#NO MORE STUPIDLY HUGE CALVES

[kihaku-gato]

I was given the best news I've had related to the cattle for this year this morning

Grumpy the bull, hit his final 2 strikes this weekend; that prick of a bull is having his shipping/retirement this thursday!!!

[battorlstuff]

Philiph

Story Idea - Lovals (training ) 

David called me a few days ago, he told me about his situation and I decided to help him, I couldn't resist the money either.

All I had to do was ruin the body and appearance of a stud that lived in his building so I hit the road. When I saw him, I immediately knew why David was so jealous of the guy.

I did what he ask me, the 10 thousand dollars would be worth it. I sent an email and left advertising outside the department, private classes, I made him believe that he had won a one-year subscription to the program and would have free private sessions for all that time.

"Hey you must be Philip"

We greeted each other, his smile was charming and his delicate but manly face got me.

"It will be great to have the gym so close, I usually go to GYMgreeks about 30 minutes from the building."

"Oh I'm glad to hear your enthusiasm, now let's start I have another class in a few hours" that was not true but I had to avoid any suspicion.

I made him take off his shirt and gosh the guy was hot. His body was a wonder to behold his shoulders were big but not too big and he kept his triceps nicely defined, his biceps were the best part of his arms he worked them pretty hard and well and the training was noticeable, they were big, but not exaggerated, always maintaining the perfect proportion, the veins bulged along his arms and his triceps stood out without even flexing them. His neck showed prominent veins and was thick leading to a prominent clavicle and a strong, jutting chest due to a toned pair of pecs which sat on top of a well-defined six pack, every muscle showing years of hard work, Philip didn't even have to pose or try to flex their abs to show them off.

The rest of his muscles weren't far behind, his broad back ended in a framed waist and a well defined lower back, it was impossible not to admire those incredible obliques that were joined below with his magnificent deltoids.

His legs were just lovely, his round, firm ass joined to a pair of muscular thighs. His legs were long and his calves were thick making him a perfect specimen with great condition and an excellent build for any athlete.

Damn what a shame, I have to ruin that beautiful body.

"Very good I see that you are in good shape but you could use to gain... a little muscle don't you think?"

"I don't know, I've never liked being that big," said Philip doubtfully, I would have to convince him.

"Don't you think your girl would like to see you more muscular" I squeezed his biceps and it spectacular, I had a great body myself but this guy was hot.

"Hmm I don't really have a girl" this would be so easy.

"Oh, come on someone like you must have many girls drooling over, any suitor?"

"Look at those abs! tell me that the girls in the building don't like to see you shirtless" I said feeling the beautiful and marked six pack, Philip just smiled stupidly it was clear how proud he was of his body and his good looks, bingo, it was done .

"Oh well there's a girl, Camille lives in the building, but she's not in town, she went on exchange a couple of weeks ago and won't be back until the end of this year."

"Then let's surprise her, you'll look better than ever when she comes back, it'll be a <huge> surprise."

The boy did his normal training, he was really in good condition, I told him I would make some changes and I stopped him before he left.

"This supplement is the best of the best, a shake after each meal even at night if you do want to increase muscle."

"Sure, and as for the exercises, what will my routine be?"

"Don't worry, when you come tomorrow I'll have everything ready."

First week (175 lbs)

Philip actually felt his muscles grow, he was more robust and his biceps increased in size. The muscle mass was actually the beginning of his new body, the fat from the shakes began to accumulate in his muscles, deteriorating them.

Second week (179lbs)

Philiph had started to lose definition, mainly in his abs, his arms looked spectacular but Andrew knew that Philip's muscles were already accumulating fat and soon they wouldn't look like this. In addition, his vision became blurred, it was strange, he felt scarred and weaker, even his appetite increased.

Third week (183 lbs)

He thought he was getting stronger lifting the weights more easily, little did he know that Andrew had planned everything well, actually Philip was decreasing the weight he was carrying no matter the size of the discs or the number written on the dumbbells, Andrew had in charge of everything The shake contained a drug that would make Philip tired quickly and keep him in a sleepy state so that he wouldn't notice the change in his body for a few months, when it would be too late to do anything about it.

First month (225 lbs)

For Andrew it became an easy task, it was rather erotic seeing the handsome jock go to the pot and turn into a pig ruining his perfect body. While Philip worked out, Andrew watched with satisfaction at the flab on the pretty boy's body, his previously firm and formidable pecs bouncing with every movement, where his six pack used to be just a flaccid roll of fat hung. Meanwhile Philip noticed that every time he looked in the mirror his vision was blurry, he felt heavy but he couldn't understand the number on the scale, maybe he was just more muscular, that should be it.

Second month (255 lbs)

The supplement had certainly done its job, Philip had lost all muscle tone now it was time to make him grow, the supplement would give him a voracious appetite, and David would take it upon himself to sabotage the pretty boy's diet, also at the end of the "treatment "Philip's metabolism would be so slow that he would never be able to lose the accumulated weight.

Those days David wanted to join in and fuck his rival a bit, so I gave Philip an "energy drink" full of the drug, he was so confused that he didn't notice that David was the one giving him the instructions.

Philip was really losing condition, running out of breath after a few minutes.

Three months later (290lbs)

Philip's pecs had already turned into moobs hanging over his new belly and Philip seemed unaware he was still drinking the shakes. Andrew suggested four jugs of the supplement per day, Philip obeyed his trainer without question.

In the mornings he was too hungry, he showered and dressed but never knew what he looked like, it was as if every time Philip tried to see his body or how much he weighed, his vision would blur and he would start to feel tired and sleepy, the only clue about his appearance were comments and compliments from Andrew about how strong he looked, he said he had never seen progress equal to his.

Andrew trained David after Philip's session ended, so he could see his rival's progress as he worked on improving his own physique while Philip's body was being ruined.

Seven months later (340 lbs)

Philip could no longer lift any weight weeks ago he struggled and almost passed out from the effort trying to lift dumbbells. There was nothing left, not a trace of the handsome and athletic stud he once was.

"Wow, I've progressed, but how many pounds have you put on this Andrew?" Philip asked naively still thinking that he was the same sexy guy who arrived seven months ago.

The handsome trainer just smiled, it was obvious that Philip was still affected by the supplement, he seemed more confused and clumsy than in the previous months.

Second week of the ninth month (410 lbs)

Finally, Philip woke up from the dream, that morning before going to the gym, he decided to try one more time to see himself in front of the mirror but this time he could see clearly.

Every trace of muscle he had left was gone. His abs had disappeared under a huge layer of fat, he could see nothing but rolls and rolls of fat around him, the huge belly hanging down. His belly rested on his thighs like a pale gelatinous mass, it was also covered in red stretch marks. that covered his round navel. He tempted his fingers over the gelatinous mass horrified to see what his enviable abs had become.

Philip watched in horror as his stomach lurched. He wanted to cry and scream, but then he looked at his thighs. They seemed bigger and softer, so much so that they clung together in huge fatty folds making his long legs look short.

His arms, the bulging veins and defined muscles that were his pride, were just pure fat, his biceps were gone and where his muscles used to be, the skin hung like misshapen folds that hung from being too flaccid to meet his lats well. , joining the part where their bibs used to be.

His big pectoral muscles were ruined, they were nothing more than oversized and greasy tits, they hung like two flaccid bags that were only supported by his flabby belly which was so big that it kept the new moobs of the once hot stud in place.

Desperately, Philip reached for the scale and climbed up, the little machine creaking and breaking under his weight, the dial marking random numbers until it went blank. Then, with a fluttering heart, he ran out of the apartment.

Before leaving he saw a note, he had been fired, hadn't been to the office in months, didn't even remember getting any calls, but no job, how come the rent was paid? Food? The cupboards were full, well maybe Andrew could help him.

He arrived at the entrance of the gym without a shirt showing his obese body covered in sweat, he was panting and his face was red from the effort and embarrassment. He had a run in with David on the stairs, it was humiliating, seeing how David made fun of him and Andrew was David's friend? Philip had to get answers. As he could and ashamed of his new body Philip put on his shirt having difficulty doing so.

Upon entering the gym Andrew was ready, preparing a shake in different jars, he only stopped when Philip came snorting.

"Sit down chubby, I think we should talk."

[hunterssm00n]

Hello, From the Other Side / part 2 /

Lex reflects back on her experience under the ice in the Pyramid, and remembers the one reason she made it out alive. Set one year after the events that occurred on Bouvetoya Island. | Lex/Scar |

part 2 of 2

my Scar & Lex series on ao3: here

*cw psychological trauma*

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hunterssm00n © All rights reserved by me. I do not allow this work to be used or adapted in any way without my permission.

"Scar?"

Lex repeated again, stupidly. It couldn't be though, she'd watched him...

"You're alive?" She thought of the last time she had seen him; laying on his back in the snow, his fluorescent, green alien blood soaking into the ice beneath him. Lex forced herself to remain in the present - and it wasn't especially hard when the large alien in front of her chittered a greeting at her, and took one large step to stand about an inch away from her.

She leaned her head back almost as far as it would go to look up at him, lolling up at him in shock. As if she couldn't be any more surprised and he was determined to prove her wrong, her companion lifted one of his huge, clawed hands, and clamped it down on her left shoulder, giving her a shake.

"Whoaaa-" Her skull rattled, and she realized that that was probably a "hey, what's up?!" where he came from. She grabbed his scaly wrist, which her fingers wouldn't even fit around, and held on so she wouldn't fall. Not like that grip on her shoulder would've let her go anywhere; she was probably going to wake up the next morning with bruises in the shapes of his monstrous fingers dotting her skin.

She noticed that he wasn't completely donned in the silver armor he had been wearing when she had met him. There were a few protective plates here and there, covering the fronts of his thighs, his calves, the joints on his shoulders, and one large slab covering his heart. The minimal amount needed to protect him, but still allow him freedom to move. She guessed he wasn't hunting any aliens on his trip, which made her wonder exactly why he was here, and how the hell he'd found her.

Lex gave the back of his hand a pat, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he probably didn't realize his own strength, and in his own excitement had overdone it a little. Her brain probably looked like a bowl of oatmeal inside her skull, but it was okay, because he was alive. He came back.

"Yeah, nice to see you too, big guy," She smiled up at him, patting his hand reassuringly. Satisfied that he had gotten his point across, he finally unlatched his hand from her shoulder, not stepping back to give her any more room, just looking down at her with his head tilted.

Swaying on her feet, noticing yet again how much taller he was than her, she leaned back against the island. Partly for support, partly because she was having a hot flash from her previous panic attack, and he was like a live furnace.

Scar tilted his head in inquisition, and she looked up into the expressionless visor of his mask. There was so much she wanted to say, so much she wanted to tell him. A part of her was, to be honest, a little angry. Why had he stayed away for so long, if he had been alive all this time? He obviously hadn't realized the extent of the trauma she had been experiencing thinking he was dead, but still... They had a bond. Why hadn't he at least come back to let her know he was okay? Was she just a silly human that had managed to survive alongside him, and nothing more? No. No, she refused to believe that. He wouldn't have marked her cheek, if that was all she had been to him.

"I thought you were dead."

That, pretty much, completely summed up everything she wanted to say to him.

Back in the pyramid, she had wondered if he could completely understand everything she said to him. He was sentient, she had figured that much out. As barbaric as he looked, there was a certain quality to him that led her to believe that he wasn't just a big brawny extraterrestrial. His weaponry was way more advanced then anything human beings had managed to conjure up, at this point, and the way he hadn't gone stomping around in the pyramid, wreaking havoc and trying to find a way out. Ninety-nine percent of the time, he moved more quietly than she did - taking a guess, she would assume that he had to be at least 300 pounds, but somehow that enormous body managed to keep completely silent. And there was something about his calm, calculating stare that conveyed his intelligence level to her.

Now, he seemed to be doing more of that analyzing. He did nothing for a moment, just stared at her, remaining eerily still. Then, he lifted one huge, clawed hand, and motioned towards his stomach. For the first time, in her prscence at leasta, he spoke in her language, "Thought so too."

Her eyes widened, first at the fact that he had spoken English, then at his words. They flicked down to his abdomen, and she noted the scar that traveled from the middle of his stomach up to almost his collarbone. She frowned; why was it so big? The Queen's tail hadn't been that wide.

Lex looked up at where his eyes would be under the mask, in question. Now, Scar put both hands over the bottom part of his mask, where his mouth would be, and put the insides of his wrists together, the backs of his hands facing her as his fingers all curled back over the cheeks of his mask towards his hair. It almost looked like he was trying to make it look like there was a spider covering his face... And then she got it.

"You- you had one inside you?"

He nodded that huge head once, his hair-like appendages gently falling around his shoulders. Then, in a mixture of his own clicking/growling, hand motions, and broken English, he went on to explain how he had been revived inside the ship, which had been followed by the discovery of the alien nesting in his chest. They had removed it before it had taken his life, but both wounds had become infected because of the foreign secretions from the embryo - plus the amount of blood he had lost had already hindered him. For all of his race's technological advancements, it had still taken him a long time to heal completely, and for fear of injuring himself further, his elders had ordered him not to leave until he had regained his full strength. He also explained how he had managed to sneak onto a few of his comrade's hunting crafts that had come to Earth, and he had gone looking for her. Lex was nomadic, as her job demanded, so it was easy to see how he hadn't been able to find her; it wasn't that small of a world. Even now, she was surprised that he had managed to locate her exact placement on this planet.

She took all of his words/motions/growls in, having to connect the dots from his three different story-telling techniques, piecing everything together. A sudden realization dawned on her, "So this is the first time you've officially been able to leave... And you came here. To see me."

Scar nodded his head once again, chittering contentedly behind his mask.

She waited for him to explain further, but when all he did was continue to look at her, she asked, "Why?"

He pointed to the marking on the forehead of his mask, then reached out, and very gently traced the identical scar on her left cheek. All of the blood in her face rushed to where his finger was touching her, and it wasn't a bad feeling. Not taking his hand away, he spoke again, "Enemy of my enemy is my friend." It was a statement that left no room for question. Lex's eyes widened - he had heard her and Sebastian discovering the history behind the events that occurred in the Pyramid. He considered her to be his friend. That fact, for whatever reason, made her inexplicably giddy. He had even come looking for her, against orders from his superiors, risking a hell of a lot to see her again.

She smiled up at him, making her desicion, as it seemed he had most definitely made his. He wouldn't have come back to find her otherwise. She reached up and placed her hand over his own that was still touching the side of her face, holding it there.

Scar purred loudly, the noise sounding so strange coming from a scaly, seven-foot-something alien with dreadlocks. He readjusted his hand to twine his fingers with hers, and for the first time, she actually felt a twinge of greatfulness that she had gone to the Pyramid at all. Not, of course, for all the awful things that had happened, and for permanently scarring her mind... But that small part of her knew that if she hadn't gone, she wouldn't have met him.

Staring up at him, Lex wondered how completely silly she was for feeling this way about someone she barely knew. But then again, she felt like she'd known him forever. Another part of her realized that maybe they had been destined to find each other. As sappy and gross as it sounded, she felt something for him that she just couldn't shake - something that she hadn't been able to shake for a year, even though he'd been gone, and she had thought he was gone forever.

Now that he was back, though, a new opportunity arose. And by taking his hand, Lex knew she was willing to take that opportunity by the horns (or claws) and go with it.

Gently, Scar pulled her backwards towards her open door, out onto her porch. Lex closed the door behind her, looking up at the full moon between the tree branches, "Where are we going, buddy?"

Scar released her hand, and knelt down with his back facing her. He turned his head, his dreadlocks flying over his shoulder, and motioned for her to get on. Lex laughed, "What, you mean I get to hop on the Scar Express?" Gingerly, she climbed onto his back, and nearly jumped out of her skin when he stood. Damn, he really could see everything from being that tall.

With one final look over his shoulder, as though making sure she was ready, Scar clicked in question, a low purr undermining the chittering sound he made. Lex grinned at him, "Just have me back by bedtime, don't wanna miss my curfew." she teased.

With an amused chortle, Scar turned towards the trees, and quite literally leapt off the porch at a surprising speed. The two of them disappeared into the trees, the moonlight still managing to reach them through the overhanging tree branches. The Hunter's Moon joined the two of them in a whole new adventure, and gripping his shoulders as they hurtled through the forest, the wind flying through her hair, a huge smile on her face, Lex knew this was only the beginning.

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AN: I do not own the Alien vs Predator franchise or any of it's characters. I also do not own the song 'Hello' by Adele.

[frecklystars]

I jolted awake from a nightmare as usual and normally I think about Ken or Six comforting me but....... this time for some reason I thought about Jacob.... ;-;

Jacob doesn't know much about ptsd and probably doesn't get nightmares too often. So when he sees me shaking and sweating after a rather bad one, he turns on some dim lighting and he looks kind of freaked out, not really knowing what to do other than to hug me and rub my back. He keeps saying "it was just a bad dream, it wasn't real" but that doesn't help me much because a lot of my nightmares are based off of real things that have happened to me, and he just,,, doesn't know what else to say. He just whispers "I'm not going to hurt you" and that's enough. He doesn't feel like it's enough though and he feels bad.

For a few minutes we lay there in silence, holding each other... in his giant stupid water bed with the fancy pillows that perfectly conform to the shape of your head in the dim glow of one of his fancy ass lamps and he's like, "hey, did I ever tell you where I got this lamp? How much it costs? So stupid." And he goes into this story about it. He spends like a good solid twelve minutes just listing off every single thing in his bedroom that he bought that he doesn't even care about. I can't get over his calf pants (pants for your calves). He suddenly realizes he can help; he's good at distracting me, he's good at making me laugh.

He lets me wear one of his shirts bc it smells like him and it's grounding and he thinks I look sooo cute in his shirts. He's like, screw it, let's get up and eat. yeah it's 5am who cares let's eat cereal. He pours a bowl of cereal and I notice on the back of the box there's marks with a sharpie, and he catches me staring and he says "oh yeah I filled out this little crossword puzzle last week :) you wanna try" and I think he's the cutest dork in the whole world. This is the same guy who introduces himself to sexy women at the bar by high-fiving them and somehow they still want to get into bed with him asap. He's like Barney Stinson, but, like, more of a decent human being.

And he's like :) what are you looking at. and i'm like. you! I love you. I love you so much and I am so lucky to have you. and he's like!!! I love you too I love you so much!!! and when we're done munching on cereal he turns on some music on his speakers and we hold hands while dancing in his stupidly huge living room. Maybe we watch a show or a movie until we finally doze off. It always takes me 6 to 8-ish hours to fall asleep again after I jolt awake, maybe some nights he's able to stay up with me, other times he's not because he has a regular sleep schedule like a normal human being. Lucky bastard.

But it doesn't matter if he falls asleep or not, because he always lays next to me making sure he's holding my hand, and before he feels himself dozing off, he always mumbles sleepily "Hey... star girl. It's gonna be okay. You got me now." He's always worried he isn't doing enough, but he is. He always is.

[gaoau]

Illustrations drenched in the ink of all the doubts and nightmares I create

Raison d'Être warnings — none. word count — 1.9k

prev. — next.

Four days later, [Name] regretted all her decisions as she physically felt the confidence drain from her body. She stood in her living-room, glaring daggers into the canvas standing at nearly two meters tall. Where the genuine fuck had she actually plucked the courage to order a piece of white so disgustingly ginormous from? What was she thinking? She couldn't possibly ever work her way around so much disturbing, jarring, over-the-top white.

Her job in art—her only talent, perhaps—had always been to fit black around all the white to create something out of sheer, painful nothing. She would never dare use white to go over anything. Of course, she had really disliked working with white since the first time she picked up a pencil, but working on it was a completely different story.

Just not this much. Not all of this white. Not so terrifyingly much. She couldn't do that. It was horrifying, she just couldn't do it and she was regretting ever having the impulse to buy this stupidly huge canvas.

Ai watched her in her distress as she remained seemingly frozen in time and space. He was a tiny, little puppy, but even he could tell this poor soul was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. Still, he was a tiny, little puppy, not the answer to her problems, and he was running low on food. His claws tapped on the tiled floor while he reached over to [Name] and scratched at her calves for attention.

She didn't dare pry her eyes away from the canvas before her. A flitting glance at Ai was all she could muster, mumbling, "What's it, boy?" although it was incoherent. She was sure, one hundred per cent sure, that the moment she averted her attention from the two-meter, pristine white monstrosity right in front of her, it would murder her in a split second.

After a month of coexisting with Ai in the same home, [Name] knew and understood all of his attempts at communication. He was a smart boy, and even though very vocal, he was quiet.

So when he barked to demand her attention, it pierced into her eardrums and bounced in echoes around her brain. Her shoulders jolted and she startled out of her despair, whipping towards the frustrated dog. "What? What's wrong? What is it? What happ—Oh!" Her eyes flickered between Ai and her surroundings to figure out what—oh, his food bowl was empty again.

She shook her head at herself; a month had gone by and she still left his bowl to run empty. Yes, maybe she should have just set a time to give him dinner, but she knew better than to leave his nutrition in the hands of a schedule she would never follow. With one more frightened glimpse at the canvas waiting to devour her, [Name] dutifully poured more dog food into Ai's bowl until the bag was completely empty.

Her fingers scratched behind his ears while he dug in eagerly. An exhausted sigh drifted into the quiet of the apartment. He enjoyed his meal as she gazed at him lovingly but with lips pursed in hesitation.

She really allowed Ai to run out of food completely, didn't she?

"I'm sorry you're stuck with me, bubs."

She rose from the ground with a spring to reach for her keys. Well, at least she now got to drop by XJ Land after a while.

When she stepped into the familiar store, Chifuyu's voice wrapped around her in a practiced greeting. He didn't actually register her until he finished up with the customer at the counter. But then his eyes drifted to assess who had entered his shop and he instinctively lit up at the sight of her. She walked towards the food aisle instantly and he was content with seeing she was properly taking care of Ai with all of her efforts. Another customer approached him to ring up their items—he managed the formalities on instinct while watching [Name] bump into Kazutora.

She offered him a smile and words Chifuyu couldn't catch. Panic clouded over Kazutora's eyes the instant her gaze pierced through him. He mustered a bow before scurrying away, leaving [Name] to stare dumbfounded at his retreating figure. The last customer left with their bagged goods, and before he could approach [Name] to strike up a friendly conversation, Kazutora blocked his field of vision with furrowed brows.

He blinked at the jittering man. "What is it?"

With a flickering glance at [Name], he wrung his hands nervously. "Nothing, she startled me."

Chifuyu really didn't mean to laugh. "She greeted you, Kazutora-kun."

"She puts me off." The feeling of her eyes, her many, many eyes, her far too many eyes, her one single pair of eyes absorbing all of his visual information unnerved him greatly. He couldn't explain why, but he didn't like the way she didn't look at him while looking at him.

And Chifuyu could understand what he meant to some degree; [Name] caught visions of the world in a completely different way, including people as visually interesting as she had mentioned Kazutora being. He found it fascinating rather than disturbing. To each their own, but it sparked more curiosity than it triggered his fight or flight response.

Speaking of flight, [Name] snuck up behind Kazutora before either of them could realize, holding a few bags of dog food for puppies in her arms. "Good evening, Chifuyu-san," she started, announcing her presence to the whispering men. Almost instantly, Kazutora's shoulders jolted and he excused himself with a short bow. Now, running away when they first met was reasonable, doing it a second time by just having her say hello was odd, but a third time got the message across loud and clear. "I guess Hanemiya-san doesn't really like me?"

Chifuyu followed her gaze towards the poor man fleeing to hide in the storage room. "He takes a while to warm up. I'm sure it's not personal."

[Name] chuckled light-heartedly, "I don't blame him." She knew better than anyone that people didn't like being looked at; especially when it was by her. Maybe holding off from looking at him would allow him to relax. She needed to stop analyzing everything in his appearance every time he was near. It was fun and interesting, but understandingly concerning.

"I'll give him some time and then see if I can get him to let you draw him."

It made her laugh almost with her whole chest. It wasn't necessarily funny, but her feet felt weightless and smiling felt lighter. She couldn't help the way her whole mood lifted by just finding the intense blue of Chifuyu's eyes. She was happy, simple and easy. She was happy to be chortling away right there in the shop with him. Her head couldn't completely wrap around all of her thoughts, but she had a hunch, a feeling, a sensation that everything was and would be alright as long as someone like Chifuyu stayed in her life.

As he rang up the bags of food, he innocently grinned at her. "So, about that commission, [Name]-san." Well, never mind. Her face fell. "I was thinking of a cat, have you ever drawn a cat?"

She averted her gaze away from him with a sigh. "I've tried. Cat anatomy is… extremely weird, to put it simply."

He exchanged the products for her money, bagging them up so she could take them home. His forearms rested on the counter while he leaned in towards her. "Do you like a challenge?" he proposed with a cheeky smile.

"I don't know," [Name] muttered, shrugging, "Do you like throwing your money down the drain?" She felt her confidence deflating the more his expectations inflated.

Then a frown soiled his features. The quirking of his lips vanished in an instant as his brows met in a knot. "Don't talk about your work like that, [Name]-san. I think you're really talented. Your skill is worth it."

She blinked back at him like a gawking fish. His words traveled into her ears and down her spine like reverberating shivers. Was this what whiplash felt like? "Oh… Okay, sorry," her voice grew meek in the face of Chifuyu's revelations, "I'm sorry. No, you're right. A cat? Yeah, I can try. What kind of cat?" So she moved past it, tucking it away in the corner of her brain for later. She couldn't think like him—she couldn't think at all.

"A close-up of a black cat, with a focus on the eyes." His signature grin returned as if he hadn't felt genuinely insulted by [Name] talking shit about her own abilities. It was the art he enjoyed the one which she was putting down, after all. 

It meant something. She didn't know what, but his request meant more to him than he was letting on. And she wanted to know. She was so curious about him that any bit of information was valuable. The cogs in her brain turned at record speed as she hummed, "…Could I borrow pen and paper?"

Chifuyu didn't question her while sliding some scrap paper towards her, handing her the pen from his apron. His eyes zeroed in on her working hands, tracing strokes of blue ink on the jarringly white surface of the paper. A circle, two lines, faint, fading. Her wrist moved with skill he could only achieve after years of training. Scribbles here, some more there, depth and contrast and it wasn't perfect but it resembled a cat. She used sharp, surprisingly straight lines to define the frame.

In a matter of seconds, she'd sketched a cat. It was a cat. It was what he wanted.

"How's this?" [Name] asked, hesitating between meeting his intense eyes or staring at the disproportionate creature she'd created. She apologized to all the cats in the store and in the world.

Chifuyu delicately picked up the drawing, raising it up to his face so he could inspect it closely. He seemed to sparkle when he excitedly beamed at her, "It's perfect!"

She almost choked on her own spit. "Oh—Okay, I'll see what I can do. What, uh, what size are we talking about?"

"Something that fits over there." He guided her line of vision towards the empty wall beside the storage room door. They both caught a glimpse of Kazutora's hair disappearing from sight, but chose not to mention it.

They shared a laugh as [Name] estimated the dimensions of the canvas she would need. Scribbling down the numbers off the top of her head, she glanced up into his irises. "Black cat, okay. Eye color?"

"How about blue?"

Blue.

The weight of reality made her gulp when it sank in. "Okay, you got it," she spoke regardless, donning confidence she didn't know where it had come from.

Probably from Chifuyu's trust. He was trusting her. He was trusting her to get the job done. He was trusting she would produce results. Fill the white with black and create a piece fitting to sit at his shop for others to appreciate as decoration. He was setting his trust on her and she couldn't explain how fulfilling it felt to know someone wanted her.

[nerdypanda3126]

“a kiss between enemies who should be fighting”💗

Y'all are starting to turn me to enemies to lovers 👀 thanks for the ask nony 😊

(huge thanks to the LBSC crew for helping me get this one off the ground!)

Ladybug shrieked and threw her yoyo on the ground as hard as she could in absolute frustration as she glared after Viperion's retreating silhouette. 

Yet again, he'd beat her to the punch. It was always the same. She'd arrive on scene, ready to capture the akuma and purify it, only to find Viperion already collecting the purple butterfly. He'd flash her a knowing grin, then disappear, leaving her to deal with the akuma victim and unable to follow him. 

Not this time. 

She bent to pick up her abandoned yoyo and tossed an apology over her shoulder to the victim, claiming that her time was running short. 

Obviously it wasn't because she'd had no chance or reason to use her power. 

Instead she followed Viperion's retreating shadow, hanging back just enough to not tip him off. 

When he stopped on a rooftop to consider the Parisian skyline, she slipped into the shadows, intending to observe him and wait for an opening. 

"You might as well come out and talk, Ladybug," he said, turning to smile in her general direction. "I've been meaning to catch up with you." 

Cautiously, she stepped out of her hiding place, which only made his smile widen. She frowned back at him as fiercely as she knew how. "Why are you taking the akumas?" she blurted out. He chuckled. 

"That's what I like about you," he said easily, "you're always so straight to business." 

"You don't know anything about me," she spat back. 

He tapped his wrist. The Snake Miraculous. She'd only been able to read about it because it'd been lost like the butterfly and peacock but… why did he have it? And more importantly—how had he been using it? 

"I know a lot about you, Marinette." 

She sucked in a breath at his casual use of her name, but it didn't seem to bother him at all. When she didn't say anything more, he sighed wearily. 

"I need them," he said, answering her original question, but apparently that was the only explanation he was willing to offer. She went to open her mouth to retort, but he sighed again and sat on the edge of the rooftop with an air of gravity. “And now you’ll ask what I could possibly need them for, and I’ll explain, and it won’t matter because you never see reason.” 

“...We’ve never talked before tonight.” 

She blinked at him stupidly. He was… different than she expected. He wasn’t gloating or fighting her or demanding a ransom or asking anything of her, really. Her brow furrowed as she studied him. He had shaggy black hair tipped in teal that fell into his eyes. His suit looked as protective as hers, although it was a dark teal that blended in a little too well with the night sky. The black pauldrons on his shoulders and reinforced scales that ran down his chest, stomach, forearms, and calves and linked down his spine made it look like he was ready for battle. Suddenly her skintight suit felt like pajamas. She crossed her arms over her chest self-consciously. 

“You always say that,” he said gently, then turned to her and patted the spot next to him. She hedged. 

“You’ve used your power on me,” she realized aloud, gripping her elbows tighter as an uncomfortable sensation clenched at her heart and a shiver raced down her spine. “Your Second Chance. That’s why I don’t remember.” 

He chuckled and tapped his wrist again. This time she realized the snake’s head was ticking quietly, counting down the time until his reset was permanent. She looked away in embarrassment. What he was saying was true, then. They had talked before. He did know her.

“I keep trying,” he said, although his voice was somber. “But you’re… stubborn.” His lips quirked into a smile like it was endearing to him. 

He flipped his lyre open and released the purple akuma. It flapped its wings to get momentum and started away in a purposeful direction. Viperion nodded at it pointedly. 

“Go ahead, then,” he said like he knew exactly what she’d do. Which, she realized with another shiver, he probably did. She zipped it into her yoyo and purified it half-heartedly. When the white butterfly flew free, she watched after it with a frown on her face. 

“Why, if I need the akumas, would I give that one away?” he asked, echoing her unvoiced thought. When she looked back at him, he shrugged. “Call it a good faith payment.” 

Again, he patted the seat next to him and this time she took it hesitantly, leaving a hand’s breadth of space between them. 

“I’m not going to try to convince you again,” he started after a moment. He checked his wrist and she realized he was running out of time. “I just want to say that I’m on your side. It may not seem like it, but…” He ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it as he blew out a breath. “What I do, it is necessary.”

“People have been reakumatized because of you,” she answered him, letting her anger infect her tone. He dropped his hand to his lap and laced his fingers together in a show of penitence. 

“Yeah, I know. My sister included,” he said to his hands. He checked his wrist again subtly. She wondered how much of a time limit he had. If it was five minutes like her power, then he really was running short. “I wouldn’t be doing this—to her, to anyone—if I didn’t think I had to.” 

“Why don’t you work with me, then, instead of against me?” 

“I’m not against you. We’re working towards the same goal.” 

“When you steal the akumas, I can’t purify them,” she said, her brow furrowing as she tried to understand. “And if I can’t purify them, then—” 

“I told you that you never see reason.” He smirked sideways at her. “I want you to join me, you want me to join you. It’s always the same.” 

“It’s not reason, Viperion, it’s—” 

She cut off in a strangled “mmph” as he leaned over and claimed her lips with his, hard and quick. She was too stunned to push him off, but he pulled away before she could anyways. 

“Luka,” he whispered into her mouth. “My name is Luka.” 

She hissed in a breath of recognition and he stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured. When his eyes opened to meet hers, they were the same dark, stormy teal as his suit, but she saw the bright blue of the boy she knew as Juleka’s brother.  

He stood, then, and looked down at her with a sad sort of smile on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and as she opened her mouth and reached out to ask him to wait, he flicked the snake’s head on his bracelet and called for his Second Chance power. 

--------------------

Ladybug shrieked and threw her yoyo on the ground as hard as she could in absolute frustration as she glared after Viperion's retreating silhouette.

Send me a kiss! 

[kashimos-hajime]

the shakes | p.d.

summary: “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.” Or, you’re experiencing the terrible side effects of being horny and Poe Dameron knows just how to fix it.

WARNINGS: SMUT (18+), oral (fem!receiving) and just a whole lot of banter, bruh poe is just feastin TONIGHT, sprinkle of plot pairing: poe dameron x fem!reader word count: 5.1k

a/n: uhhh so,,, heh,,, enjoy. bc smut. 

“Ow, fuck.”

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

“My bad. It’s not like we’re stuck in a fucking closet.”

“Who’s fault is that?”

“Yours.”

You breathe out through your nose, struggling to contain your annoyance as you try to back up away from man but no dice. Instead, your back jams awkwardly against the busted control panel.

Said control panel is one of the reasons why you’re stuck in a closet with a man you met only twenty minutes before. Other reasons may or may not include you, the man mentioned, and a certain droid both of you are supposedly waiting on.

“You said that droid is coming?” you grunt as he lets out a heavy sigh against your collarbone. You’ve been squished in a four by four foot supply closet for the past twenty minutes at least and there’s barely enough room as he reaches around to jam the button again. “That’s not going to work,” you say pointedly and he scowls at you, pressing the button again.

“BB-8’s coming,” he growls. “He’ll know I’m missing.”

“Oh, thank the Maker for that!”

“Do you have a problem?”

“Uh, yeah. You’re breathing in my air, in my general vicinity.” A pause, and then: “Can you breathe in any other direction?”

In response, he sucks in a huge breath and lets it out in one big exhale towards the vent above them before glancing down again and arching a brow as if to say, Happy now?

You are most certainly not.

“At least this gives us a moment to breathe. It’s better than being arrested,” he says as if offering a ceasefire. The man leans away from you and you sigh, readjusting the strap of your short dress. His eyes are determinedly staying on yours but even you know they’ve dipped the few times your back was turned. “We can get to know each other.”

Not that you haven’t been thinking about his ass all day either. You spotted him earlier in the markets today, even if he hadn’t noticed you, with that orange and white droid rolling around behind him. Cute and memorable.

What can you say? A good looking guy tends to stick out in a crowd.

“I think I’d rather be arrested,” you say as you lean against your own wall and tug at your dress where you think it doesn’t fit too well. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“You mean, you don’t lock lips with any random handsome stranger?” he fires back. “I’m hurt.”

“Right. You know what I meant.” You nod to the chip in his pocket. “What do you wanna do with that?”

“Top secret, Snatch.”

“Snatch?” you repeat, frowning. “Never mind. I’m sure it’s a secret you can share with me.” At this, you push off the wall and, by the limitations of the closet, stand in his space. Dameron straightens up, an unimpressed smirk printed on his face. “So?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It could be.”

“It really couldn’t.” His nose brushes against yours and his soft breath tickling at your lips makes a hot spear shoot into your gut. You can taste the sunfruit on his breath, the sweet swipe of his tongue across his lips and your eyes narrow as his chest presses against yours. You don’t budge from your spot as a curl of his dark hair falls into his eyes. Almost automatically and before you can register what you’re doing, you reach up to brush it back and he catches your wrist before you can, grin growing. “I knew I recognized you.”

“I’m so happy for you,” you reply dryly. You shake his hand free from your wrist and back up against the wall, crossing your arms. “I’ve seen you in the markets a few times. The only eye-candy way out here,” you admit grudgingly, thinking of the weird fantasies you had about the guy you dubbed ‘The Man from the Market.’

Not your most graceful or catchy nickname, or your most dignified moment, waking up to soaked panties and a flustered sensation glossing over your skin, but you also didn’t expect to see him again. At this party, no less, of some merc bastard and his friends.

“Likewise,” he says, eyes dropping from yours to your lips and then darting up again. He chews on his lip, as if fighting back that cocky smile before he adds, “You’re the only thing that’s caught my eye in the past two days.”

“Charming.”

“Hm. Poe Dameron.”

You glance at the unopened door, sighing out a, “Good for you,” as you cross your legs at your ankles. Dameron only frowns, turning to the door and you observe the darkness around you. You can’t really make out anything but the solid shape of your fellow closet companion. You can’t even make out his features too well unless he’s extremely close to you, and even then, it’s a guesstimate.

You’re going to kill Yvonna. If she wants the intel, she’s going to have to pay you double the credits.

The darkness seems to crowd in on you and you take a deep breath, the heat of the room getting to you. You feel sweat gather underneath your arms, in the creases of your thighs, and maybe it’s the alcohol getting to you, but you swear your feet aren’t attached anymore. They’ve been strapped to some stupidly high heels to accentuate your legs and it's gathered in a trembling pain in your calves now that you’ve a moment to stop moving. You want to keep moving. It’s the dancing in your stomach, the strange flutter in your lungs, the involuntary clenching between your legs.

Normally, you’d be fine but right now…

God, it might’ve been something you ate. You don’t know, but right now, you feel like you’re a hollowed out piece of scrap.

“C’mon, BB-8,” Dameron murmurs as you let your head drop back against the wall. Your eyes slip shut and it’s not too different from the darkness surrounding.

Maybe it’s cause you haven’t seen Krieg in a moment which is part of the reason you’re here. Hasn’t given you a chance to take the edge off and you’re so full of this energy that needs to be spent or you’re going to die in this closet, in that ship…

You needed to do something.

Your eyes open and see the shape of Dameron’s head.

Or, someone.

Yes, you had kissed him first, pushed him into this closet, let his hands wander, but that was because a guard was coming and you weren’t about to get caught red-handed.

This fucking sucks.

“My friends call me Y/N,” you say glumly, your fingers gingerly tugging at the hem of your skirt. An uncomfortable slickening is occurring down there just thinking about that kiss that occurred in a time when you weren’t stuck in a closet, and you can’t help but think that Dameron was a good kisser.

Give credit where credit is due, all that bullshit.

“Y/N, huh?”

“I said my friends,” you reply pointedly. “Associates and otherwise know me by my callsign.”

“Which is?”

“Bandit.”

“How original,” he mutters almost under his breath and you roll your eyes. The burning in your gut spreads like a fan of fire, following where your knuckles press against your thighs as you try to adjust your dress to fit comfortably, but it’s too damn hot and you shift again, catching his attention. “You okay? Not afraid of the dark, are you?”

“No. It’s just… it’s just hot in here,” you mumble with a scowl directed at your own body betraying the way his arm bracketing you on one side of your head is radiating a heat you want to choke on. “When did it get so hot?”

“When they started serving spiced whiskey?” he tries and, this time, your scowl is directed at him with another poison to kill a small snake. “Maybe you’re having the Shakes.”

“The…” You blink, and you’re not sure if your eyes are adjusting to the blinding darkness or if you can actually see him clear as day when he bends his arm and leans against the wall by his elbow. You don’t move away and his breath, searing, tingles at your sweating neck. The drawling exhales only serve to send more thigh-clenching spasms into your stomach and you shoot him a weak glare. “The what now?”

“The Shakes,” he repeats as if he’s totally unaware of what he’s doing to your body. Maker, he must be able to smell it. There’s no way he can’t because you can feel just the effect of him being so close to you has done and— “You know.”

“I, uh, I really don’t.” If he knew a fraction of what his voice did to your panties, he would not be talking right now. Or he’d be talking more. You don’t know which one you want more.

“Oh, you know, when you haven’t had sex in a long time. I call it the Shakes. Every little thing sets you off, you get cranky and flustered, you’re all wired up and your gut feels like the first time you go into hyperspace.” He sighs, and you hear the quiet thump of his head resting against the wall. Y’know, darling?”

“Hm?” you hum, distracted by the index knuckle running over your cheek.

“It makes you distracted.” You can hear his smirk and you roll your eyes with a scoff. “It’s why I call ‘em the Shakes. Throws everything off, doesn’t it?”

“Stars, you love hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

“You know, I see the it often enough that I can recognize any poor soul suffering from a mile away,” he says, ignoring you. “And you’re sick with it, Snatch.” Casually as if he isn’t lazily tracing the shell of your ear with his hand now, he chuckles. You close your eyes as if you’re not critically aware of every desire to pull him into another hard kiss, every little movement of his body from the way he leans to the way his fingers flutter around the curve of your jaw.

You’re a fucking fighter, though. You’re not about to hook up with some random motherfucker in a closet.

Even if the random motherfucker is the hottest thing you’ve seen in who knows how long.

Holy shit, you think your gut might explode with how hard you’re trying to keep it together so you say the first thing you can think of related.

“I didn’t get sick the first time I flew into hyperspace. I didn’t get sick the first time I did an aileron. I, uh, I really don’t get sick when I fly at all,” you say, eyebrows rising skeptically. “Do you?” Confused: “No. I’m a pilot.”

“Oh. And you get the Shakes often, then? Wedged in the seat for hours on end,” you ask conversationally, managing to keep your tone in check. Dameron chuckles at your question, but he pulls back. Your thighs press together and something lurches at his withdrawal, wanting him near again but you silently push those urges down. “If you’re so wise to depart your knowledge with me, that is.”

“You’re a funny girl. Nah, you just get used to it when you’re busy doing other things.”

“Other things?”

“Hm, well, let’s say I have a busy job, and that’s pretty much my whole twenty-four-seven schedule.” He comes close again, close enough that his lips brush against the delicate skin before your ear and shivers shoot down your spine like waves of electricity and you stiffen. You know he hears you suck in your breath, the tiny hitch of your chest and he chuckles again, almost amused.  

“I think… it’s…” Maker, please forgive me for my utterly hedonistic will that has the strength of melted bantha cheese. “Fuck, I think it’s physically impossible to ignore that you’re horny.”

“I didn’t say that,” he corrects, lips whispering over your skin. He tilts his head. “I said you get used to it.”

“Well… n-normally, I’m pretty fucking good at that.” You bite your lip and lift your head to the ceiling, thighs pressing together and straightening up but the sound of your dress dragging against the wall gives you away. “When... people aren’t around.”

“People?” he echoes. “You alright, Snatch?” Fuck him. He is definitely enjoying this.

Well, fuck. Might as well, right?

“The Shakes,” you say in a very steady tone that is betrayed by the absolute ocean swimming between your thighs, “may have found residence here.”

“Hm.”

“That funny to you?” you ask, feeling his smug fucking smirk against your cheek and turning to look at him. His dark eyes glint somehow in the non-existent light. You just know it’s there. A cocky spark.

“Explains why you kiss like I’d melt away between your fingers. It was a good kiss, by the way. You’re a good kisser,” he adds, “but more passionate than I thought you’d go for, considering all we were trying to do was evade the guards and that fact that up until that point, you were trying to pickpocket me.”

“I was trying to get the chip. And I think the pushing into the closet was a good touch,” you defend as he rotates around and cages you against the wall. You stare defiantly back. “He went away, didn’t he?”

“But that just implies something.” His elbows are on either side of your head and he leans in, low enough that you can feel the sound of his voice, his sweet breath against your aching mouth. It’s one thing to admit it but another thing to act on it. Maker, are you really about to—

You know what?

Fuck it. Your panties are ruined, you need this fucking annoying heat out of your system and he’s fucking right about one thing: you’re hornier than a Lucrusian fengrill in heat.

What do you have to lose?

“Why just imply something?” you ask innocently as his lips brush against the corner of your mouth. You sigh in relief when the heat seems to sink, spreads through your body instead, and his shadow brushes against your skin as he moves lower, lips finding your chin, the curve of your jawbone. “Oh, fuck…” you choke out, your hands finding his hair automatically, threading through the dry locks and his name slips out in a breathless moan. “Fuck, Dameron.”

His body jerks at the sound of his name coming from you and your eyes widen when his hips press flush against your thigh. His bulge is hot and hard, the fabric of his pants silky against your bare skin and you let out a soft sound when he nudges your head up. His hands run over the walls, find your shoulders, your waist, tugging at fabric that sticks to your skin before continuing elsewhere, and you’re not even breathing as he licks at the pulse point, the sweat, the alcohol glazing your skin.

“Shit,” he breathes against your neck, teeth running along the vein as his hand sneaks underneath the hem of your dress, skirts around the edge of your panties and it’s the brush across the absolutely soaked spot that does him in, does you in because you know he felt you clench around nothing. “Fuck, I can feel it—”

“Shut up,” you groan, wrenching his head up and smashing your lips against his. He sighs into your mouth, hips grinding against yours as you take a handful of his curls. You yank him back, your lungs seizing for air. Everything tastes like sugar and starfruit as you push him down to his knees, your calves burning. “My feet. Ow. Fuck these heels, honestly.”

“I got ‘em.” His hands immediately find your ankles, running smooth circles into your skin but before you can tell him the strap is on the outer side of your leg, he lifts your foot up. A protest stammers in your throat as he reaches up and presses you against the wall with a large hand flat against your tummy, but he merely smirks against your thigh, letting your knee hang off his broad shoulder. “It’s the Shakes, darling. Makes everything excruciating.”

“Dameron—”

“Relax,” he drawls as your back meets the wall flush and cold. You grab onto the handle of one of the mechanical drawers, wincing when his hand digs into the sore muscle on its way up to stabilize your thigh just as the other on your stomach travels down. “Got a nice view, don’t you?”

“Would be better,” you grit out, “if I could see.”

“Need me to pull out my glow-in-the-dark condoms for you?”

“Dameron.”

“Kidding. Well, only half. I do have some back on the ship.”

“Dameron.”

“Alright, alright. Next time.”

You can’t even see the silhouette of his face anymore, gone underneath the hem of your dress, but you shake your head anyway, lip caught between your teeth as you feel his hand slide up and down the one calf still planted firmly on the ground.

You take a breath and let your head fall back, your ravaged neck pulsing, your entire world spinning.

It happens all at once. When his grip on the thigh resting on his shoulder tightens, when he lifts your other leg over his shoulder, when he surges forward, his lips finding your soaked panties immediately, teeth nipping lightly at the fabric.

Your entire system shuts down.

He noses up higher and your thighs wrap around his head, ankles hooking. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clutches at your ass really, and your fingers in his hair tighten when the dress begins to ride up higher, revealing more of the gorgeous man between your legs.

Oh, how you wish there was some sort of light in here so you can just—

There’s one shaky breath, then another, and there’s no movement which you’re only painfully aware of and your eyes open—when did you even close them?—as you look down. “What’s wrong?”

“I just wish I could see you, darling,” he breathes, kissing the top of your slit and sending a warm shiver through your gut. “Fuck. The way you’d look when I finally chase the Shakes out of you—I’d ruin you. Ruin you and then some. Eat for days.” And then his teeth return, barely skimming the soft flesh of your navel as they hook on the waistband of your panties and tug, his breath following down your thigh as he works on pulling it down, slowly, luxuriously, his lips soft as they press teasing kisses in the crease of your thighs, land tiny nips to the juncture of your hips. You spasm at every turn, wiggle and squeeze until you’re sure you’re cutting off the circulation in his neck, but he doesn’t give any indication that he cares.

No, he just holds you against the wall, your legs tossed over his shoulders, and grins.

You don’t know how you know.

You just do so you don’t know why you stutter out, “You g-good?” anyway.

“Fucking perfect.”

Maybe it’s so you can hear that voice, low and deep in his chest, between your legs.

He leans forward and his nose bumps into your clit, and, as if on reflex, a warm, strong tongue darts out and licks a solid stripe through your heat. “Fuck, darlin’.”

Definitely so you can hear that voice between your legs.

“You’re heaven, y’know that?” he mumbles but you can’t quite focus, your hands gripping at anything you can—one in his hair, the other on that handle and your back arches when he just goes for it, mouth to clit contact, tongue probing and licking and stroking all at once. “Think ‘m gonna die if you don’t drown me first.”

“W-way to i-inflate a girl’s—fuck…” Your voice goes hoarse midway, as if he sucks it out of you, and you can feel the air in your lungs going with it as your back arches off the steel wall. You can feel his jaw, sharp and strong and warm, flexing against your thighs as he works, tongue velvet, lips teasing and he inhales deeply as your legs tighten around his head.

His fingers dig deeper into your ass and you choke back a pathetic moan when his teeth raze your swollen bud lightly, just enough to tease you and keep you on edge. Everything is cotton. The shadows, his hair, his rough hands that are full of calluses you don’t know the meanings of.

Your nails scratch his scalp, tug him impossibly closer and you’re biting through your lip right now, your moans bundling in your chest as he pushes deeper, pushes you closer against the wall as if he wants more of you but can’t quite reach and you want to just let him continue, let him have his fun because you’re sure he can go down on you for hours but—

You’re only human, and the tide comes so quickly you fucking know for sure two things: Dameron knows what he’s doing and Dameron knows what the fuck the Shakes are.

A slight brush of his tongue at your clit and you’re gone. You’re on that downhill slope that sends a spiral of chain events through your body. Your thighs lock around his head and your fingers tighten as lightning shivers and lances through your limbs, sending your heart up into your throat and pulsing between your legs. Your gut clenches, so desperate to hold on that you can’t even breathe, that the only thing you can stutter out is some bare semblance to his name followed by ramblings of “fuck” slewn with more “close… close… so, so close…”

Your eyes are screwed shut, your mind scrambling to concoct an image—an image that would be reality if the lights were on and you can almost see it. Poe Dameron, with his dark eyes, raven hair, plush lips and a beard that scratches against your skin, on his knees with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his hands, huge and veined and strong, grabbing at what flesh he can, head gone underneath the hem of your dress and you can only feel what he’s doing—

You don’t even recognize him chuckling until you can feel the vibration of it through your knees, against your leg.

“Darlin’,” he pants, drawing back just enough to breathe and he tilts his chin just enough to press a sloppy, slick kiss against the soft flesh of your inner thigh and he laughs again, entertained at the desperate little whine that comes outta your throat because the image would’ve been just enough if he kept going for a second more, “gotta let me fuckin’ breathe if you want me to stay down here.”

“That’s…” You struggle for words because you’re heaving so hard, so out of breath because you didn’t even know you weren’t breathing for several seconds. “That’s—it’s, oh, shit.” Your thought process is disturbed by another teasing lick at your swollen folds. “Dameron, if you don’t let me just fucking—”

He nips at the juncture between your thigh and your soaking, swollen cunt.

“Watch it.” You retaliate with a sharp tug of his hair and he only laughs again, soothing the bite mark with a few gentle kisses.

“Just keeping you on edge, darling,” he whispers, peeking up from underneath your dress for the first time in what feels like hours. You run your hand blindly down his face and feel the slickness on his chin, swiping it off but his teeth catch your thumb, and then it’s his tongue wrapping around your fingers, too, sending fluttering shivers through your stomach. He licks them dry before he lets go and your hand finds his hair again as he sighs, disappearing between your legs again, and you barely hear it, a nearly indecipherable mumble that sounds more like it’s coming from inside your head that his own mouth, “Anyone ever told you… you taste like heaven?”

“And how would you know?” you gasp, feeling a little giggly yourself as the crest begins to rise, your chin tilted up as his tongue flattens against your slit. He hums to himself, the curve of his jaw brushing against your tender thigh as he pulls back just enough to speak.

“‘Cause I just tasted it, darling. And I know I could just feast on you for days.” Your entire body tenses as he laughs into your cunt, the ripples of it against your sensitive skin shooting through your spine and you’re on that downward spiral again as his smiling mouth attaches to your bud and his tongue dips into you again.

You’re dripping. The sounds are obscene, filthy to the nth degree, and you’re so close that it aches. You want to thrust but you can’t risk toppling the man you’re resting on the shoulders of, but at the same time, you know he’s teasing the ever loving shit out of you with his shallow passes, his fluttering kisses.

Taking his sweet time, indulging in it. You’re pretty sure if he could make do on his promise to eat you out for however long you’d let him, he would, but you’re half-aware of where you are, that the droid is supposedly coming, and having half-a-brain is half-a-brain too much to lose all common sense.

“Dameron,” you whisper, and he pauses, looking up and you wish you could see his face, the face of a man who stopped at the mere utterance of his name that it sends a thrill through your overstimulated system. “Please.”

There are no further words needed.

He works you up to it slowly, until your fingers are clamped so hard and you’re seeing stars despite there being nothing but shadows around you. The only sound is the wet slop of his mouth working against your drenched pussy, your moans and his heavy breathing that fans out across your navel.

It’s when his tongue pushes so much deeper, and curls, that your thighs clamp down around his head and your fingers are gripping so hard you’re not sure you’re going to make it without a few nail cuts in your palms that you know the Shakes are gone.

Your entire world flips as your vision goes black. Your fingers curl tighter, your thighs begin to quiver, and everything snaps inside you. Your back arches off the wall and you feel like you scream but it’s because your voice is so utterly broken that it seems so as he continues to drink through the floods, drawing out the aftershocks for as long as possible and the euphoria that shoots through you like a blaster is both molten and cool as spring water.

Your vocabulary is nothing but his name, soft breathes of “fuck” and “shit”, and the unrelenting “thank you”.

Your heart rattles against your ribs, beating so quickly you think it might burst from your chest and you feel another quivering sigh escape your lips as Dameron gives you a few more gentle sucks to your messy centre before he’s slowly running his hands up your thighs, to your knees, and gently sliding your legs off back to the floor.

Your body is trembling so hard that your knees nearly give in immediately, but, luckily, Dameron’s hands find your waist and ease you to the ground just as you let go of the handle of the drawer.

“Fuck,” you croak ungracefully once your ass is on solid ground and you gulp down nothing but air as you try to open your eyes. It’s not that different from your closed vision and there are a few white stars blinding you in the dark, but you can still make out the shape of your partner, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before he’s leaning over your leg to check the control panel. It’s then that you can feel it, pressed against your shin. He’s hard as a fucking rock. “Y-you need—” But your voice is a garbled mess, exhausted from the alcohol and the Shakes, and he turns to you, fingers dancing up your calves before slowly pulling your ruined panties back up your thighs.

“Up,” he orders quietly, and you lift your hips up enough for him to slip them firmly back onto your hips. “And it’s fine. I told you. I’m good with the Shakes.”

“Yeah, but, y’know…” you mumble, “could be good.” You can feel him smiling as he leans over to kiss your neck blindly, still finding that tender juncture of your shoulder. You grin, your hands finding his shoulders and roaming his back, feeling the curved muscle of a military man. You know his type.

Continuing downward, down his sides…

“You do owe me,” he murmurs and you nod as he pulls back just as the sound of beeping on the other end of the door.

“Mhm, don’t wanna stay in debt,” you say just as the sound of whirring fills the heated silence and your grin grows as you expectedly raise one of your hands to shield the light about to fill their little closet. You pull your other hand away and you begin pulling the loops out on your heels, sliding your aching feet out of those torture shoes. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again in the future, huh? Pay you back then.”

The door slides open and you stand as he scrambles to his feet as well. At least, you can see his features clearly, and you grin because he’s just as handsome as the first time you saw him.

Absolute score.

With your fingers hooked on your shoes, you wipe the bit of slick he missed on the corner of his mouth. He grabs your hand before it drops, pressing a cheeky kiss to the center of your palm and you roll your eyes.

“That’s fine with me,” he replies, squinting against the light and you tap his cheek. “See you around, Flyboy.” You flash him one last smile before leaving the closet first and walking down the hall. Your knees are still trembling and you feel like you’re a complete mess as you stagger through the metal hallway. Exhaustion is telling you to just go the fuck to sleep right then and there, but you can’t. Not until you get back to your ship and get into hyperspace.

As soon as you’ve rounded a corner, you run with everything you have.

It’s only a matter of time before Poe Dameron realizes that the chip that was in his pocket is making its way to another buyer.

Yvonna totally owes you.

[generallybrontidefeelings]

News for you

A/N: OKAY, gave myself a break to write this lil thing because I needed some fluff from the angst pit I dug myself into. Written for @221bshrlocked #maggies17 writing challenge! Thank you for the prompt, madam, I had fun with this :) also any mistakes belong to me!

Pairing: Javier Peña x reader, Javier Peña x you

Summery: Javi and Steve recruit you, a humble photographer, for a hop, skip, and a jump of a mission. It goes sideways. 

Prompt: 66 “I’ve decided to write a how-to manual and you’re going to be the ‘what not to do’ example.”

Warnings: unbeta’d. T rating, a swear word? Tension, adrenaline! fluff, hiding in the trunk of a car? Protective DEA agents. A smooch! A very self-indulgent comfort fic

Words: ~3K ish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Javier-ommph.” His shoulders bonked your nose as he turned himself over and around in the trunk of the bronco, further squishing you between himself and Steve. “It’s been three hours. If no one shows up, I’m going to kill you!”

“Okay, honey, later,” he mumbled, looking past you out the rearview window. Low yellow light from the Bogotà street lamps hit his eyes and left the rest of his face in the shadows. His chest rose and fell as he scanned outside, past your head. Behind you, you hear Steve fiddling with his sidearm, clicking the cylinder into place. It’s the lowness, the calming choice of words that make the situation really click for you. 

You had stayed as still as you could on your side, sandwiched between the DEA agents’ shoulders. Imagining yourself cartoonishly small helped the awkwardness of having to choose between your ass bumping Steve’s hip, and your thigh lying against Javi’s. The three of you lie very still, listening. 

This wasn’t your job. Your job was to sit in the CIA designated office, walk files back and forth between offices, and develop crime scene photos. That was it. It was not as Javi had phrased it ‘doing us a huge favor’ by playing ‘date’ for the evening so he and Murphy could discreetly plant a camera in a hotel room across the way from some sicario’s hideaway. Without thinking too much about it, you tucked your nose against Javi’s shoulder and worked on compartmentalizing what was happening around you. He smelled like faded vetiver, the orange he’d eaten while waiting for Steve to install the tiny camera, and sweat drawn on by the humidity. He met your eyes, glowing sharp and dark under the lamplight, and you saw his apology in them. 

The back of the bronco opened you inhaled sharply and squeezed your eyes shut, yelping as Javi’s whole body lands on you, and preparing for noise.

“It’s clear, agents, you can come out.”

The image Carillo found when he opened the trunk would have been comical. The gringos bodies squished impossibly in the trunk of the Bronco; Murphy and his dumbass long legs curled upward like a dried-out harvestman blinking in the flashlight glare, and behind him, Peña practically lying on top of a you - a woman he vaguely recognized from the embassy if he squinted. And it didn’t look like the way Peña normally lied over women. Your face heated up under the warm flashlights and your own welling relief. 

When the car door started rattling, Javier had tried to crawl over you and push you behind him, or under him, somewhere not as vulnerable. But in the cramped quarters, he’d only gotten as far as moving his back completely on top of you so you were the big spoon - a big spoon who was near suffocating and panicking. His ass fell heavily into your hip bone, sending a shooting pain down your leg. All you could see was Javi’s shoulder, and the blinding flashlights of the Search Bloc men. 

“Did you get the camera installed?” Carillo asks, as you try to stay still under Javi’s deadweight.

“Yeah, it’s in.” His voice reverberates through you, and you want to smack him for dragging you into this situation. 

“You better get up, Peña, or you’ll suffocate that poor woman.” Your eyes popped open, and you gave in, smacking Javi on the shoulder until he moved. You hissed when you tried to sit up, your hip burning and calve cramping at the same time. The flashlights died, and you were back to sitting in the orange hued shadows inside the Bronco trunk. 

“All right, lady?” Steve asked, hanging his legs off the trunk of the car. Men with rifles stalk around the vehicle, one reporting to Carillo, another two keeping sharp eyes out. It’s quiet for the amount of bodies milling around.  

“Yeah-ow. I’ll be okay.” Javi was moving quietly, looking apologetic, glancing between your sore hip and your face. 

“You’re heavy, Peña,” you say, more to let him know you’re all right, all right enough to give him shit. His lips quirked up a little, and he let his body stretch out, leaning on the trunk ledge. You gently massaged the area that hurt while Javi and Carillo talked together, only catching a few words here and there. It feels like forever later, you sandwiched again sitting on the edge of the trunk between Steve and Javi, swinging your sneakers in little arcs, trying to control your facial expressions. You see Carillo jerk his chin at you, and Javi looks you over before answering. In an unexpected display, Carillo smacks Javi on the shoulder as well, saying what you guess is an expletive before turning and gathering his men. 

“Okay, here’s where we are.” Javi leans on the trunk bed again and bumps your shoulder with his. “The camera is on and transmitting, which is good. Bad news is the sicarios are on alert. Search Bloc wants to escort us home while they keep up the hunt.” 

“Do you own a gun?” Murphy’s question breaks your staring. 

“No, not yet. I meant to…” you trail off as he shakes his head. You know it’s stupid of you not to have any protection. This is Colombia, and you’re a single woman on American government paycheck. You finish lamely, holding your elbows: “I meant to get one.” 

“If they saw her they might be looking for her. Have her stay with you for the night.” 

Javi’s eyebrows raise imperceptibly. You want to say ‘no thank you’ and ‘let’s do it’ all at once. He got you into this mess anyway. 

“Sure, that’s fine.” You let out the breath you’re holding, actually relieved. You didn’t want to go home to your lonely, dark apartment after this. Not for a little while. 

Search Bloc escorts the three of you back to the apartment complex, and you’re ushered inside the building one group at a time. 

“Play nice,” Steve mumbles as he steps out of the bronco for his turn into the building. You watch him saunter in under the harsh lamplight. 

The driver calls back some directions, then takes off driving. You turn to Javi in the backseat, distress written across your face. 

“He says we’re going around the block a couple times then they’ll take us in. Relax,” he suggests, and without preamble, slips his hand around your folded ones in your lap. 

It’s a tense ride. Every corner you close your eyes and take a slow controlled breath. And every time Javi’s hand squeezes yours, the other wrapped around the grip of his sidearm. When the Search Bloc boys bring you back to the complex your sneakers scrape against the pavement up the stairs, then against the hardwood until Javi’s door clicks shut behind you. Then, only then, do you give in to your body's demand to breathe deeply. 

You gather your surroundings - it’s a cushy place, raised kitchen leading back to a bedroom and recessed living area. It would be homey if not for the messes on every surface; mostly cigarette packages, cassette tapes, half-empty glasses. The domesticity distracts you from the reality outside, of tire treads rushing through water run-off along the road. Headlights sweep across the edges of the ceiling to illuminate and fracture the room. It’s exactly what you expect for Javier Peña.

“Is your hip all right?” Javi is lighting a cigarette, but watching you intently. You lift your left leg a bit and shake it. Only a lingering ache remains. 

“It’s fine. A bath will help it,” you say. He nods and puffs out the smoke. You don’t know what to do, so you reach behind you and hook your fingers into the waistline of your skirt and look anywhere but him. The swish follows you down to the couch where you sit, and absently fiddle with the fabric. 

“I know that was more than I asked of you, and I appreciate it.” He pushes his stacks of magazines back into tissues and a crystal ashtray so he can sit on the coffee table. “You did well under pressure.” 

“I belong in a lab, Peña,” you say, leaning your chin on your knuckles. “I’m glad I could help, but don’t ask me to do that again. Ever.” 

“Cross my heart.” 

You smile at him. He’s stupidly handsome; he’d caught your eye the day you’d begun working in the embassy halls in the CIA rooms. You did your part, telling him ‘no’, and pulling confidential files out of his hands, and exchanging barbs daily. But that didn’t stop the tender flame of attraction that grew; you knew it wasn’t your place to harbour it, especially when the rumors of how he behaved with informants reached your ears. It didn’t matter, you decided. It didn’t dissuade you, so you let that little flame smolder freely, content to do your work and content to treat him as Agent Peña. Now in his living room, in the fluorescent kitchen lamplight, you wish all that would go away so you could sleep on his couch in peace. 

He didn’t help, calling you ‘honey’ and leaning on your desk to sweetly ask for specific rolls to be developed before others. He didn’t help at all, jamming his foot in the dark room door before you locked it, asking in his softest voice if he could get a look at them before anyone else did. And he helped the least when in his enthusiasm at whatever break he found in the photos, he’d draw you in by your shirt sleeve and press a grateful kiss to your temple before scribbling down whatever connection he had made. You were always grateful for the red lights hiding the heat that rose under your skin. 

“Do you have any spare blankets?” 

He looks around, like it’s the first time anyone’s asked him. “No, I don’t.” 

“Not even a throw?” Exhaustion leaks into your tone. It’s nearly midnight, and you just want to sleep. Javi stands and shrugs his jacket off. He extends his hand and you take it, letting him lead you down the hall to his bedroom. It’s neat, smells faintly of his cologne and smoke and soap. Before you knew it, he was pushing a big t-shirt into your hands and sitting himself on the bed’s edge to undress. You took the opposite edge, gingerly taking your sneakers off and groaning at the relief of being able to wiggle your toes. 

You decide modesty is for people who don’t identify drug cartel hired guns for a grocery money, and slide into Javi’s bedsheets in your underwear and his borrowed t-shirt. The light in the room clicks off, and you listen to Javi rustle around getting comfortable with your eyes closed. His hand lands on your thigh over the blankets. 

“You’re okay,” he says low, and you respond by resting your hand on top of his wrist as you drift into sleep.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How you got here

“It would just be for a couple hours,” Javi had said, standing over your desk with Steve and your supervisor. Murphy did his part playing skeptic, arms crossed, and his striped tie on too tight. Your supervisor mirrored him, glaring at Peña for asking for such a favor. A big favor. Dark room specialists don’t grow on trees, and you had rolls of film to get processing today. 

“Why can’t one of your informants do this?” your supervisor asks. You raise your eyebrows at Javi. 

“Well, an informant you have to pay.” Murphy tilts his head to the side. Uncle Sam’s purse strings had been a little tight this quarter. “And she’s already on payroll.” 

“It’s up to you,” your super says, leaving you under the hopeful stares of Javi and Steve.

“Look,” Javi leans on your desk, getting low enough to make the conversation private, “you don’t have to do anything dangerous. All we need is to use the hotel room to set up a camera looking into an apartment across the street. You would give us a plausible reason to be entering the hotel, and could help us identify the guy if he shows up. So we’re shooting in the right direction.” 

You squint at Javi. He’s playing the biggest puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen. Crossing your arms on your desk, you lean forward so you’re even closer to his face, close enough to smell the last cigarette he had was at least an hour ago. “Do you need help setting up the equipment?” 

The twitch in his cheek tells you everything, just as Murphy answers “yes.” 

“Okay, I’ll bite, fellas.” 

“It will be in and out, honey. Shouldn’t be more than two hours.” His eyes are reassuring as you grab your handbag. 

The hotel clerk speaks with Javi as Murphy stands at your side with a hand lying stiffly on your waist, an appropriate distance from anything intimate, and just firm enough to give the impression of a pleasant couple. 

He gets a key, and the three of you reach the room without a hitch. You help Murphy get the little camera up and transmitting. Javi keeps an eye by the window, looking out the translucent curtains. 

“Bad news. Fuck,” Javi murmurs, and it makes your blood go cold. Murphy stops packing up the bag your equipment had come in and kicks it under the room bed. “We gotta get to the car.” Murphy reaches for the phone, dialing. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask anyone. It’s too vague, you can’t tell what the private language of partners is communicating to one another. 

Javi left the window, signaling to Steve to hurry up with his phone call. “Someone ratted on us, we need to get moving.”  

“I thought you said this wouldn’t be dangerous,” you hiss at him. You see him huff in frustration, and immediately feel bad. “Javi…”

He smooths his hand under your elbow. “Honey, I’m sorry.” 

The three of you make a graceless exit out the back service stairs into the Bogotà twilight, street lamps already on painting things in hazy greens to the humming of cicadas. Your sneakers whisper on the pavement, one hand gripping the back of Javi’s jacket; you feel silly doing it, but you don’t want to lose him, even if he’s inches in front of you. Steps away from the car, your heart is beating loud enough you barely heard the agents agree on where to lay low.  

“Trunk?” Murphy whispered. He had one hand hovering on the center of your back, the other on his revolver. 

Javi flicked his head to his partner, nodding. “Trunk.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where you ended up

You woke up because something radiating heat was just downright uncomfortable in the already unbearable Colombian humidity. You wiggled into cooler sheets, only it followed you. 

You realized it was because it was an arm, thrown over your middle. As carefully as you could, you looked over your shoulder to the owner of the arm. 

Light trailed in through the gauzy blue curtains, backlighting Javi’s features and bare chest, laying shadows across his slack face. Uninterrupted by his chatting and clothing, you let yourself take him in; a soft chest inflating rhythmically, and a broad shoulder that collapsed on itself, either from weight, or it’s reach for your own body. You turned back over and nuzzled into the pillow, happy you’d led him lead you to his bed to sleep next to him. You couldn’t imagine being able to sleep soundly without someone there after hiding for your life for hours. A shudder runs through you at the thought, triggering Javi’s breathing to hitch and he draws you closer. 

“Javi,” you murmur in warning. He’s really too warm. He groans back at you, palming your hip but not removing his arm, and you push a little into his hand. “Is there a manual for making quick exits?”

“You gonna run away, baby?” You preen a little under the name, and compensate by pressing your heating cheek into the pillow. 

“No,” you say, letting your eyes fall closed and just enjoying the feel of his thumb brushing over the back of your hip bone through his old shirt. “But I’ve decided to write a how-to manual and you’re going to be the ‘what not to do’ example.”

He shuffles closer to you so you’re leg to leg. “Yeah? For what?” 

You send your top leg out so he can rest his bare thigh between yours. You start in a sing-song voice: “‘What not to do for an effective escape: don’t bring an extra person with you when your means of escape is a car trunk that only fits two bodies, not three.”

“You fit just fine,” he says, and you shiver at his nose bumping your clothed shoulder. 

“I was squished.” 

He snorts. “I got news for you: you lived. Even if you got squished. That’s what I call effective.” You hum when you feel him lift over you and press a kiss to your temple, then your cheek. Turning your head you graze his lips with yours while finding his eyes. They’re still sleepy, not quite open all the way. You don’t even have to lift your head to press your mouth to his warm pliant one, and he returns it gently; it’s different from the excited affectionate ones he plants on your head in the darkroom. You just want to let him know you are alive, and grateful. It’s fleeting, and you know in a week or so it will crack your heart a little more.He breaks it first, pressing a second, then a third into your lips, telling you he understands. 

He lies back behind you, pulling your frame against him, into his warm chest. “Go back to sleep, honey.” 

You pull the sheet around your chin and enjoy the sensation of being held by Javi, if only for a couple more hours. 

Tomorrow you’ll be back at the embassy, explaining your role in a DEA operation turned Colombian military operation to your superior, and you’ll be thinking about how Agent Peña is a much better big spoon than you are. 

[sjw-publishings]

Wassup Beach!

“Wassup, FAGS!”

Alex and Liam uncomfortably gazed away from the homophobic asian, who taunted them sarcastically like one of those bullies from college...than again, Cohen Wang was one of those bullies.

The 5 year boyfriends were looking for their friend Caleb...or at least they think that was his name, but it didn’t matter anyway, especially if the surfer jock was around.

“This is a QUEER-FREE BEACH, Beeeetches, get the Fag out!”

Even without insults from the douchebag, the two of them planned on carrying their stuff and heading a less crowded around, with clearer sand, a better view of the ocean, and no homophobia.

After all, there were Two lesbians embracing each other lovingly by the ocean. This was a safe space.

“No worries babe...I got popsicles!”

Alex smiled, glad Liam isn’t taking those insults too seriously, knowing how his boyfriend would usually be fighting back.

Setting up the umbrella, mat, and cooler box. Liam surprisingly did most of the work and pretty quickly, maybe he didn’t want to ruin their 1 year anniversary of when they started going out.

“Red bean and green tea?”

“They’re pretty good. Got the last two before they sold out.”

Liam sat on the matt, taking up most of the space on the mat as he munched on the red bean. Alex smiled, his boyfriend was so cute, even if he was acting more dominant. He proceed to pop the green tea one in his mouth...and wow...so good.

“Mmm, this green tea is good ...Liam?”

“Pretty cool...so good...”

Liarom immediately fished out for another red bean, his boyfriend of one month always seemed to be a huge Asia fan.

Though he won’t deny the....the speed at which Liarom was eating seemed to be quite excessive-

“What the fa-?”

RRIIIIIIIP!

Shredding the Hawaiian shirt, the man exposed his bare chest on display as he ate.

Large grabbable pectorals shining on display with a handsome coating of hair which made him all the more handsome.

But wasn’t his boyfriend body shy? No...that’s not right. The pan-asian man always loved displaying his body openly to the public. Wearing revealing clothing to accentuate his giant back muscles, his muscular arms which always seemed to be in the mood for a flex, his wonder abdominals which hid a six pack underneath, ready to pop out in a matter of days.

But...he was his right? As he glanced at those toned feet wiggling in their asian tanned splendour, thick sausage trunks which are begging to be massages. Especially up his thighs, to the large snake poking out his red beach trunks....weren’t they rainbow...? But that’s not right.

After all...his boy...friend always aimed to be manly...wait no-

“Li...Lierom!”

“Chill Fag~”

His friend always seemed to be quite the homophobe, ignoring what he says and always aiming to be chill and not caring about anything else.

It wasn’t before long that the necklace of...some gay couple, twisted into a simple silver chain of the bisexual jock’s chest. Though its questionable if the man was bisexual even...as he more than often teamed up with jock bullies to torment-

“FAG! Ooooooooof~”

Jerking from behind, like a huge stick pulled up from his arse, shrinking to an unpiercable bubble butt. Grabbing a hold of his manhood within those shorts, the man started panting, deep masculine groans emerged as a prominent apple stuck on his throat. Tossing the last of the red bean popsicles into the cooler box, the man grunted, begging for release.

It was...so hot. As Alex kneaded below, watching as his asian bully grunted in front of him. The hot tanned complexion bathing his skin, as those long hair chops sliced off and got carried away to the wind.

Sides buzzed off to the back as a stylish gelled top rested on the man, grinning like a doofus as a well groomed goatee donned his chin. A tasty moustache rested above his upper lip, and pearly whites shone from within him.

He closed his eyes, beaming his goofiest smile as the handsome surfer jock just went-

“OH!”

Splurt

“OHHHHHHH!”

As his body rested completely flat on the sand, completely entranced by the sound of the waves and-

“What a stud~”

“Tee hee~”

The asian hunk got up in an instant, ditching the strange stalker...whoever he was, behind him. Because all he cared about now was-

“Wassup Beeeaaaches~ the LEROY’S IN DA HOUSE!”

Leroy Wen swaggered to the ladies hanging over at the ocean, who instinctively swung his muscular arms over both of them like an Alpha, as the asian beach babes clutched onto him like the hunk he was.

The three of them fading of into the distance, like strangers as the confused gay SNAPPED out of his trance. His legs man-spreading on the beach mat, left hand digging into his trunks, the other fishing out for...for-

“Da Faaaaaack man?”

Alex slurred, almost uncharacteristically but he was kinda drunk wasn’t he? At least he recalled. Noting a couple of used beer cans, and popsicle sticks? Oh right...that green tea was great.

BUT WHY WAS IT ALL OUT?

Getting up, the man drunkly walked on the sand, still in a daze. But he had to get more...it was his vacation, right? His SOLO time.

Though he felt that everyday was his vacation.

“Huhuh... cool.”

Walking down the clear sands, making his way to the rough jagged Beach with crowds of people. Normally the caucasian would stay away from caution, but he felt pretty chill...

Walking with a swagger, making big steps as his footprints got larger, and larger as he made the transition. His legs certainly stretched like taffy, before solidifying with tough muscle. Swift moves, like surfin’.

“Surfin’~”

He slurred, lugging his thick calves towards the wavy rough ocean, size 12s sinking into the sand-but his height remained unchanged. Tall at a 6ft 3, like the chill dude he was-

“CHILL OUT FAG!”

SPLASH!

A huge tidal wave came crashing down on him, yet he still had a dopey grin...

The water engulfed his shirt away, dissolving until he was shirtless. It too had bathed the previous colours away, from those shorts, BEACH shorts they were, stretching with navy blue elasticity, with white rings at the edges and waist. A string tied itself from the front, which got pushed out further due to his thick manhood.

His buttocks clenched, preventing any water from entering in...but that’s not just it. He was gay, but he was not into that kind of intimacy...felt that it was a little too QUEER for him, he had a firm butt too...wouldn’t want to get spanked by a sissy.

Speaking of ‘sissy’, that sarcastic voice...and the word Fag really got to him. He was a Fag, but that didn’t give anybody the right to call him fag...but then they were right that he was a Fag?

Confused by the train of thought, he simply blurted-

“Shaddup Fag!”

This got the attention of a familiar looking douche, Cohen. Who pushed down his specs, got down his surfboard, and had a staring contest with the slightly taller male.

“No you shaddup Fag!”

“No you shaddup Fag!”

Mimicking the man’s voice, it was simple, and confused the heck out of the surfer jock.

“YOU SHADDUP!”

“YOU SHADDUP!”

He smirked, watching his dumbass rival trying to outsmart his dumbass and LOSIN’. After a moment of a heated glare-

“HAHAHA!”

Antolex laughed stupidly with his surfer bud, and frat roomie as the two grinned dumbly at the other. It always was fun questioning the other’s masculinity...cause it just made themselves-

“YOU GAY?”

MANLIER!

Stretching his wide traps, he arm hugged his bro. Hs lean but strong arms were a marvel to the ladies on the beach, alongside those wide traps exposed to the ocean.

“NO YOU GAY!”

Of course, the insult now stung harder than before, considering he WASN’T GAY. Duh, just look at his tanned bod, the effort he made to tone out his chest and pecs just so he can impress the ladies! Wasn’t as defined as his bro, but wasn’t bad since he mostly just started going serious last month, and used to always just party and get wasted in the frat house.

“YOU DA FAG!”

He grinned dumbly, his voice rumbling in a dark baritone drunken stupor.

Course he wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed, but he knew how to insult like his Frat Bro. Especially at the queers that gawk at him, this Asian Surfer was for DA LADIES ONLY!

“OH YEAH WELL-Bro...Bro!”

“What Bro?”

“Ladies...2 o clock!”

The men almost turned upon radar, spotting a couple of asian chicks who giggled and blushed at the men. Their gorgeous super model bods revealed...was just too much for this drunk dude.

“So...hot!”

Almost like time froze, as the man palmed himself without restraint. Kneading his hard member as he grinned his dumbest grin. A lust dusting of stubble over and under his lips, as a handsome gust of wind shaped his hair to a stylish short cut like his Bro.

His legs swaggered to the middle of the Beach, almost like a spotlight reserved for him. Except it was bright daylight, as his facial features had that dull but attractive charisma. Kneading himself as he grinned his widest grin.

Anthony Chang was ready to party.

PSSSH!

“WASSUP BEACH!”

[unsettledink]

Inadvisable - Kinktober Day 3 (Old Adages 4)

Inadvisable

Prompt: Public Sex

Word Count: 1300

Summary: Yes, it’s great that Quentin’s solved one of the problems with the newest holographic system, but does he have to test it out like this? Right now? 

Tony should be complaining a lot more than he is.

(public sex, blowjobs, an excessive amount of smugness, pre civil war beck, office furniture, embarrassment)

*

"I am a genius," Quentin says.

Tony glances at the man who's just barged into his office, and he's not going to argue that. Quentin is a bit of genius in his field. "Did you have an appointment?"

Quentin flattens his hands on the edge of Tony's desk and leans forward. "Did I need one?"

"Like I would have cared," Tony says. "Why are you a genius this time?"

"I solved the sound problem," Quentin tells him, coming around the desk. Tony rolls his chair out and looks up at him, at the slightly manic gleam in his eyes, the little edge of dishevelment that means Quentin's been up almost as long as Tony.

"You got the coverage to extend to sound?" Tony asks. "Altering it or masking it?"

"Both," Quentin says, and that grin is dangerous, always. "Wanna test it?"

Dangerous, because it tempts Tony into doing things he should know better than to do by now. "Test it how?"

"The fun way," Quentin says, and drops to his knees, right in front of Tony's chair.

"Fuck," Tony says as Quentin shuffles back a bit, half under the desk, and hooks his hands around Tony's calves, dragging him along. "You realize this desktop is glass, right?"

Quentin looks up at him from where he's nuzzled up to Tony's thigh, and those eyes should be classified as fucking weapons. "Don't you trust my work?" he asks; no way in hell is Tony touching that with a ten foot pole. Quentin smirks.

"I'm already covered," Quentin says. "Don't worry, Tony," and his fingers are on Tony's zipper, and pushing open his pants and fuck if Tony wants him to stop. "I'm very careful about my reputation."

And he is, he always is, far more careful than Tony. "I can still see you," Tony says, breaking off with a groan as Quentin gets his hands on Tony's cock. "Can still hear you."

"You're inside the holographic bubble," Quentin murmurs. "I'm working on it," and then he licks up the length of Tony's cock.

"Shit," Tony hisses, sinking lower in his chair, curving a hand around the back of Quentin's head. "Fucking love your mouth," and he doesn't care if it's smart or not; he probably doesn't even have any appointments anyway.

Quentin glances up at Tony, snags his gaze and keeps it, keeps Tony watching every move he makes. Watching his mouth, lips turning redder, his cheeks starting to flush, just a hint of wetness in his huge, stupidly vivid blue eyes when Tony thrusts in deeper, sinking into his throat.

He pulls off after that, with a gasp and thick, wet sounds, licking at the head. Rubs his lips over it, teasing, and Tony’s about ten seconds away from shoving Quentin down on his cock when the door opens.

They both freeze, and then Quentin grins. "Test run in a non laboratory environment," he says, and sinks back onto Tony's cock.

"Tony," Pepper says, and fuck, this is the worst, if this fails Pepper will murder him. No one will ever find his body. "I want you to look over this and then sign. I'm not leaving until you do, and don't try and give me any bullshit about a meeting; I know exactly what's on your schedule today."

"I— wasn't going to?" Tony tries, and he feels like he doesn't have two brain cells left to rub together. Not even one, the way Quentin is swallowing around his cock, making thick, wet, barely muffled sounds as he chokes on it.

Pepper pauses. "Are you ok?" she asks. "You look a little flushed. And of course you were going to."

"Fine," Tony says, feeling the vibrations of Quentin’s moans. He manages not to fuck up into Quentin's mouth by sheer willpower, and he's amazed he has any left. "I'm fine, what's this? Why am I signing? Why can't you just sign, I know you can forge my signature."

Quentin pulls off with an obscene pop and laughs, softly, warm puffs of air across Tony's skin. "Go ahead, Tony," he says, almost normal volume, and Tony flails around trying to cover his mouth. Without Pepper noticing. "Drag it out a little, fine by me."

Pepper doesn't seem to notice anything at all, thank god, so it looks like maybe Quentin is a genius after all. Tony's lost the last few sentences, so he just nods and tries to look engaged. Which seems to be the right move, because Pepper looks relieved and flips open the folio she's carrying. Starts sliding papers over to Tony, and when he glances down at them he can see Quentin right through the desktop. Please, Tony thinks, please don’t let the disguise fail while Pepper is looking down like that.

Goddammit, Quentin is just— pulling out all the stops, Tony thinks, trying to control his breathing, trying to stay still while Quentin gives him one of the best blowjobs of his life, messy and noisy and so enthusiastic; he feels like a massive perv, sitting here getting his cock sucked underneath a fucking glass table top while his CEO—his friend—is a foot away, completely oblivious despite the way Quentin is whining around his cock, keeping it in his throat until he gags, loudly, over and over. Fuck, shit, he's so close.

He scribbles something everywhere Pepper indicates, something that's hopefully close enough to his signature it'll do. Reaches down with his free hand and pushes at Quentin's forehead, trying to get a moment of relief; when that doesn't work, he manages to get a fistful of Quentin's hair and yank him back, almost off his cock.

Almost isn't fucking good enough, because all it means is that Quentin is in the perfect position to tease the head of his cock with his tongue, fast little licks, pushing into the slit, pressing the flat of his tongue against the underside and sucking, hard.

"Are you sure you're fine?" Pepper asks again, gathering up the last of the papers, and Tony has to swallow hard before he can answer, Quentin choosing the same moment to pull off his cock with a pop.

“Are you?” Quentin says, so goddamn smug.

"Fine, I’m fine," Tony says, definitely too breathy, but Pepper just frowns at him before she shakes her head and leaves. "Christ," Tony mutters, "Quentin, I'm going to—" kill you, his mind finishes, but his mouth is busy moaning, Quentin's mouth back around his cock, taking it all in and nosing at the hair at Tony's crotch as he he bobs his head. "Fuck," Tony manages to gasps, his hands grabbing Quentin's head, holding it as he fucks up into that wet heat, "god fucking damn, oh fuck—" his head thunking back against his chair as he jerks up into Quentin's mouth.

Quentin swallows, always fucking swallows and Tony loves that, but he almost doesn't manage it this time, Tony coming even harder, even more after trying to stop it for too long. There's a few escaped drops at the corner of his mouth when he crawls up onto Tony's lap, sprawled over him and half hanging off the chair. A few smears on his bottom lip, and Quentin licks them up before he kisses Tony. Smirks after, like the asshole he is. "I think we can put that down as a success," he says.

"Gonna kill you," Tony breathes out, still catching his breath.

"No you won't," Quentin counters, leaning in and nipping at his neck. "They're off now, and you don't know how to turn them back on. How would you hide my body?"

"Fine," Tony says. "I won't kill you, if you turn them back on right this second and test if they can disguise you fucking me over my desk just as well."

Quentin groans. "Deal."

*

AO3

[golddaggers]

A cold nose

(not my gif but look how precious)

pairing: thor x female!reader

warnings: hmm not gonna spoil it but it’s def not safe for work. YALL DIDN’T THINK I WOULD WRITE SMUT ABOUT HIM TODAY DID YOU? well. watch out for parents standing behind you. also thor should be a warning.

a/n: just a cold day with a steamy idea. wish i had a thor to warm up my nose like that. hope it’s good.

word count: 1,3k 

“Your nose is cold, little mouse.”

The words slip off of his lips carelessly when you snug deeper into his embrace, your face buried in the crook of his neck. You know he’s right. Ever since you could remember, your hands, feet and nose were always too sensitive to weather change, always too cold or too hot, never a middle ground. Most of the time it was just plain annoying, today, on the other hand, you had taken advantage of it to tease Thor a little bit.

A muffled laugh escapes as you slide down your hands across his broad back, feeling the tight, tense muscles under your touch. He shivers uneasy, but the warmness of his skin makes you moan pleased. From day one, Thor had been your personal blanket, always hot and willing to hold you close. You couldn’t remember what it was like to have a good night of sleep when he wasn’t there to wrap you between his thick arms, the raspy feeling of his beard against your neck. Whenever he wasn’t there, you’d just shift and roll under the sheets, unable to fall asleep.

Opening your mouth, you took in a patch of his skin in, noticing him go stiff. You appreciated that he had taken the day off to spend it with you, although you had absolutely no plans to leave the bed. By the black of his eyes when you pulled back, blue irises almost nonexistent in comparison to the pupils, you knew he had no plans on leaving either.

A gush of cool air made you quiver when the sheets suddenly fell off of you, but what made you groan frustrated was the sudden lack of his body close to yours. An amused chuckle made itself heard from behind you. He stood on his knees, glaring at you with hunger - at that point, you couldn’t refrain a gasp. The sight of him naked would never cease to startle you, your hands itching to touch his chest, feel the thin, blond hairs there.

“Like what you see?” He mocks, finally spreading your legs open to him, catching a droplet of arousal that was already seeping with his index finger. You nod, your hips jerking to meet his hand, anxious for the friction. “Behave, little mouse.”

“Thor.” It was a whiny whimper that came out broken, exposing your need for him, you don’t have to look up to know he has a tender gaze directed at you. The large hand on your lower abdomen, softly pinning you against the mattress, strokes the skin, squeezing it, callouses shuddering your entire body.

Without a word, you feel the tug on the waistband of your underwear, lifting your hips so he can take them off, enjoying the teasing massage in the meanwhile, his touch lingering more than it was necessary to undress you. In a second, you also wiggle off his stupidly oversized t-shirt, standing bare in the middle of the bed, waiting for him to have his way with you. To please you in ways only he knew how.

At first, you feel him grip your ankles, biting gently at the flesh of your calves. You take in a soft breath, staring at him devotedly. The scrape of his beard stings your skin as he moves up, your legs on his shoulders while a gentle squeeze makes you pant. Thor’s crouched forward, bent towards you. Towards your centre. By now you feel achy and wet, desperate to have him.

Right at the juncture of your sex and thigh, you feel teeth nibbling, doing it so purposely to taunt. Your strangled whines let him know it’s working, you feel a smirk on your skin, rolling your eyes and gripping a fistful of his hair, enjoying the smoothness of it. Thor always enjoyed the building up, the reaching up to your core and finding it like that: red, swollen and dripping. His breath audibly shifts before he finally takes you in his mouth in a deep, overwhelming kiss that urged a scream out of you.

The pressure of Thor’s lips it’s already a lot to deal with, but when he adds his tongue, you just can’t control your bottom anymore, hips shamefully rolling against his face, eyes still dark and much more lustful when he shoots a glance at you. You blurt his name, the twisting of your insides throwing you off. It’s hard to keep it together when that man is wrapped between your thighs, eating you like your juices are the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

Your hips no longer touch the bed’s cosy surface, in a rough pull, Thor stands on his knees again, your head falling in a soft thud against the pillows. He holds you up like you weigh nothing, one of his arms sustaining you while his tongue circles your nub, inching you closer and closer to a release. You can already tell the knot on your belly is growing tighter, if he keeps going at it like that, you’re not lasting long.

You look to the other side, barely able to keep your eyes open, staring at his majestic figure on the huge mirror. There’s a hard line inside his pants, you suddenly very aware that he’s simply preparing the ground for what’s to come. He has never been able to forgive himself for the time where the two of you skipped the minutes of foreplay and you ended up feeling a bit sore after, so he always excels at making you feel the greatest first.

“Little mouse, I want you to look at me.” Thor demands, his voice deeper, grumbling. The sudden lack of him on you makes a frustrated moan slip and you look up, struggling to focus on his face. He dives back to you, his fingers tight on your skin, drawing you closer.

Cool air slaps your body, goosebumps crawling your skin, although you weren’t sure if it was because of the breeze or the continuously scratch of his thick beard against your core, that certainly would gain red-ish shade from it. Your whines grew, the coil was about to rip, you still moving hard against his face.

In one fleeting moment, when you caught his eyes sewed to your minimum reactions, was when you couldn’t ground yourself anymore, letting go of everything and feeling pleasure wash through you in electric waves, your entire body contracting while you screamed, calling out for him over, over and over, whispering how much you wanted him, how you wanted him to fill you up so desperately.

Thor kept tasting you, the slickness glistening still on his face when he finally pulled away, diving forward to steal a deep passionate kiss, his lips rough on yours, his tongue pushing inside so you could feel your own taste off of his mouth. You grunted, weakly wounding your arms around his neck, giggling lightly.

“What’s so funny?” He inquired, eyebrows scrunched together. You chuckle again. “What is it, little mouse?”

“You’re pretty when you have your head between my legs.”

He melts down instantaneously, going for your jaw, sucking the still feverish skin there, warming you up all over again. A whimper slips.

“I’m not cold anymore.” You mumble, running your fingers through his hair, wrenching flimsy at the back to make him look at you. “So thank you.”

“Hmm, not done with you yet, little mouse.” He goes back to your collarbones, quickly going to your already hardened peaks below, pulling one of them to his wet, fire blazing mouth.

“Yeah, I know you’re not.”

“I’m gonna keep you warm all day long.”  It’s barely a whisper, but you hear perfectly, smiling faintly at it, not conceiving being able to withstand a whole day, although very much in the mood for it. “Okay, little mouse? All day.”

“Okay, Thor. I’m good with that.”

And you really were.

[dougtfs]

The last step of the transformation ritual was to drink musclebull milk – but when he showed up, Danny looked upset.

“I spilled it all!” he confessed. “Where are we going to get more?”

The spell was supposed to turn us into werewolves, but without the last ingredient, we couldn’t complete it. I had to think fast.

“I think I have an idea,” I said. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“I’ll do anything,” he said. “I gotta be a werewolf. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Okay,” I said. “Get naked.”

He looked hesitant, but obeyed. I had a little bit of magic, not a lot, but enough that he trusted me. And feared me.

I started casting the spell, holding my hand out toward my naked scrawny friend. His body was thin and weak, hairless, clearly that of a nerd.

The changes began right away. Fur rippled down his back, growing over his shoulders, filling in down to his ass, which swirled with hair.

“Whoa, what’s happening to me?” he gasped. More fur grew in across his chest, thickening down his forearms and on his legs. He was getting really hairy now. It was short, not too shaggy, a smooth pelt across his whole body.

Next came the muscle. His ass plumped up first, pushing him down onto the bed on all fours. “Whoa!” he exclaimed, reaching back to feel his huge butt. It was so round, so thick, so strong. It looked absurd on his tiny dorky frame, but soon his thighs got big and thick too. They inflated like balloons, then his calves, then his feet got larger as well.

“What are you doooooing?” he moaned, rubbing his weird heavy bottom half. His voice cracked as his chest thickened, broadening along with his back to make a heavy muscular frame – and that’s when he realized.

“Wait, nooooo!” he exclaimed. “Don’t make me into a muscle buuuuuuull!” His voice was turning into a lowing, groaning animal’s, and it was then that his horns appeared. They jutted out from his forehead, heavy and thick but supported by his strong beastly neck. His ears grew out, floppy round and hairy, and his nose broadened and he bellowed.

“I’m sorry duuuuuude!” he mooed. “Don’t make me a buuuull!”

But it was too late to stop now. His furry body took on a spotted, mottled pattern, thick and cow-like. A tail shot out of his ass, swishing back and forth, and he groaned as he leaned forward on the bed.

And then the final change: his cock and balls. With a creak, His balls swelled up to absurd proportions, forcing his legs apart. They drooped heavy with semen, and his dick flopped obscenely toward his knees.

“I”m a fucking freak,” he moaned, “I look like a cow!”

“Like a bull,” I said, reaching between his legs to pump his cock. His eyes dulled, and I could tell his thoughts were leaking down to nothing.

“Whuuuut,” he said, “huhhhhh?”

I pumped faster, feeling his hardening dick in my hand, knowing his mind was clearing of any memory he had of his past life.

“Good bull,” I said, and he smiled stupidly. “Ready to come?”

“I’m gonna cuuuuum,” he said, his mouth slack, “oh fuck, feels so goooood!”

With that his balls spasmed, his dick jumped, and I felt the hot sticky semen shoot all over my hand, the bed, even the wall in front of him. He bellowed a long loud bull’s moo as he came, and I removed my hand to lick the semen.

It tasted sweet. That wasn’t right. A bull’s milk should be musky and earthy, but this was more like candy.

“Oh, fuck,” I said. I realized my mistake too late – it had to be natural bull milk, not a TFed bull. There’s no telling what this would turn me into.

I felt a twinge in my ears and spun around to look in the mirror. I could see them growing tall and furry, definitely not a werewolf’s. There was a prickle at my ass and a tail shot out of my pants – it was long, ropey, with a tassel on the end.

Danny laughed. I looked at him in a panic. “You look goooood, dude,” he said, watching me start to transform. “Gonna be a beast like me?”

I tried to answer him, but when I opened my mouth all that came out was “HEEE AAWWW!”

Read more stories of sexy gay transformation: https://amzn.to/2KKrepA

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

What Happens at Conference, Stays at Conference (Avarice) - lemon

Pt I: I need one of those hugs that turns into sex  Pt II: Are you trying to seduce me?!

 Laughter bubbles from her mouth into his, the spread of her lips into a grin so sweet it makes his teeth ache. He wants more of it. Wants so much of it that it makes him shaky and weak kneed, and he chases the shape of her pleasure, pressing her further down into the mattress with lips and tongue.

“So,” she pulls back, panting, her arms curling around his neck. “Am I doing a good job?”

Her nails slide up his neck, disappearing into the bristle of his hair. “I think-” He shivers, burying his face against the delicate skin of her neck. “I think I need some further persuasion.”

It’s like every time she’s come across a problem in the data; her body goes still under him, thoughtful, but instead of print outs it’s his hair that her fingers flex in, twisting and tangling in them hopelessly. “What do you mea-- Ah!”          

Ah, he was wrong. This is the sweet he craves- the way her body arches up into his, breathless, the soft of her giving in the way that his is not.

“Do you like that?” he rasps, dragging his teeth against her pulse, soothing it with his tongue when she keens. “Shirayuki?”

“Ye- ah, ah- Ah! Obi!” She rears up, bracing her palms against his shoulders to lever him away.

In a free fall, he’s off her, pressing up onto his palms and knees as she drinks down air as if it might be her last. But it’s her hands clenching on his forearms that keeps him on the bed, her thighs bracketing his that keeps him between them.

“Babe?” he tries.

Under the full force of the late afternoon sunlight, her gaze snaps to his, and she’s flushed all the way to the collar of her blouse, rumpled in a way that she only is in his very best one-handed fantasies. And there, just there at the dip of her throat, her skin is wet and pink where his mouth and teeth just been tasting her.

Hnn.

“Obi?”

Her voice has never sounded like that before. Especially not when she says his name, and he groans, cock already rock hard and begging for her.

“I, ah-” He screws his eyes shut, he counts backwards from ten, trying to find- some chill, maybe. Some cool. Or at the very least some fucking self-control.

It was one thing to think something was a good idea and another to actually live it. It would be just like her to look before leaping and- This is too much, too fast. For her. He’s only seen her kiss after the chastest of dates, only gained suspicion that she lost her virginity under the most romantic of circumstances. Surely- a quick fuck at a conference- surely this is not what she wants.

Her ankles hook around his calves, and it is good that her skirt is so tight or he would be under it regardless, rubbing his cock against her heat and-

“Yea, I- uh-” His eyes flutter open and hers are huge, too close, her lips swollen and parted and all he wants to do is lick them, but-

“Are you sure about this?”

Her mouth parts, hair spilling out of its bun and across the pillow when she tilts her head to the side like she does when she comes across a particularly vexing problem. And then the heat recedes from her gaze, clarity filling them once again, and ah, he was right - he was right - she doesn’t really want this.

“Obi.”

A strand of hair has caught across her neck. He brushes it away with the back of his hand, waiting for her to tell him to get up and find his own lodging for the night. “Yea?”

“Stop talking and fuck me already.”

“Wha-” She doesn’t let him get the whole word out; doesn’t even let him fully grasp the way her mouth looks when she says the word fuck. A hand, pale and small, wraps itself in his tie, yanking him down-

Oh. She’s kissing him. That’s really- that’s great. Really great.

Humming, Shirayuki shifts her weight under him and he tumbles in an ungainly sprawl at her side, her thighs still wrapped around his hips. This time, his palms find her thighs and stay there, marveling at the way they flex beneath his touch when his tongue teases her lower lip. 

“I really like you in this suit.”

He groans into her mouth, and he’s never been harder in his life, he’s pretty sure. He might need to call a doctor soon. Thankfully, there is one right here.

“I can keep it on if you like,” he all but whines into her mouth, picturing his pants open and his briefs tugged down just enough, tie clenched in her hand as she bounces up and down on his cock, fucking him into the mattress-

She moans, thighs clenching his hips, skirt riding so indecently high it almost meets his fantasy. Her fingers are still wrapped in the red silk Mitsuhide bought him last Christmas, the only thing the big guy bought him that wasn’t protein powder, and he really… should send a thank you card. Or something. “Maybe next time,” she manages, her tongue skirting his teeth.

“Next-” Air punches out of him and he’s left light headed. Pulling back, he stares at her, at her flushed cheeks and glazed eyes and hair already a complete mess.

She blinks, dazed. “Obi?”

It’s only that she says it that he realizes his staring.

“Next time,” he breaths, what he is pretty sure is the stupidest grin in existence spreading across his face. “Right.”

Lips tremble, struggling against a shy smile, and her lashes fluttering demurely-

“But for the moment…” Obi rolls her back beneath him, his hands sliding up her thighs, each inch taken another inch that her skirt rolls up beneath his palms. Her eyes widen, wet lips parting as her breath stutters, but she does not stop him, does not say No-

Instead her face sets, hands alight upon his and she guides them upward. Professional black gives way to pale and freckled skin, and there are so many of them of so many shades... How is he ever going to kiss them all properly?

“My, my,” he breathes, cock twitching as the edges of white cotton panties coming into view. Shirayuki squirms beneath him, glancing quick at the large window overlooking the city before back to him.

Following her gaze, he frowns at the lack of window treatments. There’s no way to block them - they found that out the first night - the front desk politely assuring Dr. and Mr. Lyon that no one could see inside. But the sun is bright, spilling into their room, and there are all sorts of high powered cameras hooked up to drones these days...

Two warm hands cup his cheeks, turning him back towards her, guiding him down-

“Hmm,” Obi hums, taking her mouth as he shifts over her completely, fingers working the buttons of her blouse free. Her breath is high, strained, tension hiccupping out of her with each soft little sigh as his mouth works its way down her chest, tongue tracing the cup of her bra. When he slips two of his fingers beneath one padded cup, she arches into him, sharp, an ever sharper cry slipping past her as he gives the top of her other breast one hard suck.

Her hands are in his hair again, holding him to her and he pinches, he bites, he drags his stubble across the softness of her skin until she’s mewling, presses open mouth kisses to every freckle he can find until she’s begging-

“Obi!” she pants, hips stuttering against him. “Obi, I- I need you.”

“Patience is a virtue,” he murmurs against her skin, tongue slipping beneath the cup to tease a nipple.

“No,” she whines, hips bucking. “Now.”

No sweeter words have ever been spoken.

Lifting himself onto one elbow, he slides his other hands between them, sucking at her neck as he teases aside her panties, testing, and her hips lift with a gasp caught inside a moan. The first touch of her sex against his fingers is stupidly soft, the heat there almost burning, and she’s wet- so wet-

It would be nothing to flick the buttons of his pants open, nothing at all to slide himself home-

He plunges two of his fingers inside her.

Hands grasp at his shoulders hard. Pulling back, he watches her carefully, takes in the way she looks when she pushes herself against his hand, urging him deeper, harder with every thrust. Her eyes are closed tight, biting her lower lip until her mouth falls open with a cry when he curls his fingers. Turning her face to the side, she throws an arm over her eyes and offers him that neck that he doesn’t take. Not now. Not when he can see her like this.

Each thrust of his fingers making her wetter, hotter, louder. Her voice cracks apart, so, so close—

He stops, fingers inside her all the way to the last knuckle, and the sound of frustration she makes almost has him come right then and there in his fancy conference suit.

“Obi,” she whines, lifting her hips, knees falling open and there’s nothing more beautiful than this. Nothing more beautiful than seeing her so rumpled and wrecked, her cunt swallowing up his hand, all pink and wet-

He flicks her clit with his thumb, rubbing the edges of it, and just like that she falls apart, screaming, nearly coming off the bed as she comes. And she’s so hot around his fingers, so tight. There’s no way he’s going to last longer than a minute inside her. Not if she’s going to feel like this.

Working her down slowly – she’s shaking, breath panting and wetness flooding down his fingers, and oh- oh, if he wasn’t inspired before, he certainly would be now – Obi kisses his way up her neck, her chest heaving against his, and he parts her blouse the rest of the way, popping the front closure of her bra and she springs free.

“Oh!” she breathes, eyes fluttering open.

He grins, sliding his fingers out of her and her whole body follows him with a groan of loss.

Her breasts are so cute, so perfect. He kisses his way down them, purring into the soft give against his cheeks. She gasps a little, gently petting his hair, and he raises an eyebrow, glancing up. This time it’s her watching him, it seems, and he drags his cheek across her skin in retaliation, scraping his teeth where the blush of pink raises up.

Both hands grip at his tie now, frantic, pulling it loose and throwing somewhere beyond the bed. He laughs as she pushes at his jacket, hips lifting so she can lever him back to his side. His hands are at her waist, working her panties down until she kicks them off her ankles. Hands braced against his shoulders, pushes him again, following his momentum to roll on top of him and she looks pleased, looks victorious to have him on his back until-

“Oh. Um.”

“Hnn.” Palms hovering over her bared hips, his mouth quirks to the side, sliding his gaze down from her wide eyed stare, to the flush of her throat and lingering on those beautiful, beautiful breasts framed by her open blouse and limply dangling bra, before dropping to the dip of her belly button and skirt rucked up all pretty so he can see every bit of the wiry hairs of her sex. Pressed right up on the center of his chest.

He kneads her thighs. “You did say that dinner was a couple of hours from now, right?”

“Right?” She’s breathing so hard, barely caught up. “It’s supposed to be at five.”

“That’s such a long ways away,” he all but whines, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. “I’ll starve.”

“Do you want to order room service?” His eyes snap to hers, disbelieving, but her forehead is already creased cutely, staring at the phone on the bedside table. “I don’t know if our per diem will cover it, but- Ah!”

He is pleased seeing that blush come back to the fore as he presses his palms against her ass. “Why order room service? I have more than enough right here,” he purrs, urging her forward until her sex lands right on his tongue.

The sounds she makes are delightful. She moans, she squeals, she squeezes out sighs that are just this side of pain, the soft of her thighs pressing against his cheeks as her hips shyly thrust against his mouth. Humming, Obi flicks her clit. Hard enough that she lurches forward, catching herself on the headboard.

Staring up at her, the hair of her sex tickling his nose, he laps at the core of her, stabbing deep, glorying in the way her hair falls forward, barely able to keep herself up. But he wants-

He wants to see her eyes. Wants to see the exact shade of them when she comes. Wants to feel her thighs shivering against his face as he tastes her again and again and again.

When he wraps his lips around her, sucking sharply, her eyes snap open, focusing on him where he watches her from between her legs-

And he’s never seen a woman come so hard before in his life.

She floods into his mouth with a cry, shaking, crying, until she slumps over him and he kisses her again, right where she aches, just so he can hear the hiss. 

Huffing a laugh, he works her back down his body, helping limbs that seem to no longer be able to navigate themselves until her hands find his face. Before she can even settle, her hands frame his cheeks just so she can slip her tongue into his mouth and taste her on him.

“You’re not letting me seduce you.” She’s still trembling on top of him, but she still has the nerve to complain.

“Maybe you’re not trying enough,” he grins, sucking on her tongue.

She yanks back, eyes narrowed, and a thrill goes down his spine. Oh, he’s in for it now…

His belt flies open underneath suddenly deft hands, button and flies free before she works them down. Standing at the side of the bed, she shucks off her own skewed top and skirt, every act an exercise in efficiency until she is naked. Bared to him. Just as bared and he is to her.

He sees the second that knowledge hits. The exact moment that her eyes flick to where he’s laid out. Naked. On their temporary bed. Dick nearly purple it is so ready.

And freezes.

“Hey-” He reaches out with both hands, palms out in surrender, and her eyes snap from his cock to his face. “We don’t have to go all the way. We can just-”

“I don’t have a condom.” She looks bereft. “Do you?”

He blinks at her. “I... yes? In my wallet?”

She’s off like a shot, flipping open his wallet on the table under the TV and fishing it out. She squints at it. “How long has it been in there?”

He squirms. It’s not like he planned this, but- “Not long. Yuzuri—”

He lets the sentence trail off. No doubt she got the same talk. What happens at conference stays at conference, and-

Well, here’s the result.

“Good.” She’s already crawling up the bed, tearing the package open with her teeth, eyes fixed on his dick, and before he knows it, she’s rolling it down him with both hands, and- Oh god, her hands are on him.

“Hnn.” His hips lift, chasing that touch, but she’s already throwing her leg over his hips, lowering herself down and-

He can barely hear her “Yessssss” over his own equally enthusiastic chant of “shit, shit, shittttt.”

A whine slips from between her lips, her body swallowing him up

“Ah,” she whimpers, lifting her hips slightly. “Oh, oh god. Obi—”

Her head falls back on her shoulders, back arched, nipples peaked and begging for his mouth as she tries again, moaning like she’s so close already. 

“Yea, babe.” His hands grip her hips, urging. “Yea, c’mon.”

She moves, sliding up and down on his dick at a torturous pace, his dick disappearing deep inside her only to emerge, slick and wet—

Groaning, his head hits the pillow, eyes locked on the fire detector green flickering light as she moves on him.

“Ah,” she hisses, hands sliding up her neck, tangling in her hair, and he can’t- he can’t look away. Can’t blot out the way that the sun has caught on the cityline, casting the room an orange glow as she fucks him. As she moved on him all careful like. Like he matters. Like she cares.

He can’t take it anymore.

Planting his feet against the mattress, he braces himself up on his elbow, other palm to her spine and he urges her forward, tipping her balance forward until he can lead her breast into his mouth, trapping her on his cock as he rolls his hips, nice and slow, up into her.

“Oh. Oh.”

Hnn. She likes that.

He keeps his pace, steady, even when she whines like it’s killing her, even when she squirms on his dick like she wants to ride him hard into the sunset, until his arm trembles. Skin sheened in sweat, she lets him set the pace, fisting her fingers in the duvet as he fu- as he- he makes love to her.

God, he wants to make love to her.

Hand sliding down her side, he drags it over her stomach, arching up his neck to catch her mouth so he can taste her scream when his thumb brushes her clit-

And feeling her come from inside is so much better.

She squeezes around him like a vice, her cunt milking him, pulling him deeper, and it’s really- It’s really not his fault when his vision goes white, hips snapping up as his spine melts and he follows her home.

~ ~ ~

When his eyes open again, the room is dark, there’s a weight curled up right under his arm, and Shirayuki’s phone is… vibrating?

A groan emerges from beneath the blankets, then one arm snapping the phone off the bedside table. He dodges on instinct. You only get knocked upside the head once by a half-asleep Shirayuki before you learn that you don’t want to repeat the experience.

“Oh?” Blankets get shoved down enough so her head emerges, hair staticky and wild all about her. Squinting, she stares at the screen. “Dinner. We should… get ready. Probably.”

He stares at her, not sure what to say. Now doesn’t seem to be a good time to remind her (again) that the invitation wasn’t extended to him, but-

His stomach grumbles, effectively ending the argument before it can start.

“Come on,” she says, nose still pressed to her phone screen as she pulls up the location. The blankets fall from her and it’s the best view he’s ever had. “We need to get ready.”

Grabbing ahold of her wrist, he pulls her down, catching her surprised chirp with a lingering kiss.

She’s staring at him, eyes all soft and warm when he pulls away.

“Go.” He presses another kiss to her lips, chaste, and nods his head towards the bathroom. “You shower first.”

Her frown would be adorable if he didn’t know it spelled trouble. “You don’t…?”

“Shirayuki,” he laughs, her eyes huge on him. “You definitely won’t be making it to dinner if we shower together.”

Her lashes drop, sliding off the bed. “Neither of us will,” she corrects.

Then squeals, jolting towards the bathroom when he taps her ass with the back of his hand.

[thing-you-do-with-that-thing]

Aia Ku’u Pu’uwai

Pairing: Cockles

Square Filled: Tourguide!Jensen (AU Bingo) and Traveling (Fluff Bingo)

Warnings: Crude flirting, Language, Objectification of Jensen, Implied smut ;)

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2500ish

A/N: This one is written for @spnaubingo and @spnfluffbingo

Thanks to @emilyevanston for being super awesome and helping me get an actual idea from this concept despite it’s not her fandom. I owe you one Katie!

Thanks to @manawhaat for being a sweetheart and betaing this for me.

Disclaimer: I am not Hawaiian so the title could be off I just really liked it and googled it to mean With My Heart. I have also never been to Hawaii. My descriptions are from google searches and what I’ve seen on Hawaii 5-0

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

SPN AU BINGO MASTERLIST - SPN FLUFF BINGO MASTERLIST

Misha yawned, stretching his arms above his head. He knew he shouldn’t have booked a tour that started this early the morning after he landed, but the pictures on the website had looked amazing. Misha had been working as a travel journalist for five years now. He picked different tours, in different locations and wrote a review for his magazine. He knew that just because something seemed amazing on the website didn’t mean they always would be. He had encountered enough bad tour guides and screwy hotels to know that, but he also never made up his mind beforehand. Something about the idea of a guided tour biking around the island of Oahu. He came with a positive mindset and was ready for whatever the next two weeks were going to throw at him. Or so he thought. That was right up until he saw the tour guide walking towards the group with a huge, genuine smile plastered across his face.

The beauty of the Hawaiian island paled in comparison to the man striding towards him on bowed legs. His shorts were stretched by the thickly muscled thighs and his t-shirt hugged his chest and biceps in all the right places. His skin was tanned, but miles of freckles were still visible all over his arms, neck, and face. His eyes were greenest Misha had ever seen, but that was not all. A kindness and warmth shone from this man and Misha instantly felt drawn to him. So much so that when the tour guide looked around the group and his eyes locked with Misha’s as he introduced himself, the journalist looked down, blushing under the guides gaze.  

“Good morning. My names is Jensen Ackles. This is my assistant Osric Chau. We’ll be your guides for the next two weeks. We got a few things and stops planned for you guys, but if you encounter anything along the way you would like to check out a bit closer please let us know. We are pretty flexible,” Jensen sent Misha a smirk as he said the last sentences causing Misha to almost drop his jaw. Was Jensen flirting with him? No. Misha decided he had to be imagining things.

Over the next few days, it became harder and harder for Misha to stick to that story, though. Just like it was insanely difficult to keep his focus on the guided tour he had come here to write about, not on how his guide’s calves flex as he stepped on the pedals of his bike.

Jensen was just like Misha had expected not just a pretty face. He was calm and attentive to all of his guests. He listened when they voiced concerns and he was open to any suggestions that would add the experience of the island. Osric was a ball of energy and made everyone smile with his shenanigans and crazy stories during breaks. He never had Misha’s full attention though, his eyes were usually resting on Jensen as he chewed on his lunch and smiled, shaking his head at his crazy assistant. Misha wished he had the balls to just walk over and sit next to him, but he was barely able to muster the courage to ask the man questions as they stopped looking at sceneries.

Misha cursed himself more than once. He was acting and feeling like a high school kid around his first crush. He was too old to be behaving like this. Jensen was flirty with him and always smiling whenever their eyes met, so why couldn’t Misha just talk to him like a normal person? That’s how the first few days passed, with the small exception of the day they went scuba diving and Jensen checked Misha’s gear, running his hands over his body, under the pretenses of doing his job.

“Just making sure you can handle my package,” Jensen grinned, making Misha gulp and spin around to face him. Jensen didn’t flinch. That cheeky smirk stayed plastered on his stupidly beautiful face as Misha swallowed and tried to regain control of his voice.

“W-what?”

“The oxygen tank. Just making sure it was fastened correctly,” Jensen explained, before throwing Misha a wink, turning to help some of the other guests. Misha just stood there staring at Jensen’s back like a deer caught in the headlight. He had really said that, hadn’t he? It couldn’t be all in Misha’s head. Jensen was flirting with him, and crudely s.

The diving experience had been amazing and Jensen had led them through a reef, allowing his guests to get some of the most breathtaking pictures Misha had even gotten on any of his travels. The wildlife and ocean floor was a sight to behold and there was no way in hell Misha wasn’t going to give this trip five stars as soon as he got back to the mainland, writing up the piece.

That was still over a week away, though, and Misha was in no rush to get home. He was having the time of his life on this work vacation, even if Jensen’s blatant flirting still threw him off his game by a mile. Misha wasn’t usually a shy guy and he had no idea what it was about Jensen that made him turn into a blushing teenage girl. Yes, he was hot as hell, but Misha had dated hot men before. It was something else. Maybe it was the quiet confidence or the kindness and calm that radiated from him. Misha wasn’t sure but he knew he had to get a grip on himself soon if he didn’t want the opportunity to really get to know this Greek god of a man to slip through his fingers.

Misha had decided today would be the day. The last day on the island would be their surf lessons,  but once again Misha’s courage had escaped him the second Jensen had gotten too close. The guides were only able to rent out a limited number of boards, and the guests drew numbers to see who would go first, while the others would have to wait for the first group of riders to be done. After drawing the second group, the blue-eyed travel journalist was sitting on the curve outside the hotel they were all staying at, for now. Tomorrow most of the group,  along with Jensen and Osric, were flying to Kauai to continue the adventure for another week.

Misha watched them surf and chatted with other guests, but kept getting distracted by the way Jensen ran around the beach, wading waist deep in the beautiful ocean. Before he knew it, the first group had all tired out and gotten their rides, and it was his turn to strip out of his shirt and stand barefoot on the beach with his board.

“Mr. Ackles,” Misha called Jensen over as he stood by his board, shifting on his feet a little nervous the second their eyes met. Jensen’s face split into a smile that made the sun seem bleak in comparison.

“Jensen. Mr. Ackles is my father,” Jensen corrected as he approached Misha. “What’s up, Mish?”

Misha’s heart jumped into his throat with that nickname, and he silently cursed himself, as he fought to keep it together. “I… ehm… I actually never surfed before,” Misha lied. He had but he was also just bad enough at it that he was sure Jensen would believe the lie once they got into the water.

“Oh that’s no problem,” Jensen grinned dropping his board on the sand right next to Misha’s. “Lie down on the board on your stomach, chest up, ass down,” Jensen guided, with a smirk, correcting Misha’s posture with his hands as well as his voice. It was all Misha could do not to groan from the way the guide’s touch felt against his naked back. His breathing speed up as Jensen lied down next to him on the board, mimicking a paddle. “You need to paddle as hard as you can to get over that wave. It’s tough, cause the water is escaping you, but once you get to the crest you can go over and ride that bad boy on your stomach,” Jensen held onto the sides of the board, showing where he should hold and how to shift his weight to balance, “or you can get up.” Jensen jumped, both feet landing on the board at the same time, showing perfect form, not to mention showing off his impressive physique.

Misha just stared, desperately trying to come up with something to say- something that would resemble some sort of human interaction and not the noises he was choking back.

“Jay! Need your help over here,” Osric called, tearing Jensen’s attention away from Misha momentarily before he turned back to face him. A genuine sweet smile was on his lips as he gave Misha a small nod.

“Work on your technique. Wanna see you poppin’ up when I look over here,” Jensen ordered before turning his back to Misha.

“You’ll be back before I get in the water right?” Misha called out, kicking himself with how needy that sounded, but Jensen just turned around with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Oh you’re on my to do list, Mish,” Jensen winked, before turning back around and jogging towards Osric, leaving Misha with his jaw hanging so low it was almost touching the beach floor.

Jensen walked out from the hotel with a regretful look on his face. “I am so sorry, you guys, but there seems to have been a mix-up and we haven’t quite gotten as many rooms as we asked for. The travel company will reimburse all of you for the cost of rooms since the hotel didn’t hold up the agreement, but we need you guys to pair up with someone you’d be willing to share a room with until the hotel has enough open rooms to place us individually.”

There were a few grumbles among the guests but most had gotten to know each other fairly well, so they seemed to pair off rather quickly. Everyone but Misha, who had either been busy taking notes for his article or staring and Jensen the entire trip, instead of socializing with the other guests.

“Well that seemed to work out fairly well,” Jensen praised the guests handing out keys, before reaching Misha last, “looks like you’re with me, Mish. I hope that’s okay?” Jensen asked, a genuine concern to his voice over the crude flirting and smug remarks Misha had come to expect from him over the past few days.

“That’s fine, Jensen. It’ll be fun to get to know you a little better” Misha answered him, feeling a little bolder with the changed attitude of the tour guide. Jensen seemed to relax instantly after that, sending Misha one of the shit-eating grins that left Misha tingling and slightly nervous.

Misha waited along with Jensen until all the guests had been helped to their rooms. He sat in a corner of the foyer waiting for his guide to be ready to leave for their room, taking notes and not noticing Jensen whispering something to Osric. Misha also didn’t see the exchange of keys or the grin on Osric’s face as he placed a slap to a rather uneasy looking Jensen’s shoulder.

“This way,” Jensen mumbled, sending Misha a small smile but otherwise keeping his eyes nailed to the floor as he led the way towards their room. Misha couldn’t help but frown as he watched the guide, wondering what was going on with him. He didn’t know him all that well, but from the seven days Misha had spent with Jensen, he had not once seen him act like he was now-On edge and maybe almost shy.

Misha pushed the thought out of his mind, chalking it up to the stress the room mix up had caused. Even if Jensen had handled it amazingly well.

Misha stopped dead in his tracks, pulling from his thoughts when he entered the room with Jensen, who had been holding the door open for Misha, right behind him. There was only one bed in the room. Misha’s cheeks flushed bright red as he turned around to face Jensen, who stood with his back against the door and his eyes nailed to the floor. Jensen’s hand nervously ran behind the back of his neck and his eyes didn’t, for the first time in a week, meet Misha’s when he spoke.

“I’m sorry. Os is in a room with two beds. I’ve never done anything like this before… I just- I like you, Misha. If you wanna kick me out right now, I’ll leave. No questions, no awkwardness tomorrow,” Jensen rambled and Misha couldn’t help but smile. The cockiness had been hot as hell but Misha found himself falling for the shy, blushing man in front of him even harder.

“And if I don’t?” Misha asked, taking a step forward, all of a sudden feeling bold. He wanted to see where this night would take them. Hell, he wanted everything Jensen was willing to give him and not just tonight. Misha wanted to get to know him and for Jensen to get to know Misha.

Jensen’s eyes snapped up to meet Misha’s and a small smile played on his lips. “Then I’ll stay.” Misha grinned as he remembered the remarks Jensen had made that had thrown him off his game more than once this week. It made him giddy inside, and he decided now was a good time to get a little payback, before Jensen found his swagger and Misha lost his ability to speak again.

“Man… Air Conditioning must be broken,” Misha spoked waving his notebook in front of his face, enjoying the confused look on Jensen’s face for a while before he continued taking a step towards his guide. “It’s damn hot in here. Or is it just you?”

Jensen’s raised his eyebrows and an amused smile spread across his face. He took a step towards Misha closing the distance between them.

“You’re a fast learner. Saw you riding those waves...makes me wonder what else you can ride,” Jensen grinned, gently taking a hold of Misha’s collar. Misha’s hands came to rest on Jensen’s hips and he his breath quickened with how close they suddenly were.

“Narh. Just had a great teacher,” Misha tried to shrug, not willing to let Jensen see just how badly he was affecting him just yet.

“Is that so?” Jensen wiggled his eyebrows playfully, making Misha laugh. “You think I can borrow a kiss then?”

Misha smiled, digging his fingers into Jensen’s hip bones. “Only if you’ll give it back.”

Jensen practically let out a groan. “That and so much more, Mish.” Jensen didn’t stop to see the pink flush in Misha’s cheeks before he crashed his lips into his in a warm, passionate kiss. All shyness and every act forgotten as they tumbled towards the bed, never once breaking the kiss.

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