reader. Comfort. Soft dads. Johnny is a shameless flirt.

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday sweet Penny-“ 

Their baby shrieks at the crest in the song, smile shoving her plump cheeks upwards, little fists banging on her highchair tray. She has no idea what’s going on, Johnny imagines, but he knows she’s excited that everyone is singing to her, looking at her, celebrating her. “happy birthday to you!” She swings a hand forward, plunging into the buttercream icing of the cupcake, fingers digging in as much as she can. Johnny can't help but give her the biggest kiss he can manage while trying to dodge the flying food, and Simon laughs over his shoulder. 

“Atta girl.” Simon encourages, trying to peel the wrapper so she can get more in her mouth, icing and cake all over his fingers now too, and Johnny wanders for a second, imagining something certainly not appropriate for their daughter’s first birthday. 

“Can’t believe your kid is a year old.” Kyle says from behind him, two beers in his hand. “Feels like yesterday you were even tellin’ us she existed.” 

“Time is movin’ too fast.” Johnny agrees, taking a long sip as Simon pulls Pen from the highchair, white and blue icing all over her face, arms, and hands. Kyle is right, it is hard to believe it’s been a year, hard to believe that their baby is already one, growing up right before their eyes, taking her first steps, saying her first words. He knows it won’t be long until she’s really talking, running, riding a bike, going to school… thoughts of the future forming a lump in the back of his throat that sticks like taffy. 

Simon steps into his orbit with Penny in his arms, keeping her turned outwards away from his body, half tilted to avoid the sticky smear of icing that’s painted all over her. 

“What is it?” he murmurs, leaning in to brush his lips against Johnny’s cheek, warm breath fanning over his skin. 

“Nothin’ ah-“ Penny babbles, head tipped back, gazing at him with wide, pretty eyes, and Johnny rubs a knuckle across her messy cheek. “she’s gettin�� so big. Feel like ‘m missing it, sometimes. Like I should be here.” Simon sighs. 

“Johnny-“ 

“I know, I know.” They made this decision, together. They chose what was best for their family, even though they both knew the distance, the time apart, would sting.  

“The option is always there if you want to swap. Though I think we both know you’d lose your head behind a desk.” He nods, but the longing lingers, and Simon reads him right through to his heart, like always. “After this next op, let’s sit down and talk about it. Maybe we can make some adjustments for next year.” 

“Ah love ye.” 

“I love you too.” He shifts Pen into his side, inclining his head towards her grubby hands. “Can you wash her up?” She reaches for him, trying to latch around his neck, and he rubs her back, cooing into her hair. 

“Whit happened to my precious bairn, eh? Where’d she go?” Pen giggles, fingers finding his nose, long strands of his hair with a tug, and he playfully lifts her, mouth against her tummy, blowing loud raspberries over her shirt that has her absolutely screaming with glee. 

“Da. Dadadada-“ she babbles at him. 

“C’mon wee lamb, let’s go get ye into some clean clothes.” 

There’s an envelope shoved under your front door.

The shitty carpet in the hallway is too high, threads jagged, so it sits a little crumpled, half wedged beneath the bottom and the floor.

It’s manilla. Letter sized. Stepping over it to get inside, you immediately notice the lack of postage. Or addressing. Or anything at all, that would signify that it had been delivered by proper authorities.

It’s from him. 

You know it is, even though you try to find any other rational reasoning, anything that could explain the mystery behind the envelope and how it got here.

You know. You know it’s probably a letter. Handwritten. Signed in perfect penmanship. You know it’s probably something foul, sick words twisted into terrifying sentences.

You kick it inside and let it sit there for a few minutes. You get changed, get into comfortable clothes, start your kettle. You wrap your sweater tight around your body and lean against your countertop, staring at the offensive tan-beige paper that lays in the middle of the floor.

It’s from him. 

He knows where you are. 

“That’s impossible.” You answer yourself aloud, fingers curled so tight into your palms that they make little crescent moon shapes in your skin.

Your illusion, delusion, of safety, anonymity, is easily washed away by the appearance of the envelope, and whatever lurks inside it.

It’s too soon. 

You didn’t make it.

It’s not a letter inside the envelope at all.

It’s a photo.

A photo of you, taken in harsh hospital lighting, dated over two years ago. It’s taken from the shoulders up, skin bare and exposed, fresh impact bruising around your neck, eye starting to swell, lip crusted with blood.

You remember this photo. You remember the awful experience of the SANE exam, the drive to the hospital that took over two hours because you had to go to another state, just in case.

You hadn’t changed. Hadn’t showered. Your white eyelet blouse, one of your favorites, was splattered red, bright ruby dried a dark wine by the time you pulled into the little county hospital.

You remember the way it felt, to have your clothes put in a bag. To be handled by gloved fingers, with care and attention. The same way you had done for others before that day, and since.

“What’s your name?” your nurse had asked you, so cautiously, so kind. “It’s okay. You’re safe here.” She tried to promise, but you knew the truth. There was nowhere you could run, not a single place you could hide, where a shadow wouldn’t find you.

The girl, the woman, in the photo is the same person that looks back at you in the mirror every day, except now she’s buried beneath layers and layers of function, schedule, consistency. She’s silenced by distraction. By work.

By fear.

You flip it over with trembling hands, looking for the note or signature you know will be there. Like a greedy, starved pig; he cannot help himself. 

Found you. 

Bile rockets up your esophagus and into your mouth. How long will he toy with you this time?

“Hey, you okay?” Nia asks, frowning at you from her locker.

“Yeah, just slept like shit.” You roll your shoulders, emphasizing the half-truth. You really did sleep poorly, fragments of nightmares keeping you suspended in twilight sleep, clips of memories morphed into the snapping. bloodied jaw of a monster who reared their head every time your REM cycle started, and it shows. In your face, your posture, your skin. You look awful, the only thing really holding you together the resolve you have to push through, to get it together, to leave the envelope and its contents behind in your mind. You’re safer inside these walls above anywhere else, that you know is true. Your safety. Your sanctuary. Nothing can hurt you here. “You know how it is.” You add, and she chuckles.

“Tell me about it. Thought I was going to love overnights, but the sleep schedule is brutal.”

“You get used to it.” You assure her, the two of you making your way down the hall to the pit, and she shrugs.

“If you say so.”

You stand outside of two sixty-eight for too long. People pass you in the hallway, eyes curious, and you pretend to scroll through the tablet, decidedly trying to distract yourself from the dread that’s gathered like a sailor’s knot in the pit of your stomach.

You’re a professional. This behavior is definitely unprofessional. Get yourself together. 

You try, filling your lungs with a deep breath, but you can’t shake the shame, the mortification that is curdling in your stomach at the idea of facing Simon and Johnny after the code black situation last week.

“Go sit with Johnny.”

“Ye’re shaking, pretty girl.”

Will they be angry that you were so rattled? Could they tell? 

Your watch alarm beeps, and you uncurl your spine.

Buck up. 

You’re both anxious, and relieved, that Johnny is asleep when you finally step inside. Simon sits in his usual spot, paperback book’s spine split in the palm of his hand, and at first… he doesn’t even look up. Not until you clear your throat, and he startles in the chair, eyes snapping up to find yours. “Hi.” He frowns.

“What day is it?”

“Uh, it’s Wednesday?”

“I thought you start your week on Thursdays.” That makes your eyebrows raise, uncontained surprise filtering through you. He knows your schedule? Butterflies thrash in your stomach at the notion, something hot flooding your veins as you blink at him.

“I’m on OT.” You drift towards the other side of the bed, eyeing Johnny’s monitor before lifting the blanket to peek at his elevated leg. “How is he?”

“Uncomfortable. The burn debridement has been… difficult.”  You chew on the inside of your cheek. They better not be letting Simon even stand outside and watch that through the window, you think. You’ll have to follow up with whoever is on days.

“Healing burns can be a long and painful process.” You tell him, pulling back the blanket a little further. “I’ll be quick, try to let him get enough sleep as possible.”

“He’ll be sad he missed you.” Simon answers, still watching your every movement, eyes dark and focused above the black cloth mask. The intensity in them catches you off guard when you meet his gaze, hair on the back of your neck standing up straight, and you swallow.

“Well, I’ll still be here in the morning when he wakes so…” you trail off awkwardly, choosing to direct your attention to the scaffolding that’s supporting his femur and hip, checking his sutures for any redness or swelling.

“Do you work a lot of overtime?” Simon asks at the same as he leans forward to brush a stray lock of hair from Johnny’s forehead. The touch is so tender, so gentle, it makes your heart bleed inside your chest, blood warming beneath your skin, captivating your attention until he’s tearing his eyes away from Johnny, and latching onto yours with an expectant expression.

“Oh. Um. Sometimes?”

“Seems like a lot.” He comments, words lazily pulled from his lips, his tone soft, nearly a whisper. “Must make it difficult to spend time with your family, or partner.”

“Oh, I don’t have one of… those.” You immediately refute, pulling up short before the word those, embarrassment making your nose burn. Why are you telling him this? Why are you announcing to a stranger that you’re practically a recluse loner? 

Simon’s head tilts, and he looks like he’s about to say something but your tablet chimes, insistent and loud, signaling a vitals issue in another room.

“E-excuse me.” You stumble, and he nods, turning his attention back towards Johnny.

One… two… three… four…One… two… three… four… One… two-

The count in your head is second nature at this point, turning over and over after four as your arms, back and core start to scream, your breaths coming in shorter. Where the fuck is he? 

The count continues to roll on, lactic acid building up through your muscles, and you take another deep breath, as much as you can manage. The pain is familiar, it’s necessary, it’s a part of your job, but today, it’s burrowing itself beneath your skull, tugging and tearing at the memories that you’ve buried deep.

Pain. Gnarled and knotted strands of associations pull free from the confines of compartmentalization, stretching out across the front of your mind.

One… two… three… four…

You think about the photo. About being on your back, in a bed like this, lost inside the maze of a panic attack while the NP took photos between your legs. While they swabbed for DNA inside of you, under your fingernails, in your mouth. It’s funny how certain things can stick with you, the sound of the plastic bag crinkling as your bloodied clothes were shoved inside, how you can’t sleep on your back now, the way you counted the ceiling tiles over and over that day. One… two… three… four…

“How long has it been?” Nia asks from the other side of the bed, hand steadily squeezing the bag at the correct rate, still watching the monitor like a hawk.

“At least ten minutes.” You glance at the shade pulled over the window, grateful you remembered when you came running in here, the patient’s family standing just outside the door, holding their breath, hoping you’re in here bringing their beloved granny back, when in reality, you’re just traumatizing her body. You’ve already broken one of her ribs, and you’re worried if you keep going, her sternum will fracture too. It’s not fair. “Where the fuck is he?” you hiss between breaths, anger starting to heat your skin, irritation clear in your tone. This isn’t even your patient. Lazy, slacker, pompous ass, where the fu-

“How long has it been?” The nervous voice just inside the door calls, and your head snaps up.

Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. 

“Eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds. Where is Marshall?”

“He- he sent me.” You shake your head. Nia sighs.

“Have you pronounced before?”

“Um. No.”

“And where is Marshall?” You ask again, just to clarify, and the resident swallows.

“I uh, don’t know.” Normally, a resident’s first pronouncement would be supervised by their attending. But since this one’s attending is Marshall, a grade A prick that you can’t stand, it looks like he’ll be on his own.

“Great. Okay.” You take a huge breath, trying to flex your wrists without losing your position. “It’s been twelve minutes now, and no response. Do you want to check?” He nods, and you chew on the inside of your cheek when he doesn’t verbally respond. “I need you to say it out loud.”

“You can stop compressions.” You immediately wilt, stepping away from the side of the bed, the motion of Nia’s hand also slowing until it stops, and she slumps. Marshall’s resident physically checks for a pulse, listens for breath sounds and then finally, does a sternum rub, to no avail.

“Sh-should I…” they trail off, looking back down at the elderly woman in the bed. The deceased woman, whose family is waiting, desperately. You nod.

“Yes.” You tell the resident gently. You can tell he’s unsure, nervous even, and for a moment, you’re transported back to your first code, when you were a baby nurse, a terrified, bumbling mess that needed help, just like he does. And since Marshall is a piece of shit… “No pulse?” You ask, and they nod. “No breath sounds? No sound of a heartbeat?”

“None.” They answer you confidently, and you manage an encouraging smile.

“No response to painful stimuli, no reaction to the sternum rub?”

“Right. No.”

“Okay. So normally, you could also use a thumbnail to press into their nailbed, if you feel like you need it, if you’re not comfortable with the sternum rub, but-“

“No, no. I’m. Yeah. Okay.” They too, take a deep breath, and check their watch. “Time of d-death… twenty one forty five.”

“Great job.” You tell him, pulling the blanket back up around her shoulders. “Do you feel comfortable speaking with the family?” He blanches, and Nia’s work phone dings, signaling another patient’s needs. You sigh for the eightieth time tonight. “Okay. Come on, we’ll do it together.”

The supply closet welcomes you with open arms. It hides you in the low light of it’s forgotten space, and when you fall into the chair, your face drops into your palms, pressing so hard into them that you start to see stars. The curtain falls. The walls of your sanctuary start to feel frail. 

Found you, found you.

He found you. 

Get it together. Get yourself together. 

“Hey, there she is. Missed ye.” Johnny coos, eyes half shut, sleepy and sweet.

“Johnny.” Simon rumbles his name like a warning, one your patient doesn’t seem to heed, still blinking slowly at you with a sly look on his face.

“Had a dream about ye, pretty girl. Dreamt ye were at ho-“

“Alright.” Simon cuts him off, swiftly. Patients often have vivid, weird dreams when they’re all dosed up on medication, and it’s not the first time someone has slurred out some weird vision they’ve had of you in their sleep.

“Good morning to you too.” You quip, glancing at the catheter bag before putting your hands on your hips. “How are you feeling?”

“’m alright. Stomach hurts.” You frown.

“Can you tell me where the pain is?” He motions to his upper right, the area where his newly repaired liver is sitting, and you nod, pulling out your phone immediately to update his doctor. Could be nothing. Could be something. Not for you to determine, but you won’t let it go unnoticed, and you’ll make sure it’s top of mind during shift report. “Can I check your side?” You motion to where his burn is lightly wrapped, and he nods with a sheepish smile.

“Aye, sure can. Ye can take my clothes off anytime.” You roll your eyes, unbuttoning his gown at the shoulder, peeling the gauze away very slowly. The wound looks better than you were expecting, if you’re being honest, and it relieves some of the anxiety that curled up in the pit of your stomach after his admission of upper right quadrant pain. “Yer hands are warm, bun. Feels nice.” Bun? You opt to ignore it. Probably still a little floaty.

“Good, that’s… good. Better than them being icicles.” Your hand brushes across the center of his abdomen when you pull the rest of the dressing away, and he tenses, ab muscles becoming clearly defined, enough that you stall out for a second before turning away to grab fresh gauze for his wound care, hands just a little unsteady. “Oh, fuck.” You mutter when the pack slips, sliding halfway under the little table that’s along the wall, and you sigh, whirling away from both of them and bending at the waist to tiptoe your fingers across the floor until you feel the corner of crinkly plastic. “Gotcha!” When you straighten, turning back towards the bed, Johnny and Simon are staring at you, and there’s a glee filled smile on Johnny’s face, it’s presence both mischievous and beguiling, fingers of his good hand slowly rubbing circles into the inside of Simon’s forearm. “What?”

“Nothing. Ignore him.” Simon deadpans, and then shoots his partner a very serious look, one that nearly has you straightening like you’re in trouble.

“Ach.” Johnny huffs, stroking a gentle touch upwards across Simon’s jaw as you start to reapply his dressing, taking your time to ensure everything looks good and he’s comfortable. You smooth over it once you’re satisfied, checking for any precarious pieces of tape. “Ye take such good care o’ me.” Johnny murmurs, accent soft and scratchy. It’s decadent the way his voice sounds sometimes, enough to make your throat dry and the room feel too hot. “Got lucky, didnae we, Si?”

“Well, it’s m-my job.” You answer, trying not to look down at where his chest and stomach are still exposed, or get caught in the cerulean blue waves of his eyes. They’re such a stark contrast to the intense, velvety hue of Simon’s, the pointed focus of his gaze that’s able to stun you, throw you off kilter the same time Johnny’s makes you feel overheated, and lightheaded. Both of them together could drown you. Overwhelm you.

Balanced. A yin and a yang. 

Get it together. This is your patient and his partner, for gods sake. What is wrong with you? 

Something warms brushes along the skin of your knuckles, a fleeting touch, and when you look down, you see Johnny’s hand, two fingers barely stroking yours, the lightest touch catching your breath in your chest like time is slowing to a crawl, and you’re freezing along with it.

Everything goes quiet in your head.

Simon’s watching you, methodically studying you like he’s trying to decipher every twitch in your expression as Johnny’s fingertips move over your knuckles to the back of your hand, thumb slipping into your palm, blazing heat sparking beneath it.

What… what is happening? 

A phone vibrates. The noise snaps you free from your near statuesque state, and they both divert their attention to its screen. 

“They’re here.” Simon tells him, glancing at you before looking back to his partner. “Be good.” He warns, and Johnny rolls his eyes in response, but he looks almost… desperate now, eyes wide and anxious. 

“Hurry?” he asks, hopefully, Simon leaning down to press mask covered lips to his forehead, his eyes shuttering closed, deep breath passing between their two bodies.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I’m really concerned about the pain in his upper right quadrant. I already sent a text, but if his doctor isn’t on this floor in the next hour, page him again.” The dayshifter nods, tapping a note into her phone. “And Marshall’s resident is practically unsupervised, so keep an eye out.”

“Okay, sounds good.” You mention a few other things, details you noticed throughout your day, and she thanks you for the extra eye, sending you off with a parting wave into the cold, crisp morning, your mind already skipping over your commute to when you’ll be able to sink into your bed one last time.

You’re busy compiling a list as you wait for the elevator. Necessities, things you’ll need indefinitely as you bounce back and forth between a rotation of hotels and on-call rooms, all the usual stuff, clothes, toiletries, and all the important things that can’t be left behind, your birth certificate, passport, other things that could make or break you if lost.

Deep breath. You can do this. It’s not the first time. You’ve done it before, and you can do it again. 

The elevator dings. You take a step forward, not paying attention, and then pull up short when you see who’s getting out.

It’s Simon stepping towards you, with a baby girl in his arms. She’s situated on his hip, nestled into his side and for a second, you falter because… you recognize her. Or at least you think you do... she looks just like the little girl you saw last week.

“Um. Hi.” You blurt, failing to notice at first that he’s not alone, the man from the first night you met them, the one with the mustache standing behind the width of Simon’s body, his arm curled around the woman you saw last week. They step into view, and you give them all a polite smile, one you really hope doesn’t betray your confusion. 

“Hi,” he says your name next, says it so softly it feels tender, and then takes another step closer. “This is Penelope. Our daughter.” Oh. Oh.

They have a baby. A girl. They have a little girl. You don’t know why, but something inside you stumbles, melting into a frazzled, awkward mess, heart thumping in your chest. They have a baby, and Johnny almost died. They have a kid and he’s been trapped in this hospital, miserable in pain, missing his kid. “Pen, this is your Da’s favorite nurse.”

“Bunny.” The baby, Penelope, says, little finger stretching out towards your badge, which is facing outwards with the giant sparkly sticker. Simon chuckles, genuinely, masked lips pressing to her cheek, and you see a glimpse of a father, a protector, a provider. It makes you feel dizzy.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, and you nod like a robot, unable to really form a word with your tongue. “Alright baby girl. Let’s go see your Da, yeah?”

[the-californicationist]

he comes closer and closer...

Price/Reader - TW: bondage, explicit consent, anal fingering, begging, male whimpering, edgeplay, blowjobs

“I want you to remember, especially in an hour or so, that you asked for this,” you kissed his bearded cheek softly, smelling his cologne, “Begged for it, even.”

“Aye. I did,” he replied, his accent thick and heady.

Captain Price was fully naked and strapped down to his office desk, tied with a length of paracord. His body was stretched out like a rubber band, his skin shining from sweat and covered in dark hair. You could hear his labored breathing and feel his eyes on you, watching you as you walked around the desk, rubbing his arms and legs with your hands, playing with his nipples, fondling him everywhere except where he wanted you to. 

“And yet, you say I’m being unfair?” You pouted playfully, settling yourself between his knees, purposely avoiding his twitching cock.

“Edging involves at least a little…attention. Touch me, love. Please.”

“Begging again? How desperate you are tonight,” you smiled, lowering your mouth just above where his pink head could reach. Watching his hips and cock strain towards you was enchanting. 

“Baby, please, it aches. You can’t…please, don’t just leave me like this.”

“Maybe just one little taste, hmm? Just to see if you’ll be a good boy.”

“I will,” he strained harder, fighting the ropes, “I will, I promise. Please-please-please…”

“I don’t know, Captain. Do you remember the rules?”

“Yes, love, I remember. Please, just -”

“Tell me.”

He sighed, and you watched his abs flex on the exhale, his belly convulsing with his ragged breaths,

“I have to warn you when I come, and…”

“And?” You drug out the word like a sticky strand of taffy, pulling it to the point of breaking. 

“...and if I don’t, I can’t have your cunt.”

“No, you can’t. So, be good, John. Show me you want this pussy.”

He growled, 

“Fuck, I want it right bloody now. Please, baby, I -”

“Shh. Enough. You need to learn patience, my darling. We’re just getting started.”

You put a dollop of lube in your hand and rubbed it all over his shaft. He was so swollen, and the cockring you put around him had kept him that way for a while. It was wrapped around the base of his shaft and under his balls, stretching the skin and keeping it rigid. He was grunting as you worked him, his whole body reacting to your touch. The desk creaked as he strained against it. You were a little concerned about its integrity. If he broke the straps, or the desk, there were no rules left to bind him. 

“Mmm, unhgh…yeah, just like that. Fuuuuuck…” Price groaned loudly. 

You stopped, pulling away from him with a wet pop. 

“Ah! No, no, no…” He complained. 

You ran your fingers up and down his torso, threatening to touch his cock again. Every time you got close, you could hear the wood of the desk cry out, stretching from his strength. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked him, licking his nipple, biting his skin. 

“Oh, fuck, yes it does. Please, come back.”

You returned to his cock, but instead of quick solid strokes, you pulled him slowly, painfully slowly, and at an odd angle, so none of his regular sensations were available for him to hold onto. Each time you pulled up and over his cockhead, he would grunt for you, like an angry bull. 

Changing your grip, you massaged his balls and he sighed. Then, you rubbed his inner thighs and the skin behind his sack and between his legs, pressing on his internal root, jerking it as if it were his cock at the surface. It made his dick flag up and down as you did so, and he did everything he could to move you either forwards or back, being cruelly teased by your positioning. 

You stopped again. You heard him groan deep and low. His cock was rosy pink, flushed with blood and thicker than you’d ever seen it. You put some lube on your finger and dipped between his legs, finding his asshole, warm and covered in thick hair. He jolted, as much as the ropes would allow.

“What are you doing?”

“Do you remember Warsaw?”

His eyes were wild, but then they went ice cold, the realization washing over him. You chuckled, continuing, rimming your finger around his hole as you spoke, 

“You found me during our field training, and you held me down, plunging those fingers into my pussy and my ass, not allowing me to come for a whole evening, telling me that only bad soldiers got caught, and since I was bad, I didn’t deserve an orgasm. Have you been bad, John?”

You slipped a finger past his outer muscles, feeling the smooth skin inside of his asshole, massaging it in slow, aching circles. He held his breath, but he was shaking his head back and forth, protesting against your appraisal of his sins. You checked in with him, pausing your movements.

“Green or yellow?”

It took a few moments, but he growled out a very clear, 

“Green, love. Green.”

You pushed your finger in until you found the spot you were looking for. You began to rub little firm circles inside of him while jerking his cock with your free hand. There was so much to love about the feedback you were getting from him. His face was wide with intense pleasure, and his pupils were fully blown. You thrust your hand around him faster, focusing on his head. As soon as you saw his eyes clench shut, you removed yourself from him entirely. 

“No! Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, frustrated and desperate for you to let him finish. 

“Mmm, about to break a rule, Captain? You never were good at following orders.”

You sucked his cock into your mouth, softly, gently, and applied almost no suction. He bucked against the table, slamming his hips and back into the wood. You could hear the ropes tightening against their bites. He was groaning and shaking from your warm, wet mouth. You lay your tongue at the base of his head and began to lap at his skin in long, slow licks. It was too slow and soft for him to feel any release, but it was enough to drive him past the point of normalcy. 

“Fuck! Fuck, more. More, love. I need more, please. Please. Please! Fuuuuuuck.”

You put your finger at the entrance of his asshole, but you didn’t enter him again. Still, he throbbed in your mouth, just the idea of you touching him inside gave him the same sensation. You pulled him out of you and leisurely massaged his dick again, keeping him right on the edge of his pleasure. Price was literally trembling with every moment of your touch, loudly grunting, unashamed of his behavior. 

Then, you decided to finger him again, taking it away the moment his breathing changed. You put him back in your mouth. Then, you took him out. At one point, you left him altogether, making a cup of tea and drinking it while you sat in his office chair, watching him watch you. Smiling. He thrashed against the ropes. 

He really was terrifying, objectively. Price could kill you in less than a second if he wanted to. He was enormous, muscular, and sharp as a knife. There was no where you could run, and there was no chance of you fighting him off. As you watched him writhe and pull at his bindings, you studied his form. His strong legs and huge ass provided immense leverage against the desktop, bowing the edges of its planks downward - ever so slightly - as he thrust against it. The captain’s wide chest bulged with his mountainous shoulders, causing the rope to whine as it tightened on its knot, the fibers stretching past their limits. Every time he threw his hips down in blissful agony, the whole room shuddered. He was like some sort of beast you’d caught in a trap. A tiger by the tail. 

Finally, you decided to end his suffering, but he didn’t know that. As you approached the desk again, he began to beg you,

“Please, love. Please. I’ll be good. I promise. Please, let me come. I’ll be good. Baby, please…”

There it was. That’s what you wanted. An obedient Price was a rare sight, and seeing him unfold right before your very eyes, like a rose in bloom, relaxing into your will - it was mesmerizing. You wanted to rub your nose in those pliant petals, bend them back away from his honeyed center. You were hooked. 

“Mmm. That's it, baby. Surely, such a good boy deserves a reward, hm?”

“Oh, fuck,” his tone was dark now that he knew what was coming. 

You put your mouth on him and grabbed his balls gently in your hand, sucking him with a strong rhythm, massaging his heavy sack with each thrust of your head. Price wasn’t that long, but his girth was a struggle. You pushed past it, giving the man what he’d been waiting for, choking yourself, pulling off his cockring and letting the blood flow back into his core as you swallowed his head in the back of your throat. 

"I'm gonna come. Oh, my God. I'm gonna fuckin' come, baby. Yes-yes-yes...ahhh!"

The wait was so worth it. With each bob of your head, he seized and panicked. It was as if every suckle was giving him a separate orgasm, and he came like a firehose. It squirted down your throat, hot and salty, and he was screaming for you. You were certain the whole base could hear him, even though they were all the way in the barracks. His legs locked out straight, pulling the ropes tight, and his back arched off of the desk in perfect agony. 

You drained his cock by pulling out the last few drops from his shaft, licking them up like dripping ice cream from a cone. Then, you untied his legs and hands. He lay there, panting, his face twisted in complexity, feeling aftershocks and riding them out, sated and drunkenly happy. 

“Bloody fuckin’ hell, girl, you better start runnin'. As soon as I get my legs, you are in for it.”

You bolted for the door, looking back at him over your shoulder, grinning. He had already rolled off of the desk and was trying to throw on his shorts, stumbling, slowly catching his bearings, quickly getting ready to hunt you down.

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

Read Part 2 here.

[luveline]

what about Steve finding out he’s gonna be a dad for the first time??? or him doting on you while you’re pregnant 🥹

You’re asleep when Steve’s starts kissing you. “Love you,” he’s saying between presses of his lips, the words bouncing off of the side of your nose. 

You blink, eyelashes sticky with sleep. Your back aches and couch springs groan as you try to stretch, Steve’s arms locked around you to hold you in place. “What time is it?” you ask. Your voice barely comes out. You try again, “How long have I been sleeping?” 

You tip your face back. He’s laid down beside you, smiling, his hair crushed by the cushion under his cheek. You brush it out of his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he says, sounding happy and affectionate at once. “I’ve been home for an hour. We napped.” 

You can tell. You feel distinctly relaxed. 

“You okay?” he asks. 

“Nauseous.” 

“Oh no,” he murmurs, pulling you against his chest. His hand slides down to your stomach. “What’s she doing to you?” 

For a moment, he talks so gently, with so much love, you assume he’s talking to the baby. But then you realise he’s talking to you, and you melt like soft taffy under a hot sun. “Nothing, really.” 

“No?” he asks, hand on the topmost curve of your bump. 

“I think I didn’t like lunch. My taste buds are changing or something.” 

“I can make you something. I’m an excellent chef.” 

“Maybe…” You curl into him as much as you can in the limited space. “In a minute.” 

“In a minute,” he repeats, half teasing, half something warmer. He’s turned on his side to give you and your bump enough room, an arm curled underneath you surely dead and the other still resting gently on your stomach. The air between you is warm, almost damp, too hot from napping together but neither of you willing to move away yet. 

You get lost in thought. The nice shape of his smile is distracting, especially still lax with the after effect of a good sleep. 

“What was your day like?” he asks eventually. 

“Just quiet.” You close your eyes and let them sting, tears collecting under your eyelids that you blink away. “I think the baby is making me really tired.” 

“Well, you’re making a baby. It’s hard,” he says. “Much easier to begin with.” 

You smile rather than laugh, too tired. “Way too easy. How was,” —you yawn wide, eyes watering yet again— “your day?” 

“A little less tiring than yours, obviously.” 

You rub your nose into his polo shirt. “Every shift is another pair of socks.” 

“This one’s worth more than that. A box of diapers for sure. And a couple of days of groceries, I guess.” He kisses your nose messily. “Got your vitamins on the way home.” 

“Thank you… Actually, my day was agitating. I have this itch between my shoulders I can’t reach.”

“Yeah?” he’s immediately interested. 

“Yeah, would you– yeah, to your– little more…” You drift off as his hand sneaks under your shirt and his nails find the awful evil itch that’s irking you. He knows exactly where to go from the slightest hitch on your breath, and he isn’t cute about it. He likely leaves scratch marks behind. It’s exactly what you needed. “Thank you so much.” 

He rubs the scratches with the side of his thumb to cover the pain until it’s faded. “You’re welcome, honey. I’m your guy. Itches, rashes, headaches, weird moles. I’m always gonna be your guy.” 

“Until the baby comes along ‘n then you're their guy.” 

“I guess so. I think you kind of…” You’re both so tired your conversation comes out slowly, but it comes. “…make that promise when you decide to have one. I’ll be her guy, but that’s not– I’m always gonna be here for you. I’m still gonna be your guy. You’ll have to share me, that’s all.” His nose crinkles with his smile. “I’m not gonna give you half, though. I’ll just have to double my efforts.” 

“Really?” you ask. You hadn’t realised you were worried until he mentioned it. 

“Duh, babe. Not gonna punish you for something I did to you.”

“This isn’t a punishment.” 

His fingers spread over your shoulder, skin on skin. “For sure not. I’m not talking about the baby, I mean me. The way I am. I’m not gonna choose her over you, I’m going to take care of you both.” 

His polo is easy to collect and squeeze in your hand as you tip into his chest. “You’ll have to choose her sometimes.” 

“So you admit it’s a her?” 

“I admit nothing, H.” 

“I’m on your side forever,” he promises, noses inclined together, your bump pressed to his abdomen. He’s hugging you like there’s nowhere else in the world to be. “I’m always gonna look after you.” He scratches your skin in emphasis, much kinder and longer strokes of his hand. “Always.” 

[p0orbaby]

For All I’m Worth

summary: pent up aggression and adrenaline has alessia wanting to try something new

warnings: SMUT 18+, (r receiving) oral, strap use, dom!alessia, swearing probably, I think that’s it but who knows

a/n: I got insprired, don’t judge

word count: 1.2k

-

Alessia never got like this.

She was all melted taffy on a hot day and freshly baked cookies. She was soft and gentle and considerate. With her doe eyes and gentle touches and sugar coated words.

But everyone has their limit.

An away game in a place so familiar. Relentless fans. One too many missed goal opportunities. With several triggers stacked on top of eachother in such a short space of time, it wasn’t really a surprise when she decided she wanted to go in a different direction.

You felt it in the first kiss. Something that is normally slow and sticky, was now rushed and impatient as she used her hands to pin your own over your head. Her perfectly manicured nails pinching deliciously into your skin.

It was a stark contrast to her usual performance. In charge, sure, but guiding your movements rather than forcing you along with hers. Hands splayed gently across hips and lips dancing over whatever skin they could reach.

Now, she rolled her hips cardinally into yours, then pushed her tongue past your teeth and licked at the roof of your mouth. You moaned at the fiction against your core as her shorts rubbed against your bare skin.

You sucked in a breath when she licked a long line between the valley of your breasts, before letting go of your wrists. A commanding look on her face that told you if you move them, you’ll pay for it. Maybe at some point you’d try your luck. But for now you just grabbed the sheets between your fists, turning your knuckles white.

A few thrusts later and she was sat back on her haunches, looking down on you with a frown. The crease between her brow telling you she was deciding on what she wanted, and you silently hoped she wouldn’t go easy on you.

You watch her from under hooded lids at the way her head tilted sideways as she watches you rub your legs together for reprieve. Maybe it was the lust driven blush that covered your chest, or the way you huffed impatiently while she eyed you, whatever it was, it caused her to pounce.

Stretching out beside you, her teeth closed over a pert nipple. It dragged another moan from you, long and languid as she sucked then soothed then sucked again. Her lips next find their way back up your neck to then attach themselves to yours, offering you a hot wet kiss that has your fingers finding her hair, and hers making their own journey down your body.

You were just about ready to combust. Your skin alight with each stroke of her fingertips, each nip of your bottom lip between her teeth.

“You’re soaked” she muttered when she reached where you needed her most. Pushing your legs up and out, fingers circling your clit once she’d gathered your slick for little resistance. “Be a good girl and keep your legs there for me”. Then she was gone.

“Less” you breathed pathetically. Eyes slamming shut whilst tension and anticipation gathered in your stomach as you prepared yourself. Mind reeling with each second that passed that she didn’t put her hands on you.

Blindly, you felt the mattress shift. Heard the rustling of fabric. Felt a mouth close over you.

You cried out as her tongue swirled over you, your hips pushing up into her mouth. All you heard was static in your ears at the pressure she was building with her wet, eager tongue lapping over your folds.

Alessia is a great lover. Attentive, compassionate, thorough. But this? This version of her is very different and you vowed to end everything if you ever complained.

Her attentions were expert and precise, her intentions obvious. She wanted to ruin you. And you’d happily let her.

Though just as you were getting close to the edge, she was gone again. The air cold against your wet puffy skin. You growled frustratedly and your eyes snap open at the sensation to find Alessia’s naked form leaning over you, rummaging through the bedside drawer.

You turned your head to watch. The muscles of her stomach tensed as she balanced herself on her knees, her face red and damp from where she was nestled between your legs just moments ago.

The coil in your belly was close to snapping when you saw what she was reaching for. Your mouth watering as she put it together and buckled it to her waist without missing a beat.

It’s large, hanging heavy between her legs. It’s not one you use often but when you do the burn you feel the next day is never unwelcome. And the knowing smirk she shoots you when she sees you wincing as you walk is all part of the fun.

When she deems herself ready, she leans over you again, lips sliding over yours before she pulls back again and says “you taste so good”

The push and pull has your head spinning. And her instructions to keep your hands to yourself now completely out the window as you grapple for her while the cock nudged against you.

Hooking her arms under your legs, she pulls you towards her, your head now in the middle of the mattress and your thighs wrapped snugly around her hips. She guides herself in, slow at first, giving you a moment to get used to it, then one fast push and she’s breached you fully.

It knocks the wind from you, striking the flint in your stomach and setting you on fire. The drag of each thrust making your legs shake as pleasure rolls over you in waves. Your nails digging into her back as she ducks down to bite the strained chords where your neck meets your shoulder.

You were falling. Tumbling over the precipice with no intention of looking back.

You felt weightless and dense all at once. Limbs heavy from strain to floating on a cloud above the sky as electricity pulsed through you.

She closed her mouth over yours again. Slower this time, her efforts noticeable as she exhaled heavily through her nose, her tongue swiping lazily against yours. You came down with your fingers squeezing the hard muscle of the arms that were keeping herself up.

Pulling away you sucked in a shaky breath. Hissing as she kept moving inside you. Chest heaving with each long drag between your walls. Resisting the urge to whimper.

There was a brief moment when all was quiet. Though your heart was still thumping in your ears, the room was still. Alessia had collapsed on top of you, her arms seemingly giving way. Then like a break in the dawn, she spoke, “you okay?”

You were still boneless when she lolled to the side, the silicone slipping out of you before she removed it from where it sat on her waist.

“Just about” you managed to squawk out, reaching a hand out for her, not liking that she was so far away. The chuckle she let out made you fuzzy all over again. “I think you’ve thoroughly wrecked me”

“Sorry” she said, bashful as if she hadn’t just fucked you into next Friday.

You shake your head in reassurance. “Don’t be, I enjoyed it”

“Yeah?” she asked, a little surprised. Her hand coming up to keep her head propped upright and her other one traces patterns on the tacky skin of your arm.

“Mhm” you hum, your body tired all of a sudden. “I think you should get angry more often”

[alkali1]

Fantasy Maternity Ward

It had been a relatively quiet day at the maternity ward, but all of Dr. Ixia's hope of going home on time vanished when she heard the anguished screams of the petite elven woman being carried into the delivery room by her hulking orc husband. Half-orc deliveries were almost always a drawn-out, tortuous affair, and with the three-year length of elven pregnancies, the mother would surely need a lot of time and assistance to squeeze out the 60-70 pound toddler currently cramming its way through her overdilated cervix.

The nurse briefed the goblin OBGYN on the patient's status: "She's carrying a singleton, half-orc 163 weeks pregnant, and nearly fully dilated." The doctor's eyes widened at hearing how long the pregnancy had been. Elves usually couldn't handle bearing interspecies babies the full three years, but this woman had gone severely overdue. She shuddered thinking about the sheer size of the baby, and whether her body could even stretch enough to accommodate it.

The patient was helped into the birthing bed, her feet strapped up into the stirrups. Her breasts, sagging low with milk, were pushed up into her face by the enormity of her womb, which dominated the rest of her body. From Ixia's low angle it looked like it could be the size of the rest of her combined. The elf's straining, barrel-sized belly shifted back and forth as the strong, overdeveloped child confined within writhed, desperate to be born.

The doctor reached into the patient's swollen pussy to examine her cervix. She found her to be fully dilated, with the baby's watermelon-sized and colored head battering against the elf's hopelessly tiny pelvic inlet with each desperate push.

"Huff...huff...stuUUUUUUUUUCK!" was all the poor elf could say as another contraction made her strain desperately to squeeze the colossal head through her unyielding hips. "We're going to give you a little something to help you stretch", said Dr. Ixia, loading up a syringe with a clear potion.

Ixia made three careful injections into the ligaments holding her pelvis together, one in the front and one on either side of her delicate tailbone. She wrenched the strirrups back, bringing the elven woman's feet almost parallel to her head. The patient let out a desperate scream as she reacted to the burning sensation of her pelvic ligaments stretching like taffy.

With her hips finally widened enough for her pushes to slowly start squeezing the overdue toddler downwards, the patient writhed underneath the suffocating boulder of her belly, clinging desperately to her orc husband's burly arm. Each push brought a few agonizingly slow millimeters of progress, and with it an unimaginable searing pain that made her scream and wail that her hips would split. Though this was one of the most disproportionate births she'd attended, it was nothing the veteran doctor hadn't seen before. Ixia squirted some lubricating oil into the now bulging cunt of her patient, working it in around the brow of the child to hopefully ease its passage somewhat.

After a few hours the head was just barely starting to approach the elf's bulging lips. With a sliver of green skin visible, each push made her swollen flower distend just a bit more, until it formed a sickening bulge several inches wide. Her perineum was pulled so tight that it dragged her anus open with into a teardrop shape.

Ixia sighed, realizing that the elf's hole was just too small and tight to stretch around the colossal toddler head. She gently ran her fingers around the taut rim, testing its pliability and trying to stretch it around a little more of the huge skull. There was just no way it was going to fit without splitting the poor elf wide open.

"Ready the traction forceps," Ixia said to her assistant. As the device was being assembled, she rubbed a sticky potion into the elf's vaginal lips and perineum. "This will help you stretch wide enough to deliver." she explained.

With the ointment taking effect Ixia was just barely able to wiggle the curved metal faces of the forceps into the patient's birth canal and secure them into place around either side of the head. She locked them together and hooked the apparatus up to a chain, then turned a crank to create constant pressure against her patient's stubborn cunt.

"IT'S RIPPING MEeeeeeee!" screams the poor elf, struggling to stay calm with the burning sensation in her overstretched cunt suddenly multiplying tenfold. "Calm down, you're not tearing. Just breathe and push when you feel a contraction." Privately, Ixia had her doubts. The doctor prided herself on rarely having to cut her patients, but the sheer size of the grossly overdeveloped half-breed could easily prove too large for the extra capacity provided by the stretching ointment.

Over the next three hours the elf's grotesquely stretched pussy gradually stretched around the baby's boulder-like, fused skull. The doctor periodically ratcheted up the tension, and reapplied more ointment to the patient's vulva and perineum. But just before it reached its widest point, it stopped progressing.

The red-faced elf gasped as Ixia explained that the shoulders had become stuck on her tailbone. "Brace yourself, this will be quite uncomfortable." said the doctor as she pulled on an elbow-length surgical glove.

Ixia carefully squeezed her hand into the gaping maw of the elf's rectum. She faced severe resistance from the stretching and squeezing being exerted on the hole by the massive obstruction lodged in the birth canal. Every square inch of space in the moaning patient's pelvic cavity seemed to be taken up by the baby, but finally the doctor was able to get some leverage on the shoulders.

With the next push she attempted to rotate the anterior shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. It was completely wedged against the unusually prominent bone. With a sickening pop, the fragile spur gave way. Ixia quickly withdrew her arm from the patient and provided counterpressure as the unstuck baby surged forward.

"Try to pant through the urge to push. If it comes too quickly you're going to tear yourself badly." But the agonized elven woman was far too deep into the throes of labor to resist her body's desperate signals. With the next contraction the head finally popped free from her gaping cunt with a gush of fluid. Ixia disengaged the forceps and gently guided the shoulders and torso out. With one more quick push the gigantic toddler fully emerged from the elf's blown-out birthing hole.

Ixia needed help from her assistant to lift the child onto the mother's chest. As the new parents cooed over their firstborn and the nurses cleaned him up and did their examinations, she supervised the delivery of the placenta and stitched up the shockingly minor tears in the elf's loose, swollen-purple hole.

"76 pounds 15 ounces!" announced one of the nurses after weighing the chubby newborn boy. "One of the largest I've ever delivered" thought Ixia to herself. With the ordeal largely over, the doctor advised the patient to stay on bedrest for at least six weeks while her tailbone healed and alchemically stretched body parts slowly returned to normal. Finally, hours after she expected, she could go home.

[thegnomelord]

I totally wasn’t reading Hound going through rehab I swear

But like what if TF141 decided, “hey the man has metal fucking teeth, let’s find out how strong his bites are to make Makorov think that this was a good idea to get his dock hard” (/hj) and some of the others test just for sillies too because of it

(this is also like my first time yapping on tumblr to people so uh idk pls don’t flame me and if I was also wondering if 🥟 or 🍨 was taken they look so good on iPhone rrrhrharh)

LMAOOO that soooo sounds like something Johnny would fucking do and say. It probably happens when he's gotten used to Hound enough to no longer see him as an extension of Makarov, maybe even learning of who Hound was before the torture.

Plus Soap is just a dumbass when curious. He's the type to bring you weird shit and see if you can bite through it. It's never anything dangerous — maybe a stick of wood or some extremely old jerky that's hard as rock. And he has this giddy look when you bite right through it, metal teeth making it easier to break.

But also would probably get you some sticky candy like taffy, watching you try them for the first time and just the utter confusion on your face when your metal teeth stick together from the candy, drool running down your chin. And maybe if he wants to be a total shit about it he'll lean in to lick up the sweet candy flavored drool, giving you a teasing look before scampering away cause he knows you can't exactly chase after him in the state you're in

[toxictigertonic]

Happy Halloween!! I was going to post this earlier today, but the past two weeks have been wack so I'm writing this the day of lol.

COYLE

- Hates Halloween bc crime increases Halloween night and he's sick of dealing with property damage calls. Though, he does like enforcing the law, so he does get a little enjoyment out if it.

- He'd walk into a Halloween party for a noise complaint and get mistaken for a male stripper 😔

- Finds people dressing up as a cop insulting. Little kids could get away with it, but adults? That's impersonating an officer, bucko!

- If someone asked if he was dressed as a cop he'd actually lose his shit and get into a screaming match with them. The disrespect!

- Not the biggest fan of candy, but he'd be the guy that actually enjoys candy corn. The monster /j

- A little old lady would offer him candy and he'd accept it with a smile, then immediately try to pass it off to someone else.

- He would NOT pass out candy. Fucker hands out apples and shit bc he likes to see the disappointment in children's eyes.

- Says some absolutely WILD shit to anyone in a sexy costume. Man or woman, doesn't matter, he's pointing out how you look in a very uncomfortable way.

- Kids would manage to prank his ass and handcuff him to something for the rest of the night. Good luck responding to calls, jackass.

MOTHER GOOSEBERRY

- She loves Halloween, Futterman hates it with a passion for obvious reasons.

- She's cooing over the children's costumes. She'd give extra cute outfits extra candy (if Futterman let her hand out candy)

- Futterman makes her hand out apples and floss and toothbrushes and she feels a little bad seeing the children get sad. The babies deserve a little treat :(

- She'd secretly hide a piece of candy under the apple and dump it into the kid's hand with a not so secret wink.

- Futterman lectures small children who have big bags of candy and makes them cry. You're gonna get cavities!!

- In particular, if he sees taffy or candy corn or anything that's pure sticky sugar he loses his fucking mind. Screaming about plaque and tartar while the kids run away.

- Gooseberry is dressed up as a big friendly witch! Her pointy hat and heeled boots make her even taller and the children are in awe of this big friend. Futterman is her familiar. He's not impressed.

- If Futterman had a choice he'd be a weregoose. He's frightening children in more ways than one.

- I can guarantee she didn't get to go trick or treating as a kid. She should be allowed to trick or treat as an adult without Futterman giving her shit.

FRANCO

- Another child who didn't get to go trick or treating. Got to see other children receive candy but his dad 1. Didn't care enough to take him trick or treating, and 2. Knew it was far too dangerous to be out and about with his status as mob boss.

- This translates to a desperate need for him to go trick or treating. But, he'd be really iffy on wearing a costume. On one hand, he wants to really experience what he missed out on! On the other hand, he feels like he'd be mocked and that he doesn't need a costume, he just deserves candy.

- A little old lady would pinch his cheek and call his costume cute and he wouldn't be sure if he should cry or get pissed off.

- The amount of candy this man would devour would be terrifying for anyone to witness. Candy after candy, chocolate after chocolate, his tummy would hurt so bad by the end.

- He's NOT picky, either. Have a candy you don't like? Pass it to him, he'll scarf it down without even thinking about it. A couple of the sticky ones make his teeth hurt, though.

- The sugar crash afterwards would be legendary. He's face down on the carpet, half dead, shaking from the low blood sugar, with a puddle of drool under him. Someone clean him up and put him to bed.

- Costume wise, I can either see him going as an imp (the poster and bc he's my evil little guy) OR a unicorn bc of the line he has with Coyle. Pacifier comes with both outfits whether you like it or not.

- If you offer him some shit like popcorn balls or non candy when he comes to your door (or point out that he's an adult), he's pulling out Lupara. Don't test him, he's rabid.

- He'd be so excited if he could go trick or treating with Gooseberry. He'd hold her hand and feel like the most special little guy. One hand in hers, one hand on his pumpkin pail, paci in his mouth, he's happy as can be.

I love Halloween so much, everyone have a great night and enjoy some candy and the Geister event!

@thehalloweenspooks @millie-milkshake (thank you both for asking teehee)

[kawaii-sugarii]

Sugar Rush - Next Gen

Incoming: my Next Gen kiddos!

Note: This is going to be a long one, because there's a total of 9 kids to talk about, and only now I'm developing their personalities.

Anyway, I hope that it's all worth it, so...

Here we go!

↓

Starting off with the trio of Von Schweetz kids. Vanellope and Gloyd's chaos loving children.

• Gabrielle Von Schweetz is the eldest daughter of the Von Schweetz family. She's cheeky and mischiuevous, though at the same time sweet and caring towards her friends, especially her siblings, and quite a capable leader. Always up for tricks and pranks, her preference being to do this with style. She's also very sassy, and likes to say snarky comments on occasions.

• Ven Orangeboar Von Schweetz is the middle child, and only son of the Von Schweetz family. A cunning yet laid-back boy who absolutely can't say "no" to an offer of pulling a prank. He inherits his mother's glitch, which helps him anytime he's up for mishief, since as some say, his glitch gives him a speed boost and jump boost. He also has a habit of sticking his tongue out a lot.

• Valerie Von Schweetz is the youngest daughter of the Von Schweetz family. She's in a way the opposite of her siblings, being more quiet and reserved, often seen fidgeting with her long ponytail, but she does sometimes join in on her siblings' chaos. She also inherits her mother's glitch, but unlike Ven, hers is weaker, and only occurs when she expresses extreme emotions.

Next comes a duet of Malarkey kids. Children of the sporty duet, Minty and Swizzle.

• Kentroy Malarkey is the eldest son of the Malarkey family. He's a smart and stubborn kid, and at the same time cool-headed and daring. He likes performing acrobatics and reading a good book, and also enjoys sarcastic humor. He usually knows how to keep a cool head, but there are times when he can get a bit hot-headed. Interestingly, he was the result of unplanned pregnancy, though was fortunately loved from when he was born.

• Zinnia Malarkey is the youngest daughter of the Malarkey family. Often referred to as "Zinn", she's as energetic and bubbly as a little girl can get, in addition to being a sporty daredevil with a lot of adrenaline. Always upbeat and bouncy, she strikes to bring out the good in everyone, even if some of the people she meets are the worst of the worst. She's more trusting than her brother, which makes her rather naive despite her intelligence.

Now for the girl with a 'tude, making it clear that she's Taffyta and Rancis' child.

• Abby Fluggerbutter is the only daughter of the Fluggerbutter family. She's quite a friendly and tomboyish girl, and although she's trying to be different from her parents and doesn't want to become like them, she still retains their loud and cocky attitude. She likes to style her hair and try on new accessories, but in terms of outfits, no matter what the others tell her, she'll always pick comfy hoodies, especially if they're oversized.

Up next, the ever mysterious girl, as well as Adorabeezle's ever mysterious child.

• Eclaire Winterpop is, as far as people know, the only daughter of the Winterpop family. She's a quiet girl, much like her mother, but unlike her, she's less athletic and more lady-like, enoying spending a quiet time with nature, and sometimes play with animals, too. She is shrouded in mysteries, some of which she's aware of. She sometimes wonders about who her father is, though her mother doesn't talk much about him.

Almost there! Now comes the demi-boy, and Sticky and Nougetsia's adopted child.

• Alucard Fruitpunch is the only son of the Wipplesnit family. He's bubbly and relaxed, and incredibly easy-going. He's also an air-head with a creative and imaginative mind, liking to come up with new ideas whenever they can and want. Despite their easy-going nature, Alucard can get nervous rather easily, bumbling over his own words whenever he feels uneasy.

And last but not least, the first OC x Canon kid revealed. Torvald and Cinnaren's tomboy child.

• Toffifee Batterbutter is the only daughter of the Batterbutter family. On one hand, she's a sweet and energetic girl with a smile bright as the sun. On the other hand, she's a brash and boisterous girl with a voice loud as a hawk. She's rather impulsie, and is quick to take action in any situation, sometimes answering with her fists. Very adventurous and playful, always aims for the top, and more often than not refuses to quit.

Aaaaand that's all of them!

(Phew, that took a while.)

[steddieas-shegoes]

"so you're telling me that you helped them find all the eggs on the bus?" steve asked, arms folded across his chest.

"yes! they couldn't even reach a few of them. you hid them too high," eddie unwrapped another chocolate egg and shoved it in his mouth.

"yeah, the goal was to keep some hidden so we wouldn't have them bouncing off the walls while we're stuck on here for another six hours."

eddie stopped chewing his candy, looking over at their two daughters who were currently arguing over who got to keep the $1 bill and who got to keep the four quarters from one of the eggs.

"i thought the goal was to find them all?"

"yeah, eventually. all the obvious ones were for today and then tomorrow one of us would 'find' the last handful of them and give out the candy over the course of the day." steve snapped his fingers at the girls and gave them his 'you better chill out' look. "now they're all in a mood and probably want to run around, but can't."

"oh."

"yeah, oh." steve sighed. he gestured to their son, who was too young to care about money, but definitely not too young to care about candy, shoving a handful of jelly beans in his mouth. "how do you plan on entertaining him?"

"he can play my guitar or something."

"and what do you suggest we do with the girls?"

"pawn them off on jeff and his wife on the next stop? they need practice anyways."

steve snorted. it wasn't a bad idea necessarily. but there was no way they'd be on their best behavior and steve wouldn't put anyone else through that.

"how about we stop for some food to help soak up some of that sugar?" steve suggested, knowing they still had about two hours before they were scheduled for a stop. bribing the driver would be pretty easy, especially if they let him pick where they went. "one of us can hide the rest of the candy while they're off the bus."

"fine, but they'll be mad when they get back."

"and they can stay mad," steve laughed. "but they can stay mad at you for it. i was the bad guy yesterday when i said no to ice cream. it's your turn."

eddie's jaw dropped. "but i'm never the bad guy!"

"yes, my point exactly." steve turned to grab bottles of water for the kids. maybe flushing it all out of their system would help. "i'm taking the title of cool dad for the day."

"robin would be so disappointed in you," eddie grumbled.

"robin's been trying to get me to loosen up for years. she'll be proud of me."

eddie wrapped his arms around steve, ignoring the sudden screech from their oldest daughter for another moment.

"i'm proud of you too. i can be the bad guy more often if you want."

"nah. i kinda like what we have." steve leaned in to kiss him quickly. "but i'm gonna soak it in today. might get a little worked up seeing you be the guy doling out discipline today, though."

"you're ridiculous. i discipline you plenty."

"dad! she took both of the dollars!"

"i found both of them!"

"actually, i found both of them," eddie said as he turned to the girls. "and if there's arguing, i get to keep them both."

the girls looked back at him with wide eyes, chocolate around their mouths, and sticky fingers from whatever taffy they'd gotten into first.

"but you already have all the money! you're an adult!"

steve covered his mouth to hide his laughter, turning to their son, who was a little too quiet for the amount of peeps he'd eaten an hour ago.

he wasn't at the table anymore.

"alright, maybe we'll both have to be the bad guys today," steve sighed. "luke! where'd you go?"

"how does he disappear on a moving bus?" eddie asked as he made his way to the couch to figure out the money situation with the girls.

it was their first, and probably last, easter on the tour bus. they normally spent all holidays at home.

but as steve tugged luke's legs from under steve and eddie's bed, giggling along with his three year old son, he couldn't help smiling at the chaos.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

True Weakness

Thank you to @laffy-taffy-creations for helping me come up with the title!

“Darling,” Whumper called, opening the door to Whumpee’s room, “breakfast’s ready.”

The little lump under the blankets didn’t move. Whumper tutted, then spoke again.

“Whumpee, my love,” they said, “if you weren’t awake before, my voice should’ve roused you now. Come along.”

As they spoke, Whumper crossed the room to their darling’s bedside. When Whumpee still didn’t respond, a frown crept into Whumper’s features.

“Whumpee, you know how I feel about being ignored-”

Whumper pulled back the covers and nearly recoiled at what they saw. Whumpee’s eyes were shut in restless sleep, their breathing was labored, and their beautiful face contorted in discomfort as red splotches stained their usually flawless skin. Whumper put a hand to their forehead; the heat radiating there was all the confirmation they needed.

“My dearest, how long have you been like this?” they whispered to themselves.

Whumpee whimpered in their sleep, unconsciously leaning into their captor’s cool touch. Whumper crouched down at their side and cupped their too-warm face.

“Whumpee, please wake up for me,” they whispered.

Slowly, Whumpee’s eyes fluttered open, revealing glassy irises beneath half-closed lids. Whumper breathed a sigh of relief, at least they were able to rouse them.

“You’re burning up, my darling,” they said, “how are you feeling?”

Whumpee whimpered in response, their eyes screwing shut as they nuzzled further into Whumper’s hands.

“Talk to me, what hurts?”

Whumpee looked up at them with the most pitiful expression.

“Everything,” they croaked hoarsely.

There was an unnatural gravel to their voice, and it looked like just speaking was causing them pain.

“I’m afraid I might have to take you to a doctor,” Whumper decided, “are you going to behave for me?”

Whumper didn’t wait for their response; they hoisted Whumpee up into a bridal carry. At this point, Whumpee would usually protest, but their current state had made them miserably docile. Whumper brought them to the car and laid them in the passenger’s seat. They buckled their seatbelt for them and closed their door. Once in the driver’s seat, Whumper sped off to the nearest town. The benefit of living in a large cabin in a private forest was no one would bother them and their darling, but the privacy did have its downsides, especially in situations like this.

…

Whumpee had fallen asleep on the way home. Whumper gently carried them inside and tucked them back into bed. Strep throat, the doctor had said, and a pretty bad case of it, too. Whumper had no idea how Whumpee had gotten it, they had always been so careful to keep them as healthy as possible. Whumper felt utterly ashamed of themselves for letting this happen, and as they opened the bag of medicine Whumpee had been prescribed, they fought the urge to cry. Gently, they shook their shoulder.

“Mmm,” Whumpee groaned.

“I’m sorry my love, but I need you to take some of this.”

Whumper poured some medicine onto a spoon. Whumpee looked down at the thick, sticky liquid, then back up at Whumper pleadingly.

“I know, I know,” Whumper said, “but you have to take it. It’s going to help you feel better. You do want to feel better, don’t you?”

Whumper slipped a hand behind Whumpee’s back and lifted them into a sitting position. Whumpee’s mouth fell open, allowing them to feed them the medicine.

With great difficulty, and quite the grimace, Whumpee swallowed. Whumper quickly offered them a glass of water, which they drained in a matter of seconds. Whumper then lowered them back into bed.

“I’ll let you get your rest,” they said, “you’re going to need it.”

Whumper turned to leave, but a weak hand shot out from under the covers and grabbed their sleeve. Whumper turned, their brows going up in surprise. Whumpee looked just as shocked as them.

“What is it, darling?”

“…S-Stay?”

Whumper melted on the spot. They crawled in bed next to their little Whumpee, holding them close. The germs could go fly a kite. This was the first time Whumpee had actually wanted Whumper to be with them. Maybe Whumper should let them get sick more often…

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[dvchvnde]

days are getting shorter. there's ice forming on the bay. the sky is a strange, steel-blue with muted streaks of pink, and orange, and purple. a morose pastiche of autumn's downfall made by a child as they smear crushed bluebonnets across a watercolour canvas of bruised, over-ripened peaches melting into the horizon. a chill in the air. the smell of moose chili on the stove.

i want something full of empty spaces for that weird, blue-orange cusp of winter. the fistsized ache of loneliness weeping off the pages, and falling into the hardened muskeg below.

maybe Price washes up on the shores of your isolated hamlet. why he's there, what he's doing, is as much of a mystery as he is. layered deep in secrecy. but he's the odd man out here—someone who doesn't belong.

(but it's okay, because you don't really feel like you belong, either.)

it's all happenstance, really. he rolls into town with his broad shoulders and gruff, curt words; a harsh, uncrossble distance etched in pale blue. but he isn't the only one who burns hot, and you match his fire with your own.

in that wild, untameable blaze, you find something you've been missing, like a steady trickle, dribbling down like sticky sap into a metal pail. childhood nostalgia of dipping a stick into the bucket, and rolling it over snow. maple taffy. sweet and comforting. a scarf that smells of fresh wool.

(maybe he does, too.)

but his stay comes with an expiration date.

you have to remind yourself not to forget that.

it's just easier said than done when all the pieces he gives you are exactly what you've been looking for this whole time.

OR: angst. secrets. culture-shock. hunting. this might end up as a bear-spirit/shifter John Price fic but i really love the idea of human!John Price running from his past and into the arms of NAPs officer Reader who puts the pieces together (murder mystery, mayhaps), and has to grapple with your own sense of morality—turn Price in to the corrupt cops, or hide a fugitive in your home. very fargo-noir.

[trashmouth-richie]

ᴴᴱᴬᵀᴱᴰ

CHAPTER 2: DOUBLE DOSED

HEATED

≛ modern!eddie x female reader x modern! steve

≛ summary: a week after being stranded on the side of the road with eddie and steve, you finally figure out what you’re going to do. Can the boys agree to what you have planned?

≛ THIS CAN BE READ AS A STAND ALONE FIC

≛ chapter warnings: MODERN AU, 18+ only I can’t be anymore clear about that, fuckgirl! reader vibes, Steve’s kind of a dickhead, oral m & f receiving and giving, mentions of birth control, reader gets eaten out by a girl, drug use, mention of alcohol, modern themes including texting, snapchat, iced coffee, crumbl cookie lmao etc, no y/n used, readers nickname is taff or taffy (bruh I hate using y/n catch me using any dumb nickname) Eddie picks reader up in a hug, real simpy Eddie behavior.

“I just don’t know Robin,” you explain, pulling literally at your hair from the root, “what should I do?” 

Ever since that day in the back of Wayne’s truck, you hadn’t had a single night of peace. Both Eddie and Steve were blowing up your phone. Begging for your attention. It was flattering at first. Two of Hawkins hottest at your beck and call. Each vying for your undivided, not knowing that they were competing for it. 

“Quit squirming,” Robin says in a huff between your legs, her mouth blossomed red and slick with spit, “I’ve been down here for thirty minutes and you aren’t any closer to coming than when I started.” 

Her apartment was hot and sticky, the oscillating fan on its last leg, and you were both stripped down to nothing to keep cool on your planned girls day in. A day to forget about the boys stressing you out and for Robin to get away from her annoying ex. And just like how it usually happened with her, you ended up snorting lines and making eachother buzz with orgasms. 

“Ugh, sorry,” you say annoyed, leaning up on your elbows to see her pretty face, “I just can’t relax.” 

“Tell me about it,” she says around your puffy clit, the tip of her tongue flicking it like a snake. 

You had made the boys swear to secrecy that they wouldn’t tell a soul about what had happened. But you didn’t promise anything. 

And the moment you had gotten home, you sent a text to Robin explaining every single detail, down to girth and length. 

“I think, you should date them both, try em out, what’s the worst thing that could happen?” 

“You think so?”

“Yeah, now please shut up, you’re taking forever and I’m bored.”

-

The next morning you woke with a smile on your lips. Any turmoil left in your mind on your decision had gone with Robin’s idea. 

The alarm clock on your bedside table illuminated 9:15AM and before even slipping your toes into some slippers, you sent two text messages to two recipients. 

The normal routine of your morning commenced without fail, washing your face, scrubbing your body in the shower, putting on light makeup before making a pot of coffee. 

Eddie arrived first, his motorcycle echoed loud off the parking lot as he backed it into a spot against the sidewalk. His dark curls were honeyed by the sun, a bag of Chinese takeout in one arm and a dozen roses in another. The prettiest dimples displayed on his stupid gorgeous face. 

“Hey beautiful,” he smirked, wrapping you in a hug and kissing your cheek. He smelled like muted cigarettes and bourbon cologne. The creak of his leather jacket echoed in your ears as he lifted you off the ground into a bone crushing hug, making you squeal.

“Sleep well?”

Before you could answer his smile had faded into a scowl when the door swung open and Steve stood at the threshold.  Wielding a pink box of gourmet cookies and two iced coffees, his wire framed Ray Bans pushed into his hair. 

“Munson,” he greeted, nodding to his friend in that jock head jerk. Stepping around him, Steve sets the coffees on the counter and gathers you into a hug, kissing your neck and whispering that he had missed you. 

His golden retriever vibe of tanned skin and forest colored eyes bore through you when he licked his lips. 

You pull away and smile at them. They both look so good but in completely different ways. 

Eddie’s tattoos were peeking out from under the tight white shirt he was wearing, as was a silver chain necklace. 

You were practically drooling to get your lips on his skin again. 

Steve was in light colored shorts and a casual button up, exposing the dusting of chest hair that your fingers ached to be wrapped in. If you had your way you’d take them both right here right now but that’s not what today was about. 

“Why are we both here, baby?” Eddie asks, setting the bouquet and the Chinese food on the counter, pushing away the pink box of treats from his competitor.

“It’s obvious.” Steve says with a smirk pulling on his lips, “she’s gonna let you down easy and go out with me.”  

“Always so cocky,” you tsk, trying not to look at the way his shorts are cinched at the zipper. 

You look between them, big doe whiskey colored eyes stare at you in longing, while the mossy floor ones squinted with a smirk. 

 “We need to talk, and rather me having this conversation twice- I figured we are grown ass adults and can talk about what happened.” 

Eddie nods and crosses his arms, leaning forward to not miss anything you were about to say. Meanwhile Steve leaned a hip into the wall, checking his phone. 

“Before I stroke your egos, you both know you’re hot, so I’m not going to tell you how fucking great that day was.”

“fuck yeah it was,” Steve chimed in, adjusting his length in his shorts. 

Eddie blushed a pretty salmon and shot you a wink. 

“But— I’m not choosing between the two of you, I can’t, ask Robin, I about gave her a brain aneurysm yesterday trying to figure it out.” 

You were the one on the verge of an aneurysm when you came allover her lips but that’s another story. 

“So, we’re gonna do this with no strings, no feelings, just friends hooking up and playing around. Cool?”

Eddie’s eyes fall to the tops of his boots.

“So let me get this straight,” Steve gaped, eyebrows pulled in, “you’re going to go out with the two of us... at the same time?” 

“Yeah, kinda what you do with every hussy in town Harrington.”

Steve’s gears are grinding but Eddie hasn’t said a word. 

“What the fuck Taff?” Steve huffs in annoyance. 

you banter back talking to him like he’s a child, “what’s the matter Harrington, don’t like sharing?”

“Rich boys are used to having their way.” Eddie gloats. 

“Oh fuck off,” he pours, “what about sex? Or is this like a PG thing, eating pizza at Chucke fuckin’ Cheese?” 

You cross your arms, and lick your lips, “oh we’ll be fucking, but not until you’re clean, both of you.” 

Eddie’s eyes finally perk up, he hasn’t been with anyone since last year and he was checked three months ago. 

“Oh come on!” Steve whines, “MaKenna is a virgin, and Blair and  Nicole have only blown Tommy since being with me— no need to fuck anyone else catch my drift?” 

“Sorry Harrington, I’m not risking catching anything and giving it to Eddie because you fundipped your way across campus. Show me you’re clean and it’s game on.” 

He pouts, “Jesus Christ… I’ll even wear a condom, c’mon.. I swear I’m clean.” 

“What the fuck is this 1990? I have an IUD, just get clean and we can do whatever you want.” 

Eddie feels like he has the upper hand for the first time since arriving at your apartment, “W-when does this start, sweetheart?” 

“Right now,” you shrug, “ I know you had to take off work today so I’m yours, see ya tomorrow Stevie.” 

“Such bullshit.” 

“Don’t worry buddy, I’ll take care of her while you’re off swabbing your pee hole,” Eddie says with a wave to his friend,  cockiness in his stance. 

“Be nice, boys.” 

You don’t expect what happens next but Steve grabbed your wrist and twisted you into him, kissing you square on the mouth just as firm as he did in the bed of Wayne’s truck. Rough and giving no grace he leaves you spinning even after he’s left. 

“Text me if you get bored with this one,” he says, licking his bottom lip to get one more taste of you as he walks through the door, “bye.” 

You cross the kitchen to the counter, lips still buzzing from Steve’s kiss. You pull out two forks from the proper drawer and rip some paper towels from the roll. 

Pulling out the white cardboard containers of Chinese food from the plastic sack, you plate them with shaky fingers. The fork in your hand slipping every once in a while and clanging loudly into the ceramic plate. 

“Hungry?” you ask over your shoulder.

“Starving actually,” Eddie says, “but there’s something I wanna do first.” 

You tear open a foil packet of soy sauce between your teeth and squeeze it all over the fried rice, “yeah, and what’s that?” 

Not noticing how close he was to you, his hands rest hotly on either of your hips, fingernails grazing the cotton of your shorts.

In a quick spin, you’re suddenly facing him, fork in one hand, soy sauce packet in the other. His eyes are impossibly dark, and a twist of a smirk lays on his pretty lips. 

“I wanna kiss you.” 

His lips ghost over yours and your tongue reaches for his lips but is met by nothing.

His breath fans across your lips, the sweetest of pouts escapes you, and his adam's apple bobs in his throat, swallowing your annoyance, “not here.” 

His fingers tease the waistband of your shorts, cold steel of his rings icing into your skin, dipping into it with a tentative touch. 

The zipper of his leather jacket bites into your palms as you pull him closer into you, and just like that day on the side of the road, it felt easy with Eddie.

You share the same bated breath as his fingers plunge deeper and push your underwear out of the way.  Between your slick folds he teases at your clit with his middle finger, swallowing the pretty noise you emit. 

“Wanna kiss you here,” he said with a thick fingered flick against your clit making you moan through your teeth but lips,  “need to taste you, again.” 

You moan his name and he helps you wiggle out of your shorts in a hurry. Feeling like you’re possessed at the sight of him dropping to his knees on the cold linoleum of your kitchen floor, like a sinner praying for mercy in a cathedral—you’re practically begging for his tongue where you need it most. 

Two weeks ago you and Eddie were just friends, and now he’s pulling the prettiest noises from you that would make the angels sick with worry,  

His lips kiss your thighs feverishly in his travels. Dark curls tickling against the spit from his sloppy mouth. Every sensation in your body was screaming, and you cursed out loud when he hooked your leg over his shoulder like a guitar strap. 

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he pushed this tongue into your slick, flicking against the hood of your clit, “so fuckin pretty baby, been seeing her in my dream for a week.” 

Nerves wrecked already you’re practically a puddle at his simping words, trying like hell to balance on one foot and carving your nails into the underside of the counter. But Eddie’s face could have held you up alone. 

He’s buried in your pussy. The happiest of graves. Nose, mouth chin- gone. All you can see of him down the plain of your own body are his curls. But you can feel him everywhere. 

Devil's tongue stuffed between your legs, thrashing and lapping up like a mad man starved. His groans vibrate around you and your legs quake. His fingers are pushed deep in the well of your velvet walls, another circling your ass and putting the tiniest bit of pressure there making you cry out. 

His name falls from your lips like a chant, faster and faster until your orgasm peaks and blinds you, your body losing all control from his tongue, your knuckles go white when you grab his hair, holding him right where you need him. 

“Fuck,” he groans, wrapping his lips around your sensitive clit once more before he adjusts your panties back into place. Your fingers ache from the grip you had on the counter and in his locks. 

Kissing the delicate fabric around the apex of your thighs, he whispers softly, “I could do that everyday.” 

He helps you step back into your shorts, that glorious tongue poking out in concentration, and he looks up at you with a shy smile, standing and holding your hands.

“With a tongue like that, I might let you.” 

“Don’t tease me Taffy, I’m still hard.” 

And now it was your turn to be needy. You pull the lapels of his leather jacket into you and you kiss his slick coated lips, he tastes like you and the salty soy sauce that was still on your lip. 

Kissing Eddie was different than Steve, he painted your mouth the same way he lapped at your folds. If you never caught your breath— that would be fine with you. Your head spun around his web and you were tangled in it. 

His hands wrap around your back and one holds your face. It was deeply passionate, and your heart was bursting, your lips move to his neck and you suck and bite a mark into him, and he whimpers when your kisses go small. 

“This is gonna get cold Eddie,” you say against the column of his throat. 

“Let it, I’ll buy more.” 

You grin into his skin and he laughs when you tickle his sides, “c’mon,” you urge. 

And Eddie gets in one last kiss before breaking away, pulling your lip down with his thumb, and you shudder at the way he looks at you as if you’re the only girl on the planet, “if you say so.” 

-

The Chinese needed to be s microwaved but it was still good., The hunan pork was tender and juicy, and the lo mein noodles were to die for. You and Eddie sat side by side on the barstools and talked like you always had. He had a gig this weekend and when he asked if you were coming you said of course you were, a quirk to your brow. 

“Alright,” he said, putting alot of effort and concentration into twirling a noodle with his fork, “just wasn’t sure.” 

You leaned forward and kissed sauce from the corner of his mouth, and your core ached and pulsed at the sight of his boyish grin and blushing cheeks. 

“Wouldn’t miss it, even if it is Steve’s night.” 

He accepted a bite from your fork of fried rice, and almost melted when you held pinched fingers up to his mouth of a ripped piece of crab rangoon. 

“We’re still cool, right?” he asks after crushing the bite between his teeth, his eyes watching you put your fingers in your mouth and nodding. 

“So c-can I ask you something as a friend?” 

His brows are pinched in a furrow and you know he’s uneasy about something. 

You slurp a noodle into your mouth and talk with a mouthful, a hand in front of your face, “spit it out, Munson.” 

His fork clanks on the plate as he sets it down and gives the plate away. He runs a hand through his hair, and leans on his elbows and picks at his rings. 

“So, why— I mean, why the both of us. You and Harrington can’t even stand each other.” 

He was right, before last week you and Steve could barely be in the same room together, and now you were agreeing to fuck with no strings attached. 

“It’s physical with Steve, like pure animalistic instinct. There’s no thoughts, and I think us hating each other just makes it that much better.” 

Eddie’s weight shifts on the stool and his eyes never leave his rings, spinning them in a nervous habit. 

“So you don’t like him like that?” 

And the truth of his question falls through but you refuse to answer it, you have your own questions to ask, you toss the paper napkin onto your plate and mimic his actions, pushing it ahead on the counter. 

“Eddie.. are you jealous?” 

You leaned into him, the pads of your fingers daintily walking up his thigh, your eyes blink slow in a lazy seduction and fuck he’s practically putty in your hands. 

He licks his lips feverishly, suddenly hot around the collar and his heart hammered a rhythm loud enough to make a tune out of it. 

“N-no,” pppft he stammers, “I’m not jealous,” he tries his best not to catch your eye but once he does those hersheys bars give him away and a bubble gum blush tickles his cheeks. He clears his throat with an ahem, and raps his knuckles on the counter. 

You stand and wiggle between his legs, pressing one hand further into his crotch and the other on his chest, toying with his necklace, your finger skating the pick left and right the chain making a zippered like noise. 

“Tell me what you want, baby.” 

Eddie is floored, wilting like a flower— all the oxygen and water ran out from the                                                            √≈petals. His mouth was almost glued shut, it’s so dry, Sahara would be jealous. 

Your lips pucker behind his ear and the filth you’re whispering to him sends shivers down his spine. It’s lust  licked and heavy, want me to touch you, or do you wanna touch me? 

He answers with a dry groan and a swallow, and his hands find your hips spinning you around,his lips ghost over your neck and you throw your head back into him, pushing your ass into him to feel the swell of his bulge in his jeans. 

He’s rutting into your doughy ass, his fat cock loving the friction you’re bouncing against him, you move your hips and grind further into him. 

“Fuck baby,” he moans hot against the shell of your ear, catching in his throat. 

His hands creep under the hem of your shirt and skate against your skin, the smooth of his nails electrifying each touch. They work along your curves, his big thick hands touching every inch of your skin, rubbing along the lacy edge of your maroon bralette. 

The pads of his thumbs graze against your peaked nipples and you exhale. You're surrounded by the sharp spice of his cologne, the muted cigarettes clinging to his jacket, it encompassed you, held you like a hug and had your eyes rolling in the back of your head. 

It felt too good. His lips hummed against your neck, vibrating hot and sending goosebumps along your skin, and you wanted more. Needed more. 

You followed his hands, tracing the veins on the tops of them with your fingers, pushing your palm flat against them, making him squeeze at your tits, and you purred out his name, a shade away from whining. 

Fuck you wanted him so bad. And judging by the firmness of his cock beneath your asscheeks, he wanted you just as badly. 

You spun quickly, grabbing his hands and leading him to the couch, his lips were red from sucking on your neck, bangs were pushed up awkwardly from the position his head was buried into your shoulder. He looked drunk, enamored with something you didn’t recognize.

The leather of his belt was heavy in your fingers as you unraveled it through the buckle and the first loop on his jeans. His eyes never left yours as your fingers flipped the button and pushed his jeans down his hips. 

He shuddered a breath when your hand cupped him in his boxers, the velvet of his skin soft and warm in your soft grip. He was bigger than you remembered, thick like a stout of beer.

“Christ Taff,” he breathed when you stroked him fully, the pad of your finger running over the vein that ran along his cock. 

You looked at him through your lashes as you lowered yourself to the ground, dragging his jeans and boxers with you, “this what you wanted big boy? Wanted me on my knees for you?”

He hums and holds your chin, brushing his thumb across your lips. 

Licking the tip of his thumb, you hold his heavy cock in your hands, stroking his shaft slow then fast, “you’re so big, Eddie.”

He swallows his next words when your tongue circles his head, collecting the precum with each devilish swipe. You stick out your tongue to show him the pearl in your mouth, and he almost combusts when you swallow it with a hum. 

“Yummy.”

He’s certain he’s going to die right here in your living room, looking at you with your pink tongue swirling around his cock, the way your lips suction around him, fuck, you haven’t even put him fully in your mouth yet and he’s a goddamn mess. 

The teasing is too much but he’ll take whatever you give him, if you were to stop now he’d be completely satisfied, he’d have to pump his cock furiously when he got home to make the ache go away but, he’d do it. 

But you don’t stop, fuck no. You’re just getting started. You like him like this, flushed in his cheeks and waiting patiently for your mouth. His mouth opening as yours does. Waiting, pleading, hoping that you would finally let your wet warmth surround him. 

And then you do. 

He stretched your mouth cheek to cheek, a literal mouthful. And he hums. Is he thanking God? You hide your giggle, deciding to take him further into your throat as you hollow your cheeks and slide him deeper with the help of his canting hips. 

You hum around him and it tickles him, but he’s so drunk on your mouth he’s muttering sentences that don’t even make sense. 

Pumping your hands along his shaft you dribble spit from your throat to the head of his dick, a slimy string connecting you mouth, one that you slurp back up and take him in deeper. His knees are bent and he pulled his shirt under his chin, wanting to see you fully with his cock stuffed in your mouth, your pretty eyes are teary and he can feel you gag around him before he pulls out and you come back for more. 

He’s not sure how long you’ve been at this, and he’s trying to keep his mind averted to anything other than your slippery throat and the cute way your eyes are looking up at him. 

This was better than the way you sucked him off in the bed of Wayne’s truck. You were solely focused on him here. No other distractions, just you and him. 

“Look so fucking pretty, baby,” he moaned, reaching down to hold your cheek, his thumb wipes away some of your smudged make up from your eye, “ do you know that?”

You nod with him in your throat, and he breathes more nonsense as he looks to the ceiling and runs his fingers through his hair, trying not to convulse, but he can’t take it any more, you're working his dick like you’re short on rent. 

“Fuck, sweet girl, fuck,” Eddie whines, scrubbing his hands down his face, his stomach burning to give in to you,  I— shit shit shit, ‘m gonna come.”

He works his hips away from you but you wrap your arms around the back of his knees, holding him with his dick still in your mouth, waiting like a kitten for milk.

He cums hard, biting through his bottom lip to keep himself from yelling out loud. You don’t stop bobbing your throat, swirling your tongue, around his length and puckering your lips around him. 

With his load in your mouth you paint his cock with it, moving it around and around with your excess spit, a hurricane against your tornado tongue, you finally swallow, sucking in your cheeks once more, and cleaning Eddie off in one swoop. His cries fill the room and you finally release him with a pop. 

“Jesus, fuck.” He exhales, sleepy eyed. His reddened swollen cock hanging between you both, “c’mere.” 

He helps you to your feet, and you tuck him back into his boxers gently. He mutters an embarrassed thanks, you’re smiling up at him with a cocky little smirk. Completely ready for him to pull up his jeans, maybe get himself a beer from your fridge, but he doesn’t. 

Eddie holds you to him, his forehead leaning on yours, big hands wrapped around the small of your back. His erratic breath plumed through his nose and his chest was beating fast. You’ve never seen him like this, “Eddie?” 

He doesn’t let go, doesn’t say anything, he just moves back to press the lightest of  kisses to the tip of your nose. “You, “ he finally says, licking his lips and rolling his eyes into the back of his head, finally focusing back on you, he pulls you closer, enough that his eyes are all you can see.

But whatever he was going to say is stuck in his throat, he never finishes what he was going to say. Just pulls you into him and holds you there, his lips on your neck, kissing you softly. It was a perfect day. You should have known it wouldn’t have been weird between you and Eddie, falling back into sync as best friends and laughing while snacking on m&m’s and smoking from his dab pen. 

You end up falling asleep on your bed together, tired from exerting so much energy and bellies full of Chinese. Netflix asks, are you still watching YOU? on the tv on your dresser. Eddie’s tossing and turning wakes you and you grab your phone to check the time. 5 o’clock. Taking an almost four  hour nap, but in reality it felt like four days straight. 

But that's not the only surprising thing on your phone. 

A litter of texts. From the same occupant. The other half of this agreement. 

hope you enjoyed, seems like Steve isn’t too thrilled right?

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[klingyklaus]

Dean runs a bed and breakfast that his mom and dad owned. His little brother Sammy came into his custody after his mom was killed and his dad went off the rails about it. Sam is 15 and all long limbs, angry at the world and moody. Dean is 32 and he never understood why his parents had a kid at their big age but now he has had to move home and take custody of a child.

Dean is back in the state his parents moved to after they left Kansas when he was just starting high school. Where everyone knows him and everyone knows Sam but he barely knows Sam bc he’s been away about as long as the kid has been alive, traveling the US doing security for various musical artists.

All the women he used to hook up with are married and all the dudes are also married (to women). He’s not above homewrecking but maybe not in the place he now has to live and work.

And Sam… oh Sam is dangerous. They live in a coastal town where everyone knows everyone but also plenty of tourists come through, wanting to see the Oregon coast and the Devil’s Punchbowl. Sammy, with his perpetually scraped knees and cherry bitten-red lips, was constantly attracting the attention of the college guys that came around with their friends in the summer.

Sam gets a college bf one summer. His name is Gabriel and he’s got a brother named Castiel who looks at Sam like he’s sticky, saltwater taffy and the boy wants to get Dean’s baby brother between his teeth and pull. Dean has been battling strange feelings all year, but especially that summer. Going through women in all of the surrounding towns like a boat cutting through water. He can’t admit what he knows deep down, he needs to keep himself distracted. Remind himself how good it is with women. Adult women.

But one night he comes home to Sam being spitroasted by the two brothers and everything… changes. Suddenly there’s a tension in the air and Dean has to admit that what’s growing inside him is an ugly, green monster. Sam knows, Sam wants. And until Dean gives it to him, he will not let his big brother know a moment’s peace.

Dean can’t get away from Sam and his boyfriends fuckbuddies all around town, in positions and situations that make him see red.

Anyways, eventually Dean falls at the alter of his pretty baby brother and wham bam thank you ma’am they live happily little-brother-boy-wife and big-brother-husband ever after.