#whistling-jackhammer

[homestuck-music-tournament]

Whistling Jackhammer

Album: Homestuck Vol. 9 Composer: Robert J! Lake Leitmotifs: None Characters: N/A

[youronlydarlin]

drooling, begging, scratching at your door for more loser simon content

warning: ooc Simon cus he's a loser here, cum brained Si, you're kinda a slut in this one sorry, readers gender not specified, overstimulation, sub–ish but also kinda not really Si??

Loser! Simon who was actually supposed to be a one night stand only. Hell, if it weren't for your wandering eyes catching sight of him half chubbed up in his pants you would've never agreed. You don't just go around accepting any lay that comes your way. It pays to be a careful slut, yeah? But he's eager, too eager. Back straightening at all the sudden attention he's getting from pretty lil you. And you are pretty. So pretty in fact, that Johnny caught him eyeing you from across the bar. The man playfully nudging him in the elbow, followed by a wink and a whistle. "Go get 'em, LT.." at this point Loser! Simon knew he was caught. so what was the point of hiding it any longer...?

Loser! Simon who told himself that this was only gonna lead to rejection. That he'd just end up drinking whatever he bought for this incredibly attractive stranger. Color him surprised when you actually laughed at his jokes. sneakily raking your eyes up and down his frame like a predator toying with prey. At some point you've started massaging his thigh and Simon internally beats himself up for not thinking ahead of this. You're voice is so fucking hot though, that's for sure.

He's cute, yeah. The way he acts as if you're the one asking for sex is endearing but overall pretty boring. Kicking it up a notch, you do a risky move. Unsure if it's too much and he ends up deciding to forfeit and blue ball himself tonight. Leaning in close, you whisper something filthy in his ear. Surprised at just how quickly the bulge in his pants started to grow, what caught you off guard is how he's holding on so tightly to your waist now. Cheeky. Since when did he wrap his arms around you?

And that brings us to now.

You, bent over some grimy concrete wall at the back of this shoddy ass bar. Seems he was to impatient to get to a motel or something because he's jackhammering into you without a care in the world. Or a thought at that. It's like his hips move on their own, cock spearing you so impossibly deep that you feel him bulge through your stomach. The skin stretching, struggling to keep him all in.

Loser! Simon doesn't know what he's doing with his hands, he knows he should stabilize your position so he wraps his arms around your middle. Keeping you pressed up against him and the sensation is dizzying, the way it feels like he's consumed you body and soul. He has you trapped and overstimulated without meaning too. All he knows is that you're nearly screaming with pleasure, writhin' n squirmin' all cute. Mouth hanged open and tongue lolling out. He wants to kiss you. Wants your hot mouth on his. So he presses himself a little closer, hitting a little deeper than necessary and all of a sudden his plan to steal a quick kiss like a little shit has you reeling back ang cumming your brains out. You make a mess im return, hole getting tighter and tighter until you're milking Si all of he's worth. "Shit. Shit, shit– cumming. Sorry, m' cumming, cum– Fuckk." He reaches his peak and what feels like euphoria. Flooding your hole with hot, sticky cum. And you find yourself being tipped over the edge a second time.

Loser! Simon who just pants about you, you groan at the creeping feeling of soreness in your body and Si thinks you might be feeling uncomfortable. Pulling his now soft cock out of your used hole. The breeze hitting your sensitive spots make you hiss, followed by a whimper as you feel the evidence of tonights rendezvous flow out and trickle down your thighs. Not a another second passes by before you feel the comfortable weight of a jacket being wrapped over your form. He helps you up on shaky legs and offers to take you back to his place. Looking for a round 2?

a/n: this is shitty but m' horny so eh, m' so sorry that this took so long anon 😭 trying to clear out my inbox y'all. Double upload yeyy, this was still kinda bad, still trying to get back in the zone

Yours, truly,

–Dolly

[mawofthemagnetar]

TFC’s Completely Normal Afternoon Where Nothing Goes Wrong And Nobody Dies Horribly

(shoutout to @lindentree for inspiring this silly fic!)

TFC sat in his little bachelor pad, coffee in hand, watching the steam rise out of his mug. 

It was a nice mug, all things considered. A gift from the other Hermits. A handmade blue thing, turned on a potter’s wheel, with an extra-large handle to give his old hands a break sometimes. Full of coffee from his ancient coffee machine, that gurgled and growled like a jackhammer being waterboarded.

TFC took a sip, and winced. Okay, so maybe it was time to leave the mine and get more coffee. He’d re-used the grounds for the fourth time, and now it was really starting to get properly bitter. 

He drummed his fingers on his glass-top table, listening to the echo against the cold stone walls of his little antechamber. Maybe he’d decorate the walls at some point soon. 

TFC shrugged, and opened his comm. Hopefully one of the other Hermits had some coffee beans. He wiped the stone dust off his screen, and held down the three buttons to switch it on. Yes, he kept his comm strapped to his arm like almost every other player with some semblance of sense. No, he refused to let the damn thing be awake for any longer than it needed to be. The Hermits were chatty folks, and when TFC was deep in his mines and deep in thought, the last thing he needed interrupting his musings was a million buzzing noises as Cleo and Jevin got into a slapfight in the general chat. 

TFC’s personal logo flashed across the screen (the three letters of his name in red, natch) and he took another slurp of his bitter coffee, wrinkling his nose. The comm beeped, and TFC opened the group chat and tapped out a quick message. 

<Tinfoilchef> anyone got any more coffee? I’m clean out. 

He put his comm down, and took another swig. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

TFC frowned. He was a patient man by nature. The same could not be said of the other Hermits, who were usually falling over themselves to help each other out. 

And he hadn’t gotten a reply yet. 

It had been a whole ninety seconds.

TFC scrolled up in chat, and he sighed, rubbing his face. He sank back in his chair in annoyance. 

Of course. 

He tabbed upwards, watching things spiral out of control… in reverse. 

<Renthedog was blanched to death> 

<Renthedog> THE PAIN! THE PAIN IS INDESCRIBABLE

<Vintagebeef was portaged to death> 

<Vintagebeef> RUN! THE BOATS! THE BOATS ARE COMING!

TFC rubbed his temples with his free hand, sighing in exasperation. ‘

“Guys, I dug up five stacks of diamonds, don’t make me do this…I don’t want to re-dig those tunnels…” TFC groaned. 

And of course the nonsense kept coming as he scrolled farther and farther back. Gee, that last message from Ren was about four hours ago, now...

<Iskall85 became part of the weft> 

<Iskall85> HELP GOD THE LOOM’S GROWN LEGS

“Does anyone on this server besides me even know HOW to weave?!” TFC growled, averting his gaze from his pile of unfinished weaving in the corner of the room. It didn’t exist. He couldn’t see it. His WIP’s couldn’t hurt him.

And on and on it went.

<Xisumavoid was hooked to death>

<Grian was torqued to death>

<Tango was unraveled to death> 

<Zombiecleo was racqueted to death>

“Right, I’ve seen enough.” TFC sighed, “On the bright side, at least I’ll have all the coffee I had a week ago, so there’s that…” 

He carefully tabbed through his various screens and menus until he arrived at the one bit of his comm that was set aside for admin functions. Now, TFC wasn’t a server admin. That much was true. But he had slight admin privileges, for one thing and one thing only: server rollbacks. 

While, say, Hypno would have had an extensive wall of options, showing his permissions and all sorts of bells and whistles, TFC’s admin console had a text box to input a date and a big red “GO” button. 

He looked mournfully at his ender chest, and, with a sigh, keyed in a date one week prior. 

And TFC jabbed his thumb on the big red button. 

The world flashed white, utterly blinding him, and a second later TFC was deep in the branch mine in a half-finished tunnel, the same spot he’d been exactly a week prior. 

Unfortunately, he was still in a comfortable sitting position, resting all his weight on a chair that suddenly wasn’t there, so he immediately toppled to the ground, landing on his ass in an undignified heap. 

“Ow.” TFC muttered, sitting up slowly and tapping through his messages. 

<Xisuma> oh, we rolled back. Is everyone alright!?

<Tango> Mumbo you are BANNED FROM TIME TRAVEL

<MumboJumbo> It wasn’t me this time! I mean it was. But blame Zedaph! 

<Zedaph> ME?! No! Blame Cub! Cub gave me the doodad! 

TFC rolled his eyes and typed out a message. 

<Tinfoilchef> Does anyone have any fresh coffee beans?

Silence. 

No messages. No new complaining. As all the hermits re-read TFC’s words and soaked them in. 

Finally, Cleo broke the silence. 

<Zombiecleo> TFC. How many times did you re-use your last filter of grounds. 

<TinfoilChef> eh, six? Seven?

<Zombiecleo> are you telling me we’d all still be in shuttlecock hell if you hadn’t gotten sick of the taste of reused coffee grinds?!

<TinfoilChef> Pretty much, yeah 

<TinfoilChef> anyway 

<TinfoilChef> does anyone have some fresh coffee? 

[bratphilia]

DADS BEST FRIEND WILLIAM AFTON SPITTING IN MY MOUTH SLAPPING ME DEGRADING ME HE’S SO BIG N TALL N MEAN SO MEAN SO FUCKING MEAN OHHHHH LAWDDDDDDDD HAVE MERCY 🫣😩😩😩 I HAVE TO SEE THIS LIVE LAUGH MATTHEW LILLARD (i love ur afton writings btw they make me feel 😩😩💕💕)

cw ; spitting, slapping, degrading, gagging, fingering, rough sex WILLIAM AFTON who's far from treating you well when the two of you fuck. dad's best friend or not; you're getting a mean fucking pounding. "open your fucking mouth," he snarls at you, body overpowering yours with ease as he grinds on top of you. you do what he says, drunk off the air already and he hasn't even taken your clothes off yet, and part your lips. he grabs you by your cheeks, forcing your mouth to stay open, as a slow string of spit travels into your mouth. you can only respond with a hum as he releases the lower half of your face and you swallow his saliva. he flashes you a satisfactory smile and leans down to guide your mouth in a sloppy kiss. he's rock solid against you, grinding with true promise into your thigh, avoiding the place where you need him the most.

for context, your dad is out in the garage fixing william's car. something wrong with the engine, he had said, but you weren't paying enough attention. you pretended to busy yourself with william's youngest daughter before he pulled you aside. a small whistle to grab your attention and a slight cock of his head in the direction of his bedroom told you what was going on. fixing his own car is something you're almost positive he can do himself, but that can wait. it's been, what? two weeks since the two of you last had another one of your trysts? he needs this, and he knows for a fact that you do too. anyways, back to the way his deft fingers lifted up your skirt. the one you wore for the purpose of easy access, slipping into it after the offer of going over to his house stood from your dad. his fingers don't slip in and out delicately; they jackhammer inside of you. pumping aggressively, so hard that the way his palm brushes against your clit he pumps upwards is delicious. it creates a pooling sensation in your stomach that grows hotter with each thrust of his fingers, and fuck, you're close—

but if you think you're coming from just his fingers, you're sorely mistaken. he coos an "aww, poor baby," at the way you cry when he slowly removes them, making you feel every ridge and indent of his fingers as the slide out of you. he stands to his full, huge height, and begins to unzip his pants, slides them down, and frees his cock from his boxers. he slides himself forward so his dick sits at your clothed entrance — he didn't bother to remove your underwear. "tell me how much you need it, baby," he tells you. "tell me how much you need your daddy's friend inside of you." you really wish he wouldn't talk about shit like that but he is the ultimate pervert, after all. stupidly, you roll your eyes. you regret doing so the moment you did, eyes widening at the flash of anger that washes over him.

SLAP!

he smacks you across the face. all too quickly, his dick is inside you, but he gives you no time to adjust. even the little time you spent apart in the grand scheme of things didn't make you feel like you could take his cock without him sliding in gently. tears prick at your eyes and he cages you with arms on both sides of your head, fucking you roughly into his bed. "this'll teach you to disrespect me, you ungrateful fucking bitch," he growls, leaning forward so that your faces are centimeters apart. his hips smack into yours causing the bed to rustle, and you to grasp onto him. you uses the hands enclosed around you to pin both of your hands to the mattress as he slams into you. he suddenly pulls out indecisively to flip you onto your stomach, landing a rough slap on your ass. when you try to lean up to look back at him, he buries a hand in your hair and smooshes your face into the bedding. you're really in for it now.

[charlizekkelly]

dark descent ; billy hargrove

Paring: fem! reader x Billy Hargrove (Stranger Things)

TW’s: Drugs (drugging), kidnapping, minor stalking, mentions of death/ taking lives.

Word count: 1516

Author’s note: I like my Yandere men…so Billy is on the darker side plus who wouldn’t want this man to be obsessed with you? This hasn't been proofread so, deal with it! (interact to be tagged in future parts)

Pt. One | Two | Three

He was supposed to kill her. At least, that’s what he told her – that he was supposed to feed her to the beast that lurked in Hawkins – but he couldn’t. So instead, he’d made a deal with the beast – one life for five others – and snatched her from the light. Nothing but a silenced scream and the low rumble of an accelerating engine left to echo across the night, because who was he to give her up?

The light to his dark descent.

Bitumen stones skittered across the lamp-lit street as the toe of her Converses sent them tumbling and she adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, unbound tresses and emerald-green shirt shifting in the night’s breeze, jeans littered with glitter from the preschoolers she’d spent her afternoon babysitting twinkling in the light. And because luck was on her side, the McGill residence was on the opposite side of town to where she lived along its outskirts, a stretch of forest and gravelled road separating her household from the rest.

She found peace in the silence of the night as her gaze flitted to the rustling leaf litter and lingered on a dark shape situated beside her driveway, brows furrowing with her confusion, bitumen giving way to gravel. Her instincts bellowed at her to turn around – to head back to the safety of Hawkins’ suburbs – but, instead of heeding its silent command, she paused in the centre of the road, booted feet crunching beneath her as she pivoted in a slow circle, corralling around her senses whilst she surveyed the shadowed tree line.

“Hello?” she murmured unsurely, mentally cursing herself a moment later when the foolishness of her actions caught up to her.

Could you be any more of an idiot? She thought, shaking her head before she started forward and an eerie whistle ghosted the night, drawing her gaze to a shadow distorting a tree trunk. Pinpricks trailed across her arms beneath the fabric of her long-sleeved shirt as the sensation of being watched embedded itself in her bloodstream, impossible to ignore when a sharp snap to her left lurched her attention to the awaiting darkness, heart jackhammering in her chest before she whirled to the shadow beside the tree, only to find it gone.

Breathing in a fortifying breath, she hurriedly started for her driveway, clutching the strap of her bag as her heart raced beneath her sternum to a rhythm she wished to slip from, refusing to acknowledge the fear oozing into her bloodstream. Dammit Eddie, she thought as her mind drifted to the brunette boy from her science lab. Why did he have to talk about monsters from his latest campaign?

A startled scream tumbled from her lips when a familiar blond with shoulder-length curls stepped into the light of a flickering lamppost. “Billy?” she blurted, eyeing him with a frown carved across her brow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Needed some fresh air,” Billy said, shrugging his leather-clad shoulders like it wasn’t strange to lurk in the darkness, a cigarette perched between his fingers.

“...Because smoking will give you that?” she quipped, arching her eyebrows with a fissure of bemusement as she gestured to his cigarette.

He huffed a husky laugh as he shook his head, dropping the cigarette to the floor and snuffing it beneath his boot. “Honestly? I was waiting for you.”

 Confusion trickled through her veins and settled in the centre of her chest as she appraised him for a long moment, silver necklace peeking from his maroon-red t-shirt glinting in the moonlight, his sapphire-blue irises impossibly dark in the night’s thrall. Billy cut a striking image in the darkness, one that sent a bolt of awareness down her spine and reminded her of the attraction she felt – chose to ignore – toward Hawkins’ resident ‘bad boy’.

But, despite the attraction she felt for him, it was strange — foreign — for him to seek her out. He was the bad boy; the new ‘king’ of Hawkins High and she was the girl who favoured silence; a nobody content in a world full of people longing to be someone. So, why now did he choose to wait for her? What prompted his change of heart?

“Why are you here?” she murmured, surveying him with a fissure of carefully masked unease.

“I needed to see you,” he said, taking a step in her direction that she mirrored with two back.

“Why?” she said, glancing over her shoulder like she’d find a savour in the darkness, heart racing beneath her sternum.

Billy’s eyes dropped to the gravel road as he toed the ground with his boot, husky voice drifting across the night, stare returning to hers. “Did you know there’s a beast in Hawkins?”

Her tongue darted out to wet the flesh of her bottom lip as a nervous breath stuttered from her chest, grip tightened on her bag, palms claming with sweat. “They’re stories,” she said, a tremble to her voice.

“Are they?” he prompted, cocking his head eerily to the side as something she couldn’t place careened through his eyes.

“The Hellfire Club might have started that rumour to ruffle the jocks’ feathers, but the Mind Flayer…thing isn’t real. The Flayed were something they tacked on to scare the freshmen,” she said, recalling Eddie and Dustin’s smug pride when they’d told her about it.

“The Mind Flayer is very real, sweetheart,” he crooned, a sinful smirk dappling his features.

“It’s not,” she objected, shaking her head as if it would dissuade his words.

Billy held her gaze for a long moment as the moonlight dappled his face and highlighted his features in a way she found enthralling like a sailor lured to the unforgiving reefs by the forlorn song of a siren, misleading her budding fear for a few seconds. Terror cleaved a wicked path through her chest as she forced herself to refocus and he stalked closer, hand darting out to wrap around her bicep, staunching her retreat with uncanny ease.

“It wanted you dead,” he murmured, stooping down to hold her gaze with an off-putting lilt to his tone, opposing hand lifting to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “But I couldn’t kill you. You’re so…different–a light in the Flayer’s darkness so, I struck a deal with it.”

“What did you do, Billy?” she muttered, a chill creeping into her bones despite the fragment of her being that preened beneath his attention.

“I offered it something.”

“What did you offer it?” she said, gritting the words through her teeth as she pulled against his grasp.

A grin brimming with malignant satisfaction crawled across his face as his scent of leather and mahogany filled her lungs, a lightness she’d never seen trickling into his eyes like the warmth of sunlight melting the winter’s snow. His calloused thumb stroked the flesh of her chest as tenderly as someone treated the finest jewel, sapphire irises alight with depraved adoration – for her – that couldn’t be extinguished. 

“Five lives to spare yours,” he said, not a trace of regret in his tone as he peered down at her.

“Billy–” she started, panicking as his hand dropped from her face to search for something in his jacket’s pocket.

“Shh,” he murmured, the brush of fabric ghosting her fingers. “I couldn’t let you die, my sweet girl.”

“Please–” 

“You’re mine. My light,” he cajoled, a soft smile bathed with reassurance quirking his lips.

“I need to go–” she tried, pulling against his grip.

A flash of white darted across her vision before her heart lurched in her chest and Billy’s hand swiftly moved, blanketing her senses with a sweet-smelling odour. Dread prickled across her chest as she struggled against his grasp and his hand released her bicep, his arm banding around her waist, her palms pressing against his abdomen, a sickening sensation swirling in her stomach.

Dizziness swelled across her mind as she squirmed in Billy’s hold and gravity turned its back on her, limbs moving in a disorientated tangent, heart racing in her chest. Her breaths came short and choppy, wedging the wrongness she felt to the forefront of her mind until it was impossible to ignore. Blinking did little to dislodge the unsteadiness she felt, hands gripping the leather of Billy’s jacket to hold herself up instead of trying to push him away.

Through the jumble of her mind and rioting senses, she peered up at him with glazed eyes, brow creased with her confusion. “What…did you d-do to me?” she murmured, her words muffled by the cloth.

“What had to be done,” he said, holding her gaze for a long moment.

Her eyelids fluttered as her grasp tightened on his jacket and she swayed on her feet, head feeling heavy before he removed the cloth and fluidly hoisted her into his arms; one hooked beneath her knees, the other remaining around her waist. Gravel stones crunched distortedly in her eardrums, coming and going as she groggily blinked up at him, barely registering the stars above or the gentle breeze kissing her skin.

“It’s just a story, Billy,” she breathed, willing him to believe her feeble whisper as she fought to keep her eyes open – to fight the bout of unconsciousness begging to wrench her into its embrace.

His blue eyes gazed down at her with a softness she couldn’t escape, lips twisted in an almost smile as the husky tone of his voice wrapped around her senses moments before the darkness of sleep claimed her. “And yet, it brought you to me. The light to my dark descent.”

[nanamis-bigtie]

Bas, I love your writing so much!!!! Im kind of embarrassed to say I have notifs turned on for your posts. I've never requested one, and I know you're probably inundated, but if you are interested, would you do nanami and 44 for the kiss prompt ask? I think it's tentative kisses in the dark?

Latecomers

Character: Nanami Kento Reader: gender neutral (ambiguous body and presentation, no gendered pronouns) CW: reader is wearing glasses, alcohol (both reader and Nanami were drunk prior to events of fic) Word count: 1560 Prompt: Tentative kisses given in the dark. A/N: After a horribly long break, I am finally pecking at the very old kiss drabbles request. If you're still here, Anon, I'm sorry for the unplanned long wait. I hope you will enjoy this little Nanami treat as much as I enjoyed writing it 🤭 jjk masterlist // ao3 version

The atmosphere was so dense it could be cut with a knife, and the unsettling environment was just a rather minor cause to blame. With nothing but cold hatred he felt towards the wannabe-suburban train stations, Nanami would still take its whole gamut of nuisances, if only he could face it alone. 

In contrast to the cold and alien station hall, your presence wasn't unpleasant or unwelcome—but the two of you wanted to be somewhere else so badly it was almost written on your faces. What a misfortune, not only you had been assigned a mission in the same area, but also both of you had missed the last train back to Tokyo, ending up stuck all alone for a few hours to come. 

Seated in an appropriate yet painfully close distance, Nanami was staring at the departure board, stubborn, motionless, as if a wrongly paced blink would delay the next train for an extra hour. Hands crossed in his lap, he fiddled with thumbs and fought against the urge to whistle or hum, anything to tune that deaf silence down. You both had attempted to lead a conversation, and both had failed miserably. Words possibly couldn't glue together, and your eyes kept wandering everywhere but each other's paths, what an unbearable pain in the ass. 

Nanami had at least the barrier of his glasses providing him succor, but what he could hide from you, had just been drilling him from inside instead. Whenever his glance grazed over you, the memory of the tangy taste of your lips, pressed against his and followed suit by a brush of your warm, wet tongue, hit him like a jackhammer. Even the dim, industrial lightning around had nearly the same taint as that izakaya you had gathered in to celebrate another week of life. A cheap bar, cheap cigarettes filling the air, cheap sake burning your throats—and hasty kisses exchanged through the stolen minute of solitude, awkwardly, leaving strain in his knees as he had leaned over the short table to reach you. 

Truly a spur of a moment, caving to his repressed yearning, a decision a drunk fool had made with consequences sober he had to face.

"Express train to—" Timeworn speakers barked into tar-like silence and the both of you jerked up and bumped your elbows. Nanami mumbled an apology, barely audible amidst the recording still echoing through the hall, and forced himself to look at you, as sincerity demanded. 

You were hunched-up in your seat, hands rubbing your tight-crossed arms, literally an inch from trembling, no mantle or even a scarf whatsoever. He had noticed you had been dressed a bit too light for a night to spend on railway station, of course he had, but the thought had been pushed at the back of his head as he had squared himself up for a different kind of battle. 

Now shame was burning his ears brighter than embarrassment. He had been sitting there all cozy while you suffered right by his side, within an arm reach.

"Do I look that bad?" You snorted, tad forced, as you eyed him struggling with his jacket. "I'm not freezing, don't—"

"I have a pullover." Nanami, dry as ever, threw himself over your words, and pushed a just stripped mantle into your lap. 

You opened your mouth, ready to battle for your point, but immediately shut it under the weight of his gaze sneaking over his glasses. 

Nanami immediately averted eyes but couldn't cover his ears from you as you, prolonging it awkwardly, cleared your throat, "Hey, lemme at least repay?"

An even dryer response was forcing its way to his lips. Nanami didn't need anything from you, desperately didn't want anything from you, but he couldn't quite bring himself, despite everything, to push you away, "I could use some coffee."

Not until you had got busy with the vending machine at the other side of the hall Nanami let himself take a deeper breath. The low thudding of his pulse drowned all the other sounds: his heart was racing so much he feared it might break free out of his chest and chase after you. He expected as much, the sight of your figure hunched under his jacket could be only powerful beyond imagination, so close and dear, and burning his eyes as you returned closer, with two paper cups in your hands.

"You look quite pale yourself," you tease, unconvincingly with the way your throat squeezed around words. "You sure you don't want your jacket back?"

Wary of the risk of your hands meeting, Nanami took his coffee and muttered a dry thank you. You hunched up again in your seats, the expected express train stopped with a screech somewhere behind your backs, but no one followed the arrival nor the departure. 

The hall remained empty and tense.

Coffee from the vending machine tasted horrible but it was warm and helped keeping lips busy. Nanami sipped on his half-heartedly, focused on easing pulse and breath, against his thoughts racing towards the memories he would gladly already forget. 

What now? What were you going to do with all of this? Should you act as if nothing ever happened? How can you ever act as if nothing ever happened? 

"Nanami—" Your voice caught him off-guard, with a cup right by his lips. His hands budged, some coffee spilled down his chin and dripped on his pullover.

"Ah shit, I'm sorry!" You sprung to your feet as if it indeed was your fault, fumbling with pockets of an unfamiliar jacket, finally seizing a handkerchief out of one. He tried to wipe himself with just a bare hand—but with a surprising resolve you pushed it out the way and dealt with the mess yourself.

"I'm alright," he tried to answer the unspoken question, couldn't bring himself to. The gentle but determined touch of yours left him paralyzed, enchanted, from toes to lips, itching at the faint memory of the kiss you had shared. 

The lamp over your heads flickered and your hand dabbed closer, from his chest to his throat, then his chin. Nanami's breath hitched, audibly, tickled at the tips of your fingers gently drying the last droplets of long-forgotten tasteless coffee. The sensation was familiar, was wrong, so inappropriate, so shameless in its simplicity.

You shouldn't do that to him. 

And he couldn't hold himself any longer.

Through the thin layer of handkerchief Nanami kissed your fingers, from tips to knuckles, and nuzzled his face into your palm. Begging internally for you to slap or punch him, he wandered towards your wrist, breathed the sweet scent of yours he had learnt by heart the day he held you close for the first and only time. He felt your pulse racing under your skin, swallowed its rhythm like starved, latched on this little vibration with his eyes closed, awaiting the inevitable doom and punishment.

The lamp flickered, power whined in cables and died, leaving the both of you in darkness right as your lips finally met again. 

At first you bumped into each other awkwardly, glasses against glasses—the obstacle you tore out of your way almost simultaneously. In contrast to your first kiss, you moved carefully, barely brushing your lips, constantly asking, and never quite answering, and sharing breath in between chaotic breaks.

The unpleasant, chemical taste of coffee seemed to work against you—but as the even worse taste of sake hadn't stopped you back then, you quickly ignored it this time too. Nanami sipped it from you as if your mouth was filled with rose water, gladly swallowing your tongue finally pressing against his. Not until then he had dared to touch you, to pull you closer by the skirts of his own jacket, one hand cradling the back of your head. You snuck fingers into his hair; your nose brushed cute against his as you tilted head to the side, finally losing yourself into the sensation and pulling him into it with you.

The light flickered again, the hum of electronics returned, but you remained linked, catching up on days lost for the awkward dance of adults too skittish to be adult—until sharp fire in lungs forced Nanami to pull away.

With a thin string of saliva still connecting the two of you, you were heavily panting a mere inch away from his face. He felt your moist breath against his skin and already starved to steal it again—but, fighting against himself, he brought the same coffee-stained handkerchief to your lips and dabbed them dry. 

You exhaled through your nose, amused, and repeated his gesture from earlier, peppering his fingers with soft kisses.

"It tasted…horrible," Nanami broke the silence first after you recollected yourselves, words faster than the second thought. "The coffee, I mean."

"The kiss too," you admitted and tossed your cup into the nearest trash can, somehow not spoiling the remaining coffee. "How can they sell this crap to people?"

"I feel I owe you a proper one." Faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Nanami dared to scoot closer. You nuzzled towards him too, sharing the much-needed warmth eagerly now. "Once we're back to Tokyo, I'm taking you to a good place."

"It's a date?" The warmth in your voice, the timbre he loved so much, returned, no remaining trace of embarrassment left.

"It's a date. With breakfast."

[superblysubpar]

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I Want It, Can't Have It

personaltrainer!steve x personaltrainer!fem!reader

summary: Your co-worker Steve and you refuse to admit defeat in a game of who will give into their suppressed feelings for the other first. | my blog and this fic are 18+ Only, NSFW

6,354 words

the song: Move by Saint Motel

warnings: use of too many "petnames" | talk of jealousy & comparison with other women | a woman showing too much skin in the 80s?! Good heavens! | SMUT (unprotected piv - creampie / ass slapping / teasing - asking to cum / public - locked bathroom door but people def know)

The smell of chlorine and lemon disinfectant, flickering fluorescents overhead and the record breaking ton of body spray wafting down the hall are making the tiny men with jackhammers inside your head work overtime today. 

Hearing him before you see him, you shake out a second pain reliever - taking preventive measures for the headache that was only about to be made worse.  

Whistling a top forty track, blazer’s squeaking against the tile of the hall - because he refuses to pick up his feet when he’s around you, and the thwip of a towel smacking a coworker’s ass as they banter all fall to your ears as he rounds the corner. 

Steve fucking Harrington. 

Unsure why, the two of you quickly agreed on one thing and one thing only upon your very first introduction: you positively hated each other and would do everything in your power to make sure the other never forgot.  

Eyes trained on the staff clipboard you’re filling out for taking medicine from the first aid kit, you choose to ignore him as he grows closer. Pen scratching against the paper, your senses try to focus on writing out your full name instead of how good he smells. A hard thing to not notice when it’s compared to the hazardous waste for sweat from the teenage boys you’d been forced to endure for the better part of the last hour. 

Of course, he can’t help himself and has to ruin the one thing that brings you semi enjoyment when in his presence, clearing his throat and nodding once, without even looking at you, “Jane Fonda.”

The use of one of the nicknames he refuses to let up with has your teeth grinding as you clench your jaw, “Bite me, Harrington.”

Steve spins, toned and tanned arms folded on the desk above you as he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head, hazel eyes peering down at you with contempt, “Oh good, glad to see you’re in a swell mood as always.”

Shoving the clipboard back into its slot, you push back in the rolling chair, relishing in his clenched jaw when the wheel squeaks a little too loud - two can play at the causing a headache game. An exaggerated pout forming on your lips as you force a bubbly and higher tone, “Oh. I’m so sorry. Let me go curl my hair, pop on a bright pink lip, and add an extra little perky bounce to my step so you can ogle my ass in bright blue spandex.”

“Could ya?” Steve’s lips shift up into a lopsided smirk at you.

Huffing out a breath and crossing your arms, you can’t even get another jab in before his twelve o’clock bounces through the door. To neither of your surprise, she’s dressed exactly as you had just described - blonde hair piled high in a ponytail on the top of her head just like Barbie and just like you knew it would be. Watching Steve train her for the past several weeks has been nauseating to say the least. Her leg stretched up and over his shoulder, their smirks and less than subtle flirting, and her slaps and squeezes of his biceps in an eye twitch inducing sort of way. 

“Hi Steve,” her voice sugar and spice and everything you’re not as she blows a bright pink bubble with her gum. You’re surprised Steve doesn’t pop it for her as he leans in close enough, one elbow still on the desk.

“Well, don’t you look cute today,” his voice deeper and full of a charm that’s very lacking from the way he talks to you. 

Twelve o’clock Barbie beams and he gestures down the hallway, hand on her lower back as she brushes past him. Steve lets her trail ahead, tilting his head with a sigh as he watches her ass jiggle in all the right ways. 

Scoffing at him, you chuck a rolled towel directly at the side of his head and hiss, “You’re such a fucking pervert!”

Steve spins backwards, clutching his chest and groaning through a wide grin, “I love it when you talk dirty to me babe.”

Eyes narrowing at him as he high fives one of your coworkers as he turns back around, arm wrapping over the shoulders of Barbie. Her bright and bubbly laugh trails all the way down the hall back to you, “So, did you catch the game last night?”

Steve hums, “I don’t think so…which teams were playing?”

“Oh…uh…the Cubs?”

Rolling your eyes with a snort at her question of a response. 

Baseball. 

It’s fucking February. 

Randy, your co-worker, snickers and then looks at Dylan who rounded the corner as well, shaking his head, “Five bucks he pretends he did watch the game and does her in the locker room?”

Dylan laughs, sticking out his hand for a deal, “Ten if he gets her to tell him details of the nonexistent game too.”

The boys look at you laughing and don’t even try to hide their conversation or amusement with Steve the manwhore Harrington. You’re just one of the guys here, and something about this fact that’s never bothered you before, this interaction you’ve had many times already, is burning your blood a little more than you’d care to admit. 

Their words about her perfect hair, the curve of her ass in the spandex, and the low cut of the leotard are only flashing spotlights to your exact opposite features you can see in the reflection of the glass windows. Dull and sweat matted hair shoved under a baseball hat, dark and muted tones of your joggers and sweatshirt - which now has a stain on it from lunch. Curves don’t exist, your footwear is sensible, and your skin doesn’t have that perky glisten or glow - it’s sweaty and flushed in all the wrong ways. 

Yanking your whistle down from the hook, you push past the boys. You could care less about 12 o’clock Barbie and you’re happy with your life. Confident you don’t need someone like Steve Harrington in it to make you feel fulfilled because you are independent and have a clear and level head atop your shoulders. A man staring at your ass isn’t what you want, you want to be appreciated for your brains, personality, your interests - screw pretending to like baseball to get a guy to sleep with you. You want the one who knows you like it and genuinely wants to talk to you about it, baggy sweatshirt and all. 

But when you hear a giggle and see Steve and 12 o’clock Barbie sneaking into the bathroom your stomach somersaults and something in you snaps, shouting down the hall, “Harrington! Nobody’s paying you to sleep with clients!”

Steve freezes, his strained muscles and vein in his neck visible even at a distance and his face reddens. He’s pissed.

But he turns with a bright and forced smile as Barbie dips into the locker room with an inflamed face as well. Steve walks down the hall towards you, arms crossed and head tilted, “What the hell is your problem?”

You have a lot of problems. Number one being you don’t understand what possessed you to do that, but you can’t tell him that, obviously. Queen of thinking on your feet though, you cross your arms and cock your head, “Wouldn’t want you to lose your job for not being able to keep your dick in your pants is all, buddy.”

He scoffs loudly, stepping closer to you until your back hits the wall, “Really? I would’ve thought you were the first person wanting me out on my ass, Mary Lou.”

Rolling your eyes at the new nickname, you try to side step and get out of there but his hand pushes to the brick over your shoulder, caging you in. 

Steve towers over you, faces close together and he smirks as you squirm under his insistent gaze. Steve leans closer, “Oh, I get it,” he whispers, nose almost touching yours. He’s close enough for you to see his lashes, the gold flecks in his eyes, and the freckles that dot his nose. His breath mint and charm fanning across your cheeks as he continues, “You’re jealous.”

“As. Fucking. If,” you hiss at him, nose bumping his just barely as you lean forward and narrow your eyes. 

Steve and your shallow breaths mix and amplify in your ears, everything else muffled like it’s underwater. Fingers clenched into fists at your sides, Steve’s tongue dips out to lick his bottom lip. Yours part involuntarily, his eyes glint, the mossy color deepening to a mix of dangerous forest and stormy sea and god fucking dammit, you sigh. 

Someone, somewhere in the universe, slaps you in the face in the form of Barbie dipping out of the locker room and pulling both of your attention in a blur of turquoise. Steve’s arm drops and he steps back, a smile on his face again as he turns to her, “Hey babe, ready?”

He leaves with her and it isn’t until you see them disappear around the corner and you count to five that your muscles start to unfurl, fingers uncurling from where they had been pressing crescent moons into your palms. 

Your head falls back against the brick, “Shit.” 

Snapping the palette closed, you stare at the contents littering the counter of your bathroom, untypical for a weekday. 

No. You will not wear eyeshadow to your job at a gym. 

With time to reflect on what happened with Steve on Friday, you’d only stewed and steamed more about Barbie. Steve calling you jealous? Of what? Her perfect hair and skin and body and that she was the one who got his eyes to linger?

Please. 

Steve just loves that you’re not drooling and falling over yourself for him - a challenge, a toy he can’t have. You’ve worked with him and the boys long enough and they’re all the same. They love having a pretty thing wrapped around their arm, a token to remind them they’re a winner, because it’s all just a game. They live for the rush of the chase and the high of someone screaming their name like a stadium full of fans. And you know without a doubt, Steve calling you jealous and the incident on Friday was his tip of the ball to his side of the court. He wants you to beg for it. And you’re not going to do that, because you know that it’s actually Steve who wants you. 

Smirking, you pull out an outfit you’ve yet to wear to work, a little giddy from the plan that’s slowly formulating. Steve isn’t the only one who knows a thing or two about playing games, and it’s time to show him who he’s up against. 

As typical with Steve, he shows up after you to work that day. He’s always balancing a gym bag on his shoulder, jacket slung across only one arm like he couldn’t bother to finish putting it on, hair in disarray (spending the first half hour of his shift fixing it in the bathroom) and a bagel hanging between his lips, dropping sesame seeds across the floor. 

Normally, Steve won’t even blink twice in your direction upon arrival. If he does, it’s only because you’ve gotten in his way, demanded he pick up the bagel crumbs, or you’ve done something else in the minute you’ve been in each other’s presence to annoy one another. Enough for him to remove the bagel and actually banter with you verbally instead of a grunt. 

Today though, his blazers squeak to a sharp stop and much to your delight, the bagel falls out of his mouth and hits the floor, egg sliding out and splatting and echoing in the quiet entryway. 

Grabbing your whistle and heading towards the gym for the morning meeting, you brush past him, looking over your shoulder as you call, “You better clean that up!”

A smirk still sits on your lips as you enter the gym and the conversation of all of the boys stops. Rolling your eyes at their lack of subtlety in analyzing your new look, you take your normal seat and start peeling a banana. Clearing your throat loudly, before small conversations pick up again. 

“You look nice today,” Dylan, who’s sitting next to you mumbles. He picks at a loose thread of his joggers, eyes flitting up to yours and back down to his pants. 

Really, your outfit is not that crazy. It’s still in your color palette of cooler tones, you’re not even wearing spandex for crying out loud. A little bit of midriff showing has these boys blushing more than they ever have around you, and it’s hard to hide your amusement at how easily your plan is being implemented without barely lifting a finger. 

Humming, you blink up at him innocently, “Thank you Dylan.”

He coughs into his fist, “Ye-yeah. Did you…did you do something different with your hair?”

Tilting your head at him, you time your laugh perfectly to Steve walking in, “No, nothing different with my hair…”

Dylan watches you, eyes eager on your mouth as you lift the banana up to your lips. Slowly taking a bite, you keep eye contact with him. Fluttering your eyelashes and humming around the fruit, his mouth falls open a little and it takes everything in you not to snort. Especially when a hand makes contact with the back of Dylan’s head and Steve’s bored tone falls directly behind you, “Are you twelve?”

Dylan’s cheeks turn pink and he turns sharply to the front of the room and you nudge his knee with yours, reassuring him it’s okay, before turning to face forward too. A small smile sitting on his lips and you relish in Steve’s sigh behind you. 

Unfortunately, Steve seems to realize what you’re doing far sooner than you anticipated. 

As your boss begins the meeting, hot breath fans across your neck, his voice low and barely audible even with his lips just brushing your ear, “Nice try.”

Your body betrays you and a chill runs down your spine, causing a shiver despite the embarrassed and irritated heat trying to reach every corner of your skin. You know if you turn around you’ll be face to face with a smug look and crossed muscular arms, so you don’t put yourself through the misery. 

Steve is better at this, you hate to say it, but it just means you have to think of new ideas for your playbook. 

Your clothes only get tighter and expose more skin each day. You’re playing dirty: leaning over him to grab a clipboard so your chest brushes against his arm, bending down to tie your shoe right in front of him, and at one point you tugged on the whistle around Dylan’s neck right in front of him before swaying your hips as you left him standing there shaking his head. But Steve barely broke, a tough competitor with a good defense and even better offense. Steve’s hand found your lower back in passing, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek, and his flirting with Barbie and other clients only got more obvious which you didn’t think was possible. 

A week of going head to head with Steve in these little games all to prove that you weren’t jealous and it was him that wanted you. But, he was still determined it was the other way around, waiting for you to beg, to wave the white flag and just let him win. Today was your final straw, pulling out all of the stops - black spandex biker shorts and a black sports bra with, much as you hated to do it, a face full of makeup and hair styled. 

When you arrive at work on Friday, you have to actively focus on keeping your composure around Steve because it seemed he was taking a final stand in this war as well - black baseball hat, shirtless while playing basketball, his shorts slung low on his hips. 

You hate him. 

Friday’s were slow though, thankfully, and had Steve and you basically switching jobs, you with clients and him in the gym - away from each other for most of the day. Or at least, you should be away from one another for most of the day. 

Filling out a form while leaning against the counter, Steve’s voice draws your attention, “Hey, Muscles.”

A smile twitches on your lips and you look up to see him pulling a gray shirt on as he approaches, eyes lingering on the lines of his stomach, the trail of hair leading to a black elastic band peeking out of his shorts. 

Turning your body towards him, you relish in his own lingering gaze over you as you tilt your head, “Muscles? That’s a new one. And, dare I say, a compliment?”

Steve leans against the counter, squeezing water from his bottle into his mouth, some dribbling out, and you hate that you want to lick the small bead of water directly off of his skin. He shrugs, trying to act nonchalant and turns his hat backwards before facing the counter. Drumming his fingers against it aimlessly, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye and sighs before admitting, “Well, you have been showing them off a bit more this week.”

Rising onto your toes, you drop the pen on the other side of the desk and risk a glance back at him. But he’s too busy staring down at your ass and you whisper, “Seen anything else you’ve liked this week?”

Steve’s eyes dart up to yours quickly, licking his lips as his hands land on top of his hat, his arms flexing as he breathes out a quiet laugh that ends in a groan, “Fuck.”

A smile worthy of a championship victory fills your face and he rolls his eyes. Before either of you can say anything, the voice of your boss hollers your last name loudly across the room.

“Yes sir?” turning to face him, you stand up a little straighter at his tone and quickly forming scowl.

He sighs as he approaches and glances at Steve who attempts to keep himself busy with a clipboard a few steps away. Your boss is nice, stuck in that sort of manly man kind of world and opinions, but nice nonetheless. You do good work and you’ve never had this sort of look opposite of you. He rubs his temples and he sighs, “I need you to find a change of clothes.”

Snorting before you realize he’s serious, he crosses his arms and you match him, your mouth dropping open as you ask, “Are you serious? Why?”

“Listen, just, this is a professional work environment and you’re showing a lot of skin and I need you to-”

Holding your hand up, you interrupt him, “That is absolutely ridiculous. No.”

He groans and grabs a stack of clipboards, “Don’t get upset, please. You’re a good worker and I don’t want to write you up but-”

Your laughter is loud and you throw an arm out to Steve who’s failing to pretend he’s not listening, “So Harrington can basically have his dick in a client, but I can’t show my shoulders and stomach?”

“Enough! Get a sweatshirt. This is your only warning.” He walks away with the clipboards and you’re left seething, kicking the counter with a grunt. 

Forgetting that Steve was even there to witness all of that, you’re reminded when a piece of fabric brushes your shoulder. Eyes snapping to his, you glare at him, yanking it from his outstretched hand and stalking away before he can give you any sort of pity. 

Fingers brushing under your lashes, you refuse to cry about any of it, screw this place, screw your boss and screw Steve. It’s his fault you changed how you looked. It’s his fault your boss doesn’t take you seriously now. It’s Steve’s fault that you let a “victory” over something so stupid and juvenile cloud you from your work and your values. You changed your clothes, your appearance, and your attitude, and for what? To prove Steve likes a different version of you? Does it even feel good knowing you got his attention?

Pulling the sweatshirt on, you hate that you recognize that it’s his from the smell filling your senses. Hands shove themselves inside the pockets and they brush against a piece of paper. A folded sheet from a notebook with your initial on the front, you pull it open to see ‘Meet me. Bathroom. -Steve’.

Scoffing, you shove it back in the pocket and storm off towards the staff bathroom. He’s so full of himself, probably expecting to swoop in and comfort you and still score. You slam the door open and he jumps, grabbing at his chest before resting his hands on his knees.

“Jesus Christ, could kill a guy with an entrance like that.”

Closing the door and leaning against it, you cross your arms and hiss, “What do you want, Harrington?”

He stands and mirrors your stance, leaning against the sink as he shrugs, “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine. Thanks for the sweatshirt. Anything else?” you don’t make any movements to leave despite your better judgements.

He leans his hands back on the counter, smirking, “Well, I couldn’t help but overhear you’ve been thinking about my dick.”

Pushing yourself off of the door, you snort, “Seriously? Do you really think I still want to sleep with you?”

Steve’s smirk widens, lips upturned slightly higher on one side in a signature lopsided grin, “Still?”

Your hand points at him, stopping any sort of thoughts from running away, “No. Listen. Steve, you only started to give me the time of day when I dressed differently, when I acted like those other girls and I hate to break it to you, but I am and never will be like Barbie.”

Steve takes a step closer, toes of your shoes touching and he reaches for your wrist, thumb brushing over the skin tenderly in a way you never expected from him as he shakes his head, “You’re crazy if you think I wasn’t staring at your ass before this week, Florence.”

Heart thrumming at his admission, you tilt your head at the new name, “Florence?”

Steve’s fingers brush up your forearm, gliding under his sweatshirt, “Griffith-Joyner? Flo-Jo?”

Breath hitching, you’re starting to wonder if he’s looking up these women on purpose. Thoughts of Steve researching or deciding new names to call you outside of work sends electric jolts straight to your heart. He can’t know, and you can’t let him think you’re falling for any of this and you start to pull away. His fingers are on your shoulder now and he sighs. From how his eyes are peering directly into your soul, you know he already knows that you’re hooked - line and sinker. 

He pulls you closer, fingers on the back of your neck, the other hand reaching up to cradle your jaw and his nose nudges yours, “Say you want this.”

Your hands work on their own accord, pushing up his chest to around his neck, head craning to arch back, rising on your toes slightly as your lips catch his barely as you breathe out, “You first.”

His hand on your neck squeezes lightly, laughing a little into your parted lips, “Fuck, you’re so stubborn.”

Steps falling backwards, your shoes are being kicked off your feet, “Wh-what time is it?”

Steve blinks at you, barely pulling away, his body pressing you against the door now, “What?”

Your hands find his hips, fingers dipping under the elastic waistband, “I have a 2 o’clock appointment.”

Steve breathes out, bottom lip catching your top one, “Shit, yeah, I’ll be…I’ll be fast.”

Laughing, your hands push at his shorts, “Is that supposed to impress me Harring-”

“Fuck, just shut up,” he commands, mouth swallowing the end of your sentence in a kiss. 

Steve’s thumb brushes against your jaw as your mouths move with each other’s quickly, like that first sip of water after hours of sweating. Steve kisses you like it’s the first and the last, somehow tender and forceful, fingers tangling in your hair while his tongue pushes against yours. 

Pants shed quickly, his other hand rubs against the front of your already wet underwear and he moans into your lips. Breaking away, you finish pulling his boxers down and bite your lip as the swollen red tip of his length twitches under your touch. 

Steve’s fingers tug your underwear aside, finger running up and down through your slick in a way that makes your legs buckle. His breath is shallow against your skin, foreheads touching but you can still see his smirk, “Think you can handle it, pretty girl?”

Fingers wrapping around his length, you roll your eyes and ignore the way the ‘pretty girl’ makes your stomach flutter alive with a swarm of butterflies, “Please, it’s not that big.”

Steve laughs, a little too loudly, and your other hand slaps over his mouth. His eyes sparkle above you, gold flecks that seem like your own little personal spotlights, lighting you up in a way you didn’t dare dream of. 

You are fucked. 

But he can’t know that, he can’t win. Because despite the way his fingers dipping into your entrance suddenly has you gasping and your eyes rolling, the way your thumb swipes over his leaking tip has the same effect on him. It’s an even playing field and you’re determined to make him sweat a little more. 

Your hands move around his neck, pulling his mouth to yours, “You have five minutes to prove me wrong, Harrington, think you can handle the pressure?”

Steve’s hands find your hips and lift you, your legs wrapping around his waist like you’ve done it hundreds of times before and he looks down at them with raised eyebrows, “Have you done this before?”

“Four minutes and forty eight seconds Steven,” you catch his bottom lip and he moans. 

His fingers hold your underwear aside as he rolls his hips, coating his dick in your slick with a few swipes through you, tip catching your clit before sliding back down and pushing into you forcefully and without warning. He catches your scream and gasps with his mouth, nodding against you as he slowly continues to push into you. Your fingers grip the back of his head, causing his hat to fall off, as your head smacks into the door behind you, back arching away from it. Steve’s hands on your hips hold you steady, fingers digging into the plush skin of your ass as they caress down and cup it. 

Once he’s fully inside of you, and your breathing seems to slow again, he pulls his mouth away just enough to whisper, “Knew ya could handle it.”

“Four…fuck…minutes” his hips roll against yours and a moan echos across the tiles and the distinct sound of a click of the lock as his hand reaches below you. 

Your body heats with embarrassment, you hadn’t even thought about locking the door and Steve knows it. Your fingers tug at the back of his head in an effort to gain control again, yanking it a little too forcefully and he growls as you hiss, “Gonna move or not?”

Steve’s hands move back to your hips after giving your ass a harsher squeeze, pulling out of you slowly, “Are you ever not bossy?”

Before you can reply he’s pushing back into you, smirking at the way your mouth falls open and no sound leaving it as he hits the deep spot inside of you quickly. He continues his slow pulls and forceful pushes, the muscles of his shoulder tensing, able to feel each twitch and move under your hands through his shirt. His fingertips bruise your hips, dragging your slick walls back and forth across his length at an agonizing pace. Your legs locked around his waist, you glance down to where your bodies connect, the sight of your slick coating the rough patch of hair at his base making your walls clench around him tighter. Steve’s breath hits your neck, squeezing your hips even harder as he gasps out against your temple. 

Smirking at his weakening defenses, you hide your own insatiable desire, teasing, “Harder, Steve.”

The boy whimpers, nose pressing into the sweat slick skin of your neck as his hips pick up their pace. The sounds of your shallow breaths mix with the sharp slapping of your skin, and he groans, “Fuck-I can’t…I can’t-”

“Come on, Steve, this is the best you can do? I thought you do this all the ti-”

He’s had it with your teasing finally it seems, and he pulls out of you harshly, arm wrapping around your waist to spin you before yanking you back against his chest. 

Wet lips brush your jaw from behind, arm squeezing in a warning around your stomach, “Tell me what to do again. See what happens.”

Biting the inside of your lip, you don’t trust your voice to not give away the tidal wave of arousal that’s threatening to crack the dams you have in place. A breath out through your nose before you whisper, “Don’t be mean.”

He laughs against your neck, lips dragging down and awaking a sea of goosebumps to rise across your skin. He speaks into the sweat kissed dip of your shoulder, “So, she dishes it out, but can’t take it?”

Before you can even respond, Steve’s pushing your back, chest falling to the counter in front of you as his hands find your hips. His voice is stronger, deeper, rougher as he commands, “Open.”

Your head falls forward, eyes squeezing shut at his tone, thighs sticky and pushed together tightly from the arousal that’s reached its breaking point with barely any touching and a simple word.  

The swollen and wet tip of his cock presses into your ass as he squeezes your hips, “Baby, don’t make me say it again.”

Every time he’s called you a name other than an athlete has you seeing stars already, wanting to keep playing the game to see how many more you can collect. Pressing yourself against him, you arch your back as you pout, “A please would be nice.”

His hand connects with your ass, a sharp smack that echoes and stings as he mocks, “Please?”

Legs falling open easily, he slides himself through your slick, dragging and coating his tip in your arousal even more, you know you’ve lost, because he’s the one with the power now. His hand pushes between your shoulder blades, the other gripping the dough of a cheek, slapping it again as his tip bumps your swollen nerves with a precision you know is one hundred percent on purpose and stupidly accurate. 

Without warning again, Steve pushes into your entrance, a cry stopped by the press of your teeth into your bottom lip as your fingers grasp for purchase on the flat surface beneath you. 

Steve’s agonizing pace from earlier is gone, slamming his body against yours in a brutal and bruising speed. Your hands start to push against the counter and Steve’s hand drags down your spine, pushing on your lower back gently in contrast to his forceful command, “Don’t move.”

Walls tightening around his cock at his tone, the sounds of him pulling and pushing into your dripping center mix with the quiet bump of your knees hitting the cabinet in front of you rhythmically.   

His fingers not on your back knead into the plush skin of your ass after smacking it lighter than before, but still hard enough for you to tighten around him again. He moans, huffing a long breath out of his nose, “Fuck, like being told what to do, huh?”

Hips never stopping their harsh thrusts, your breath sticks in your chest as you keep your moans stifled, threatening to bubble up and past your lips as he smacks the same spot again, the sting coating your lashes in wetness as he whispers, “I asked you a question babe.”

It’s a breath, and if you couldn’t see yourself in the mirror in front of you, you may not have even realized you admitted it, “Yes.”

Steve’s fingers trail from their soothing kneading against the red skin, to your hip, brushing down your thigh and back up. His hips roll and he picks up his pace, humming out a content sigh at your admission. His eyes lock on yours in the mirror and he smirks, “So good for me, being such a - shit,” his eyes close as you push your ass back against him, slipping him in deeper than before, fingers dragging on the cool counter. He grunts through the rest of his sentence, “You’re so mean to me, but this is what you wanted all along, yeah?”

Moaning at his question, your eyes squeeze closed, the coil inside of your stomach pulled tight, body vibrating and chasing that breaking point until you have to release. He leans forward, brushing his lips against your shoulder, hands back to your hips as he hits that deep spot inside of you repeatedly with bruising accuracy. Steve smiles against your skin, “You act all disgusted by me too, and turns out,” his lips and nose glide across your muscles, warm breath fanning across your skin and his fingers brush back up to your hips as his mouth opens more against you, trailing to your neck. His breath shoots the tightening in your stomach into overdrive and a whine falls from your parting lips as his fingers adjust on your hips, whispering, “You’re just as much of a slut as I am.”

Eyes fluttering and breath hitching at his comment, your back arches up again, but not far enough before he presses his weight against you. Pushing himself faster and to a spot that feels like you can feel him rearranging your guts and you both moan loudly, his breath hitting your neck in a way that has your fingers searching for purchase beneath them, whining louder and your knees aching to collapse. 

Steve gasps harshly, sucking in a deep breath he can’t quite finish, the sound directly in your ear and before another moan can break past your lips, his hand is coming up to press over your mouth. Your eyes rolling back as he whispers against the shell of your ear, “Be good baby. Wouldn’t want anyone to get fired for not keeping their dick in their pants, right?”

Nodding your head as he slowly lets his hand go. Your sighs quiet until his other hand wraps around your waist, pressing the pads of his fingertips into your swollen button. You jolt at the stimulation he had yet to reward you with, knees losing their battle and buckling, Steve holds you up, grunting as you cry out quietly, “St-steve.”

Somehow quickening his pace, his thumbs circular motions match perfectly to the rhythm of his hips, “Quiet, come on, babe, thought you were good at following instructions.”

Whimpering as he thrusts into you harder, your body fully collapsing against the counter, cheek pressed to the cool of the stone underneath it. Steve’s swirls to your swollen nerves are the breaking point, the added weight that breaks you from pushing it any further, unable to do another rep and your lashes wet, “Steve, I’m gonna - fuck, I-”

He can feel you tightening around him, his own hips stuttering but the game isn’t over yet. His mouth drags down your neck and another shiver runs through you as he smirks into your shoulder, “A please would be nice.”

And with your own sentence thrown back at you, he’s won.

Eyes opening, you see his own watching your body swallow everything he gives it eagerly. Standing back up fully, his cheeks flushed pink, hair sweeping across his forehead. His fingers dig into your hips as his bottom lip pulls between his teeth. His head falls backwards, breath huffed out of his nose. 

“Please.”

Unsure if he says it again or it’s you, both of you collapse into the feeling of releasing. His thumb continues its circling as his hips stutter un-rhythmically. Both of you gasping out for breath as your walls milk his release and your body relaxes into its own. Muscles unfurling, fingers flattening to the counter, back arching as his hand caresses down your spine in buzzing tenderness. Meeting gazes in the mirror again, his chest heaves in time with yours and your rolling eyes are met with a widening grin on his face. 

A loud knock comes from the door and you both jump, your hand slapping over your mouth as Dylan’s voice calls your name through the closed door, "You in there? Mr. Conners has been out in the lobby for ten minutes!”

Steve leans forward, grabbing your hand from across your mouth. He presses it down, covering it on the counter with his large one. His other squeezes your hip as he stays buried inside of you. He nips at your neck and you squeak out, “Uh-I, I’m not feeling well, can someone else do it?”

A huff on the outside of the door and Steve’s mouth starts sucking a bruise into the skin below your ear and you smirk, calling out more confidently, “I bet Steve could! He’s not doing anything today!”

Steve pinches your waist and you yelp, walls tightening around him and he moans loudly at the feeling, still sensitive from his release. Reaching up awkwardly from your still bent position, you flick the side of his head. 

A louder sigh from the other side of the door and a groan, “Man, fuck you Harrington. I know you’re in there with her!”

Steve and your laughter is hard to keep quiet as Dylan kicks the door, his voice trailing off as he walks away, “You just can’t let anyone else win can you? You two deserve each other.”

originally a part of @newlips milestone of love event 💛 thank you for hosting Cece!

[octuscle]

hey, I think I need some help. I was put in charge of my friend’s bachelor party, but I really didn’t have much time to get things together, so I went online and found a company that offered to plan everything. Had us go with this “mountain cabin” theme. The rep from the company mentioned he needed to talk to my buddy alone and we haven’t seen him since. One of the other guys went to go look for him too and we haven’t seen him in a bit either. Reason I’m asking for your help is because this cabin resort is filled with all these lumberjack types- they all look and sound the same. Plus I just saw them put up a sign about a construction project. Not sure what’s going on, but I’m worried

Buddy, just take a look at it. I would not form an opinion from the pictures on the Internet. However, you already form an opinion on the way to the lodge. In fact, there seem to be quite a few major infrastructure projects going on in the area. Looks like a dam project. In any case, the lodge is not idyllic. The road is churned up by large construction machines. When you arrive at the lodge, your car is splattered with mud. The air is filled with a concert of axes, machine saws and jackhammers. Definitely not the place you want to celebrate a bachelor party.

To your surprise, your friend comes running up to you. So… You assume that it is your friend. The facial features are at least similar. But he doesn't wear glasses. And also otherwise rather little. He shows a lot of skin. And many muscles. Fuck, last week you were just sitting on the couch, shoveling junk food into you and watching hours of Netflix. The fellow hugging you now looks like he feeds on bears he kills with his bare hands.

Bruh, good to see you, he says. Where's everyone else? The party is already in full swing. He and his new friends would have so much fun here already. He whistles impressively loud on his fingers. And your friend Christopher comes running. He also hugs you and almost crushes you. And he looks like a brother if not like his twin brother of the groom. At best, you can recognize him by details of his facial features. Crazy. Absolutely crazy!

Your friend asks Christopher to show you around a bit. He would like to do it himself. But the rocks don't blow themselves up. Christopher and he laugh out loud at the lame joke. And you wonder if your loafers will survive a walk in this muddy landscape. Christopher takes you to the cafeteria first. This is where the party will take place, he says. You look around and try not to look horrified. Bare white tables, long benches, glaring neon light. The only decoration is the hot fellows who are taking a break here. Fuck, do these lumberjacks and construction workers turn you on? Christopher puts a tray with two cups of coffee and some donuts on the table. The donuts are especially for you. Specialty of the chef. The filling is delicious! Well, you first take a sip of the coffee. It is indeed not bad. Strong and hot. Plus a bite of the sugar glazed donut. Fuck, what kind of filling is that? Slimy, white… The taste a bit like… Musk? You suppress the reflex to gag or spit. You rinse with a sip of coffee. Damn, maybe the filling is tasty after all. Christopher looks at you silently, grinning. On the third donut, you suck out the filling. You could get addicted to this stuff.

Fuck, Christopher is still sitting across from you, grinning. Wide-legged. The bulge in his shorts is indecently big. You can hardly take your eyes off it. He stands up and says that he will show you the washrooms next. And then how the donut filling is made.

Hehehe, you guessed it. Christopher makes an excellent filling for the donuts. You wonder if your friend can do it as well. Christopher asks if you would like to see your bunk now. You answer if the number in the washroom wasn't enough for him. He grins and moves forward, you follow and have trouble keeping up with his pace. Fuck, he is really incredibly fit. And his boots are of course simply better suited for the mud than your now completely dirty loafers. Shortly before the barracks, in which your bed stands, you slip in the mud. Christopher helps you up and tells you to get undressed on the verander. The two men who are taking a break there and jerking off don't look as if you should be embarrassed.

Christopher leads you into a wash lock and sprays you with a water hose. He throws you a towel. Your cock is hard as a rock. Christopher gets on his knees in front of you. And for the first time in your life a man gives you a blowjob. And with the load that you cum, two donuts could easily be filled.

Your bunk is simple and cozy. In the bed can easily have two or three men good hard sex. In your closet hang three sets of your work clothes. If you need more, there's a supply closet next to the shower rooms. You're all the same size anyway. Christopher gives you your duty roster. Tomorrow you are scheduled to chop down trees early. And as much as he'd like to spend the night with you, he has to go back to pouring concrete at the dam. It doesn't matter, you are tired anyway and fall naked into your bed.

05:00 in the morning. You don't need an alarm clock, you are a nature boy. Even behind the curtains you know when it's time to get up. A caravan sets out from the barracks in the direction of the cafeteria. If you work hard, you should have a good breakfast. Today you are assigned to the milking for the doughnut production. Some new workers are expected in the afternoon. They are to be welcomed.

And after that, it's finally time to get out into the fresh air and get to work. You love the camp. Lots of hard work for real men. And food, drink and sex. Just like an eternal bachelor party!

A picture of one of the lumberjacks found at @trefoilwombat

[dutchwinter]

[train passing by] [glass shattering] [people screaming] [sound of rushing waves] [tornado roars] [my leeeggg.mp3] [cat call whistle] [foghorn] [storm siren] [awooga.mp3] [bomb drop] [machine gun firing] [jackhammer] [tires screeching] [woman crying] [car crash] [oh lord.mp3] [air horn]

[conarcoin]

Giggeli - Penis Candles & Soaps Handmade in Kallio, Helsinki, Finland

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+800 Nicknames for Penis: A Comprehensive List for Different Ways to Call a Penis

+800 Nicknames for Penis: A Comprehensive List for Different Ways to Call a Penis

GIGGELI

Dicks can be referred to in a variety of ways. A collection of more than 800 additional words for the penis in alphabetical order is provided in this article. This list includes both common slang terminology and more uncommon and obscure words that are all related to the penis.

+800 Different Words for Penis: A Comprehensive List

Anaconda

Antenna

Appendage

Armadillo

Arrow

Baby maker

Baguette

Bald Avenger

Bald-headed giggle stick

Bally Wacker

Banana

Banger

Baseball bat

Baton

Bayonet

Beast

Beef bayonet

Beef whistle

Bellend

Big boy

Big guy

Biscuit

Bishop

Black mamba

Blastocyst

Blood sausage

Blue-veined custard chucker

Blue-veined junket pumper

Boaby

Bobbin

Bollocks

Bologna pony

Bolt

Bone

Boner

Booboo

Boom stick

Boot

Bopper

Botswana beef bayonet

Bouncer

Bouncing Betty

Braciole

Brain

Branch

Bratwurst

Broccoli

Broccoli spear

Brown trout

Brownie

Brutus and the Twins

Bubble

Bubble gum machine

Buckaroo

Buckwheat

Buddah's belly button

Buffalo soldier

Bulge

Bull

Bull's-eye

Bully beef

Bully stick

Bum tickler

Bumper

Burrito

Buster

Butt dart

Butterbean

Button

Caber

Cabeza

Cactus

Cadbury's c

Cajones

Camel toe

Cane

Cannoli

Captain winky

Capuchin

Carrot

Cervix sentinel

Chameleon

Champignon

Cheese log

Cheesestick

Chef's special

Cherub

Chicken

Chico stick

Choad

Chode

Chopper

Chowder

Christmas goose

Chub

Chubby

Chuck Dickens

Cigar

Cinnamon roll

Clam

Classic

Clit stick

Cloak

Clock

Club

Cobra

Cock

Cod

Colossus

Commander

Cone

Conga

Conquistador

Consolation prize

Cookie

Corkscrew

Corn dog

Cornholio

Cornish game hen

Corporal

Cossack

Cougar bait

Coxcomb

Crank

Crankshaft

Creamer

Crimper

Crimson mushroom

Crinkle-cut

Crown jewels

Crunchwrap

Crème de la crème

Cucumber

Cummerbund

Custard launcher

Cylinder

D's

Dagger

Dallas Dangler

Danger noodle

Darth Vader

Deep sea diver

Dick

Dickas Hilton

Ding dong

Ding-dong

Dingaling

Dipstick

Disco stick

Dismount

Divining rod

DJ

Dog

Doggy

Dolly

Dong

Donkey

Doorknob

Dope stick

Dork

Dormouse

Double barrel

Double dragon

Downstairs department

Drainpipe

Driller

Drumstick

Dude piston

Dumb stick

Dutch courage

Dutch rudder

Excalibur

Firehose

Franks and beans

Gerald

Gherkin

Giggeli

Goldfinger

Groin

Hammer

hammer of love

Hammer of Thor

handle

hard drive

Hard-on

hardware

hatchet wound

he-man

heat-seeking missile

heat-seeking moisture missile

helmet

herbie

Hercules

high hard one

hoo-ha

hoo-hoo

hook

horn

Hose

hose

hot dog

hot rod

hot sausage

Humphrey

hymie

iceberg

Indiana Bones

Jack in the box

Jack's magic beanstalk

Jackhammer

jammy

janitor in the hallway

java

javelin

jawbreaker

Jedi

Jefferson

jelly doughnut

Jenny Craig

Jerry

jiffy stick

Jimmy

Jizz Launcher

John Henry

John Johnson

Johnson

Jorma

Joy-stick

Joystick

joystick

Judge

Juicy fruit

jumbo

Jumper

Junior

Junk

junk

justin

Justus

Kaiser

kebab

Keck

Kennedy

kielbasa

King Ding Dong

King Kong

King Richard

King size

King snake

King's scepter

King's sword

Kipper

Kitty

Knob

Knobgoblin

Knobhead

Knobkerrie

Knobstick

Kraken

Krull the Warrior King

Kulli

Kyrpä

L'Engin

L'Outil

L'Unita

Lady-pleaser

Laidy's lollypop

Lance

Lancer

Lava flow

Leader

Leaky faucet

Leatherman

Lechon

Leek

Leg

Leg of lamb

Leg of mutton

Leggy

Lemon

Lemondrop

Length

Lengthy

Leo

Leosaurus

Leper

Leroy

Leviathan

Libido

Lick

Lickety-split

Lighthouse

Lightning rod

Lil' bro

Lil' willy

Lily

Lima

Limber dick

Limber jimmy

Limbo

Limousine

Limp biscuit

Limp noodle

Limp penis

Limp-dick

Limp-jim

Limpkin

Lincoln

Lindy

Lingam

Link

Linty

Lion

Lipstick

Liquidator

Liquor stick

Lissome

Little birdie

Little bro

Little chap

Little guy

Little head

Little john

Little man

Little peter

Little soldier

Little willy

Lizard

Lizard tongue

Locomotive

Log

Lollipop

Long Dong Silver

Long dong silver

Long fellow

Long john

Long johnson

Long one

Long stick

Longfellow

Longfellow diller

Longhorn

Longie

Longjohn

Longshanks

Longstaff

Magic Mike

Magic stick

Magic Wand

Magic wand

Manhood

Meat Scepter

Meat stick

Member

Micropenis

Mini-me

Missile

Moby Dick

Mojo

Monster

Mount Vesuvius

Mr. Happy

Mr. Winky

Mule

Mushroom

Mushroom Head

Mutton

Myrtle

Nard

Nether rod

One-eye Pete

One-Eyed Monster

One-eyed monster

One-Eyed Snake

One-eyed trouser snake

One-eyed wonder weasel

Organ

Package

Packer

Packing heat

Pecker

Pee-Pee

Pee-pee

Peen

Pencil

Pencil dick

Penile appendage

Penile shaft

Penile tissue

Penile unit

Penile weapon

Penis

Pepperoncini

Peter

Phallos

Phallus

Piece

Pink Oboe

Pintle

Pipe

Pistol

Piston

Pleasure Stick

Plonker

Pocket Rocket

Pogo stick

Poker

Pole

Popcorn

Pork Sword

Prick

Private

Private part

Purple-headed yogurt slinger

Purple-helmeted trouser snake

Purple-Helmeted Warrior of Love

Purple-helmeted warrior of love

Purple-helmeted yogurt thrower

Python

Quiver bone

Ramrod

Ranger

Rascal

Red-capped mushroom

Rod

Root of Jesse

Rude boy

Sausage

Scepter

Schlong

Schwanz

Schwanzstucker

Schwetty balls

Scooby Snack

Screwdriver

Scrod

Scrotum

Sea monster

Secret weapon

Shaft

Shillelagh

Shiv

Shlong

Skin Flute

Skin flute

Skinner

Slingblade

Slug

Slugger

Smacker

Snake

Snapper

Soldier

Spam javelin

Spear

Speed Bump

Speedboat

Spigot

Spigot of love

Spitstick

Spitter

Sponge

Spongebob

Sprout

Spunk gun

Spurt gun

Squirt gun

Staff

Stallion

Stand

Stand up

Starfruit

Stick

Stiffie

Stiffy

Stinger

Stock

Stone

Stone of David

Stonehenge

Stonker

Stopper

Striker

Stud

Stump

Submarine

Sugar stick

Super soaker

Supercock

Surfboard

Swamp lizard

Swansong

Sweetmeat

Swiss Army Penis

Swizzle stick

Sword

Tabasco

Tadger

Tail

Tall tommy

tally

Tallywacker

tallywhacker

Tang

Tank

tapa

Tassle

Tasty pastry

tater

Tazmanian devil

Tea and crumpets

Tea stick

Telescoping tower

Tent peg

Testicle

Testicles

testicular tissue

testiculi

testies

testons

testosterbone

The anaconda

The baton

The big guy

the big vein

the bishop

The blue-veined custard chucker

The chopper

The cone

the conga

The cyclops

The ding dong

The Dipstick

The dong

The driver

The dude piston

the eye of the needle

the family jewels

the flagpole

The flesh flute

The flesh rocket

the fleshy tripod

the fuck stick

the fun rod

The grower

the head

The heat-seeking moisture missile

the hose

The joystick

the King

The knob

the little man in the boat

The love muscle

the magic wand

the main vein

The male member

the man in the boat

The meat whistle

the member

The middle leg

The mighty mite

the old boy

The old man

The one-eyed captain

The one-eyed monster

the one-eyed snake

The one-eyed wonder worm

The package

The peen

The peeper

the pendulum

the peter

The pink cigar

the pink oboe

The pipe

the piston

the pleasure pole

The poker

The pole

the pork sword

the prick

The purple-helmeted warrior

the purple-helmeted warrior of love

The python

The rocket

The rod

The salami

The sausage

The schlong

the scoop

The shaft

The shotgun

The skin flute

The snake

the spitter

the staff of life

the stick

The stiff one

The stinger

the stonker

the sword

The third leg

The tool

The trouser snake

The tube steak

the unit

The wang

the weasel

The wedge

the wee-wee

The weenie

The whopper

The wiener

The wiggle stick

the willy

the wingwang

The womb raider

The wonder worm

The woody

the worm

thingy

Third Leg

Third leg

Thorn

Thrill drill

Throb knob

throbber

Throbbing gristle

Thumper

Thunderbird

Thunderbolt

Thunderstick

Tic Tac

Tickle pickle

Tickler

Tiger

Tiki

Timber

Time machine

Tingler

Tinker

Tinkerbell

tip

Tip drill

Tip of the iceberg

Tipper

Tissue

Titan

Toad

toadstool

todger

Toe

Tool

tooly

tooter

Toothpick

Tootsie roll

Top gun

Torch

Tower

Tower of power

tractor beam

Trafalgar

Treasure

Tree trunk

Tri-pod

Trinket

Trombone

Trouser Snake

Trousersnake

Trumpet

Truncheon

Trunk

Tuba

tube

Tummy banana

Tuna Can

Tuna can

Tuna torpedo

Turgid Trouser Snake

Turgid turtle

turkey

Turkey baster

Turkey neck

Turnip

turtle

Turtleneck

Tusk

twanger

Twig

Twig and Berries

Twig and berries

Twinkie

twinky

Twister

Two ball cane

Two veg and meat

Two-legged Boa

Two-legged tripod

twonker

Umbrella handle

Uncircumcised wonder

Uncle

Uncle Dick

Uncle John

Unit

unmentionables

Uzi

Vainilla

Vainilla Stick

Valiant vein

Veggie

vein

Vein train

Vein train.

Vein-cutter

Vein-erect

Veined custard launcher

VeinMaster 3000

Veiny Victor

Veinzilla

Velvet sword

Vessel

Vienna Sausage

Viking horn

Viking Staff

Vindicator

Vinegar

Violin

Virility

Vixen

Vodka

Volcano

Wally

Wand

wand of light

Wang

wang dang doodle

Wanger

wangle

Wangsta

Wanker

wankie

War club

Warrior

Weapon

Weapon of ass destruction

Weapon of mass destruction

Weapon of Mass Seduction

Wedge

Wee-wee

weenie

weewee

Weiner

wenis

wet noodle

Whacker

Whammer

Whang

Whangdoodle

wheenie

Whip

Whistle

White gold

White Mamba

Whoopie Stick

whopper jr.

widget

Wiener

Wiener Schnitzel

Wiggle stick

wiggle worm

Wiggler

Wiggly

William

Willow

Willpower

Willy

Willy the one-eyed wonder worm

willy wonka

Wing wong

wing-wang

Wingman

Winkie

Winky

Winnebago

Winner

Winston

Winston Churchill

Wintermelon

Wisdom Wand

Wise man

Wishbone

wizard sleeve

Wonder Worm

Wood

Woodpecker

Woody

Worm

Wormhole

wormy

Wrecking ball

Wriggler

Wriggly

Wrinkle

wrinklepump

Wrist Rocket

Wyvern

X-factor

Xylophone

Yad

Yak

Yam

yam

Yam bag

Yams

Yang

Yankee doodle

Yard

Yardstick

Yawing Yowie

Yearling

Yellow

Yellow Belly

Yellow Dart

Yellow dragon

Yellow Peril

Yellow Sausage

Yellow submarine

Yen

Yew

Ygdrasil's staff

Yin-yang serpent

yingyang

Yippie

Yipsicle

Yo-yo

Yob

yobbo

Yoda

Yoga stick

Yoghurt Cannon

Yoghurt gun

Yoghurt pistol

Yogurt

Yogurt hose

Yogurt Slinger

Yogurt slinger

Yogurt thrower

Yolk

Yolkstick

Yolky poke

Yoni

yoni stick

Youth

Yoyo

Yuca

Yule log

Yum yum

Yum-yum

Yummy

Zapper

Zealot

Zebedee

Zebracorn horn

zebu

Zen

Zephyr

Zeppelin

Zesty Italian

Zeus

ziggurat

Zigzag

Zilla

Zinger

Zipper

Zipper Ripper

Zipper snake

Zippy

ziz

Zog

zombie

Zombie maker

Zombie stick

Zonker

Zoom Stick

Zoombini

Zoomer

Zoot stick

Zorro

Zucchini

Zygmunt Freud

Zygote poker

Zygotene

dude?

[practically-an-x-man]

2, 18, 22, and/or 26 for the injury prompts (no pressure)

Oooh alright, let's see what we're working with...

2. “Someone get the medic. Get the medic!” 18. "Stop. No. Wake up. Wake up! I said wake up!" 22. “Shit. Shit, that’s a lot of blood.” 26. "[name]? [name], this isn't funny. Stop... please..."

(Injury prompts)

I'm actually thinking I want to try something for Eris this time around. We'll see how that goes, this is my first time writing a piece for them.

____ Battle Wounds

Word Count: 1.9k Content Warnings: depictions of war/fighting, graphic injuries ____

They said war was Hell.

If so, Hell was a very fun place to be.

Eris tore through the battlefield like a hurricane, all whirling blades and animalistic snarls. He was a force of nature, a force of terror, violence and discord incarnate. He carved his name in the battle lines, slashed through his enemies with a grin on his face, ripped through their formations like a bullet. He wreaked havoc.

She'd never claimed to be a good person. She hardly counted as a person at all.

"You countin', Flag?" she taunting, startling him by kicking off his shoulder and leaping forward to slice down the next adversary in her path. They didn't know which side they were fighting for - only that it was Rick's side.

"You're kind of terrifying, you know that?" he remarked, ducking back as a bullet whizzed past his ear. Eris grimaced. Guns. She hated guns.

"Yeah, cause you've got such a problem with a little blood." they fired back, plucking a throwing knife from their belt and promptly burying it in the heart of the shooter. "I think that one makes ninety-six. What're you up to?"

"You know I don't count. Those are people's lives."

Eris shrugged.

"You'd be on someone else's count if I didn't kill that guy," he pointed out. He opened his hand, and the bloodstained knife whistled back into his hand. It was out of her fingers in another moment, buried in the skull of another soldier. "Or that one."

"Truly the pinnacle of morality." Rick drawled, though he lifted his semi-automatic back up to his shoulder.

"Right, 'cause you're going for only nonlethal shots." Eris fired right back, twirling their spear in a lazy circle, "They'll all get a purple heart and walk away just fine, because that's how war works. We'll all play soccer at Christmastime and send each other gift baskets."

As he spoke, he darted out with his spear and slashed down another adversary.

"Ninety-eight."

"Metahuman!" someone shouted from across the battlefield. Eris winced.

"And thus signals my exit." he said, dropping into a theatrical bow, "Since your frail human body is a lot less resistant to bullets than mine."

"Frail?" Rick echoed, sounding half-amused even as Eris sprinted to put distance between them. Gunfire followed her, the surrounding fighters all finding a unified target as she bobbed and weaved across the uneven earth. She cut down any soldier who stood in her way, then plucked a semi-automatic from a dead man's hands and turned it against the array of shooters behind her.

The gun kicked against their shoulder as they fired. They were sure they'd find bruises from its relentless jackhammering. They hated guns. It pulled all the grace out of war, made things too unpredictable. Survival and victory became less the mark of a skilled fighter and more just a deep stroke of luck. There was far more blood and far less honor in a death like that.

He spent the cartridge and tossed the gun aside, then kept moving. His spear was back in his hand in a heartbeat, and he almost smiled at the comfort of a more familiar weapon. Eris turned, weapon in hand, and prepared to face his next opponent.

Something struck her shoulder hard enough to make her stagger back. Then came another- two, three, six, barreling into their chest and stomach. Eris stumbled, the spear falling from their hands.

Another bullet whizzed past their ear, missing by an inch. Another caught his thigh, making him drop to a knee. It was the sound of fireworks and rainfall, explosions and impact. Her body felt like a live wire, buzzing with adrenaline and pain. It hurt.

That was new.

Fresh gunfire rained down, and bodies dropped around him. Somehow Eris was still upright - mostly, though his entire body was screaming for mercy.

At least his spear granted mercy. It was a quick death. This, being pumped full of lead from these humans and their machines, would be anything but.

"Eris!" There was Rick's voice, and a clatter as he cast his gun aside. Her mind felt slow, sluggish, hardly processing the sight as he ran up to her. His hands fell to their shoulders, those amber eyes of his passing over their body in a cursory, worried glance. He had such pretty eyes...

"Shit. Shit, that's a lot of blood." he muttered, enough to make Eris glance down.

"Blood? My blood?" they echoed, dazedly, "That's not..."

Rick's rough fingers caught his jaw, keeping him from catching a look at the wounds. Strangely, Eris found himself grateful. It felt... bad. He was in pain, and felt strangely hollow, and cold...

In a heartbeat, Rick had scooped her into his arms and was sprinting across the battlefield. At least she wasn't so cold, being wrapped in his arms like this. It was almost nice. If they weren't in so much pain.

"Someone get the medic!" Flag shouted, his voice oddly hoarse. Normally he was so much more composed out on the battlefield. It was part of why she liked him. "Get the medic!"

"I don't need a.... need a medic," Eris mumbled, shifting a little in his arms, "M'a fuckin'... metahuman.... m'fine."

"You're not fine. You need a doctor." he muttered, "Who's frail now, huh?"

"Lemme go, I'll get back out there."

"Not a chance in hell."

"Rick."

He didn't respond- or if he did, it came out muffled and warped. The world was starting to blur around her now, everything going hazy at the edges. At least the pain had eased some. They couldn't feel their wounds- or anything else. Rick's face above her was hidden in a cloud of fog.

And then she was jarred, dropped onto a table, and the pain was back. Eris groaned, wanting to crawl out of his traitorous skin. Pain like this didn't happen to him. He was so careful, so skilled. He'd been shot before, but this was something new entirely.

Something bit into their skin, teeth and claws ripping into their flesh. They might have screamed.

"....sealed over... healing... have to..." Words drifted through the fog of pain. They caught glimpses here and there - a nurse in fatigues, a gleaming scalpel, scarlet and crimson on every surface. Then the pain was back, a leech burrowing in deep.

Then... gentler fingers, rough and callused, tracing down his face and over his collarbone. That was nicer. Easier. Not so bad. A distraction from the knifelike agony tunneling into him.

And then he could feel himself sinking lower. The pain, the soft touch, faded away around him. The fog deepened, welcoming and blanketing him. She wanted... she wanted to sleep...

Sleep was good. Sleep meant... no more of this. No more bullets. No more guns. No more blood or knives or pain. It was only fun when it was his to dish out. This was horrible. He wanted it to end.

"Eris- stop. No. Wake up-" Rick's voice, through the fog. And then- something sharp and bright across his face, enough to make him groan. "Wake up! I said wake up!"

"Fuckin'... slap me?" she muttered, dazed and squinting through the fog.

"You're not leavin' us just yet," His voice, his drawl, that Southern twang. So different from Eris' own voice, an accent preserved for centuries. Rick's voice was so... gentle, but frightened, a strange combination. His fingers were wrapped around Eris' own, his grip tight but the sensation oddly muddled.

"Hate guns." he mumbled, his body tensing as another wash of agony rippled through him. He'd never felt this cloudy before. He wondered for a moment if he was dying. She thought she might've been. It wasn't as frightening as she imagined. She'd been alive so long already.

"Yeah, I'm startin' to hate 'em too." Rick agreed, squeezing their hand as he spoke, "Hang in there, darlin', we're almost done."

"Done with...?"

"Gettin' the bullets out," he answered, his voice trembling but oddly patient with her, "You started healing around 'em. They've got... three left, I think."

She only made sense of about half the words. Pain stole the rest from her. There was only one real thing in all the world, and that was Rick's hand in hers. Everything else had dissolved into smoke.

"Hang on, hon... almost there."

"Almost gone."

"What?" His voice had spiked with panic, bright and hot like fire, and only then did Eris realize what they'd said. Rick's hand tightened around their own. "Eris, hang on- what do you mean by that? Talk to me."

They opened their mouth to respond, but no sound escaped. The cold had returned, the fog settling deep into their bones. Hundreds of years, dozens of wars, and here they were... pulled from the battlefield for the last time.

At least Rick was here. That made things a little easier. He was the one bright spot, the one flicker of sunlight through the clouds.

"What did you mean by that? Eris?" His voice again, rough with pain and fear, "Eris, this isn't funny."

No, it wasn't funny. But it was nice enough. He couldn't feel the pain anymore, the knives and needles digging into his abdomen. He couldn't hear the sounds of the battlefield, the beeps and groans of the infirmary. Her heart began to stutter and slow, taking the chill and ache with it. The last thing was Rick's voice, all fuzz and warmth, and that was... that was a good way to go out. She was past due.

"Eris, stop... Please..."

That much shook her from the fog. Rick Flag did not plead. He didn't have that... that wavery, crying sound to his voice. Rick was strong, he was sturdy, he was reliable. He was steady, an anchor in the chaos. He didn't get rattled like this.

Were things really so serious?

It made her pause.

Just a little.

Just enough.

"Got a heartbeat!" A woman's voice. They didn't recognize it. "You're lucky they're so regenerative, or they'd have been gone by now."

"There you go, darlin', come on," There was Rick, a little less panicked. His rough fingers stroked their cheek, the touch a blazing fire against her frigid skin. Her other hand was gripped tight in his. They could feel it. Real. Tangible. Alive.

The pain in his chest had dulled to a fuzzy ache, tingling as his skin began to knit itself back together. Eris blinked, watching the world come back into clarity before him. He turned his head and found Rick's worried face, streaked with blood and dirt.

"Told'ja, Flag, m'a fucking metahuman." Eris croaked, smiling through cracked lips, "Don't look so scared."

"I hate you." he muttered- though his grip on her hand never softened.

"You don't. Couldn't if you tried."

"Watch me. You keep pulling stunts like this, and I'll..."

"You'll what, cowboy?" he taunted, that smile widening to a grin. He was feeling a little stronger now - not quite enough to sit up, but at least the fog had lifted from his mind. He caught a few glances at the nurses and found them all wearing the same interesting expression: relief and confusion in equal measure.

"Well, I..." Rick trailed off, shaking his head with a low sigh. He squeezed Eris' hand, clasping it tight between both of his own. "I don't know. But don't do that again."

[feral-ffa]

Me: This BHM has really impressive content. I should leave a nice ask complementing him.

My brain: Aroooo bark bark growl *wolf whistle* boioioioing pant pant awooooga *jackhammer sound effect* 😍🥵😍🥵 sit on my face

Me: well, perhaps another time.

[homestuckmusicbracket]

Another Jungle - Whistling Jackhammer

[fearxtoxfreedom]

@xsoullessxsurvivorsx

ARROGANCE ━ Madison Montgomery reeked of it. A sickening stench that seeped into designer clothes, permeating every room the young slut strut into. She would be lying if she said she DIDN'T RESPECT the girl for it. None of the other worthless bitches in this coven held a candle to her. It was her daughter's fault. Cordelia was teaching them to suppress their powers. To hide in the shadows. To be ashamed of their heritage. But, Madison REFUSED to do so. She was a proud & confident & beautiful woman that reminded her of a young Fiona Goode. Which was precisely why she'd believed her to be the next Supreme in line. INCREDULOUS SCOFF & a hard roll of dark eyes in her skull as she tapped her pack of cigarettes against the countertop, before opening it, pinching one between fingertips & placing it in her mouth. Cancer-stick bobbing with each word that passed lips. (was it any surprise she wasn't the pinnacle of perfect health at age sixty-four?)

"Oh you'd like that, WOULDN'T YOU?" A deep, raspy chuckle as she took a drag off her cigarette, smoke whistling through nostrils. "Sorry ta break your carpet-munchin' heart, but the only one I think about when I'm rubbing one off is a young David Cassidy... I met him once, you know? The two of us had quite the wild night. Occasionally Elvis slips in for a round. Sometimes BOTH at the same time." Eyes widened as she emphasized the words. Though, she got the feeling Madison had accomplished her goal. 'Cause you could bet your bottom dollar, that the next time her hand slithered between those creamy thighs, the little bitch would pop into it AT LEAST ONCE. "Don't let that stop you from enjoying your little schoolgirl fantasies. God knows that jackhammering dog can't please you."

[alivingsaint]

Teen Jason and Will watching porn together as a Drabble, the rest is up to you :)

This is super late omg I'm so sorry, but here's 250 words because I couldn't keep this to 100 if I tried. Happy New Year! ---

“Now this guy fucks,” Jason said. Which was such a surreal thing to hear from a guy in the Hogan Family, but it certainly wasn’t any wilder than getting high as shit with him in the luxury of his hotel suite while pay-per-view porn played loudly on the television in front of them.   

Jason whistled low. “Guy’s like a rattlesnake, huh?”

“What?” Will laughed. “What the fuck?” 

“I mean, those thighs could strangle me any day,” Jason sighed wistfully as Will choked on a puff of smoke.

“Just like that in fact.” Jason grinned. “Bet you’ve got a vice grip yourself with legs like those. Of course we don’t have to do anything if you don’t wanna.” He plucked the joint from Will’s fingers and took a drag himself, silky smooth though, laid back and easy like his smile. 

“Um,” Will said. “Wait, seriously, man?” 

“Only if you are.” 

Will wanted to protest about not being into dudes that way, but he was also imagining getting crazy naked together and making out until their breath grew thin.

“Fuck yeah,” the guy on screen moaned, jackhammering away.

“I guess what he said.” Will cleared his throat.

“Fuck yeah?” Jason smirked as the moaning continued. 

“Or fuck you, if that’s what gets you going.”

Jason didn’t give Will the chance to doubt it before he was pressing their mouths together in a kiss that could only be described as mind-blowing.

“Or fuck me,” Will breathed against his lips. “Fuckin’ A, man. Absolutely.”

[olden-towne]

I'm in a sketch comedy club in college (always a good start to a story). Last semester, one of the best received skits in the show was a slapstick routine I wrote involving my bottom surgery. I will give you the play by play. Sfx is sound effects (there are a lot).

First: I come out onstage and say "hello, vaginoplasty is expensive, I'm going to save money by getting mine done live onstage for your entertainment"

The anesthesiologist applies the "anesthesia", which is knocking me out cold.

I get carried to an operating table behind a curtain.

Surgeon goes back there, zipper sfx, slide whistle sfx, clown pants are thrown aside

Scissor sfx, the surgeon emerges with a bouncy ball and a walnut. Bounces the bouncy ball, eats the walnut, back to work.

Sword fight sfx, chainsaw sfx, surgeon emerges with a sausage, to the end is tied a rope of multicolor handkerchiefs.

They pull and pull the handkerchiefs until they hit some resistance, dog growl sfx, champagne cork pop sfx, a bouquet is tied to the end of the handkerchiefs.

Surgeon trades this with the anesthesiologist for a blowtorch and a welding mask, and returns to work. Welding sfx, jackhammer sfx, Mario invincibility star tune, clock chime sfx. The surgeon emerges covered in blood and hair dye.

"It's a girl!"

we should hype up bottom surgery more i think. both twitter transphobes and chronically online trans people really like to be disgusted at phalloplasty, vaginoplasty, ext. and i really think we should treat them as cool and sexy and neutral like top surgery scars or whatever