#lazy tagging hahh

[oceanicwedding]

— scattered papers ..

office sex . need i say more ?

a letter from .. anonymous

anon my head was kiinda going everywhere im sorry if this turned out hh ??????? ... ;; im a total perv when it comes to office settings ... someone needs to call hr on these two ( yanagi live reaction . ) reader also kinda has their own office ?? yea

sorry this took a while i wrote this in between my bpd maxxing ( crashing out ) </3

● pairing – ( sub top ) reader x ( dom bottom ) asaba harumasa

● tags – written w mtf reader in mind , afab harumasa , office sex ( duh ) , unprotected , biting

“asaba..”

you mutter, completely breaking your focus from your work — hands gripping his hips as he sat himself onto your lap. “..i need to get this done..”

“since when did you care about work this much?” he tuts, pressing a lazy kiss onto your jaw — one of his hands cupping your opposite cheek. such a tease — you almost want to call him. yet you can’t seem to deny him anything at all..

he uses a free hand to roam down your body — eventually landing himself onto the zipper of your pants. “c’mon, i can just tell you’re eager here.” you click your tongue as a response — your fingers are digging deeper into his hips.

eventually, you let him unzip your pants. your cock was already straining against them, anyway.. you don’t particularly care as long as you don’t get caught. that doesn’t stop your face to heat up, though. your breath was growing heavy — you’re sure he can tell.

you can’t help but glance around. there’s no one here — but the noise. you both know the walls are thin.

you had to stifle a moan when he positioned himself better onto your dick — that damn smile still etched on his face. what a tease, you tell yourself — as he slowly sank down onto your lap. his hands rest against your shoulder, giving a light kiss on your lips before he started moving.

taking in your hard on into is wet cunt — god, his insides are so warm. you couldn’t help but let out a content sigh as he takes you in. his hips rolling as yours stay put. and god bless that chair for not breaking under the both of you.

you bury your face onto his neck as he holds you close, licking and biting — marking him as yours. should you be doing this? probably not. would be mind? no, not at all. the feeling of your teeth on his neck only made him go faster.

“hahh.. haru — you..” you want to say something to him — an insult, perhaps. maybe a compliment, too. you don’t know — you can barely think of anything other than how fucking good he feels all wrapped around you.

all you can do is hope no one hears the both of you — you’d do so, so much more if the walls weren’t so thin.

zzz m . list ♡

[instasiswetrust]

I posted 155 times in 2021

109 posts created (70%)

46 posts reblogged (30%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.4 posts.

I added 479 tags in 2021

#steve harrington - 103 posts

#harringrove - 89 posts

#stranger things - 85 posts

#billy hargrove - 63 posts

#drabbles - 58 posts

#dbd - 20 posts

#dead by daylight - 18 posts

#omie.txt - 15 posts

#2 days reblog - 14 posts

#bloodshot au - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 111 characters

#anyway steve basically got almost killed by omega billy when he went into town once and because he's scentblind

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Steve thinks of the night. of the sound of crickets chirping and the sharp smell of smoke assaulting his nostrils. of undulating yellow and red and orange. of troubled blue eyes, the color of lightning strikes and thunderstorms. a smattering of cuts and bruises like constellations on tanned skin. he remembers the heat of a body against him, kisses stolen, and secrets shared. of fogged-up car windows, and the uncomfortable leather of a too-small backseat. He thinks of laying there, warm breath on his collarbone and a boneless boy atop him. but most of all, he remembers the gentleness with which those lips kissed him goodnight that night without knowing it would be their last.

70 notes • Posted 2021-10-19 22:42:34 GMT

#4

Billy loves making Steve cry from pleasure and he makes sure it happens often. No matter if he's fucking Steve silly or he's riding Steve, he loves it when Steve’s brown eyes fill with tears that drip down his cheeks and pool on his collarbones. Loves it when Steve’s moaning his name without shame, begging him to stop in the same choked breath and yet he has never used their safe word. Steve thinks it's gross that Billy leans in to lick at his tear covered cheeks but he never protests much either because somehow it just adds to the experience.

72 notes • Posted 2021-09-24 16:05:48 GMT

#3

"Bill- Mmm! Wai-"

Unrelenting lips press against his own, preventing any sort of thought from properly forming in his head. He's drowning in the sweetness of strawberry lip gloss, Billy's skin hot even over his clothes where they are pressed together in the backseat of the beamer.

A moan escapes Steve's lips when Billy leaves a trail of kisses along his jaw and down his neck, the sound turning into a breathless whine when he feels sharp teeth close around the muscle at the base of his neck. It's not the pleasure-pain that gets to him though, but the obvious claim Billy is staking with a bite in such an obvious place.

"I'm gonna hahh- have to put makeup oh fuck- on that tomorrow." He mutters in between gasps as his boyfriend continues to focus all his attention on his neck.

"You're welcome, doll." And Steve swears he can feel Billy's wolfish grin against his skin even as he hears it clear in his voice.

Not like he can blame him though. He knows how Billy gets whenever Steve wears a turtleneck, and it's for that same reason he wore one tonight. Really, he was just asking for it this time.

A pointed roll of hips has him choking on a moan, hands tightening where they are gripping Billy's hips, hard enough that he knows it will leave finger-shaped bruises on the freckled skin there. It's enough to halt his boyfriend's hips, and Steve delights in the small sound of protest that escapes the man above him.

"You sure about this, babe?" This time is Billy's turn to muffle his sounds as Steve presses lazy kisses over his neck and the shell of his ear, teasing the sensitive skin with his teeth.

A pointed whine leaves Billy after a particularly hard nip. "Just touch my fucking dick already, I swear to god, Steve-"

74 notes • Posted 2021-10-26 13:12:28 GMT

#2

"Guys, I think we have a problem."

"Is it another demogorgon?"

"Did you find a gate?"

"Are you okay, Max?"

"No, no. Shut up, nothing like that. It's worse.”

"There's nothing worse than a demogorgon, Max. Stop joking!"

"Is it at least a supernatural thing?"

"Well, no but-"

"Then what could be big enough to be considered a problem?"

"You're all insufferable! I was going to tell you about Steve being at my house today-"

"Wait, you saw Steve?!"

"Yeah, dumbass. Mom and I came home from Thanksgiving break and he was at the kitchen table with Billy."

"Steve and Billy? Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! They were having breakfast and Steve was wearing Billy's clothes."

A poignant pause.

"WHAT???”

82 notes • Posted 2021-09-04 21:37:03 GMT

#1

Heather Harrington neé McNamara was not the best mom but neither was she the worst.

Recitals? Baseball games? Parent-Teacher conferences? Yeah, don't expect her to attend those unless you like the way disappointment sits heavy, low in your stomach.

But she always made sure Steve never lacked anything he would ever need in life.

She taught him to clean, to cook, to be self-sufficient. He knew how to fire a gun as well as he knew how to prepare parmesan chicken. Knew which people to avoid and which people to stick around with to maintain a social status. How to lie, how to look pretty, how to get what he wanted from life with a smile and a look.

And never in his whole seventeen years of life did she make him think that their abilities were anything other than a gift.

"It might seem unhelpful because of how distracting it is, honey. I know it makes things harder for you at school and I'm so sorry about that. But this thing we've got? It is a gift, my love." She had whispered to him one afternoon after he had come home with another set of failed grades, a result of getting distracted by the itchy, prickly feeling he got whenever he was near Mrs. Keen, his batshit crazy Math teacher. "It will help keep you safe. And you will know things other won't."

So Steve had lacked parents who gave him the kind of love he yearned, but he had his gift and his practical knowledge and a big empty house to fit all the people who called themselves his friends.

Asking for more would just be selfish, wouldn't it?

---

"Mom, hey, are you and dad coming over anytime soon?"

Heather, who had been in the middle of a recounting about this fantastic escargot she had eaten in Paris, stopped immediately at the timbre of her son's voice.

"Not for another two weeks, no. You sound troubled love, is something the matter? I'm sure I can schedule a trip back to Hawkins if you-"

"No, no it's... fine. Everything is fine, mom." But his words were too rushed, and there's hesitation clear in them. It's clear that something must be bothering him, otherwise, he wouldn't have called.

"Mhmm. But?"

The line went quiet for a few moments, Steve's breathing the only thing that could be heard. Heather knew then that whatever he was hiding, he would tell her.

"There's this...guy," He started, quiet and unsure. It made her eyes widen, pressing the phone closer to her ear in avid interest. "He joined classes this year, said he comes from Cali. But uh, you remember how you always told me that we can tell if somebody is good or bad depending on the vibes they give out?"

"Yes. Bad vibes make you feel itchy, unnerved, and sweat cold. Good vibes are goosebumps and restlessness. Why?"

"Because I'm getting all of those. From him."

Huh. Well, that's something she hadn't seen that often herself. It almost made her want to giggle.

"Oh honey, that's okay. Doesn't happen often but it's okay." She smiled against the phone, hearing the relieved sigh her son let out on the other end. "Maybe you should try getting to know him better, talk to him a little. Let yourself do the judging instead of relying only on the vibes."

"I... Yeah, I guess I could try that. Thanks, mom."

"Anytime, honey."

She hoped her Stevie realized he's got a crush on this boy before she came back from Paris. If he hadn't, she was going to have to tell him herself.

What neither of them ever considered though, was that Billy Hargrove was a werewolf. And that Steve was careless enough to follow him into the woods during the night of a full moon.

91 notes • Posted 2021-09-29 04:17:51 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[darker-soft-starker]

My Best Friends Dad Pt. 2 (Pt.1, Pt.3, Pt.4)

4.9k tagging: @starkerkitty @keepingupwiththekardamomme @valiantthewriter

December had brought Peter back home for the winter holidays, saddled with a duffle full of laundry he’d never gotten around to doing and bone-deep exhaustion. The first thing he did upon arrival was flop down on his bed and sleep for fourteen hours straight, still in his jeans and sneakers, drooling onto his pillow. Second was to spend some proper time with his Aunt - and the third was catching up with his friends. His dear, dear friends. 

“I can’t believe he broke up with you, what an asshole.”

Pursing his lips around the straw of his strawberry milkshake and sucking, Peter watches the interaction with interest as MJ shrugs from across the table. She doesn’t look too bothered by her recent single status if the disinterested lift of her shoulders is of any indication.

“Tinder boys. I’m not exactly heartbroken,” is all she says in response, stealing a fry from Neds’ plate and chewing it leisurely.

Peter raises his eyebrows at her in a deliberate fashion, dipping his chin when she catches his dubious gaze.

“What’re you looking at, nerd?”

“Since when are you on Tinder?” he asks, reaching over to steal a fry of his own, frowning when Ned slaps his wrist.

“Question is, Petesicle,” Harley cuts in, nabbing his own fry from Ned’s plate, “why are you not on Tinder?”

Peter shrugs, the back of his neck going warm. “I just like meeting people the old fashion way?”

“Vintage,” MJ nods.

“It’s not vintage.”

“Can you guys stop,” Ned interrupts as all three go to reach for his plate at the same time. It’s par for the course that he gets ignored by everyone. Huffily conceding defeat  he slides the meal into the centre of the table. Ned’s nice like that, Peter thinks as he steals two more fries.

“What about him, he’s your type, right?” Harley says, pointing towards a tall male at the entrance of the diner. Peering over, the man looks to be in his thirties, carries himself with careless ease, hair sandy and artfully windswept. It’s the middle of winter but he’s in a t-shirt, undoubtedly to parade the bulge of his biceps.

Peter shakes his head. “Really not my type.”

“Dude, he’s fucking hot,” his best friend says in near disbelief, leering shamelessly and winking when the man notices him staring. “He’s my type.”

“He’s like twice your age,” Ned adds, eyebrows drawing together as he assesses the guy. “He probably has a kid or something.”

“Yeah, so? That just means he has more experience.”

“Amen to that,” MJ says, fistbumping Harley even as Ned fixes them a judging stare.

Peter watches as the guy walks towards the counter, hips swaying with an over-confident swagger. The sunglasses tucked into the collar of his cotton shirt drags the material down to reveal the skin of his chest, shiny and hairless. The guy even winks flirtatiously at the poor girl behind cashier who looks distinctly unimpressed.

“Yeah, no thanks.”

MJ rolls his eyes at him, kicking her foot out under the table and connecting with his shin. “Okay, and when was the last time you got your dick wet, Parker?”

Peter kicks her back.

“Does it matter?”

“Dunno dude, you seem a little tense.”

“Yeah, because I’m busy with school and work. Getting some isn’t exactly a top priority right now.”

“You’re on winter break,” MJ corrects.

He somehow barely withholds the urge to gesture wildly around him, as if to articulate his lack of options, the only people in the diner besides them and the not-hot guy being an elderly couple and some middle-school kid. He fails to suppress the heat that noticeably paints his cheeks pink, forever uncomfortable with being the centre of attention. His friends are the absolute worst. He’s going to put them all up for sale.

“I’m just...enjoying being single for once. Y’know, just happy to just be by myself.”

Even Ned stares at him blankly. “There’s no one in this entire town you would mess around with?”

Peter scoffs. “No.”

“Not even the hot girl that works at Dairy Queen?”

“No.”

“Dude, even I’d fuck her,” MJ adds, looking slightly offended on her behalf.

“Can I remind everyone that I’m here to spend time with May and you guys - I’m not here to get laid?”

--

“Oh fuck, fuck… Tony that’s, ahh yeah, right there --”

Using the grip he has on Tony’s hair, he manoeuvres him to bring his lips from where they were sucking at his neck up to his own. Tony doesn’t falter at the change, and surges forward to deepen their kiss, groaning into Peters’ mouth. God, Tony is so good with his tongue, Peter thinks as their kiss turns filthy, the mans stubble coarse against his chin as their lips slide together. His friends weren’t wrong about men with experience - although it might just be natural talent too.

The hands on his ass squeeze tighter and he can’t help but arch his back a little, moaning as Tony bites at his bottom lip. Peter sits perched on a dusty worktable with Tony firmly between his legs, they’re wrapped together so tightly he can no longer smell the sawdust and engine oil.

“We should, uh -” he pants against Tony’s mouth, pulling back a little. “We should slow down. Harley could…”

“Yeah,” the man agrees, but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he uses the grip on Peter’s ass to slide him closer. Tony dips his head to latch on to a sensitive spot beneath his jaw, scraping his teeth against the skin and soothing it with his tongue.

“I’m - hahh, oh my god - I’m serious,” Peter insists, even as he locks his ankles behind Tony and grinds his hips forwards, seeking friction against the mans stomach. It’s hard to remember what his point was, head hazy with the scratch of stubble against his neck, in perfect conjunction with the wet, sucking heat of Tony’s mouth, the pinch of his teeth against the column of Peter’s throat.

What was he saying again?

Oh, right.

“Harley might --”

Tony pulls back a little to give him a judgemental stare, but pointedly keeps his hands on Peter’s ass.

“You’ve said my sons’ name more in the past five minutes than you have mine. Should I be worried? Working a bit harder? Feedback is always appreciated, just not always considered.”

Although he knows the affrontedness is all an act, the man just looks looks so put out, pouting ever so slightly,  Peter can’t help but cup Tony’s cheeks, planting a quick kiss on his lips. Tony predictably tries to deepen it but Peter leans back, grinning.

“I’m just saying, he’s gonna wake up soon and wonder where we are.”

Tony sighs, head tilting downward. “Were you always such a boy scout?”

“Were you always such a horny, old lech?” Peter retorts, carding his fingers through Tony's hair as the man noses along his neck.

“Yes,” Tony says seriously, nipping at the skin sharply. “Since birth.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep, I’m told it’s incurable. Don’t want to complain or anything, but it’s a real hardship.”

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, smiling dumbly as Tony leans in to brush their lips together. “I can tell.”

For a few quiet moments they trade slow, lazy kisses, Peter easily sinking into the warmth of the man in front of him and relaxing into his embrace. It’s not hard to be with Tony like this, wrapped in their little bubble, like nothing outside it exists and quickly forgetting it does.

One of the Tony’s hands slip under his shirt to delicately caress the small of his back, calloused fingers sending tingles up his spine. Peter is almost tempted to say fuck it and throw off his shirt, hop off the table, sink to his knees and give Tony the sloppiest blow-job of his life. But he knows his best friend too well. As much as it’s a turn off to think, he knows that after a good solid ten hours sleep Harley’d be crawling out of bed - which would be right around now.

“I just missed you, baby,” Tony says against his lips when they part, the words a vibration against Peters mouth, big brown eyes are soft and glazed as they track over Peter’s face.

“Missed you too,” he whispers between them.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come up to see you more often.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be, its --”

“No, I should have --”

“Dad, you in there?” Harleys voice yells from a few feet away, outside. “Have you seen Peter?”

“Fuck,” Peter mutters, pushing Tony away from him and sliding off the table. His heart pounds as he straightens his shirt and adjusts himself in his jeans. Tony does the same and calls out to confirm they’re both in the garage.

They spare a shared glance as they continue efforts to themselves look more presentable and Peter can only hope that his lips don’t look as kiss-swollen as Tonys’ do. There’s no more than a spare second to arrange themselves at the open hood of a car before the garage door swings open, handle banging against the wall.

“ - and that’s how you can tell the difference between a problem with the alternator and a problem with the engine coils,” Tony directs to Peter, gesturing to the parts with a wrench he picked up from somewhere.

Peter nods studiously at the ‘lesson’ before turning his head back towards his friend, heart racing. “Morning,” he greets, hoping his smile looks natural and not like he was humping his friends dad a minute ago.

“Hey, look who’s up,” Tony says loudly, half turning to give his son an unimpressed stare. “And before noon! Did you wet the bed or something, kid?”

“Fuck off, dad,” Harley yawns, shuffling between them and staring down at the rusted engine. “What’re we working on?”

Tony seems to freeze for a split second while thinking of a suitable excuse and Peter blabs to fill in the silence.

“May. Uh, she’s having trouble with her car, it’s um, starting weird? Tony was showing me what might be the issue.”

“Cool,” Harley replies, uninterested. “What’s for breakfast?”

Peter barely reigns in the sigh of relief, sparing a shared glance with Tony over his friends bowed head.

“Lunch,” Tony corrects, dropping the wrench and wiping his hands on a discarded rag. “And you’re on sandwich duty. Thanks for offering kid, I’ll have a BLT.”

“Oh, c’mon --”

“I’ll help,” Peter says, rolling his eyes as he leads his friend out of the garage, casting a look back at Tony and heading through to the house. If Harley catches the second-too-long stare between his friend and his father, he doesn’t say anything. It feels like they dodged a bullet - again.

Truth is, Peter isn’t sure how much longer that he and Tony can keep this a secret - or even if he wants to. It’s getting harder to find excuses to come over or to give reasons why he isn’t seeing anybody. It’s becoming difficult to look at his best friend in the eye and not blurt out the truth.

Over the course of the semester Tony made the lengthy drive up to campus a few times to spend a weekend with him. He doesn’t know what Tony told his son as an excuse for the sporadic weekends away, but whatever it was seemed to circumvent any suspicion.

And it was... really nice. They got a handful of days in a town where no one knew them, where they could openly be together. They’d go on real dates, holding hands in restaurants and smiling at each other over the table, there were cheek kisses as they embraced on the sidewalk, hands in each others back pockets. Mostly though, time was spent in Peter’s shared apartment, alone in his bedroom, taking advantage of not needing to hide for once. His housemates didn’t care who he was fucking so there were no furtive glances or kisses. Peter liked both - the thrill of getting caught and the calm that being open brought - but it was nice to not have to lie.

It wasn’t all sex, either. Sprawled in bed, sated and spent, there were conversations between them that could fill libraries. Over dinner it was all witty banter and sharing stories about their lives and common interests. It was feet in laps and sharing the bathroom sink as they brushed their teeth together.

It was... intimate.

Peter has never had a relationship like this before. Girlfriends and boyfriends, yes, but they seemed so casual in comparison. At some point over the last six month this thing with Tony had become something more. He was important.

Having something that important made his guilt all the worse that he was hiding it from the people that matter to him most. He’d find himself getting worked up over it, but then Tony would call or send him a text saying he can’t wait to see him again and suddenly it’s like he’s on cloud nine. It was like he perpetually oscillated between guilt and delight.

There will be consequences down the track, Peter knows. But this is okay, for now.

“Dude, what’s wrong with your neck - did you get a rash?”

It has to be, he thinks, as he lies through his teeth.

-------

“So I got that job,” Ned says from where he lies on Peters floor, staring dazedly up at the ceiling.

“Congrats, dude,” Peter replies, although he has no idea what job Ned applied for.

To his left, Harley groans loudly as he struggles to sit up, gesturing to the copious boxes of take out on the floor. “Does that mean you’re paying for the next round?”  

They’re all in a similar state, utterly overstuffed and seconds away from slipping into a food coma should they close their eyes. The only two that seem to be holding up from their Thai feast were Betty and MJ, currently trash-talking each other over a round of Mario Kart, acting as if tryptophan is no match for them.

It’s good to be home, he thinks.

“Where’s May?” Ned asks in lieu of answering Harley, shifting to sit up and directing his attention to Peter.

“At work,” he replies distractedly, busy firing back a flirty text at Tony. “Should be home soon.”

“Did she clean out your room? It smells nicer,” Harley comments, sniffing around idly.

“Yep.”

Another text lights up his phone which he reads instantly. He nods vaguely at his friends question, not caring how eager he seems to Tony, fingers working rapid-fire to respond quickly.

“Did she say it smelled like jizz and feet in here?”

“Yeah,” Peter responds, not really listening.

“Do you smell like jizz and feet?”

“Mhmm.”

“Are you made of jizz and feet?”

“Sure.”

“Who are you texting, jizz-feet?”

“Yeah - hey!” He cries out as the phone is swiftly plucked out of his hands. His whole body goes numb. stomach dropping to his feet as he sees Harley scrolling through the texts.

A surge of panic and adrenaline has him reaching forward quick as a gunshot, arm outstretched to take the device back out of his friend's hand. Once it’s safely back in his grasp he fixes his friend a withering stare.

“Uncool, dude,” Peter says, punching his friend in the thigh.

God, how much did Harley read? Fuck. He tries to run over in his mind if his friend was recently mentioned in them or if Peter ever referred to Tony by his name. Shit.

Harley doesn’t seem to be suspicious or upset, smiling crookedly at Peter in the same way he always does and raising his hands up in surrender. Their friends titter at their antics and some of the tension bleeds out of him.

“Sorry, Pete.”

“No you’re not, nosy asshole.”

Harley shrugs. “I’m not. I’m also not sure who Missus is, but I guess that answers the question of why you’re not getting laid.”

“Wha --”

“Pete’s got a girlfriend, guys.”

“Ooh, who is she?” Betty asks, abandoning her focus on the game to join in on the conversation. The interested, earnest grin that she directs toward Peter is both disturbing and worrying.

“Is it the girl that keeps giving you half price coffee at Perry’s?” Ned joins in, knocking over a half-empty carton of rice to edge closer.

Peter issues him a judgemental glare to try to mask the mounting panic racing through his blood. Confused as to how they came to the conclusion that he’s dating a woman, he tries to piece together the dots - missus - and then it hits him. 

He had lazily saved Tony’s contact as mrs - as in Mr. S, the formality from when he’d first met the man and politely referred to him as his guardians had taught him. It had been Mr. Stark in the beginning.

He silently thanks every deity known to him that Harley didn’t come to the correct conclusion and sends a mental middle-finger to every teacher who harped on about his grammar.

“I bet it’s his physics professor and that’s why he’s keeping it a secret,” MJ speculates, abandoning her controller to look him over.

He can’t help it. The attention and subsiding anxiety has his face burning.

“First of all, gross,” he says, pointing a finger at MJ. “She’s like ninety. Second, they’re not my girlfriend, it’s just a thing.”

“A thing,” she repeats drily.

“Yes, a thing. Can you please drop it?”

He almost says they’re not real, which would be closer to the truth because there is no she involved at all - instead what comes out of his mouth is another terrible lie to cover up something that he tells himself everyday isn’t wrong, just misunderstood.

It feels a little wrong though, when he doesn’t bother to correct his friends, feels like an asshole both to Tony and to everyone else. It’s one of the biggest secrets he’s ever kept, something that makes him so happy - and that’s what’s ironic - undercover everyone is satisfied, it’s the reveal that will rock the boat. There isn’t a way this ends well in the open. 

Harley, sensing his unease is the one to call off the troops. It’s why he’s Peter’s best friend, after all.

“Alright, whatever Petey-poo. Keep it to yourself.”

“Thanks, Harls.”

The guy shrugs and the conversation quickly changes to Christmas plans. He tries to keep track of the flow of words, despite the deafening beat of his heart in his ears. The guilt of harvesting such lies crawls up on him like slime, leaving its potent residue wherever it touches.

Not for the first time he wonders if he’s in over his head.

-------

Christmas comes and goes, modest as ever in the Parker household. He gifts May with a set of acrylic paints and a few cheap canvas, and he gets socks and sweaters along with a new chess set in return.

The time spent up to new years is speckled with group hangouts, in duos or all together, taking long drives or just shooting the shit, drinking cheap alcohol and mourning their sparse bank accounts. The longer he’s back home, the more the strange, floaty dissonance from re-entering his old life disappears. He eats way too much, has many grand plans of getting ahead on next semester readings, but ends up doing none.

It’s good. 

Except...he wants. He tries not to push his hangouts with Harley to be at the Stark household in order to alleviate suspicion - but it’s been almost a week since he’s seen Tony and he just wants to be with him. The late night calls and daily texts are great, but it’s not the same as being together, especially since now they're only a short drive away.

Growing increasingly desperate, he considers renting a motel room for them or getting a hold of Mays schedule so he can plot out a timetable to have Tony over. Turns out all of that is unnecessary when Tony texts him first.

>> so…Harley is going away for the weekend

A smile lights up on his face, fingers shaking with how swiftly they type out a response.

<< oh yeah? sounds like it might get lonely having that house to yourself

>> exactly. I was thinking of inviting this cute guy around to stay but not sure if he’d say yes.

<< pretty sure he would say yes. he’d be an idiot not to

>> better not be an idiot then. see you saturday morning, beautiful?

<< c u then xo

He falls back on his bed, grinning.

The week leading up couldn’t go slower, dragging on and feeling what seems like a hundred days. It doesn’t diminish Peters excitement though, if anything the anticipation only amplifies as he the days wear on. He finds ways to busy himself with video games and starting his studies - and then finally it’s the day.

With his worn duffle slung over his shoulder he tells May with a kiss to her cheek that he’s going to be staying at the Stark’s for the weekend. She waves him off disinterestedly, telling him to behave and have fun and he doesn’t need to be told twice, he’s out the door. He plans to have a lot of fun indeed. 

Twenty minutes later he’s rolling up to the Stark household, Harley’s old truck noticeably missing from the driveway. He drops his bike around the side of the house, wiping his hands on his jeans and approaching the front door with the intention to knock. 

Except Tony swings it open before his knuckles make contact. The sight that the older man makes in makes his mouth dry, donned in his typical wife-beater and jeans. It couldn’t have been longer than a week since they’d last seen each other but the need to touch the other man is so visceral that he’s barely inside the house before Peter’s on him.

Dropping the bag at his feet, his freed up hands to clasp the nape of Tony’s neck, leaning in to connect their lips. Hands settle on his waist as Tony tilts his head, deepening the kiss.

“Hello to you too,” Tony says, pulling back wearing a smile on his face.

Peter feels his own smile forming in response. “Did you miss me?”

Tony pretends to think. “Nope. Not even remotely.”

“Good, me neither. Didn’t spare you a single thought.”

“Same, I almost forgot who you were,” Tony quips back, smile still on his face as he leans down to grab Peter’s bag, kissing his temple before leading him into the house by the hand.

“Guess that’s what happens in your old age,” Peter says as they wander to Tony’s room where his belongings are dropped by the bed.

“Brat.”

“Senior.”

Tony hauls him in by the waist until their bodies are flushed together. Peter laughs as Tony wetly kisses the hinge of his jaw, prickly facial hair tickling the sensitive spot. That’s not where he wants the older man, so he places a palm on Tony’s cheek to gently direct him back up to capture his lips in a bruising kiss. As Tony’s tongue enters through he seam of his mouth he groans, snaking a hand down to palm at Tony’s crotch through his jeans.

“Didn’t anyone teach you to respect your elders?” Tony says, voice strangled as Peter continues his ministrations.

“That went out the window when I fucked an elder,” Peter snarks, shoving Tony to sit at the edge of the bed and sinking to his knees.

“That’s fair.”

He leans forward to nuzzle at Tony’s crotch, mouthing wetly at the denim and running his hands slowly up the man's thighs. He feels Tony’s cock slowly hardening under his lips, a thrill of its own that he has any sort of effect on someone like Tony. The soft groans and twitching fingers has Peter helping him out, unbuttoning and lowering the zip of the fly, pushing the jeans down enough to free Tony’s cock.

Without hesitating, he takes hold of it loosely with his hand, jacking it and looking up at Tony dutifully when fingers under his chin direct his face upwards. 

Pupils blown, Tony presses a thumb to Peter’s bottom lip, running it lightly over the seam before Peter opens him mouth, sucking the digit in.

“Look at you,” Tony says fervently as his cock is getting worked. “Any of those college boys ever tell you how gorgeous you are?”

Peter releases the thumb in his mouth to duck his head, a vain attempt to hide the blush that crawls over his cheeks. He doesn’t trust himself to speak with the heat coiling up his gut and into his heart, so he shakes his head no and places a tender kiss on the head of Tony’s cock instead, laving at it with his tongue.

“They couldn’t appreciate a good thing,” Tony continues, gently carding a hand through Peters hair.

There is no suppressing the quiet whine that comes out his throat, even as he takes the entire head into his mouth. He missed Tony. He missed these moments, how good they make each other feel. 

He kisses down the length of Tonys cock, mouthing at the base, trimmed pubic hair brushing his cheek. Rising back up he does his best to take the whole thing in his mouth, both girthy and long, stuttering two-thirds of the way through. At first gag he pulls off, using his hand to take what he can’t while he blinks away the tears from his eyes.

Breathing deeply he tries again, focusing on the texture of skin, the salty taste of pre-cum and sweat as he bobs up and down. He’s helpless when he looks up at Tony, expecting his head to be tilted back - instead he’s met with half-lidded eyes, hitched breaths and eye contact that goes on too long to be considered casual.

“Just like that, sweetheart,” Tony encourages as Peter continues his ministrations, spurring his motivation further. As the man traces his cheekbone Peter takes special care to pay attention to the mans balls, fondling the sack with his spare hand and taking time to suckle at them, just to hear Tony’s helpless groans.

Tears spring to his eyes when he refocuses his attention to the mans cock, the head hitting the back of his throat, but the way the hand in his hair scraps his scalp in rapture has him doubling his efforts.

“Christ, baby. Didn’t know I’d been waiting for you all this time,” Tony says, voice raspy, hips undulating. 

Whether it’s the movement or the words, tears slip down Peter’s cheeks, his heart doing something weird.

It’s only a few more moments of working Tony’s cock before the man is warning him, legs locking up on either side of his shoulders as he cums, spilling into Peter’s mouth with a groan.

Tony, swiftly gathering his wits, helps Peter off his knees and onto the bed, kissing him soundly before Peter barely has a chance to swallow the load. It’s dirty, intimate, and makes his cock throb even more than any of the previous behavior. He breaks their kiss to strip himself out of his shirt, pulling himself out of his jeans to attend to his own erection.

The sweat on his palm is just enough to make the friction pleasurable, spilling his release over onto his hands after only a handful of strokes. 

Sated and breathless, he flops back onto the bed, resting on his elbows and grinning up at Tony.

“So, what do you want to do this weekend?”

“Oh, I can think of a few things.”

---

For all their fervent hurriedness things don’t really escalate much from there. Maybe it’s the early hour, or the relief at seeing each other again with the prospect of an entire weekend alone, two whole days of not having to hide or take what they can get in small moments.

The day is mostly spent curled up on the couch, exchanging slow kisses and grinding slowly against one another, undressed and unworried. It’s the most exquisite, drawn out foreplay that Peter has ever been a part of, feeling content and turned on in equal measure. Tony will kiss him behind his ear as a lead up to nothing, just doing it because he can or spoon behind Peter on the couch, half hard and doing nothing to alleviate it.

Towards the late afternoon they agree on take-out pizza for dinner and some reality TV re-runs. As Tony orders the food Peter wanders into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, stretching his body as he stares out the kitchen window, sunset rays bathing the room in an orange glow.

He shivers a little as his bare feet make contact with the chilled tiles, glad he pulled on his jeans - and as he drinks he wonders how this is his life, how he feels too lucky for the guilt to surface anywhere near the forefront.

Strong arms wrap circle his waist as Tony sneaks up on him, embracing him from behind. Peter relaxes into his hold, shoulders dropping while gently clasping Tonys forearms.

He allows his neck to go lax, head falling back to rest on Tonys warm shoulder and for a few moments they just stand there, swaying softly and staring into the darkening outdoors.

“Food should be here soon,” Tony murmurs, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Peters.

“You get the one without pineapple?”

“No, it definitely has pineapple. Only pineapple, I know it’s your favorite.”

“You’re a jackass,” Peter says, turning around in Tony’s arms and kissing the shit-eating grin off his face.

By the time the doorbell rings thirty minutes later his lower face is red with fresh stubble burn, a row of burgeoning hickeys stippled along his neck and hair resembling a birds-nest. Tony, faring worse with cum speckled in his beard and eyelashes, had gone to wash up.

Smiling dazedly, Peter pulls his jeans back up and ambles to the front door still shirtless, picking up the twenty dollars that Tony left on the counter along the way.

When he swings the door open the smile swiftly drops off his face, heart falling faster than an anvil.

Before him Ned stands in a crisp, new uniform, awkwardly holding their pizza and giving Peter a surprised smile.

“Oh, hey Peter! Didn’t expect to see you here, I have this order for Mr. Stark?”

Shit, he thinks, mind flashing back to Ned mentioning his new job. 

All too aware of how he must look standing flushed and semi-naked, he tries to school his expression into something neutral, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“Uhh, yeah I can take that - “

“I thought Harley was going away this weekend,” Ned says conversationally, still holding the pizza.

“Yeah, he, uh --”

“What’s the hold up, babe?” Tony asks as he approaches from behind, stopping in his tracks when he catches sight of Ned. Peter can’t help as his eyes shutter closed, feels Tony’s entire body stiffening beside him.

“Mr. Stark?” “Well, fuck,” Tony says eloquently.

[otonymous]

Vicarious Pleasures (SLBP Genya x Sakuya - NSFW)

Description: Sakuya makes the best out of being caught between a rock and a hard place. Warnings: NSFW/18+:  Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised.  Trigger warning: violence against MC is alluded to. Word Count: 1137 words (~6 mins of smut/angst) Author’s Notes: In anticipation of SLBP’s release of Sakuya’s POV story, here’s my take on what goes on inside Sakuya’s head when faced with the MC in Genya’s main story.  Happy reading!   AO3: Read here

Tagging:  @guacameowle because everything you write is fire 🔥 and I still have yet to recover from your SLBP lords kink headcanons

Also tagging other lovely readers:  @all-my-cuffs-have-buttons, @artemira-sengoku, @dear-mrs-otome, @pseudofaux, @fieryanmitsu, @otomediary, @suzi-q-uinn, @kitty-kat-ty, @saizoswifey, @belxsar, @anyakane, @friedchikyorice, @selenecrawford, @akiza-hades-rose, @rubyleeray, @heavenzfiend, @duerme07, @classy-mc

All characters & SLBP owned by Voltage Inc.

Sakuya’s breath came hard and fast as he lay on the floor of an abandoned shack in the forest, the musty smell of rotting wood competing with the incessant droning of an army of cicadas to draw his attention.  But the shinobi is otherwise occupied in trying to settle a heart sent racing by a dangerous mixture of exertion, anger…and jealousy.  For every time his memory conjures up the image of her entangled in Genya’s limbs, the sour clench of his gut renews his heart’s attempt to beat its way out of his chest.

Sakuya understood his duty well: that as a shinobi, he was a puppet on a string, each movement carefully dictated by the elders of the village or the lord he served.  A good shinobi was a sharpened blade, neither thinking nor feeling.  And so it was that Sakuya hollowed himself from the inside out until nothing remained but a dying wind whistling though a long abandoned home.  There would be no pain if there was no heart to break in the first place.  At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

He had an inkling his good-for-nothing brother was harbouring her, the Mitsuba fugitive worth her weight in gold because she alone held the key to the Dragon’s Tears.  But his suspicions were confirmed when he saw her there in the dilapidated temple, and for the first time in a long while, Sakuya was thankful for Genya’s existence.  It allowed him to continue his masquerade, grasping for the slightest pretence to stretch his mission out for just a little longer without arousing suspicion from Iga.  For every time his hands reached out to encircle the delicate column of her neck, he felt his lungs constrict in a painful reminder of his fundamental flaw: that time did nothing to dull the intensity of the love he felt for a woman he was destined to kill.

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Although the light of the lone lantern in the temple barely illuminated anything beyond its tiny radius, a clear image of her face contorted in passion was burned into Sakuya’s mind.  Hidden beneath the floorboards, the ninja blinked at the narrowed vision above him, as if in utter disbelief that the bossy girl who used to wear flower crowns and force salves on him could wear such an expression at all.  With every slapping thrust of Genya’s hips against her shapely ass, her face dropped lower and lower to the ground, until Sakuya thought he could feel a hint of her panting breath on his lips even as her moans resounded in his ears.  

He would not be fulfilling his mission tonight, and in retrospect, should have left while they were occupied.  However he felt about him, Sakuya had no desire to fight his twin.  But the sight of her, brazenly beautiful and lost in pleasure, held him like a magnet.  So he found himself caught like a rat in a cramped crevice, thinking of how wonderful it would be if he could possess Genya like a ghost and feel the softness of her skin for himself.    

“C’mon, let’s blow this out so we can see how wild you really get.”  

The room was suddenly plunged into darkness, Genya’s hearty chuckle following on the heels of a sharp slap to skin and the chastising whine of his name.  Fists clenched tightly by his side, Sakuya felt the flames of anger lick at every tensed muscle in his body and he fought desperately to keep control.  In spite of this, the younger Fujibayashi twin found that the cover of night sharpened all his other senses, allowing his imagination to run unbridled in the most indulgent of directions.

There, in the midst of sighs and conjoined shadows, it was Sakuya’s hands running through her hair, fingers gently entwining around silken tresses as he lays her down on the same bed of clovers they frolicked in as children.  Melodic moans flow from lips parted just for him, and the ninja finds a certain satisfaction from hearing her voice muffled by the hungry press of his mouth against hers.  He imagines she would taste sweet under the broad strokes of his tongue, and revels in the thought that he would detect the faint scent of herbs even on the tender skin of her breasts.

Sakuya shifts imperceptibly in his self-imposed prison, his hand silently burrowing through layers of clothing until he finds the solid heat of his cock.  As his cool fingers drag lightly up his growing length, lingering about the tip to smear his arousal in lazy circles around and under the sensitive head, he thinks he would like to teach her how he wanted to be touched, just as she would tell him how many fingers he could comfortably fuck her with.  

He would take his time, really savour her, one hand resting on her hip as the other trailed up the soft flesh of her stomach, stretched out below the woman who occupied his mind like no other as she impaled herself upon him like a willing sacrifice.  And when the moon reached its apex in the night sky to bathe her in a halo of light, his ethereal goddess would clench in pleasure around him to draw out the offering of his own release.

“Hahh, Gen—!”

She gasps, the sound cutting through Sakuya’s reverie to freeze his hand in place where it had started to pump in earnest.  He listens intently to the limbs shifting overhead until they settle, allowing the sounds of a rhythmic squelching to rise to the fore just as his nose detects the heady scent of their intimacy.  The increasing intensity of her whimpers comes through in broken sobs, as if voiced behind the press of a large, strong hand.  And then, they cease completely only to be replaced by the sound of her panting, periodically punctuated by Genya’s shuddering groans.  At last, the screaming silence of their slowing hearts finally signals Sakuya to take his leave.

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“Enjoy the show?”

Genya drawls, already dressed and waiting on the temple steps when his younger brother reemerges into the night.  Sakuya’s steps falter for a second before he recovers, briskly putting distance between himself and Genya without deigning to throw a glance in his twin’s direction.  That is, until Genya says, without a hint of a smile in his voice,

“Just so you know, I’m not giving up on her.”

The ice in Sakuya’s sapphire eyes does nothing to temper the boiling rage in his chest as he trains his gaze on Genya, his determination meeting its match in carmine irises.  

“Neither am I.”

And the last thing Sakuya hears before he hurriedly escapes into the dense thicket of the forest is her voice from inside the temple, calling his brother’s name.

Thanks for reading!  More stories available here! 💕

[grimey--gal]

Hello, it’s Sunday Sinday, brought to you by the lovely @titansteam, who has finished a long awaited one-shot.

Ride Me

“Ride me?” 

It was more of a question than a demand, but still a statement that made his eyes widen nonetheless. A breathless laugh escaped Andy’s lips at the lack of response from Chucky’s end. Before he knew it, the bed had dipped and the position changed, the soft hair of Andy’s belly under his fingertips.

Never had he expected to be here, on top of his boy. Had this been at any other time in the distant past, maybe he would have felt a sense of fulfillment, but the lack of clothing and the change in time morphed this definition.

A lazy thrust sent a jolt up his spine, Chucky’s mouth falling open in a silent moan.

“H-hey.. ‘m supposed to take over now, asshole” he sighed out.

The corner of Andy’s lips pulled back, showing teeth in a mischievous smile. “Well, I don't see you moving.”

Had this been any other playful banter, Chucky would have growled out a snarky remark, but alas, large warm hands that gripped at his thighs and pulled him down stopped him in his tracks.

“Ahh, you always feel sweet as sin...!” Andy growled, rolling his hips slowly and ending them in a harsh snap.

“Andy-..!” Chucky choked, raising a hand to his mouth to stifle his voice. “S-slow down you little shit!”

A breathless laugh rippled from the body beneath him. “I'm already going as slow as I can!” With the next thrust of his hips, Andy’s hands tightened their grip and the smile melted from his face- his eyebrows pinching and eyes closing.

“Hahh… you're so tight…” Andy moaned.

Heat rose to Chucky’s face. “What, are you getting soft on me, Barclay?” Chucky growled, pressing down into Andy’s hips.

“Is that a challenge?”

It was like the strike of a match. The sudden glimmer in his boy’s eyes. It almost made Chucky shiver. Almost. But that wouldn't last long. The bruising grip that followed had him trembling. Then there was that particular roll of his hips- the one that forced the air from his lungs in a poorly-contained cry.

“Kid-!” Chucky strained, spots entering his vision as Andy hit that fucking spot over and over. “Right there…!”

He didn't know when he started begging, his pleas spilling from his mouth like some kind of prayer. So much for taking over. He wasn't going to last long like this. His legs felt like jelly; maybe it was that last bit of stubbornness that his lust hadn't squashed yet that had him bucking his hips with every thrust. But Andy wasn't having it.

With a quick slide of hands from thighs to hips, Andy held him in place- thrusting up into his heat. Sweat had begun to collect on Andy’s forehead, his dog tags jingling from the force of his hips.

Chucky’s lower abdomen began to tighten, a frantic cry ripping from his throat.

“Cum for me?” Andy managed. Even now he was still so polite.

With the drop of his jaw and a silent yes, he complied, eliciting a rumbling groan from below. Andy’s hips stuttered and stilled shortly after. Panting from the two filled the dark and now heat-filled room.

“.... Holy shit, kid…” Chucky slumped, rolling off Andy with a soft sigh. A warm hand carded through messy hair followed by the scratch of a beard on his forehead.

“Next time… I'm taking over, asshole,” he murmured.

Andy hummed, amusement in his voice. “We'll see.”

[pr-chi]

frustratingly tries to new style with shintps

ƪ ( ° ⌣ ° ) ʃ