#and things can be more fluid if you let them

[kinardsevan]

i can see the sun

nobody asked for a mini where BuckTommy meet in 2x18, but my brain wrote it anyway? enjoy!

-

Tommy never mentions the first time they met, mostly because he doesn’t think Evan remembers it, and honestly he wouldn’t blame him. That night was—as Evan still defines it today—the worst night of his life, and the last thing Tommy ever wants to do is bring those painful memories back to the surface. Still, in the time since they’ve gotten together, he can’t help dwelling on it from time to time, thinking about the strength he’d seen in Evan that night, the determination. 

“Howie!” 

Chimney spins on his feet, looking around him until his eyes fall on Tommy’s muscular build, the waves of his light brown hair. 

“Tommy? What are you doing down here? It’s not safe-..” 

“I was down the street,” he explains. “Thought I could help.” 

Chimney turns, looks back at Hen and then Bobby, holding his hands out like he’s not entirely sure what the answer should be. 

“We’re gonna need the help to get it off of him,” Bobby states. He looks past his subordinates briefly and then back at them. “Chim, there’s a girl down there with her hand bleeding from twisted metal,” he states, pointing. “Hen?” 

She passes off the bag of IV fluids to Bobby that they’ve hooked up to Buck and Tommy looks around again before glancing down at the man on the ground, shaking his head. 

“What the hell,” he mutters to himself. He shifts backwards and drops down, getting in front of the blonde with curly hair, blood all over his face. “Hey, kid.” 

Buck lifts his head off the ground, groaning in pain as he looks up at him. Tommy reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing tightly. 

“You gotta fight,” he tells him, running his thumb over Evan’s fingers. They’re cold, and he can see the paleness in his face. Buck groans again. 

“Let’s lift this,” Bobby states, glancing down at them. Tommy looks up at him and nods. 

“Alright, kid, you can do this,” he tells him. They both hear the count off, and then the attempted lift and Evan screams like bloody murder, trying to pull his leg free from where it’s pinned beneath the truck, but barely gains any traction before it’s down again. Tommy glances up at Bobby and shakes his head. “You gotta lift higher. 

“I-…I…” Buck’s voice is choked, pained cries falling out of him faster than he can do anything to stop them. Tommy reaches out and curls a finger under his chin, making him look up. 

“Hey kid, you gotta focus,” he states firmly. 

“M-ma-addie,” he stammers. 

Tommy shakes his head again. “Whatever you have to tell Maddie can wait.” Tommy looks around them again, sees everyone trying to problem-solve the situation. He glances back down at the kid in front of him. “What’s your name?” 

His head bobs up and down weakly and Tommy squeezes his fingers again. 

“E-Evan,” he stammers. Tommy nods. 

“We’re going to get you out of here, Evan,” Tommy tells him. “Just hold on.” 

“One more time guys, ready,” Bobby states. They lift again, and again Evan screams, trying to move and again gaining no traction. Tommy looks up at Bobby again, shaking his head once more. 

“It’s too heavy,” Bobby states, talking to people around them. Evan is gasping for air in front of Tommy, silent sobs coming out of him with the struggle for air. “We need more people.” 

Suddenly there’s a crowd of people lining around them, and Tommy looks back at Evan, brushing a calming hand down his hair. 

“Hang on Evan,” he states firmly. “They’ve got you.” 

“One, two, three!” 

He watches as they lift the truck, higher than they’ve been able to, high enough that he can see the clearance between Evan’s leg and the truck, and he tugs him forward until he’s free of it and the crowd is settling the truck back on the ground. Evan’s team crowds around him and Tommy steps back, moving out of the way. Bobby rests a hand on his shoulder and he looks up at him. 

“Thanks for your help,” he tells him before stepping past him, joining the rest of the 118 as they gather around Evan and move him onto a stretcher. He doesn’t voice it out loud, but holds the notion in the back of his head that in another life, he would’ve been the one pinned under the truck. 

. . . 

“Where’s your head at,” Evan murmurs, late one night as Tommy sets his book on the nightstand. He’s been doing that thing where he read the same page three times over and still didn’t digest any of the information. Tommy looks over at him and gives him a soft smile, lifting his hand to brush along one of the barely-there scars on his chin. 

“Just thinking about you,” he admits. Evan gives him an awkward smile, reaching up and pulling his hand away. 

“Should I be concerned,” Evan asks, adjusting the blankets on his lap. “You seem…distracted.” 

Tommy shakes his head dismissively. “No, no.” 

“Then what’s up,” Evan asks, curious. “Where’s your head at.” 

Tommy looks over at him, contemplatively. He narrows his gaze at Evan briefly before licking his lips. “Do you…remember? The first time we met?” 

Evan squints at him with a curious smirk. “Harbor hangar. Stealing helicopters to fly into a hurricane and break at least a dozen different laws.” He drawls on like it’s basic information. 

Tommy chuckles softly. “Sure.” He nods, biting his bottom lip briefly. “Except, no.” 

Evan still has that gaze on his face, like he’s not entirely sure where Tommy is going with this. “Okay?” 

Tommy takes a breath, lifting his hand to Evan’s chin again, looking at the scar once more. 

“I don’t mention it because I don’t ever want to put you in a painful memory,” he states, thumbing the scar. “But I was there for this.” 

Evan doesn’t need to see his face to know what Tommy is talking about. He stares at the older man for a time, clearly searching his memory, only to come up with nothing. 

“I don’t…?” 

Tommy nods. “You were already pinned under the truck, and I got on the ground with you so that Hen and Howie could help with the truck.” 

Evan’s gaze shifts around at Tommy’s words, still searching his memory. After a moment, he looks up at him. “I always thought I made up someone rubbing my head. I mean, Hen would hold my hand, but-..” 

“You didn’t,” Tommy tells him. He’s quiet for a moment, his expression somber. “I could tell you were getting close to giving up. You wanted to say something to Maddie, and I told you no.” 

Evan nods, having the vaguest recollection of that. He looks back up at Tommy. “But then you just vanished into the ether.” 

Tommy shrugs. “I sent flowers. And besides, you had a girlfriend.” 

Evan narrows his gaze at him again, but this time there’s mirth in his expression as he pushes himself up and slots a leg over Tommy’s hips, straddling him. 

“You mean to tell me I could’ve had you five years ago,” he states, moving his hands down to the hem of Tommy’s shirt, sliding his fingers beneath it. Tommy jolts at the iciness of his fingers. He smirks at Evan as he reaches for his hands, squeezing them. He leans forward, kissing along his jawline. 

“Wouldn’t have been nearly as fun then,” he replies. “We were both still figuring stuff out.” 

Evan pushes his hands further inside Tommy’s shirt, fighting against his loose grip to press his cold palms flat against his abs. Tommy growls softly, biting on his jaw. Evan settles back on his haunches and tilts his head, reaching out for one of Tommy’s hands. He brushes his fingers gently along the scars on his face, down to his chin, and then over his heart. 

“I love you,” Tommy murmurs, brushing his thumb back and forth on Evan’s chest. Evan leans into him, pulls him into a searing kiss as his hands find their way back under Tommy’s shirt with only one intention in mind. 

“I love you too.” 

[suusoh]

check this post out for context :)!! but anyways— weird cryptid johan, who can't be killed for some reason, but enjoys seeing you endearingly try anyways.

---

You try to bury him alive.

Maybe the trick isn't to kill him, but to keep him contained. Not give him any chance to come back from the dead, or regenerate his injuries. Locked away. In a dark, tight, crummy box like he deserves.

You wipe the sweat off your brow and greasy neck, grime mixing in with your body fluids and staining your shirt. At least the dirt mound is smaller now, an estimate of maybe 15 more shovels at least, and the bastard would finally leave you alone for a good while.

Maybe you should leave flowers, a nice little sentiment of peace.

Or maybe you should let a dog do it's business all over, you don't really care about what to do afterwards. You're just glad you got the cement part over.

Having to combine all that cement mix, carry heavy buckets to pour all over his casket, and waiting for it to dry was back-breaking. But it was a necessary precaution no less; anything to ensure you never see those god-awful eyes stare at you again.

Hah, rest in peace you son of a bitch.

...or daughter, or something.

Come to think of it: was he— it— even a guy? or even had an existing gender at all? Gender is rather... more of a human thing after all, creating a definition to categorise ourselves. To categorise other humans.

And that thing, obviously, is nowhere near to what can even be considered human. Seeming to switch out of skins as if it were merely switching out shirts for the day. Even morphing itself and contorting its face and body into the image of a dead relative of yours one time.

(It got it wrong. It copied the image from a family picture, but family pictures never contain faces of disappointment, do they? That's where it made a mistake, by copying that camera-ready smile and looking at you warmly.

and that's how you knew something was wrong.)

As confusing as it is by itself, another thing bothers you. See, it could easily copy anyone, at any given moment. Anyone. From a distant childhood friend to the everyday mailman.

Yet it leaves you stunned at times that it chooses a somewhat... "consistent" body, if you can call it that, when it comes it visit you. You'd expect it to come to you wearing your classmates face, or donning the look of an innocent child, or if it really wants, it could do something closer to home again.

But... no. It actually, presents itself with this certain appearance for some reason.

It didn't resemble anyone from your past or of significance to you, so using this look leaves your tormentation out of the list (surprisingly); it doesn't look like your ideal type either, so definitely not seduction. You have no idea who this is.

Perhaps a collage of features the entity chose to mix and match, or is it an entirely copied form of an already existing person? If so, then why him? Who is he?

A young man.

Blonde, tall, and pale; a crisp matching blazer and pants ensemble that never seemed to wrinkle.

Blue eyes.

Blue wretched eyes, you're absolutely sure you've already drove a pen into, or cut out with a knife, numerous times into a bloody squishy mess that leaves you crying after. But no matter what, those eyeballs always seems to come back as good as new the next time you see them again. Untouched in its place and doll-like, a bit too squeaky clean and a bit too perfect.

It makes your skin crawl.

Breathe... you're almost done.

You take a small break, lowering your self to sit on the muddy dirt ground, groaning when your backaches serve as a reminder of being hunched over all day; you toss the shovel aside and take in much needed breaths.

Something ice-cold and wet touches the back of your neck.

You jolt forward. shocked. disgusted. Quickly using your hand to cover your nape. Eyes shooting open and twisting around to whatever the hell just did that.

A singular bottle of water is held in front of you. You freeze.

"Tired?"

He asks, gentle expression resting on his face, still holding out the cold bottle with his hand to you.

A hand without even a single trace of blood, dirt, or cement on it, not even a single speck hiding under the fingernails.

No.

No No No No.

He's here.

He's not 8 feet underground stuffed in a dark wooden box, with a sheet of cement weighing on top of it to prevent him from crawling out, and layers and layers of dirt ensuring to push him down with added pressure.

He. Is. Here.

And he is smiling at you, whilst handing you a drink. In his neatly pressed clothes that look picked straight from the dry cleaners. And now everything you did, for the past 39 hours of sheer labor and desperation, is reduced to absolutely— nothing.

"I apologise for not telling you sooner to save you the trouble."

You don't need his comfort; the emotions he invokes in you will never come close to resembling comfort.

"But at the very least, it's not all for naught: you've found another useless method that doesn't quite do the job yet."

He’s still holding out the water for you, but it’s the way he extends his hand that makes you stare at the synthetically still limb in front of you, nothing about it human or natural—more akin to a statue covered by a thin layer of skin.

After lingering in a still state of suspended animation— his hand moves. The action so sudden, you flinch a bit. This elicits... something from him. You're not sure what reaction he's supposed to be portraying right now, was he supposed to be... chuckling? Or gasping in some weird way? The sound never making it past his throat as he just continues staring and making that noise. You don't like it.

He brings the bottle closer to your lips, wordlessly encouraging you to drink. A twitch in his fingers suggests he’s trying to recalibrate the functions of his human body, retrying to hold the bottle correctly; more naturally. More... gentle. Fluid.

He smiles again; it doesn’t make you feel good. The tug of his lips is a mimicry; you're sure he's borrowing someone else’s mouth right now, still trying to appear as "comforting".

"We'll just have to try again, won't we? I’m sure you’ll find plenty of ways to keep disappointing yourself."

[ragsy]

"Olive Branch Unlimited Pasta Pass"

A less-than friendly encounter between Dogmark and Kenneth. 993 words. Read under the cut 👇

---

Mark grimaced at the jangle of the shop bell. It was ten minutes to closing; surely nobody needed taxidermy services this urgently. He was going to have to fucking sweep again, and why can't these people ever just put the dead cat in the damn freezer for the night?

He was halfway through his Customer Service Greeting-- a dry and listless "Hi, let me know if you need anything" with an implied "I hope you don't," when--

"Oh. Uh. Hi Kenneth," Mark coughed.

Kenneth, as it were, stepped into the Tucksidermy shop, taking in the many display shelves of magician squirrels, burlesque raccoons, and deer with hats, before finally catching Mark's attention. He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "Ah! Mark! Working hard?"

Kenneth let the shop door swing shut behind him; he held a large tupperware container tucked under one elbow, and his other hand gripped something in his pocket. For a man who had walked with a cane for as long as Mark knew him, Kenneth was moving with awfully fluid, easy strides.

Mark eyed the container with heavy suspicion. If there was someone's dearly departed family pet in there, he just might scream.

"Just. Uh. Closing up for the night," he said, setting his broom aside.

"Fantastic!" grinned the older man. "Then I hope you don't mind me asking: is Tuck in?"

Mark's pointed ears flicked.

Tuck had been different since coming back from the last mission. They hadn't told him everything that had happened, and the wedge between them and Kenneth remained vague handwaves and omissions. But still, holes in a story still leave behind the shape of some great and unspeakable thing.

And, if he was being honest, Mark was kinda creeped out by the way that guy was always so chipper. If he had more than a measly ounce of candor, he wouldn't have minded telling the old man to fuck off.

Mark slipped his glasses off and polished them on the front of his shirt.

"Tuck's not here," he lied.

Kenneth's face fell. "Oh! Are they, ah, are they alright?"

"Just-... Busy. I dunno."

This was, at least partially, the truth. The usual signs of Tuck is Working were present: Muffled FM radio pulsing through the wall. A hovering scent of blood and chemicals. A bearing in the workshop vent fan that squeaked at a frequency only dog ears could hear.

Kenneth furrowed his brow. "Oh. Hm."

That was another thing-- In the days since the mission to that facility, everyone had returned drained, bedraggled, frightened, or pissed off.

Everyone, that was, except Kenneth.

Kenneth, who Mark had seen take up jogging. Kenneth, whose familiar lines and wrinkles had begun to fade. Kenneth, whose sharpened eyes and revitalized wits now studied Mark, searching him for answers.

It all made Mark's skin crawl. Even as a grown-ass adult, he couldn't avoid feeling like a kid caught in a fib by a teacher. What the hell else was he supposed to say?Desperate for a break in eye contact, he replaced his glasses, grabbed the broom, and resumed sweeping.

Kenneth cleared his throat.

"Well, then, in any case, can I leave this here?" He was hoisting the container aloft in both hands. At Mark's skeptical stare at the plastic lid, he cracked open a corner, revealing a mess of pasta, tomatoes, and cheese.

Kenneth mistook Mark's sigh of relief for gratitude.

"Lasagna. I thought you both might appreciate some leftovers from dinner at Alice's house last night. So-- Ah, so sorry you had to miss it again!" The smile returned to his face. Uneasy. Apologetic.

Sorry. Right. Maybe they stayed home for a reason. Maybe they didn't want to be there with him. Maybe Tuck would have gone if he would just get rid of that fucking tape recorder. Mark's fingers twitched. Maybe he could take it from him the hard way.

He bit his tongue and swallowed his words.

"Um. Great," he said finally. He set down the broom and picked up the dustpan, dumping its contents unceremoniously in the trash.

"Ah," said Kenneth, crestfallen. Heavy silence fell over the two of them.

Once it was clear that Mark would make no move to accept the offering, Kenneth crossed the room and placed the container on the register counter. He patted the lid conclusively.

"Well, ah, I-... I hope you enjoy it!" A glimmer of hope clung to the edges of his words with desperation.

Once again, Mark said nothing. Folding his arms, his gaze darted from the tupperware, to the clock above it, to Kenneth. He sighed and swiped a hand down his face.

"Please go."

"Wh— Pardon?"

"We're closed."

Kenneth blinked. "O-oh, so soon?"

He swept his eyes across the shop. "Will, ah, will Tuck be back soon then, maybe?"

Mark thrust a clawed finger towards the door. "Get. Out," he growled, his human mask vaporized in an instant. A snarl curled up his snout, and his hackles bristled. Enough was enough.

The older man staggered backwards, eyes wide in terror. He raised his hands in submission and, without another word, fumbled open the door and slunk outside.

Mark slammed the shop door behind him and twisted the deadbolt shut. He glanced at the clock again. Five til was probably close enough.

Seething, he finished his chores and stalked out the back door.

Later, he rapped his knuckles on the doorframe to Tuck's workshop.

"Hey, we're all closed up now. I'm gonna get going." His voice shook a little, but he had at least managed to hide the dog back away.

Tuck looked up from its workbench. "Oh, heya Mark," it drawled. "Customers give ya any trouble today?"

"No. All good. See you tomorrow."

He hoisted the shop trash bag on his way out the door and slung it into the dumpster. It landed against the metal bottom with a heavy thud.

Kenneth's olive branch would be left there to rot until pickup day.

[exhuastedpigeon]

I never had a 'are you my boyfriend' conversation with the person I am now married to, in case anyone needs an example of how an adult relationship evolve without always clearly establishing titles.

After a couple months of dating I started referring to them as my partner because we were serious and a few months after that I got to start calling him my spouse.

[icewindandboringhorror]

[cakemoney]

i don't want to put my uninformed foot in my mouth or get involved with the Discourse but i've been seeing the two extremes of reactions to the korean low birth rates issue (on tumblr and twitter both) and i'm just kind of like. look. i feel like "low birth rates (in many countries but especially japan and korea as part of this conversation) are more broadly the result of capitalism/a culture of overwhelming overwork that makes social relationships and having families incredibly inaccessible to young people" and "low birth rates are very much a part of the current conversation about misogyny and social expectations for women in korea especially in the context of reproduction as 'unpaid labor' for women" are statements that can both be true

[tanadrin]

So one of the things that can apparently contribute to kidney issues in cats is if they eat too much dry food and don't drink enough water; cats are adapted to get a lot of their water from their food since they're originally desert animals, and might not get enough water if they don't eat wet food. Unfortunately, Dozy won't eat wet food no matter what; she categorically refuses to touch the stuff. So a few months ago, we were looking for ways to get Dozy more fluids, and my wife noticed at the pet store a cat drink--basically meat broth with some floaty bits in--that was low-protein and meant for cats with kidney issues. So we figured, worth a try, right?

Great news: she loved it. Super tasty apparently. Great success. Along with the kidney-sensitive treats we found, it was a nice way to supplement her diet. Unforseen long-term consequence though: she loved it so much she began demanding it throughout the day. Like, would come up to us and meow, and meow, and meow, and not stop, until we got up, went to the kitchen, and got her some cat drink.

And by doing so on demand, we have unfortunately created a monster: no matter what we are doing at home, Dozy knows that if she sits next to you and meows, 1) you know what she wants, and 2) you know that she will not stop until you get it for her now. And when you do get it, she gets extremely excited. She will bum rush the kitchen door as you enter. She will run around your feet as you open the can. She will let out the creakiest, crunchiest, most nails-on-the-chalkboard meow you've ever heard if she thinks you're not going fast enough.

I do not begrudge her this. It is gratifying to care for a creature whose most ardent desires are so simple that it is this easy to fulfill them. But I am a little sad, because I know in my heart that I have never loved any comestible as much as she loves this cat drink. She has a pleasure of a purity and intensity that I will never know.

[the creacher in question]

[slvttyplum]

thinking about satoru lately, and i touched on this in something else, but this man takes pictures of you with cum covered on your face and just a whole album of videos and pictures of him fucking you.

like there are stacks on stacks of videos and pictures that sit in his camera roll of you just doing the nastiest shit, something you couldn't even utter.

he loved taking pictures of you when the both of you just finished, having that milky, glazed cum all over your beautiful face and all you hear is clicks. seeing the pictures had his dick standing up every single time.

even sometimes he was appalled by how many pictures and videos he had of you naked, bending over, cum on your face, inside you, in your mouth, on you back, practically everywhere.

“come here, let me take a picture.” taking your hair and pulling you towards you and telling you to stick your tongue out as he takes pictures of you from different angles.

this man was a freak and don't let him try to convince you otherwise, if he wanted his camera smeared with his cum and your fluids. like, put that pussy close to the camera so he can see every spec and particle of that pussy.

one time you were on his phone and stumbled across his photos and all it was being pictures of your face covered in cum and videos of you playing with your pussy while he recorded.

you could feel your cheeks heat up looking at them, the more you scrolled, the more wet you got, he was the nastiest man you knew and it was the hottest thing.

satoru couldn't get enough of you, and that showed from how many pictures and videos he had of you in his phone. this came in handy for him whenever he went on trips because that was jerking material.

“my little porn star.” while he records you playing with your pussy and his fingers down your throat as you gag, his warm cum all over you and your fingers trailing over it and rubbing it over your pussy.

that's only 1 percent of what he recorded of you guys, and there would be more and more. if y'all ever got leaked, it's going viral.

cafekitsune: divider roseschoice: banner

[dvlboy]

anomaly | "francis mosses" / milkman

ERRR i cant help it sry it was the horny. MDNI, top male reader READ DNI

this body felt... weird. it was an unfamiliar skin, but one that he knew might just do the trick this time. the milkman who he learned was francis mosses, was an easy person to impersonate. quiet, stoic, and very attractive in his eyes.

he learned about your mutual affinity over time as he observed the two of you. at first, his intentions were like the rest-- infiltrate and assassinate. you were not like the doormen before, and could actually hold your own against one of them-- you were an intriguing human. he thinks thats when his slow burning obsession started. he saw how the real francis mosses would fix his tie and hat, and try not to shift his eyes elsewhere whenever you

his disguise was perfect, he looked just like that milkman, the only difference was the red that stained his uniform crimson. it couldn't be helped.

he heard your gruff voice call in the next person and a foreign feeling enter his core. he walked up to you, that same practiced stoic face as a mask to hide his nervousness, and hunger. he could smell you through that small opening, but he could feel your stern eyes stare him down.

"francis?" your tone was questioning him. it was trying to coax out an answer, although he knew that you saw through him instantly, "why are you dressed like that?"

"mmm.. it's red milk.. yeah.. red milk.." you sighed, boredom in your eyes as you looked at him once more, before uncovering the blaring red button, and pulling it. suddenly his surroundings were painfully loud, and red.

things weren't suppose to end like this.. in a last ditch effort to convince you, he pressed his forms calloused hands together in a pleading motion, looking at you in a grimace. "please," desperation was starting to seep inside of his tone, "i'm not here for them. i'm here for you. please let me in." your eyes widened in shock at him. the hands that were about to lower the blinds paused.

in all of your years of being a doorman, you've never seen this. sure, you've gotten the ones that play dumb until the end, or the occasional clown or peach man, but you've never seen a doppelganger ever plea for their life. you could hear the familliar footsteps run closer, and the increasingly desperate doppelganger infront of you, before you stood up. your form towered over his, and he shuddered a futile plea coming out of his mouth, before you roughly opened the door, grabbing his thin wrist and tugging him in. he could feel the power you had in your arms and body, and even standing up, he could tell you worked hard to train your body.

your hand tugged him down close to the ground, right before men with yellow hazmat suits came and questioned you. "just a glitch in the system, didn't hit anything." the men shrugged at you, and walked away. once they were gone, your eyes scanned the windows, looking to see if anyone would be coming before dealing with the peculiar doppelgänger infront of you.

from his point of view, you were a god. your strong arms crossed, glaring down at him while he looked up at you in amazement, obsession running deep in his veins. "speak." god, when you were interested, and that gruff tone gets that curious edge, he just goes fuzzy in the head. damn the unfamiliar human body. your legs were spread, and all he could think about was you. "its true, i couldn't care less about the other humans. all i care about is you."

"oh?" you beckoned him closer, his eyes trained on that thick finger of yours. there was no hesitation in his vessel as he shuffled closer. "then why the milkman? there are dozens of other people in this building. for all i know, you could kill me, right here, right now." a dark edge drew in your tone, and he gulped. your warm hand wiped away a smudge of blood from his face, gazing at the crimson fluid before looking at him-- a reminder of his different identity.

"i-i would never..! please, is there anyway i can show you?" his plea made you smirk, an unfamiliar power within your control. he scooted closer to you, a pleasant anxiety building him. once within reach, he was going to put his elbows on your muscular thighs, to plea for your mercy. you saved him, yet that red button could send him back into his narrowly escaped fate. his hands almost reached your clothed thighs, before he felt a sudden force on the back of his neck, shoving him in between your legs. he saw your thick legs wrap around his neck, loosely surrounding him with you.

the doppelganger let out a muffled gasp at the action, feeling his face get shoved into your groin. he was about to question you, until he felt your hand grip his hat and chuck it on your desk, tugging his hair roughly. "if you're so desperate to please me, you know what to do." all he could do was shudder, and inhale. the warm cotton of your pants being inhaled by the desperate doppelganger, helpless under your gaze.

this was everything he could possibly dream of. muffled while he mouthed at your bulge, hands gripping at the side of your thick thighs. he desired you so bad it hurt, and the desire for your approval ran deep in his veins.

you leaned back, hand massaging his short hair on his head. he really did feel like a human, including his touch. "what a good boy.." you mused, watching him look at you with basically sparking eyes before clawing at your waist band, desperate to earn your praise once more. you hated that you saw the doppelganger cute, even though he was an exact copy of the real francis. he mouthed at the cotton of your boxers, the scent of your musk making him dizzy and your warm touch making him pull into your touch.

your other hand went to his face and cupped it, your thumb rubbing his thin bottom lip, before you pushed against the rosy flesh, watching as his mouth went from your hardening cock to your thumb. his eyes were blown wide as he made eye contact with you, his soft tongue licking up your thumb, his bottom lip lightly catching on the rough skin of your thumb pad. he exhaled on your thumb, before he looked at you once more, then slowly pushed your entire thumb in his mouth, swirling his tongue around your finger.

he's so glad he watched those human intercourse videos, he would never be able to impress you like this otherwise! he saw you shudder, a low groan leaving your lips. "fuuuuuuuck, who taught you that?" he just feigned innocence. you could feel blood rush south, and it wasn't long before you pulled his face off of your drool covered fingers, and put it right before your straining bulge. his eyebrows furrowed as you lifted the waistband off, your cock smacking him in the cheek as his eyes widened. "if you're so good at sucking, you should suck this instead.." that smirk that grew on your face made his non existent heart skip a beat. he wasn't entirely sure how to handle it, the videos never had any quite so big. he put his face against it, the instincts in his head taking control. he placed a delicate kiss to the large vein, before he sat there, increasingly confused.

his puzzled look made you chuckle. "what? too big to handle?" he still looked so puzzled, and it made him look so much cuter. "i'll guide you through it, cutie. now use both hands." his hands were by your cock in an instant, and he sat on his knees, awaiting instructions. "now slide them up and down, or you can use one hand to massage my balls." he nodded, lightly intimidated but oh so willing to please. his hands were gently stroking your cock, and his mouth went from the base, licking the stripe all the way up your cock until he reached the tip, a bead of slick precum dribbling as his prize. he happily lapped it up enjoying how you sighed in content. just looking at the doppelganger infront of you made you want to ruin him, needy desperate eyes staring at you while he rubs you off, face pressed against the side or licking the tip of your cock desperate to prove himself.

he never broke eye contact with you, staring into your eyes like you were a god as he took your cock down his throat, humming lightly. "you know.. you don't have to be gentle with me.. us doppelgangers don't have a gag reflex.." a bat of those tired eyes and you were already gritting your teeth, resisting the urge to grab his hair and shove him down until his face was nose deep in your pubes.

he pulled away once more, sensing your hesitation. "please use me, let me show you how much i want you.." he grabbed that hand that lingered on his hair and kissed your fingertips, before placing them back on his sweaty hair and taking more of your cock into his mouth, adjusting and turning ever so slightly, until it popped into his throat. small gurgles and grunts could be heard, before your hand gripped the short hairs tightly, and tugging him back and forth. hallow sounds were heard as he hallowed his mouth, suctioning around your cock. he accepted his fate, hands resigning to your balls to fondle them, ignoring the dull ache in his neck.

you had to look away before you busted in his mouth. everything felt like a fever dream, to how he was so willing to do whatever you wanted, to how he prefered to be used like a doll. he was so naive and so sultry at the same time that it made your head spin. "how are you so good at taking dick.." he just looked at you and feigned a smile, lips still wrapped around your length.

he pulled away, a whisper in the air. "you know.. we don't need what you humans do.. oxygen.." a devious look appeared in his eyes, taking your dick in his mouth before pressing down, wrapping his tongue around the tip while jacking off the remainder. from his point of view, he watched as he slowly applied more pressure downwards, feeling your spongey cockhead press against the back of his mouth, then sliding down his throat. he could see the inches disappear once more, before he felt resistance, pushing harder. the burn was intense, and he could feel how his neck distended to make room for your cock, filling his airway with dick.

once he reached your balls, his bottom lip parted, leaking saliva between the groove of your balls. his hands rubbed the saliva into your balls, all while he sat there, licking and slurping what he could while staring at you, enjoying how you pleasured yourself with his throat.

your hands withdrew themselves from him, then went to his neck, delicately holding it. whenever you moved your hips or he moved his head, you could feel your dick move through his neck, watching as your cockhead pushed your way through. he didn't mind though, not needing air to survive. he just sat there and pleasured you, enjoying how you experimentally tightened your grip on the side of his throat, throwing your head back at the sudden tightness. it wasn't soon after that both your hands were on his throat, lightly constrainted squeezing on his slender neck while you fucked into his warm, tight, slick mouth. this continued until he could feel your balls tighten, and your breathing get rugged. when he heard your breath hitch, he pulled away, mouth open wide with his tongue out, waiting for his reward.

you grunted as you came, shooting a load all over his face, covering face in your seed.you grew the tip over his lips and watched as they were glazed in your cum, before placing the tip on his tongue, weak spurts of cum landing on his mouth. he graciously licked everything up. the cum mixed with the blood on his face, making you reach for a tissue before he stopped you.

"you know, i'm much better at taking you in other places," his cockiness shrunk down for a second, "i-i've been prepping for this day for a while now.. i want this to be perfect.." he sat up, and positioned himself on your lap, turning so that his clothed ass would facing you, the tight uniform pants straining against the curves of his body. "go on, teach me about this too.." a blush was starting to grow on his face as he looked back at you. he could feel your slick dick on his thigh, its heat felt from his pants and underwear. he wanted to see your reaction to everything. to his preprepped hole, to his smooth hairless hole, to his milky skin. he wanted you to see how much better he was at everything compared to real francis mosses.

____________

the real francis was just finishing his walk back to the apartment unit, another long day doing deliveries. all he wanted to do was have a peaceful, quiet night, and maybe get the courage to ask you out. he rubbed his tired eyes, shuffling around while he grabbed his entry request from his briefcase, a peculiar noise ringing in his ears. he just grumbled, before entering the building. it was getting louder, and sounded vaguely familiar. perhaps you knew about it.

he adjusted his tie, and straightened his shirt and hat, as he walked to your desk. the words he was about to ask got caught in his throat as he stared at you, briefcase dropping in shock.

you were having sex, with someone that looked exactly like him. the same uniform, the same face, the same body. the only difference was that there were blood splatters all over the males shirt and face.

a blush burned into his face-- you hadn't noticed him. you were too preoccupied with the doppelganger in your lap. you were in the same chair as you always were, but had the doppelgangers thighs around your arms, exposing his ass. your dick was popping in and out of him, and you manhandle him, moving his entire body. his shirt was barely covering the bruises and the hickies you left on him, and occasionally you would bury yourself in his neck, inhaling his scent.

the doppelganger sat in your lap, the same lewd moans and grunts falling out of his lips like a mantra. your arms held him in place forcefully, your muscles bulging while you grunted into the air animalistically, rutting into him. his milkman hat was falling down his hair, and his dick would bounce at every thrust you gave, as well as his thighs. it was hard for francis to look away-- seeing the artificial light of your office illuminate his doppels sweaty skin, and how your dick made an outline on his toned stomach. cum was leaking from his hole everytime you pulled out, and he saw the white liquid all over the floor in ropes, and the stuff run down your balls and thighs, dripping down the chair. his doppels body was stained in it as well, and it was even on the hat that he sloppily adjusted once and awhile. even his black gloves had streaks of cum, and he wrinkled his nose at the scent of your cum and sweat.

yet something deep down also aroused him. it was like looking into a mirror of possibilities. if a doppel could, surely he could as well. could you fill his stomach the way you did his? could you manhandle him the way you did him? paint his face the same way? he hated to admit that he was jealous of an entity that was pretending to be him, but he had the one thing the real version didn't-- your affection and dick.

drool leaked down his counterparts lips, and thick white globs of cum covered the males face, as well as the blood. it dripped down his face and onto his stomach-- a proud sign of his ability to pleasure you. his hands flailed, his false id in his hands, a chill running down the real francis' spine as he saw the same identical id in his hands.

he leaned up and placed a kiss at your neck, before looking at the real francis. identical eyes stared at eachother, one frightened and aroused, and the other dilated and fucked out. "i win" was mouthed at the real francis. you hadn't noticed him yet. the real francis rushed so fast to get out of your view that he dropped his milkman hat on the floor as he hid on the side.

he couldn't get it out of his head, how you kissed him, how you smelt, how you manhandle him so well. everything about you was ringing in his head, and his hands slowly drifted to his pants, a bulge straining against the tight fabric. he could hear himself moan in real time, how he panted out for more, begging for a kiss, how you grunted, or how you praised him for being a good boy and taking you so well. he could hear his own grunts when you hit that spot, and even himself begging for more. it wasn't long before he was biting his lips, the bottom of his shirt inbetween his teeth while he roughly fisted his cock, the scent of musk, cum and sex infiltrating his normally calm and composed mind. he came ropes on the side of your door entrance, a blush of embarrassment on his face as he was forced to sit there and listen to you dirty talk his doppelganger.

when he peaked to see if you saw him, all he saw was his doppels eyes on his form, a lewd smirk on his face and a blush on his cum stained face, before his doppel threw his false id, watching the piece of plastic hit the unlock gate to the entrance.

the last thing the real francis saw was how you slapped his doppels face making him cry out in pleasure, before dropping his legs, degradions and obscenities leaving your lips. you grabbed his two hands in your own, and stood up, making him lose his balance and fall on the desk. your tongue clicked as one hand moved to hold him down, and the other moved to swipe his hands behind his back.

the real milkman left quickly after that, tears of arousal in his eyes. when you were finally finished and had the doppelganger in your lap, cum leaking out of his puffy hole, you could spot something in the corner of your eye.

another white milkman hat, with a suspicious smelling and looking fluid stained on one side.

[beautysamour]

squirt training with miguel! mommy pleaseee i’m begging on my knees 🤲🏻🧎‍♀️

squirt training with miguel o’hara ⋆⭒˚｡⋆

— a/n: ❤︎.

warnings ﾟ𐦍༘⋆: vulgar language. reader goes into sub space

“Relax, hermosa, you can’t do it if you’re not relaxed.”

You squeeze his fingers—his hand being too big as a whole—once, twice, as you try to stabilize your breathing. You can barely keep your eyes open, you were too overwhelmed, too aware of the little movements, too overstimulated.

Your thighs shake as Miguel spreads them further apart, “Let’s do this one more time.”

It was a blatant lie, he said the same thing an hour ago, or maybe it was two? Three? You don’t remember, your memory was too hazy due to constant pleasure Miguel kept giving you.

Could you blame him though? He’s only trying to help his poor girl.

You squeezed your eyes shut as Miguel dragged one of his long fingers down the middle of your cunt, your pussy clenches onto nothing by default. “Relax,” Miguel purrs.

You think it’s unfair— no, unrealistic for you to be able to relax. Not with your puffy pussy going through the same routine over and over, cumming so aggressively and then getting pet softly, getting the princess treatment until Miguel hits that spot and prods at it hoping that he’ll get drenched in your fluids—but is only met with cum leaking around his fingers.

“‘m trying,” you murmur as tears start to well in your eyes. You want to so badly, to make him happy, to squirt for him and it makes you so sad that all you can do is pitifully cum around his fingers.

Miguel hums and tilts your chin up, “Look at me. Don’t look away, got it?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he started to rub circles against the folds of your pussy—and opened just as quickly when Miguel lightly hit your chin with his index finger, “I said don’t look away cariño, closing your eyes is looking away.”

A whimper leaves your mouth as Miguel leaned over you, mouth immediately finding that sensitive spot behind your ear and sucks as a finger smoothly slides itself into your cunt.

“Am I understood, hermosa?”

You jolt as Miguel enters another long finger into your cunt. Usually even one of his fingers can fill up all the space in your tight pussy, but not tonight.

He’s loosened it enough for you to be able to take his dick in one go.

“Hermosa,” your eyes widened, body becoming stiff as he hits that spot. “I asked you a question.”

His eyes flicker down to where your pussy and his fingers connect, the pulsing of your cunt distracting him.

He puts in a third finger as he rubs your g-spot, stars enter your vision.

“Yes,” your voice raises as he quickens the pace of his fingers, “Yes! I under—understa—nd.” You gaze into his eyes. Lust and determination is seen in his, desire and pure ecstasy is seen in yours.

“Bueno,” Miguel whispers. He buries his face into your neck, sucking a pretty little hickey for you. “Muy bueno, hermosa.”

A moan rips out your throat, you aren’t sure if it’s because of the praise—or because of how quick Miguel’ fingers are moving in your pussy.

You aren’t able to think much about it, Miguel pulls his head away from your neck, he eyes trained on your cunt as your body starts to arch off the bed. He sets a hand against your stomach, eyes still on your pussy, and pushes you back against the bed.

“Miguel,” you moan, fingers gripping into the sheet as Miguel ignores you. His pace somehow quickens and then—

A hand flies to your back, supporting your body as your body spasms and something that feels different from cum comes out your pussy. Your eyes are on Miguel’ and finally, he’s eyes are on yours—the lust somehow more prominent in his eyes.

He hums as you start to babble in his arms, his fingers still in your pussy—still moving but slower—and he adjusts your body so your sitting in his lap.

You mewl as your head flops down on one of his tits, a sadistic smirk forms on his face as he kisses the top of your head. The squelching of your wet, wet pussy fills the silence along with your soft, somewhat quiet, whimpers.

He massages your nub as your body starts to shake.

“Miguel,” you weakly call out, “Did—did I do it,” you ask looking for praise.

He presses your nub and tilts your head about with his other hand, exposing your hickey to him. He praises himself internally then presses a kiss on your hickey, “Yes, hermosa, you did,” he licks the hickey, “Knew you’d be able to.”

Your pussy flutters around his fingers, the praise going straight to it, until Miguel tilts your head again to make you look at him.

You look at him, doe eyed, as his flicks your nub and presses a kiss onto your puffy lips. You return the kiss immediately—body pressing up against him and hands caressing his abs. His tongue enters your mouth and you don’t resist him at all.

He pulls away leaving a string of saliva connected to you. His dick hardens painfully as he notes the way you look up at him.

He pulls you closer to him with a grunt and slightly quickens the pace of his fingers—your eyes widen in realization, “Do you think you can do it again for me, hermosa?”

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 26: Fuck

Summary: You're going insane. The need is insatiable, but that's not the only thing plaguing you.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,261

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, bodily fluids, gagging, creampie, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, a sprinkle of angst, fluff, obviously language, someone drops the L word, Simon rizzin' with the 'tism

A/N: You might be asking, am I really naming the chapter that? Yeah. I've been half asleep these last couple days (including while writing most of this) due to my change of meds so if this is ass, blame it on my medication lol. Anyway, yeah, you'll see with this one.

I'd also like to give very special thanks to @141wh0re who helped me with the Johnny scene I owe you big time, princess 🫶

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Hands squeeze your ass cheeks, pushing them apart to reveal your soaked pussy. You let out a quiet moan as the cool air in the room hits your damp slit. Another, louder moan leaves your lips as a thumb drags through your folds. Your pussy clenches at the sensation, slick oozing out of you in anticipation. Fingers rub it through your folds, teasing over your clit before pulling back. 

You let out a whine of indignation and disappointment, pressing your hips back as you chase after the touch needily. 

“Easy, you needy little pup.” You jump at the harsh slap against your cheek in retaliation. “I'll give you what you need.”

You whine, face pressed into the sheets as John kneels behind you. His warm breath across your damp folds is a delicious contrast to the cool air in the room. It has you whining and twitching, fingers sinking into the soft fabric under you. 

Your legs nearly give out at the first drag of his tongue through your folds. You moan softly, pressing back against his mouth. His hands press against your ass, keeping you still as he drags his tongue through your folds again. His beard tickles your thighs, prickling deliciously against the sensitive skin. You'll have beard burn by the end of this, but you can hardly complain. 

You never do. 

His thumbs part your folds again, spreading you open as his lips close around your clit. A long moan falls from your lips as he sucks on the sensitive bud. You're close to cumming already, your pussy sensitive after the last few days of near nonstop fucking with the members of your pack. 

“Fuck!” You moan against the sheets as John gives your clit a particularly hard suck. 

“Sensitive little thing.” He murmurs against your clit, his tongue flicking against the bud. 

You whine, legs starting to tremble as they fight to hold you up against the pleasure from John's mouth. He continues his relentless ministrations against your clit, rotating between suckling it and flicking it with his tongue. 

Your moans get more and more needy as you get closer and closer to the edge, John pushing you harder against the mattress so you don’t fall as your legs nearly give out. 

You cum with a cry, legs shaking as he holds you up, licking up every last drop from your pussy. 

He stands from between your legs, delivering another light slap to your ass. “On the bed.”

You pull yourself up fully on the mattress, turning to face him with a smirk. “How do you want me, daddy?”

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he stares down at you, his gaze darkening. He nods towards the pillow, his voice deep and rough. “On your back.”

You shift so you're laying on the bed, sinking into the pillow. He strips off his shirt and pants, hard cock springing free. You nearly drool at the sight of it, hard and weeping. He climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping from his weight. He settles himself between your knees, pushing them apart so you're spread open before him. He stares down at your weeping pussy, licking his lips. 

“So fucking needy.” He groans, pressing two fingers into you. You mewl at the stretch, pussy fluttering around his fingers. “So worked up over the littlest things. You'd cum just like this on my fingers, couldn't you?”

You clench around his fingers, your hips pressing closer to his hand. You could, even if he held them still. Your body feels like it's on fire, desire and lust and pleasure coursing through you. His scent has gone straight to your head, driving the neediness and desperation for some relief, something to take the edge off the intense throbbing in your pussy. 

“Need you, alpha.” You whine, continuing to fuck yourself on his fingers. 

He holds his hand there for a few moments, watching your slick coat his fingers before he pulls them free, spreading your legs further apart. You lift yourself up on your elbows as you watch him press forward, dragging his cock through your folds. Your lips part, quiet gasps slipping free as his head catches on your clit, smearing his precum through your folds. 

You flop back against the pillow again as he presses into you, splitting you open around his cock. He's so big, so warm as he takes his time, working himself into you. You moan at the stretch, pressing your legs further open around him, as if that will help him sink in deeper. 

You can't do anything but lay there and moan as he pushes into you to the hilt, hips flush against yours as he bends over you, his hands framing your face. You stare up at him, meeting his gaze as he sits there inside you for a moment. Your pussy flutters around him, the intensity of his stare shooting straight through you. 

He lets out a quiet grunt as you squeeze around him, pulling his hips back before slowly pressing back in. You’re nearly hypnotized as you stare up at him, as he continues to move, fucking you slowly. Your breath hitches at the intensity, the passion building in the moment. 

He shifts his position, pressing his body down against yours. He grinds against you as he picks up the pace, his hand cupping the back of your head as he presses his lips to yours. You moan into the kiss with every pass of his pelvis over your clit, your arms lifting to wrap around his back, pressing him as close to you as you can. He pulls back from your mouth, his lips parting in a groan as you wrap your legs around his waist, trying to take him deeper than he already is. It's all very sensual, the way he moves against you, his eyes locked on yours, the quiet grunts leaving his lips, the twitch of his cock inside you. 

It’s too much as you cum suddenly, your orgasm slamming into you like a battering ram. You squeeze around him, legs tightening around his hips. He lets out a low groan, his pace faltering a bit as you squeeze around him like a vice. It doesn't stop him, though, his thrusts continuing even after your body has gone lax around him. You continue to cling to him, holding on for dear life as he fucks you to the point of overstimulation. 

You whine, nails digging into his back as the sensations become too much, squirming in his grasp. 

“You can take it.” He grunts, shifting his hips just slightly. “Come on, be a good girl for me.” 

You whine at his words, your body shaking as sweat drips down your face. “Yes, daddy.” 

He lets out a deep growl, his hips slamming against yours at the pet name. You’re not quite sure where it came from, why you’ve decided now is the time to pull it from the recesses of your mind. You remember when he jokingly told you, you could call him that if you wanted before your last heat, but you had yet to be brave enough to let it slip from your lips. 

Until now. 

Maybe it was the desperation, the neediness driving you to sink to places you’ve never gone before. He likes it, you can tell by the growls rumbling in his chest, the way his cock throbbed inside you when you let the name spill out. Maybe once the ache in your pussy subsides, when this relentless itch has finally been scratched, you’ll be brave enough to say it again. 

He finally cums, hips snapping into yours as he spills into you with a deep groan. His hips twitch against you as you continue to hold him there, letting him fill you. 

He nearly collapses over you, just managing to keep his full weight off of you. His skin is hot against yours, only adding to the sweat slicking your bodies. You’re worried he might suction to you, though you could hardly complain. You’d suction yourself to your alpha permanently if you could. You stroke his sweaty back, both of you laying in silence as you catch your breaths, letting the pleasure of the moment linger as long as possible. Your pussy flutters around him, pushing some of his seed out around his cock. 

“Fuck.” He groans, his lips brushing your ear. “Making my cock hurt, sweetheart.”

You hum, drawing patterns on his back. “You don't have to do it, you know. I can always go to one of the others.”

He lets out a low growl, pressing down so his weight is almost fully against you, trapping you under him. “You're mine to take care of.” He rumbles in your ear, lips brushing the shell. 

You let out a quiet whine, relaxing under him as he presses soft kisses to your skin. A shiver running through you as he kisses his mark on your neck. You arch your back slightly, pressing closer to his chest. 

“Easy, pup.” He says, shifting off of you. You whine as his cock slips from your pussy, your walls fluttering at the loss. “You need to rest.”

You pout as he rolls you onto your side, locking his arms around you to keep you still. Your pout shifts into a smirk as you press your ass back against him, putting pressure on his cock. 

“Stop.” He commands, releasing you to slap the side of your thigh. 

You yelp at the contact, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Yes, daddy.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he wraps his arms around you again, keeping you pinned against his chest. “What prompted this change?” He growls in your ear. 

You shrug, your hands coming up to wrap around his arms. “Mood felt right, I guess.” 

“I’m certainly not complaining.” He says, nipping at your ear. 

You whine, pressing your ass back against him again. He pushes back, pressing your legs further forward. 

“You need to sleep.” He says, the warning in his tone clear as day. 

“Can’t.” You whine, slickness already coating your thighs again. 

He slips a hand down your front, pushing it between your legs to feel how wet you are still. “Did you tell Dr. Keller about this?” He asks. 

You nod, spreading your legs as he pushes two fingers into you. “Yeah.” 

“And what did she say?” He asks, holding his fingers still inside you. 

You pause for a moment, your hazy brain trying to remember that conversation, but all you can remember is how insanely horny you’ve been these last few days. “I don’t remember.” 

He grunts in disapproval, your legs closing around his hand, trapping him there. “I’ll ask her about it tomorrow.” He breathes, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “Get some rest, for me. I know you’re tired.” 

You let out a quiet whine at the growl under his voice, his alpha slipping out to try and convince you to sleep without commanding it. You know he could, he probably should, as you shift on his fingers, moaning softly as they press up against your sensitive walls. 

This is going to be a long night. 

He feels like this is becoming a regular occurrence, sitting across from Dr. Keller, voicing his concerns about his omega. She always looks so sympathetic and understanding, always so attentive, listening to every word. He never had any doubts about your doctor, but the more time he spends in her office, he can see why you like her so much. 

“Pseudo-heat.” She says, after listening to him ramble on about your intense desire and neediness, the insane level of horniness that’s plagued you these last few days, ever since your first time with Simon. “I had my concerns after our last appointment together. She brought it up, but she was so out of it, here but not here.” A smile tugs at her lips. “I’m not sure she heard a word I said.” 

“I don’t think she did.” John says, leaning back in his seat. “Is this dangerous?” 

Dr. Keller shakes her head. “Not entirely. They can happen for many reasons, usually a hormone imbalance, a disruption in pack dynamics, or a rejection of an alpha. Occasionally, though, they can be brought on by a new bond with a second alpha.” 

John grunts quietly, the pieces beginning to come together. “This started after she slept with Simon the first time.” 

Dr. Keller nods. Obviously you would have brought that up to her. “They both have very intense instincts, and while Lieutenant Riley might not have claimed her, that bond is equally as intense as it settles into place.” 

“Is there a way to stop the intense...neediness? I’m worried she might fuck herself to death.” 

Dr. Keller chuckles. “She won’t. She’s young and healthy and while it might take a physical toll, the rest of you are more likely to suffer before she does. This is where toys come in handy for omegas. I don’t doubt the rest of you are beginning to feel it.” 

John grunts. “You could say that.” 

“Keep her hydrated, try to get her to rest if you can. It’ll pass in a few days.” 

“Will this have an effect on her actual heat?” John asks. He knows you’re due for one very soon. 

“It shouldn’t.” Dr. Keller says, looking at her calendar. “The only thing I’d worry about is if she’ll have enough time to physically recover before it starts. Otherwise she’s going to be in for a world of hurt when she comes out the other side. Of course, I can help with that once she gets there. It’s very likely her preheat may cause this all to stop. I doubt she’d get thrown into her heat without her body doing any preparation. Just keep a close eye on her, watch her temperature and any other typical physical signs of her heat.” 

John nods. He knows how dangerous it would be if you suddenly went into heat. He’d never dream of hurting Simon on purpose, but the thought of losing his mind and attacking his second alpha over their omega has him terrified. 

“Simon?” You ask, rolling over in his bed as he picks up the towel from the floor. 

“Hm?” He hums, walking into the bathroom to hang the towel over the shower door. 

“Can I ask you something?” You continue as he comes back out of the bathroom with a damp rag, parting your legs to wipe you clean. You wince at the roughness of the rag on your sensitive skin.

“Depends.” He says, going back into the bathroom. You hear running water for a few seconds before he comes back out. 

“You don't have to answer if you don't want to.” You say, scooting over to give him room as he slides under the covers with you. “Just curious.”

“Go ahead.” He says, tucking his sheets around the two of you. 

“How did you learn to do that?” You ask, pressing yourself against his chest, your cheeks warming a bit. “Make a girl squirt?” 

He hums again, the sound vibrating against your ear. “One of the few relationships I've been in, back when I was a recruit. Dated a beta. She was into it and taught me how to do it.” 

“Why did you break up?” You ask, immediately regretting the question. You know how closed off he is, how tightly he keeps his past sealed. That you know as much as you do about him is a privilege.

“Mutual decision.” He says. “Got busy, started going on longer and longer deployments as I moved up the ranks. She didn't like me being away for so long at a time, so we moved on with our lives. Never really had time for another relationship or wanted one until I joined this pack. Even then, at first I wasn't interested.”

“But Johnny wormed his way into your heart.” You say. You've heard the story from Johnny before. 

Simon huffs out a laugh. “Persistent bastard.” He squeezes you tightly. “Almost worse than you.”

You giggle, squirming in his grasp as he tickles your sides. “Hey! I wasn't even trying!” 

He rolls over onto his back, shifting you onto his chest. “Still.” He says, cupping your face. “Managed to win me over in the end.”

“I'm glad I did.” You say, looking into his eyes. “I'm glad you finally gave in.”

He smirks under the mask, you can tell by the way his mouth moves beneath the fabric. “Me too.” He releases your face, letting you rest on his chest. “Don’t tell Johnny.” 

Your nails drag over the top of his muscular thighs, feeling the soft skin mingling with faded scars and wiry hair. Johnny stares at you over the edge of his sketchpad, his dark eyes watching your every move like a hawk. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, fighting to contain the eager grin that bares your teeth to him, showing your excitement at being face to face with his cock. Your nails dare to venture closer to his base, teasing the skin of his pelvis now as you lower your head to place a kiss on his weeping tip. 

Johnny’s breath hitches, his eyes falling shut at the initial contact. A shudder runs through him, his grip on the sketch pad tightening, fingers curling around the edges. 

“Thought you were supposed to be drawing.” You say, your hand wrapping around the base of his cock.

“Christ almighty...” He breathes, staring at you for a moment longer before turning his gaze to the sketchpad. 

You don’t move until you hear the scratch of his pencil on the paper, lowering your head as you hold his length in place. Johnny bites his lip, a strangled moan choking in his throat as your tongue trails a line from his sack, up the length of his shaft until you reach the sensitive head. You close your mouth around the tip, meeting his gaze as the sound of the pencil pauses. 

You pull away from him, meeting his gaze as he stares at you. A smile tugs at your lips, your hand holding his cock in place as he fights the urge to throw the sketch pad off the bed. He’s struggling to stay focused, fighting the urge to succumb to the pleasure of your touch. 

You don’t move until he looks back at the pad, the scratch of the pencil starting once more. You return your attention to his cock, flicking your tongue over his slit, tasting the salty precum pooling at the tip. Johnny’s nostrils flare as he exhales deeply, shaking his head just slightly as if he’s trying to shake off the distraction you’re proving to be. 

Your other hand moves to gently cup his balls, massaging and rolling the soft spheres in your hold. Johnny finally reacts, letting a breathless moan escape him in a moment of lost concentration, his hips bucking involuntarily. 

“Christ, bonnie,” He exhales. 

Your thighs clench together, still slick from when you sat on his face earlier, pussy still pulsing despite the three orgasms he gave you. Your arousal threatens to leave a damp spot on the bed, a lasting reminder of the events of this evening. 

You finally take him into your mouth, shifting just slightly as you sink down on his length. Another groan leaves his lips, the pencil stalling for a moment as you flatten your tongue against his shaft, taking as much as you can into your mouth. You fight the urge to gag around him, pulling back until just his tip is in your mouth. You swallow the build up of saliva in your mouth, tinted with the flavor of his precum. 

You continue your ministrations as he continues drawing, bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm as your free hand cups his balls. His legs clench around you, muscles flexing and relaxing, flexing and relaxing as he fights to keep control over himself. Drool pools at the edges of your lips, dribbling down his length and collecting at the hand still wrapped around his base. 

You take a breath through your nose before easing further down until his tip hits the back of your throat. You gag around him, tears reflexively rimming your waterline. Johnny's hips twitch as he fights the urge to buck up into you, knuckles going white around the edge of the sketchpad. 

You hold that position for a moment, breathing through your nose before relaxing your throat, taking him as far as you can. Johnny groans, peering over the edge of the sketchpad, meeting your gaze as your lips nearly press against the hand holding his base. He stares at you for a moment before going back to his sketch, pretending to pay you no mind as his legs relax around you. 

You accept the silent challenge, speeding up your movements as you bob on him, your tongue flicking the underside of his crown. Your hands leave his cock, settling on his thighs as you take him as deep as you can with each movement of your head, nails biting into the sensitive skin. 

“Fuck....” He groans, muscles tensing under you again, and you would have smiled had it not been for the cock currently stuffed in your mouth. 

Your lips are starting to sting from being stretched around his girth as you take him deep into your throat, gagging around him. He echoes with his own groan from the way your throat constricts around him. The hand holding the sketch pad is shaking slightly, his breaths quiet gasps as he tries to hold in his pleasure. 

You ease yourself back up his cock, your tongue tracing the tick vein on the underside of his shaft. You flick the tip of your tongue along the underside of his crown, nearly pulling a whine from his lips. The pathetic sound drives you to continue the motion, flicking your tongue back and forth as your hand shifts to stroke his length. His cock is raging red, twitching in your grasp as you drag your tongue along his weeping slit again. 

“Fuck...” He hisses, his hips twitching again. 

He’s not holding back anymore, needy moans falling from his lips, his pencil continuing to falter as you tease his head. His hips jerk, trying to push his cock against your face, smearing precum on your lips. 

“Gonna cum?” You ask, taking hold of his cock again as you lazily trailing your tongue over the veins lining the throbbing appendage. 

He groans, fingers nearly denting the sketch pad as he grips it for dear life. “Fuckin’...yes!” 

You take him into your mouth again, sinking down as far as you can, your nose nearly touching the hand holding his cock. He twitches in your mouth, his stomach flexing as you gag again, squeezing your eyes shut to fight the reflex. More drool drips onto his pelvis, soaking the dark hair that lines his cock. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He drops his pencil, his hand shooting to hold the back of your head as he cums in your mouth. You take what he gives you, swallowing around him as he twitches against your tongue. “Screamin’ Jesus.” He moans, tugging on your hair to lift you off his cock. “Gonnae kill me. Fuckin’ got my boabie aching.” 

You lick your lips, getting every last drop of precum and drool left. Johnny groans as he releases your hair, his hand reaching for his pencil where he’d dropped it off to his side. He’s not wrong in complaining about his cock hurting. Even you’re beginning to feel the last few days, the ache lingering longer and longer after every fuck, every orgasm. 

You crawl your way up Johnny’s body, flopping yourself on his chest. He grunts quietly as your weight falls rather ungracefully on him. You lay there, catching your breath, the salty tang of his cum on your tongue. He’s breathing heavily too, sweat slicking his skin where it’s pressed against yours. 

“Insatiable little kitten.” He grumbles, resting his sketchpad on your back as he returns to drawing. 

“Can't help it.” You murmur, your head resting on his shoulder. “Feel like I'm going insane.”

“Yer just releasin’ pent up energy.” Johnny says. 

You shift slightly against his chest, shocked he can have such coherent thoughts after an orgasm. “Huh?”

“You and Simon have been dancin’ around each other fer months now. Ye have a lot of pent up energy between you, and ye need to let it out. He's been just as insatiable.” Johnny explains. 

A frown pulls at your brows as you think it over. It makes sense, that the two of you would have a lot of pent up energy, paired with your heightened instincts, you just want to fuck each other senseless until that energy disperses. 

“Makes sense.” You murmur, nuzzling against Johnny's shoulder, relaxing in his soothing scent and the sound of the pencil on paper. 

He hums, the sound vibrating through you. He presses his nose into your hair for a moment, breathing you in. His lips brush your forehead, pressing soft kisses along your hairline. “So fuckin’ sweet.” He groans. “Fuckin’ love you.”

His words wipe all urge to sleep from your mind, suddenly wide awake. You tense just slightly, waiting for him to realize what he said, to change his mind and backtrack. 

You've said it, confessed your feelings to John and he had said it back with no hesitation, but had he only said it because you said it first? He hasn't said it since then, but neither have you. 

You take in a shaky breath, planting your hand against his chest to ground yourself. You'll never know until you ask. It's Johnny, you can trust him, ask him anything and trust he'll be honest with you. “You mean it?” the words are small, quiet on the off chance he won't hear and you can backtrack yourself. 

“Course.” He says, his lips brushing your forehead. “We all do. Hard not to love our sweet omega.” 

You hum quietly, shocked by the words. “Well, that’s good.” You say, swallowing the nervous lump forming in your throat. “Because I love you too.” 

He turns to look at you, a grin pulling at his lips. He sets his sketchpad against your back, wrapping his arms around you. He presses his lips to yours, tangling a hand in his hair again. The kiss leaves you breathless, so much emotion and passion poured into it. He licks into your mouth, stirring the warmth in your stomach again. 

He groans against your lips, feeling the slick of your thighs as you start to slip off his chest to his side. “Not again.” He whines, pulling away from your lips. 

“I’m fine.” You say, trying to force away the insatiable warmth in your stomach. “Can I see what you were drawing?” 

“‘Course.” He says, shifting the sketch pad to his right hand so you can see. 

It’s a drawing of you, eyes looking forward with his cock halfway into your mouth, lips spread around him. Your hand is holding his base, fingers delicately wrapped around the thick shaft. You lick your lips, suddenly finding it hard to stop the slick wetting your thighs again. 

“If you ever get tired of the military, you could be a professional artist.” You say, staring at the detail in the drawing that he managed despite the fact you were attempting to suck the soul out of him. 

He chuckles. “Yer not the first one to say that.” 

“‘M serious.” You say, as the exhaustion from the day starts to weigh heavy on your brain. 

“Thank ye.” He says, kissing your forehead. “Get some rest, kitten.” He says, moving the sketchpad back so it’s resting on your side as he goes back to drawing. 

You can't help it as your eyes begin to slip closed, lulled to sleep by his warmth and the sounds of him sketching. 

It's the first time in days you've woken up without your pussy throbbing in need. Your half asleep brain can't comprehend what it means as you press a hand between your legs, finding only the dried fluids from the night stuck to your thighs. You blink awareness back into your mind, laying there with your hand between your legs. 

Kyle groans behind you, his arm tight around your waist. “Not again.”

You're finally awake enough to digest what the dryness between your legs means and you push yourself up to sit. “I'm not horny.”

Kyle shifts slightly behind you, still half asleep. “Hmm?”

“I'm not horny.” You repeat yourself, withdrawing your hand from between your legs. 

Kyle pushes himself up to sit, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He slips his own hand between your legs, running his fingers over your folds. Despite how nice it feels, you don't feel the urge to grind against them, to take his wrist and hold his hand still as you fuck yourself on his fingers. 

“Damn.” He says, withdrawing his hand. “Looks like we finally fucked it out of you.” He leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Fucking glad, my cock is starting to hurt.”

You huff out a breath. “You old men and your sore cocks.”

“Hey!” He tries to grab for you, but you're faster, slipping out of arm's length as you grab your panties from the floor. “‘M not that old.”

“Well, you're certainly acting like it.” You say, sticking your tongue out at him. 

He jumps off the bed, wrapping his arms around you before you can reach the door, lifting you off your feet. His fingers dig into your sides, tickling you. You shriek out a laugh, wiggling to try and escape his relentless tickling. 

“Okay, okay!” You gasp out. “You’re not old.” 

“Thank you.” He says, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he sets you back on your feet. “We've spent way too much time fucking this week for you to call me old.” He delivers a slap to your ass before pulling away. 

He grabs clothes to change into and you steal one of his shirts, pulling it on before walking down to your room. You pause in front of your door, your eyes drawing to the gap between the door and the frame. Your heart rate picks up as you stand there, panic making your fingers shake. You closed it. You distinctly remember closing it, hearing it click before you slipped into Kyle's room. 

You peek around the hallway, trying to keep your breathing even. Johnny's door is open across the hall, but he's not inside. Kyle has gone to the bathroom, and both Simon’s and John's doors are closed. You have half a mind to run for John's office, or to knock on the doors, something. 

What if they're not in there, though? No one will hear you if something happens, or be able to get to you in time. 

But what is the likelihood of anyone managing to get in without anyone noticing, even if none of them are in the hallway? Kyle had just left and would have noticed. There would be a smell, a bad vibe, something. Simon would have noticed immediately if he’s left his room already. Johnny would have noticed. Someone would know. 

Your fingers shake as they wrap around the knob. You can scream. Scream and they'll make it in record time. For all you know, maybe you didn't close your door. Or maybe one of them had come looking for you and forgot to close it. 

Yeah. 

That's probably it. 

You take a deep breath in, closing your hand around the knob tightly before throwing the door open. You take half a step back in shock, your startled shriek reducing to a squeak in your throat as a familiar dark figure turns to you. 

“Simon!” You gasp, putting a hand on your chest. “You scared the shit out of me!” You look between him and your closet, and the many clothes draped over your bed and your desk chair, and even the bear. “What are you doing?” 

“Your closet is a mess.” He says, hanging the shirt in his hands. “You're living in a pigsty.”

You pout, looking around at your dirty clothes on the floor. “It's not a pigsty.”

He gives you a glance out of the corner of his eye as he hangs the shirt in your closet. 

You step into your room, calming the uneasy panic. It's just Simon who entered your room. Simon who felt the need to reorganize your clothes. “Simon?”  

He hums, hanging things back in your closet. 

“Where's my laundry basket?” You ask, noticing the empty space against the wall. 

“Started a load for you.” He says, grabbing more from the stack on your desk chair. 

You look over at your desk, your eyes scanning your books. “Did...did you reorganize my books too?” 

He nods. “Alphabetically by author's last name in each genre.” 

You nod slowly, turning away from your desk. “Right. How long have you been up?” 

Simon shrugs. “Couple hours.” 

“Uh huh.” You nod, moving to your dresser to dig out clean clothes for the day. 

Simon lets out a long breath as you dig for a shirt, drawing your gaze up to him. He shakes his head, eyes focused on your mess. 

“It's not that bad!” You say defensively, pushing the drawer closed. 

“How do you find anything?” He says, staring down at you disappointedly. 

“Like I just did. I know which shirt is which.” You say, crossing your arms. 

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he turns back to your closet. “Fucking hell.” 

You can’t hide your smile as you head for your bathroom, getting ready for the day. 

Your stomach starts to growl as you’re brushing your teeth, the hunger gnawing almost painfully. You frown, rubbing at your stomach as you rinse your mouth. You’d had a snack last night before creeping into Kyle’s room. Maybe the exertion of the last week is catching up to you. 

You exit the bathroom, finding your clothes put away in your closet and Simon missing with the dirty clothes on the floor. You’re not usually that messy, but with the last week having gone the way it did, cleaning was the last thing on your mind. You grab a pair of shoes before stepping out into the hallway, still rubbing your stomach. 

“Hungry?” John asks, coming down the hallway. 

You nod, your stomach growling again. “Yeah.” 

“Come on.” He puts a hand on your back, steering you out of the barracks. 

You’re still a bit on edge from your panic earlier, your body shifting towards John’s as you pass by groups of soldiers. He wraps an arm around you, keeping you glued to his side as you make your way into the mess. 

He makes your tray for you, plating up your favorites before carrying it to the table. You’re the first ones there, the other three still missing. You don’t care, digging into your tray immediately to try and ease the ache in your stomach. It’s like you’ve traded now, the ache in your pussy for the ache in your stomach. 

You're halfway done with your tray by the time the others take their seats, not even pausing shoveling food in your mouth to acknowledge their presence. 

“Slow down, love. Food’s not going anywhere.” Kyle says, patting your back gently. 

“Hungry.” Is all you say around bites of sausage. 

“How much of a workout did ye put her through last night?” Johnny asks Kyle. 

Kyle smirks, glancing down at you before looking at Johnny. “Apparently a good one.” 

The dig into their own trays, eating slowly as you continue to inhale your food until there’s nothing left. The scrape of your spoon against the tray has you pouting, your stomach still rumbling. You’re half tempted to lick the tray to get up every last bit of food off of it. 

“What?” Simon asks, looking at you as you pout. 

“Still hungry.” You say, pushing your empty tray away from you, resting your elbows on the table and your head in your hands. 

They all share a look, pausing in their own eating. You feel like crying, the gnawing in your stomach relentless and uncomfortable. 

“Love...” Kyle says, his tone hesitant, like he’s about to deliver horrible news. 

It will be horrible news. The pieces are beginning to come together now. Waking up not horny after nearly a week of being horny, the insatiable hunger, your pouty attitude. 

You lift your head from your hands, your arms dropping onto the table. You don’t look at them, already knowing what you’d see if you did. They’ve put it together faster than you have, your stomach swirling with emotions. You’ve lost track of time, not even thinking about how much time has passed, how the weeks have flown by. Dr. Keller had mentioned it briefly, but you had been in too much of a horny daze to really comprehend it. 

There’s a pit in your stomach, the panic from earlier starting to bubble up again, but this time for a different reason. You feel like crawling under the table and curling up in a ball, that, or stealing Johnny’s tray to finish off the eggs he’s not eating nearly fast enough. You take in a deep breath, trying to steady the sudden onslaught of overwhelming emotions

“Fuck.” 

NEXT ->

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[seat-safety-switch]

My neighbour had had one of those roll-away dumpsters on his lawn for awhile. In case you're unfamiliar, people often have a lot of trash generated from home renovation projects. They do not want to drive to the dump constantly to throw this stuff out. Instead, you can call someone who comes and drops a dumpster on your driveway, and then when it's full, you can call them again to get it picked up and taken to the dump. The very icon itself of suburban make-it-someone-else's-problemism.

People get really mad when you throw garbage into a dumpster that you didn't pay for. For instance, the local Tim Hortons has put up threatening signs falsely claiming that they have security cameras pointing at the bins at all times. This might be because I once disposed of an entire Subaru EJ25 engine and slightly dented 4-speed automatic transmission, along with most of its fluid, into their dumpster. If you ask me, this is just whining, because that stuff was all made out of aluminum and shouldn't have counted too far on their weight limit anyway.

And yet, I don't want to drive to the dump. Partially, this is because of the exorbitant dump fees: in an attempt at "greening," or more likely to not have so many dumbasses coming to throw out a single tire, they charge a minimum of thirty bucks to throw out anything under a hundred kilos of crap.

Thirty bucks! I can buy a lot of cool junk for that. And they don't even let you take old bicycles out of the garbage pile for that money to try and recoup your cost. Once, I saw a dirt bike, and they wouldn't let me take it. It became a whole thing, which is the main reason I can't go to the dump anymore: they have my picture posted everywhere. So borrowing my neighbour's dumpster is the next best thing.

Here's the tactic you want to use: watch the bin for a few weeks. Check what days there's a lot of stuff being thrown out. These things naturally ebb and flow. There will be an initial burst of enthusiasm as they rip their kitchen to bits, being replaced with a crushing realization that they have ripped their kitchen to bits. It's during that lull that you throw your shit into the dumpster, and cover it up with construction debris from the previous effort. Demoralized, the homeowner won't look in their bin for at least another week, until they are forced to finish the job or hire someone competent to do so, who will start refilling the bin again.

Or, you can do what I did, which is wait for the truck that picks up the dumpster to show up. While the operator is busy loading it up, you throw your stuff into the bin and drive away as fast as you can. The neighbour can't get mad, because the pickup's already been paid for: you're just extracting some extra value from it. The driver can't chase you, because he has a dumpster full of your old shocks and axles halfway loaded onto his truck. And the cops can't get you for illegal dumping, because it sounds like a whole bunch of paperwork and to be honest they're probably too busy arresting folks who start a fistfight at the dump over a pretty sweet dirt bike.

[hoshigray]

꯳⃘꤫⃛✿ contents: Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! gym friends - oral (f! + m! receving) - clitoral play (licking + sucking) - boobjob - prone bone position - unprotected sex - creampies - pet names (angel, baby, princess, sweetie) - gojo is a perv, ngl - pussywhipped + whiny! gojo - mention of sweat and drool/spit.

Been going to the gym lately and can’t stop thinking about gym friend! Gojo, who indisputably has a massive crush on you. 

Why else would he drag you in to do something that he loves to do? To share the same interests as his POI? To see you all the time? His reasons could be endless; however, those exact reasons seem to be doing more harm than good as his eyes can’t stop watching your body move on the elliptical, the sweat on your body shimmering on your gorgeous skin, or the positions you do as you stretch. All it does is add more fuel to the erotic thoughts that gnaw his heart out the more his azure orbs gawk at you. 

“Ahaahhn!! S-Satoru, don’t lick so fa—Mmm!—Fffuuuhuuck!!”

Or stir up more guilty fantasies for his perverted brain to think about.

On his life, Gojo wishes he’d snatch you off your feet and take you to the locker rooms to devour you utterly. If he has to look at your ass shielded under those leggings one more time, he will rip them off the seams and stuff his face into your panties. And he knows you’d make the cutest sounds as he does so, shrilling up above with hands grabbing tuffs of his silver snow hair while his teeth tug your panties to the side and latch your folds to his mouth. 

You looked way too good not to do so! He would have you hunched on the locker room bench, your knees to your chest, while his tongue ravishes your labia and eats you out. Jesus, your taste is intoxicating enough for his head to pound, spiraling the muscle to every cranny of the orifice to drink your fluids. “Holy fuck, so good…”

“‘Toruuu, waait!!” You plead with teary eyes, unsuccessful attempts to escape the tall man’s hold. “You’re going too fassst. Please…! Slow do—Oohoo!”

“No can do, baby~,” he’d lift his face and reveal his chin, just drenched with your essence mixed with his spit, before placing his tongue back to lap around your clitoris. “You said you’d cum for me three times, remember? Can’t just stop with one!”

“Bu-But…! I cannn’t, I’m too sweaty—“ you hasped aloud at the suck of your clit, Gojo letting his tongue run wild by licking and pressing on the pearl feverishly before sucking it in again. “—Tahaaa…!! Stop, stop! Let me shower firsst!!”

“C’mon, angel,” he kisses your vulva idly, enjoying the shudder of your thighs. “We can shower plenty together right after this, ‘kay? So, just keep cumming on my tongue for me, yeah?”

It doesn’t stop there. Because what’s hidden under your pants isn’t the only thing that drives him crazy — your cleavage peaking from your sports bras will always have him in a chokehold, the sweat shimmering across your attractive skin…All it needs is for his cock to be stuffed inside.

Oh fuck, it’s insane to even think about! Those lovely tits of yours giving his aching cock the time of its life has shivers crawling up his spine. That’s a sight that he’d store in his memory forever, watching his dick be swallowed up by the understrap of your bra and into the warmth of your chest. Fuck—he can’t think of anything better!

“Gosh, Satoru,” you’d look at him with a hooded gaze and smile while your hands press on your breasts to push together and trap his erection. The plush sensation makes Gojo’s hips buck, and you giggle. “What am I going to do with you? I can’t even work out in peace without you eyeing up my tits. Hmm, what do you have to say about that?”

“Hahhh…ahaaa, shit, I can’t—“ Gojo bites his lip at the display of your chest motioning up and down, his cock gliding in between your soft mounds making his eye twitch.

“Oh? Do you like watching my tits?” You inquire with a playful glint in your eyes, blowing on the pink tip to make the man moan. Precum trickles down your chest and joins the excess fluid that pools down to your bra and his sticky pelvis. “Does my pervert friend like my tits so much he wants to stuff his dick inside and make them dirty like him?”

“Fucking shit, yesss,” he throws his head back, his thighs trembling. “Yes, I love those cute tits like crazy.”

“Really?” You bat your eyes — holy hell, you were too much for him. “Would you like to cum on them again? Tell me, tell your gym partner how much you wanna stain these precious boobs you love so much.” You tease the cockhead with a flick of your tongue, nearly having Gojo bite on his. 

“Oh, my God, sweetie, please!” His blue eyes sparkle with a misty wanton, drunk on this sensation between his legs. “I can’t think right now…Lemme fuck your tits like crazy!”

You smirk with no words, sticking your tongue out to drizzle your warm saliva on his tip, the poor partner choking on the air before you suck his entire tip into your mouth. Greeting his sensitive glans with your tongue, your chest continues to squeeze and stroke his shaft to have him a whining mess. Shaky hands find your shoulders, but it doesn’t stop your rhythm that can easily have him melt to the floor. And if that doesn’t do it, then your tongue flicking and teasing his urethra sure will—shocks travel across his body as you suck harshly for his precum, and his head is too mushy to stop his peak from crumbling down.

He surprises you with a burst of his semen, screaming with a gleeful smile as his white substance protrudes out and paints your chin and your messy chest. You lift a bit to have him come into your bra, seeing his come create a damp and sticky spot as your nipple rubs on him. “You’re so bad, Satoru~,” you titter. “So naughty and dirty.”

That’s precisely what he feels: bad and dirty for thinking of you like this…and worse, he keeps going.

“Ohhh!! ’T-Toruuu, yer going so faast! Nooohh!!

If Gojo is likely to lose his mind at your chest, it’s entirely plausible that he’d go wild at the snug feeling of your vaginal walls clamping around his dick. Oh, he can just picture it: your legs locked between his as he pummels his cock into your bare cunt, your hands tied to your back with a headband, and your firm hands placed on your shoulders as he drills himself to churn your insides. 

Nothing can keep him at bay; his hips going buck-wild, slamming his pelvis down to your ass to make the flesh jiggle, moaning aloud at the sensation of you squeezing him whenever the tip grazes your sweet spots accurately, and thinking about nothing more than stuffing you full of his load. Fuck, you’d look so pretty, all fucked out and coated in his cum, filling it to the brim nonstop until his limb goes limp. Now that’s a workout he’ll get behind til the end of his days!

“Satoruuu!” You cry out his name, drooling escaping your pretty lips as you writhe. “It’s shoo muuuch, ‘oo muuuch!!”

His eyes roll to his skull from how much you are clenching around him, grinding his hips down to your ass to rub on your G-spot to the point of unintelligible babbles. Tighter, tighter! “Ahhhh, shiiit, baby, you feel so good,” he hiccups with abrupt ruts to your chasm. “So fucking…good!”

“Nnnmm, mmph!” Your eyes are sewn shut as the pleasure becomes overwhelming to bear, Gojo’s curved dick making it easier to scratch your vaginal walls to a euphoric itch. A poke to your cervix causes a sharp gasp and eyes to widen again. “—Gahaaa, wa-wait, Satoru, stop! If you keep—Mmmph!”

“Ahaah, there it is,” he draws his length outward before shoving it back inside to hit your womb once more. You yelp and tighten around him again. “Your little weak spot is right here, huh?” More gnashes to your ass cause frequent jabs to your womb, your lower half jerking to every single one.

“Ohhh fuuck, I’m gonna cummm…!!”

“Yeah, I can feel it,” Gojo licks his lips before kissing your nape. “But not yet, right? You said you’d help me with my endurance training, so hold on a little longer, okay, my princess?”

Before you could retort, his hips began to jackhammer into your cunt at an irregular pace, your screams only fueling him to pound you even more. “OhhhhGod, Satoru, go slooow…’Toru, please!!”

SNAP, SNAP!!

“Hey, Satoru, you okay? You’re daydreaming again.”

With the snap of your fingers, Gojo is brought back to reality, realizing he’s been adrift with his thoughts yet again as he sits aimlessly on the adjustable bench. “Ah, sorry, what were you saying?”

“I said, let’s get outta here; I’ll treat you to some burgers.” You beam before turning on your heel. “Now, hurry up; the place is closing soon!”

The white-haired man watches you go, eyes lingering on your finger and thanking the stars you hadn’t noticed the pink of his cheeks and ears flourishing. Nor the white towel that he held by his groin and quickly covering the tent protruding from his shorts.

…Fuck!

© HOSHIGRAY2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[mayflysdie]

No more. -Ghost FanFic

Story: Simon's wife is kidnapped and tortured, leaving him and 141 to find her. Hopefully before it's too late.

Trigger warnings: Foul language, torture, violence, body fluids, drugs, knives, choking, restraints, dark themes not suited for minors, mentions of pregnancy, bodily harm, a battle with personalities. (tell me if I messed any)

A/N: Haven't edited this yet so excuse the mistakes. I'm also not sure if I'll make a part 2.

When i entered the apartment, something immediately felt off. Like someone made the air thick, and the rooms eerily silent. 

I set my bag down softly, retrieving the combat knife that Simon had given me years ago. My eyes sweep over every shadowy nook and cranny of the apartment, searching for any signs of danger. I'm usually in the habit of leaving the kitchen light on, but it's off tonight - one of the first things I notice upon entering. My phone begins to vibrate in my hand, thankfully I must have forgotten to turn off the silent mode from my earlier meeting. Without looking at the caller ID, I answer it, bringing it up to my ear. 

" Where are you?" Simon's voice is on edge, and it sounds like he's panting. There’s other male voices in the background, it sounds like Price is yelling. 

“Home” I whisper so quietly i’m not sure he could hear me. Or maybe the heartbeat in my ears made it seem that way. 

As I close my eyes for what feels like a mere second, a sudden jolt startles me. The phone is violently knocked out of my trembling hand and a cloth is swiftly placed over my mouth, the stench of chemicals immediately assaulting my senses. My nose and eyes burn with an intensity that is almost unbearable. Fight, do something.

In a moment of panicked instinct, I swing the nearby knife towards the man who had seemingly appeared from the depths of the kitchen, barely managing to nick him in the neck before he grabs hold of my wrist with a vice-like grip. With a sickening crunch, my bones are twisted until I can no longer hold onto the weapon and drop it to the ground, letting out a muffled scream against the suffocating cloth.

Through the hazy fog clouding my mind, I hear Simon's voice growing increasingly distant as he yells through the phone, his words barely registering in my fading consciousness. As my eyes slowly drift shut on their own accord, a sense of numbness begins to envelop my limbs. Simon, Simon please.

The man roughly lifts me up, easily overpowering my weakened attempts at resistance, and I can do nothing but succumb to the darkness creeping in as my consciousness slips away.

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

As my eyes slowly creep open, I become aware of the lingering effects of the drugs coursing through my mind and body. Panic immediately sets in as I realize I am unable to move any part of my body. My heart races as I take in my surroundings - a dark metal room with a pungent odor of iron and decay, like a slaughterhouse filled with rotting carcasses.

I am lying on a cold, hard metal table, shackled down by heavy chains that dig into my skin. 

“it’s an incredible drug, isn’t it?” A deep male voice suddenly echos throughout the room. Coming from the right side of the table, where I can’t turn my head to see them. 

“You can’t move or speak, But… you can feel pain” He chuckles, sounding closer than before. 

Suddenly, something sharp stabs into my arm and I try to cry out in pain, but my body won’t respond. Simon, where are you?

“Mike, turn on the camera would you? It’s time for the show,” he instructed someone else in the room. He grabs my hair roughly and yanks my head to the side, facing him.

Then I notice a tightness around my throat, something cold and hard. is there a chain around my neck? I panic, eyes widening.

the man sees my panic and laughs, tossing his head back as if he’s seeing the best thing in the world. 

“Oh that’s good, I love that expression. I hope Ghost does too” He starts tracing my neck and collar bone with a knife. not yet slicing me, but enough pressure to leave raised, red lines. 

“It’s nothing personal, darling,” his gravelly voice whispers in my ear as he lowers himself closer to me. My body tenses and I want to desperately move away. “But, a life for a life, hm?” He chuckles darkly, his breath hot on my skin. “Unfortunately for you, I plan to make your death slow for him. His precious thing.”

My heart races as he drags the sharp blade down my collar bone, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. A searing pain shoots through my chest as he cuts a deep line between my breasts, and down to my lower abdomen. The knife seems to find its home there, digging deeper with each passing second. I want to scream, to kick and squirm away from the agony, but I am paralyzed.

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

Simon runs into the apartment, gun drawn though he already knows they left. That they got what they came for. A dark pit forms in his stomach, blind fury almost overwhelming him. 

He bends down to pick up your phone, and just stares at it. if only he could’ve called sooner, then this wouldn’t have happened. 

The vow he made when you married; to always protect you, let no harm befall you. 

it rings in his head nonstop, like a broken record. 

Soap and Price slowly walk through the entrance, Price on the phone with Laswell, who’s trying her best to locate you. 

Simon stands up when Soap places a hand on his shoulder, a grim look on his face. “We’ll find the lass”. But his words go in one ear and out the other. 

Price walks into the living room in a hurry, grabbing the tv remote and turning it on. “Simon” He says, and something in his tone makes Simon, and Soap move with haste to see what’s going on. 

Simon's trembling legs nearly give way beneath him as he stumbles towards the couch, reaching out to grab it for support when he sees your face on the television screen. His heart drops to his stomach as he takes in the sight of you, battered and bloody. The camera zooms out, revealing the full extent of your injuries, and that's when bile rises in Simon's throat, threatening to overflow.

He remembers how he used to run his hands across your perfect skin while lying in bed together, or how he would sneak a hand up your shirt while you were cooking and you would just giggle and swat him away with a spoon. He remembers staring into your eyes, like honey pools reflecting all the love in the world. But now they're red and swollen, almost unrecognizable.

Simon rushes to the nearest bathroom, tearing off the balaclava covering his face. He hunches over the toilet as his stomach lurches and empties itself, leaving him dry heaving and gasping for air.

Images from his past come rushing back at full force - bodies, blank stares, all reminders of the darkness that seems to follow him wherever he goes. But you were supposed to be the one good thing in his life. goddamnit, You were supposed to stay.

As Simon stands up and flushes the toilet, trying to steady himself, something catches his eye on the counter. Something white with a blue cap. His mind turns to static as he reaches for it and sees two very obvious red lines.

He slowly walks out of the bathroom, the pregnancy test held tightly in his hand. 

The television screen is now dark and silent, but Price and Soap still stare at it with blank expressions.

Simon closes his eyes, breathing slowly. calming his racing heart, steadying his mind. 

“Simon?” Price calls out, but he ignores him. 

Simon can’t be here.

He's too fragile for this. Too emotional and vulnerable. A man who let himself love and be loved, only to have his world torn apart.

No, what his wife needs now is a ghost. Someone strong and unfeeling, who won't hesitate to do what needs to be done. They took his beloved wife, his reason for living.

And now, he has a child on the way. She’s carrying his child and they’re harming her, hurting his wife and child. 

Not my family, not again.

No.

No.

No. 

This world will burn before something happens to them.

Finally, he opens his eyes, and Price is standing closer than before, his gaze fixed on the pregnancy test in Ghost's hand. His face has gone pale with realization.

“Simon?”

Simon isn’t fucking here. 

[chuusmuts]

imagine innocent!kabukimono being needy

smut(?) afab reader (mentioned of tight walls), needy kabukimono, male masturbation, corruption (kabukimono).not proofread.

you can see this as part two of kabukimono finding out you lactate (where he found out about sex/ read a book about it) or another version of innocent kabukimono going wild. kinda want to make this a series, ngl.

when he opened the door to your room, he expected you to be in your room, but he was greeted with silence. he suddenly hit the realization that you were supposedly out to buy some grocery. this scent in your room, it's your scent. he missed it so much, he missed your scent, he missed you. you were just here a few minutes ago, how could he has had miss you so bad already?

he sighed, realising you would be gone for a while. he hated when you were away, even if it was only for a little bit. he needed you here with him, always. he sat down on the floor near the door, resting his head against it. his heart raced at the thought of being alone, it reminded him when he was being thrown away. he wanted to be with you, hold you, touch you, kiss you. but most importantly, he wanted to be held by you. he didn't know what else to do but wait for you to come back home. he tried to calm himself down, he couldn't let his emotions control him.

his eyes roamed all over your room as he missed your presence, and eventually, his gaze fell on a book beside your bed. out of curiosity, he got up and took a look at the book. a book about... oral and sex? what even is that? he'd never heard of it. the cover of the book was very erotic, it's a picture of a man pounding himself into a woman's pussy. since he was an innocent puppet, he was clueless about all of this, but at the same time, he felt like getting to know about this thing called 'oral' and 'sex'.

kabukimono looked at the book with his eyes widened in confusion. he had no idea what oral and sex meant, he didn't even know what a vagina was. out of curiousity, he grabbed the book and flipped through it, feeling both intrigued and uncomfortable. he felt his face heat up as he read through the pages, it was all just too much for him to handle. he started to feel nervous, unsure of whether he should keep reading or not. nevertheless, he continued to read, trying to make sense of everything he saw and read as he was still puzzle about it.

ultimately, he stopped at a page whereas the top of it was written 'how to pleasure yourself when you're missing them'. wasn't that... what he's feeling right now? he missed you so much he felt like dying. but the question was, what's this thing called 'pleasure'? he read this thing so-called masturbation and as he read further, he began to feel a stirring in his lower region. this was all so new to him, yet he found himself wanting to learn more, his inquisitiveness got the better out of him. he had no idea where he was going with this, but he felt like he needed to do something, something toward his cock. should he follow the instructions and actually try to do it?

his hands trembled as he read the next paragraph, which explained how to perform a self-handjob. he felt his cheeks turn red as he read as he felt embarrassed and nervous. he wondered if it was normal for people to masturbate. the fact that he was reading and thinking about doing it made him feel dirty, but he wanted to know if it would really make him feel better or if it would help him forget about his loneliness. glancing down at his crotch, he saw how his cock was starting to become erect. this was all so strange and foreign to him since he'd never experienced this, but he decided to give it a shot. he took off his boxer and noticed the tip of it was already leaking with precum; a clear, colorless, viscous fluid that is emitted from the urethra of the penis during sexual arousal, was what it was written in the book. placing one hand on his cock, he gently stroked it, trying to figure out what exactly he was supposed to do.

step one, find your stroke. it said in the book, to get things started, use your hand to find a rhythm you love. and so, he continued stroking his cock in a slow pace. the longer he stroked it, the more he felt like groaning as his breathing got heavy. he must has had found the rhythm he loved. as he masturbated himself, his gaze fell on your picture that was hanging on the wall, and it only aroused him more. his heart pounded even faster as he unconsciously started to call out your name, groaning and moaning. it felt so good, so amazing that he began to visualize you were the one who was giving him the handjob. he imagined your voice, your soft touch, your gentle caresses, and the way you'd look at him with your cute and gentle smile.

the sensation was incredible, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. he felt like he was melting inside as his body shivered with pleasure. he kept stroking faster and harder, not realizing how much he was moving his hips and how loud he was becoming. the sound of his voice filled with need and desire grew louder and louder, filling the silent room. he called out your name, begging for you to return and hold him, to touch him, to make him feel good. he was lost in the moment, completely unaware of the world around him. he was only focused on the pleasure he was feeling and the fact that he needed you to be there with him.

he continued to follow the instructions as he next rubbed and squeezed his balls. they were (not) surprisingly very sensitive to him and packed with nerve endings. he rubbed them gently with one hand while the other maintained a stroke on his penis. at last, he placed the book aside when he felt he could masturbate himself without guidance.

at one point, he could barely breathe properly, and his whole body tense and started shaking. "ngh... ah... y/n..." he threw his head back and opened his mouth wide as he kept moaning, tears welling up in his eyes, feeling the urge to cum. "need you so bad... i miss y– ngh..." his bangs sticked to his forehead and his neck was shining, glistening as a bead of sweat rolled down while he speeded up the pace and kept squeezing his balls. "w– wanna fuck you... fuck..."

he could feel the muscles in his pelvis tighten and contract as he neared his climax. his cock throbbed and pulsed against his palm, the sensations growing stronger and more intense. he could feel his entire body shake as a stream of precum dripped down the length of his cock. his breathing became ragged and uneven, and his heart raced as he struggled to maintain control. he couldn't hold it in anymore, and finally, he screamed your name, his voice echoing throughout the room, his body convulsing and twitching. he came hard, his cock pulsing and spurting with a hot, sticky fluid.

the hot liquid dripped from his tip onto his thighs, pooling the sheet beneath him. the feeling of cumming was so good, but it wasn't nowhere near enough. oh, how he badly wished it was you who made him cum. he collapsed on the bed, smelling your sweet scent, and all he could think was having your tight walls around his cock as he fuck you dumb. he couldn't wait till you come back to relieve his needs.

[acapelladitty]

I need Cooper Howard leaving bruises and marks on a partner for reasons. Marking up his girl all pretty like~

Mornings Echo

Pairing: Cooper Howard/F!Reader

(tw for: rough handling, grinding, biting, threats of violence, skin marking, groping, filthy talk, mild nipple play, jealousy, possessive behaviour) [1.6k words]

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Crashing through the thin wooden door of the shed, a splintering noise squealed free of the old planks as Cooper kicked them shut with an aggressiveness that made your heart flutter. Random tools lined the wall opposite you, the wall to your back completely clear of debris, and a cheeky comment about his actions died in your throat as you quickly found yourself slammed against that same wall with a single fluid shove.

Stars dancing before your eyes as a surprised gasp fills the small area, your body remains stunned for a moment as Cooper stands before you, his hand still pressing harshly into your shoulder as he stares down at you with most of his features hidden by the shadows of his hat. You wrap a hand around his wrist, fingers clawing into the leather coat as you grip at him with equal aggression.

"Fucking ouch." You hiss, attempting to stamp at his foot with the ball of your own as petty revenge guides your movements. "The hell was that for?"

"Ain't sensible to tease a man like that." His eyes ablaze, the anger in Cooper's features is different to his usual rage as something much more muted yet complicated touches at the way his eyes narrow and his face tilts. "It'll get you into the kinda trouble I don't think you're ready to handle."

Tease?

A confused look furrows your brow.

Fresh off an exchange of caps for meds, you hadn't actively payed him enough attention during the transaction to tease him. All you had done was-

Oh.

Ah.

The trader, a lecherous old fuck with jerky fingers and a face that vaguely resembled rotten jelly, had shown an obvious interest in you that hadn't went unnoticed by yourself or, apparently, Cooper.

Never one to pass up the chance for a better deal, your rejections of his advances had been much less violent than you would have liked; but the resulting tolerance of the lingering touches he delivered with his disgusting hands has ensured an extra few capsules tossed in to the exchange.

So no, this wasn't anger that was pinning you to the wall.

This was jealousy.

"You're jealous." You accuse, never one to back down from the truth as his mouth visibly tightens in irritation at the words. "You didn't like me letting that filthy motherfucker think he had a chance! Damn, Cooper, didn't think it was that serious."

"You're free to do what you like and I don't pay your intentions no never mind. But what I can't abide is folks touching things that ain't theirs."

"I ain't anyone's." You reply, matching his tone and accented words with a mocking quality as your free hand shifts up to poke rudely at his chest. "So you can shove that possessive shit right up your ass until it comes pouring out of your jealous mouth."

He's on you in a flash, his quick movements catching you unaware as you squeak out your surprise once more. His mouth is hot against your own, forcing your lips open to claim his prize and steal a filthy kiss which he didn't deserve. A fact you make him more than aware of as you bite down on his lower lip with enough pressure to make him pull away, hissing violently and cursing you out as he does.

"You sure you ain't feral, darling? Biting like a rabid bitch? Better check to make sure."

His gloved hand forces itself within your shirt, accidentally ripping the top button free as it bounces along the floor to disappear under some dusty shelves. It does nothing to deter him though as his fingers drop enough to grope roughly at your left tit, pulling it free of your shirt as your feeble protests die in your throat - heated arousal making any denials difficult.

Fuck- you loved him like this. All business and action, decisive and determined. It was an attitude that had left you screaming louder than the wild dogs which roamed the abandoned wastelands.

Cowboy hat still lovingly perched atop his head, his face dips to your chest to replace his hand and blunted teeth roll across your nipple, the nub quickly peaking due to the cruel attention. His other hand still on your shoulder, both of your hands wrap around the back of his neck to pull him closer as he steals the breath from your throat.

Wordlessly panting, a low grunt escapes you as his teeth sink in to the flesh just to the side of your nipple - the skin there feeling sensitive and raw as he sucks it into his mouth, his intent to leave a livid mark in its wake clear. It's an uncomfortable sensation but hot as hell as you rub your thighs together, feeling the growing moisture there with a lightheaded frenzy making your thoughts fuzzy.

"Fuck, Cooper. You're gonna tear a chunk from me."

"A mighty fine idea. Maybe I will." He mutters into your breast before righting himself, looming to his full height once more. "I bet you'd taste just fine, all raw and bloody. Wouldn't even need to season you like all the others."

Grimacing at his cannibalistic tendencies, a facet of his personality that you didn't indulge in with quite as much enthusiasm, you glance down at the red mark on your chest - the imprint of his teeth visibly denting into the abused skin as Cooper continued.

"I'm sure I also saw that chunky son of a bitch eyeing up your neck so let's see if I can leave an impression there too."

Again moving too quickly for you to protest, Cooper presses his body into your own in such a way that you are utterly unable to move; trapped beneath his heated frame and the definite scent of leather and coppery blood which never seemed to leave him. He wasn't a jealous man typically but you were eager and more than interested in seeing how far this little game would go.

His roughened tongue licks across your pulse point, tasting the accrued sweat and grime which coats your skin and the wet sensation forces a shudder to run down your spine. He could say what he liked, but when it came to being a tease, he would always be the offending party. He seemed to delight in pushing your buttons with casual, lewd comments and finding particular ways of brushing his body against your own - regardless of who was around to witness it.

Tilting your neck to allow him easier access, he accepts the small boon with enthusiasm as his teeth join his tongue in marking up your skin. Soft kisses are interspersed with savage, quick snaps of his teeth and the dual sensations of pain and pleasure are almost enough to drive you insane as you writhe against him. Taking the hint, he pushes his knee between your legs and you instantly start to grind against his thigh - the stimulation enough to allow you to endure the rough treatment of your neck.

Your hand drops to his groin, cupping his hardened length through his trousers as he growls his appreciation into your skin.

"I think I like you when you're jealous." You taunt. "Maybe I should- fuck, Coop!" You cut off as he bites you once more, this time over the sensitive juncture where your neck meets the shoulder. "Maybe I should make you jealous more often."

"Dangerous game, sweetie." He rumbles in response, running his teeth along your earlobe. "I'm being Mr. Nice at the moment and marking up my property just a little bit, but there's always other ways to get the same results."

"Mmm, and what are you going to do, cowboy? Pulling at his head until he was facing you once more, the jealousy in his eyes is replaced by a burning arousal which you knew meant you were in for a solid ride. "Gonna rustle me up in that lasso of yours? Ride off with me in tow."

"Lasso's too nice for one as fiesty and spirited as you. Won't do shit. Any good rancher knows that a quick brand," his hand drops to your chest once more as his fingers poke at the sensitive mark he had suckled into the skin earlier, "would be best at reminding you who you belong to."

Already littered with scars and markings which showcased your journey through the wastelands better than any story could, the thought of a brand wasn't as off-putting as you might have thought and you rub as his cock with renewed vigour through his trousers as you give a contemplative hum.

"Sounds hot. Maybe if you're good and fuck me til I forgive that little shove into the wall," you lean into him and run your own teeth against his ear, "I'll even think about it, handsome."