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#THE HAND FLEX IMAGINE!!! THE HAND FLEX!!!
eternityofend · 3 days
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BOOTHILL HEADCANONS
> Reminder that this is not canon/accurate to his personality
+ contains nsfw (Is labeled)
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( Art credit: @ Luvmybabygirl0 )
SFW
I'd like to imagine, that this man just does a hair flip every time he's offended at what you said.
Ex.
"My Love, I know you're jealous but it's just a cat.."
Boothill looks at you for five solid seconds, and then hair flips to let you know he's really offended. "Tell the cat to move then, that's my place."
Does not skip leg day, would probably kabedon you using his LEG or if he does work out he'd probably want to use you as weight, like letting you sit on him while he does push-ups.
Loves going on little trips with you using horses, if you don't have your own horse he'd definitely let you ride his horse but you're in front of him.
Bonus points if you're shorter than him cause he'd put his chin on top of your head while his hands go around your waist to grab the rein.
Would flex to everyone about you, like- he's in a fight with someone? "You weak cutie(bitch), my lover hits harder than you."
Would call you petnames like "Sugar", "Honey", "Darling" , "Babe/Baby" , "Sweetheart" , "Love" , "Love bug" , "Sunshine" , "Pretty (boy/girl/thing)"
Listens to Lady Gaga, I'm sure of this, he would so rock it out on the dance floor and get you to dance with him.
Has eaten a bullet in front of you and was incredibly confused at your reaction that was just like 😰, until you tell him that you were surprised he ate a bullet he'd just be like 🤨 but if you did tell him straight away, he'd cackle at you.
Sometimes forgets he was originally a human so he does the craziest things knowing he can get fixed up anyway (he once jumped off a 13 foot building to chase after an enemy)
Loves to cuddle you, he wants to feel your warmth while he sleeps or relaxes.
Lets you braid his hair or comb it if you want to, once he gets used to you combing or braiding his hair he'd just walk up to you at random times with a brush in hand and let you do what you want with his hair.
Really reckless and causes a lot of trouble sometimes but there are days where he's really calm and all he wants to do is spend time with you, like he just acts like a cute little kitten who just woke up when he's calm.
If JoJo existed in their world, he would be a big fan of it.
Would let you name his gun or horse, does not complain at all even if you name it "princess twilight sparkle cookie crumble" he'd just laugh, completely accepting the name.
Even says the name during fights, he'd say "Your time's out, time to die by my princess twilight sparkle cookie crumble." 😭😭
Looks at his reflection in the mirror a lot while practicing poses, even getting you to watch from the bed or couch while showing you a new pose he likes.
Kisses you a lot, even in public he's really affectionate and touchy, cause no way is he letting other people look at you and think you're single.
You're hot and he knows you're hot so he's trying his best to make everyone know you're already taken.
If someone TRIES to flirt with you in front of him, he's already got you by the waist, against the wall, making out while he flips off the one who tried to flirt with you.
Would let you pick his earrings, always excited when you say you bought a new earring for him.
Looks good in an apron, like, really good. Househusband material frfr.
Plays with your hair a lot, twirling it, and even kissing some strands while he looks at you in the eye.
Easy to get flustered but it always leads to him making you more flustered, he takes everything like a challenge but he does love it every time you sass him back or flirt with him.
Causes a lot of trouble for you and with you, if its for you it's going to be super romantic however it'll some people irritated, but if he's causing trouble with you, its more chaotic and a LOT of people will 100% get pissed.
Cannot sleep without you in his arms, he'll walk over to your room (if you guys aren't sharing one), hair all messy from tossing and turning because you weren't in bed with him. He'll just plop into your bed, it doesn't matter if you're even awake or not he just wants to hold you while he sleeps.
NSFW
Definitely takes off his hat and puts it on you BUT only when he's letting you ride, if you're having normal sex he'd probably just keep it on or let you bite on it while he fucks you from behind.
Probably says something weird during sex which I would love to imagine would just be "Yeehaw" because he can't curse.
Probably into roleplay where you're a criminal and he's a cowboy who successfully hunted you down or the opposite, has a bunch of handcuffs just to use it for roleplay.
I feel like he'd just be the type of person to use sex toys, not dildos though cause he wants to be the only dick inside you, something like collars, leashes, handcuffs, whips, ropes,
He'd be into gags, bondage, dirty talk, lactation, blindfold sex, spit, both praise and degrading kink, spanking, anal, lap-dances, fingering (he'd be conflicted about receiving), oral (receiving and giving), sensory deprivation, and gun play!
If he doesn't have a dick, he'll probably have a bunch of straps, he's good at giving oral but would still prefer fucking you with a dick than fingering or eating you out. (Unless he's the one getting fucked)
I feel like he's a switch but more on the dominant side, he's super open to submission as long as his partner can pleasure him real good.
This man walks around technically naked all the time, so he's got to have imagined having public sex here and there, but most likely in bars where everyone's busy and doing their own thing. Like it'd turn him on if you were just on his lap humping his erection while you both are in a bar but everyone else is just too drunk to notice at all.
Super vocal, grunting, moaning, sometimes even whining and whimpering, you got it all, bonus points because he does it all straight into your ear.
Uses his sharp teeth to mark you all over your body and then sucks on it to leave hickeys, would likely be a little menace and leave his marks somewhere visible even if you're wearing clothes so people would know your his
Wants you to pull on his hair while fucking, he wants to be able to know how good he's making you feel and hair pulling would be his goal to make sure you're getting actual pleasure.
When he kisses you or makes out with you, it'd always involve tongue, has a little hand that sneaks over to your waist stopping at your hip or your ass.
Slaps your ass loud, especially in public, he just smacks it while you're in mid-conversation and the sound just ECHOES, it doesn't hurt it just sounds like it does, he just stands there smirking while you stare at him.
He's an ass guy, boobs are nice to him cause he can suck on the nipples but definitely an ass guy, you cannot tell me he doesn't fuck you from behind solely to see your ass jiggle with every thrust he does.
Flat? Nuh uh, he's making that shit bounce no matter what.
Likes playing with you using his gun, frequently flicks the handle of his gun over your nipples or dick/pussy, sometimes he shoves a little bit of his gun in and if you get your cum on the muzzle, he'd lick it right in front of you.
Likes praising you and getting degraded, is into getting whipped too, he secretly wants to be on his knees begging for you, worshipping you, while you're standing over him with a whip in your hands. (The whip doesn't actually do any damage)
Does not care what gender you are, sometimes he'd misgender you on purpose and call your ass a pussy or if you're a girl, he'd probably call you "pretty boy" just to get you riled up.
His favorite positions when bottoming would be cowgirl, and his favorite position if he's on top would be Doggystyle.
(Edit: I just realized how much of a power bottom he is, but it's up to you, the reader whether you want to fuck him or be fucked by him 😇)
Please do remember everything is just a headcanon and is not actually linked or accurate to what Boothill's like in canon.
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( Art credit
1st: Kradebii on Danbooru
2nd: Tei (@2hwe1) on twt
3rd: 2월14일 (Valentine_DD_) on twt )
Please tell me if I got the artists wrong!
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toxicanonymity · 2 days
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busted (jailbird one shot)
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2.5k WORDS, JOEL "JOJO" MILLER x f!READER SUMMARY: You roleplay as cop and sex worker. WARNINGS: I8+, no plot just smut, roleplay, manhandling, handcuffs, bj, unsafe PIV, creampie, fluff. writer chooses not to warn in further detail, read at your own risk. Read alone or see jailbird masterlist for relationship & reader history. NOTES: On hiatus, but this has been in my tumblr drafts since 3/20. Ty for the ask. They've both served time. This happens while Joel's aunt/your former cellmate is still locked up. Ty again to everyone who made me write cellmate's nephew (history) 💀. Divider by @saradika-graphics. @toxicfics for notifications.
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You sit on Joel’s bed alone, wearing a short skirt, a lace bra, and fishnet stockings he already ripped wide open the last time you wore them. You finish lacing up your boots, tuck a wad of cash into your bra, and get a tictac mint from your purse. Then you put on the bag and close the bedroom door behind you as you leave. 
As you walk into the living room, the front door opens. You realize you’re holding your breath and feel silly. Your heart skips a beat when he steps through the door. 
He pauses long enough for you to take in his whole form. . .tattooed arms swelling out from the sleeves of his slutty, blue uniform. Your eyes fall to his crotch as he turns to face you. The tight polyester pants leave little to the imagination. The whole, massive outline is visible atop his thigh, straining the fabric. He smooths his mustache and tilts his head, checking you out. Then he keeps a straight face as he steps toward you and says,
“‘S’cuse me, miss. Can I see some ID?”
Your heart flutters. You’ve played the part so many times. Played lots of parts. You're used to being who the client needs. But here you are with a little stage fright in front of your boo. And Jesus Christ, there’s something about his prison tattoos bursting out of that uniform. 
You stand still in the middle of the room and he slowly paces around you. A few feet away, but close enough to smell the cigarette he must have enjoyed outside and the cologne he reserves for date nights. The sight and smell of him makes you tingle. His touch might make you physically swoon. He clears his throat, and your face heats up. You lock eyes with him, and there’s a sparkle in his gaze, but he manages to hold firm, not breaking. 
“I, um – I have it somewhere.” You rifle through your bag.
“What’s that in your brassiere, ma’am?” He takes a baton off his hip and gestures to your bra cup. Your chest is lightly dusted in a caramel flavored shimmer powder.  
“Oh,” you stammer, looking away.  “I dunno why I put this here when I have a purse,” you mutter, half out of character.
“Just what I was thinkin’,” he cocks an eyebrow at you. He begins to stalk around you again, getting a little closer with each step, closing in on you. Then, he holsters his baton and stands behind your back, close enough to feel his body heat. You turn your face to the side and his scent wraps around you. 
His hardness lightly grazes you, and you push your ass back instinctively. His left hand comes to your hip as his right hand snakes around your torso.  His voice is deep and gruff.
“I’m thinkin’ this is dirty money.”
He trails his fingers slowly up your sternum, then over the curve of your left breast to your black push-up bra. You watch the faded barbed wire flex on his hand as he slides two fingers into the bra cup, retrieving the cash. He lowers his volume and his lips brush the shell of our ear. “Real dirty, honey.” 
“It’s nothing,” you shake your head, getting into a better rhythm. 
“Lemme take this off your hands,” he offers and lifts the strap of your purse off your shoulder. He stuffs the cash in it and tosses the purse to Mabel’s easychair. The tictacs rattle as it lands. He returns behind you, and this time, both hands go to your hips.
“I’m thinkin’ we can work somethin’ out,” he murmurs. His hands meander up your sides, then back down. He holds onto your hips and pulls you back against him, lightly grinding his hard length against your skirt, making you throb. 
“Fuck, Jo,” you whine in a whisper, pushing back on him like you shouldn't be. He exhales what you're pretty sure is a laugh. You can picture his smile. You're not ready to throw in the towel on this scene. You compose yourself and ask, “What are you doing?” You step forward, away from him, then turn around with a glare. 
He slowly rubs his arousal and adjusts himself. Then he puts his hands on his hips and shifts his weight. He looks you up and down, slowly shakes his head, and clucks his tongue.  
“Y’know, I didn’t wanna have to do this.”  He reaches behind his back for his cuffs, and you head for the door. 
He grabs you by the arm, and you continue to pull away. 
“No,” you protest emptily, tingling at the thought of him getting rougher.
He wraps a strong arm around you and you keep squirming. He lets you pull away toward the door until you’re up against it. He presses his weight against you with a forearm on your upper back and warns, “Resisting arrest?” 
He wrangles your arms behind your back, and the cold metal edge makes you shiver as your first wrist is cuffed. The second cuff clicks into place and he tightens them. Your cuffed hands desperately feel around the front of his pants, and he shifts his hips to help you find what you're looking for. You softly moan when your palm meets the hard length in his pants. 
“So now ya wanna be good,” he taunts, then lets out a barely audible grunt, pressing his hips forward, arousal swelling against your palm.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, officer.” He takes your hands and puts them on your mid back, and you keep them there. He yanks the whole skirt up over your ass in one go, watching your ass drop, fishnet diamonds stretched over it. His hips push forward and his hardness makes you throb. 
“Spread’em,” he commands. 
You widen your stance. 
“Good girl,” he murmurs, then wedges a hand between you and the door. Your palms rest on his tummy as he shoves his hand between your legs and feels how wet you are through the pre-ruined fishnets. 
“Alright, let’s make a deal,” he growls, then cruelly takes his hand away without so much as putting half a finger in you. 
He grabs you by one arm and pulls you over to the sofa. “Knees,” he murmurs, and helps you down onto the carpet. He pats your head then sits down on the sofa with a sigh, manspreading. He splays his arms out on the back of the couch and looks at you affectionately for a moment before his face hardens again. He takes off his fake utility belt in a hurry. 
“Got five minutes to convince me not to take ya in,” he warns, "If ya can handle it." He lifts his hips, giving you a rush of arousal. He pulls at his uniform pants, and they snap open at the side. This must have been quite a hit all those years ago on stage. For you, he's not wearing anything under them. You glance at his hip tattoo. Yeah.
He frees his massive cock and wraps his hand around the clean shaven base. He squeezes it as he looks at you darkly. "Such a bad girl." He scoots toward the edge of the sofa. Your hands are still handcuffed behind your back, skirt still sitting up above your ass.
You lean forward, dip your head, and he feeds you his cock. You slurp the fat head into your mouth and he sighs, watching you with a softening scowl. "Fuck yeah," he breathes. His knees bracket you and help you balance with no use of your hands as you bob your head. He moans as you suck him. You stretch your jaw, sucking at the smooth, salty tip, then take a few inches into your mouth and hold it, feeling him throb. "God damn," he curses softly. You suck with the back of your throat and carefully take as much as you can, expertly swallowing his length. You take him so deep that your lips brush his shaved pubic skin, and your eyes prickle with tears.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Get up here.” 
You slowly let his cock out of your mouth, and a string of slobber falls away with it.
He grabs your arms and helps you stand. He could stand to be rougher about it. But he's all but abandoning character, overtaken by the way you make him feel. The real you.
He helps you balance as you kneel onto the sofa, straddling him with your thighs spread wide. His breaths are heavy and getting heavier as he eyes your tits and the front closure of your bra. 
He sits up straight. He wraps an arm around you and interlaces his fingers with one of your cuffed hands. "Doin' so good, baby." With his other hand, he swiftly unhooks the front clasp of your bra, and the cups break apart, letting your tits fall out.  He takes a nipple into his mouth, then passionately licks and kisses his way up to your mouth. He palms one breast as he sucks the other and holds your hand behind your back. He pulls you right against him so your clit presses against his warm, hard cock and it makes him moan against your breast as he throbs against you.
He moves you, grinding his cock on your clit. He kisses your breast again, then drags his nose up your chest and feverishy kisses you everywhere on his way to your neck, where he sucks you long and slow. He lets go of your hand and slides his hand down, reaching under your ass to your cunt, where he slides his fingers through your slick then spreads you open for him.
He maneuvers you up to get clearance for his cock. He runs the tip through your slick, then massages your clit with it before notching at your entrance. You twitch at the contact, then begin to sink onto him and he pulls you down with a grunt.
"That's my girl," he breathes.
His lips find yours, and the kiss is long and slow with him seated fully inside you. He moves you on his cock, and his hips roll under you at a slow rhythm, stretching you with his girth, making you twitch already. You break the kiss with a moan.
You look down between your bodies, then purr, “is it hot in here, officer?” 
“God you're fuckin’ hot,” he gushes with urgency.  He reaches in his shirt pocket for the key to the handcuffs and wraps his arms around you. His cock twitches and he fumbles around as he uncuffs you. You rip open his snap button uniform top, then cradle his face and your lips smash back together and his tongue finds yours. He pulls you close. Your tits press into his chest and you moan into his mouth as you roll your hips.
You sigh and curse and moan against each other's mouths as you ride him.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathes. “I coulda came soon as ya—fuck–the way you were clawin’ around for my cock just to feel it—ohhhh.”
He playfully plucks at the fishnets then kneads your ass as you fuck. He lets you take the lead, sliding his hands down to your legs, then your boots. He sighs, "Ohh, baby," as you ride him.
“Yeah,” you breathe, feeling sharply on the edge already, with his cock inside you and the ghost of it pressed up against you through those pants. 
“Ohh, fuck,” he pants, “yeah.” His flesh fills yours so perfectly, stretching you around him. Your body wetly hugs his length as he smoothly thrusts up into you. He growls into your neck, “I can't get enough’a ya.” You card your fingers through his hair. 
“God you feel good,” you gush. “So fucking good. He’s kissing your neck wet and sloppy now. You both breathe audibly. "God, I love this cock," you pant. Your breath is shallow with your pending peak. You grind against him, then let it overtake you. “Fuck,” you breathe as your walls flutter around him. 
He groans as you come on his cock.  As you finish your peak, he’s clearly holding back. You look down at his inked torso glistening. 
You both watch where your bodies meet, and you tell him, “i want you to come.”
“c'mere” he takes your jaw in one hand, and brings your lips back to his. He holds you tight, kissing you for a few thrusts, then his lips fall apart to moan and breathe vocally as he fucks you.
He pulses inside, pinching his eyes shut. He groans into your cheek, and you finger his curls as he pumps you full. Then you relax into his arms.
-
You share a long moment without words, and he holds your head. Then he uses his chest to push you slightly off him. He looks you in the eyes, then does a double take down to your tits and dips his head to kiss one before returning his attention to your face. 
You're still on his cock, and the stretch persists even as he slowly softens.
He looks back and forth between your eyes and blurts out, “you should move in.” 
You laugh in shock. 
“‘m’serious, baby,” he says with a smile. You bite away another laugh and his smile fades. He whispers, “Dead serious.”
He pulls you in for a kiss, then breaks away to await your answer. 
You haven't thought about it, really. Not yet, anyway. But it doesn't feel out of the question. You glance over to Mabel’s chair. 
“She knows,” he assures you. It doesn't make a difference right now, but you pray she'll get paroled sooner rather than later. 
“Just think about it,” he offers. 
You nod and bite your lip, running your hand through his hair affectionately, still plugged by his cock. "Tempting," you smile.
“I'm a lucky man either way,” he says.
Your face heats up, and you reflexively lighten the conversation. “Why’d ya cuff me if ya wanted me on top,” you laugh.
“Hell if I know what I want,” he admits. He kisses your neck then murmurs, “Just want ya every which way all the time.”
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thank you for reading, and thank you for your support. love you guys <333. my tag list is gone for real this time, sorry. I'm also on a break from writing & reading but had this in my drafts.
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slater-baby · 2 days
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The 141 and their massage therapist...
Yeah so I have horrible carpal tunnel and this....yeah just HEAR ME OUT
!!!DUB CON!!!
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The 141 take their training pretty seriously. However, their line of military work is no stranger to service related injuries. Back pain, ankle sprains, muscle cramps - you name it and the 141 has had it. And that is where you come in: the cheap, young, and inexperienced massage therapist charged with taking care of them. You're fresh out of school and still working to get your footing, but you'll be damned if you don't take care of these veterans to the best of your ability.
Though, as life would have it, you take care of a lot more than just the occasional crick in the neck.
-
Price is older than you. That, and very obviously used to being in control. His rank and reputation give him away. Even at your first meeting, you feel silently infatuated with his stature. He's kind and charming, used to cracking jokes, but also used to things going his way. He's confident and mature - something you're very much lacking.
And from the moment you first shake his hand, one thing becomes very, very obvious: his attraction to you is completely unashamed.
Sprawled out on your table with just a towel covering his bulging cock, meaty hands swiping over the hair on his chest while he waits for you to get the oils ready.
"Ready whenever you are, darling."
And the whole time, you can't help but shiver in flustered admiration at his big biceps and chest, hands nearly shaking with trepidation at the beautiful, tempting mass of man beneath you.
And like the shameless man that he is, he absorbs every single second of it. He flexes his arms in your grip, just to watch the way heat rushes to your cheeks. He purposefully edges the towel down a bit lower, just so that you'll bite your lip when the tip of his cock just barely peeks over the top of it.
He's not ashamed to be exposed to you. Hell, he likes it. Likes watching the way you fawn over his bare arms and built legs, likes watching you try to hide the way you bite your lip every time you pour a bit more oil over his skin.
He's always polite and kind.
"Little bit more to the left, darling?"
He always says please and thank you.
And yet, he can't help but tease you with the promise of his naked body, brush his arm against you when he readjusts his position on the table. And when he gets redressed and walks you back to the front desk after each appointment, his hand never fails to rest on your lower back, guiding you along with him, letting you bask in his scent and touch.
And one day, as you're massaging his arm, he sees you crossing your legs like it'll give you even an ounce friction between your thighs. You can't hide the obvious heat in your eyes when he reaches over the edge of the table and ever so slightly brushes over the back of your thigh, reaching up to trace the pretty little your panties make underneath your trousers.
"Sweetheart," he drawls, feeling the way your hand clenches around his skin the harder he traces the panty lines down in between your legs, "Think it's about time I took care of you instead now, yeah?"
Needless to say, it's the first time you've ever been laid out on your own massage table. Though, judging by the way John leaves a trail of hickeys from your waist to neck, you'll soon be doing it again.
-
If Gaz is anything, he's an absolute sweetheart. He reminds you of the boys you met in college. Y'know, the kind of guys you were partnered up with for group discussions? Smiley, sweet, almost idyllic. Idly, you admit you found them cute for a fleeting moment. Perhaps you imagined for a couple seconds what it might be like to go on a date with them. Usually, it stopped there.
But Gaz...
With his lean, hard-earned muscles and spotless skin, he looked like the star in all of your college boyfriend fantasies - with the D1 physique to go with it.
He's talkative and has no shortage of funny jokes. The two of you become fast friends.
Only, it's really hard to concentrate on conversation when your hands get to run over each and every inch of his covetable body. His defined hipbones, veiny forearms, and muscled calves. You find yourself drifting into thought as your hands run from his neck to his shoulder, all the way down to his pristine fingertips.
You're nearly salivating as you watch the way his biceps bend and curve underneath your hands.
"Love," he suddenly shocks you out of your reverie, "Did you hear what I said?"
"Uh--no," you admit, hurriedly pulling your eyes away from where the dimples of his back disappear beneath the towel and onto the boring, beige walls, "Sorry, it's just been a long day."
"No worries," he chuckles, that same, friendly smile on his face.
Only, when he turns to lay his face back onto the table with a roll of his perfect shoulders, you swear you hear a muffled "looked like something caught your eye for a second there..."
And like that, the two of you continue on. Him, making joke after joke - getting more and more suggestive as the days go on.
One day, after a particularly rough work out, you manage to wrangle him on the table. His sore legs scream for help with every massaging touch.
"Fuck," he curses, legs shaking in your hand, "Can you go a bit easier, love? Think I'm liable to pass out at this rate."
You chuckle, pressing into the spot harder, "Trust me, you'll feel better after this."
"I dunno," he grunts, biting his cheek, "Look, it usually means that something feels good when my legs start shaking. But this is just--fuck--"
His words are cut off by a wince, but they stick in your mind nonetheless. A notable runner-up comes a week later. You'd twisted your ankle at the gym just an hour before Kyle's appointment. Your foot had been so sore you'd had a hard time standing straight.
"You okay? Need some Tylenol or something?" he'd commented, worried.
"It's nothing, just twisted it," you'd brushed him off with a smile, "I'll take care of it when I get home."
"You sure?" he'd laughed, looking down at your ankle, "It looks like it hurts. Might just have to trade places with you today, get you on the table instead."
You'd laughed along and made some snide joke about him trying to get out of another painful session. And yet, you can't deny that his voice had lingered in your head long after he'd left the room that day.
It all comes to a head one week when you misjudge the time of your appointment with Kyle and accidentally walk in five minutes early...
...Only to see him with his jeans halfway down the hips you'd been massaging not two days earlier, a big, covered bulge front and center of his unzipped fly. And from the minute you walk in, you swear you can feel the heat building between the two of you. And when that friendly smile drops, you know one thing for sure now: Gaz had never wanted to settle for "just friends" to begin with.
When he gently reaches for your wrist to pull you into the room, bending you over the massage table this time, it's safe to say his strong hands, beautiful body, and hard cock put all of your fantasies to shame. That, and he's decidedly unfriendly when he steals your phone out of your purse, wordlessly entering his phone number while you're still sexed out and dazed on top of the massage table.
-
Ghost, however, is not friendly. Not friendly in the slightest.
Your first meeting - if it could even be counted as one - consisted of about two words and about ten awkward grunts from the masked man. When you handed him the consent forms, your hands felt like they were dripping with sweat. And when he ended up on your table a week later, you almost felt like you were being held at gunpoint when you uncorked the bottle of oil.
He was silent the entire time. Well, for the most part. His only interactions with you consisted of low, breathy sighs as you worked through a knot. Or a small, wordless grunts when you found a spot that he liked. If he found your hands slowing in their ministrations, your eyes lingering on where his scarred pelvis disappeared beneath the towel, he'd snap you back to attention with a single command.
"Love," he'd growl, muscles tensing dangerously underneath your hands, "This is your job, innit? So do it then."
And even if you still harbored the smallest bit of wariness about the guy, you had to admit:
Ghost was big. Like, really, really big.
His feet nearly dangled off of your table with how tall he was. He had to fold his arms underneath his head because his shoulders were too broad to fit on the cushions. You can't even fit your fingers around one half of his massive arm. And his hands - god, his hands. They looked almost twice the size of your own. Some small, timid part of you muses, "if he started swinging, he'd take me out with one hit."
But the other, more prominent side of you thinks...
He would have no problem pinning you underneath him, popping the buttons on your shirt, spreading your legs. He could pick you up, push you against the wall, and take what he wanted - fuck you hard enough that your coworkers could hear it through the drywall.
And then all those breathy groans he tried so hard to muffle in the crook of his elbow would be well and truly yours.
And with those thoughts coursing through your mind...really, it isn't a surprise when he finds your eyes lingering on where the towel covers his half-hard cock. After so many appointments watching you try to hide your obvious attraction to him, he found you looking at his crotch a lot these days.
And when you begin massaging his abs, running your hands down from his plush pectorals to the beginning of the v-line on his pelvis, he doesn't miss the way your hands twitch against his hipbone. Like this, leaned over him, you can barely see the tip of his cock pressed up against his belly button, drops of precum gathering in the hair there.
So lost in your own trance, you don't even register that your hands have stopped moving until he emits an amused scoff. And when his calloused hand pushes yours away, using the tip of his finger to fold the towel back just enough to expose his leaking cock to your eager eyes, you can't even begin to deny the way your blood boils in your veins.
"You're staring," he tells you lowly, watching how you bite your lips at every twitch of his dick.
"M'sorry," your stunted voice replies, "It's just that you're so...big."
"Mm," he hums, reaching down to give himself a teasing tug; the oil lubes him up nicely, "Big in the ways that count."
You don't reply, you only watch him touch himself with rapt attention, practically drooling.
"You wanna touch me here too?" he teases, getting off on the clueless flush you wear, "It's your job, innit? So do it, slag."
As a massage therapist, you took pride in taking away your patients' pain. Sprains, aches, limps - they all cowered before you. And yet, when you leave your own office with a limp in your step and a ten digit phone number scrawled on the back of your hand, you can do nothing more than smile.
It's safe to say your clothes are well and truly ruined by the time you make it home. And it wasn't from the massage oil.
-
Soap is...well, he's just as bombastic as he is in the field on your table.
In the beginning, he was a bit awkward. He flinched and shocked every time you hit a sore spot, a red flush high on his cheeks. For the first few appointments, he can barely field a conversation with you. And even when he gets over his stunted silence, he can hardly keep the stutter out of his voice. For his sake, you try not to laugh anytime he makes an awkward comment.
However, Johnny has always been a firecracker. He throws himself into each and every challenge without a second thought. And while it's paid off nicely in his professional life, it hasn't always been kind on his body.
As the weeks go on, he shows up on your table more often than anyone else. He even manages to nag you into a few private sessions just to ease his aching back after particularly grueling workouts.
"C'mon, bonnie," you hear his familiar whine over the phone, "Gimme twenty minutes. Just twenty. I dinnae mean to whinge, but the Cap'n's cross today. Had me running laps 'til I keeled over. M'legs feel like toothpicks."
And more often than not, you give in to his demands.
While Johnny sometimes eats away at your personal time, you can't help but take a liking to him. After all, his sunny personality and witty turn of phrase would keep anyone entertained. It's just...his brawny body doesn't fail to be the star of every single wet dream you could ever conjure. His thighs are massive and strong, and his chest looks so muscled and soft you can't help but dream of laying against them.
And it certainly doesn't help that his sore body oftentimes makes him the most vocal out of all four of them. That, and his entire body seems to come alight underneath your fingertips with every bruising touch.
"Oh, fuck," his hand shoots out suddenly to grab you around the wrist, pressing you harder into where you're massaging his hip, "Just like that, bonnie. Fuck, you're so good at that..."
And as the weeks go on, you can't help but work harder and harder, relishing in every groan and praise that drops from his lips.
"God, you're perfect," he tells you one night as you massage his thigh.
"Can you--can you go just a bit lower? It's just...my hip's fucked. Can't even walk straight," he chuckles with another week, his pale face deepening into a sheepish, red blush. Looking away from your face, he edges down the towel to expose his sore hip. The next groan he lets out is stifled, his arm thrown over his face - as if the two of you still had even a shred of decency left between each other.
And now that you've solidified your friendship, he's not as awkward anymore. Yes, he still flushes when you first walk in, his nude body on display. But the minute you begin to work into his tense muscles, it all washes away.
Only, during one session, you begin to notice how your hands have a different effect on him than you'd ever seen before.
You're massaging his hip again, pressing into it with nearly your full weight. After a week of hard work, Johnny's beyond decorum, biting into his lip as he tries to stifle loud, relieved moans with each and every knead.
And when you hit one sweet spot in particular, you don't miss a twitch beneath the towel.
"Right there," he tells you breathlessly, "That's - that's where it hurts."
And just like he tells you, you press into it again. And with every move, you watch him get harder and harder beneath the cover, the muscles in his legs tensing while you work through the knot. The towel skews to the side, and even as his aching, red cock is exposed to the air, he hardly takes notice - too caught up in your touch to think straight.
"God, bonnie," he grunts roughly, jerking beneath you hands, "Fuck--"
And to your (pleasant) surprise, the next move finds more than just oil lubing up your palms.
He cums with a grunt, untouched, naked beneath your eyes. And you watch as his ejaculate paints up and over his slick abs, his entire stomach clenching while he rides out the pleasure.
At the very least, he has the sense to be embarrassed about it. For a good moment, he can do nothing more than sit there panting, his arm over his eye while he hurriedly pulls the towel back up.
"I'm - God, I'm sorry, bonnie. I swear I didn't mean to," he blurts out, uncovering his eyes to send you a look of desperate sincerity.
However, when he sees you staring down at his slick, semen covered stomach, an undeniable heat in your eyes...
Well, the shame flees to the back of his mind. Without even trying, he's hard underneath the towel within minutes. And at your lack of a reply, he can't help but cut into your personal time just one more time.
"Bonnie..." he asks, trying to hide the eager look in his eye, "Think we could go another twenty minutes? I promise I'll make it worth your while."
-
HM YEP OKAY WOW CAN YOU TELL THESE GET LONGER AND LONGER THE MORE I THINK ABOUT THEM lkjaljdsflkafj
anyway ;-; this is me venting after a very long week at school. Hope you guys enjoyed ❤️
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wxxpingangxls · 2 days
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Girl Next Door
+synopsis; a new, single and smoking hot neighbour moves in next door and you offer to babysit his son while he’s busy at work…money isn’t the only payment
+content/warnings; black reader but no explicit description, typical suburban wives, reader and nanami are around the same age (early 30s), both single parents, reader has a daughter, set in the early 2000s, messy sex, desperate!nanami (he hasn't had good pussy in a while :((((( ), sloppy pussy eating, fingering, squirting
+pairings; black!milf fem!reader x dilf!nanami
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The moving van obstructed the view of the new home owners moving in a few houses down from your home. The sounds of young children giggling and conspiring among themselves resounded around the neighbourhood as you and the other wives gossiped about the new neighbour.
“So, what did you say after she commented on the dress you wore?” one of the woman asked you as you peered up from your pink mug. “Ugh don’t even get me started on her. She took one look at me and assumed I was stone cold broke! Can you imagine that?” you exclaimed, raising both hands up in disbelief.
“Oh my God! Major hunk alert!” you snapped your head towards the direction in which of the girls were pointing at. The moving van had moved and in your line of vision was a tall man in a blue shirt and suspenders. His blonde hair was smartly slicked back and his designer watch blinged in the daylight.
“Woah…” you gasped, your mouth wide open and salivating. You could see his pecs and arms bulging through the material. "I think it's only fair that we give our new neighbour a warm welcome..." you smile, whilst reaching towards the basket of freshly home-baked sweet treats and pastries.
You swore you only came over to offer to take his son to the park to accompany your daughter while he unpacked at his new home. Yet here you were, on the cleared out dining table, while the children lay asleep in one of the separate rooms. Your halter neck dress was bunched up around your waist and your pink Dior strappy heeled sandals were long disguarded somewhere around the home. Your hot cunt was leaking as you silently waited for him to get back to work. Your hands were back in his hair, griping tightly as his tongue flicked up and down your heated cunt.
“Mphmmm, just like that Kento…” the moans of his name further egging him on to make you cum again. It’s been way too long since you come to an orgasm this good. With the divorce proceedings finally settled and custody matters dealt with, you haven’t had time to do anything. It also didn’t help that you couldn’t find a baby sitter to take care of your baby girl whilst working.
But having this mouth watering, leg opening hunk of a man between your legs, all your problems seemed minor and oh so trivial. His mouth suckling on your small bud, making your legs bounce up in ecstasy. Kento groaned as he shook his head side to side, smearing your filthy secretions all over his face and your thighs. You whined out loud, sensitivity and overstimulation getting to you, while this man just enamoured himself in your sweet filth. Hunger and carnal desire is all that fuelled him on.
Kento’s calloused hands gripped onto your thighs, his biceps flexing every time he put extra weight on your legs to stop you from shaking. Your back arched as he slowly slipped a finger into the slick hole. “Oh, fuck, s’good…” his finger left your pulsing cunt as he started rubbing your clit side to side.
“Yeah, you like that don’t you pretty girl,” his voice resounded around your mushy mind. You nodded, too far gone to acknowledge what exactly he was saying. “Come on, give it to me baby,” he whined out loud, bucking his hips into the air for some sort of relief. Drool seeped as your cunt squeezed around nothing, his three fingers rubbing hard against your soft clit.
His lips found his way to your thighs, sucking marks onto them as your breathing hitched.
“Have you squirted before?” he asks stopping momentarily, whilst sitting up to make eye contact with you. “What?” you reply completely drained from his teasing.
“Come here,” his large hands wrap themselves around your thigh and brings closer to himself to distract you from the fact that he was sliding two fingers into your cunt.
Your walls immediately tighten as his fingers curl up, finding your gooey spot. “Oh! Good…S’good!”
“I need for you to relax for me sweetheart, okay?” he looked down at your bubbling eyes as you nodded feverishly. “There’s a good girl,”
His large free hand runs down to your stomach as the other fingers roll themselves further into your cunt. Your moans further increase in pitch. His hand finally places itself on your lower stomach before pressing, hard.
Kento watches in amusement as he eyes your face contorting into that of pleasure. “Relax sweets,” he quickly mutters as he notices your feeble attempts to try and squirm away.
“Wait…Wait!”
Your cunt squelches and squeezes around his fingers as you start gushing against his abdomen. “Yeah…just like that!” he whispers softly “There it is…Fuck!”
Your legs are shaking and your eyes tearing up as you try and catch your breath while he helps you ride out your high.
You said your goodbyes and gave your blessing to the new neighbour next door and his small son. Your own child lay peacefully asleep in your arms, her small snores reverberating in your ears. Kento Nanami shut the front door, letting out a deep sigh.
He silently sat and hoped that the girl next door hadn’t seen the huge cum stain in his brand new tailored work trousers. After all, all he did was eat out your sweet cunt. But give it time, soon enough, he’ll come running for more than just the taste of your sweet cunt.
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deadbranch · 13 hours
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Words Like Violence (1)
Author: @deadbranch Pairing: Bodyguard!John Price x f!Bodyguard!Reader Summary:  Private security isn’t all you dreamed it would be, but it’s not a bad way to make a living.  You thought you were callous to the endless parade of male counterparts in your profession, until you meet a blue-eyed devil. Word Count:  710 Warnings:  18+ MDNI suggestive content, no smut this episode but there will be later, flirting (sort of), language you wouldn’t use in polite company. A/N:  Based off the ideas in this thread.  This is a series written for anyone who loves dark-haired, emotionally unavailable men, of mostly few words.  I often write Price as chatty and soft-hearted with reader, but not so much with this story.  The leather gloves stay on.  The series title is the first three lyrics of Enjoy the Silence by Depeche Mode.
SERIES MASTERLIST [coming soon]
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WORDS LIKE VIOLENCE (1)
He’s a handsome man, you’ll give him that.
You curse to yourself silently, the tip of your tongue pressing against the roof of your mouth to curb the urge to mouth the words.  It’s unprofessional to move your lips unless speaking with your team, the client, or on behalf of either.  You’re paid to be a deterrent at best, effective protection at worst.  Not for your thoughts, feelings, or any thoughts outside of the job.
The few friends you have on the outside give you a hard time, constantly, it seems.  You’d convinced yourself that private security was a natural career segue after the military.
Yes and no.
You’ve never had to be this quiet nor polished in your life, but the firm makes it worth your while.  They pay well...better than most.
There was an 18-month waiting list to apply, but some unfortunate events in Miami and Sacramento opened up a few slots on payroll 16 months early.  You were in slim-line body armor, suit, and sidearm to match before you could finish reading the headlines.
Most private security are men.  You knew what you were getting into.  The boys’ club is nothing new.  Just a new set of assholes with the same chips on their shoulders. In more expensive uniforms.
The guy across from you seems like all the others in demeanor, posture, the vaguely menacing look.  This one has a beard.  Most don’t, but you assume he must have served in Afghanistan and got used to having a beard, despite how close he keeps it now.
You do your best to avoid eye contact.  While alternating between watching him through your peripheral vision and doing your actual job, you notice something white on your cuff.  You brush away the lint and return to monitoring your surroundings.  The client turns away to murmur something to your partner.
That’s when you realize he’s looking at you.  Bearded guy.
You’d have missed it if you weren’t determined to stare him down for a spell, but his eyes are blue.  Dark blue.
Like a nervous habit, he shrugs his shoulders back subtly and curtly adjusts his leather gloves.  They look so tight you can’t imagine the leather so much as budging at his swift attempt at shift the snug material.
The backward shrug is common.  Every one of you is wearing a shoulder holster.  The days are long and the nights longer. The holster digs in.
Without thinking, you make the same movement.  The shrug.  His eyes convey amusement.
You touch the steal bracelet of your wristwatch with your fingertips, adjusting the positioning of the links against your wrist.  His eyes flit downward at the movement then back to your face.
He must have realized you’re watching his hands.  For the first time in half an hour his mouth moves, if only in a manner that would be missed if you hadn’t become so familiar with his default serious expression.
As you study his enigmatic half-smile, his hands move once more in the bottom of your vision.  You swallow hard as he flexes his right hand, the black calfskin glove straining against his knuckles.
You imagine the sound of him making a fist, the leather groaning tightly under the tension.
Naturally, your imagination tumbles downward into how those gloved hands would feel on your hips, nothing between his fingers and your skin but soft, thin leather.
As though reading your mind, he smiles.
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Next Chapter [coming soon]
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@homicidal-slvt @http-paprika @fel0ny-01 @adnauseum11 @bluerosetarot @writeforfandoms @socially-awkward-skeleton @valkyri @brewed-pangolin @smoggyfogbottom @glitterypirateduck @astraluminaaa @pastawench @argella1300 @crunchlite @efingart @gazs-blue-hat @tiredmetalenthusiast @sofasoap @sans-chara @kiki-is-hyperfixating @thegreyjoyed @tacticalanxiety @theywhowriteandknowthings @gemmahale @kocicko
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hoodie-buck · 3 days
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thanks for the tags beloveds @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela @honestlydarkprincess 🩵
—soo i started a new wip for ✨reasons✨ we’ll call this one: physical therapist eddie <3 (for context this is after the ladder truck injury)
With that, Buck settled back onto the bed, his heartrate having kicked up for an entirely new reason. Not only did he have to worry about the onset of a panic attack, but now he was going to have to think about anything but hot therapist Eddie’s hands on him.
“Ok, let’s start off with some simple stretches, see what your mobilities like, huh?”
Buck nodded in answer, not trusting himself to speak.
Instead of focusing on the pain the movements caused, Buck focused on Eddie’s touch, the man gentle, but still pushing Buck a little further, knowing he could take more.
Eddie moved his ankle back and forth while also bending and straightening his knee, Buck taking deep breaths through the process, Eddie continually checking in on him.
“You doing ok bud?”
Buck grunted as Eddie flexed his calf, simultaneously stretching his Achilles tendon.
“Yea just uh, just feels kinda—”
“Weird?” Eddie supplied, Buck nodding in answer.
Eddie put his leg down gently so he could rest a moment, his fingers disappearing. Buck missed them in an instant, sighing aloud his disapproval. Buck swore Eddie chuckled at that, but it must’ve been his imagination. After all, he was still in a lot of pain and taking lots of medication for it. They must be getting to him.
tagging: @loserdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @monsterrae1 @buddierights @onward--upward @spotsandsocks @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @daffi-990 @wh0re-behavi0r @wildlife4life @hippolotamus @giddyupbuck @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @bigfootsmom @thewolvesof1998 @father-salmon
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kissingghouls · 2 days
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Couple Skate (Mary Goore x f!Reader)
Summary: Another date with Mary has them trying something for the first and leads the two of you into uncharted territory (aka your bedroom.) (3200 words)
TAGS: NSFW 18+ MDNI, FLUFF, SMUT, slight character injury but nothing serious, he/they Mary.
[This goes along with the other More Goore '24 stories or can be read alone. Choose your own adventure, it's what Mary would want. Or read on AO3.]
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“Does that feel good?” you ask, eyes wide as you look up from between Mary’s legs. For a moment all they do is blink at you, but then a sly grin creeps across their face followed by a low chuckle. They cock their head to the side, pulling their lip between their teeth as they adjust in their seat.
“You have no idea, do you darlin’?”
“Wha?” you ask, still staring at him. It was a perfectly normal thing to ask, especially since Mary had never done this before. You still weren’t sure exactly how this whole thing even happened, but it was bound to be an experience for both of you.
It wasn’t until you heard harsh whispers and tsking from several feet away that it dawned on you what he meant.
“The skates you perv!” you huff, giving them a quick slap on the thigh. You’d spent the last few minutes with your knees on a grubby carpet trying to help Mary tighten the laces on a pair of rented ice skates. A couple of uppity moms had covered their kids’ eyes at the sight of the two of you, like you were really planning on sucking his dick in public like that. But you couldn’t care less what those moms thought if it meant Mary wasn’t going to get hurt on your watch. You give the laces another tug before asking again if they felt ok.
“I dunno,” they reply, stretching a skinny leg out past you. They twist their ankle around, flexing their foot against the boot. “Am I supposed to be able to feel my feet?”
“Normally yes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all your blood rushed somewhere else.”
Mary gives you an easy shrug and leans forward. “Do you really want me to apologize for thinking you’re hot?”
“I want to know if the skates feel ok,” you respond flatly.
“They feel like boots with knives on the bottom, so…metal as fuck?”
“You are so lucky you’re cute, Goore.”
“Pretty sure you’re the cute one, sweetheart.”
You smile softly and climb into the seat next to them. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Darlin.” He places a hand under your chin, angling your face toward his. “We can’t just keep going to the bar.”
“Why not?”
Mary looks down, finding a particularly interesting thread on the ripped knee of his jeans. “I don’t…I don’t want you to get bored with me.”
“Goore, you’re like the furthest thing from boring I could imagine.”
“But like…in a good way, right?” they ask cautiously.
“Would I be hanging out with you if it wasn’t in a good way?”
“Hmm,” he hums pretending to think. “I don’t know. You’ve dated some questionable people in the past.”
“Oh and you haven’t?” you challenge, leaning over to pinch their side.
“What can I say?” they ask with a laugh. “I was a fool until now.”
“I’m gonna leave your ass here,” you grumble.
“No, you won’t. You like me too much.”
“You’re ok, I guess. Pretty good at building a fort.”
“You want me to make you another? A two bedroom, two bath dream house— “
“I want you to do what you want to do.”
“Hey,” he says softly. “I am doing what I want to do. You think I would be in a place like this if I didn’t want to be here with you?”
You look up, taking in the scene around you. Obnoxious, loud pop music blasts overhead—a song neither one of you know—while the happy shouts of children and other couples cut through the sound of blades scraping across the ice. It’s a wholesome swirl of rosy cheeks, colorful fabric, and bright lights; a pleasant little afternoon of family fun with you and Mary looking completely out of place like a couple of ghostly apparitions.
“Honestly? I’m not sure how we ended up here in the first place,” you admit. “But no, I don’t think you make a habit of doing anything you don’t want to.”
“Exactly! Now, help me broaden my horizons or whatever other motivational shit people say. Teach me to skate!”
“I’ll try my best, Goore. What are you going to teach me after this?” you ask as you help them to their feet.
“I’m sure I could think of a couple things,” he replies lowly, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
You roll your eyes.
Helping Mary to their feet is one thing but getting them to the ice is far more complicated. They’d never skated in their life and they’d clearly never walked in skates before. You try your best to correct the stiff and rigid movements that made them look about as graceful as Frankenstein’s Monster, but there was only so much you could do until they felt comfortable enough.
It isn’t any easier on the ice, but at least there’s a wall to help keep him upright.
Still, you’re impressed by the fact that Mary is willing trying something new at all, just because it was something you thought was fun. Most of the people you dated weren’t as interested in anything you cared about and they certainly going to try it. But Mary’s different in more ways than you can count, so much so that it keeps you awake some nights. You’ve worried yourself sick thinking about how you might like them too much, but there’s no one else you’d rather be sharing these things with.
He flinches as a tiny kid whizzes past, his hold on your hand tightening even more. He is a giant ball of nerves wrapped in leather and spikes, all sweaty palms and calloused fingers locked in a death grip as you slowly pull him around the rink. You’re sure it’s an entertaining sight to see, something like an eldritch terror helping a zombified baby deer in corpse paint waddle across a frozen pond. But right now, no one else matters. It’s just you and Mary on the ice.
After a couple of laps they start to get the hang of it, remembering to bend their knees to keep their balance. They smile brightly at you as they make a full pass without wobbling.
“Darlin’, look!” Mary shouts excitedly. They start to push off, slowly picking up speed as the blades slide over the ice. The first little stumble fills their face with panic, but they quickly recover and gain enough confidence to skate a little ahead of you. “Look! I did it!”
You trail behind them, watching in wonder as your spooky, metalhead boyfriend continues skating on his own…
…for about 30 seconds before he hits a bad patch in the ice and completely wipes out. He drops like a stone, limbs going everywhere as his body lands hard. The momentum he’d built up keeps him sliding across the ice until he comes to rest with a solid thud against the wall.
“Mary!” you shout and take off. You hate how scared you sound, heart pounding hard as you wonder if he’s hurt or worse. You skate hard, nearly taking out a hoard of laughing children in your rush to reach him. As you approach, Mary lets out a loud groan and rolls onto their back, staring up at you.
“Darlin’, there are much easier ways to get me on my back,” he groans, wincing as he shifts. “Less painful ones too, unless that’s what you’re into.”
You shake your head and kneel next to him, quickly swiping at the tears forming in your eyes. “Mary, are you ok?”
“I think I broke my ass,” he informs you through gritted teeth. “Is it ok if I don’t wanna do this anymore?”
“Yeah, absolutely,” you agree with a nod.
As a single tear slides down your cheek, Mary cracks a cocky smile. He reaches up, wiping the tear away with his thumb. “You worried about me, sweetheart?”
“Yes, idiot!”
“Told you. You like me too much.”
“Yeah, I do. Now, let’s get you off the ice, ok?”
Mary sticks their arms in the air, waving their hands wildly. “Drag me around like a corpse, baby!”
You lean down to kiss him instead, unbothered by the ice now soaking cold, wet splotches into your jeans.
He hums, grinning back at you as you pulled away. “I gotta fall down in front of you more often.”
“Please don’t. Pretty sure my heart stopped.”
Slowly he presses a cold hand to your chest, fingertips searching out the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat. His touch only elevates things, your heart now kicking like bpm of Mary’s songs. Your eyes close as he shifts to his knees and brings a hand to your neck to feel your pulse, counting along in his head. He didn’t know fuck all about math or blood pressure, but he knows now that he made your heart race.
It wasn’t not the first time Mary kisses you like that—a soft, slow press of their lips to yours that meant more than either of you were willing to say. But it is the first time either of you had attempted to do so on ice. You shiver—from the cold or Mary’s touch you weren’t sure, but you knew you needed to get out of there fast.
“Mm, Mary?” you ask, lips still brushing his. “My place?”
“Fuck yeah,” they agree with a nod.
-x-
The front door slams into the wall and bounces back as you and Mary spill through. There’s probably a mark you will have to pay for later, but for now the two of you are too busy stumbling over each other’s feet to be concerned. He kicks the door shut and tries to shake off his jacket without moving away from you, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You’re so focused on trying to undo at least one of his belts that it doesn’t even phase you when you catch the corner of the coffee table with your leg. 
The jacket hits the floor with a soft thump. Mary’s hands move to your face, pulling you closer and closer as he licks into your mouth. A belt follows, free falling from around Mary’s hips because the stupid thing wasn’t functional—it was just in your way.  Your jacket is next, worked away from your shoulders by his impatient hands. You find success with the other belt and manage to get his shirt over his head while he pulls at yours. Clothes and boots litter the hallway like breadcrumbs—a trail that leads straight to your dimly lit bedroom.
You land on the bed and pull Mary on top of you, legs tangling as you fight to slot your mouths back together. It’s a frenzied mess of hands and lips and tongues and teeth on skin that feels feverish, so hot you think you might combust. But you don’t want to stop, you can’t stop—not when his chest heaves like that.
“Fuck,” they groan, low and loud as they move to kiss your neck. They know that space below your ear drives you fucking crazy and they waste no time leaving an angry mark on your throat before moving down to mouth along your collarbone.
You draw a finger over the lines and obscure symbols etched into their arms. Up their biceps and across their shoulder where the ink spills onto their chest and disappears into the soft patch of light hair. You imagine Mary in their little bathroom with a shitty box dye and—Satan help you—you only want them more. 
His breath hitches as your hands travel down their ribs, fingertips itching to touch the rest of him. He kisses you hard, almost desperate, but his own hands remain at an infuriatingly polite distance. A simple “please, Mary” whispered against his lips is all it takes to get Mary’s hands everywhere, those calloused fingers tracing over your tits. He’s rough in a way that feels perfect, pinching one nipple while biting the other to make you whine for him.
“C’mere,” he hums, urging your leg around his hip. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed tight as you brush against his length. “Fuck, darlin’.”
“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” you tease and grind against them for emphasis.
“You’re trouble,” Mary quips, shaking their head. He moves to kiss your neck, trailing up to your ear to whisper, “ask me again.”
The words go straight to your center and Mary doesn’t miss the way you tremble against him. “Please, Mary,” you repeat softly. “Please touch me.”
When you see that devilish grin you know you’re probably going to regret giving him that kind of power, but as his hand slips between your legs, you stop caring about anything that isn’t the way Mary feels. His hand dips into your panties, fingers curving up to press against your entrance. Slowly, he pumps them in and out, carefully memorizing whatever actions pull the most sounds from you as he works you open. It’s all you can do to even the score and as you palm him over his boxers, the sound he makes has you feeling victorious already.
He withdraws his fingers and pushes his boxers down to coat his thick length with your slick. You never really had a chance at winning this game against him, but you’re happy to keep playing if it means getting fucked by Mary Goore.
“You’re so fucking good for me, darlin’,” he purrs, stroking his cock as he looks at you. He edges backward, trailing kisses over your stomach and inner thighs as he makes his way down. He moans loudly as he tastes you for the first time. The sound and the feeling has your thighs trying to press together, but Mary holds you in place as he draws his tongue over your swollen clit.
Your hands find his hair and he moans again as you tug roughly at the soft strands. His fingers push into your entrance, working at the same rhythm as his mouth. It’s too much and not enough, but fuck he feels too good. You barely manage the words before your hips raise to meet his touch. All you can do is let it wash over you, crying out his name as the world crashes down in the best way. He watches you shake, giving you just enough time to form a coherent thought before his mouth is on yours, the taste of yourself still on his tongue.
“Fuck, Mary,” you mutter against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck to keep him close.
“Is this what you want, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice low as he drags the tip of his cock through your folds. “You want me to fuck you?”
It’s so hot you want to strangle them, but you’re not about to fuck this up so you bite your lip and nod instead. It’s all the confirmation Mary needs. He captures you in a bruising kiss and swallows your moans as he guides himself to your entrance. His cock is so thick the stretch of him has you keening and clawing at his arms until he’s finally fully seated inside you. He stills himself, letting you get used to the feeling, but you kind of hope you never do. There’s soft kisses and words while they’re checking in with you, making sure you’re ok before they start to slowly pull out. A quick snap of his hips has you begging for more and that cocky smile of his returns. The whole thing is so unbelievably Mary that you really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s as skilled with his cock as he is with his hands or his mouth. But you’re more than happy to find out this way.
You’re just as surprised when Mary pushes your knees apart and hits an angle that nearly sends you over the edge way too quickly. It doesn’t stop him from trying again and again and again with that fucking grin on his face as you try desperately not to wake up everyone in the building. He pins your wrists to the bed and pounds into you a little harder each time you moan for him with your lip between your teeth, trying so hard to stay quiet.
With a few more thrusts of his hips and some filthy words, you’re coming undone beneath him, too fucked out on Mary Goore to know which way is up. It hits you hard, another white-hot wave sparking through your entire body and the only thing you can do is hold onto him as you ride it out. He groans as you tense around him, waiting for you to stop shaking before teasingly asking if you’re ok.  Instead of replying you raise your hips, using your leverage to push Mary onto their back. You lock eyes with him as you lower yourself onto his length, mouth falling open as he fills you again. Before they can make some smartass remark, you move your hips, finding a pace that has both of your eyes rolling back. It’s all too much as Mary fucks you harder, his fingers working at your sensitive clit while asking you—begging you—to come for him again. It doesn’t take much, not with the way he asks and the way he thrusts into you like he already knows exactly how to fuck you. The third orgasm hits even harder, tears slipping from your eyes as overstimulation sets in.
“Oh fuck, darlin’, I’m gonna cum,” he warns as his grip tightens, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He tips you onto your back, groaning as he slowly pulls out. He pumps his cock in his fist, eyes locked with yours as he spills across your stomach and marks you once more.
“Fuck. You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he confesses, blissed-out and breathless as he looks at you covered in sweat, cum, and those little marks he’d sucked into your skin.
“You think so?”
“Yeah,” he says with a grin, biting his lip. “Might even be a little bit obsessed with you, darlin’…but in a like… not totally creepy way.”
“Mary Goore? Not creepy?”
He laughs. “Well…ok I’m not going to try to wear your skin, sweetheart. But I think about you an absolutely unhealthy amount.”
“Your post-orgasm honesty is fucking adorable, Goore,” you admit with a smile.
“Ah, well, I guess we will have to keep talking like this.”
“I guess we will.”
Mary sighs and rest on his side, hair softly falling over his eyes. He gives you a shy smile you don’t often see from him, before burying his face in the pillow.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles. “It’s stupid. Forget it.”
“C’mon Goore. Tell me.”
“I’m just…” They pause to cringe. “I’m just, ugh I dunno…happy?”
You snort out a laugh. “Well, I would hope so.”
“No, like, not… I mean, yes, happy about that but like…this. You and me.”
“Me and you, huh? Is this your way of asking if I want to be an ‘us?’”
“Kinda thought we were?”
“Yes, but now we’ve said it. That’s like…official official.”
“Officially us, then?” Mary asks and reaches over to tap your nose. “Is that cool with you?”
“Very much.”
He grins brightly. “Well, if that’s settled. Think you can walk ok? Or should I carry you to the shower?”
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rainbownixie · 2 years
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i am having stonathan pride&prejudice thoughts- so many- so many thoughts-
Steve: Your defect is a propensity to hate everybody.
Jonathan: And yours, is willfully to misunderstand them.
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env0 · 6 months
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/ It's all about the framing \
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awearywritersworld · 1 month
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mona mona!!! in my head, modern bf sukuna likes to bake for reader !! in your au, do you think sukuna ever attempts to cook or bake something for reader that he used to enjoy eating? MWAH much love to you <3
aali aali!!! i'm in tears thinking about this evil man in an apron.... better yet, let's say he uses reader's and it's pink and has little strawberries on it or somethin cute. wah!!!!! he's so adorable.
yessssss tho!! he appreciates it when reader cooks for him and so he'd wanna return the favor. this idea is so sweet!! sending u all the love<333333
you find him in the kitchen one evening, staring at the stove looking exceptionally confused.
"what are you doing?"
"nothing."
"clearly," you tease. "what is it you're trying to do."
"where are you supposed to light the fire?"
"...fire?"
"yes, fire." he says it as if you're the foolish one in the situation. "you know, that thing you use to cook."
"you're going to cook?" you question, rather amused.
he sighs, a dramatic show of irritation. "is that so hard to believe? are you going to help me or not?"
the word help sounds rather strained coming from his lips and he seems to be in an exceptionally grumpy mood, so you suppress a giggle and make your way across the kitchen.
"that's sweet of you," you hum, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
you don't miss the way the small show of affection makes his shoulders relax. reaching out, you twist one of the stove knobs to the right and the burner turns red. "there's no fire. it's just electric."
his brows furrow as he looks between you and the stove. "oh."
it takes him a while to adjust to the electric stove, so he burns things pretty frequently at first. eventually he catches on though and you're quite impressed with his culinary skills.
sometimes you can't help but stare as he prepares food, because he handles the cooking chopsticks so adeptly. there's just something about the way it makes his knuckles and the tendons on his hands more pronounced that you struggle to tear your eyes away from.
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amarshmallownamedo · 5 months
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I think more media should have the romantic interest doing the Mr. Darcy 2005 hand thing as a nod to one of the most recognizable shots in a romantic film. Can you imagine how insane fandoms would go over it
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nomsfaultau · 5 months
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Another finished page in the Rose animatic for the fic Fault! This is taking so long lol. Anyway rambling about symbolism below the cut. Bc there’s a LOT to unpack about Tommy’s hypocritical advice for Tubbo.
Synopsis: This page dives into how Tommy and Tubbo act as foils for one another, as well as Tommy’s often hypocritical and/or maladaptive advice that he gives to Tubbo. The events it depicts is from clingy duo’s first in person meeting. Desperate from starvation, Tubbo interfered with The Blade’s potato plants and feels responsible for the subsequent deaths. Tommy tries to soothe their guilt, but is awful at it since he also struggles massively with guilt. At one point, Tubbo stumbles and Tommy tries to catch them but only ends up destroying Tubbos’ wrist. Frankly, pretty accurate metaphor for how Tommy’s attempts to help turn out.
Obviously in the first line (But no, my mouth don’t taste of metal) it’s referencing the metal of the kitchenware, but I leaned into the idea of the coppery taste of blood. Particularly the imagery of someone biting their tongue so they don’t speak, as in the SCP Foundation Tommy has to do that often to avoid abuse. A lot of his advice is ‘stay quiet and do as you’re told’ because that’s how he’s survived.
There’s another way to read it, though. Tommy’s hand is held out as if he’s vowing, another hand pressed to a painted on heart as if he’s speaking from the heart. This is not the case, as emphasized by his hidden eyes. In this scene, Tommy imparts lessons (such as: it’s not your fault) that he’s heard from Philza but doesn’t actually believe. So, in one sense he’s biting his tongue to stop himself from telling Tubbo what he really thinks (that it’s their fault) because that would mean admitting to himself how deeply he blames himself for everything. So he pretends to believe his own counsel, both for Tubbos’ sake as well as his own.
And lastly, another layer within the broader context of the animatic: that of the Foundation forcing anomalies to be monsters. In the last page, Dr. Blake uses Tommy as a tool for violence, and is depicted with a blood stained smile despite her not being the one to directly hurt anybody. With the understanding of Tommy being used to hurt others, the next page (this one) now echoes the previous with the blood trickling from Tommy’s lips.
This likewise reflects the advice Tommy is giving in the scene, which is essentially “it’s only a matter of time before the Foundation forces you to kill someone, so don’t feel guilty about it”. Tommy thinks he’s become bloodthirsty, and assumes Tubbo will become so as well, when really it’s him biting down on his true self and becoming obedient to avoid getting hurt.
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someone’s probably noticed this before but just thinking about how lan wangji and wei wuxian really pulled a pride in prejudice in that they and everyone around them at first thought they hated each others guts only to reconnect later and suddenly get married to everyone’s shock and confusion
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karofsky · 1 year
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I think the funniest thing to happen to me in the last few years was the whole thing about people discussing how their thoughts visualize, and a bunch of artists especially were talking about how they draw with aphantasia. And I would always be sitting there reading stuff like "weird, I can't imagine that at all, I've got whatever the opposite of this is hahahaha" and then one day I was talking with friends and they were like "...Robs that's an actual thing. You literally have the opposite thing."
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todayisafridaynight · 5 months
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massive cope or not dude w the dondoko island news - imagine if you could like.. invite your little guys there after certain chapters. like you battle it out w sawashiro one minute the next hes just. standing there. on your island. like "eh."
ok so here's how we can make jorilla real
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lemmetreatya · 1 year
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watching pride & prejudice (by force) and im just realising that jotaro is very mr. darcy coded ..,,,,,,….,,,,,…..,,,,…,,,,,..
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