#there is a click in my sternum that I can't get out

[catastrophilia]

You know that thing they do to cars when they get all skrunkled up where they take a hammer to un-skrunkle the skrunkled parts? Yea I need someone to do that to my sternum.

[funnyexel]

what if your stalker loses the remaining piece of human decency he has left

okay.

he was scaring you, acting extremely scary and out of character in your eyes. even if that's who he's always been under the mask...

"no. stay longer." he demanded said.

"it's getting late, and I've been with you for a few days." you replied back, still trying to be polite and understanding in some way. you kept a comfortable smile on your face as you continued, "remember what I said about having time to miss me?"

he didn't want to hear that shit. you said this so often that it actually made him not want to hear your voice. even with the rampant thoughts of wanting to grab the nearest fabric and shove it in your mouth to shut you up, he brushed his hair back to express mild frustration with your words.

and with all this conversation, you still didn't make a definite move. you didn't get up, you didn't sternly say you were leaving and you definitely didn't get up to automatically pack up your things.

"stay." the shorter his phrases got, the shorter his temper got as well and your patience was getting worn too. you try to be a patient person but when he acts so entitled and childish, you can't help the awkward yet strained laugh that comes from your chest.

"I can't do it. I need to go back to my house." you were stern and here comes the attempt the remove yourself from the premises.

you got up from your laying position on the bed and closed up your already packed bag, you planned this, you planned to leave today and you were executing it.

you could feel the adamant stare on your back coming from him. you rolled your eyes and shook your head. you have a minuscule understanding of what's going on in his head, quite minuscule compared to what is actually going on.

"I won't say it again." you look over to him and tilt your head, you were perplexed by his word choice.

"oh, don't be so dramatic." you utter as you put on sweatpants and you thought he was simply trying to intimidate you with his harsh tone and odd wording. but you were naïve to the obvious signs.

he considered letting you go but the way you looked in those sweats, his sweats. he couldn't. not this time.

he grabbed you by the neck, his thumb on one side of your jaw while his four fingers are on the other side. with his chest pressed up against your back, he pushed the bedroom door closed. he was breathing heavily.

like breathing uncomfortably down your ear.

you mistakenly utter his name and his thumb that was fitted on your jaw, pressed your lips together firmly.

he was clicking his tongue as you felt his head shake next to yours. as your chest was raising and falling noticeably, his icy hand slithered up your shirt and you felt a chilling sensation from your sternum to the top of your esophagus.

you felt your resolve shattering under him as he ripped the bag from your hands and spun you around. he couldn't even began to forge together any words as he brought your face close to his. your scent intoxicating him once more and he feels that certain emotion snap inside of him.

something that held him back from taking in all of you.

pushing you down onto the bed, it didn't feel like how it usually did, soft and welcoming, it felt hard and stringent. he grabs your wrist harshly and you couldn't take your eyes off of him. but his actions were still full of intent as you felt your wrist binded to the bed.

you don't know how to feel. one moment you are protesting loudly and kicking at him and the next you are moaning when he so much as squeezes and twists your nipple through your shirt.

he refused to prep you and give you that sense of pleasure, like this was supposed to be pleasureful, it wasn't. as he had you on your back—right wrist tightly tied onto the bedframe—he made you put your feet on his chest. sadistically, wanting to feel you push away from him as he pushed into you raw. it hurt. like hell.

your free hand pushed your hair harshly out your face as you threw your head back on the bed and in this specific moment he felt your resistance the most. but at the same time he felt the way you were desperately pulling him in and in. like you were just begging him to touch your cervix.

he was pushing in slowly, slow and shallow thrusts into you and rubbing your clit ever-so-often even if you obviously didn't deserve it. he wants to hear those sweet moans, even if those whiny pleads are ruining the experience.

he can't focus on your walls suffocating his dick when all you're doing is crying your heart out. with a clear irritation he pushes down on your stomach as he leans over to get a piece of tightly woven rope. you didn't get a moment to slap him away as he was already looming over you, forcefully putting the rope over your mouth and around your head. tying it tight enough so it won't come off and it will effectively muffle those loud and annoying cries.

"I don't want to hear you speak."

you were expecting a quaint 'understand?' from him but the question would've been a waste of breath because of the way your body forced itself to relax under him.

at this moment he straightened your bent legs and put them on his shoulders, folding your body in half as he stayed at an acute angle. the tears and snot running down your face shouldn't have egged him on into ramming into you harder, faster, and dry especially.

but by the time he was leg up and full on pounding into you, you were wet enough for it. you were turned on by this, by him and his authority.

at least.

that's what he was getting from this.

you bite down on the rope as you whine through yet another orgasm and you sniffle up the snot as your free hand claws into the bed. its like you were scared to touch him. and that did hurt him a bit when he realized but the warmth. the look of vulnerability in your eyes as he does nothing but bully your gummy walls, is as addicting as drugs to him.

panting like a dog above you, he completely stops for a moment. clearly getting lightheaded as he puts one hand next to your head for stability. your eyes shoot open at the suddenness of his movements and as your eyes lock, he gives you such a conceited smirk.

pleased with his actions.

even when he's clearly overexerting himself from how pussy drunk he is.

he takes a huge breath, sitting upright and running his fingers through his hair. yanking your lifeless legs to his chest, he shifts his technique to quick and shallow thrusts. your body jolting violently against your will. but this is what he wants.

against your will.

this is his will.

this is what he wants from you.

he wants you to cum, over and over and over again until you get it into your thick head.

you have no will.

and because you have no will to control your bodily functions, your bound hand clenched in a tight fist as you cum again.

you had a wicked imprint across your face and your wrist was blood red. you couldn't didn't leave. not until he said so. and he didn't say so.

not yet.

leaning down to your ear, his hand squeezes your arm tightly as you sat in his suffocating embrace. stiff in his arms as you didn't want to engage in any touch with him. it angered him.

"do I need to use the rope again."

the dead tone he used in combination to his slow pace of words sent a sharp shiver down your spine.

with a soft exhale of a shaky breath, you hesitantly shake your head and his draped arm tugs you impossibly closer to his side.

"good." he gave you a small belittling pat on your forearm as he kissed your forehead and he's quite proud to call himself

your boyfriend.

a/n: someone pls take this trope away from me. anyway thats all for now, literally can't stop thinking about the possibilities for this. thanks to the anons that were asking for more! honestly made me more incline to post.

more writing

[inkskinned]

sometimes i think about the span of human existence and how if you spread your arms out in a long line and said my body is acting as a poem of all the universe's birthdays, the smallest sliver of your furthest nail would be our entire history as humans. and you, doing this, feeling your sternum crack into place because you're-getting-old and all of your bones crunch these days: you are the universe, measuring its own timeline. you're the memory of a starburst saying i gave birth to humans at the tip of my finger.

and i think about how crocodiles have been around for way longer than that fingernail and how sharks have been here forever too and how there are sea cucumbers that understand time like an angel would; their ages so astronomically long that i get dizzy looking down into them. i think about my dog, and how i am so fantastically ancient to him (an impossible number, staggering) and how, at the same time, i can order my life in eras of pets-i-have-loved and how my childhood died when my cat did.

and i wonder if the earth does the same thing, if nature keeps time in epochs. if the tree in the house where i grew up said oh a new family and got upset when one by one we all left for college and left behind our climbing and screaming and birdhouses. that same tree collapsed during a bad storm this winter; heartbroken. the whole inside was a hull, shivering and empty. it missed our roof by a whisper, almost like it held itself together so it couldn't pass a hole into the house it's been looking into for years now. the people who took it away clicked their teeth. it was a hundred years old, at least.

there are things that went extinct in my lifetime. there are memories that don't extend to the tip of the finger. four years ago, for the first time: i saw a bald eagle in the wild. ever since they've been sprouting strangely in my life, their origami frames hunched in a racket of brown feathers. something in the motion of wild animals braced against the new england weather - like we all (all of nature, all of the fingertip) have the same shared hate when it's cold sorrow. like in years and years and years of history we never really evolved a better method than to close your eyes and brace yourself against it.

i saw a butterfly today, staggering drunkenly in the early spring air. it's too early for her other friends. i want to tuck her back into bed and say it's not your time yet! her life like a pinprick in my own. in butterfly school they'd have to stretch out their scales and say - at the end of your furthest wing is where you are in the life of a human. she is in my life, isn't she. something about how my heart seized at the sight of her, so brave and lonely and unfair; and how it snowed yesterday (and will snow again, probably), and how, in spite of that, she was out there and flying.

something about waking up this morning and thinking - i'm too old for this. how my hips and knees and back all make new noises. how the other day at a grocery store i picked up the gloves an older woman had dropped, how she'd laughed and thanked me - i can't bend down like you young folks anymore.

something about the theory that there's been no visible life on other planets because we are too early. that we are the first butterfly of spring. all this bravery. we know it is probably hopeless, and still we go. breathless, the same tactic - we brace against the cold.

[villainofmyownstory]

Blurry

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pairing: exhusband!Captain John Price x fem!Reader

summary: You visit your ex-husband, in your once shared home. The memories are painful. But only for you. Unfortunately, after that one bloody mission, John doesn't remember you. The memory of your life together, blurred in his mind.

tags: afab reader, hurt, ex lovers, ex-husband, recollection of death, loss of memory , ambiguous/open ending

1.6 k words

author's note: Once I wrote some random thoughts about our gorgeous captain. Today I've put it all together. Comments welcome, let me know if it's worth writing another part, because I don't know what to think. I guess I like sad stories…. and can't get the ex-husband plot out of my mind. Sorry not sorry <3

——————————————————————————————————

The clock ticked quietly somewhere in the distance, deep in the corridor, steadily, rhythmically. The water in the kitchen tap dripped, quietly reminding you that you need to change the gasket but also to fix some other things in the flat. Even though you moved here a few months ago, you still don't feel at home. You feel uncomfortable. Like a guest in a hotel. All the objects seemed foreign, belonging to someone else. Or maybe nobody's. Everything has been renovated, painted, bought and new. Just for you.

Cat curled up in a ball, lies next to you on a small red sofa. And in front of you on a small, vintage coffee table steams warm coffee. Another one that day. The only meal for many weeks. You rub your eyes, even though no more tears have appeared in them for days. It still burns you and you feel this tingling under your eyelids. Something like fine sand, irritating your eyeballs and hurting the soft delicate flesh of your eyelids. You try to take it in stride. On days like these, weekends, holidays, when you are left alone in a small flat. You fall apart into millions of pieces. Alone. The pain under your ribs, the pressure in your sternum, your throat squeezed like in a vice. Memories haunt you at every step. A constant battle with the past, something you beg for every sleepless night to finally go away. To be finally erased. You should burn the photos, throw away the gifts. Bury the past at last. To move on. After all, this is what you wanted. A lot of time fighting, trying. Days of sweat shed, of anger, of trying again and again. And in the end, powerlessness.

Sunk in your thoughts, you stare, with heavy eyelids, at the empty space under the TV. Once, in another warm home, the shelf was filled with DVDs of one's favourite films. Classic.

A familiar sound interrupts your gloomy rush of thoughts. Looking at the phone screen, you smile slightly. Your boys have been calling every day. ‘Hi Johnny’ You say with a grunt, trying to chase away the sad thoughts, not letting him know that you are tormenting yourself with the past again.

You should not agree. The paperwork you signed, and the arrangements in the documents, were approved, many months ago. That was not the deal. This is not how you discussed the contract. This is not why you are sitting here now. Yet, you can't say no to them. Not after all they've given up their lives, made sacrifices and…

Sitting in an old rusty cheap car. In your familiar driveway, in this new, friendly neighbourhood. You hesitate to get out. Your hands are sweaty, in a firm grip on the worn-out steering wheel. So you give yourself a few minutes to calm down. You never wanted to show them, him, that you were continuing to suffer badly. That you haven't really moved on.

You have to be tough.

As the door finally slams shut behind you with a quiet click, the same scent reaches your nostrils once again. Earthy and heavy from the cigars and the cherry wood burning in the fireplace, a slightly sweet smoke with a subtle fruity aftertaste, with a slight bitter note. A scent so familiar, so close. But it's not your scent. The resignation has been signed. The decision had been made. There was no going back. Johnny stands in front of you looking at you apologetically. ‘Sure I understand. Duty calls.’ You say gently squeezing his shoulder in a gesture of understanding. Or maybe you want to convince yourself that you're not angry. There's no problem. Some kind of confirmation that it's not their fault you have to be here again. That you are standing in this big modern house, from a dream project . In the place that was supposed to be your home.

Of course boys hired 24/7 nursing. But also they themselves, his squad soldiers, alternated days and nights here. They practically lived here. So if the medical caretaker went for a few days' holiday and the three men had to go on a sudden urgent mission for a few days. It was your job to be here and help. You couldn't let them down. You could not say no. You could not answer the phone. Pretend it doesn't concern you. You had to be here. You had to be strong. For him.

When you are finally left alone in the hallway and the big car disappears around the corner. You feel that hole in your heart, opening up again. Those missing pieces to fill it. They are just behind a thin, wall. A couple of steps. A few seconds.

When you finally stand in the large room, as usual, dark curtains hang from the ceiling to the floor, covering the terraced windows. The semi-darkness of the room has always accompanied him when he watches movies. You stare at his profile illuminated by artificial television light. Despite the years spent in the army, the many litres of blood shed, the many scars on his body. He continued to watch the same films. War movies, classics. The screams and gunshots accompanied him since he opened his eyes and when he closed them. It was already burned into his mind. Written into his gut. It's just a shame that this one fucking wound, made him forget. He forgot about you. ‘Hi.’ You say uncertainly standing in the corner of the couch. You can't look at him.

You don't want to see the ocean blue of his irises, the wrinkles around his eyes. The slightly grey hair. The little freckle on his nose. The fidgety trimmed beard - which his boys were now taking care of. ‘Oh, mornin’ ‘ His voice seems even deeper to you, slightly hoarse. Perhaps already stranger. ‘How are you feeling today. Captain?’ You spit out the last word like a poisonous snake. You want to say something completely different. To shout what you said to him every night. Every morning intertwined when you were here, together. Alone. ‘You don't have to be so official, ma'am. I'm out of the army.’ John is gallant as ever. It's the same every damn time. Ma'am, lady. Miss. He's never said your name since that day. Forgotten. That hole in your heart, never to be filled by his pieces again.

The conversation goes on as usual, John again thinking you are just another medical assistant employed by his former teammates. Brothers in arms. Brothers in war. Brothers in the last of the battles. You want to shout to him how much you hate him, how much you despise him. How much it aches you. How much it hurts you that he doesn't remember anything. A bloody mission. Yet, as usual, you sit and listen once again to the same questions, the stories. As if you've turned on that worst episode of your favourite show again. The last one.

Every time he leaves. During every time he was away. On every such occasion. You were ready for the funeral. The black dress continued to hang in that wardrobe, a few rooms away.

Perhaps it would have been better if it had simply been buried six feet underground. In an oak dark box. Cold and with an equally empty head about you. Maybe it would be easier for you that way. You've already said goodbye to one light casket with his last name on it. Because that hole in your heart was much bigger than the missing fragments of your husband, ex-husband.

For a longer monologue, more memories, of his past work. Of his previous life. What you counted as ‘before’. Because what was ‘after’ was a blur. No matter. John stares at you, finally taking his eyes off the TV. The end credits move lazily across the large TV screen. You smile slightly when your gazes finally meet. He is handsome still. Maybe even more beautiful than you remembered him. It would seem that the man's calm face does not hide his wounded, hollow mind.

Physically he looks maybe even better than during his time in the army. In fact, better than at the time of your marriage. Unwittingly the corners of your mouth gently lift up. Doubtless Simon has been training with him, the hard workouts and the proper diet prepared by the new Captain are yielding great results. A well-deserved successor. A plain red t-shirt lightly framed John's broad, muscular shoulders. Grey casual sweatpants once too loose were now gently stretched around his massive thighs.

You don't have the strength to explain to him once again who you are. So when he once again addresses you as a total stranger you don't react. You wanted so badly to climb on his thighs, to punch him in the chest, maybe even scratch him. To make him feel some kind of pain at least for a moment, that thing you feel non-stop, something to bring you two together again. Feel his heart beat faster, and enter his mind, scratch out every shadowy particle. To brighten and put your memories there. Ours.

Nothing in this house resembles that life anymore. There are no pictures here. There are no flowers. There is no more laughter and joyful banter. No more singing and quiet murmurs of delight. The three of you are gone.

Finally, as you lower your gaze to his hands, which hesitantly stroke the fabric of the armchair. The image is blurred. Finally, tears well up in your eyes. You can no longer see a trace of the ring. No lighter stripe stands out on the slightly tanned skin. There is no faint hollow in the fleshy part of his worked-up ring finger. Although everything is a blur. The gold glistens gently reflecting the soft light of the television. The object that was such an important symbol. A vow. A promise. As if playfully winking at you.

[avenging-fandoms]

Public Relations - Pedro Pascal

in which your friend convinces you to be his fake girlfriend as a promotion for his projects.

-

"Won't people be mad because there's such an age gap? I mean, don't get me wrong I love older men, but a lot of people won't see it as good." You look at Pedro who shrugs, taking a sip of his beer.

"More people talking about it, that's what we want."

"So I'm a prostitute, basically. Without the sex." You cross your arms and Pedro laughs. "This is serious! So you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend so your movies get talked about more."

"Yes, basically. If you're not okay doing it, that's okay. You don't have to give me an answer now." He leans forward and touches your knee. You run your tongue over your teeth and look at him.

"What do I get out of this?"

"Well, you'll be paid. You'll also come with me on carpets and to events." You take a big breath and let it go. You hold out your hand and Pedro takes it, you two shaking hands. "It'll be okay. We're friends, we it's not like we're strangers. Plus we'll break up after my movies come out."

"Do we have to kiss?" You ask and Pedro swallows.

"Yes, we do. We've done that before though, nothing new." He smiles and knocks his fist into your jaw playfully. "Come on, let's go talk some more."

You stomach twists as you look in the mirror, an off-white dress hugging your body as you get ready for some award show you were too nervous to remember.

Pedro enters the room and you turn to him, his hands holding your waist. "Take some breaths, it's okay. Breathe." You take some deep breaths with him, looking him in his eyes.

"Okay, I'm ready." You take his hand and he leads the way down the stairs to the car. You and Pedro had gone public a few weeks prior to this, being spotted out to dinner and sharing a kiss through the windows.

Now this was you two going public and you feel like making a run for it. You two exit the hotel and head into the car, Pedro opened your door for you. You thank him quietly as you settle in your seat, putting on your seatbelt as he gets in the car.

"You ready, pretty girl?" You nod and the driver heads on the road. You had 15 minutes to get yourself ready, and it wasn't enough time. Pedro gets out of the car and you hear screams as he opens your door.

You take his hand and look at him, taking a deep breath. "I don't think they like me."

"They'll love you, come on." You held onto his bicep as you walk onto the carpet, cameras immediately flashing. Your arm drops and Pedro's hand holds the bottom of your back, pulling him into your body as your right hand rests on his sternum.

He looks down at you and kisses you, screams and camera clicks erupting. You smile and pull away, backing up from Pedro so he could get solo shots. He looks at you frequently, trying to pull you back to him.

It was time to move onto interviews and you link your fingers with his, Pedro leading the way to a woman with a microphone who asks the most nosey questions someone could ask. You two walk away and you let Pedro continue them himself.

You wait a few minutes and he wraps his arms around your waist, kissing your neck and you giggle. "You did so well, I'm proud of you princesa." You blush and kiss his jaw, squeezing his abdomen.

"Can we please go find a bar or something? I can't be sober to get through this." You sigh and Pedro laughs.

-

You and Pedro have now been 'together' for half a year, and you wanted to jump off a building once your feelings for him started to come up. You dream of him being your actual boyfriend, wishing this wasn't fake. You wanted everything with him.

You hear a knock on your front door as you lay in your bed. Your phone vibrates, Pedro's name popping up on your phone. Again. Again. It starts to vibrate over and over, he's calling as he knocks.

You huff and get up, wrapping yourself in your robe and opening your front door. "Hello Pedro, can I help you?"

"Yes, you can! We have an interview to be at in 3 hours!" You sigh and close the door as he enters your apartment. "Why are you not answering your phone?"

"Pedro, I don't want to do this anymore. The fakeness, I don't want that anymore." He looks at you with those soft brown eyes and your mouth went dry. "I.. I want you to actually be my boyfriend."

"Yn.."

"I'm sorry, Pedro, but it was so hard not to! I told myself I wasn't going to but you're so sweet and charming and I just fell for you." You sat on your couch and sit back with your arms crossed.

Pedro blinks a few times before walking over and sitting next to you. "I've thought about if you would have a problem actually dating me, with the age gap and all."

Your eyes widen and you sit up, hands on his. "No, not at all. Pedro, stop paying me to be your girlfriend."

"Absolutely, you're fired." You laugh and sit on his lap. "Yn, will you be my girlfriend?" You smile, nodding and kissing him while gripping his hair.

After your makeout, you threw on a sweatshirt and sweatpants with a pair of slippers, grabbing your purse and heading out the door. "So they're giving me an outfit there?"

"Yes mi amor, they'll do your hair and makeup as well. I'm excited for this one." He shook your hand that he held as he opens your door for you, getting in his seat and driving you two to GQ.

You get your hair, makeup, and wardrobe done and you've never felt more beautiful. You head onto the set and sit in the seat across from Pedro, everyone behind the camera setting up and hair and makeup touching things up on your both.

"Alright, all set!" The producer hands you two each a set of cards and counts down behind the camera.

"Hi! I'm Pedro Pascal."

"And I'm Yn Yln, and welcome to the Couples Quiz."

"I hope these questions aren't too risque, I don't know how much I'm willing to share." Pedro looks at his cards and you laugh, clearing your throat. "I'll go first, you ask me princesa."

"When slash how did we meet?" You look up at him and he smiles.

"We met a few years ago at a party, I was dating one of her friends at the time. Few months later we broke up but me and Yn stayed in touch. Then we.. uh.." He clears his throat and you roll your lips between your teeth. "Our relationship in the beginning was actually a PR stunt, but we actually fell for one another so now we're a real couple now."

"Oh I didn't think we were telling people that!" You cover your face with the cards and laugh, Pedro chuckling.

"Well if I'm actually dating you now I don't want people calling it fake anymore. It's not, it's very real." His eyes sparkle as he looks at you, your face going red.

"Okay, okay, let's move on! Whew, that's how we're going to start? Great, can't wait for more questions." You huff and earn a few laughs, Pedro winking at you before reading his question.

[vgilantee]

Having thoughts about PolyTransForce141 meeting reader and like not explicitly telling them they are trans straight away because they want to get to know them and get the general vibe before they bring out that personal information. Imagine how they'd tell reader? Super chill and just drop it into conversation somewhere? A rapid reveal during a wickedly sloppy makeout in a five way session? I just want reader to be so affirming for them, wanting to learn how to be the best partner by understanding each member's unique needs and preferences, just knowing they'd be so good in return..

(I tried keeping this pretty gender neutral but the reader is afab.)

there are two ways it could go

the first, they've all discussed it and when your entrance to the relationship is more serious, more solid, they sit you down much like when they first asked if you'd join, and let you know that hey, they're all trans. you adjust any expectations and wet dreams you have to fit the new anatomy knowledge

the second though, is the more relaxed. dropping it in conversations.

I love the little ramble i wrote for simon so I'm reinserting it here. you're making out with him, grinding on his lap and suddenly realise you aren't feeling a hardening cock. okay, it hurts a little that he doesn't seem to be enjoying it, so you check in. you ask

"hey, are you not into this? not into me? because we can stop it's okay I just... I need to know" and simon is stumbling over himself to let you know

"no, sweetheart, I'm enjoying this, enjoying you. I just can't get hard. got no cock." and he's sliding one of your hands between you, into his pants, and you get to feel his wet cunt and twitching bottom growth. "glad I haven't got one when I'm around you, the wet mess I make o' my boxers is much easier to hide than a boner"

simon is so smug about the fact that that make-out session turned into you eating him out before he had you ride his thigh. the shit eating grin he gives johnny and kyle when they see him walk in clearly having just cum, and you shyly holding his arm

the next you find out about is kyle. gaz just wants to get in before johnny because he knows the scot will have smoke coming out of his ears if he finds out now 2 of them know how you taste.

you're lounging on the sofa, curled up reading or scrolling, and kyle drops on top of you, between your thighs and kissing your sternum while you grumble about him tossing your book/phone.

"know you've played with Simon's cunt, but I promise mine's prettier." you splutter a little at the bluntness before you brain actually clicks to what he's said. "'least let our clits kiss. got something she might like"

it doesn't take long for your shorts and panties to be thrown beside your book, and kyle's thrown not far behind. in the movement of it all, he ends up lying back on the couch, long fingers pulling his lips apart so you can see it, the piercing on the underside of his bottom growth.

"been told it feels like heaven dragged against s clit." and it doesn't take much more than that for your to shift one thigh over gaz's and start grinding your cunt over his, mewling whenever the piercing catches at your clit. it's wet and messy and even more so when kyle sits up, pulling your cunt harder against his while he kisses you. you both ignore the way johnny pitifully whines as he steps into the living room before he's dragged back out by simon.

johnny has no real decorum or tact when he finally gets to bed you. and gets to bed you makes it sound so sweet. no he throws you over his shoulder and carries you to the bedroom while you playfully pinch at his lovely ass

"nae waiting any more. Lt and gaz had their fun wit' ye and I canne wait. sight o you n kyle's wet cunts haunts me. made me made a mess o mah hand"

the panties you were wearing had better not have been a favourite because they're gone. sides torn so he could drag the fabric harshly over your clit while he removed the damn garment. he positions you easily, sitting you on his face ("sit, bon. if I die under this bonnie cunt, it's a good death. tha's it. all yer weight") where he immediately pulls your clit into his mouth with a strong and wet suck. you catch yourself on his thighs as you fall forward, your eyes zeroing in on his crotch.

you watch for a moment, waiting for the twitch of a cock, and when you don't see it, you quickly slide your hand into his boxers and pinch his clit. you shove his boxers down, barely getting them to his thighs, before you drop, lapping at his cunt. he adjusts, raising his knees to give you better access, and two fingers quickly join your tongue inside of him. johnny lets out a broken moan when your fingers find his labial piercing and give him a light pull. just a nudge but it makes his little cock twitch under your tongue

John has a proper, sit down conversation with you, but mostly because he's had bottom surgery, though he kept his vaginal opening. basically he's got a cock-length clit with a pump*, and kept his vagina.

he wants to tell you this before because he knows you've played with his boys, know your way around a boy-cunt with bottom growth by now, but his is a little different! mostly the same but he can use the pump to have a cock and while he can't cum inside of you (you give a joking pout and he can't help but give your downturned lips a short kiss), he will definitely feel you cum around it.

to "make up for not being able to cum inside", you tell John that after he fucks you, you want to eat him out. he can control everything about it, but you want to feel him cum on your mouth. it's a done deal, you barely finish the sentence before he's grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the bedroom.

~✧

I researched it lightly and there is at least 1 surgery clinic that can do the phalloplasty without a vaginosectomy!! so you can have a cock and a vagina! which is very interesting. I honestly just wanted to get more information on bottom surgery and found that out which is very cool!

*someone pointed out to me I got muddled up, so this is more the simplified version price uses to describe it, not what it actually is!

[montammil]

June of Doom Day 4 - "Does that hurt?"

| Impalement | Fracture | Punishment |

Characters: Rowan, Sawyer

Also much shorter than my usual stuff, but I'm starting to like writing snippets a lot more.

CW: Bone fractures, blood, heavy violence/torture, intimate whumper, implied noncon, dubcon kissing

...

Sawyer blamed himself. He shouldn't have been that stupid to believe Rowan would've left a phone on the counter, unattended. It was a flip phone, one Sawyer never saw Rowan have on him, but he didn't question it, he was too desperate to get out of here to think rationally.

He dialed 911, only to realize the phone didn't work. It was broken.

"Who were you going to call, I wonder?"

It was a test. Sawyer dropped the phone back onto the counter.

"I figured you were just pretending to reciprocate my feelings," Rowan continued, throwing in a dramatic sigh. "But I thought that maybe, just maybe, you were finally beginning to see how perfect we are together. Guess I was wrong, huh?"

Sawyer's hands fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. He didn't dare look up at Rowan.

"And we were getting along so well, too!" Rowan's voice bordered on hysteria. His tone was mocking, his words dripping in venom. "You're much less innocent than you pretend to be, aren't you? Manipulating me to get your way, that's just so cruel..." He stepped closer to Sawyer. He grasped his wrists and forced him to the table. He pushed his head against the surface, trapping him there.

"Rowan, stop," Sawyer choked out. It felt like his chest was being crushed, but Rowan ignored him. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, please don't put me in the shed again." It was by far his least favorite punishment.

"No." He felt Rowan lean over him, his breath tickling the nape of his neck. "I'm sick of it, Sawyer. I thought we were doing so well. But then you had to pull this?" A small, empty chuckle left him. "I thought you knew better." He used one hand to push Sawyer's face into the table. He then threw him off the table and onto the ground. "Since you want to play games, I'll play."

Next thing Sawyer knew, he was being dragged to the entrance of the basement. He screamed and struggled, but Rowan's grip on his forearm was like iron. "Please! Rowan, I swear I'm sorry, please let me prove it!"

Rowan ignored him, kicking the door open and tossing Sawyer inside. Sawyer crashed onto the cold steps, and he almost tripped all the way down.

He was a sobbing mess when Rowan picked him back up. He was thrown onto the ground. His breathing was erratic, his vision swimming. He vaguely recognized the sound of something clicking.

Rowan was opening one of the many crates that littered the basement, taking something out. Sawyer's stomach twisted in fear.

"Please," he breathed. Rowan slammed the crate closed. Sawyer managed to get up, only to fall again. He tried to back away, but Rowan's foot pressed into his sternum. He kept him pinned, looking down at him with a blank expression. "No more, please," Sawyer begged. He reached up to tug at his pant leg. "No more, I-I'm sorry, I'll be good."

"You're saying that like it's going to fix anything. You broke my trust. You can't undo that, my darling." His eyes narrowed down at the writhing man beneath him.

It was then that Sawyer looked over Rowan's shoulder. The item in his hands was a crowbar.

He raised his hand, preparing to strike. Sawyer barely got the chance to scream before the crowbar smashed down on his shin. He could hear a sickening crunch combined with his tortured wail.

Somehow it was worse than when Rowan had branded him. It felt like his bone was on fire, every muscle in his lower leg contracting to the point he felt like he was going to burst.

Sawyer tried to kick out to get the offending weapon off with his less injured leg, but all that earned him was another, harsher blow. He thrashed on the floor, clawing at his own arms to relieve the pain.

"There," Rowan started. His eyes were wild. "Now you won't even want to think about leaving me, right?"

He didn't respond. His eyes were screwed shut, howling in pain and curling into a ball.

Rowan pressed his foot into the injury. "Does that hurt? Do you want it to stop?" He stomped harder. Sawyer let out an anguished cry, nodding aggressively. "Then you can only imagine how I feel. My love, my life, the reason I breathe, thinks I'm a monster. How do you think that makes me feel, knowing my beloved wants to run off and abandon me?"

"No," Sawyer managed to stutter out. "I don't. I really don't!"

"Prove it."

It was a simple order, but Sawyer didn't know what to do. Rowan's foot was still grinding down on his fractured leg. He tried to think, but his thoughts were fogged over with nothing but pain. It was like a block in his mind.

The only thing he could focus on was the feeling of his bones being crushed. He had no time to think, he just acted.

His trembling hand pulled Rowan down by the hem of his shirt, since there was no way in hell he was standing to his height. He smashed their lips together, ignoring the urge to throw up.

Rowan froze, obviously not expecting that. His eyes widened, but he quickly relaxed, smiling into the kiss. His grip on the crowbar loosened and the tool clattered to the ground. Rowan placed his hands on Sawyer's cheeks, pulling him closer.

He returned the affection eagerly. Sawyer tasted copper when their tongues touched. He assumed it was his own blood, or maybe he cut Rowan's lips during the collision. Either way, Rowan didn't seem to mind.

The tears didn't stop, nor did the waves of pain pulsating through his veins. He kept his hold on Rowan's shirt, scared that if he let go he'd punish him even more.

His captor was the first to part from the kiss, a line of saliva connecting their mouths. He panted, out of breath. "See," he started, leaning back. He licked his lips clean, his expression ecstatic. "It's not that bad, right? Say you're mine."

Sawyer hesitated, but upon Rowan's glare, he blurted, "I'm yours."

Rowan kissed him again. It was brief, but full of the same obsessive love he always demonstrated. "We're forever. Even death couldn't tear us apart, okay, honey?" He didn't even bother for a response this time, picking him up bridal style.

Sawyer tucked his head into Rowan's chest. He closed his eyes to try and block out the world.

[madstronaut]

TATS TATS TATS TATS (to the tune of Shots by LMFAO ft. Lil Jon)

tattoo au tattoo au tattoo auuuuu my beloved, one of my favorite AUs to read about!!!!!!!!!!!!!

alright I’m throwing a bunch of these fic rambles out now as I’ve got a busy season coming up for traveling off-site/pulliing long hours for work for the next few weeks but rest assured I have read all these july (and june…and may..april..march…etc etc) fanficowrimo fics a disturbing # of times and I will continue to do so during my mini work-related hiatuses  

Reading: Skin Deep by @rememberwren

first off the A/N at the beginning said “at least three nipples” and for some reason my brain went straight to chandler from friends havin a third nipple and thought i would also see a reader with a third nip 😂

also now that Ive seen this gif I can't help but see ghost+soap as military brit chandler & joey lmao

Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place.

i love this lil sisterly/affectionate gesture 🥰

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

IT’S ALWAYS A FUCKIN KEVIN ISN’T IT (no shade to good kevins out there but most if not all the IRL kevins I know are little shitbags)

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily.

nooooooooo I want to hug reader and pep talk her so bad here rn

...sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively.

I both like and hate (that the need for this exists) this inclusion; club/bar survival 101

There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

hehehehe me also giggling as an 89 baby

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail…Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

i guess my millennial is showin at the horror i felt at reading about answering a call from a strange #/stranger lol

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

aHAHAHAHA FUCKING SCREAMING AT THEIR IN PERSON MEETING I LOVED ALL THE DETAILS OF HOW THE READER & GHOST PERCEIVE EACH OTHERRR

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you.

LMAO I LOOOOOOOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS AWKWARD READER GIVING YOU A LIL MEDAL FOR THAT SOAP JOKE WRENNY

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly.

ah *pats reader’s arm* we’ve all been there lovey

pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

first off I looove that ‘dark eyes pinning you in place’ line, if you have been on the receiving end it feels like being caught in a tractor beam just absolutely arresting knowing you’re at someone’s center of attention! but also fucking caaaaaackling seeing ghost attempt to keep his cool and be profesh imagining himself touching reader’s…sternum yes her sternum of course what else could he have been imagining- this is a christian blog writing about a 100% christian tattoo shop au you sick fuc-

How do you take pain?”  “I mean, it hurts?” you offer.  He stares.

😂😂😂

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm.

oh I love this whole section…I think everyone is most attractive when they’re doing what they love/were born to do/fully themselves and in their element, and yes reader, it IS indeed so intimate to witness, akin to watching someone have sex indeed dw you’ll get your turn 🤭

He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

🥹🥰

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend.  GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

 sidenote shoutout to this bestie for connecting reader and ghostie🥰

Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

i am half in love with how relatable this reader is and her part curiosity bravery awkwardness cluelessness is absolutely endearing to meeee

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

lmao the feral bestie energy is immaculate (speaking as an IRL feral bestie)

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

hahahaha I would love to see this whole story from ghost’s perspective working his ass off to impress his clientcrush and texting her in the middle of the night GOD I LOVE BOTH THEIR ENERGIES

“Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

#FREETHENIPPLE2024

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

so valid, reader, so valid! I loved their exchange discussing her anxieties as well

but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it.

looks like reader wasn’t the only anxious one 👀👀🤭🤭

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

yes, yes, yes, and (checks notes) yes

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes

ghost nervously aroused by reader in this outfit (SWEATS, SOCKS. BUTTONUP???) is so endearing to me lmao

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

I know somewhere, ghost’s bestie soap is facepalming at his answers here LMAO

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do

HAHAHAHA DENIAL, THY NAME IS READER

His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

me, reading: “is this reader…me?????” 🧐🤔🧐🤔

He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you.

ah i love this sm. there’s a special tenderness (and sexiness) in getting on an intuitive/anticipatory/reading body language/unspoken cues level of communication🥰

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

LMAO READER BROKE HIM FIRST I AM CACKLING I *KNEW* HE WENT TO RUB ONE ONE OUT EVEN BEFORE WREN CONFIRMS HE DID INDEED LATER ON

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it.

almost..but you made it!!! *strong urge to pep talk reader and boost her confidence intensifies* CMON GIRL YOUR BEST ASSETS ARE RIGHT OUT FRONT WORK WITH WHAT YA GOT

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily. 

yes cos hes rock hard rn get it *badumtss* sorry I’ll stop here

His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

the amount of screeching/cackling I made while reading this was really unhealthy 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one.

sigh I feel you reader, the paradox of A Good Man indeed

a happy trail you’d give your life to follow

this...is some A GRADE PROSE RIGHT HERE WREN MWAH MWAH MWAH

“Eager to be done?” you wonder.  He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

what good is yearning without some delicious tension arising from some misinterpretation?!?! btw having some curiosity/courage/humility to talk things out can NIP so many conflicts in the bud before they start… (I know I said I'll stop well I lied)

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it…You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you.

🤭🤭🤭🤭again gigglin madly

You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

awwwWWWWWWWWWWWW-[audio cut off, voice reached inhuman decibels]

What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

omg reader reader WHY ARE YOU SO RELATABLE I HATELOVE IT the anxiety tailspin’s so real

You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much.

as someone who has experienced skin irritation under clothes definitely sympathywinced reading this

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation.  “You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?” “Fuck my lungs,” he mutters.

I’m in love with their exasperated banter here lmao

As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

FUCKING FINALLY (also why he wore the mask during their session earlier i suspect)

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

OH MY FUCKING GOOOODD READER!!! READER PLEASE LMAO this is comedy of shakespearean proportions to me

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it?

YES ReADER YES YOU CAN DO IT!!! I AM SHARPIE ON CARDBOARD SIGN RABIDLY WAVING ENCOURAGING YOU FROM THE SIDELINES FUCKING GO FOR IT OMG THE FUCKING TENSION HERE IS LIKE WATCHING A SPORTS MATCH WAITINGBEGGING FOR YOUR TEAM TO SCORE

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

FUCKING FINALLY YES SCORE POINT SET MATCH GOAL SLAM DUNK FUUCKKK waving flags rn

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

ah riley ever the professional lmao

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.”  His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“you don’t know what you’re saying” could be the alternate title for this whole damn fic lmao also fucking love this with the reflection in the pupils! I had this experience IRL and I still think about it from time to time

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it.

yall we got a BUDDING SHERLOCK HOLMES HERE, SOMEONE GET HER A MAGNIFYING GLASS 😂

“You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?”  “Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

READER!!! you fucking cutie pie also if simon asked me a question any question while dry humping all my answers would be promises, well said reader, well fuckin said

“You can play with it.” You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm

oh I love this mirroring here!!!

He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

this line is perfection mwah mwah mwah

Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

this is so tender, I love this sm!!! this might be my favorite line in this whole blessed fic-

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters.

this line + his reaction to reader calling him hot makes me think he has some self-esteem issues 🥺🥺🥺

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

this is a very revealing insight imho as in contrast, simon showed he’s been reading her body language very well much earlier on (he fell first and harder)

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. I loved this phrasing!!!! “Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.”  You broken?”  “Yes.”  He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA my god when writers get simons droll brit humor right THEY GET IT SO FUCKING RIGHT

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH GOD wrenny this whole story was so sweet and sexy and like a shakespearean comedy in the best way with the tension and miscommunication built up then resolved and mirrored in the best way with all that release of tension

also when I came back to link this story absolutely gasped at the little link atop indicating a SEQUEL??? MOTHER WREN YOU ARE TOO KIND INDEED

also finally realizing now as I write this the third nipple was ghost’s lol

also screaming IRL at how reader met soap LMAOO the TONGUE FLASH AND CASUALLY DROPPING HE’S PART OWNER, the screamers line from simon? AAAAAAAAAAAA [screeching reaching unholy decibels rn]

With Simon, you were just discovering that sex could be fun; sex could be slow; sex could end with no one orgasming and it could still change your life. 

🥹🥰🥹🥰yes yes PSA this is true IRL as well dear readers

He’s got cute nipples: small and pink as his mouth.

what a compliment, reminds me of that weird irl clock app trend I thInk with those glossier lip pencils mimicking nipple/dick colors or smth smth idk im too old/lazy/tired to keep up with tikkytokky trends

“You’re alone with Soap for sixty seconds and now you want your tits pierced. Are you saying that’s a coincidence?” 

mmm i can smell some tension/insecurity/anxiety brewing in this line of questioning already, fascinating!!!

You’ve never considered yourself to be particularly sexy, but the way he looks at you makes you feel powerful, like the sun lives just underneath your skin.

🥺🥺🥺

“We’ve got a spectator? A voyeur?” Soap asks, rubbing his hands together. “Oh you know all my seedy kinks, Ghost.”  Soap extends a hand to you. “The big guy still hasn’t introduced us. Some call me Soap, but beautiful women are allowed to call me Johnny.”  You shake his warm hand to be friendly and make the mistake of meeting his eyes. They are very blue, framed by dark lashes and expressive eyebrows. He flashes his tongue piercing at you again and you jerk your hand back like you’ve been burned. He laughs. 

 wow I know soap is often headcannoned as “flirts with anything that moves”/“flirts as friendship” but I love this little extra wrench/kink he throws in simon x reader’s relationship here (and very revealing of simon & johnny’s relationship here)

the whole ghost offering soap a free tattoo for reader’s nip piercing exchange is a fucking FASCINATING insight into his + johnny’s psyche in so many ways!!!!! johnny immediately drawing a boundary with reader as simon’s girlfriend and completely switching off his casual flirting (maybe in response to being shocked at the exceptions/rulebreaking simon made for her?) - I would also ask, as reader did right after this, about their friendship & history…a picture paints a thousand words and what a picture!! I loved this weird lil heated exchange

“I was doing stick ‘n pokes for anyone who would sit still. He was piercing soldier’s ears in exchange for cigarettes.

I like this lil canon inversion of what I’d think their roles would be in a tattoo au (johnny is an avid sketcher and would probably be more likely to be the artist if we follow canon)

"We both decided we’d rather live to see thirty, so when our time was up, we didn’t re-enlist, pooled our money, bought a location and never looked back.” 

#JohnnyLives in AUs and fanfic, god bless fanfic, yes and amen

“Was Johnny the one to pierce your nipple?” Simon stills for a moment, considering the question. At length he sets his glass down and says slowly: “Yes.”

what is it about fanfic writers who pluck our beloved blorbos out of their element (always reminded that COD is a first person shooter military propaganda game) yet capture their essence and personality so perfectly as they do??!?!?! one of the things I loved about this story is how wren writes simon in such a simon-y way if that makes sense

also reader, you are quite kinky and curious from what I can gather re: braving through a fucking sternum tat as your first one and ghost’s giant dick and considering a nip piercing; in conclusion LETS HANG OUT IRL I ADORE YOU (platonic)

He is much more abrupt today than he had been yesterday. You’re almost moved enough to ask him if he’s upset, but perhaps this is just his professionalism. Regardless, you miss the easy-going nature that had gone so far to put you at ease yesterday. 

this + the lack of eye contact compared to ghost’s behavior with reader is fucking revelatory to meeee aaaaaa livin for the drama here

“Left out all the tastiest bits,” Johnny says. “I bet he does that a lot when talking about his days with the 1-4-1.” Your stomach dips.  “That’ll do,” Simon says sternly from the corner. 

HAHAHAH but also sOAP WHY ARE YOU MAKING 141 sound like a bacchanalic orgy LMAO 

“If you can’t go without playing with them, I recommend just doing one at a time.

again the “playing with them” mention re: nips 👀👀 I feel like im playing clue here rn LMAO “IT WAS SOAP WITH THE CLAMPS IN TEH FOXHOLE”

my current crackpot theories are:

- ghost & soap fucked, possibly stlll fuck on and off

- ghost & soap share partners (ghost’s “this smells like soap” comment reads totally differently after reading pt. 2 to me) and they both give indications of romantic-attraction based insecurity in how they interact with each other

- ghost getting pierced was sexual

- ghost hasn’t had a steady partner before like reader and soap realized she was different when ghost maNIPulated (see what I did ther-ok I’ll stop no more puns) soap into a free piercing for her and may have experienced a bit of sadness at what he may perceive as the loss of ghost (as fuck buddy? something more? idk! soap keepin us all on our toes as usual)

- though I also think soap refusing to look at her, get her #, his sad lil smile re: “I’m a liar” and his reaction to her being invited to bday drinks with 141 all just might be signs of soap trying to adjust to the fact that a friend closer than a brother (in the sense they survived combat/PTSD-inducing sitchs together) is changing and “leaving” in a sense with the addition of reader in his life

- OR MAYBE johnny is protective of simon and knows how much simon likes her, and perceived her wanting a nip pierce as flirting with him (soap) and he resents her cos he thinks she’s not as head over heels for simon as he can see he is for her?!?!?!?!?!?! and they’ve had past drama re: love triangles here? IDFK anyway sorry let me put my pepe silvia conspiracy meme glasses away lol THIS FIICCCCCC has me in a chokehold (sexy)

It’s clear that their time spent serving together has made a brotherhood of them, and while a small part of you feels estranged as the outsider amongst this group, the larger part thinks it’s beautiful to see. 

🥹🥹🥹I’ve said this before but such a lovely part of being beloved is meeting others who also love your beloved (and who also become beloved to you)

“It wouldn’t be the first time that a girl who was supposed to be mine ended up being for Soap.” 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA the painjoy of liveblogging a ficread is regretting to stop to conspiracy theorize but I FUCKIN KNEW IT!!!!! RAAAAAA

ch2 brought a completely different spin to the fic but honestly what a fuckin ride!!! I love both so far because I love all my kinky COD men equally (cough no I don’t but my favorite is the rarest blorbo of all so I make do lol cough)

update: SHE WROTE A PT 3!!!!!!

[eastwindmlk]

Roped in

Apr 23rd, I can't do this anymore Prongsfoot Word count: 1005 @struttingstag With a little sprinkle of my @kinky-things-happen and @anyfandomgoesbingo bingo cards!

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

James found him sitting in the middle of the bed, a suspicious box sitting next to him, a book balanced on his knees. Before he could even greet him, Sirius asked him, more commanded him. “Sit down.” Petting the spot in front of him.

Without questioning it too much, he perched himself in the spot and twisted his torso to look at what was happening, hoping to catch a glimpse of the book or the content of the box. But Sirius’ fingers gripped his shoulder, pushing him back to face forward.

“My day was good, thank you,” James muttered, his eyes finding Sirius’ in the full-length mirror in front of them. He wondered when he’d moved it from the walk-in to there. A suspicious feeling started to nibble at his mind. His stomach fluttering nervously when he felt the cold metal of his boyfriend’s rings slip under his shirt.

He shivered when his soft voice came from right behind his ear. “Take off your shirt.” His throat bobbed as he obeyed. He worked the small buttons open and shrugged the dress shirt off his shoulders.

Eyes honing in on the pale hand gliding across his tan skin, breath stuck in his throat. It wasn’t until he felt an unfamiliar feeling slithering over his abdomen that he noticed it. A thin, purple rope stretched across him. He peered down at it curiously before his gaze went back to the mirror.

“So, we are tying me up then?” He asked and received a hum in response. Feeling the rope side and knot together at his back. Shifting as the frayed end tickled his spine. Immediately he was stopped by a palm pressing between his shoulder blades. Head turning once more to seek eye contact, a glimpse, an inkling of what Sirius was planning.

From the corner of his eye, James could see brows drawn together, eyes trained on the book in his lap. Hear Sirius suck on his teeth and blow out his nose. Feel his hand glide up to his neck, finger sliding into the hairs at the nape of his neck. James groaned pleasantly at the tug on his hair.

He could feel the pressure behind his fingertips as he pushed, and let him turn his gaze back to the front.

“It’s not just tying you up. It’s called Shibari or Kinbaku,” he explained, his voice quiet and his tone not suggesting he was going to offer any more explanation than that at this time.

James clicked his tongue, nodding as if that told him anything at all. “Sounds exotic,” he remarked, taking a deep breath through his nose. He was trying to suppress the restless feeling that was already settling over him. “Is this going to take long?”

Sirius hummed again in lieu of an answer and tugged the rope tighter around his torso. “It’s Japanese,” he explained, which was more than he’d got before. “It will take as long as it takes. Is that good enough of an answer, or do you want me to get you a gag?”

He snapped his mouth closed and folded his hands in his lap. “I will be here and be still,” he said with a nod, his breath hitching as he was rewarded with a kiss on the shoulder. A thank you muttered into the crook of his neck.

“They used to use this to show a prisoner’s crime and social standing in feudal Japan. But it’s now become a form of art.” Sirius remarked, calmly folding his arm behind his back, his finger tracing the long line of taut muscle, easing him into the position gently and meticulously.

He could feel his heart trying to leap from his chest, revelling in the small touches and the hot breath fanning across his back. The way his fingers danced against his chest. The ropes formed a diamond pattern across his sternum. “And what crime am I standing accused of?” he asked breathlessly.

Sirius chuckled, raising up to his knees to reach over him. His lips were pressing into his hair. “Theft,” he teased, his thumb pressing appreciatively against the back of his neck. Gently massaging the knot that perpetually sat at the base of his skull.

His head tipping back into his touch, a low moan curling up from somewhere deep inside his chest. “And what, pray tell, have I absconded?”

His second arm was bent behind his back, forcing him to sit up straight once more. A sharp tug pulled the rope tight around his wrists. He winced as it wrapped around him tightly, only for Sirius to let it slack enough to be comfortable. “Me!” he smirked, his fingers tracing along his elbow, making him shift and squirm.

“That is a crime I will gladly admit to.” James smiled, flexing his fingers and then his wrists to see how much range of motion he still had. He crossed and uncrossed his legs while Sirius worked diligently on what felt like braiding the rope.

“How much longer?” The words slipped from his lips before he knew it, both of them stilling as they hung in the air. James decided to be the first one to break the tense silence, as he added. “I can’t do this any more, Padfoot. I need to move.”

In response, came a pull at the rope, the entire web of ropes pulling tighter around him. Making him swallow nervously. The silence between them swelling, his eyes on the chipped polish as his fingers traced along every line and curve of the intricately woven rope snaking around his torso.

“I don’t think there is a knot for impatience, but I do think insubordination was in the glossary.” Sirius smirked, kissing a trail along James’s throat, leaving little nips here and there that made him squirm. “I think purple suits you,” he muttered against his skin, making James squirm against him.

James turned his head towards his boyfriend, watching a satisfied smile curve onto his thin lips, still admiring his handy work.

“Done.”

[faketrex]

It's my blog and I can throw up (not in the vomity way) bits of what I'm writing if I want to, right?

Especially if I've bitten off more than I can chew with this one, right?

Maybe screaming about it will help! Ha ha!

RWRB alternate universe, wherein HENRY IS LITERALLY A GHOST. 5 times Henry haunts Alex, and 1 time he doesn't. Supposedly.

CLICK BELOW FOR FIC SNIP

“Okay,” Alex whispers to Cash as the train starts to move forward again, “we've got one more stop on this side of the river and then it'll be out the left window. They say it's pretty easy to see, I don't think we'll miss it.”

“Hmm,” Cash says.

It's impossible to miss it, actually. Most of the riders turn their heads to look out the left side of the wagon as the train leaves the next station. The train rattles out into the open and onto the bridge over the Seine and suddenly the Eiffel Tower is there, right there, larger than life and twinkling with flashbulbs in the night. Alex forgets all about getting a photo and just grins into the dark, listening to the oohs and ahhs of the other tourists in the car. He elbows Cash lightly, just enough to signal “I told you so” and “thank you.”

The Eiffel Tower sparkles, kitschy and wonderful all at once.

Alex feels a little electric fizzle, like static on the back of his neck.

He slides his gaze just slightly away from the blinking lights as the view disappears behind an apartment building. Someone has sat down on the seat right across from Alex without Alex noticing, which is normal, but Cash didn't notice either, which is weird, and –

“Whiskey tango actual fucking foxtrot, Henry? What the hell?”

This is not a coincidence. This absolutely cannot be a coincidence. This is – holy shit, this is –

Henry's wearing a tux again. “Good evening, Alex. I –”

Alex's chest feels wrong, his breaths feel wrong.

“Hey, Alex, hey, hey, what's up?” Cash says urgently, talking right over Henry. “Are you okay?”

No, Alex is not okay. He's being stalked, apparently. “I – Cash, this fucking guy is – I –” He can't get a sentence out. He waves a hand wildly in Henry's direction and presses the other against his sternum, like maybe that'll help. “He –”

“Woah, woah, Alex.” Cash puts one hand on Alex's shoulder. “What guy? Where?”

Alex stares at Cash. He turns his gaze back toward Henry, and sees Cash's head turn briefly in the same direction but then immediately back to face Alex again; he's checked their surroundings, there's no external threat.

Through all this, Henry looks more and more concerned, but also sheepish, or maybe embarrassed. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his hands clasping together to dangle in the air and twist anxiously.

Alex focuses on the weight of Cash's hand on his shoulder and tries to take deep breaths, even while his mind races and races and doesn't seem to be able to get anywhere.

“He can't see me, Alex,” Henry says quietly.

“What the actual fuck,” Alex breathes.

[comatosebunny09]

cater 2 u | sylus

summary: you can't sleep. he tires you out in the best way. warnings: female anatomy described, soft!dom sylus, fingering, explicit language, praise kink, pet names, heavy petting, bodily fluids now playing:  go to war - tanerélle alright - victoria monét notes: for @muvaginger. the sylus brainrot is too real. thank you so much for reading! ❤️❤️❤️

It comes through the serene, amber glow of your bedroom. Through the slurry of your thoughts and your restless leg syndrome.

It’s a gentle pressure in the form of idle fingers smoothing along the skin of your belly. Meant to soothe, to anchor you down as the maelstrom behind your skull threatens to spill out and sweep you away.

His reminder that he is here and very much real.  

“Can’t sleep?” he rasps from behind, voice heavy with exhaustion. Sends tingles down your spine, and his breath stirs the hairs at the nape of your neck.

Your stomach pulls, heart sinks. You must’ve woken him up with your jostling about.

He doesn’t sleep well himself. The constant traveling between the N109 Zone and Linkon has its drawbacks. Transitioning from darkness to light so abruptly has surely mucked up his circadian cycle.

Doesn’t help that he abhors the sun. On cue, it defiantly creeps through the slit of your curtains, casting both your faces in an amber stripe. He bears it all if only to see you. To feel your pulse beat beneath his lips, to hold you like this.

You stroke his wrist with an apologetic thumb. “No, sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

He groans low like distant thunder. Tugs you closer until your ass sits all perfectly in the notch of his pelvis, and his chin finds the pocket of your shoulder. He tangles your legs together, arms possessive around your middle while he caresses your feet with his surprisingly soft ones.

He clings to you like a lifeline. You revel in the notion that you’re the only one who gets to see him like this. Stripped down, bare-boned, all lovey-dovey, with cartoonish hearts swirling overhead.

He’d thump you for thinking like that. He hasn’t gone soft; he swears it.

“S’alright. Can’t expect you to completely change your routine for little old me.”

You scoff at that. Study the flutter of the curtains across from your bed as a breeze eases in. You’ve already changed your lifestyle so much to accommodate him.

“You talk like I wouldn’t give you the world.”

A chuckle roils in his chest, vibrating your back. Your bed sheets rustle as he shifts to press his lips to your carotid. Mouth lingers there like he intends to soak all the warmth of your body into his. You shiver.

His voice crackles with emotion peeking through the grogginess. Something quiet and raspy, barely audible beneath the hum of the AC. “You are my world. And right now, my world is having trouble sleeping.”

Sylus can be the epitome of sweet when he wants to be. Has a hand, hot and coaxing, on your sternum, scorching you from the outside in. His thumb coasts over the grooves of your ribcage, and he roots his nose behind your ear, inhaling deep.

“So, what can I do to help?”

The pressure in the room shifts. Heavy, buzzing like white noise in your ears. When you swallow thick, your throat clicks, and you feel his lips curve upwards against your skin.

His tone is deceptively innocent. Had he been anyone else but Sylus, you would deem his intentions pure. However, the coarse pads of his fingers outlining the underside of your breast warn you against it. You inwardly snort at his cheekiness. So much for being ‘sweet.’

You go for coy. Make yourself cozier halfway on your back, a smile rounding your lips. You reach back to curl your hand around his nape. Thread fingers in a thatch of messy white, and he groans something bitten-off at the attention. You quietly grant him more access to your body, knowing the path he intends to err down.

“Dunno,” you say on a wistful exhale. “Maybe a big, fat sleeping pill would help.”

That laugh again. Coarse like P80-grit sandpaper, and you feel it shoot straight to the space between your thighs. You clench them together to ward off the pulsing.

He ponders all low and throaty, dragging his mouth up your neck until his teeth tease your earlobe. He steadily grows hard against the cleft of your ass. Rolls his hips sluggishly against you as if to convey, yes, this is very much your doing.

“I can think of more effective ways to help you relax, sweetie.” There’s danger there. A wicked curve to his tone, reminiscent of the bold under-notes of whiskey. You take the bait regardless.

“Like how?”

“Hmm. Well, I was thinking we could start with a nice massage.”

To punctuate his words, cupped palms mold around your tits. Weigh and knead them all slowly and thoroughly in the way you like. In the way that makes your tummy flutter and your panties sticky, and you’re pinching your thighs together to take the edge off.

“Starting right here.”

His breath is hot and sodden as he traps your puckered nipples between his fingers. Tugs, and it borders between pain and pleasure. Occasionally, he scrapes his nails over them, the sensation amplified by your nightshirt stretched thin over your breasts. You bite your lip against a whimper. He sees that as a challenge to make you cry his name.

“Then maybe here,” he pursues, groping your tits with one hand whilst the other embarks on a languid journey southward.

You’re halfway between a pant and a giggle as the flat of his nails graze your belly, all honey slow in pursuit of your waistline. Sylus then drags his fingers over your thigh, avoiding the space where you crave his touch most.

You wind your hips to chase his hand, and he chuckles something abrasive at how cute you are. How adorable his little darling is, desperate for his fingers, his touch.

Instead, he takes to kneading your thigh, and he peers down to watch your skin crater between his fingers as he slowly encourages your legs to open.

“Here,” husked into your ear, his voice prickling your skin. He runs meticulous lines up and down your inner thigh. Gentle, gentle, and you spread open so pretty for him like a flower.

Each time, he ventures closer to the sticky mess between your legs. He braces you against him with an arm snaked around your neck. Not enough pressure to choke you, but enough to remind you of his power and how the tide could easily shift if he deems it necessary.

“And here.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from him, all shaky and ragged. His dick jumps against your backside when he finally, finally teases the seam of your pussy. It’s quick and maddening, and you ruck your hips up to chase the sensation once more. He laughs because you’re so eager, and your mind fills only with Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.

“Sy,” you pant. You sound pitiful. Needy, but you could give two shits about keeping up facades right now. You crave him in a way that edges animalistic, and he knows it by the earthy scent of your pussy permeating through your panties.

“Yes, sweetie?” he coos. It’s doting, nurturing, and dulcet because he knows you love it when he talks to you like this. Like you’re something delicate, something to be exalted, and he’d give you the moon and stars if he could.

He teases you through your panties with the flat of nails, reveling in how your hips jerk and your breath catches each time he does it. Teetering along the edge himself, his breaths jerky and his hips winding in tandem with yours.

“Please,” you whimper, pelvis undulating against his like waves licking the shoreline. “Please, please.” You don’t know what you’re begging for anymore. You don’t know what you need anymore.

“Hmm? Please, what?”

“Please just…fuck.” He gets off on this, making you beg so nicely for him. You’re too tired to argue. Too drunk off the feel of his body behind you and his weighted dick pressing to your spine, and if he keeps talking like that, you’ll cum from the pitch of his voice alone.

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

“Here,” you gasp out, and your vision’s blurry around the edges as your stomach gnarls and twists. You wrap shaky fingers around his wrist, guiding him to where heat builds. Where you throb for him so eagerly. “Need you here.”

“Right here?” he parrots, his voice strained. His mouth seals around your jugular as he strokes up the slit of your pussy. Hard in that way you like, sending pleasant jolts to your synapses.

You burn hot as your hips surge off the bed, and he groans something appreciative at how your body responds to him. You’re always so good. Too good to him.

He taps your pussy once, twice. Sucks in a breath, and spots of milky white circle the edges of your vision at his ministrations.

He groans alongside you as he builds a steady rhythm thereafter, stroking you with the finesse of an artist molding pottery. And he rubs and pats and teases until you’re a mess of incoherencies in his arms. He licks up your throat, breathing all hot and uneven in your ear, promising the best of things.

“Oh, you feel so good here. Need you to stay with me, kitten,” he rasps, closing a large hand around your neck. “Want to take care of you.”

You’re trying to hang on. You honestly are, but if he keeps on like this, you’ll be painting the seat of your panties with your cum in no time.

Cold air suddenly kisses your swollen labia. You’ve barely time to react to him rucking your panties to one side before his fingers are there again. Spindly and rough, parting your pussy lips and pulling back the hood of your clitoris in search of the pearl nestled within.

He finds it in no time. Presses against that unfathomable bud of pleasure, and he rubs in meticulous circles. You shackle his wrist down as he alternates between outlining the rim of your sticky, slutty pussy hole and playing with your clit. Teases a finger inside when you’re sobbing ‘til he’s knuckle deep, and fuck.

You both groan as he eases home, your walls greedily sucking his finger in. How sweet you sound, chanting his name like a broken hymnal. Thrashing this way and that, clamping your thighs shut and tugging on his hand to stave off the rush of endorphins. Too much. Too soon. You don’t wanna cum. Not yet. Not—

Sylus kicks your legs further apart, snaking his calf around yours to keep you nice and open for him. And it’s cute how you think you can fight back when he manacles your hands over your head using one of his. He could easily use his Evol to restrain you, but where’s the fun in that? Likes it when you fight. When you act all sweet like you’re not slowly succumbing to the pleasure.

Your head thrashing on the pillow, Sylus eventually works another finger into the fray, and he presses and curls and pistons until your voice is broken and you’re leaking pretty, sticky pearls of white onto his hand.

Pleasure mushrooms in your stomach. Coils in your throat. Threatens to spill you over the edge. “Sy! Sy, please! I can-I can’t—”

“You can,” he counters, voice heavy with lust. Weighed by undertones of desperation, and his brows furrow as he pants through parted, wet lips. He needs this, needs to have his pretty princess spasming around his fingers. You always take such good care of him. Such good care of everyone. It’s about time someone places you on a plinth of your own. “I know you can take it, sweetie.”

His eyes are like liquid sin when they find yours, and you can’t look away. Can’t look away because he’s aching for you to cum. And somewhere between him begging you to…

Cum. Cum. Cum. Give it to me, sweetheart. Let it go. Want it so bad.

Somewhere between the third finger he’d worked inside, and somewhere between his thumb smearing your sticky nectar onto your clit, and his grip tightening upon your wrists to keep you in place...

You cum.

God, you cum, and it’s like stars shooting across an inky nebula. You don’t think you’ve ever cum harder, painting his hand with your essence with a scream corked in your throat.

He works you through it. Coddles and strokes you until you’re pulsing and shaking from the aftermath, and he releases a weighted sigh, panting alongside you as you come down, down from the stratosphere, floating back into your skin.

You’re boneless and loose-limbed. A sheen of dewy sweat paints your body, but it doesn’t deter him. A doting chuckle in his throat, he leans down to kiss your forehead before rolling off the mattress, leaving you cold and bereft of the warmth of his body.

Still, you curl up with the sheets balled into your fists, and the goofiest grin is plastered on your face. Somewhere far off, you hear the pipes of your bathroom hissing to life.

You’re halfway dozing when Sylus pads back into your bedroom. And then, there is the sensation of you being tenderly lifted, his arms sturdy at your back and the crooks of your knees. You nuzzle into the heat his muscles exude, too exhausted to open your eyes or ask where he’s taking you. Just register the feeling of wet steam wading over you and his laugh, warm milk and honey, vibrating your body.

“You can’t fall asleep before I bathe you, kitten.”

“Watch me,” you challenge on a whisper, a catlike smile spreading cross your lips as you fade into inky bliss.

hair down | masterlist | international

[greta-van-chaos]

hiii can you do a smutty fluffy jake x reader where ur insecure about your body & ur confidence has been down a lot but jake tries to prove to u that he thinks ur actually irresistible 🫶🏼 pls make it filthy the girlies could use it i love ur writing

Right Side of My Neck

Jake Kiszka x Reader

Warnings | Explicit sexual content, cursing, angst, anxiety, body image issues, rough sex, mirror play, hair pulling

Word Count | 2.2k words

Authors Note | I keep saying that I'm gonna write and release new stuff but I have had zero motivation. I have a lot of stuff in the works that im clearing out of my drafts... then its time for me to open requests again!

~

The water sloshes around your body, lapping at your sternum as you make the last step into the pool. Jake is nowhere to be found and so you make your way to the edge so you can set down the two beers you retrieved. Your eyes scan the backyard and the more people you see the tighter your throat gets. So many pretty girls in tiny bikinis, prancing around looking like models.

You've never been a fan of parties but you know that dating a rockstar comes with having to attend a fair share of them. You love Jake too much to turn down an event like this and so that's how you got yourself here, standing on the sidelines rather uncomfortably in a bikini that's way too small and makes you feel ridiculous.

"Hey baby," Jake pulls you out of your thoughts when he makes his way through the water to stand at your side and take you by your hips, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You blink away any tears that had been threatening to fall, clear your throat and wrap your arms around his neck. "Hey! where'd you go?"

"Josh texted saying he needed help with something, turns out he just wanted me to mix him a drink--" Jake rolls his eyes and scoffs "I know I'm the better mixologist but he could've done it himself." You stay quiet, the tears welling up again at how stupid you feel for being insecure and letting it ruin the mood. Jake catches on immediately and places a hand on the small of your back, the other coming up to rest on your cheek. "Are you okay, baby? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine!" You say, a little to excitedly as you wipe your tears away, plastering on a fake smile and wiling your voice not to shake. Of course, Jake doesn't fall for that.

"Seriously, something is up, what's wrong? You can talk to me."

All at once the buzz of the party becomes far too overwhelming, all of the chatter now zoning into the anxiety department of your brain. "Can we go somewhere quiet please? It's so loud."

"Of course, here--" Jake slips his hand into yours and begins to wade his way through the water, weaving around the heaps of people that have flocked around his brother Sam who just waded his way into the water. Once out he leads you into the house guides you up the stairs. You can barely navigate the house you're in but Jake pulls you along as if he's lived here his whole life. You're not even sure he knows who's house this is.

"Do you know where you're going?" You keep a firm grip on his hand but something in you falters when he stops in the middle of the hallway as if contemplating where he is.

"Not really. I came up here earlier to go to the bathroom, I just can't remember what door it was."

Despite his words Jake very confidently reaches for the handle of the closest door and pushes it open to reveal a very expensive looking bathroom. He gently pulls you inside by your wrist and shuts the door, clicking the lock behind you.

"Do you want to sit?" He motions to the marble edge of the bathtub that looks like its built in to the wall. You shake your head and stay standing in front of him, arms crossed over your stomach. He tsks and moves them away, taking each of your hands in his own. "What's wrong?"

The tone of his voice makes it very hard to keep your composure. He sounds so goddamn concerned and although you love him for it, it almost makes you feel worse for the negative thoughts about your body cropping up in your brain.

"I just--" Voice cracking you pull your hands back and hide your face behind them, shielding your eyes from his concerned stare.

Jake reaches out to stroke your arm, "It's okay, this is a safe space, you can tell me anything, baby, anything."

"I know-- god-- I know! I just feel so stupid."

You dare to glance at him and his eyebrows are drawn up in worry, why do you always have to do this? Jake stays silent and bids you to continue with a nod of his head.

"Everyone here-- Everyone has such nice bodies, they all look so good in their bathing suits and-- I just--" You sigh, not really wanting to finish the sentence and hoping he can piece it together himself like the ever intuitive boyfriend he is.

"Oh, baby..." His face falls and your heart clenches in your chest.

"I'm sorry-- I don't--"

"Why are you apologizing?" He takes a step towards you, pulling your wrists into his hands and rubbing over them soothingly with his thumbs. "You never have to apologize. If anything I'm sorry. I wish you didn't have to feel like that."

"I just wish I was as beautiful as all of the other girls."

Something in his eyes changes and it's just barely noticeable. If it was anyone else with Jake right now the shift would go under the radar but you know him inside and out. The energy in the room is flipped on it's axis, thick tension seeping into the air between you.

"Are you kidding me?" He says it almost accusingly but you know him better than that, if anything he sounds... territorial.

"I don't understand why I don't look like them-- Why my body isn't--" A sob chokes you up, catching in your throat and you have to look away from Jake.

Silence overtakes the room, so potent that the only thing you can hear is you own heavy breathing. You can barely stand to sneak a glance at your boyfriend and when you do the expression on his face is chilling.

"Do you seriously not see how fucking gorgeous you look?" His voice has dropped an octave and the look on his face is one of pure lust. You want to be offended by the tone he's taken on but you can't help the warm tingling feeling that's sparked to life in your stomach. The atmosphere changed so quickly that you almost didn't notice it but nevertheless you welcome the change.

"Jake--" You breathe, stepping back and pushing yourself up against the counter.

"I'm serious, you look fucking perfect. Here--" Without warning Jake steps forward and slips his arms around your waist, turning you so you're now facing the wide mirror above the sink.

The sight your met with is not something you'd consider attractive but with Jake's wandering hands and the hot kisses he's trailing down your neck you can't seem to form a proper thought.

"You. Are. Beautiful." He mumbles against your shoulder, in-between kisses. Slowly, his hands trails down your stomach, to your bathing suit bottoms. They're tied tightly on each hip and when his fingers play over the small bows you secured earlier when getting dressed his eyes meet yours in the mirror, asking you silently for permission.

"Please, Jake." Your fingers card through his hair, pulling his mouth against your neck harder and forcing you to arch your back when his body is pulled tighter against you.

He takes his sweet ass time pulling the strings of your bottoms to loosen and eventually let them fall off of your body. From there he kicks them away and caresses your stomach, gently running his fingers over the skin.

The ripple of goosebumps that covers your skin only spurs him on further. Carefully and so incredibly slow, he drags the tips of his fingers in small patterns over your stomach, dipping just low enough to send a chill down your spine but not quite low enough to quell the heat blooming between your thighs.

"Look at yourself," He whispers. "You're a goddess."

Reluctantly your eyes scan your body and as you watch his hands move over you you feel a bit more confident. Not to mention how the way his gaze is devouring you makes you feel, just by looking in your direction he makes you feel sexy. When his hands travel to your shoulders and down your back you're already nodding, almost begging him to bare your naked body to him. The speed in which he removes your bra greatly contrasts how slowly he slipped off your bottoms, his fingers hungrily work at the ties until it falls away and he can cup your breasts, kneading the flesh. You press yourself against him and can feel the very obvious bulge in his swim trunks against your ass.

"That's what you do to me baby, you're perfect. I never want you to feel any other way because you really are perfect."

"Thank you, Jakey. Thankyouthankyouthankyou." The praise slips past your lips like a mantra and seems to be the only coherent thought you can manage. His wandering hands make it very hard for you to focus, so much so that you tip your head back and close your eyes, letting the fuzzy feeling of lust take over.

"Look at yourself. I wanna see you looking or I'll stop what I'm doing. You're so beautiful baby, just look and see."

When you reluctantly pull your gaze back to the mirror and meet your own stare you want to cringe away but then you feel Jake's hand between your legs and you watch as he circles your clit with an unmatched care.

"Wanna feel you, Jake." You whine, reaching back to thread your fingers through his hair.

Through the mirror you watch one of his hands come up to cup your breast while the other continues to work between your legs.

"You can feel me baby, i'm right here." He taps your clit lightly with his fingers before going back to his earlier motions.

"No, no, Jake, want your--" A moan rips through your chest when he sinks two fingers into you and without thinking your head tips back.

"Nuh uh baby, eyes on the mirror." He truly does completely stall any and all movement until you're looking at yourself again which makes you groan out of frustration. "So fuckin' needy, baby. Who got you all wound up like this? Hm?"

"You Jakey, please. Want you to fuck me. Pretty please, baby" Your words come out stuttered and breathy which makes him smirk.

"Well only cause you asked so nicely."

He removes his hand from between your legs to free himself of him swim trunks. His other hand still holds it's grip on your breast and in a teasing act he pinches your nipple lightly. You yelp and without warning he pushes into you, filling you up completely and pushing you down against the counter.

"Look at yourself, baby. So fucking pretty. So perfect."

You can't speak, you can only whine and moan as he fucks into you, wrapping a hand into your hair and pulling you up enough that you can still see yourself in the mirror.

"You're my pretty baby, aren't you?" He fucks you harder, his hips slamming against you and knocking your body into the cool marble top. "Say it."

Breathing wildly and barely holding onto anything as your own hips are rammed into the cabinets you meet his eyes in the mirror with a questioning look.

"You heard me. Fucking say it. Tell me you're my pretty baby."

With a high pitched moan you barely breathe "I'm your pretty baby, Jakey."

He groans and his eyes roll back into his head, hips faltering slighting. "Say it again, say that you're my pretty girl. Fuck--"

The only sound filling the bathroom is the slapping of your skin and your collective moans. Any passersby would very quickly be able to come to the conclusion of what exactly was happening behind the door.

"I'm your pretty girl, I'm your pretty baby"

"Yeah you are, baby."

You actually find it pretty easy to keep your eyes on yourself through the mirror. Although your eyes do stray behind you to view how fucked out Jake looks as he thrusts into you and holds your hair in a fist, every once and a while jerking you back a bit, you don't mind looking at your own body and face. There's something so incredibly sexy about being made to watch yourself come undone.

"You close?" He breathes, pressing a hot, sloppy kiss to your neck.

"So close." You cry, holding the faucet the keep yourself grounded.

"Touch yourself for me."

Without a second thought you slip that hand that isn't around the sink between your legs and within a few circles you can feel yourself nearing the edge of your orgasm. Your so close you can barely get the words out to warm him.

"Gonna cum, Jakey, please--"

"Go ahead, baby. Let it go for me."

When you finally are pushed into the tidal wave that is your orgasm, the last thing you see before your eyes close is Jake's blissed out face as he finds his own release in tandem with you. He can be so angelic and beautiful during even the most unholy of moments.

He continues to push into you, riding out your high as you come down as well as his own. You feel him let go inside of you and a sigh leaves your lips at the sensation.

When he finally does pull out you both wince from the overstimulation and loss of contact. Immediately he grabs some toilet paper to clean you up and helps you to sit on the counter.

"You are the most beautiful person on this earth and I never want you to doubt or forget that. Okay?"

"Thank you, Jake. I love you."

"I love you too." He whispers. In contrast to the heated affair you had both been lost in moments ago, he gently presses his lips to yours and brings his fingertips to massage over your scalp where he was holding your hair. "Was that okay?"

"Better than okay." You smile, kissing the tip of his nose.

After you both have a minute to regroup and eventually redress, he helps you off of the counter. "We should probably get back to the party, is that okay? Or do you want to just go home?"

You reach up and kiss his cheek, "We can stay."

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[sweettodo]

a simple competition.

⟿ Hisoka Morow x freader x Chrollo Lucilfer

Includes : threesome, toys, smut, not even a good plot but yk, consumption of alcohol

word count : 2,7k.

my last little surprise for you guys, some more threesum action .... here you go puppies. THX FOR 300 [ almost 400 rn :) ] <3 !!! your favorite men at your disposal... [y/n is aged].

fun fact, I'm eating takis rn, are these spicier than usual or am I imagining things ? i’m also watching ‘malcolm and marie’ AMAZING movie, i highly suggest it, the dynamic of the two is so detailed, such a good movie.

••

Maybe it wasn't a clever idea to drink, but once you attained that nice and warm sensation in your gut, there was certainly nothing stopping you from finishing the already half-empty bottle of pink whitney.

Laying sprawled out on the couch, staring at the ceiling as the room slowly spins around you. Content and relaxed with your position.

It wasn't your fault, Pakudona reassuring you that it wouldn't hurt to have a little fun tonight, that Chrollo wouldn't heed if you crashed here for the night, he was tipsy, manspreading on the other end of the couch, eyes puffy and glossed over, enjoying the quiet.

Music was playing thirty minutes previously, but as the night went on, one by one, the others hit the road to sleep off their intoxication, it was already past midnight.

One person had yet to leave, that was Hisoka... of course.

He wandered back into the living room, plopping down next to you and your friend on the couch, "leaving anytime soon? Y/n?"

You shook your head, "staying the night." Hisoka's arched eyebrows rise, a little smile tugging at the niche of his mouth.

"Is that so?" Chrollo sits up, staring at the kaleidoscopic man, a sarcastic undergone on his tongue.

"That's what happens when you drive here, and drink" You nod, "although I didn't quite intend on you staying the night, Morow." He hums, Hisoka pinches the corner of the thin card, waving it back and forth teasingly.

"I can't let you have our playmate all to yourself," you roll your eyes.

"It's not like that," you mutter, staring the magician in the eyes, "I couldn't leave if I wanted to."

"That is true," Chrollo interjects, "that doesn't mean you want to leave though, is it?" you shrug.

"No, I wanna stay, got an issue with that?" you ask, he shakes his head.

"Of course not- although, I suppose Hisoka would be better off on his way."

You estimated things would only get progressively worse from here, the moment Hisoka's bloodlust began to fill the air, you felt this was your cue; before you're able to leave the room, Hisoka's hand is fastened around your wrist, sitting you back down.

"Oh, you can't flee now," dread fills your face, "come on, we might as well finish the conversation."

You and Chrollo both knew what he was talking about. No matter how petty or pathetic, it appears to be that the rivalry between the two never seemed to subside, even drunk.

"Go on, since you have so much to say."

"Am I wrong for thinking my friend is a pretty girl? I seem to remind her more than you do."

"You seem to think you own her, it's pitiful honestly, " Blushing, you look down at your thighs, "do you think she's pretty, Chrollo?"

"I do. I think she knows that right?" you peek up at him, he gleams and tilts his head.

"Look at her, my, you must like us flattering you." You shake your head.

"That's because you neglect to tell her more often, does Chrollo ever call you pretty?" with Hisoka pushing Chrollo's every button, tensions were surging, both men now at the edge of their seats- literally.

"No, he doesn't," you speak, the magician letting out a deep chuckle, you felt like you were being scrutinized, the eyes burning into you felt poisonous and dour, you felt minuscule compared to them.

"I could do so much better than call you pretty, right kitten?" your heart sinks to your stomach, gulping hard. It was too hard to look at them in the eyes as you sunk further into the couch.

"Are we making you nervous?"

The inquiry continues.

"Yeah- you are." You retort, "you guys are talking about me like I'm not here."

"Then let's ask the lady herself, y/n." Looking up to meet Hisoka's gaze, "who do you think could take better care of you?"

Heart pounding out of your chest, your stomach filled with butterflies, "I- I don't know, I've never thought about it." Laughing, you look to see Chrollo, who's standing to his feet.

"I think I know a way to help you decide," smug smile peeking from his face, "unless you don't want to?"

A single nod is all they needed to know, Hisoka standing to his feet, seeing how you sat on the couch as still as a statue, "please don't be so tense, you know how good we are to you." Hisoka slowly picks up your hand.

He's steering you to your feet, "what do you have in mind, Chrollo?" the man leading you two upstairs.

"I think I have something that'll work out for all of us."

The dress you wore to this get-together now seemed like you were exposed, bare, and vulnerable, you knew what their agenda was, you didn't fancy the idea of being the center of attention.

Chrollo slowly clicking open his door, walking in, and promptly turning on the light, you're led to the side of his king-sized bed, his room was both contemporary and warm, comforting feeling; the walls a deep vermilion, the sheets plush, soft and black tones.

"We should leave it up to our little kitten to decide," the buttons on his shirt slowly coming undone, stopping at his sternum.

"What do you think, Morow?" Hisoka looks at you with low eyes.

"I'll go first."

Chrollo stalks towards you, sitting there falling apart at the seams, Chrollo's large and reaching behind your ear, thumb gently caressing your jawline, side to side, "you okay with this? Sweetheart?" you nod, the name sending jolts between your thighs.

Hisoka's rubbing your bare leg, sitting next to you on the mattress as his fingertips trail up and down, his hand stopping inside your thigh and pressing a leg open, Chrollo clasping your other knee and you lay on your back

"I'll get some time to please you, Hisoka gets the same when I'm done, yes?"

You're breathless, Hisoka grabbing you and pressing your back against him, his hands pinching the seams of your dress, "cute little dress- you should wear it more often for me." He hums, rolling it up, your thighs buckled together while lifting your back off the mattress, the dress sitting bunched up at your hips, the panties you wore sitting on your hips.

"My, who knew she would wear something so- revealing." Arms linking around your own, Hisoka keeps you completely locked in place.

"Did you wear these for me? Kitten?" Chrollo asks, shaking your head no.

Tugging at the little strong which hardly kept you covered, “I'll keep these, yeah?” you nod, the pants of Chrollo’s fingers barely ticking you, brushing against your already anxious body.

"Stay still for me, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe.

Hand leaning over past Hisoka, he's opening up the drawer beside his bed.

Your eyes widen at the sight of the little pink toy, compact in nothing bugger than four inches long, he sits on the bed in front of you, bringing the little object to your core.

He switches it on the lowest setting, the only noise in the room was the quiet buzzing of the vibrator as he barely touches your clit, the tiniest contact with the toy having your chest rise and fall, "keep these open for me, okay princess?" his fingers hook below your panties, pulling them down and placing them beside him.

"Such a pretty pussy, don't you think, Hisoka?" You're gnawing on your bottom lip from the teasing little touches with the toy, he was doing this on purpose; your legs laid open, the other man holding your arms to where you couldn't do anything if you wanted to.

"It is, I'm sure it's even prettier when it's cumming,"

Chrollo finally presses the vibrator onto your clit, he leans over your cunt, spitting, your mouth opens, the saliva hardly cooling your excited cunt.

He uses his free hand to finish unbuttoning his shirt, dropping it on the floor, he leans down leveled to your cunt, holding your leg over his broad and muscular shoulder, his tongue licking a stripe towards your occupied clit. Your body shakes, digging further into Hisoka's chest, he holds you tighter.

"Fuck, p-please!" you gasp, wanting to dig your hands into his hair, thrashing against Hisoka's arms, "let me touch-" your pleads fall on deaf ears, Chrollo’s tongue swirling into you in sinful ways, your legs twitching, the toy too much to handle.

The euphoric feeling of the overstimulation sending a pool of cream right onto Chrollo's tongue, lapping up every drop of you.

You were dizzy, Chrollo drinking up all of your essences, his hand pressed into your thigh to keep you from buckling onto him, your back grinding against the pressure of Hisoka's growing erection, his hands had grabbed the straps of your dress, one by one pulling them down and releasing your tits from the braless dress.

It's almost too good to be true- the man spending a dangerous amount of time eating your pussy like it was his very last meal, tasting everything he possibly could, the vibrator maintaining its spot in little circles around your swollen and screaming clit.

Ripping orgasm after orgasm out of your body, you're dripping sweat, he pulls off of you, your cum covering his reddish swollen lips, chin soaked. You looked a wreck, makeup streaming down your face, legs numb, his head coming to yours, he kisses your panting lips, releasing you from Hisoka.

The taste of your cum filling your mouth, his tongue licking past your bottom lip and into your mouth.

"Take this off." tearing at your dress, peeling it over your head, unzipping his pants, "you're gonna straddle me and stay still, is that okay with you, kitty?"

"O-okay, what about Hisoka?" Grabbing your hips, you straddle him. He raises you a little.

"He's gonna watch me make you cum a few more times-" hissing in the air as he assists you to slide down onto his cock, the stretch was unbearable, but you push through, trying not to slouch over in pain.

"-hurts, bad!" You sob.

"You take me so well, it'll only hurt for a second, promise."

His hand's move, one to your waist and one loosely around your throat as he holds you up to get a better grip on your already weakened body.

Keeping eye contact with Hisoka as your body is demolished by the man beneath you, eyes boring into you seductively, captivated by your mess of a face.

You felt as if you were being torn in half, crying out his name as he knew just how to fuck you; fucking your pussy just right.

Fucking you so hard you were going numb.

"Gonna cum! Gonna cum again!" you screamed, head falling back as you searched desperately for air, Chrollo rolling his hips into you as he released you, slumping to his chest, his chest stick from sweat.

"You wanna be filled with my seed, kitty?" Nodding in his shoulder.

"Please fill me- I want your cum,"

The feeling of his cum seeping down his cock and deep into your beaten-up cunt, his breath heavy against your ear.

You sit up, large arms wrapping from behind you and pulling you off of your straddle, Chrollo getting off the bed to clean himself off as Hisoka sits you on the bed, tucking your hair behind your ear gently, smiling as you look up at him, blurred eyes.

"My my, I don't think she can handle it, or can you?"

"I-I can, trust me." He smiles, pleased with your answer, his soft hands taking up your arm before leaning you back, onto your back, he was sweaty, so his shirt was clinging to his body, his hair was messily draped over his shoulders, pulling his tie loose while standing between your open legs, "let me see your wrists, princess."

He's leading you against the bed frame, linking your hands together and finishing off the knot around the post of the frame, the man getting on his knees between your legs, letting his shirt hand open as his hands work at his slacks, unbuckling the leather belt and tossing it to the side, "you look so innocent, tied up and quiet as a mouse, even after you just got fucked out," he pushes down his pants, erection throbbing from underneath his underwear.

The area between your legs throb, he was beyond ready to feel your walls tighten around him, he was ready to hear you begging for more.

He needed to one-up Chrollo.

He lifts your hips, your legs propped against his thighs while remaining restrained, his tip aiming into you accordingly before pushing into your beaten cunt.

His arm propped, flexing as he grips the headboard, drilling into your cunt with no tenderness, he spares you no pain as he ruts into you, ready to split you in half the instant he saw you spilling cum at the hands of his rival.

The size of him left you perplexed, the way he was splitting you open while bringing you to an indescribable state of heaven had you a sloppy mess, the thick cock he had with his veins filling in the little nerves you had yet to feel seconds earlier. He filled you, and he filled you well.

Hisoka fucks you until your head is blank, eyes seeing white, one of his hands gripping your hip, keeping you from laying fully on your back.

You try to cry put to him, and he notices.

He slows only slightly, rolling his hips back and forth into you so you can speak, "s-so good, it feels so good!"

Each rut of his hips sends you into oblivion, the way his hips bumped and clashed against your body left you spitting out a mantra of his name, Chrollo inches away from you, rolling your perked nipple in between his fingers, sending chills up your body.

Hisoka brings his eyes to you, "joining in, my friend?" Chrollo pulls his hand back, you almost find yourself whining.

“Did I fuck you better, y/n?” Chrollo taunts, his lips barely pressing against the life of your ear, “is Hisoka making you feel good?” Hisoka's beautiful golden eyes stalk you, waiting for your answer; stabbing right into your soul.

“Answer him, go on, kitten; did he fill you as good as I am?”

The questions were throwing you in for a loop, your stomach twisted, digging your head back deeper into the pillow of Chrollo’s bed.

“Fill me, please- daddy.” You cry, you longed to touch him, to feel his soft hair as he pummeled into you; you tugged on your wrists softly, already weak, the tied limbs going numb and tingling.

Before you know it, another orgasm is torn out of you; groaning out as you tightened and clenching around him, body once again convulsing, legs tightening around Hisoka’s waist. Each time they made you cum, the more came spilling from your cunt, it was almost unreal how much the bed was soaked, how soaked your thighs were, Hisoka’s pants being stained in the process.

This pretty little soaked pussy, sucking me in so good.” Panting, his head falls back, his dick quaver’s while his thrusts become more staggered, hand gripping tighter around your already sore hip.

His seed bathes both you and his cock, hips sputtering as he slowly slips out of your abused cunt. your head spinning, a panting mess at you blink and stare at the ceiling.

You could barely move, the men in the room throwing on clothes, hearing zippers, you lift your head.

Chrollo hands you a blanket, draping it over your body.

Sitting up, the blanket around you, you look at the two men who were fiddling around doing nothing but looming around the room.

While Hisoka buttons up his shirt, he tilts his head towards you, “tired, princess?” you nod.

A devious smirk dances on your lips, they look at you confused, “perhaps though, I might need another round, you know- to decide who was better.”

[soulcheri]

"No--" It's all she can do not to squirm under the rhythm of his fingers dancing over her clit and between her velvety folds. Her own defiance forces her to tense up and clench around his knuckles as he forces their way in. "Tyler, we can't do this right now---" or rather, they shouldn't be doing it. Not when there was still so many unresolved feelings and issues between them. The pleasure of his hand, mixed with the filthy things coming out of his mouth, create a tug of war between her head and her heart. Her head is encouraging her to stop this, to not give in because doing so would only lead him to believe they were getting back on track when she couldn't promise that. While her heart was yearning for more of his touch, more of his taste, and simply more of him. Because, at the end of the day... he's the one she wanted to be with. He's the one she craved more than anyone else on this earth. Tyler was like her drug. Some kind of elixir Brooke couldn't quit. But, believe her, she's tried. Ever since that first day - the night he took her virgnity... Brooke has never been the same. She's tried to move on from him many times in the past but there was always a reason why circled back. There's just something about him she can't shake. And maybe a part of her doesn't really want to either.

It's only been a few hours since their fight about Riley. Brooke was nowhere near ready to forgive him for making out with their best friend. That doesn't mean she can control her body's natural reaction to his ministrations. She couldn't close her eyes and will him or the pleasure his fingers were giving her, away. She wasn't Dorothy and this wasn't the Wizard of Oz. She couldn't click her heels ... tap, tap, tap.... three times, and remove herself from the sticky situation they found themselves in. Brooke could argue all she wants that this doesn't feel right. But, if she were to do that - she'd be lying to him and she'd be lying to herself.

"Oh god!" Brooke tosses her head back just as she feels her release percolate within the lower regions of her belly. He's right. Her stomach clenches and her eyes snap shut despite him demanding her to keep them open and focused on him, every time she's about to come. "I can't---" as always, she was going to say something along the lines of I can't handle this. But, the opportunity is cut short by her own erratic gasps. His words meant to goad her, replay on a loop in her mind as she lets go around him and comes undone in rivulets down his fingers and between her own thighs. It's okay.... You're so wet, pretty eyes.... I know you need me.... Look at me.... I'm not letting you go....I'll get on my knees next.....and I can't promise any self-control after that..... Screw self control. If Brooke had things her way, Tyler would be on his knees with his face buried underneath her dress and his mouth attached to her clit sucking on it like his life depends on it. "Jesus Christ," Brooke curses after burying her face against the front of Tyler's crumpled up shirt thanks to her fists wrinkling it. Between the tears she cried earlier, and the nuzzling of her cheek against his sternum now... Brooke had not only smeared make up on his shirt but she'd messed up what was left on her face. Streaks of her mascara have formed black tracks under her eyes and down her rosy cheeks which were unmistakenly red underneath the foundation she wore thanks to the orgasm he just pulled out of her.

Tyler doesn't know what he should feel when Brooke pulls on his shirt, dragging him deeper into the kiss. The naive romantic in him hopes it means she forgives him after realizing she can't live without him. But then there's the self-sabotaging part that wonders if this is a goodbye. When Brooke was falling out of love with Jake, she gave him one last night of intense sex at the Cops and Robbers party. Tyler remembers her coming back to him at Eli's and confessing the whole ordeal. They owed it to each other to see how they felt afterwards and unfortunately for Jake, it didn't end well.

As their mouths pull apart, Tyler tugs on her bottom lip and swallows the knot in his throat. He's pulsating everywhere. If Brooke wasn't holding onto his shirt, he would have fallen over from how dizzy and lightheaded she makes him feel. He assumes that's just another symptom of love. Because he's never been this unkempt and out of breath after kissing anyone else. "Who said anything about playing? Brooke...this, us, it's not going away." Tyler cups her face and pulls her back in, accepting her tongue for the second time. It tickles his insides and evokes a chill down his spine. He's covered in clothing but she makes him feel completely naked in her arms. Like she can see every inch of him whether he's dressed or not. "Brooke," he pants against her mouth and pulls on her hair. In the process, her bow comes undone and slides down to the floor. "Stay with me, please." The air he releases against her lips is warm and erratic, like their kisses.

While staring down at her, he raises his fingers to his mouth and takes his time sucking on them. By now, she should know what he's about to do. Worst of all, there's nothing she can do to stop him from hiking her dress up before he pushes his hand down the front of her panties. "It's okay," he whispers while rolling his greedy fingers up and down her clit. "You're so wet, pretty eyes. I know you need me." As he licks his lips, he pushes two fingers inside her. "Look at me and forget everyone else. They don't exist." With his other hand around her face, he holds her chin between his fingers. "I'm not letting you go. I love you." After capturing her bottom lip, he bites and sucks on it while thrusting his fingers deep inside her heat. "I know you love me." Upon tracing the shape of her mouth, he proceeds to pull his fingers out of her pussy to flick her clit. "Your stomach is so tight. I know that means you're close. If you're trying to keep yourself from cumming, don't. I'll get on my knees next and I can't promise any self-control after that."

[peterrparrkerr]

Size difference - read on ao3

Tagging: @just-things-things @thegreenmetblue @someonepostedart @andacheesyoneliner @bluestarker @lilcoffeecup @useless-fanfictions-for-mcu @tnpt @sarcastich @nerdylocksandthethreebears @carelessannie @moodystark @peterparkerbingo

*-*

"Being on top isn't that hard," Peter scoffed playfully, bringing a spoonful of his sugary cereal to his mouth.

Tony couldn't help but smirk at that, amusement twinkling in his eyes at the surety of Peter's words.

"No?" He asked -challenged.

Peter shook his head. "I could do it."

"You think you could top me?" Tony grinned, raising an eyebrow. "You're cute."

Peter gave an indignant huff, shoveling more cereal into his mouth before setting the spoon into his bowl and pointing a finger at Tony.

"M'not cute," he started. Tony would've argued the contrary, but the boy continued. "And I could totally top you. I've been topped enough to know how to do it."

"Theres a difference between being topped and topping, sweet thing," Tony chuckled, cutting into his eggs.

"Have you ever bottomed?" Peter asked, chewing his cereal. Tony thinks its Captain Crunch, but he's not big on the brands.

"A few times," Tony shrugged. "When I was your age."

Peter rolls his eyes at that, pointing his spoon at Tony. "If you can bottom, then I can top."

Tony smirks at that. How does he tell Peter he wasn't cut out for it? He was much too soft for topping. The poor thing slips off into sub space far too often to ever really enjoy taking control in that way.

But, Tony also knows Peter. Knows he won't stop pestering about it until Tony agrees to let the boy try.

Which is what he does.

"Okay, you can be on top tonight," Tony said with a smirk. He wasn't opposed to the idea of bottoming, and he could always guide the boy in the right direction.

*-*

That night, Tony spent some time in the shower, stretching himself on his fingers, cleaning himself out for his boy. Its strange, the feeling of his fingers in his ass familiar but also foreign.

He hadn't done this since his days in college, when he was still figuring out his preferences.

He spent extra time getting himself stretched, wanting to make it easier on the both of them. Peter wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination. He was shorter than average and a little thinner than most, but Tony wanted to be prepared.

Once finished, Tony turned off the shower and towel dried himself before making his way into the bedroom he shared with Peter.

The little thing was already looking excited as he crawled to the edge of the bed, smiling at Tony as he got closer.

"You ready?" Tony asked softly, smirking down at the boy as he ran fingers through soft curls. Peter's eyelashes fluttered, his head tilting into Tony's touch.

Peter nods, grin pulling at the lower lip he's suckling on. Oh, Tony can't wait to see Peter out of his element.

"Okay," Tony hums, removing his hand -smirking when Peter scowled. "You're in control, sweet thing."

Peter blinked, looking slightly lost, before that excitement had him near wiggling out of his clothes -all while kneeling on the bed.

"Okay, lay down," Peter said. The smile Tony wore felt permanent as he did as told, indulging Peter in his little stint with topping.

The towel around Tony's hips was yanked open by eager little fingers. Tony couldn't help but hum approvingly as Peter sucked his length into the sweet warmth of his mouth.

Tony was much larger than Peter in every sense. Taller, built broader. Peter was fairy-like. Ethereal and so tiny he was usually mistaken for a teenager.

The boy sat so prettily between Tony's knees, sucking at the first three inches of Tony's cock while his hands worked on the other three. His fingers barely overlapped.

Tony let his head fall back, enjoying the slight pressure Peter created every time he lifted his head.

"Dont let me cum," Tony murmured. Peter pulls off his cock with a wet noise, eyes blinking at Tony in confusion. Tony smiled. "You want me to cum on that little cock of yours, don't you?"

Peter's cheeks flame hot as he licks at the spit coating his lips before nodding. "Yeah, yeah I want you to cum on my cock."

Tony's smile widens as he spreads his legs, drawing his knees slightly up until his asshole is on show.

"Show me what you got, sweet thing," he encouraged. Peter shuffled closer, looking equal parts overwhelmed and giddy.

"Take your time," Tony murmured. Peter gave another little nod before timid fingers felt Tony's hole.

The older lets out a small hum of encouragement, shifting his hips so more of himself was on display.

Peter's fingers were small, he barely felt the intrusion.

"You already stretched yourself?" Peter asked, sounding disappointed.

"Next time you can do the honors, sweetheart," Tony smiled.

"Next time?"

"Its up to you," Tony hummed, feeling Peter fit another finger in. He wasn't really doing much, more exploring, which Tony was fine with.

"Whatcha lookin' for, sweet thing?" Tony chuckled, seeing Peter's eyebrows furrow with concentration.

"Your prostate," Peter huffed. Tony can't help but chuckle again, wiggling his hips.

It takes a little longer before Peter brushes against a spot that pulls a sharp moan from Tony, body jolting with the sudden zing of pleasure.

"There it is," Tony moaned. "Good boy."

Peter let out a noise of his own, high pitched and embarrassed. He continued to rock his fingers into Tony's prostate. God, Tony forgot how good it felt to be stimulated down there.

"How about you use your pretty little cock," Tony suggested, feeling himself draw tight like the string of a bow.

"I know you want to," Tony murmured. "Know you want to know how it feels to top me. You want to feel in control, huh, sweet thing?"

Peter keens as he pulls his fingers free and wipes them on the towel under Tony. He crawls forward and drops onto Tony's chest, their mouths meeting seconds later.

Tony doesn't lick inside. Doesn't dominate the kiss in anyway. This is Peter's show.

Peter's hesitant at taking control of the kiss. Tony knows the boy wants Tony to take charge, but the older is curious to see how far Peter's willing to go before he begs for it. Before he gives up.

"You gonna get your cock in me, or just rut against my belly?" Tony asked, smirking against Peter's lips.

Peter pulls back. "Gonna get my cock'n you," he murmured, climbing off of Tony and reaching for the lube they keep in the nightstand drawer on Tony's side.

It takes Peter a little longer to pop the cap open and  wet his cock, but Tony lays patiently. Peter then drops the bottle onto the bed after clicking the lid closed.

He wiped his hand on the towel again before looking at Tony.

"Go on, baby," Tony nods. "Gonna line yourself with my entrance, and then all you gotta do is roll your hips forward. You can do that, can't you?"

Peter gives a mute nod, throat clicking as he swallows. Tony smiles as he shuffles even closer, getting his thighs under Tony's until the older's ass is practically joined at the bend of Peter's waist.

"There you go," Tony praised, pulling his legs up a little higher. He's not as flexible as he used to be. He'll never be able to bend in half the way Peter can, but he gives the boy enough room to work with.

Peter's already gone a little soft in the eyes at Tony's encouragement. He slips into such a pliant little thing so easily.

But he must really want to prove to Tony that he can top, because he reaches down to fist his cocklet, pressing the head to Tony's hole before pushing in.

"Oh," Peter whimpers, breath hitching as he rolls his hips forward until he's completely sheathed.

"Feels good, doesn't it, sweet boy?" Tony hums. "You like the feel of your cock in my ass? Feels so warm, hmm?"

Peter shuffles even further forward, making sure he wont slip out of Tony as he begins to hitch his hips back and forth.

"Y-yeah," Peter moans, high pitched and keening.

"Lean forward," Tony urged softly. "Hands on my chest, there you go. Now try. You feel the difference?"

Peter hummed an affirmative, hips barely leaving Tony's ass as he rocks into the older.

"Look at you," Tony nearly purred. "Such a good boy, doing so well."

And he was. Tony knew he wouldn't be able to cum like this -Peter just shy of his prostate- but he enjoyed it all the same.

Loved watching Peter pant above him, lower lip caught between his teeth to try and stifle the breath leaving his lungs.

Peter whimpers at Tony's words, leaning further down until his head pressed into Tony's sternum. Tony's hands run down his back and sides, pulling shivers from the younger as Peter continued to roll his hips.

"Doing such a good job," Tony hummed, smirking as Peter's hips stuttered.

"Tony," Peter whined, leaning up so his nose was pressing coolly into Tony's collarbone.

Tony felt the wetness of his eyelashes against his skin and curled both arms around Peter's tiny frame.

The boy mewled helplessly, his cock slipping free as he moved his way up Tony's chest, tucking himself into Tony's neck to mouth at his skin.

"Please, Tony," he whimpered, cock pressed between Peter's abdomen and Tony's stomach.

"Oh, sweetheart," Tony hummed sympathetically. "You did so well. I'm so proud of you."

Peter snuffled against his neck st that, wiggling his hips a little.

"You want me to make you feel good, sweet boy?" Tony asked, murmured into Peter's ear.

The boy nods, continuing to mouth at Tony's neck. The older man smiles before rolling them, trapping Peter under his much larger body.

Peter's cock rests glistening against his torso, tip barely reaching halfway to his belly button. Tony quickly fists it, stroking him softly as he murmured softly in his ear.

Peter keened and mewled, chest lifting and hips rolling.

He pulls back, settling his hand further down until his fingers press at Peter's hole. The boy lifts his legs, hips rotating and giving Tony more access.

This is where Peter belongs. This is where he thrives.

"Poor thing," Tony mused, beginning to finger the boy open. "You can't help it, huh?"

One finger, then two. Peter whimpers.

"Can't help that you prefer receiving, huh sweetheart," Tony said, voice dripping with honey as he continued prepping the boy; avoiding his prostate.

"Please, please, I need-" his breath hitches, tears welling in his eyes.

"Need daddy to take good care of you, huh, sweet little thing?" Tony continued, reaching for the bottle of lube with his free hand.

"Yes," Peter sobbed, head thrown back as his hips roll against Tony's fingers.

"Alright baby," Tony hummed, removing his fingers and slicking himself up. "Such a good boy for me."

Peter wailed when Tony slipped inside, stretching him wide open. Tony smirked, rolling his hips softly, each time pressing in just a little further than the last.

"Such a good top for me," Tony sang, leaning forward to press kisses along Peter's jaw and neck. "But an even better bottom, hmm."

Peter nodded, breath hiccuping and wet as Tony impaled the boy on his cock.

Only when Tony was fully seated inside Peter did he lean back, looking down at his boy.

He groaned at the sight of his own cock pressing along the skin of Peter's belly, a grossly large overshadow to Peter's cocklet.

Tony watched as he pulled back. Watched the tip of his cock under Peter's skin drag closer to Peter's belly button before he snapped forward.

Peter's little frame moves with the punch of his hips, muscles tightening around Tony at the assault.

"Did you like how warm I felt, wrapped around your little cock?" Tony asked, rolling his hips, watching the bulge in Peter's stomach dance under his skin.

"Thats how you feel, sweet boy," Tony continued, wrapping his hand around Peter's little prick and stroking him in time with Tony's thrusts. "Do you like the feel, Peter? Like your cock stuffed in my ass?"

Peter mewled, back arching.

"L-like your mouth!" Peter sobbed. "Like your mouth better, daddy!"

Tony let out a groan, half in approval and half at the way pleasure slithered down his spine to settle in his balls.

"Such a pillow puppy, aren't you, sweet thing?"

Peter couldn't help but nod frantically, chest heaving as Tony kept the pace brutally even.

"Now we know, don't we?" Tony prompted. "Daddy's always right."

Again, Peter nodded, whining as Tony continued stroking his cocklet.

"Al-always," Peter whimpered.

Tony smirked. "Good boy."

Peter came seconds later, body convulsing through the waves of pleasure, eyes rolling back and mouth hanging open on a long moan that has Tony's balls tighten.

Once he's come down, Tony releases his cock, settling both hands on either side of the boy before pistoning his hips, chasing his own release.

Peter wraps his arms around Tony's neck and the older drops down low, allowing most of his weight to settle against the much smaller boy.

He groans again at the feeling of his cock -so deep in Peter- brushing against his own stomach.

Peter curls his legs around Tony's hips, allowing the older to drive in deeper, desperate little pleas falling into the little space still between them.

Tony cums with a curse wrenching itself from his throat, his hips stuttering to a stop deep inside the boy.

Peter whimpers, gripping onto Tony tightly as he empties himself deep.

Tony settles his mouth along Peter's neck, suckling open mouthed kisses into his skin as he rides the last of his orgasm.

"What a good boy," Tony murmurs. Peter hums as the older slips out with a wet squelch.

He takes the towel to clean the two of them up, then folds it twice and settles it under Peter's rear. The boy usually doesn't go straight to the shower to clean himself, and Tony found it easier to settle the towel down instead of remaking the bed.

He smiles down at the boy, leaning over to kiss at his soft lips before laying down beside him.

"So," he hummed, tracing the soft curve of Peter's stomach. Peter tilted his head up and to the side, peering up at Tony with wide brown eyes.

"How was being on top?"

He can't help but smirk as Peter pulls a face.

"S'not as fun as being on the bottom," he confesses. Tony chuckles and leans forward, pressing a kiss to Peter's pouty lips.

"Told you so."

[bakubub]

Best friend rigs the Secret Santa for Bakugo and yourself to get one another...

A/N: Hullo everybody!! This is part 2 (find part one HERE) of this Pinterest Prompt and part 3 will (hopefully) be the final part. I honestly thought this would be a 800 word fic but now we're barreling towards almost 5k all together whoops lol-

Warnings: Just a few swears here and there, SFW, its literally all Bakusquad shenanigans.

Word count: abt 1.5k, ENJOY <3

"Soooooo~ Who d'ya get for the cringle?" Kaminari asks, leaning back on his chair dangerously to look back at me, sitting on the desk behind him. I raise my eyebrows, since I can't just raise the one, and flick my pen expertly in my hand.

"Mr. Aizawa," I answered seriously. "I'm thinking of getting him another sleeping bag. The musty yellow one isn't really his colour."

Looking genuinely confused, Kaminari looks around to see if anyone else overheard our conversation.

I laugh at him, and kick his chair forward, causing him to shriek as he sits squarely on his butt. I look down to see a folded note on my desk, opening to read it as Mr Aizawa tells us to settle down;

Lover boy was TOTALLY just greasing off Kaminari for making you laugh. I think someone's still jealous from the whole sleeping incident...

Catching Mina's eye, I give her an I don't think so look, which she promptly rolls her eyes at. Its been a whole weekend since the 'sleeping incident', where I had woken up with Kaminari's arms wrapped around my waist and his head nestled on my stomach. Accidentally of course. We, along with Bakugo and Kirishima, had fallen asleep on the couch in the common room, talking late last Friday night.

It really wasn't a big deal... Kaminari apologised several times. I got over it, he got over it, and I don't see why Bakugo, whom Mina just loves to call 'lover boy', would even care.

Plus, I have bigger problems. Like what to get said lover boy for the Christmas Cringle we were supposed to be exchanging this Saturday. He's literally impossible to buy for. Well, I could always just buy him a new pair of shorts or something, but since I've had a crush on him since literally the first day of school, it needs to be perfect.

So far I've thought of a cookbook, an apron, a scarf since he's always wearing the brown one, or maybe even a matching beanie; then again his hair has such personality I don't even know if he CAN put a beanie over those suspiciously natural spikes...

"Hellooooo, come on, Aizawa dismissed us," Mina says, nudging my shoulder.

I snap out of my daze and gather my things, following out of the nearly empty classroom.

"Decided on what to get monsieur Hothead yet?" I sigh, already having predicted this question.

"Nope," I say, popping the p as we walk to the dorm rooms. "I'm thinking of maybe getting-"

"Hey girls, wanna meet at the common room at 6 for a rematch of UNO?" Kaminari asks, coming up from behind us and slinging an arm over my and Mina's shoulders like he always does.

"Yeah sure, we're down." Mina answers, pinching him in the side so he lets us out of his grasp. We duck away, laughing and continuing our banter, before I catch Bakugo's gaze.

"You coming too, Bakugo?" I ask, walking up next to him, ignoring my heart trying to escape its cage.

"Coming where?" He grumbles, still looking disgruntled and angry.

"We're playing UNO around 6 today in the common room. Come on, it'll be fun," I say, trying to persuade him into coming, since he never usually participates.

"HELL NO! I don't have time to waste, especially with you extras," He yells at me. I huff, rolling my eyes and continuing to ignore the feeling of my heart beating in my eyeballs, as I grumble, "you never do," and walk back next to Mina, who was now somehow in a water fight with Kirishima, Kaminari and Sero.

Overall certain that I didn't let my nerves peek through while talking to him, I don't register what's happening as Sero grabs Oijiro's water bottle out of his bag, unscrews the lid, then promptly dumps it over my head.

With Mina, Kirishima, Kaminari and even Bakugo gasping in the background, I wiped the water off my face, before realising my mascara had probably smudged all over my cheeks and glared at Sero, who was slowly backing away.

I practically growl before chasing him, blindly grabbing my own water bottle out of my bag and drenching him, messing up his styled hair which has him shrieking "sorry, I'm so sorry!" and has me cackling in sweet, sweet revenge.

---

"PLUS FOUR?! AGAIN KIRISHIMA! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Mina screeches as she pounds Kirishima's arm from next to him, who is laughing and judging from his reaction, barely feeling her punches. I know from experience, that Mina punches hard. He has to be really tough not to show an inkling of pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just really have to win this one!" He says, shooting a guilty smile Mina's way. Maybe he just doesn't feel pain in general...? I stare at him with suspicion as Mina huffs and she rolls her eyes at him, promptly dropping a four plus for the next person in our circle, who just happened to be me.

"Hey! Not cool, hypocrite." I mutter.

"I had to get my anger out somehow. I'm pretending you're Kirishima. Go on, pick up those cards, you slimy rat," Mina says smugly.

Giving her a confused look at her weird logic, I continued the game, Shoji and Hagakure also having joined in half way.

Just as I'm about to announce UNO, Bakugo stomps through the common room and sits right in between myself and Mina, crossing his legs on the floor and leaning back on his two hands.

"BAKUBRO! YOU CAME!" Kirishima yells excitedly, Kaminari and Sero also whooping and cheering.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up. I finished my work and came to see what you idiots were doing." He says, voice gruff but not screaming for once.

I raise my brows at him, and he scowls and looks the other way, not being able to face me after he so rudely rejected my invitation a few hours ago.

"Oh please, you just couldn't handle the FOMO." I say teasingly, smirking at him without fully turning my face so the others can hear.

Sero stifles a laugh and Kaminari looks confused before the dots connect and he also has his hand clamped around his mouth.

"She has a green 7," is all he says, a sadistic look of satisfaction overtaking his features. It takes a moment for all of us to realise what he just said.

Mina cackles as she changes the colour to red, effectively stopping me from winning the game.

Shooting him a dirty look, I lean over to grab another card, simultaneously elbowing him hard in the shin, which he doesn't even react to.

What is it with these guys and their weirdly high pain tolerance?

Ignoring him now, we continue the game, Kirishima practically slamming his last card on top of the deck. "I WON, I WON, man that was so MANLY," He celebrates as I see Mina rolling her eyes and silently fuming. I begin to shuffle and hand out the cards deliberately skipping Bakugo, which doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"Oi, where are my cards?" He asks, annoyance evident in his tone as Kirishima continues to gloat in the background about how manly his win was and Kaminari complaining about how he never "gets the good cards." When I don't respond, Bakugo steals my cards from in front of me, leaning forward to play with the others.

Snarling, I grab my cards out of his hand, causing him to snarl back, until we're fighting for the 7 cards.

"What are you guys doing, there's a whole ass deck here, you know," Sero says, eyebrows raised and nudging Kirishima.

"These. Ones. Are. MINE." I gasp out, my knee coming around to jab him in his side as his hand pushes me down from my sternum. Oxygen knocked out of my lungs, I gasped for air as I tried to hold the cards out of his reach, my hero training kicking in as I snake my other arm around the back of his neck to hold him in an upside down headlock. Trying to push his forehead onto the ground, I give the cards to Mina, who laughs and takes them, after taking a photo of us.

Having apparently heard the camera click, Bakugo (after struggling a great deal might I smugly add) gets out of my head lock and zones in on Mina. "Delete that photo, Racoon Eyes," He snarls.

"Not in a million years. Awww, look Bakugo are you blushing?" She says, pointing at her phone.

Eyes widening and red creeping up his neck, Bakugo snatches the phone out of her hand and deletes the photo, before getting up and leaving.

"C'mon Bakubro, she's just joking," Kirishima says, following him out.

"Yeah man, you didn't even play a game yet," Sero adds.

"I HAVE STUFF TO DO!" He screams, seemingly going back to his old self.

"Didn't you just say that you finished your homework?" Kaminari asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

"SHUT IT, CHARGEBOLT! I DON'T NEED TO EXPLAIN MYSELF TO YOU," he says a tad too harshly, turning slightly to glare at him with bulging eyeballs. Kaminari closes his mouth and shuffles his cards, trying not to set him off again.

"Bakugo-" I start, but when he doesn't turn, I find myself letting him leave.

Staring dejectedly at Mina, she gives me a giddy smile and grabs my phone, going onto her messages and smirking as she shows me the photo he just deleted.

"I sent it to you as soon as I took it. Thank me later," she says, winking, as she gets up to leave, dragging Sero and Kaminari with her.

I look down at the slightly blurry photo, seeing me handing Mina the UNO cards under Bakugo with a desperate expression. He has his hand pressed down on my sternum, straddling my waist and looking down at me, with an unmistakable smile gracing his features. Unless that's just a new way of scowling.

The phone dims and all of a sudden I'm confronted with my own expression on the darkened screen.

A lovesick fool.

That's all I can see.

A/N: Ngl pretty proud of that ending. JUst in case I'm not as slick as I think I am, she meant herself and Bakugo, hehe <3

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

Find part 3 HERE