#yeah that's the second image's prompt

[harpuiaa]

(person that has never seen saw but has read yugioh voice) yeah? so he traps people in evil puzzle rooms? sounds a lot like a guy i know

[victorluvsalice]

I said I might do this in the tags on the first post of last week's Chill Valicer Save update -- here's the full-sized images from the in-game photoshoot I had my trio do right before said update so I'd have at least one shot of them in the correct order and wearing the correct clothes for my "OT3 Math" Valicertine's Day post. And then I ended up using all three anyway because I couldn't decide which one I liked best. XD Did I really need to do this for a single silly tumblr post about how much I love my Valicer OT3? No. Am I glad I did it anyway? Yes. XD

[doitwrite]

From The 3 A.M. Epiphany

Exercise 15: "TWO IMAGES SEPARATED AT BIRTH. Think up a vivid, haunting image. Work hard to construct this image so it is not only visible to the reader but exciting and thought-provoking. Then think up another unrelated but equally vivid image. The key to this exercise is to work at comparing two unrelated images, two scenes or situations you do not think are part of a story. Then write a story fragment out of the two images. 600 words"

Family Breakfast

Tom yawned open a mouth the size of a small cave. The humans didn’t scream or cry like the old ones. They sat quietly in the rollercoaster, right up until the moment the car flew into his mouth and vanished down his unending maw. He pouted after swallowing everything in one noisy gulp.

“Mom! Are these a different brand or something?” A smooth white egg as large as a mountain turned from the stove and glared at him. He could always tell what expression she was making, even thought she didn’t have a face.

“Now, now.” His stepbother Raymond, a 4D being that existed on a different plane, shook out a newspaper that was phasing into the table. Matthew shot him an irritated look.

They’ve been saying that organic humans are much healthier! Her voice was shrill as it echoed in their heads. She was a Tyverant, a species that didn’t have mouths, so they communicated directly via brainwaves. If they’re quiet, it means they’ve been raised in a cage-free environment. No more of that GMO stuff, she added. Matthew had long since stopped wondering how his mother managed to sniff when she didn’t have a nose.

She placed another roller coaster cart of humans onto the track. It was a huge wire contraption that folded out of the ceiling and snaked around the kitchen like a massive steel python. Matthew watched, apprehensive, as another cartful of those creepily quiet humans raced along the track. He was used to hearing them scream in terror. It helped wake him up in the mornings. But instead they just watched him with blank, beady eyes as they raced towards their deaths. Reluctantly he opened his mouth and swallowed the car.

“It’s no fun if they’re not screaming,” he tried. She ignored him.

With a pair of milk-white hands she pulled a dull-eyed man from a carton and neatly cracked him open over the smoking black pan. His skin pulled apart with a satisfying snap, intestines dropping and sizzling in the heat.

Dear? Would you like another helping? She asked, addressing Raymond. He lowered the paper. Was he looking at his mother? Matthew wrinkled his nose. He could never tell where Raymond was looking, and since he always spoke in that dreadful monotone, Matthew could never guess at what he was thinking or looking at.

“Yes, please, dear.” She neatly ducked under the spiraling track of the roller coaster with the pan and carefully scraped the steaming pile of warm meat onto Raymond’s plate. He folded up the paper and set it on the table, but it disappeared.

“Whoops.”

I keep telling you to remember to return things to their 3D form when you place them down, remember? His mother sighed. Matthew gulped down the mouthful of human and reached for his glass of gakberry juice to wash it down, using it to hide the face he was making.

“Sorry about that, darling.” He scooped up the meat with his fork, and Matthew peeked over the glass while trying to pretend he wasn’t looking. As much as he disliked him, watching Rayond eat was always fascinating. Whatever he put into his…face? Mouth? (What did you call the hole where food disappeared into a 4D being, anyway?) just seemed to dissolve into nothing the moment it touched him, and on more than one occasion the utensil vanished too, much to his mother’s chagrin.

His mother turned and yelped.

It’s 35PM! You’ll be late!

Raymond gulped down the rest of the food.

“Come on, sport. I’ll drive you to school today.”

“Don’t call me that,” Matthew mumbled as he climbed onto his foot.

[peachesofteal]

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader Prompt: Protective Simon. For the beautiful and talented @lethalchiralium

Simon’s phone is ringing. 

Price raises an eyebrow from the end of the table, pausing mid-sentence, confused. Simon’s phone never rings. It’s always on full volume, because he never gets phone calls, except for ones from the 141, and they’re all here. At this briefing.  

His fingers find the ringer, ready to silence what he’s sure is a nuisance call, some telemarketer or robot, when he reads your name across the screen. 

You’ve never called him before. Unease tightens across his chest, and without any explanation, he excuses himself from the room and the bewildered looks being cast his way. 

“Hey, you-“

“Simon?” You sound off. Like you’re trying to be calm, but there’s something lingering on the edge of your voice, something scared. His spine goes stiff. 

It’s enough to propel him into action, his fist thumping against the window of the brief room, jerking his head south. I’m leaving, the motion signifies. Emergency.

“What’s wrong?” 

“N-nothing. Just… there’s this guy that’s been like, half a block behind me since I got off the train.” He closes his eyes. The fucking train. He wants you to stop taking the train. He needs you to stop taking the train. 

“He followed you from the platform?” 

“Well, he could be walking this way too…” 

“Where are you?” His keys are already in his hand, and he’s running down the hallway, past bewildered administrative staff and everyone else, bursting through the back door and into the truck. His phone chimes with multiple text messages, Price, Johnny, Gaz. All wondering where the hell he ran off to. Only Johnny’s text scratches the surface: Is it your neighbor? He waits another second in silence, hoping you’re trying to get your bearings. “Sweetheart?” 

“I’m… I think we’re coming up on seventh and Warsail. ‘m not too sure. I’ve kind been walking in a roundabout way.” We’re coming up on seventh… we. 

The baby is with you. 

His foot slams the accelerator onto the floor, counting his breaths as he maneuvers each turn in the road. Do you have the stroller? Are you carrying her? Did this guy peg you as an easy target because he knows what Simon knows, that women are more likely to go along with instruction if their child is threatened? That you’d never leave Emmaline behind? That you’d do anything to protect her? 

He feels sick. 

“Are there other people around?” He’s calm on the phone, trying to visualize the street, the buildings, the alleys. Easy spots where cars could reach the highway in seconds, and then be gone. Cramped alleys that connect to others like tangled webs, able to swallow a human being easy, disappear them into the darkness. It makes his stomach turn over. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel so hard; it hurts.

“Yeah, it’s close to the end of the day, so-“ 

“Stay where others can see you. Are you sure you’re on seventh and Warsail?” 

“Yeah. We’re in that park. I-I… wanted to take Emma to see the ducks.” Your voice wavers. “Simon he’s still behind us.” He’s turning the corner now, a block from your cross streets, and instead of yielding for oncoming traffic like he should, he floors it through an intersection, abandoning the truck still on, half parked in an empty street spot.  “Stay where you are, sweetheart. Okay? I’m coming.” 

“You… wait, what? You’re what?” He doesn’t hang up, but keeps the phone against his ear, and takes off down the street in a sprint, fully subscribed to the worst-case scenarios that have been building in his mind, images of you and Emmaline bloody and bruised, or worse. He gets them confused for a moment, memories mixing with the present, two things swirling together until they become indistinguishable, noise and panic roaring too loudly in his head. 

It all comes screeching to a stop. 

He spots you in the park. You do have the stroller, and you’re by the little pond, headphones in, Emmaline in your arms, her little beanie pulled down over her ears. You’re glancing around, nervous, saying his name into the mic. He scans the rest of the faces, passing over anyone who doesn’t strike him as a creepy git, until he finds his target: a skinny, younger guy lurking on the edge of the fence line, watching you. He hangs up the phone and moves across the park involuntarily, rolling his shoulders, and he vaguely sees you from the corner of his eye, mouth dropped open in shock, faintly calling his name. 

“Hey, mate. C’mere.” He shouts, half the people in the vicinity startling in his direction. Everyone seems to move away, like a magnetic force, pulsing outwards as he overtakes the guy with an easy grab to his upper arm. “You like stalking women with babies?” He hisses in his ear, voice low with barely contained rage. The guy is younger than him, but rail thin, and coked out. Probably looking for money. Simon jerks him closer, and he actually yells for help, like he’s a victim. It’s enough to ground the situation, making Simon realize he has an audience, and he grits out a final warning before shoving him away. “I ever see you around my girls again… I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Piss off.” 

“What did he say?” You’re frantic, rubbing Emmaline’s back in a circular pattern, over and over like you’re trying to calm her, even though she’s perfectly content. It’s you who needs soothing, he realizes, and he takes your hand without questioning it, letting his instincts guide him in regard to you without overthinking it. 

“He was high, love. Looking for money.” He doesn’t want to scare you but… he doesn’t despise the idea of instilling some hypervigilance. Maybe this will convince you not to take the train. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Think I scared him off for good though.” He looks around, and then slips off his mask, wide thumb stroking a soft touch on Emma’s cheek before giving you a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright now.” You visibly relax, but don’t let go of his hand, tilting your face up to his, all bright and beautiful, still coming down from the adrenaline of your fear with a whisper on your lips, meant for only him to hear. 

“Our hero.”

[hotshotsxyz]

doctor, doctor, give me the news

(buddie) (1.4k words) (8x05 spec) y'all i think i kind of went off with this one

Tommy flinches. It’s a quick, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it thing that he quickly turns into a playful cringe, but for a second, it was real. It was real and Buck saw it and he doesn’t know how to unsee it.

He pulls his phone out and opens the camera so he can see it for himself, and okay, yeah, it’s not great. But also—they’re both firefighters. Buck’s seen way worse than swollen, red skin, and he’s sure Tommy has too.

“Afraid of the curse now?” he asks lightly instead of voicing the thought.

“Um, yeah, I think you’ve convinced me,” Tommy replies.

Buck squints at his own image. “What do you think it is?”

“Other than a curse?” Tommy asks.

Buck nods.

“Honestly, Evan, I have no idea. Maybe we should call in some back-up.”

“What?” Buck asks, brow furrowing. “Like some kind of curse breaker?”

Tommy snorts. “Like someone with a little more medical training,” he replies.

“Oh, yeah that—that’s probably a good idea,” Buck says. He feels himself flush even redder.

“You want me to call Hen? Or Chimney, maybe?” Tommy asks.

Buck shakes his head. “They’re taking the kids to a haunted hayride today. I’ll text Eddie.”

Tommy’s nose wrinkles a little, and Buck can’t help but wonder which part of what he just said Tommy didn’t like. He types out a quick message.

SOS. curse real. need paramedic diaz asap

Eddie’s reply is almost instantaneous and comes in three short messages.

not a paramedic

and curses aren’t real

I’m on my way

Buck looks up from his phone. “He’ll be here soon,” he says.

“That was fast,” Tommy observes.

Buck shrugs. For a second he considers sending Eddie a selfie, something to prepare him for the not-so-pleasant sight of his face, but he—

He kind of wants to see if Eddie flinches, too.

Eddie’s key turns in the lock and Tommy shoots Buck an odd look. He’d try to parse it, but he’s really starting to feel how much his face hurts and he kind of just wants Eddie to hurry up and fix it. He stands and walks past the stairs in time to see him shut the door.

“Ouch,” Eddie hisses as soon as he catches sight of whatever it is his face is doing now. It’s not a flinch. If anything, he sways forward like he might at a scene. Assessing. Ready to jump in as soon as he’s formed a plan.

“Yeah,” Buck says. “Told you I’m cursed.”

Eddie lets out a light laugh. “Mm, I think I’m supposed to be the one making the diagnosis here,” he says.

He ushers Buck to the kitchen table, sets his med kit down, and pulls out a chair for him.

“Gee,” Buck says, “A guy could get used to this kind of medical care.”

Eddie grins. “Doctor Diaz, at your service,” he says, holding out a hand for Buck to shake.

Buck huffs a soft laugh and takes it. “I’ll be a good patient, I promise,” he says.

“Don’t start lying to me now,” Eddie replies, eyes twinkling.

Across the table, Tommy chokes.

Buck drops Eddie’s hand and looks over at him. “You okay?” he asks.

“Mm,” Tommy hums. “Just uh—got some spit down the wrong pipe.”

Buck frowns but doesn’t push it any further. He looks back at Eddie and finds him rummaging through his kit with a pen light between his teeth. He makes a triumphant noise and turns to Buck.

“Alright, let’s see,” Eddie says softly.

He steps into the space between Buck’s legs, and Buck’s brain kind of just—freezes.

“Look up for me?” Eddie prompts, and when Buck doesn’t—can’t—immediately comply, Eddie presses two fingers beneath his chin and guides it up until suddenly the only thing Buck can see are Eddie’s eyes. “Thought you we’re going to be a good patient,” Eddie murmurs.

All at once, Buck’s brain unfreezes, skipping right past calm and into hyperdrive. Because—because—he’s looking at Eddie and Eddie’s thumb is skating across the skin that’s just beneath the worst of the swelling  and Buck can feel it and surely Eddie’s touched his face before except—except—no, Buck’s pretty sure he hasn’t but now that he has Buck’s never going to be able to forget the way it feels because he knows it should hurt, it should, but it doesn’t and he kind of never wants Eddie to stop touching him and that’s—that’s—

“—hurt?” Eddie asks, only Buck misses 90% of the question so instead of answering he hums vaguely and watches Eddie’s face twist in sympathy.

Eddie starts dabbing something on Buck’s face, hydrocortisone maybe, or triple anti-biotic—whatever it is it feels cool and nice and as Eddie concentrates on his task he bites down on his lip and suddenly Buck can’t look at anything else, can’t look at the furrow in Eddie’s brow can’t look at the ceiling can’t—

“You think he’ll live?” Tommy asks dryly.

Buck feels like he’s been doused with cold water.

Eddie’s lips, those lips that he still can’t bring himself to look away from, twitch into a small smile. “Depends,” he says. “Has anyone figured out how to break the curse?”

It punches a laugh out of Buck’s chest, the kind that comes out in a single syllable and with a rush of air. Eddie takes a step back and finally Buck feels like his brain is returning from the stratosphere, back to its baseline level of chaos.

“So—” Buck tries, but it comes out rough. He clears his throat. “What’s uh—what’s the diagnosis.”

Eddie frowns. “Honestly? It kind of looks like spider bites.”

Tommy’s chair clatters back, and when Buck looks over he’s suddenly standing.

“Babe?” Buck asks, but it feels gummy and unfamiliar in his mouth.

“I, um—not a fan of spiders,” he squeaks.

Eddie blows out a soft breath that Buck’s pretty sure only he could recognize as laughter.

“You don’t have to stick around,” Buck says, and he swears he means stick around the loft, but—but—“I’m okay, I’ve got the second best doctor in Los Angeles looking after me.”

“Second!” Eddie exclaims, mock affronted.

“Hen,” Buck replies with a shrug.

Eddie heaves a dramatic sigh. “You’re not wrong.”

Tommy looks between them, a deep furrow in his brow. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ll uh—I’ll head out.” He backs toward the door, then pauses as he gets a hand on the knob. “See you tomorrow?” he directs at Buck.

“’Course,” Buck replies, and he’s pretty sure if Tommy had asked him that this morning his reply would’ve sounded soft and sweet to his own ear, but now Buck doesn’t hear much of anything at all.

Tommy nods once, and then he’s gone.

Buck looks back at Eddie, and god, he tries. He tries so hard not to notice the long line of Eddie’s legs where he’s leaning against the table, not quite sitting on it. He tries not to think about that soft curl, the one that makes an appearance more often than not these days, the one that rests against his forehead. He wants—he doesn’t—Eddie’s not—

Buck stands abruptly, except Eddie never did take more than a step back and now they’re practically nose to nose and Buck isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. Eddie’s head tips to the side and Buck—there’s not a thing he can do to stop the freight train that is his imagination, and oh, he can see it. He can feel it.

All at once he’s sure that if Eddie Diaz were to lean in and kiss him—right now, or a year from now, or a decade—if Eddie kissed him, Buck would be ruined in every sense of the word. He’d never be able to kiss another person without seeing Eddie, feeling Eddie, tasting Eddie and—

He wouldn’t want to.

Buck takes a stumbling step back and knocks into his chair, making it clatter the same way Tommy’s had. And fuck, for a second he didn’t even—

“Buck?” Eddie asks, all concern and kindness and wide brown eyes.

“Fine!” Buck says. “I’m fine. You—you, uh—do you want—” Me? Us? Something terrifying and perfect and permanent and “—water?”

Eddie’s brows knit together. “Sure,” he says. “But sit back down. Let me get it.”

“Okay,” Buck breathes. He sinks into his chair.

Eddie grabs two glasses out of his cabinet without even pausing to think and fills them with the Brita he already knew was in Buck’s fridge and snags a coaster that he bought before placing one of the glasses in front of Buck.

“Seriously,” he says, settling into the chair closest to him and leaning forward, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, and he’s honest to god not even sure if he’s lying.

[stunie]

hnnngh no thoughts except umemiya dipping those thick fingers inside of you, cooing and adoring you while you keep whining and moaning under his touch 🤤🤤🤤

UMEMIYA HAJIME X F!READER! — nsfw ﾉ explicit smut ﾉ oh my lovely nonnie i will always be so crazy for ume prompts <33 ty sm for sending me this !! i am sooo obsessed w his big hands :>

The very first time Umemiya sinks his fingers into you, you’re a little nervous. Scared, even. He’s always been so big standing all the way at 188cm, and you have such a hard time comprehending how he’s able to pick you up like you’re nothing but a little toy.

He lets you hang on his arm, gives you a piggyback ride without a second thought, and he has a stubborn habit of carrying you around bridal style. He can always walk you home holding you just like that, because “why not? This is so easy! And it’s always better when you’re closer to me, sweet thing. Don’t you agree?”

He always catches you staring at him with that look of pure adoration, dreamy and dazed eyes fixated on the way his muscles bulge and flex with each little movement, and the feeling of them? Even better. He knows you like them when they’re a little slick with sweat, and that you like being under them even more.

“Not in pain, right? You remember the magic word?” Umemiya coos from beside you, gaze fixated on the way your arms are tightly wrapped around his pillow. He wishes he could pause and take in the sight— burn this current image of you in his head forever.

Your eyes are clenched shut as you hide from behind the pillow, perfect thighs spread wide open for him, your cunt soaked and dripping with slick with tears collecting along your pretty lashes, and your mouth’s parted slightly to let out little gasps as he runs his thick fingers up and down your folds.

You look absolutely endearing to him right now.

The noise that slips from your lips when you first feel his digits stretching you out is just music to his ears. He’s planning on taking his sweet time with you, fingers moving in and out with a deliberate slowness as you whine, moans coming out muffled from the way you’ve latched yourself onto his pillow.

“….Sweet girl? Asked you something earlier.”

Your eyes flutter open. “S-sorry,” you try and make your voice come out steady, but fail to mask the shakiness that slips out when your hips instinctively jerk up into his fingers. “Doesn’t hurt…a-ah- it’s just..a lot.”

Umemiya’s lips are tugging into a knowing smile at the confirmation, and he’s suddenly curling his fingers against your walls to test the waters, relishing in the way you loudly cry out at the stimulation.

“That feels good,” you choke out, peering down at his bulging forearms as you hug the pillow tighter against yourself. “P-please keep doing that.”

“Oh yeah? You like that, huh? Feeling good?”

The shy nod you give him is adorable, he thinks. His fingers are curling a little faster now, aiming to find the spot that’ll have you screaming for him, and the way his cock is straining against his sweats is starting to get to him. He’s gotta relieve the ache somehow, so he resorts to rubbing his cock against the side of your thigh, sighing deeply as he takes in the noises you’re making.

All for him.

It’s only when your slick starts to drip all over the sheets beneath the two of you when he thinks you’re finally prepared for the next step. You’re whining as soon as you feel the loss of his fingers, thighs squeezing around his arm to try and keep him close.

“Haji…”

“Don’t you worry, we’re only starting out. Think you’re ready for a second?”

Your eyes widen a bit at the question. A second?

Then it hits you. “T-that was only one?”

There’s a soft chuckle that erupts from his chest, and you peer over your pillow to confirm it, eyes in disbelief as you see that there really was only one of his fingers coated with your slick, but it didn’t feel like one. How would one finger stretch you out that much?

Your fingers never felt anything like that.

“Mmmm yeah, that was only one, my love,” he whispers, and your eyes widen a bit, gasping when a second finger starts to push into your hole, cunt aching and trying its hardest to take all of him- and you wonder if it’s even physically possible to take his cock if you’re struggling this much with just two fingers.

“F-fuck!” you cry out loudly when the rest is finally buried inside, feeling impossibly full as your walls spasm around his digits, and oh- he hasn’t even started to move them yet, but you swear you’re starting to feel him in your stomach-

“Now this is two.”

[feyburner]

In ur version, does Batman or Superman even approve of Kon and Tim being together?

Lol sorry I’m sure you intended this as an art prompt but instead I used it as a silly little writing exercise.

Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »

Hi! Do you have a moment to chat?

« Bruce Wayne

That depends.

Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »

On what?

« Bruce Wayne

On the subject matter, Clark Kent, Daily Planet Reporter.

Clark Kent (Daily Planet) »

Shoot. hang on

Superman (Justice League) »

Hi! Do you have a moment to chat?

« B

How many times a day does that happen

Just tell me. I can take it

Superman (Justice League) »

Not… that many…

« B

How many records are we scrubbing.

This week.

Superman (Justice League) »

Listen

You are the one who chose to make secret phones that are identical to normal phones

I don’t know what you were expecting

« B

It’s precautionary. In case they get lost.

They’re not identical. The Batcell’s haptic interface hardware is superior to the iPhone’s.

Slightly bigger too.

0.3mm.

Superman (Justice League) »

I’ll refrain from the obvious comment

But know I am thinking it

« B

So there’s a visual difference.

You have x-ray vision.

Superman (Justice League) »

If you think I’m going to x-ray my phone to figure out if the haptic interface software is 0.3mm larger than an iPhones every single time I need to send a text you are nuts

That’s you

« B

Learning memes are we.

Superman (Justice League) »

That’s not a meme. It’s a reaction image

I think

« B

Doesn’t a reaction image have to be sent in reaction to something? By definition?

Superman (Justice League) »

I dont know.

« B

I don’t either.

Superman (Justice League) »

Okay.

« B

You said you wanted to chat?

Superman (Justice League) »

Yes

And let me just preface this with:

I am about to tell you something and I need you to be, with all due respect, so normal about it

« B

Jesus fucking Christ, what happened?

Superman (Justice League) »

Nothing!! bad

Nothing bad

« B

Where are you? Can you call?

Superman (Justice League) »

Ok calm down, I’m fine, everything is fine

I can theoretically call but I think this is the kind of thing you’re going to want to sit with, on your own, for a second

Maybe 30 full seconds actually. Maybe sit for 30 full seconds before taking any action

« B

Kal El, I am catastrophizing at the speed of sound.

Superman (Justice League) »

Then I bet it will be such a huge relief to learn that all Im going to say is I have it on good authority that Superboy has something to tell you, and normally I would never breach his trust like this, but again: I cannot emphasize enough that I need you to be so, so normal. When he tells you. Which I have reason to believe he will, imminently

« B

Alfred has just informed me that Superboy is on the doorstep.

On the doorstep, Kal.

Of my home.

Superman (Justice League) »

Huh!

« B

He’s asked to speak with me in the parlor.

“In the parlor.” Quote.

I forgot we had one of those.

What is this.

Superman (Justice League) »

Well

I think there’s a chance Kon is about to be very, very brave, to your face

And—keep in mind I’m saying this as someone who thinks the world of you and has boundless trust and faith in your ability to be kind, selfless, and accepting—

If he doesnt leave that house with a smile on his face and a spring in his step I will ruin your life.

« B

Jesus.

I know you’re only threatening me because of that, thing I said. Last time.

And yet, it’s still effective.

Superman (Justice League) »

« B

Yeah.

Superman (Justice League) »

Yeah?

« B

Yeah.

Superman (Justice League) »

:)

« B

:)

I have to go meet your kid. “In the parlor”

Superman (Justice League) »

Be nice :)

« B

I will.

I know what he’s going to say anyway.

Superman (Justice League) »

Oh?

« B

He, and coincidentally also Robin, needs to work on his situational awareness.

With an emphasis on remembering to scan the environment for CCTV cameras.

Superman (Justice League) »

Ok to be fair there are a lot of cameras these days

« B

The incident in question took place on the rooftop of Wayne Tower.

Superman (Justice League) »

I see.

« B

Yeah.

Superman (Justice League) »

Yeah.

Unrelatedly are you coming over later?

« B

So you can ruin my life?

Yes.

Superman (Justice League) »

See you then :)

« B

Yes.

Wait.

It’s not weird now that…?

Superman (Justice League) »

Holidays may get awkward but I’m sure we will all cope.

« B

Okay.

:)

Superman (Justice League) »

Tell Kon I said hi!

« B

I will.

*

« B

Hey it’s Batman. I fucked up.

Superman (Justice League) »

What??

« B

Not with Kon’s thing. That went fine. But we kept talking and I mayh ave let something slip and I’d liek to apologize in advance bc I htink he’s on the way

Superman (Justice League) »

Kons at my window???

« B

Sorry.

Superman (Justice League) »

I will ruin your life!!!!!

« B

Nuts.

[stayteezdreams]

Mine

Plot: When you decide to show your friend San the costume you aren't so sure about, you get a lot more than you were expecting.

Prompt: "Stop staring at me like that." "If you didn't want me to stare, you shouldn't have worn that."

Pairing: Best Friend!Choi San x Gn!Reader (Friends to Lovers)

Warnings: A bit suggestive throughout. I tried my best not to be too descriptive about body type or gender but it might not be perfectly gender neutral, I apologize. Slight mentions of self-esteem issues, or body-image issues, reference to low confidence.

A/N: Don't go into this expecting too much lol, you have been warned.

Words: ~1.8k

Most years when it came to Halloween, you played it relatively safe. Choosing a famous character that matched your vibe. But you got bored of it, plus you were running out of characters you could pass for.

After some convincing, one of your friends persuaded you to dress up as a character from a show you both watched. They were also going to be a character from said show, so you wouldn't be alone.

The only problem was the costume of said characters was somewhat....revealing. Parts of the costume were cut to expose random areas of your body, and though none were too risqué, the costume itself hugged your figure in a way that left nothing to imagination.

You were uncertain if it suited you, or if you would be comfortable overall. The friend who suggested was no help in making you feel better, as they had already gotten excited about you being said character.

You had tried the costume on a few times, and every time you remained uncertain if it suited you. Was it the color? The overall vibe? Did it just not suit your body type?

When the topic of costumes came up with another one of your best-friends, San, you mentioned to him you weren't feeling too confident about the costume your friend gave you.

"I mean, I like it, but...it's not like anything I've worn before. I don't know if it suits me really."

Glancing at San who nodded along, understanding, but not fully knowing your predicament. He smiled softly, "Can I see it on you? Maybe I can help you decide?"

You perked up a bit at this, though you were a bit bashful about it too. "Would that be okay?"

He nodded with a bright smile before you hummed.

"Okay!" You rose before looking back at him, "It'll take a bit for me to put it on."

He chuckled and nodded, "No rush."

It seemed like a good idea at first, San was always helpful and always honest with you. But as you put the costume on you remembered just how it looked on you and you began to regret asking him to look at it.

San had never seen you in anything really revealing or figure hugging, not that he would care, he was one of your closest friends. But he was also the guy you had a crush on for ages. And even if he didn't care what you looked like in the costume, you began feeling timid.

Would he think you looked bad? You felt your chest clench a bit at this thought. That would definitely not help your confidence. You weren't sure if you wanted this now.

"Is everything okay?" You heard San's voice come from outside the door.

You let out a soft sigh. "Yeah! One second!"

You had finished putting the costume on but felt apprehensive about showing San. Taking a deep breath, deciding it would be too weird for you to suddenly change your mind, you walked out of the bathroom.

San was looking down at his phone and waiting for you patiently at the edge of your bed. Hearing you come out, his eyes shot up to see you, but what he saw was nothing like what he was expecting.

His heart seemed to stop all together as his breath caught in his throat. He was sure he looked stunned as he stared at you, unable to look away.

San always thought you looked great, no matter what you wore, but seeing you like this was more than he ever expected or could wish for.

The costume accentuated every part of you he often caught himself staring at. Various patches of your skin were exposed, and San felt his ears burning hot at the sight.

It took you a moment to gain the confidence to look at San's reaction. When you did you weren't expected to see him slack-jawed and stunned.

Was it a good thing? A bad thing? Was the costume too much?

When his eyes started raking over your body slowly, you felt a shiver run up your spine as you felt almost naked. You felt shy under his gaze, the look on his face something you had never seen.

You let out a nervous chuckle, "San, stop staring at me like that."

San's eyes finally rose to your face, and he saw the way his stare made you react. You were nervous and shy under his gaze.

'Cute.'

"If you didn't want me to stare, you shouldn't have worn that."

"Wh- but- I" You looked down at yourself. "You told me to try it on! To help me decide if I should wear it"

"Don't."

Your eyes shot back to him, only to see him staring at your body again. "What?"

"Don't wear it."

You looked back down at yourself, your chest tightening a bit. Was it really that bad? Or maybe he was feeling protective?

"Does it look that bad?"

Through San's struggle to keep his composure, the tone of your voice caught him off guard. Paying attention to your gaze as you turned and looked in the mirror, he realized his mistake. He was making you insecure.

He stood up, "That's not what I meant."

You looked back at him, "Then it just doesn't suit me?"

San let out a shaky breath as he desperately raked his eyes over you again before swallowing harshly. As you shuffled on your feet anxiously, he clenched his eyes shut.

"That's also not what I mean."

"Then why shouldn't I wear it?"

He opened his eyes again and took a step closer to you. Your hands absentmindedly rose to your chest out of nerves and he wondered if you were feeling as....tense as he was.

You noticed his almost darkened gaze as he stared at you again. You swallowed nervously as he stepped closer.

"It suits you....too well."

"Too well?"

He nodded and you noticed the way he swallowed before he licked his lips and spoke again. "You look great. Amazing even, and I... don't want others to see you like this."

Another step forward and he was mere inches from you. You could practically feel the heat radiating off of him as his eyes cast down to your body again. Your breath caught in your throat. What exactly did he mean? What was he thinking?

"I-" slowly, he lifted his arm, as his hand hovered above the exposed skin of your shoulder. "I want to be the only one to see you like this. I want to keep it to myself."

His voice was low, almost raspy, a shiver coursed through you as you heard it. Slowly his eyes lifted and locked with yours. The look in his gaze was almost dangerous, and it took your breath away.

"Why?"

"I don't want anyone to try and steal you from me. I want you to be mine."

You swallowed nervously; San didn't fail to notice it. He took another step closer, until your chests were almost touching. His face was close to yours and you nervously met his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"I want you to understand why I'm saying these things."

You almost jolted as you felt San's hand suddenly grab your waist, his hands touching your bare skin were the costume revealed it. His hands gripped your waist as he pulled you against him.

His eyes stared deeply into yours as he inched closer.

"San?" Your voice was a whisper, barely heard.

"I've always wanted to keep you all to myself, but I thought it was too selfish. But this. Letting other's see you looking like this, seeing parts of you only I should see. I can't stand it. So, let me be selfish this time. Please."

Your breath wavered as San inched closer, his lips almost grazing yours as his eyes held a desperation you couldn't miss.

"Please?" He repeated, his voice soft, barely heard.

Your mind was fuzzy as your stomach swirled, warmth encasing you. You were unable to speak, so you just nodded your head.

Before you could even process your action, San's lips were against yours. His arm wrapped around you in a desperate attempt to bring you closer. One hand now held the back of your head, the kiss was deep, passionate.

As his tongue met your lips, asking for entrance, you obliged, almost gasping at his actions as he pressed you up against the wall as the kiss became almost sloppy. His fingers intertwined with your hair as his body pressed against yours.

San, managing to get some form of grip on himself, pulled away, his breathing heavy as he rested his forehead against yours. Opening his eyes he looked at your breathless figure. Slowly you opened your own eyes, as your gazes locked.

Bringing his hand to your face he gently caressed your cheek. "I'm sorry. I just- lost control a bit." He gently caressed your lightly swollen lips with his thumb. "It's been so hard repressing my feelings for you. I've always wanted you so badly, and today, seeing you..." He let out a soft chuckle, "I just couldn't hold it in any longer."

You smiled softly, "How long exactly? Have you felt like this."

"A few years, at least."

Your heart was racing as your chest clenched. All this time, you felt the same way, both of you unknowingly repressing shared feelings. Hurting yourselves and each other by never making it known.

"Then I'm sorry too." You said softly and he frowned, "Because I've been hiding it for just as long."

San stared at you for a second before a smile slowly spread across his face as he let out a soft chuckle.

"I guess we have a lot to make up for."

You nodded softly with a smile and San peered down at your figure again. He hissed as he let out a staggered breath, biting his lip. Your ears burned as he stared, your heart racing.

Bringing his hand down, he gently trailed his hand down your stomach before he hooked his finger under the cloth where it exposed your side.

Meeting your eyes again he spoke with an almost hungry tone. "Are you going to wear this?"

You bit back a grin, "I suppose I can find something else."

He smiled and tilted his head as he leaned in closer to you again, his lips hovered over yours. "Good."

You wish you had taken a breath before he kissed you again. You could tell from the way his hands hungrily gripped you as he pushed you against the wall again, his lips never breaking contact, that this was going to last a while.

xx End xx

A/N: I have written some fluff, some humor and a little spooky. So I thought I would write something a bit suggestive to throw in as well lol. Hope you liked it!

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[murdrdocs]

just thinking thoughts abt luca and his muscles.. i KNOW that mf just manhandles you without even thinking abt it like. ur in the kitchen just yapping away abt some really interesting gossip and he's moving you around if ur in the way with a hand on your arm or waist like you weigh nothing. or you're outside walking somewhere and he's moving you outta the way from some asshole on a bike going dangerously fast and you're not paying attention to your surroundings. he has so much muscle obviously he's not putting it to use if it's not on me 🙄🙄[he makes me ILL]

i got this message and had to pace my kitchen btw casual manhandling; fluffy w suggestive undertones MDNI 18+ w/ LUCA (the bear)

luca's working diligently.

you would've worried about distracting him if he wasn't so visible focused, his head consistently dipped to keep his eyes focused on the cutting board. you don't know how he does it, how he's cooking and responding to your shitty and extremely confusing recollection of drama you heard from a friend this morning. his responses are simple, small nods and verbalized "mhm"'s, but they're effective.

"and then, come to find out, she told her that she was in the wrong, even though everyone knows she was literally just sticking up for herself..." you're getting to the climax of the story, the part that made you gasp and dramatically look around your apartment when you first heard the story over the phone. a smile is growing on your face as you wait for luca's reaction, but before it can come, you have to tell him the best part. and for that to happen, you have to continue speaking.

you don't even realize you've stopped speaking until luca prompts you to continue. but it takes you a second, because you need a moment to recover from how casually he has just moved you.

you've gone from standing in front of the spice cabinet, a place luca needed to reach, to standing in front of the sink. and you could've gotten there yourself if he spoke up and asked you to move, which he's done before. but you were in the middle of your story and he probably didn't want to interrupt you. so instead, he placed his hands on your hips, pushed you against the sink, and turned around to grab whatever seasonings he needed. like it was the most casual thing in the world.

and sure, you figure it is actually fairly casual. he's done it before, the most recent time being just a few days ago when you were furiously texting a group chat, too busy staring at the messages as they appeared to watch the sidewalk for any obstacles. before you could even realize that there was a bike coming towards you, luca had you moved out of the way and a middle finger thrown up towards the biker. it made you hot then, and it makes you hot now.

at your silence, luca looks up from his work.

"love? you were saying?"

you blink dumbly. it takes a second, but you try to recover. you resume your earlier position, arms crossed over your chest and ankles crossed over each other as you lean your weight back into the counter.

"yeah, right. where did i stop?"

"everyone knows she was just sticking up for herself but the other girl thought your friend's friend was in the wrong anyway—"

you take it from there, continuing your ramblings and exaggerating the story more and more as it builds, all while trying to push the image of luca's arms—tanned, big, and tattooed—to the back of your mind until you need that information.

which will likely be later in the night when you hope luca will manhandle you like that again.

[becsabillion4]

false god (we still worship)

pairing: carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary: Carmen has a bad shift, but you’re more than willing to turn his night around and show him exactly how good he is.

word count: 3,362

tags: SMUT, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, creampie, semi-public sex, window sex, lingerie, praise kink, vulnerable Carmy, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and yet again NOT an advert for safe sex. with that said, it’s fucking hot ;) and thank you to the wonderful person who submitted the prompt that inspired this, based around Carmy having a tough day and reader taking care of him (even though I’ve failed at tumblr and can’t find the original message). enjoy!!

thesydkid

Yo. Awful shift. Glad you weren’t here to see it.

whochefsouschef

fuckkk what happened?

thesydkid

Newbies think they know better than Tina because they went to CIA. You can imagine how Carmy took that.

whochefsouschef

was it kyle? he’s been like that since he started.

thesydkid

Yeah

Classic

whochefsouschef

syd?

I know that’s not all. kyle doesn’t warrant a text warning

thesydkid

Carm got food sent back.

whochefsouschef

shit.

thanks for the heads up

thesydkid

Good luck, cya tomorrow.

—------------------------------

It’s late, the kind of late where even the drunks winding through the streets have stopped their singing, the kind where it’s already too late to go to bed and get an ounce of good sleep. It’s the kind of late where you would have known it was a bad night even if Sydney hadn’t texted you first, because you know how hard Carmy cleans when he’s upset, and exactly how long that takes.

You sit up in bed abruptly, pushing your hair out of your face and considering your options. You have maybe ten minutes if Sydney texted you as soon as Carmy left, ten minutes to decide how you want to handle this kind of bad day. You feel a surge of frustration that you weren’t on shift tonight. As the Front of House Manager, you could have soothed the moronic, greedy, power-tripping customer who wanted to pull one over on the best chef in Chicago by sending back his perfect food-

Actually, maybe it was for the best you weren’t on shift tonight, or you might no longer have a job.

You smile when you think about how Richie will have handled it though. His courteous, collected energy even as he probably said something like, “Oh, you’d like to send this back? Wow, I’ve never heard a, uh - what do you call ‘em - oh, complaint before. Are you sure you know what this dish is?”

The smile fades when you think about Carmy’s reaction. You push yourself out of bed, decided by the image of his frustration, the anger he uses to hide his sadness. There’s been a few particularly bad shifts since you and Carmy moved in together - and Richie labelled himself as “matchmaker to the stars” for hiring you - and you know that if left to his own devices, Carmy will happily stay up all night stewing.

But you’re here now, and you’re determined not to let him. So you set your plan in motion.

By the time you hear his keys clink in the lock, you’re settled by the sofa, bare skin slightly chilled by the evening air coming in from the cracked window. You glance up as Carmy walks in, catch his eye, and he stops dead, hand still on the lock.

Bluer-than-blue eyes flicker across the scene you’re presenting for him - your best lingerie, your patient kneel, steady eyes - and he straightens from his tired stoop.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes still tracing how the lace drapes across your skin in the low light.

“Hi,” you smile. “Join me?”

Without looking away from you, Carmy shuts the door, drops his stuff in a careless pile. “Syd texted?”

“I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to surprise you.”

Carmy’s eyes drift away from you for a second, glancing around the room, like he does when he’s thinking something through. You can almost hear his brain clicking through the gears. Turning the kitchen off, turning something else on.

“It was bad, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuckin’ shitty.”

“It’s over.” You raise a hand to him, tilt your head towards the sofa. “Get over here and let me do filthy things to you to make up for it.”

He laughs at that, toes off his shoes and takes the few steps to the sofa. He doesn’t sink into the cushions like you expected though, but kneels in front of you. You reach out, run a hand over the side of his face, feel the days-old stubble rasping under your touch. Bringing your other hand up, you cup his face, thumbs tracing over the bags under his eyes like you can smooth them out with that simple touch. You can feel his exhaustion in the way he leans forward into the feeling, and it breaks something in you.

When you kiss him, you intend for it to be careful and slow. Bring him out of his shell, remind him that things outside The Bear exist. But the moment your mouths press together, the moment you nip the edge of his bottom lip, the drained and defeated Carmy is gone.

He surges forward, almost sending you tipping over backwards, arms wrapping around your waist. One hand slides to your lower back, stretching to cover as much of your skin as he can possibly grasp. Pulling you forward, Carmy bows his head to suck a bruise into your throat and you know for damn sure it’ll be visible tomorrow. A glaring mark, a “fuck you” to the rest of the world painted on your skin.

Your hands are far from idle either, and as one pulls at his T-shirt, rucking it up to explore the muscles beneath, you run a finger from the other over the arch of his ear. Carmy shudders in a broad, full-body motion and his hips stutter, jerk forward into you. You both moan at the contact and you want to chase it, feel him pressed between your thighs, but clearly Carmy has other ideas.

He reaches under your arms and pulls you up to stand with him, letting his hands continue their journey down your sides to reach your waist. All you have time to do is gasp as he hoists you off your feet, and he’s already walking towards your floor-length window as you desperately try to wrap your legs around his waist. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe, the hand not holding you up pushing deep into your hair and curling strands around his fingers so he can pull your head back, press more kisses to the hollow of your throat.

For a dizzying moment, you can see the lights of Chicago upside down, but you manage to pull your head up just before your back hits the cold glass. You hiss at the chill against your bared skin and Carmy runs a hot palm around to your back in apology even as his tongue continues its insistent sweeps against your own.

You barely register the soft clink of his belt, the push and rustle of fabric between you until his cock is pressed close, the only thing keeping it from filling you your own stupid lacy underwear.

With a frustrated groan, Carmy gently lowers you until your feet sink into the carpet, but he still gives you no room to move, pressing you into the misted-up glass as if he can’t tear his body from yours.

“Carmy,” you pant, unsure what you’re asking, but you know he understands when he grabs your upper arm, spins you around to face the view. The glass is warmer now, but still cold enough that the press of your barely-concealed nipples to its surface makes you moan as you hear Carmy kneel, feel him sliding your panties down your legs.

He doesn’t even let them reach your ankles before he’s up again, kissing his way along your spine as he goes, and finally, finally, the head of his cock nestles in where it needs to be.

Its hot and heavy presence has you pushing your hips back, wanting to feel the glorious slide of him, lose yourself in the moment he splits you, and all you can see, eyes half-slitted in pleasure, are the glittering lights of the city below. You live pretty high up and the lights are low enough that none of the busy pedestrians below should see, but all it would really take is a glance up and an observant eye. To see your breasts pressed against the glass, Carmy’s possessive hands gripping your hips as he finally drives into you. Even from this distance, you imagine the pleasure on your own face and your walls flutter around Carmy until he growls, pulls your hands from where they were flat against the window into a bind behind you.

There is nothing kind and gentle about this moment, no give in Carmy’s body as he fucks into you, and you revel in it. Let him take his pain and translate it into pleasure through your body. Let him take and take and take until he has nothing left to give, and let the world see him doing it. Let them see what’s his.

These thoughts alone have you teetering, desperate for a few more strokes, but the surprise of Carmy reaching around to draw lazy circles over your clit as he snarls, “Fucking look at you, look how good you take me,” has you seizing up instantly. You can faintly hear your own surprised cry through the buzzing in your ears, and Carmy’s gasps as he feels you pulsate around him, but you only fully come back to yourself when you press your forehead against the blessedly cool glass.

The strength of your orgasm is enough that your legs are visibly shaking now, and without a word, Carmy bends to scoop up your lower half and pulls you in, cradling you across his front. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to calm your breathing as you push your face into his chest, but before you can even begin to get your head straight, you feel soft sheets on your back as he lowers you to the bed.

He sinks down beside you, and all his desperation from a moment ago is gone as his body finally relaxes. He’s still hard and straining towards you, but the light has dimmed in his eyes, so when you reach for him, it’s to run a hand across his cheek, to bring his eyes to yours. When you move towards him, it’s to curl your legs with his, to press your forehead against his and settle his breathing with your own.

People think Carmy is so used to taking shit that it doesn’t hurt him anymore, but you know. You know how each word drives so deep that he doesn’t know how to take good anymore, how he invites the anger and the aggression of a kitchen into his soul because the alternative is realising that all the shit he’s been through is too awful, too devastating to reconcile. To keep feeling it, so he has no time to wonder what his life would be without it.

You see the weakness and the fear and the vulnerability, and you know how he absorbs the feeling and translates it into his work, how he uses it to fuel him, how he turns the criticism and the insults and the hatred into being better, being perfect, doing a good job.

“You are so wonderful, Carmy,” you murmur, and when he tries to look away, you hold his head still. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing. Shit, not really anything.” You’re silent, and he sighs as he caves under the pressure of your gaze. “Back when I was in New York, you remember that chef I told you about?”

You nod, because you know you can’t say anything remotely okay about that particular chef.

“He had this thing, about pasta. Thought he was some kind of expert because he spent, like, three months with Massimo Bottura. We had to boil water from cold every time, for every single batch of pasta we served, and there was this exact amount of salt we had to add. It wasn’t like a teaspoon, it was seven point three grams for every hundred of pasta. And he could fucking tell if you were off, he barely had to taste it. One time I saw him smell somebody’s pasta and tell them they were off by point two.” Carmy’s voice is shaking, and you move your thumb along his cheekbone slowly, calmly, giving him something to root himself to. Remind him he’s not there.

“And I was thinking about it while I was cooking the bucatini, and it’s like he was in the room again, saying the same shit he always did. Watching over my shoulder as I added the salt, and it made me so mad,” Carmy mutters, breaths coming in pants now. “And I didn’t even think, I just added like way too much salt. Enough to fuckin’ ruin it, ‘cos I just wanted to see him choke on it. And then I sent it out.”

You don’t take your eyes from his face as you curl one hand down to straighten the fingers of his, to stop the nails he’s digging deep into his palm from cutting into his skin.

“And of course it got sent back, and Richie apologised and comped their bill, and they didn’t care. But, like, I just sabotaged my own restaurant. My own reputation, becuase I can’t stop fuckin’ thinking about salting pasta,” Carmy finishes in a rush, and he finally meets your eyes.

“Carmy, you’re working in a kitchen every day. It’s no surprise you remember other kitchens you’ve been in, and the kind of behaviour you’ve had to endure. But it’s not that kitchen anymore. This is your kitchen we’re talking about, your space. When you look over your shoulder, he’s not there anymore. Syd is, and she’s got your back. We’re not some pristine, sterile team with no heart. Richie’s there.” You feel a surge of emotion so strong for the brilliant, vulnerable man in front of you that you push your face into his shoulder, hard enough that he has to steady himself from falling back onto the bed. His other hand comes up to card loosely through your hair, and you suppress a soft noise of comfort to finish with, “I’m there.”

“I know, baby,” he responds, pulling you closer until you’re practically curled into his lap. “And I think it’ll get easier, it’s already easier. I just don’t think I’ll ever entirely stop sabotaging myself. I’m not like the food I make, I’m not composed and-and, perfect. I’m not, uh, not always good at stuff.”

“Okay, but you’re good plenty of the time,” you whisper, looking up at him. You smile as he glances down, catches your eye. “I could go on for days about the stuff you’re good at.”

“Oh yeah?” Carmy murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, down and round the edge of your face to the shell of your ear. You shiver instinctively, press into the feeling.

“You’re good at that. Good at getting me out of control,” and your voice is already shaking.

“You’re not out of control, babe. I’ve got you. You’re mine,” Carmy is muttering inbetween kisses as he rolls you onto your back, pins your arms to your sides with his legs and begins to fully slide off your lingerie, slowly, carefully. His hands are, as always, steady. You remember all the times you’ve watched him roll a cigarette, piece together edible art as flames lick at his chef’s whites, and you can’t remember a time you’ve seen them shake.

From the eye of the storm he’s creating in you, you watch as he slides down the bed, skimming his lips across your trembling thighs until he sits back, and moves his hands to your knees.

You can almost feel the pleasure it gives him as, at the lightest touch from him, you part your legs, let him see what he does to you. What he has done. When he growls, you realise he can see remnants of your earlier escapade against the window at your entrance, his come marking you.

When Carmy dips his finger inside you, your hips jerk towards him, but he holds them down with one hand. His finger delves deep for a moment, and then leaves you suddenly, but before you can protest, he brings his hand to your face, offers you the digit. You’re entranced by the silent command in his eyes, and with no hesitation, you open your mouth and let Carmy’s come-covered finger slide inside, press deep towards the back of your throat. When you swallow, the bitterness makes you moan, envision being on your knees for Carmy, his fingers twined so deep into your hair it hurts, feeling his white-hot heat at the back of your throat.

It breaks whatever tension was stretched taut between you, and Carmy wraps his arms around your legs, pulls your body towards him and lowers his face between your thighs. For a moment, he teases you, nibbling at the juncture where your leg curves into your hip, skimming his teeth across the bone, but you know he’s secretly just as impatient as you are, and when he takes his first tender lick across your clit, he moans even louder than you do.

Giving head is an art for Carmy, and feels like a privilege to you. You’ve seen him enjoy food in the kitchen, give somebody that blown-away glance that they’ve worked their whole lives to see, but he never takes more than one bite.

But this, with you, as you watch him devour you whole...It’s the only meal you’ve ever watched him finish.

Tongue swirling delicately across your center, breaking for hungry kisses to your thighs as his hands grasp at any inch of you he can reach, you can’t help the words that spill from you, “yes, yes, Carmy, you’re so good, you make me feel so good, my good boy, please-“, but you can’t continue as he slides two fingers deep inside your aching pussy, so deep you don’t ever want him to move.

At this point in the erotic novels you read during your lunch break (which, if Fak were to find them, would spell the end of your career), the heroine says something about how it feels like hours pass with her lover between her legs. But this is real life, and all Carmy has to do is mutter, “Finish for me baby, finish for me,” for you to come embarrassingly quickly.

You’re practically incoherent on the comedown, and all you can summon the strength to do is pull him into you, press kisses to his forehead and mumble over and over how fucking amazing he makes you feel.

“If you lose everything else, Carmy, if you ever think there isn’t a thing in this world you’re any good at, just know that you are a god at giving head,” you pant eventually, and when he pushes his face into your neck, you can feel his smile there.

For a moment more, you just enjoy the press of his body against yours, revel in the sweat and slick between you. It dawns on you slowly just how slick it feels, and you gasp as you realise-

“Carmy, did you-?”

Carmy laughs into your skin, tracing one hand across your chest idly until you shiver. “Yeah. You, uh, you were moaning and telling me how good I was and…it was hot.”

You laugh with him breathlessly, still kind of in awe at how well you fit after all this time, how at home you feel with him. “Well, I hope that made your bad day a little better.”

Carmy is silent for a second before he murmurs, “You have no idea what you do for me,” and you can see the shine of his eyes in the glitter of the city lights filtering through your window. “There can never be a bad day if I end it right here, in this bed, in your arms.”

You would reply, but he’s kissing you into silence before you can, and you wonder for a moment if any words will ever need to be said between you and Carmy again, or whether you can communicate all the fear, all the anger, all the love, just with kisses and touch and his lips against yours. But eventually, as you slip into sleep with his body twined around yours, you decide that tongues were made for more than just talking.

[fettuccin-e]

Like It Like That

Kinktober Day 16: Role-Reversal

Tags: Steven Grant x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv (pls oh pls wrap it irl i'm begging you), rough sex, fingering (r!recieving), slight degradation, dom!steven my love my life (w/c: 897)

A/N: Another part of the rapid-fire Kinktober catch-up! This one is a tad short but guys we're so close to being fully caught up I can practically taste it oh my gosh!! And I needed more husband Steven, especially because I feel like I fluctuate between dom and subby Steven in all of my fics, so he's perfect for role-reversal! (I've been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings for the month!)

He’s usually so good for you. Perfectly happy to whine beneath you as you do whatever you want to him. And he’s always so responsive, giving into your every whim without question, desperate for your touch.

Marc put the idea in his head, just like he always seems to. Steven supposes that he brought it on himself, asking Marc if he really liked being in charge as much as he seems to. He did.

“'Course I do, and she fucking loves it,” Marc had said, eyes going dark. “She gets so damn desperate for it. It’s like she’s in goddamn heat.”

Steven had watched you both that night, watched on through your bedroom mirror as Marc tore you apart, fucking into you harder than Steven has ever dared to. And you had cried with the force of it, dripping down Marc’s cock as he fucked you hard enough for tears to spring to your eyes.

Steven couldn’t get the image out of his head, needing to see you like that again, needing to be the reason for it.

He asks you one night, over dinner of all things, like he’s discussing the fucking weather, “Can I have control for a night?”

“What?” you ask, setting your fork down and scooching closer to him on the couch. “Like, in the bedroom?”

Steven’s face flushes bright red. He won’t make eye contact with you. “Yeah,” he breathes, “Want to see how it feels, if that’s alright with you.”

You smile at him, ducking to his lips to meet him in a gentle kiss. “Of course, Steven,” you murmur. “Of course you can take control, see if you like it.” And in the back of your head, you can’t help but wonder how Steven, the sweetest, most docile man you’ve ever known, could possibly be dominant.

A few nights later, you find out. You find out, spread underneath him, just how far he can take it.

 “Fuck, please Steven, need it so bad, please,” you whine, unable to help yourself as Steven’s fingers spread you apart, jamming into your pussy so hard your head spins. 

“God, that’s so beautiful, love,” he murmurs, “keep begging for me.” And you realize that you’ve never been the one begging for him before. It’s always him, writhing and pleading beneath you. The change, his dark eyes roving down your body as he plays with you like a fucking toy, is enough to give you whiplash, sending you into a tailspin.

“Please, Steven,” you gasp as his fingers jackhammer into your g-spot, sending your back arching as you bear down on his fingers. “Please fuck me, need it- need it so bad, baby.”

Steven grins, the same cocky, self-satisfied grin Marc always gives you when he’s got you like this. It’s fucking maddening.

“Marc was right,” he murmurs, “you’re fucking gorgeous when you get desperate like this.” You flush with heat at the compliment, throwing your arm over your eyes to escape from Steven’s unrelenting gaze.

Before you can even breathe, Steven grips your wrist, pinning your arm above your head. “Look at me when I fuck you,” he snarls, deep and dark and so unlike your Steven that it makes your entire body lock up, feeling like you’ve been struck by lightning. You’re lightheaded as you feel the blunt head of his cock push at your gaping entrance.

He doesn’t break eye contact, holding your arm above your head as he pushes inside without remorse, not giving you a second to recover before he’s pulling out, and slamming into you again.

You’re so used to the way Steven whines beneath you, his hips bucking uncontrollably.

Now, you’re the one gasping for air as he growls above you, fucking into you at a pace that is utterly obscene, practically ripping you apart, straight down the middle, with his violent thrusts.

“Steven, fuck, oh my god, Steven,” you slur between his harsh movements into your aching body. You can hear the sound of your pussy around his cock, the wet slapslapslap of your bodies meeting over and over again.

“God, you’re so wet for me, love,” he rasps. He pulls his hand away from your wrist to grasp your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you onto his cock. “You love this, don’t you? Being used?”

You choke on your moans with his words, gasping for air.

“Fuck! Yes, I love it, love when you fuck me like this, oh shit- Steven!” Tears spring to your eyes, leaking down your cheeks. The headboard slams against the wall, threatening to dent it, but you couldn’t care less. Not when it feels like you could pass out from the pleasure of it all, Steven’s cock jamming into your g-spot with every single thrust.

“You look fucking perfect like this, darling,” Steven growls, “getting fucked like a slut.”

And you’re fucking gone, trembling and gasping soundlessly as you squeeze Steven’s cock with your orgasm, your nails digging into his shoulders. He thrusts in once, twice before he’s following, leaning into you to lick into your mouth, his hips moving in aborted little thrusts as he floods your pussy with his cum.

As you both settle, Steven lets himself rest on top of you, his weight comforting and warm.

“Did you like it, Steven?” You whisper, running your fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

“Mhm,” he hums tiredly into the crook of your neck. You chuckle.

“Good, because I fucking loved it.”

[hearts4chriss]

𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥.

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑

Brothers bestfriend!Chris + needy!Nate’s lil sister

Prompt: Chris caught you playing with yourself while moaning his name your dreams coming true he helps you

Part 02

Contains: rough/hard fingering, pet names, use of y/n ( not much ) lowk porn based dirty talking, degrading, pet names a bit, very submissive reader, HARD orgasm ( like shaking ),foreshadowing, sweet!chris at the end.

end of part 1

"come on sweetheart cum for me, you have another one in you yeah? He grunted lowly in my ear kissing me sloppily as a string of Saliva parts from our lips each time we kiss moaning into each others mouths.

“Oh fuck Chris I-“ I curl my toes and yell loudly as I’m about to release on the toy before I look up and see Chris. Was. Watching me.

“Were you playing with yourself?” Chris leans on the doorway of my room his eyes darting to between ny legs as I was thrusting the toy in and out of me and I quickly covered up my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Uhm…maybe. Sorry I-I’ll be down in a second-“

Maybe I can help. Chris says closing the door to my room approaching my bed"

I watch as chris approached my bed seeing my expression quickly shift to one of confusion.

You don't think I heard you moaning my name? He chuckles hovering above me slightly making my pussy throb at the closeness of him.

Come on sweetheart, you need me to touch you hm? I know ur already close. Chris whispers in my ear pressing a small kiss below it his fingers pressed on my stomach making my breath hitch as they crawled lower.

I let out a soft moan when his middle finger grazed over my bud allowing them to push my folds apart.

so wet, want my fingers inside ur pussy? He whispered dangerously low in my ear.

Yes- fuck Chris please- I practically beg like a helplessly puppy and he smirks thrusting two of his long slender flingers inside me and I jolt shuddering at the new feeling my legs closing in.

Nu uh baby keep those legs spread for me you wanted this right? His words immediately shoot towards my cunt squeezing his fingers whimpering as he was moving them at an ungodly pace.

Fuck fuck oh fuck yess- I throw my head back on the pillow moaning his name as my chest heaves up and down, the sounds of my wetness and his fingers thrusting in and out of me were almost euphoric and I couldn’t get enough of it.

You’re such a dirty girl y/n, imagine if ur brother walked in right now, his little sister getting her pretty pussy fingered by one of bestfriends. The boy chuckled darkly shaking his head not letting up on his relentless pace.

And he was so right, which made me only want him more, Nate would kill us both if he saw us especially since he’d probably be home any moment now, Chris had to hurry.

Oh shitt feels so fucking good Chris- I moan trying to look at him as he’s watching me carefully studying his body takes his fingers, imaging if that was his cock instead.

Sound so fucking pretty with my fingers inside you princess. Chris groaned feeling himself harden watching my arousal drip onto the mattress.

Fuck I’m gonna cumm- my toes curl as my legs begin to shake from the way his fingers moved inside and how they curved into my g-spot.

aww already? He chuckled seeing how easily he could make me cum with just his fingers.

Chris fuckk! I screamed as my legs shook leaving me to squirt hard all over his fingers and leaving a massive wet stain on the sheets.

Oh my god- I pant as he removed his fingers sticking them into his mouth humming at the taste.

fuck you taste good. He grins and I blush a bit and he sits up from my bed grabbing a pair of panties and some shorts for me.

Oh- thanks. I say softly pushing my hair back and he smiles.

no worries go change and I’ll clean ur sheets for you. He sends me a wink as I walk into the bathroom with flushed cheeks sliding on my panties and shorts before picking up my phone seeing texts from Nick and Matt

the gay one🏳️‍🌈

DID YALL FUCK?!

y’all fucking

Ewwwww nasties

chris’s wife 🦖

NO WE DIDNT ( pretty close tho ) 😛

the gay one🏳️‍🌈

y/n that was a joke..being blocked now !!

I roll my eyes and set my phone down and walk back out to my room seeing my sheets already changed and Chris wasn’t there so he must’ve been downstairs already, and so was Nate..

I walked downstairs and gave him a hug

Was she good Chris? Nate chuckles and I roll my eyes oh I was definitely good

she was alright. Chris gives me a teasing smile and slap his arm because he’d blow our cover.

cool I’m gonna go take a shower y/n I ordered us wingstop so be ready. He says messing up my hair and walking upstairs towards his room.

Soooo. I say trying to break the awkwardness since Nate left ignoring how Chris was knuckles deep inside me only 10 minutes ago.

He raises an eyebrow leaning over to me.

Don’t think that was a one time thing. He whispers in my ear pressing a small kiss smirking walking towards the door as Matt was honking outside.

Fuck I’m in for it now

@mattsleftnipple03 @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturniolopowers @gdsvhtwa @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @worldlxvlys @chrisslut25 @princessbetsy123-blog @mattslolita @guccifrog @blahbel668 @mattsneezing no Ava @trickywritters @hearts4chris

@nonamegirlxsturniolo @luvmxtt @theyluv-meee @mattsnymphette @hoesformatt @luv4kozume @kikisturnioloo @itzdarling @pepsiimaxx @babyddolly @iiheartstef @junnniiieee07 @ratatioulle @ast3ro1dzz @sturniolowhore @st7rnioioss @emma4eva @braindead4l @ihearttsyouu @blondiesjailer @kqyslyho3 @sturnsfav @sunsetsturniolos @stqrnstars @dlyansworld @chrisloyalgf @soimightlikeoldmen69 @abbie13sworld @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @chrissgirlsstuff @leah-loves-lilies @luhsexcbihh @nicksmainbitch

[wikiangela]

when I say I love your mind (I wanna steal your heart)

huge thank you to @evansboyfriend and @beefcakekinard for alllll the help, you're the best <3

prompt: Halloween - couples costumes rated: G tags: fluff, established relationship word count: 1.8k

[also on ao3]

“So maybe vampires? Classic.” Buck suggests, hoping they’ll finally settle on something. But one look at Tommy’s face tells him it’s another no. 

“I don’t know. It’s kinda basic.” His boyfriend says, and, okay, Buck can see that. 

“Yeah, okay.” Buck hums, taking a second to come up with something else, as he and Tommy walk through the park, taking the long way to Tommy’s car. It’s a late evening, the moon illuminating their path, Tommy’s hand warm in his. They’re just finishing up date night, and at the end of their dinner the subject of Halloween was brought up – which is what they’ve been on for the last fifteen minutes. “So I guess ghosts or zombies or, I don’t know, clowns or pirates are also a no?”

“Uh, they might be a maybe?” Tommy shrugs, but clearly he’s not very into it. 

“What about superheroes? Ooh, you could be Superman. You kinda look like him anyway.” He says, bringing their clasped hands to kiss Tommy’s knuckles. “My own personal hero.” He whispers, and Tommy laughs. Buck’s sure if it wasn’t dark, he’d see a faint blush in his cheeks.

“And what would that make you, Wonder Woman?” There’s a skeptical but amused tone in his voice. 

“Maybe.” He shrugs and Tommy doesn’t even need to say anything for Buck to know he’s not a fan. “Okay, so Batman and Robin.”

“Hm, that’s one to think about.” Tommy responds. Buck takes that as a win, but they could do something more fun.

“Luke and Leia.” He says just because maybe Star Wars will be something to agree on – though, on the other hand, that might just spiral into another disagreement they’ve had before about those movies in general, so maybe better to leave it alone. Buck loves Tommy so much, but his Star Wars opinions are… not good. He can look past that, though. No one can be perfect.

“They’re siblings. We’re not doing a sibling couples’ costume, Evan.” He says decisively, shaking his head. Bossy, for someone who can’t decide on a costume. Buck rolls his eyes, kinda fond but kinda annoyed.

“So Leia and Han Solo. Oh, or Han and Luke? To put a bit of a spin on it?”

“Uh-” Tommy makes a face – to his credit, he does try to hide it – and Buck sighs in frustration. He doesn’t even want to hear the reason for the no. He pauses, trying to think of something else, the silence always pleasant between them. Whether they talk for hours, or are silent together, in Tommy’s company every second is the most comfortable and enjoyable. Buck just feels like he can be fully himself, and lean into his silliest side. 

“We could be Venom and Eddie Brock.” He says, mostly joking, the image that popped into his head so ridiculous he laughs.

“Hm. And how would that work, exactly? One of us in regular clothes and the other in costume as Venom?”

“Yeah. You as Eddie, and I dressed in all black, on your back.” He gives Tommy a shit-eating grin when he glances at him disbelievingly. “You know, like when Venom pops out of Eddie’s back?”

“And, what, I’d carry you on my back the whole night?” He laughs, but Buck just nods. “Sweetheart, I’m strong, but I’m not that strong. Best I could do is a few minutes.” He sounds almost apologetic, and Buck needs to kiss him about it, so he presses a quick kiss to his lips, stopping them briefly.

“I know, I’m kidding.” He whispers, resuming walking. “Would be cool, though.”

“It would.” Tommy admits. Silence falls over them again, as the gears in Buck’s brain keep turning, going through every movie he can remember ever seeing, or any fun and cool couples they could realistically dress up as.

“Beauty and the Beast? I could do a yellow suit. And you can be my Beast.” Buck leans closer to Tommy, his chin brushing Tommy’s shoulder as they walk, almost at the car now. He whispers, “You already are.”

“That’s a leap from Venom.” A laugh escapes Tommy. “I don’t know. It’d be cute, but I thought you wanted scary.”

“True. We could make it scary.” He says, but then another idea pops into his head. “Oh, how about the Addams family? You know, to keep the spooky vibe.” Buck bumps his shoulder into Tommy’s.

“Well, I do love the Addams family.” Tommy nods. “Who exactly, though?”

“The best couple ever, of course. Morticia and Gomez.” He says, and watches Tommy’s face for his reaction. “And you hate it.” He sighs, and rolls his eyes, starting to get a tiny bit annoyed. It’s like the fiftieth costume he suggested, Tommy has to like something.

“No, I love it, really, but, you know, if we’re doing a couple, maybe it could be a gay couple instead?” Tommy suggests, pulling Buck a little closer to him. Well, that was the idea at first, before Buck spiraled where he is now, because someone kept shutting down his ideas. At least now he gets why some of those were a no from Tommy, because Buck thinks some were really fun.

“Yeah, sure. If we could agree on any.” He shoots Tommy a pointed look.

“Okay, any other ideas?” Tommy asks, a hint of fond amusement on his face. It’s not funny, though, they need to figure it out quickly, Halloween is right around the corner.

“Salt and pepper shakers.” He throws out. “Or ketchup and mustard.”

“Are you serious?” Tommy raises his eyebrow, giving him his signature ‘Evan’ look, version exasperated. Buck just shrugs, trying to hide a smile, the thought of his boyfriend having specific smiles and looks reserved for him making his heart swell.

“I’m running out of ideas, Tommy. Oh!” He exclaims, a new random idea popping into his head. “Tom and Jerry! Get it?” He grins, looks at his boyfriend expectantly, and sees a tired but very fond and amused smile. “Tom-my.” He drags out the first syllable, just to get his point across.

“Yeah, baby, I get it. You’re adorable, but no.” He says, and then chuckles when Buck pouts. 

“How about the emotions from Inside Out?” He grumbles, the movie popping into his head randomly – probably because he and Tommy watched it with Jee on their latest babysitting duty. They did a whole Pixar marathon. “You can be boredom.”

“Oh, really?” Tommy gives him one of his looks, and, damn, Buck almost melts under his gaze, even when he’s annoyed with him. He loves him so fucking much. “You calling me boring?” He tugs at Buck’s hand, stopping them and bringing him closer, so they’re face to face, his hands settling on Buck’s hips, Buck’s landing on his huge arms, now covered by a jacket. There’s an amused smirk on Tommy’s face. “I thought I was cool?”

“Nah, you’re not. You hide it well, but I know now that you’re just a huge dork. And very, very boring.” Buck teases, trying and failing to say it with a straight face, a smile breaking through. “And I love you anyway.”

“I love you, too, Evan.” Tommy says, his smile forming into that fond, loving ‘Evan’ smile that Buck can never resist kissing off. So he does. He kisses Tommy once, twice, the kisses soft and chaste, both smiling into each other’s lips. He’s about to go in for a third, intending on deepening it, but Tommy pulls away, face a bit more serious. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Buck frowns, not wanting or needing any apologies, genuinely wondering if he missed anything.

“For being such a pain about this whole costume thing.” Tommy explains, and Buck wants to laugh. Yeah, okay, he was a little annoyed, but it’s just a little teasing, bickering, about Halloween costumes of all things. He can take the most ridiculous things seriously, but this? Nothing to get overly upset about. He’s about to say all that, but then Tommy continues, “I don’t know, maybe Halloween is just not my thing. I’ve never really been too into it.” He shrugs, a flicker of something wistful crossing his face, but it’s gone too quickly to decipher. “But it matters to you, and I love you, and I want you to be happy. So, I’m done being a party pooper, let’s do a costume. Next idea, no complaints, I promise. Whatever you want.” He says so sincerely, but there’s a hint of a ‘I hope I’m not gonna regret this’ in his eyes. Buck grins, a random, brand new idea showing up.

“Woody and Buzz? From Toy Story.” he clarifies, as if that wasn’t obvious – and clearly it was, from the look he gets. “What? You said gay couple.”

“I don’t think they were. And I thought you wanted scary- but fine, okay.” Tommy sighs, that fond look back on his face. “I said whatever you want. You wanna be the cowboy or the astronaut?”

“Hm.” Buck takes a second to think – and realizes that, actually, there’s an even better, easier idea. “Or we could just be cowboys.” He shrugs, and then he can feel his eyes go wide as the full picture pops into place. 

“Zombie cowboys.” He says, at the same time as Tommy, though Tommy’s sounds more like a question.

“You know me so well.” Buck beams, leaning in for another kiss. “Let’s be scary cowboy zombies. See, was that so hard?”

“You’re the one with a thousand ideas for a second. I didn’t even say no to everything at first, you just went through so many it was hard to keep up. I’m pretty sure you said cowboy back at the restaurant, too, and I didn’t even get a chance to say anything.” Tommy points out, pulling away from Buck, grabbing his hand again and starting to walk, his truck already visible in the distance.

“Not my fault my brain works like that.” Buck says mock-defensively. 

“I know, honey, I love your wonderful brain.” Tommy smiles, lets go of Buck’s hand to wrap his arm around his waist, presses a quick kiss to his cheek. “And I love you, my silly zombie cowboy.”

“Halloween is gonna be so much fun.” Buck is smiling widely, excited like a kid for his first Christmas – or, his first Halloween, more like. It’s seemingly no big deal, but also it’s his first Halloween with Tommy, and he’s excited – he’s excited for all the firsts with Tommy. He can’t wait to do everything and anything with him. “Are you gonna come by the station?”

“Of course, if I can. Gotta see how scary you’re gonna make it.”

“Wanna bet I can scare you?” He asks, just as they near the car.

“In the haunted house for children?” Tommy raises his eyebrows. “Sure, you can try. What are we betting on?”

“I have a few ideas.” Buck grins wickedly, crowding Tommy against the car.

“Oh, really? Well, I’m all ears.” Tommy grins, his arms wrapping around Buck’s neck, pulling him closer. Buck smiles into Tommy’s lips, kissing him, quick but lingering.

“Well, why don’t we go home and I can show you what I have in mind?”

[read on ao3]

[aakeysmash]

Hey! Not sure about this prompt, buuuttt (feel free to ignore). I love your tattoo artist Sukuna au, but I can’t stop thinking about Sukuna being a piercing artist as well… imagine you booked an appointment with him and he comforted you all the way through it, cuz shit hurts. And he texted you after and asked you out on the date (or maybe he asked you out in person right after the appointment) 💔

You're panting, hands on your knees and sweat dripping down your forehead. A drop falls onto the perfectly clean and sterilized floor, which is a weird translucent black that reflects your disheveled image. You are able to look at your form: damn, you look like the hunchback of Notre Dame. The people inside of this studio must really pay for their cleaners.

"D'you want a napkin, doll?" comes a snicker from behind you, a deep voice startling you upright. You curse inside your mind before turning around.

"Yeah, sorry for being late, I had an appoin-" your voice dies when you find yourself facing a menacing looking guy. The contrast between his face tattoos, his eyebrow piercing and his pink hair is giving you whiplash.

"Y/N, I assume. The girl who called me while drunk out of her mind crying for me to please sneak her in this week. Took your sweet time," he says while looking you up and down.

You're embarrassed, but you still manage to respond. "Listen, my friends made me do it. We have a bet going on right now, it has nothing to do with my mental stability while drunk, okay?"

Then he turns around and enters a room without sparing you a second glance. You wait a bit at the reception for him to come back, when he suddenly reappears from the same room and tsks.

"How the fuck am I gonna pierce you if you don't follow me? You gotta pay attention, woman," he says rolling his eyes.

"Man, you could be nicer, you know," you mumble, moving toward him.

"Are you gonna pay me more if I do?" he asks you, bored.

"Hell no," you respond immediately.

"Then sit your pretty little ass on the couch and shut up," he singsongs.

You huff, then do as he says. The reviews of his studio were all positive, talking about how great of a piercer he is, and he's also pretty cheap for being so known. You're going to ignore his rudeness.

"So, what hole do I have to make mine?" he asks you, putting on a pair of black gloves. If he didn't have that many tattoos he could probably look like a surgeon right now.

"Excuse me?" you say, glaring at him.

"I'm using the words you used on the call. The piercing, doll. Where do you want it?" he says smirking. He was fully booked this week, he had to admit. But you entertained him so much on the phone, talking about how bad you wanted him to "fill your holes with metal... what's the right word..." that he decided he couldn't let the chance to meet you slip.

"I'm going to give you one star if you keep on teasing me, asshole," you say decisively.

"Sure, sure. Speak," he chuckles, raising his hands.

"Nipples."

"Mh? Say it louder for me," he gapes a bit.

"I want my nipples pierced!" you exclaim, starting to get pissed off.

He raises one eyebrow, then gets serious. He gets up from his chair and slowly gets closer to you. From your still sitting position, you have to strain your neck to look at him properly. He's really fucking gorgeous, he has the prettiest facial features you've ever seen, not to talk about how muscular he seems to be under his oversized black tee. You're so mesmerized by him that you don't realize that you let him pinch your chin and turn your head left and right, gently.

"Let me see those tits then," he says lowly, starting to lean back. You kind of miss his warmth.

You try not to get shy while you get your shirt over your head and start unclipping your bra, when he suddenly stops you, putting his gloved hand on yours.

"Let me do it for you," he says, gazing into your eyes. The atmosphere between you two is getting heavy, and your closeness is making your belly feel things.

"Sure," you say, lowering your eyes toward his lips. He gets both of his arms behind your back, and with expert fingers makes your bra fall into your lap. He then picks it up and throws it behind his shoulder. He flicks his gaze toward yours for a split second before brushing your nipple with his gloved thumb.

"You got a nice pair, doll," he mumbles, fondling both your tits, hyperfixating on how your nipples were hard even before he put his hands on them. You're trembling, trying your hardest not to make a sound, squeezing your thighs the hardest you can.

"What d'you want me to put on them? Stars? Little spheres? My tongue?" he keeps on rumbling, now focusing on your areolas. He pinches your left nipple and you can't keep yourself from whimpering. Something snaps in his head and he looks at you, starting to smirk.

"Oh, you liked the last one, huh? Let me give it to you then," he says cockily, before kissing lightly the nub he just pinched. You jump a little and he beams at that. He spits on your tits, earning himself a moan, then tries to fit as much as he can in his mouth. Your whole body feels hot, but his mouth is definitely hotter. You feel like you're burning alive until you feel something cold touch your nipple. The sensation is so pleasurable that it catches you off guard: he has a tongue piercing. 

On the other hand, Sukuna looks like the happiest man on earth. He keeps kissing, biting and sucking your breasts, alternating between the two and never leaving one unattended, either with his mouth or with his hand. You get so lost in the pleasure that you don’t realize he’s cleaned and prepped your nipple until you feel the needle passing through it. You cry out in disbelief, but he shushes you.

“You’re doing so good, you’re so pretty, it’s so pretty,” he keeps repeating, almost whining, in your ear. At one point, you feel like he’d want to hump your leg, but his self restraint is stronger than that.

Then everything stops and he walks three steps of distance from you. You’re both panting, staring at each other, lips red: yours from biting them to suppress noises, his from decorating your tits in hickeys.

“I don’t do nipples, everyone knows it. You’re lucky you’re pretty,” he states, breathless, staring at you.

“I know, I thought you were going to say no,” you respond, lightheaded, trying to keep the rise and fall of your chest in check.

“You’re good with only one?” he continues, coming closer to you again.

“Yeah,” you say, skin sensitive to his breath beneath your ear, turning your face to make more room for his lips to brush against the side of your neck.

“Then let’s go, I have other holes to fill,” he tells you smiling devilishly while taking your hand and yanking you toward him.

[hotshotsxyz]

Hiii Abbie 💕💕💕

Buddie + “ i didn’t know where else to go. “

-❤️🪐

(buddie) (1.5k) eddie's pov before and after the events of this fic written for the same prompt! (technically i only used the line in the first one but oh well lol)

cw: vague description of a very bad car accident

Eddie doesn’t make a habit of watching the news. It’s depressing as hell, he runs the risk of seeing Taylor fucking Kelly on his TV, and if something he actually needs to know about is going on, he’ll hear it from Buck some time in the next few days anyway. All that to say, Eddie isn’t watching the news; he’s just flipping through the channels.

“Pick me, choose me!” Meredith Grey is saying in a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy.

click

“—low pressure system moving in from the north,” a meteorologist says on The Weather Channel.

click

“Alright boys, saddle up!” says the captain on that crappy network firefighter show.

click

“—multi-car pile-up on the 405. It’s unclear if—”

click

“—raw dough. It’s such a shame—”

click

“—urging drivers to avoid—”

click

“—looking for a loft in the city, while Jennifer would prefer—”

click

“—unclear if there are any survivors of the initial crash.”

Eddie puts the remote down. He doesn’t make a habit of watching the news, but every once in a while, something catches his attention.

The image on the screen is an aerial shot of a massive, burning multicar pile-up. The 136 is on scene, but they can’t have been there long if the size and ferocity of the fire is anything to go by.

“—compounded by the explosion of a tanker carrying gasoline—”

Eddie winces. They’re going to be there all night if they don’t get more companies on scene. He reaches for the remote at the same time as the shot switches from the aerial to a reporter on the ground. She’s not what stops him from changing the channel. The crushed and smoldering Jeep behind her is.

And it’s—there’ve got to be a thousand silver Jeeps in Los Angeles. And Buck wouldn’t—why would he even be on the 405? So obviously it’s not Buck’s Jeep, even if it is the same color and probably year. It’s just a shitty little coincidence.

An unpleasant pressure begins to build in Eddie’s chest.

He’ll just—it’s not late. He doesn’t even have to tell Buck why he’s calling. Eddie scoops his phone off the table, navigates to his favorites, and taps Buck’s name. The call goes straight to voicemail. Eddie frowns and taps his name again. He gets the same result.

“—and rescue is under way, but I’m being told that until the fire is contained—”

Buck’s phone is dead, probably. Or—or he took Jee to that movie he was talking about so he had to turn it off. That’s—he’s sure that’s it. Eddie rubs at his sternum and stands. He’s just… feeling a little paranoid.

He calls Maddie. She answers on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Maddie,” Eddie says, brushing a hand across the back of his neck. “It’s Eddie.”

“Uh, hey,” Maddie says. “Is everything okay?”

Eddie winces. “Yeah, I think so. I was just wondering if you’ve talked to Buck tonight.” He’s being ridiculous. Buck’s fine.

“No,” Maddie says, obvious confusion in her tone. “Why, did something happen?”

“No, no,” Eddie says. “I just haven’t been able to get ahold of him.”

Maddie hums thoughtfully. “He might’ve had a dental appointment earlier,” she says.

“Okay, thanks,” Eddie says. “I’ll probably just swing by the loft then.” There’s a pit in his stomach. Buck’s fine. At worst he has a cavity or two. He’s fine.

“Oh!” Maddie exclaims. “Hold on, let me check his location; I’ll save you the trip if he’s not there.”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose. Duh. He has Buck’s location too. He didn’t even need to bother Maddie with—

“Nope, sorry,” she says.

Eddie takes a breath. He’s fine. Buck’s fine. “Maddie,” he says slowly, “where is he?”

“Um, as of twenty-eight minutes ago, looks like he was driving through Culver City, on the 405, I think,” she replies. “Eddie, what’s going on?”

“Oh god,” he breathes. He can feel the blood draining from his face.

“Eddie?” Maddie asks. She’s starting to sound worried.

On the TV, the camera zooms in and pans across the wreckage. It reaches the Jeep. Hanging from the rearview mirror is a bigfoot air freshener that looks exactly like the one Chimney gave him as a joke a few months ago. It’s—

It’s Buck’s Jeep. He’s fine. He has to be fine.

“—understand that search and rescue efforts are underway, but as of right now, no additional survivors have been located.”

He could be dead.

Eddie’s knees give out beneath him. He lands heavily on the couch.

“Don’t turn on the news,” he says.

“What? Why?” Maddie asks.

“There was an accident on the 405,” Eddie replies mechanically. “I think it might be bad.”

On the other end of the line, Maddie sucks in a sharp breath. “Eddie—”

“It’s his Jeep,” Eddie says.

He’s okay.

He has to be okay.

He’s not okay.

He could be dead.

“I have to call Bobby,” Eddie realizes aloud. “He can—he can get in touch with IC.”

“Okay,” Maddie says shakily. “Okay. I’m going to call Sue. Maybe she—” Maddie cuts herself off with something like a gasp.

“I’ll call you when—” if “—I get ahold of him,” Eddie promises.

“Same,” Maddie replies.

They end the call without a goodbye.

Eddie tries Buck again, just in case. He doesn’t answer.

He can’t—

Buck has to be okay.

He has to.

Eddie takes a steeling breath and calls Bobby.

…

Eddie’s crawling out of his skin. The captain of the 136 has him on hold, and that’s already more than he’s obligated to do but—

But it’s Buck and Eddie’s fucking terrified.

The longer he waits, the farther afield his imagination goes.

He’s got a broken leg and a concussion; they’re taking him to Cedars-Sinai.

He wasn’t conscious when we found him. They’re airlifting him to UCLA.

I’m sorry, Diaz. He was DOA.

Eddie paces back and forth and tugs at his hair. He needs to do something, anything! He needs—

Flashing blue and red lights filter in through the window.

He’s dead.

He’s dead, and this time Eddie wasn’t there to coax him back.

He’s dead and they sent an officer to tell him in person and Eddie’s never going to catch his breath because Buck’s the one that taught him how to breathe after—

There’s a knock at the door.

He can’t do this. Eddie can’t do this. He can’t—

How is he supposed to go to work without Buck? How’s he supposed to tell Christopher? How is he ever going to get up in the morning again? How is his heart supposed to keep beating in a world devoid of Evan Buckley?

He opens the door.

His phone clatters to the floor.

“Buck,” he sobs.

…

Eddie watches the slow rise and fall of Buck’s bruised chest as he sleeps.

He’s alive.

He’s okay.

He’s got tangible proof right in front of him, but—

Eddie reaches out and brushes an errant curl from his forehead.

Buck is alive and breathing and sleeping in Eddie’s bed and he’s okay. But Eddie—

He rests his palm on Buck’s sternum and counts each inhale.

Buck’s here. He’s fine. Maddie knows and Bobby knows and Eddie’s got the living proof right in front of him, but—

Eddie shuffles a little closer until the heat of Buck’s skin is overwhelming against his own. He hooks his chin onto Buck’s shoulder and tries to memorize the strange shadows and highlights that are painted on his skin by the light of the moon.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

He could’ve—

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and shudders.

Buck’s alive and he’s right here, but Eddie can’t quite escape the moment when he was certain neither of those things would ever be true again. His breathing goes a little ragged, and his hands curl into fists.

“Eds?” Buck mumbles, eyes still closed.

Eddie lets out a shaky breath. “M’sorry, go back to sleep,” he whispers. The words are sticky and thick in his throat.

A small furrow etches itself between Buck’s brows. Eddie smooths it with his thumb. He drags his gaze back down Buck’s face and finds his eyes open and fixed on him.

“Eddie,” he whispers in the dark.

He takes a deep breath. “I’m fine,” he lies.

Buck frowns. He watches Eddie for a long moment, then something in his expression shifts. “Switch sides with me,” he says.

Eddie blinks. “What?”

Buck huffs a soft breath. “Just—trust me?”

And oh, Eddie does. He carefully climbs over Buck, who shuffles to his right to give Eddie more room.

“Okay?” he asks quietly.

“Almost,” Buck replies.

He pulls Eddie flush against him and guides his head down onto his chest. Beneath him, Buck’s heart beats strong and steady.

“Oh,” Eddie exhales.

Buck runs his hand through Eddie’s hair and down his back.

Eddie closes his eyes and finally, he sleeps.

[http-tokki]

nasty dog- choso kamo

~ tattoo artist!choso kamo x fem!reader ~tags/cw: mature content, explicit language, sexual tension ~ wc: 740 ~ not proofread - part of the tattoo artist! choso AU - "I can't stop looking at her ti-ti-ti-ti- face"

Choso knew he fucked up.

The second he spins the roller chair around, bringing you face him, Choso is so beyond screwed. His intention was to continue the conversation front on, fed up with talking through a mirror, plus he wants to get a closer look at your pretty face. He knows he won't be able to stop the blush rising, cheeks glowing red with excitement at being so close to you, but he will talk with you, flirt a little before spinning you back around to finish the tattoo and think about all the different way he would love to make you cum. What Choso isn't expecting is to get a face full of boob. Somehow his mind had forgone the fact you are wearing a pretty sundress cut a little too low, not that he is complaining, well maybe now he is because Choso can’t seem to tear his eyes away from your chest.

“Choso?” your voice is distant but his name is a life jacket pulling him back to the boat.

His gaze snaps up, cheeks burning and dick aching.

Fuck.

“I’m so sorry” he apologises without prompt but you know what he is alluding to.

You giggle, light and airy and shake your head. “It’s okay. they’re right there.” You look down at your chest and shrug. “Plus, I was looking at yours so we’re even.”

Choso tilts his head. “Mine?”

Another giggle, your cheeks dusting pink. “yeah, your pecs.” your eyes flicker down to his chest before back up to his face. “you’ve got nice…..” you inhale a shaky breath. “muscles”

It’s Choso’s turn to laugh and he does flex a little bit to show off a little more, feeling the black shirt tighten over his chest. He likes the way your face turns bright red, how your eyes are trained on him, breathing turning a tad heavier as you cheat heaves. Choso is now also staring at your chest; again. Images of all the ways he could worship you flood his mind, sending blood rushing to his cock. He knows your skin is soft from when he placed the stencil on but he wonders how soft your tits would feel in his large hands, fingers rolling and pinching your nipples before biting down on the soft flesh. do you moan? whimper? or do you sigh? little whines as he sucks and licks and bites.

“Umm….guys?” Choso hears Yuji’s voice and he is instantly whipping his head away from you and towards the door.

There stands his brother, leaning against the door frame staring into the room with furrowed brows.

“Yeah?” Choso’s voice breaks, unable to stop the crack as he coughs. “What is it?”

Yuji stands there for a few seconds longer, eyes darting between the two of you suspiciously before he nods once then announces the reason why he came into the room.

“I'm getting lunch, did you two want anything?”

Choso turns back to you. Your skin is flushed, eyes cast down and away from him.

Fuck. He really fucked up.

“I’m okay, but do….?” his question trails off as you shake your head, still unable to look at him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Okaaaay… i'll be about 15 but I could be longer if you want anything from the cafe down the street?” Yuji waggles his brows at his brother.

“we’re okay, thanks.” Choso cuts off his brother's teasing.

“Could go to the Italian place the next suburb over if you guys want. might be a bit longer with that one though."

"We're good, Yuji." Choso is losing his patience.

His younger brother winks before pulling away from the door frame.

"Might even go downtown be even more of a wait."

"Bye, Yuji," Choso shouts at his brother, sending him off with an air of irritation.

the sound of bells signal his departure and only after not hearing the sound of footsteps coming back up the hall, does Choso turn to you apologies already falling from his tongue. He doesn't know where to go from here, do you guys talk about the very obvious attraction between the two of you or do you ignore it and continue with the tattoo?

Choso's phone buzzes with a text.

Yuji: Do u guys need alone time? ;)