#but good god this skinny little man has a HOLD on some of you

[threefeline]

[wynnyfryd]

@messessentialist told me her friend called to rant about spotting an “upsettingly beautiful boy in a tj maxx” and i vomited 1200 words about it, enjoy

—

fic idea: chrissy and eddie work together at tj maxx. one afternoon a guy comes in who’s so hot that it kinda just pisses eddie off? bc like, who does this gorgeous asshole think he is??? coming in here and popping his hip at eddie’s counter, like, does he even know how uncomfortable it is to start chubbin’ up in skinny jeans?? that shit chafes!

so eddie gets all flustered and responds by getting an attitude with the guy because he has zero chill (and also because the dude’s iced coffee is sweating a ring all over eddie’s counter, and so help him if his manager gets on his ass one more time about keeping his station tidy—)

“did you need help finding anything else today?” eddie sneers. “coasters, perhaps?”

upsettingly hot guy looks confused for a second before he follows eddie’s pointed glance at the plastic starbucks cup leaving a cold puddle on the laminate, and then he sneers right back; adjusts the ray bans nestled in his perfect honey brown hair and looks eddie up and down — long, slow, one eyebrow lifting in subtle elitist disapproval.

“what?” he snorts, “hot topic wasn’t hiring?”

oh, fuck you very much!

so eddie’s all ‘nemesis acquired’ and holds the biggest grudge of all time. makes a sworn enemy and a boogeyman out of the guy, turns him into urban legend, starts blaming the Upsettingly Beautiful Man for every little thing that goes wrong in his life — at work, at home, at band practice; no place is safe from the dreaded UBM.

“he’s not a fucking cryptid!” gareth snaps one day at rehearsal, chucking a drumstick at eddie’s head. “just track him down and bone already so you can shut the hell up!”

“wouldn’t he just talk about him more after they have sex?” jeff wonders, to which gareth narrows his eyes and raises his second drumstick as a threat.

meanwhile, eddie’s cute coworker chrissy (who he’s become surprisingly good friends with, to the point of referring to her as his work wife) gets a girlfriend. robin’s sooooo pretty, and soooo nice, and sooooo tall, eddie, did you know how tall she is?

yes, chrissy, he’s supremely aware of a stranger’s five-foot-eight-and-a-half stature now, thank you.

“you have to meet her!” chrissy gushes, bouncing up onto her toes.

eddie hangs another shirt. “you have to chill.”

“hey!” she pouts, pixar princess cute. “you wouldn’t tell the sun to dull its shine, would you?”

“i mean, i would, but i doubt the giant ball of plasma cares what i want.”

“okay, whatever, eeyore.” she rolls her eyes but she physically can’t stop beaming even as she does it, and eddie finds himself melting under it — some sort of radiant area attack coming from the apples of this girl’s cheeks, he swears, because the next thing he knows he’s agreeing to go to rando new girlfriend’s housewarming party this weekend so he can meet her properly.

only he doesn’t get to meet her properly, because when he shows up to the party the two bedroom apartment is packed with people he’s never seen, and it’s loud as fuck in here and he’s sweating through his leather from the six flights of stairs he had to climb to reach the place, so he steps through a sliding door out to the balcony and lo and behold, if it isn’t Upsettingly Beautiful Man looking upsettingly beautiful — positively fucking divine, actually, the last wisps of fuchsia sunset catching the gold streaks in his hair and dotting the tip of his flawless nose. Seriously, does this dude have any flaws? A scar, a birthmark, an unsightly ingrown hair? Eddie can’t even see a single blackhead for fuck’s sake.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer” the dude mutters, turning to look at him, and, “oh, my god, you again?”

“uh.”

“i’ve got a fucking coaster this time,” the guy says, lifting his solo cup and giving it a little shake to point out the cork round sitting underneath it, “so if that’s what you came out here to berate me for, then you’ll have to think of something else.”

“uh,” eddie says again, because he has no idea what brought this on but he’s pretty sure it has shit all to do with him, and pretty boy’s really working himself up now, arms moving in sharp gestures as he paces back and forth on the short balcony.

“not that it even matters if i didn’t have a coaster, because this is my house! i can do what i want with my own fucking stuff in my own fucking apartment, nance, i don’t— uh…”

pretty boy’s face blossoms rose petal red, a heavy blush creeping up his jawline as he catches himself mid rant and folds in on himself, crossing his arms over his chest with a sheepish expression.

eddie’s always had a thing for shepherding.

“i’m listening,” he says, popping a cigarette in his mouth and holding the pack out in offering. “if you care to vent.”

the guy — steve, eddie finds out — tells him all about his controlling ex-girlfriend as they work their way through two cigarettes each, the sun slipping away to reveal a full topaz moon, big and low and close, ripe citrus bending the branch of a tree. nance was a real piece of work by the sounds of it, and eddie feels like an absolute shit for the way he treated steve, who had apparently just gotten dumped the night before they met and had been out shopping for a “please take me back” present.

“like that was ever gonna work,” steve mumbles, ashing over the railing. “pathetic. anyway, sorry i was rude to you that day or whatever.”

“you weren’t.”

“nah, i was.” steve shifts his weight, knocks their shoulders together. “not that you didn’t deserve it.”

“yeahhhh,” eddie agrees, cringing at himself. “sorry.”

“all good. so what’s your story then, huh? who pissed in your cheerios that day?”

eddie blames the alcohol fumes wafting from steve’s cup — a justification that makes perfect sense and would totally hold up in a court of law — for what he says next.

“honestly? you.”

steve’s face is so cartoonishly offended that eddie busts out laughing, eyes crinkling, head thrown back.

“oh, so you’re just an asshole,” steve nods sagely. “first cute guy to flirt with me in six weeks is a lunatic. love that for me.”

“no, i—” eddie laughs, “okay, we’re coming back to how you think i’m cute, but i just meant, uh-”

oh, fuck it. eddie’s never been good at holding his cards close to the chest. more of a 52 pick up kinda guy, historically, and why change now?

“you were so gorgeous it, like, genuinely upset me for a second,” eddie admits, running his tongue over his lip. he stubs out his cigarette; turns to look right at steve. “like, uh, like cuteness aggression or some shit.”

steve mirrors his posture, leaning an elbow on the railing, nearly chest to chest. “so you are crazy,” he smiles.

“that’s correct.” eddie swallows.

steve moves in to close the gap. “good crazy?”

“fun crazy, so i’m told.”

“i’m gonna kiss you if that’s cool.”

“very”

the kiss tastes like ripe citrus

[darylssunshine]

Ride a Cowboy

genre: almost smut but like technically not

non-apocalypse au

can be imagined as any era!

word count: 1.4k

summary: Daryl has fun with you on a bar date.

Glasses clinking and joyous conversation filled the air of the club while you eyed Daryl down his fourth shot of vodka, barely grimacing as it went down his throat.

“How can you do that? I've only had two shots and my mouth tastes literally disgusting right now.” You chuckled at the tolerance of your boyfriend, sipping your sweet tea to get the taste out of your mouth.

“Years of practice, sweetheart.” He retorted, leaning his elbows on the bar in front of him and flicking a piece of hair out of his eyes.

Daryl had been wanting to take you on a date for a while, and it was his choice for the location this time. So, of course, you and him had ended up at a southern style club a couple miles into town. It was very old-fashioned, with all wooden furniture and brick walls, adorned with framed photos of the owners, along with iconic landmarks of the surrounding area. The lights, however, were colorful and energetic, flashing along with the beat of the music at times. The bar area took up half of the building, while the other half housed a mechanical bull that was currently inactive.

With your attire being black skinny jeans, a band tank, and a black cowboy hat you stole from Daryl, the regulars could tell that this wasn't your scene. Juxtaposed with Daryl's rugged dark red flannel that fit his biceps just right thrown over a v-neck and blue jeans, you two were a sight to see.

You were broken out of your thoughts by a man over by the bull with a microphone, his voice loud enough to be heard over Low blaring over the speakers. You snapped your head over to his direction, your boyfriend's head moving slightly slower than yours.

“Alright, y'all! Bessie over here is finally up ‘n runnin’ and ready for a ridin'! Any of you folks wanna give ‘er a ride? Show ‘er a good time?” The man in the beige cowboy hat gave a wink and a few women sitting at surrounding tables shouted and whistled.

“Oh my God, Dar, can we? Please??” You gasped, eyes gradually lighting up as you shook his bicep, signaling your excitement.

He chuckled in response. “(Y/N). Really? Ya wanna ride the bull?”

“Yeah it'll be fun!!”

A raised eyebrow was all you got in response.

“If you do it with me, I'll pay for your tab.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled lightly. He then suddenly downed his fifth shot and placed it down on the bar harshly. “Aight. Fuck it. Le’s go.”

You immediately beamed and jumped off your barstool and basically pulled Daryl off of his, stumbling slightly from inebriation and the sudden incoordination. Daryl could only kind of keep up with the pace of your speed walking.

“Us! Us! We will!” You shouted, dodging a few groups of casually dancing club goers.

“Oh, we've got some volunteers!” A few patrons that were paying attention whooped and applauded your bravery. “Step right up!” He announced, motioning to an opening in the inflatable, cushiony material that surrounded the bull to avoid injury. “You better hold on, little lady.” the announcer said quietly to you, followed by a wink. You smiled and rolled your eyes while walking across the inflatable floor to the bull.

The bull was slightly elevated, so you were having trouble mounting it, and Daryl could tell. He let you try and struggle for a few moments before lifting you by the waist and placing you on the bull, the sudden gesture causing you to giggle and grip one of the bulls ears for balance. You felt the bull jostle and then settle, signaling that Daryl had hopped on behind you. You blushed at the feeling of his hands holding your hips.

“Y’all ready?!” The announcer shouted, talking to you and Daryl, but also everyone else in the bar, including the small crowd that surrounded the bull. You grinned and gave a thumbs up in the announcer's direction. “Alright! Hold on, you two!”

The bull then whirred to life and rose a couple inches higher than it already was. You kept both hands secured to it’s ears in front of you, thanking whatever deity that was listening that Daryl had agreed to go on with you.

Then, it began to move.

Startled, you gasped and moved your hands to the handle in front of you for more balance. You slowly got used to the up and down diagonal movement, even taking one of your hands off the handle to raise it above your head, only to return it a couple seconds on a particularly deep downward slope. Meanwhile, Daryl was calm, barely reacting to the movement at all, instead choosing to keep his hands firmly planted on your waist to ensure your security. He softly chuckled in your ear at your inexperience.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure ya don’t fall off.”

You felt your blush grow impossibly bigger. What does that mean?

He started by stealing back his hat, placing it on his head and returning his hand to your shoulder and squeezing it. His hand then snaked to your throat, engulfing it with his large fingers and making your head lean back. Your eyes widened and your breath hitched.

“Dar we’re… we’re in public.”

He bit your ear lobe in retaliation. “Ya think I care?” Your airflow was then slightly restricted, and you sighed in pleasure.

“Yeah. Ya like it, ya dirty little slut.”

He then took a hold of your hair and pulled, continuing to leave your neck exposed, and cockily put the other hand in the air. Your eyes had closed and your hands had migrated to his knees.

The patrons surrounding the bull cheered and whooped at Daryl’s action, a few women squealing.

“Everyone's gonna know who ya belong to.”

Your head was then tugged to the side and his lips were hungrily latched to your neck, sucking hard and adding a good amount of teeth so that when he pulled away, there was a decent sized purple mark left in its wake, growing deeper by the minute. You let a small moan escape your lips and Daryl huffed.

He then had an idea.

The brunette let you and the crowd calm down a bit, riding the bucking bronco how it was intended. He waited until the bull moved diagonally downward, then he strategically flung himself to the front of the bull and moved his legs on top of yours, earning another cheer from the crowd. You, on the other hand, were absolutely stunned, staring at him with your mouth agape. Your heart was going a million miles a minute, and he could tell. He loved it.

“Wha’d I say, darlin’? Years of practice.”

The sporadic thrusts of the bull now had a new intensity to them, Daryl’s bulge clearly being felt through your thin jeans. You steadied yourself by gripping Daryl’s shoulders and looking at him with half-lidded, lust-filled eyes. Daryl smirked, leaned down to your ear, and grumbled, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Thought ya was worried ‘bout bein’ in public.” He bit your cartilage for extra measure and continued to smirk down at you, proud of the needy little fuck doll his actions have created.

Daryl’s lustful gaze along with the thrusts of the bull and the cheers of the bull were all too much to handle, so you shamelessly latched your lips with his with intensity, something that he gladly returned. Both of you barely even registered the roar of the crowd while your hands were tangled in his hair and his hands firmly held your torso.

Right after Daryl had drunkenly and fervently introduced tongue into the mix and was already winning the battle of dominance, an especially quick jolt of the bull had you falling off the side. You tried to stabilize yourself by gripping Daryl’s shoulders again, but that just caused him to fall as well, ironically, right on top of you.

You both gazed at each other longingly for a few moments before finally registering your surroundings. He stood up first and held out a hand to help you stand as well. The crowd was wild, some of them waving their cowboy hats in the air in excitement. Daryl snicked. He wrapped a heavy arm around your shoulders and used his other hand to take his hat off and return it to your head. Almost like he was showing off a shiny gold trophy that he had just won for his performance.

The announcer beamed. “Holy shit! We haven’t seen that level of ridin’ in a while, literally.”

Daryl looked over at you and winked.

You and him will definitely be returning soon.

[zepskies]

So, how would Ben react if he and the reader went clothes-shopping for him and he overhears the saleswomen talking to themselves about how insanely hot he was (and how they’d climb him like a tree, because hello!) While he’s flattered, he sees the reader overhearing them, and she’s visibly annoyed/upset by it? Up to you if she calls them out on it, or spirals and says nothing, or whatever!

Ooooh thank you for this request, my friend!! ❤️❤️

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female Reader Word Count: 1,100 Warnings: 18+ only! A little smutty towards the end. 😘

Imagine: Getting jealous over this man. 💚

"My clothes are fine," Ben is still insisting, even as you hold up a crisp, black buttoned-down shirt up to his chest in scrutiny.

"You need more stuff in this decade, baby," you tell him. You just think he's taking issue with you picking things out for him.

He doesn't often like to relinquish control, but he's tacitly agreed that you just have a better sense of what's fashionable now. He doesn't mind standing out, but he doesn't want to look out of place either.

And as much as he'd never admit it, he wants to look good.

So you and Ben have been at the mall browsing for the past hour. Express for Men has some interesting finds; you already have a large pile of shirts, jackets, pants, and jeans set aside for him to try on.

Ben has strong opinions, especially on pants. He blatantly refuses skinny jeans, for which you begrudgingly concede. You have to pick your battles with your boyfriend, and this one's not the hill to die on, you think.

So you put down the tight pants in favor of some tasteful dark wash jeans. He eyes this pair also with wariness. "Why the fuck do they have holes in 'em?" he asks.

You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. "They're ripped jeans."

"On purpose?" he asks.

Oh lord. "Yes, Ben. They're distressed."

"Christ on a cross, so am I. This is what goes for fashion nowadays?"

God, give me fucking strength, you think. But you still smile. "You're gonna look good, I promise you."

So Ben gathers the pile you've created for him, and with a deep sigh, he heads over to the dressing room. There are two saleswomen stationed there. One visibly breathes in at the sight of him as she subtly taps the other one on the hip. Both greet him with bright eyes and smiles. "Hi there! Need a room?" the first one asks.

"Yeah," Ben nods, and she dutifully lets him into the biggest one. It has a cushioned bench and plenty of hooks on the wall for hanging the shirts and pants.

"Need any help laying these out?" she asks. He shakes his head. "No. I'm good, sweetheart."

She giggles a bit, like he's said something funny. "Okay! Well just let me know if you need any help. Like a different size, different color, if you need a belt, or anything like that."

Ben spots her blush and can't help but smile at her indulgently. "Sure." He has no intention of taking her up on her "help," but he knows the effect he has on women. Once she leaves, he closes the dressing room door and starts trying things on.

He's surprised to find he actually likes a lot of what you picked out for him. But then his superior hearing picks up what the women out front are whispering to each other in excitement.

"Oh my God, it's a criminal offense to have that jawline," says the one who helped him. "And that beard? Cut to perfection."

Ben smirks, both in amusement and with a well of pride welling in his chest. Still got it, fuckers.

The other scoffs. "Honey, I'd climb that man like a goddamn tree."

They snicker together, trying and failing to be quiet. "He looks so familiar though, I swear to God."

"Psh. Maybe in your dreams," one teases. The other hums. "Well, he'll definitely be making an appearance tonight...maybe when I'm still awake." Ben raises a brow at that.

"Hmm, looks like he's got a girlfriend though. She picked out all that stuff for him."

He then perks up a bit at the mention of you.

"Ehh, come on. She's gotta be a sister or something. Look at her."

"Aww, don't do that. She's cute."

"Cute doesn't bag a man like that." The other one chortles in response.

Ben frowns. He knew women were petty, but this takes the fucking cake. You're a New York "10," even in your old sweatpants and a bare face.

"What-fucking-ever, bitch. I'm gonna slip him my number. See if he needs any further assistance." Cue more obnoxious giggling.

The other one chimes in. "Ooh, you're bad. But I'm here for it. Get your man, girl."

"Excuse me." Oh, shit. Ben's brows raise of their own accord. That was your voice.

"Yes," one of the saleswomen greets you more professionally.

"I just want to check on how my boyfriend's doing. He's in that room, right?" you ask. Ben hears your tone though. It's clipped, direct, and intentional. He knows then: you definitely heard those twittering broads.

"Yes, right back there," one of the women directs you.

"Thank you," you reply flatly.

Ben smirks as he hears your brusque steps approaching. He checks himself out in the mirror real quick (the white shirt and black pants are simple, but they go well with the black jacket, he thinks). Then he unlocks the door and opens it, right as you were about to knock.

You blink up at him with surprise, and the remnants of a frown.

He leans against the doorframe, looking down at you with a charming smile. "Hey there, beautiful."

Your lips start to form a smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "Hey." You take in his current outfit with interest and approval. "Ooh, I like this. You look good...how do you feel in it?"

"Good," Ben says, but his eyes are focused on you. "Come 'ere."

He takes you by surprise when his hand guides you inside the dressing room by the waist. He locks it behind you. You look up at him in askance. He grasps your chin and tilts your face up to him.

"What's the matter?" he asks knowingly.

You raise a brow at him, shaking your head. "Nothing. Come on, did you try on this other stuff?"

Ben keeps a stubborn grip on your chin, so you can't turn away from him. "Don't tell me you're letting those maneating bimbos get to you."

Your eyes go wide and you raise a finger to your lips, reminding him to keep it quiet, but he doesn't give two fucks about that. He sits down on the soft bench and pulls you down with him. You sit across his lap and give him a rueful smile, stroking his cheek.

"I'll let you in on a little secret though," Ben says. Your expression crosses between amusement and intrigue. He leans in close your ear. "Jealousy looks fucking hot on you."

You guffaw in response, playfully smacking his arm.

"Hey, easy on the jacket," he smirks, but he claims you with a kiss. His fingers go to the button on your jeans, undoing it and slowly, torturously, guiding down the zipper. You suck in a breath.

"Ben, we can't," you say. But you're already moaning softly in his ear when his thick fingers begin to rub your pussy through your underwear. You blush at the naughtiness of this, even though the thought just turns you on even more.

He soon moves your panties aside to find your wet, soft heat.

You grip his hair tight, trying to bite your lip against a gasp as his fingers enter you, and begin to pulse inside. Your lower belly coils with heat, especially when his thumb finds your clit.

"We're paying customers," he says, with a deepening smirk. "We can do whatever we damn well please."

At the moment, you find it hard to argue with his logic.

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SB Tag List:

@melancholictearz @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @tipthejar @ajjustice @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman

@mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore

@agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesdeanvessel @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @solo-pitstop-vibes @romaka344 @dope-trope-105 @liuope @beautyvaliant @xxlaynaxx @ades106 @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @tmb510 @iamsapphine @fabimaou

[cupidssorbet]

COD CHARACTER DICK ANALYSIS.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ COD Characters x Reader.

Characters Included: John Price, Ghost “Simon” Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, and John “Soap” Mactavish.

Summary: Title says it all!

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Note: This is part 1 of not sure how many but I saw these kinds of things for other characters so I’m doing it for these guys! just know more prompts will be coming as well as other things! :)

Content/Includes: In the title! PS remember that this is just what I think and everyone has different opinions!

NOT PROOFED, MAJOR MAJOR INSPO TO @arachine because their dick series is my biggest inspo for this cod one so PLEASE PLEASE go check out their blog!!

PS IM FINALLY BACK AFTER BEING BUSY FOR SO LONG AND I DO PLAN ON BETTING TO ASKS AND OTHER PROMPTS!!

Enjoy! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ ✧

Price:

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Length: 8 inches flaccid and 9 erect, NOW HERE ME OUT, he’s 6’0 from what I learned on Google and I mean, do you see and HEAR this man? He’s a captain, he’s got those mutton chops, he’s absolutely got something that slaps his thigh when he walks.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Width: He’s not skinny, and he’s not split you open girthy, it’s that good median some where between that gives you that good stretch but isn’t painful.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Color: Price isn’t PALE pale so down south he’s got a little tan to it, his tip is just a bit darker compared to his dick, like if I have to give a hexcode AND I WILL, it’s #D29A7C.

+

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Grooming/Styling: Do you see those mutton chops?? He is neat and tidy, his carpet matches the drapes in a sense of being not messy or anything just neat and all put together.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Are they curved? Any veins?: VEINS, UGH, you can’t look me in the eyes and tell me he doesn’t got a few veins along the bottom and on the side. A few thick ones that rub just right when riding him, he’s also got not majorly noticeable curve but a slight curve to it.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Favorite way to use it: He’s a giver, I saw someone say this I wholeheartedly agree, he’s a giver, he likes you riding him and taking it as you please his hands on your hips as you set your pace.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Prompt:

“There ya go, slow— Oohh— Steady there love.” He breathed out with a slight chuckle, hands finding purchase right on your hips occasionally rubbing down your thighs. “Fuck— Doesn’t matter how many times I ride you I still can’t get over the stretch.” you laughed out as you slowly sank down with his help as he breathed all kinds of praises with that smile on his face.

Eventually you were buried to the hilt deep within him, your velvet heat clutching him, “God knew you could do it— Never fail to impress darling.” Price chuckled before you redirected his hand from your hips to your stomach the slight bulge in your lower catching him off guard, the groan that emitted from his throat was down right dirty. “God damn you know just how to rile me up, I suggest you hold on huh?” He chuckled deeply.

Ghost:

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Length: 7 flaccid, 8.5 hard, he is big but he’s not BIG, you feel me? He’s got that good even, and you best believe he knows how to use it. I mean hello?? Look at him? Anyways I stand by it, 7 flaccid, 8.5 hard.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Width: He’s a buff lad because we’re taking mw2/3 ghost with those man tits and big ass arms, he’s definitely thick, split you open thick in a sense.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Color: With his mask and such I would like to say he’s pale so his dick might be slightly pale as well his tip color though would be slightly darker like, #FAC3B3 & #D69786.

+

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Grooming/Styling: See I like to believe his hair is shorttt beneath his mask so he would also keep it kinda clipped and short not exactly long or like out there, he’d had it pretty maintained like a little scruff maybe.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Are they curved? Any veins?: Two words, God yes. Curved up just slightly with veins on the underside and one on the front side.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Favorite way to use it: He seems like the rough types and if he’s busy but needs you so and he’ll face fuck you while your head under his desk.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Prompt:

His grip was tight on your hair as you allowed him to move your head back and fourth as you braced your hands on his thighs. The obscenely wet sounds of your spit & precum shined lips gliding and wrapped around his cock.

“Look at you— *fuck* — such a mess around my cock huh? Little fuckin’ cocksleeve practically.” Ghost chuckled deeply in his chest as he lowered your mouth fully down onto his length causing a little gag from you as you gripped his thighs and he relished in this groaning at the sight and sound of you gagging around him as more drool spilled from your lips.

Gaz:

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Length: 6 flaccid but 7.5 erect, he’s got that good even ground not split you open or good lord how is it gonna fit big but enough that he makes you feel that full feeling you can’t get enough of.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Width: I don’t have a specific like width length in terms of measurements but I’d like to say he’s a good neutral, gives you that good feeling when fucking you.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Color: #C98767 & #AB6F4F , it’s got a little fade to the mushroom tip, the tip just being a bit darker towards the end.

+

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Grooming/Styling: He’s groomed, his hair is short like short so I’d think he’d keep it pretty much tamed with a little curl to it.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Are they curved? Any veins?: OOOO, yeah he got veins, more like one up from the bottoms and one on the top that goes into a fork. He’s just a litttleee curved.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Favorite way to use it: I feel like he likes to take you from the back, he’s a bit of an ass man, maybe some tummy and thighs honestly.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Prompt:

“God..” Gaz huffed out as his grip on your hips tightened, his gaze trailing down to your ass and the way it bounced everywhere time he thrusted in and out of your velvet heat. He couldn’t help but land a smack to it earning a, ‘Oh!’ From you and a groan from him. “You like that huh? Go on and tell me.” Gaz managed out punctuating the words with thrusts.

Soap:

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Length: 7 flaccid, maybe 7.5 ish not too big not too small, just the right ish amount for most. Because let’s be honest Soap isn’t big or small, right smack dab in the middle.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Width: I wanna say, he’s a bit girthy though, not twig thin but maybe the same width of a banana which is usually 1.5 to 2 inches, so take that how you will.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Color: I feel he’s pale around the base and a little darker to the tip, I don’t have exact set colors for soap because I can’t pin point exactly what colors but think pale to tanner.

+

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Grooming/Styling: I feel like, just by looking at his Mohawk and facial hair look it’s like messy but it’s not overly dramatic or grown out but it isn’t quite buzzed either so like a tamed bush in a sense.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Are they curved? Any veins?: CURVED AND VEINS, he’s got a vein on the under side curved to the tip and over to the top side slightly, as for curved it curves to the left just slightly and up a teeny bit.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Favorite way to use it: He’s a thigh & tit guy in my opinion, so, I feel he looovess thigh fucking.

⋆₊˚⊹♡ Prompt:

You HAD been finishing up cleaning the dishes in your favorite PJ’s right before bed until your boyfriend came meandering out…then you found yourself on the bed, on your back, panting softly as you looked at where his cock tip poked out from between your thighs that just couldn’t keep his hands off.

“So..Fucking…Good.” Soap punctuated his words with deep thrusts, pearls of precums catching on your thighs as he thrusted.

[iamthecomet]

-strides in, fresh from the shower-

I had RainDrop thoughts while washing my hair and I must share them.

I need you to imagine Rain in, like, a very flouncy, bordering on ridiculous, but he's making it work kind of outfit, basically all dolled up and looking fierce, and then Dew dressed as well... Dew.

He's not all dressed up or trying to look a certain way, he's got a hoodie on and his comfortable sneakers, and some skinny jeans with holes in the knees, very low effort.

Now I need you to imagine Rain, in that outfit, absolutely wrecking Dew in some random bathroom, like, hauled up against the wall, having to hold onto the back of his neck and shoulders because his feet are off the ground and he's a little scared he's going to fall even though Rain is gripping him VERY tightly.

Dew can't really think about anything other than the fact that Rain looks so pretty and about how someone could walk in...

And meanwhile Rain is just thinking about how he's going to destroy Dew from the inside out for wearing that outfit, because something about seeing him dressed that way does something to him and he's not sure why.

So they're both mutually thinking about how the other looks good/cute, but the styles are completely different.

I dunno, I originally just thought about Rain in a femme traditional goth look plowing the ever-loving shit out of Dew and it just sort of stuck there.

Something, something, goths and their normie/skaterboy partners I guess.

Bonus thought; Dew unable to walk straight coming home from the bar and everyone assuming he's drunk enough to be stumbling around until someone finally asks what happened, because he makes a pained noise at some point, and he just crouches down for a minute and points at Rain, who then has to give Dew a piggyback ride out of penance for his crime.

Also one of the other ghouls razzing Dew like, "Oh, so you're on top for once now, huh?" or something like that.

-drying hair-

god GOD you're so right about them. God lamp you always bring me the BEST THINGS. I love how this feels like, inititally, that it should go the other way. That Dew should be losing his shit about Rain all dolled up--but no. NO. AND fuck does it make so much more sense for it to be Rain who's fucked up over Dew in normal clothes. Salivating over the little peaks of Dew's skin he gets from the holes in his jeans like he's a victorian era man. Watching every move Dew makes with a predatory stare, he knows what he's going to do as soon as Dew gets up and says he has to piss. Knows he'll follow him to the bathroom, crowd him against the wall before Dew has a chance to realize what's happening. He'll bite the tension from Dew's lips, whisper that it's fine. Tell him that if someone walks in that's their problem. But Rain has to have him, right now he can't take one more second of Dew's teasing. And Dew's weak the knees from all of it anyway. Just from Rain. He's so fucking pretty. So delicate. So demanding. And Dew can't do anything but bare his soft parts for Rain's tongue, and teeth, and cock. And yeah, if he limps a little, so what. It was worth it. And he doesn't get piggy back rides often--so that's a pretty sweet added bonus.

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit Part Seven on AO3

Contents

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

The alcohol is definitely making you sentimental and it's hard not to reflect on how isolated you'd been for… so many years. These old locals aren't your friends, but they're certainly friendly. You hadn't planned on putting down any roots here, but then John happened, and now Soap and maybe even Simon. The old Wild fan who you celebrate with when the muppets win. The night receptionist at the gym. You're not sure when it happened, but at some point you'd allowed yourself to become enmeshed - just a bit - in the tapestry of this town.

CW: alcohol consumption, heavy petting but no sex

The place John chooses is understated and casual, for which you're relieved. You don't mind being wined and dined but you'd dressed comfortably, with only skating in mind, so you're glad he hasn't brought you to some fancy touristy place downtown. He holds doors open for you and walks around like a peacock when his hand settles low on your back. He asks for a booth and at this point, you're not even surprised when he tucks in next to you instead of opposite, his big thigh resting warm and sturdy against your own; his elbow placed firmly on the table in front of you so you have to lean against his tricep to read the one menu he's apparently decided you'll share.

It's… nice.

You ask to see the salad section when he settles on some sloppy pile of meats, caramelized veggies, and eggs. He pulls a face at that but obliges and you decide to believe that's not somehow weight related.

"This one looks good," John comments a little too-blandly, pointing at a trough consisting of ninety percent steak and maybe a handful of arugula.

"Are you anemic? Should I be worried?"

John laughs, his arm shaking slightly against your chest. "It's actually your iron levels I'm worried about."

Ah. That's… maybe a little weird, but cute.

"I'm fine, John. Don't have much of an appetite, to be honest."

John looks a little miffed by this but doesn't comment when you ask the waitress for a simple Caesar. He gets his meat monstrosity and asks for it bloody in a voice that could charm the skin of a snake. He knows what he's doing, too, based on the entirely too innocent smile he gives the waitress as he moves onto his drink order, a strawberry shake. You can't help but laugh a little at him.

"I didn't expect you to have such a sweet tooth considering how skinny you are," you confide, a teasing smirk on your face which is immediately wiped straight off when John gives you a hurt, borderline panicked look.

"You think I'm skinny!?"

"Uh… no, like -. I mean, in shape. Fit. Sorry, no, you're definitely not skinny. That was poorly worded." You're floundering, trying desperately to fix whatever it is you'd fucked up. It had never occurred to you that someone wouldn't want to be called skinny, though it makes sense now that someone who clearly put as much work into maintaining his body would never want to be called scrawny. Christ, you'd fucked up. That's twice now. Oh god, he's never going to want to see you again. "I'm so sorry, I only meant -."

But John's peering back at you suspiciously now and it has your hands wringing. "It's okay, honey," he says after a moment, clears his throat. "I uh… lost a lot of weight over the winter. Suppose I'm a little sensitive about it, is all."

You're still a nervous wreck, doubly afraid now that you've upset him. Fucking hell, man's probably got some health issues he's getting over and you had to go and comment on his fucking body. "I'm so, so sorry, I should've thought -."

"Sweetheart, look at me. You're fine. I'm not mad."

Holy shit, he's not. He's -.

Right. This is John.

"Besides, you're right," he continues brightly, beaming at the waitress when she places the shake in front of him. "I am a little twiggy. Let's see if we can't fix that, eh?"

You're still mortified that you even commented on his body. After all the bullshit you've put up with in your life, you know better than to pull this shit. You hadn't meant it negatively, of course, but you know from first hand experience how little that matters. John looks happy enough now, but you won't soon forget how hurt he'd looked after your comment. You're still mulling over the best way to move on when he offers you a sip off his pink treat, dopey smile in place. You can't say no to that and he somehow manages to look even more pleased when you take a sip from his straw.

"So… weight loss… did you have any health scares?"

"Hm?" He jolts, eyes focused entirely on your lips. "Oh, no. Strong as a bear," he winks - weird. "Just lose my appetite under the Arizona sun. Always spend all summer trying to gain the weight back," he laughs, a little sad. "Good excuse to indulge, though."

"Well, indulge away. I do think you look good, by the way. Bet you'll look even better when you're comfortable and confident."

John smiles and kisses your forehead with slightly sticky lips. "Thanks, bunny. I think you look very good too, by the way."

He says it the same way he'd appraised the menu. "Thank you," you mutter, grateful that the waitress chooses that moment to return so he doesn't notice how much you blush from his attentions. It's still odd to you, someone as absurdly handsome as John Price being this sweet on you.

John eats like someone's coming to steal it off his plate. He remembers himself maybe midway through his burger and offers you a bite, but when you shake your head he shrugs and goes back to scarfing it like a stray dog. It's kind of impressive, honestly. More out of curiosity than any genuine hunger, you slowly and obviously grab a French fry from his plate which prompts him to grin goofily around a mouthful and spin the plate so the fries are closer to you. You'd been worried for a moment there that he may have some kind of feeder kink, but the voracity with which he's shoveling food into his own mouth combined with how he picks a singular cherry tomato off your dish has you thinking food might be more of a love language to him. That's okay. Cute. You can handle that.

John doesn't throw in the towel until his plate is completely cleared and when you see him eyeing your half full bowl you laugh and slide it his way. He laughs too, and says he'll make you something at the bar later to make up for it. You're not sure you'll take him up on that, but you won't lie that the ease with which he guarantees your next meal means a lot to you, considering how often a spoonful of peanut butter counts as dinner for you these days.

The waitress asks if you want dessert and John eyes you hopefully.

"You go right ahead, big guy, but I'm out."

With a sigh, he admits he should probably go relieve Simon and the two of you pack up without any sweets.

You follow him to the bar and he guides your Jeep back past a little awning and behind the building. He opens your door for you once you put it in park and gives you a hand down. "You can park right here anytime you need, honey," he says and you can't deny that the privacy afforded by the two surrounding walls is pretty tempting.

John takes you in through the kitchen where you find the most intimidating man you've ever seen in your life. He's muscled like a bull and taller even than John. A shock of pale blond hair; scarred, furrowed brows over dark, blank eyes; a black surgical mask and a matching baby gap t-shirt pulled taut over biceps bigger than your head. Here is a man that could make even Phil flinch just by yawning a little too hard, surely, and when he greets John, his voice is low like an oncoming bulldozer and just as deadly.

"Where the fuck 'ave you been?"

John doesn't even flinch. "Got lunch."

The blond man turns his gaze upon you for exactly forty-three seconds. Technically, his expression is completely neutral, but you can't help feeling like he's brought a pumpkin gutter to your eye socket, taken your measure by literally weighing whatever he finds in there. (Metric, of course, for accuracy's sake.)

"'Hope you 'ad fun. I fuckin' quit."

"Sure, sure," John rolls his eyes. He nods toward the front of the shop, "How's he doing?"

"Can't speak English."

"You can barely speak English, you filthy manc. How'd he do with customers?"

"Gave out 'is number three times, if that's what you're looking for in a keep."

John shrugs, "If it keeps 'em coming back."

"Gaz would've never."

"No, Gaz would've gotten theirs. He good with the till?"

"'Ardly trusted him with it, did I?"

"Christ, Simon, did you train him on anything?"

"Too busy house breaking 'im."

John snorts. "How'd he do, honest?"

"Hmph," Simon grunts.

"Hmph?" John repeats, valley girl inflection.

"Mm."

John gives you a 'holy shit, you seeing this?' look. "That good?"

"Said what I said. This the bird?" Simon nods at you, but John is hardly deterred.

"Yes. Should I extend him a year round offer, then?"

The other man's turn to ignore John: "Hi, pet. Nice to meet you."

"You're Simon, I gather?" You grit down on your resolve and extend him a hand which he gracefully doesn't crush in his calloused palm. "I believe I have you to thank for a great coffee date?"

"That's right, so if you ever want to trade up, I know plenty of things -."

But whatever he knows, you never will because John chooses that moment to get adorably jealous. "Awrigh', 'nough of tha'." His accent is thick when his hand finds your shoulder and guides you through the swing door into the front area. You pop out behind the bar, where a roguishly handsome man with a short cropped mohawk and upsettingly blue eyes is already grinning at you, probably having heard every word from the kitchen.

Sure enough, you have enough time to hear Simon warn John he was going to regret that before the mohawked man is inching closer. "Hi, bonnie," he greets you in a thick Scottish accent and you don't even have a chance to respond before John is right there, crowding you just enough to put the Scot on his back foot.

"Soap," John greets the other man, and mohawk smiles warmly at his boss, devilish eyes glinting with easy charm and just a touch of mischief.

"Price. Who's the lass?"

"Your test subject tonight. Pretend she's just a regular customer who doesn't know what she wants -." John guides you around the end of the bar to the very last stool as he speaks. "What would you start her off with?"

"Tha's easy, bonnie lass like her. Sit tight, hen." Soap (Soap?) gets to work behind the bar as John ducks back into the kitchen area for a moment. Whatever Soap's making looks simple enough, maybe four ingredients, but he makes it into an art form, coating the glass with whatever sticky syrup he's using for flavor before pouring his mix in and adding garnish. John returns wielding a laptop just in time to see Soap putting back the ingredients he'd used. Soap misses the small, pleasantly surprised look that crosses John's face, but you don't, and you understand when you take a sip; the light, citrusy flavor not at all what you'd expected when you saw him break out the thick syrup. You can't help your hum of satisfaction and Soap beams. "Good, right? Not too heavy?"

"Nope, just right. Thank you."

"Good, means you'll be able to drink all night," he winks. He turns to John, motioning to the register. "Am I…?"

"No, but you know how much that would cost?" John asks as he settles next to you and powers on his laptop.

"Sixteen ninety nine," Soap answers confidently and you nearly spit the drink back out.

But John is unaffected, sliding you the remote as he pulls up some scheduling app. "Good lad," he tells Soap and the man nods once, before getting lost on the other side of the bar, cleaning glasses.

John waits until the audience has left to sneak a sip from your drink. You raise a brow at him and he nods his approval before returning it to you. You settle on some old Quantum Leap reruns and John conveniently makes it clear exactly then that you need only say if you get bored.

You can't help but grin at him. "Unlikely. My buddy made up a hell of a drinking game for this show. Been a while since I've played it so I'll have to check the rules, but I think I can keep myself entertained for as long as this block goes."

"Drinking game for a show?" John asks, apprehensive.

"'Course, boss," Soap calls from the other end, not bothering to hide his eavesdropping. "When they, then you…" To you he adds, "Drink whenever Scott Bakula looks in a mirror?"

"That's what? One to start? We can do better." And just like that, you text a friend you hadn't been allowed to speak to in years.

You don't, so you send him the new one and within moments you're settling in to intentionally get tipsy, something you haven't done since the first time Phil laid a hand on you. There's a part of you that can't help feeling this is a bad idea, but another, much larger part of you is determined to put these fears in the past. So you share the rules with Soap and John nods approvingly when he pours himself a water to drink along with you. It's silly, and you feel a little weird drinking by yourself, but John's left hand stays rooted to your thigh, and Soap is eager to make sure you drink every time you're queued. He keeps your glass full, each drink slightly different. You comment exactly once that you don't want to mix your liquors and after that, Soap keeps you plied with the same honeyed whiskey he'd started you off with. They're all delicious, and John seems to agree if his tiny nods after each sample is any indication.

Eventually, real customers start bellying up and John sneaks back behind the bar with a kiss to your temple. By now you've switched the entertainment to the game seven you've been dreading, and the quiet old man next to you seems invested so you shoot the shit with him for a bit. Soap does well, from what you can tell. At least well enough that John feels comfortable spending much of the night in the kitchen. He pops out occasionally to offer you scraps, and check the score, says he's 'starting to get invested in these muppets.' John gloms on pretty quickly to the fact that melty cheese is your weak point, and you end up eating nearly a full dinner despite your general queasiness. The small crowd that gathers around the bar is mostly older, but they're all friendly, and the atmosphere is quiet enough that personal conversations eventually grow to include the whole group and you can't help the smile that slowly grows to overtake your face. The alcohol is definitely making you sentimental and it's hard not to reflect on how isolated you'd been for… so many years. These old locals aren't your friends, but they're certainly friendly. You hadn't planned on putting down any roots here, but then John happened, and now Soap and maybe even Simon. The old Wild fan who you celebrate with when the muppets win. The night receptionist at the gym. You're not sure when it happened, but at some point you'd allowed yourself to become enmeshed - just a bit - in the tapestry of this town. It's exactly what you said you wouldn't do, but when John subtly shakes a bottle of Advil at you from behind the kitchen saloon door, you can't bring yourself to regret it. You nod and he brings you out two along with a bottle of water. Soap switches you to ciders after that without being prompted. You're wary at first because of the sweetness, but he assures you the cider is light and crisp - that it comes from New York so you know it's good. You laugh, wondering if he knows, and take your first sip of home in years.

***

The good thing about living out of your car is you're never unprepared for anything. Before ascending to John's apartment, you stop by the Jeep to grab toiletries and pajamas. John grumbles about putting you in his clothes but you'd be mortified if you leaked on them so you make up some (not wholly untruthful) excuse about sensory issues and clothes needing to fit just right which you can see John filing away with the same seriousness he'd been using to prepare his schedule earlier. There's a nondescript door just in front of John's Suburban which he holds open for you. You lead the way up the stairs and laugh when you hear him hum appreciatively at the view it leaves him with. It turns to a squeak when he pinches just below the crease where your ass meets your thigh and then it's John's turn to laugh when the hand you reach back to stop him doesn't shove him away, simply keeps him in place. By now you've reached the landing and as John draws level with you, his heavy palm slides out and over your hip, coming to rest just a hair too low on your waistline to be decent. The landing is narrow, barely enough to fit a man as big as John, let alone your wide frame, but John doesn't seem in a hurry to open the door into his place. The only light source in the stairway is a small night light back behind John's calves and the ambient light coming through his curtained door panel. Backlit and bowed forward, John's presence is overwhelming. His scent - pine, petrichor, something personal - is inescapable and you almost wish he'd get the kiss you know is coming done and over with so you can get to finally (finally) sticking your face in his chest and just breathing.

Of course, then he does kiss you and you don't want it to end.

John's movements as he bridges the gap between you are slow and impending when he steps closer, boots heavy as one wedges its way in between your shoes. You're already impossibly close when he reels you that final inch by the grip he still has on your waist, meeting your lips with a measured duck of his head that leaves your own tilted back, neck exposed to the wide breadth of his hand which he places on the side there, cradling your jaw in such a way it keeps your head tilted exactly the way he wants you.

It's slow, sweet. Hot. John's mustache tickles but not unpleasantly - too neat and well groomed to be prickly. His lips are soft, addictive, and when he deepens the kiss, his tongue scorches across your own. He groans contentedly and somehow you know this ridiculous man is pleased with the taste of you: honeyed whiskey and sweet cider, the bits of greasy cheese he himself made for you.

He breaks off but doesn't go far, burrows his nose right under your ear and takes a deep, steadying breath. "You drive me fucking crazy, bunny. 'S this alrigh'? I can kiss you?"

"Yes," you breathe and he's immediately back on you, both hands framing your jaw now. At some point your own have found the unzipped edges of his Carhart and you try pulling him closer. You only succeed in moving yourself, however, because you'd forgotten John is built like a brick shithouse, even if he thinks he's scrawny.

He obliges you anyway, backs you up enough that you gently bump into the wall, and then your skull is cupped in a protective hand as you're pushed more insistently against it. John is a solid, burning wall at your front. Even through the layers of thermals and jackets you can feel the heat of his skin and you're torn between the desire to be naked under him, sweaty, slick, panting; and to simply see if he'd humor you by holding still long enough to be used like a heating pad.

You pant when John moves to your neck, nipping at the soft skin there until he draws a breath from you that sounds suspiciously like his name. Like this, you can see where his beanie has ridden up just slightly, exposing a bit of hair above his temple and you feel like some repressed Victorian man catching a glimpse of ankle. You're on him in a moment, sniffing his scalp like a fucking dog and you'd maybe feel a little bad about it if not for the way he groans - if not for the way his overwhelming presence makes you feel a little crazy.

"Want you," John tells the bit of décolletage he's uncovered, 'T' enunciated with teeth framing collar bone. Some harefooted intrusive thought has you wishing he'd bite down, wanting to hear it crunch under his jaw. You can feel him now, hard against your hip. He doesn't do anything with it - doesn't grind it into your flesh or bully your hands down to feel the weight of it - but it's enough to know it's there, has your grip moving under his jacket, spanning his ribs.

"John," you gasp again - pleading maybe. Perhaps a warning.

"I know, honey. I know." He sounds miserable. "Won't touch, I promise. But this is okay, right? I can -. We can -."

"Yes."

You're not sure how or when John gets the door open. There's a clatter and a lighting change you barely register from behind your closed eyes and your lifted onto a counter and that's about the hottest thing anyone's ever been able to do for you so you spread your thighs wide on instinct and John takes his reward by slotting himself in as if he bought the fucking deed. "Won't touch, sweetheart, I promise," he repeats as he shoves your coat off your shoulders and admires his handiwork. "Just want to feel you. I want -. Want to…"

Instead of running his intentions by you verbally, John drops to his knees and buries his face in the crotch of your leggings. You yip in embarrassment and try to scramble further onto the counter to get away from him but his grip on your thighs may as well be made of iron. "John, that's… I'm -."

You're interrupted by the heavy sound of his breathing as he takes a fucking whiff of your cunt.

"John!"

"Christ, bunny, I could eat your right up," John murmurs, lips still pressed against your pussy. You gape at him but the look he gives you from under his heavy brow isn't chastised at all.

He looks rabid.

You gulp and John chuckles, deep and dark. "Not gonna," he assures you yet again, but the hot streak he licks up the seam of your leggings almost has you wishing he would. "Not gonna," he says again, and you realize he's saying it for his own benefit when he stands and places a quick peck on your mons. You're briefly embarrassed by the hair he can probably feel through your thin layers, but you catch him taking another quick sniff which -.

Well, it's odd but at least it completely eliminates every ounce of self-consciousness you've ever felt about your pussy.

John groans, works his teeth against the texture he's found.

"Not gonna?" you tease him, not really at all surprised by how breathless you sound.

John huffs, hot and humid where it gets trapped in the fabric beneath his mouth. "Not tonight," he agrees.

"C'mere." You try to help his weak morals by hauling him up by the shoulder. It's a laughable attempt at best, but John doesn't laugh as he obliges.

"Shouldn't have gotten you drunk," he pouts against your lips.

"Still would've been on my period," you remind him, embarrassed as if the word shouldn't even be spoken at a time like this.

"Always did like my lamb bloody."

"John!" he laughs and you tap him lightly on the pec, which only seems to please him more.

"You won't let me play with my food, bunny?" He's looming over you now, hand resting on the counter behind you. You try to imagine him with blood - your blood - all over his face and find -,

"It's not gross?"

John's smile is wolfish and you're caught in his jaws. "No, sweetheart. One of my favorite treats."

"Oh." That's -.

Why doesn't that gross you out?

"We'll talk about it in the morning, yeah? For now, let's get you comfy and ready for bed."

He gives you one final, lingering kiss. You're not sure when he managed to pry your bag off you, but he retrieves it from the kitchen floor and guides you to his en suite. When he runs the shower, you ask if he plans on joining and the look he gives you is that of an owl spotting a field mouse.

A stupid, drunken voice in your head is starting to believe this man actually wants to eat you.

"Won't touch."

When he leaves, he doesn't close the door so neither do you.

John's body wash doesn't smell like him. It's some citrusy bergamot number, at which you are entirely pissed. Still, the water is hot and the pressure is good so you luxuriate a bit, trying to angle yourself right so that the stream can massage some of your back ache away. You had a blast today, but you'll definitely be happy just to lay down soon. You hope John's not too proper to share a bed with you as you kinda really want to be snuggled. When you exit the shower to find him sitting on his bed, staring at you unabashedly as you towel off, you're pretty sure you have your answer. You give him a little show, giggling when he grunts at the way you bend to reach your bag. Eventually you do have to shut the door on him so you can take care of some more private concerns. He's in flannel trousers and not much else when you finally emerge from the bathroom, still just sitting on the edge of the bed. You stare at him for a moment, a little timid after your show. John is solid: thick muscles cording under a thin layer of fat. You think maybe his skin looks slightly baggy on him, but it's hard to tell through the thick hair that coats him. He lets you look your fill for a moment before motioning you closer with a quick curl of his fingers. You stand between his legs and his big palm skates up over your thigh, hooking his fingers into the band of the men's boxer briefs you wear to bed from where it's visible above your sweats and snapping it lightly.

"Whose are these?"

"Mine?"

"Mm. Coulda given you a pair of mine, if you wanted."

"I can wear my own underwear, thank you," you laugh. "Wait, are you jealous?"

"Yes," John admits easily, fingers pulling at the band as if threatening to take them off.

"Of what? I bought these myself," you laugh again.

"Ah." John has the decency to look sheepish as he gently lays the band back where he found it, double rolled to keep from indenting your skin.

"You're ridiculous, you know?" His jealousy rings a tiny little alarm in the back of your mind but you choose to ignore it until you're sober and can be more reasonable.

"No argument there. Are you ready for bed now or do you want to watch something?" He looks so sweet again, big puppy dog eyes as he looks up at you. This is the man who takes you on dates and kisses your temple in public. It's hard to reconcile him with the starved animal he'd been when he'd had you laid out on his counter, but you find you definitely don't mind the duality.

"Are you up for a movie?"

He nods, "Whatever you want, honey."

"Well, what I want is a stupid kids movie, but that'll probably ruin the mood so, like… you pick."

John just smiles up at you dopily. "That sounds perfect. Anything to help me keep it PG," he winks. It's not a good joke, but he's so proud of it it's hard not to laugh. You decide on Who Framed Roger Rabbit because it's a good goddamn movie and because you don't want to subject him to anything egregiously childish. John laughs at the title and too late you realize your mistake.

"Oh, bunny, you don't think this one will be too scary for you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, fluffing a pillow a little too aggressively in his direction. He pulls it from you easily and uses it to prop himself up against the headboard a bit. The position turns his belly into a perfect pillow of your own and you dive in, kissing the ticklish hairs under your cheek just to watch his abs twitch.

"Brave rabbit. Keep testing me and Judge Doom won't be the scariest thing you see tonight."

"Why do you call me a rabbit, anyway? That a Britishism?"

"Sure."

With John's fingers in your hair and the low buzz of whiskey still in your veins, you only make it to the patty cake bit before you're dozing off.

John notices. "Am I sleeping in here tonight, bunny?" His voice is low, an earthquake at the edge of your hearing.

"God I hope so," you mumble into his belly, mortified to find a bit of drool sticking to his hair. If he notices, he doesn't say anything and you fall back asleep for a while. When the movie ends, his shifting wakes you again. You wouldn't mind except it seems the Advil from earlier has finally worn off and you're starting to get crampy. You shift, restless, but John slots himself against your back, his skin like a furnace on your achy back.

"Shh, I got you sweetheart. Go back to bed." You do, right after pulling at his arm until his broad, warm palm places a good amount of pressure right over your sensitive belly, too content to feel self conscious.

Next>>

[theflirtmeister]

Give me that dad bod adam. Pretty please with a cherry on top

sorry if u wanted porn, instead u got adam reflecting on getting older and being a dad

It takes a good ten minutes before Adam gives up and balls up his skinny jeans, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes to donate. There’s no way in hell that he will ever get back into these, not with all the diets or pound-of-flesh-traps in the world. 

He is officially too old for skinny jeans.

God. When did this happen? It feels like he blinked one day as a scrawny twenty-something, and woke up in an adult body, with wrinkles and hair growing in weird places and a shoulder that hurts in the winter. Who is that man, with laughter lines and eye creases? When did he get here? Adam never thought he’d make it past thirty.

“How is the wardrobe decluttering going?” Lawrence asks from the doorway.

He looks as handsome as ever, with hair slightly grey, which drives Adam completely crazy. Adam doesn’t know how Lawrence’s patients cope, he’d be throwing himself across the room at Dr Gordon, cancer or no cancer.

“I don’t fit into any of my clothes,” Adam says despondently, “I’m going to turn up to the new house in just my underwear.”

Lawrence steps into the room and wraps his arms around Adam, pressing a kiss to his temples. “A very nice image, however.” He says. “I’ll have to buy you a whole new wardrobe.”

“My sugar daddy,” Adam says, batting his eyelashes at Lawrence. “Can I have a pony too?”

“Whatever you want,” Lawrence promises. “I’ll even get you a Malibu Barbie.”

Adam fake gasps in delight, and they both end up snorting with laughter. Adam wriggles out of Lawrence’s grasp to pick up another shirt from the pile and hold it up against himself. It’s black, with a picture of a cat skeleton licking an ice cream that he thinks he may have shoplifted from Hot Topic. He doesn’t even know why he still has it. 

“Too short?” Adam asks, not even bothering to try it on.

“Diana seems to have cultivated a wardrobe entirely of crop tops.” Lawrence says in the voice of a man who has seen his little girl grow up before his eyes. “She’s refusing to get rid of any of them.”

“Are you scarred for life?” Adam teases, throwing the shirt onto the donate pile.

“She wants her belly button pierced.” Lawrence blurts out, sounding horrified. “Alison didn’t even blink when Diana brought it up in front of us - an actual piercing Adam.”

“She has her ears pierced,” Adam shrugs. “And I remember someone enjoying my tongue piercing when I still had it.”

“That’s different, and you know it,” Lawrence says warningly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t want her doing anything like that to her body before she’s eighteen.”

“Why are you such a square?” Adam says, nudging Lawrence’s good leg with his foot. “You’ll just make her rebel and go to some dodgy guy's basement to get it done.”

Lawrence shudders. “Is that how you got your piercings?”

“You going to judge me if I did?” Adam quirks his eyebrow.

“Yes.” Lawrence says firmly, and Adam rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a Dad.” He says, picking up another shirt to try on, this one a baby blue button-up from Target. He thinks he might have bought it for one of Lawrence’s award ceremonies - can definitely remember Lawrence tearing it off him in the cab ride home. 

“Not to burst your bubble,” Lawrence says, watching as Adam pulls off his shirt, exposing the curve of his stomach, the dark hair of his happy trail. Adam feels like he should put on a show, hum some strip-tease music. “But you are also a Dad too.”

“Step Dad.” Adam corrects, then pauses. “Fuck. I’m a stepdad.”

“A handsome one at that,” Lawrence says, not looking at Adam’s face. “Seducing all the parents at school pick up.”

Adam places his hands on his hips and studies Lawrence. Lawrence is tracking Adam’s body with his eyes, carving him up like a piece of meat. It makes the back of Adam’s neck go hot, that they’re still into each other, that they still make each other’s hearts and other organs flutter.

They’re probably going to be fucking in the nursing home, sneaking into each other’s rooms with their Zimmer frames. Diana’s going to have a nightmare on her hands, Adam thinks to himself smugly. Serves her right for all the crop tops and piercings. 

“Parents can’t keep their hands off me,” Adam says, tossing the blue shirt back onto the pile. “Especially this really hot guy, with blonde hair and a prosthetic foot.”

“Oh yeah?” Lawrence says, finally looking up at Adam. “Thinking about having an affair?”

“He has no idea what’s coming to him,” Adam smirks. He steps forward, and Lawrence spreads his legs so that Adam can fit neatly between them. “Think he can handle it?”

“He’s had some practice,” Lawrence says, hooking his thumbs into Adam’s underwear. “Spent most of his forties sleeping with the most gorgeous man in the world.”

“Is that right?” Adam runs his hands through Lawrence’s hair. “Sounds like a good time to me.”

Lawrence tugs Adam closer, pressing a kiss to his stomach. His mouth tickles, making Adam shiver, so Lawrence repeats the actions until Adam is squirming. He might be too old to ever get ID’d again, but he's not so old that he doesn’t turn into a mess when Lawrence touches him. 

“Beautiful,” Lawrence whispers against his skin. “I’m so lucky.”

“Such a fucking idiot,” Adam says fondly, ducking his head down to kiss Lawrence. “God I love you.”

He wants this, forever. He wants to be old with Lawrence, wants to see how life spills out for them. He wants to get fat with Lawrence on good food and wine, and spends hours in bed together, re-acquainting their bodies. He wants to organise their pain medication in one of those fancy boxes that have the days of the week on them, and be lectured by Lawrence when he forgets to take his tablets.

“I love you too,” Lawrence grins, and drags Adam down on top of him, both of them giggling like teenagers.

[cupidscrule]

PT ONE OF A SHORT FIC!!

Adam stanheight / reader.

Tw - eating disorder, bathroom trap.

Saw 2004

"Hey- sweetie- com'on Hun? Please you need help, we can't keep supporting you if you're just killing yourself." Your mother said to you over the phone, god you didn't care, it wasn't hurting them. All you wanted was one thing, to be a beautiful model, find love, to be loved jeez, and we all know the only way to do that is to be skinny. You were 45kg, 5'4. Yeah, most people would say you're horribly underweight, but fuck them and there stupid opinions, they didn't know you. They couldn't get a say in what shit you pulled, doesn't even matter? Who would care?

Whatever that's besides the point, you were underweight. Still starved yourself, didn't care how people felt, hell you could basically fit toddlers clothes, I mean you always wanted to get in kawaii fashion nows the perfect time. Okay okay back to the point,

You always hated yourself, ugly, pig, god those words you heard all your life. You hated yourself, your loving family, left all your friends, you were alone. Well not really, no I mean like not alone. See everything was going fantastic, i was crying on the bathroom floor like every night, when the shower curtain pulled back and a thing wearing a pig mask shoved a needle in your neck, well probably my neck

Was a bit too hazy to fully remember, so that's how we ended up here.

Little ol me, in a black room, ankle chained, smelled like shit, like actual fucking shit. Jesus, where the fuck am I.

Still haven't figured it out yet. "Hello?? Where the fuck am I??" Oh shit there's someone else here?? Too dark to notice, didn't really think to scream, y'know just in case. It was a males voice, sounded about 20-25. The details don't matter "WAIT I FOUND A LIGHT" he shouts before the bathroom lights flicker on. Jesus no wonder it smelled like shit you were actually in a bathroom, I was just joking earlier. The man was a few meters away from me, he was wearing a white shirt, weird blue button up shirt and was undone, and jeans. His ankle was also cuffed? Fuck whats going on, is this some sick prank? He had short brown hair, and looked tired. Guess you had one thing in common?

"Hey- what's your name??" I asked him with an awkward smile, y'know trying not to start CRYING. "MY NAME IS VERY FUCKING CONFUSED WHAT ABOUT YOU?" jeez, wasn't he just a ball of sunshine? "Well do you remember how you got here?" I said after a few seconds, honestly I didn't even care if he was pissed all I wanted to do was get out of here. I looked around, saw fuck all. Well besides a man in the middle of me and mystery man who killed himself. Yeesh hope it didn't get that unbearable. "Nothing. Fucking nothing. I went to bed in my shithole apartment and woke up in an actual shithole??" He says looking over at me. He looked upset, but who wouldn't if they woke up in a bathroom with your ankle cuffed to a poll. "But- what's your name." Mystery man calmly says, wow what a change in emotion. Went from crazy bitch to sweet little charmer

"The less you know about me the better. What about you?" I say rubbing my eyes, before reaching down to my foot trying to break the chain. "Adam." He says after a solid 40 seconds, god finally something useful. "Huh, well nice to meet you Adam, NOW HOW THE FUCK DID WE END UP HERE?" I gotta admit I did sound a bit angry there but fuck if I care? Seems like a life or death scenario either way. Doubt this guy cares about kindness the way he acted before, "well - nice to meet you.. Adam. Now, do you know anything? Like why we're here?" A good minute passed before I said that, I guess I did feel a bit bad. He looked over at me, looking confused but not at me? "No, I really don't but-" he says before cutting himself off "wait he has something in his hand??" Adam continued speaking, pointing at the corpses hand. Yeesh it was a tape player, what a weird thing to hold onto, it also looked like there was a gun? Well I mean kinda expected that, given the head shit wound. "Can you reach it??" I shout to him, before getting on my stomage Trying to reach for it "No- Wait - actually" he says going over to a bathtub, grabbing the drainer. Using it to grab the small player, "smart.." I said putting on a half smirk, he grabs it with his wet hands, he pulls out two tapes, one with Adam written on it, and the other with yours. He inserts the one that has his name on it and presses 'play'

"Rise and shine, Adam. You're probably wondering where you are. I'll tell you where you might be. You might be in the room that you die in. Up until now you simply sat in the shadows watching others live out their lives. But what do voyeurs see when they look into the mirror? Now, I see you as a strange mix of someone angry, yet apathetic. But mostly just pathetic. So are you going to watch yourself die today, Adam, or do something about it?" Wow, that's fucking harsh. Poor guy honestly? "Hey toss me the one with my name on it-" I say to him holding out my hands, he throws it with the tape.

" Y/n , this is your wake-up call. Every day of you've starved yourself to look hotter, you have people worried that today might be your last day alive. Now, it's your job to end someone other then yourself,  Your aim in this game is to kill Adam. You have until six on the clock to do it. There's a man in the room with you. When there's that much poison in your blood, the only thing left to do...is shoot yourself. There are ways to win this hidden all around you. Just remember, X marks the spot for the treasure. If you do not kill Adam by six, then Cathy and Paul will die, Y/n ... and I'll leave you in this room to rot. Let the game begin. Follow your heart."

"Follow your heart -?" I say under my breath, looking over to Adam who is just staring "listen.. girl- we don't have to do what it says. Okay? We can figure this out and both live-?" He says oddly calm, "it said follow your heart- and there's ways to win everywhere?" You say looking around, "you said heart?" He says looking over at you "yeah?" I reply just kinda staring, what the fuck is he doing.

He stretches over towards a toilet bowl which has a heart smudged on it, sticking his hand in the toilet "Adam- no- ew-" you say gagging looking away from him. "Fuck nothing.." he says before opening the top of the shitter,  grabbing a black bag with various things in it, "The fuck is that?" I said to him looking back at him, a big ass trash bag which he dumped on the ground as two saws fall out of it, and a little case, with unknown things in it.

Adam immediately goes to cut off the chain, unfortunately the saw flimsily breaks In half. "What the fuck??" He shouts tossing it away, "they aren't meant to cut metal. They're meant to cut off our-" I say staring at the little saw, eyes wide, who the fuck would come up with this sick game? This is torture, hell on earth. What did I do to deserve this?

[kirbudo]

Knowledge is cursed

Would it be bad to make Draco a love interest? I don't know the ages- someone tell me. Give me potential love interest.

Tagged— @peter-the-pan

A light shake was enough to wake the sleeping Weasley up, Percy lightly hit his shoulders as the weight numbed them. "You awake?" He asked gently as M/n stared at the floor before stretching a bit. "I'm awake. Sorry, Perce." He chuckles shaking his head and ruffling his hair. "No need, I know you need sleep." The two grabbed their luggage and made their way off the train. "Percy! M/n!" Ron shouted, Percy sighed bitterly at their youngest, M/n gave a soft smile as Ron ran up in his unmarked gown. "Chocolate? Or jelly beans?" He asked, holding out a half eaten frog and half full box of beans.

Percy scoffed.

Before he could belittle the youngest, M/n gratefully took the gift and ate them at a slow pace. "This is why you're so skinny." Percy scolded his eating habits, making the other lightly smile. "Ravenclaw? Aren't all Weasely's Gryffindor?" The girl spoke up and saw the red heads gathered. "Oh quiet." Ron snapped as Percy sighed and dragged M/n away. "Don't listen to her, M/n."

Despite being in Ravenclaw, M/n was left by himself. it was almost taboo for anyone to try and talk to him. He was supposed to be Gryffindor. Why was he in Ravenclaw? He ignored them all. Reading the book his father gave him with glee. It was sorting time. He put his book down and paid attention. He clapped along to each sorted wizard and witch, not wanting them to feel left out as he did. He remembers the silence.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape called out to the boy who looked up to the black dressed man. "Come." He stood and quickly followed. Whispers erupted. The two walked to the class where he taught and Snape slammed his book in front of him. "I found this in your little hideout." M/n stared at the advance potions book. "Sorry, Professor. I didn't think you would let me into your advanced classes." Silence. Oh God, he hated it.

"Incompetent. You think I'd let a student not attend because of houses?" M/n furrowed his brows before Snape snapped a look at him to keep quiet. "You're tolerable, Weasley. You aren't eager to prove yourself. You may attend my advanced classes. Now, go to your dorms immediately."

M/n stared in awe. "Professor... Thank you." He whispers and quickly runs out before curfew locks him out.

M/n sighs as he rereads the books once again, he was stuck on a potion that Snape thought he could do. It was beyond his skills and he only broke more and more cauldrons. Of course, Snape didn't mind. The teacher always seemed to favour the Ravenclaw, when asked about it he would simply glare and scoff before flicking his wand against his forehead.

The Weasley rubbed his sore forehead with a light frown before a small chuckle echoed in his space. "There you are!" "We've been looking for you!" The twins spoke as they put away the map. The two walked over to their brother and hugged each arm, peeking at his book. "You've done nothing but study!" George huffed tugging a bit. "Even Ron has been more active than you are!" Fred tugged back before a small little game insured.

"Wait, are you crying?!" The two spoke before M/n got up, leaving quickly. He quickly ignored the worried or judgemental looks before seeing the twins run after their brother. "M/n!? Fred! George!" Ron shouted seeing the three run before groaning. "What's wrong Ron?" Harry asked seeing the familiar pair and the Ravenclaw brother. "They made him cry again, everyone knows not to. He's fragile hearted and cries easily like some baby. He's supposed to be my older brother."

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other. "Ron, I don't think that's a good thing to say." Harry spoke up already telling that M/n was somewhat a black sheep or maybe he was bullied too much to where it wasn't playful anymore. "That's right! He's your older brother but he's also one of many in all advanced classes. For a Weasely that's quite an accomplishment." Hermione spoke pointedly. She turned away to walk off. "I can see why the teachers favour him more. You all are just mean and insensitive."

Ron stared confused then looked at hary who nodded. "You're all mental."

"M/n!" The two called out, despite having the map, they didn't want to use it. M/n wiped his tears away, he knew that he was picked on because of his hobbies, but why? That was something he couldn't understand. "Oh boy," a voice called out seeing the tearful look. "Did your brothers pick on you again?" Hagrid asked, handing him a handkerchief. "Yes." He spoke quietly before Hagrid huffed. "Well, come on then. Let's go drink some tea." M/n stood up and grabbed a piece of his shirt as they headed to the hut. He continued to cry, trying to wipe his tears away as they walked.

"Now, what warrants you to cry?"

Hagrid watched as the Weasley face changed into so much emotions before bursting out in quiet sobs.

"Why does... Being in Ravenclaw... Bother my family... So much?"

M/n whimpers out, the giant man's face quickly forms into a deep frown before shaking his head with a sigh.

"Why does... My mother hate it? Hate me?"

He continued to spill out everything he held in. Hagrid gave him a tight yet gentle hug while whispering that it was going to be alright. "Let it all out, bottling it out isn't good for the mind."

The twins were found hiding under Hagrid window listening. Frowning before hurriedly going away as they couldn't stand the cries.

[stitchdfox]

Eddie is on tour pt 6 - nsfw

The rest of his off day was spent thinking about the evening ahead. Steve made it easy by teasing him with more than words.

/Steve/: how would you feel about getting some pics today?

/Eddie/: Of you? 🥵 /Eddie/: any day. Any time.

The next reply was a picture. A close up of Steve’s plump pink lips. Eddie notes the two little moles on his cheek then looks down to see his thumb captured between his perfect teeth. Eddie huffs out a breath as his dick twitches. He leans on the wall outside a diner, waiting for the boys to show for lunch.

/Eddie/: you’re gonna kill me before tonight gets here.

/Steve/: 😘

Jeff and Grant dash over and squish Eddie between them. Jeff makes kissy noises by Eddie's ear and Grant lets out a fake, obnoxious moan. Eddie’s face turns as red as a tomato.

“Shut up, assholes,” Eddie pushes them.

They reel in their teasing as they perch next to him.

“Nervous?” Jeff asks.

Eddie shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.

“Little bit,” he admits.

Maybe it was a little weird he told his bandmates about Steve suggesting a more intimate phone call. But, what could he do when a text meant for Steve was accidentally sent to the group chat instead? They have teased him a little less than he expected.

Grant drops his hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Just be yourself. Have fun. Don’t get pregnant.”

“… I have ~so~ many questions,” Eddie squints.

His phone vibrates. A picture message from Steve. He pockets his phone without checking it as Gareth joins them. As they grab a booth inside Eddie’s phone vibrates again. He ignores it and watches Jeff gesture wide as he tells a story.

Another text vibrates from his pocket. Curiosity and desperation get the best of him. He has to open the messages.

He excuses himself to the restroom. It’s a single room with a lock, thank the gods. He pulls out his phone as he locks the door behind him.

/Steve/: laundry day, what can I say?

The picture to follow was the most stunning mirror selfie Eddie had ever seen. Steve had his back towards the mirror, nude, with his perfect and freckled ass framed center. His shoulders are broad and tan, his hair looked unstyled but also the sexiest bedhead he's ever seen.

“Fuck.” Eddie sigh. He reached down with his free hand and palms his dick, hard just from the sight of his man.

Another message vibrates. He's yet to reply to the string of messages from the man.

/Steve/: too much? /Steve/: I’m so sorry Eds. /Steve/: I’ll stop.

Eddie scrambles to reply with his free hand. He holds his phone up and snaps a picture of himself from a high angle his hand down the front of his jeans.

/Eddie/: don’t you dare stop.

He hits send before he can second guess the bold move. He wrestles his skinny jeans down to his knees and takes hold of himself tugging a couple time before he lets out a low moan.

His phone vibrates.

/Steve/: holy fuck. /Steve/: you’re so gorgeous like that. 🥴

Eddie chuckles at the message as another photo of Steve comes through. The Greek god of a man stands tall facing the bathroom mirror. His grip is tight around his own reddening cock.

An airy “fuck me" slips from Eddie’s lips as he throws his head back in pleasure.

Steve sends another message. It’s not a photo or text. It’s a voice note. Eddie’s eyes go wide. He clicks it as he rubs his thumb over the slit on his leaking cock.

Steve’s voice plays from his phone, air catching in his throat.

In a low voice Steve urges him on, “that feel good baby? Touching yourself thinking about me?”

Another voice message pops up.

“I am so close, thinking about your fingers roaming over my skin, exploring.” Steve shudders as the message ends.

It’s enough for Eddie to spill over his fist in bliss. Eyes rolling back into his head as he rides out the high until there’s a knock on the door.

“Eddie?” It’s Jeff.

“Y-yeah?” He croaks.

“I know you’re probably dropping a deuce but we’re waiting for you to order, man.” Jeff smacks the door.

“I’ll be right there. You know what Taco Bell does to a guy!” Eddie sighs as he slips down the wall to the floor. His phone vibrates again.

A picture from Steve. His hand splayed out over his stomach, a thick patch of hair on his chest, the splatter of his release on display.

Eddie’s face flushed pink.

/Eddie/: fuck, Steve. This was… what’s tonight gonna be like? 😳

/Steve/: you got another round in ya?

/Eddie/: let a man recharge, would ya? Lol

/Steve/: tonight it is then. 😉

Eddie pockets his phone, washes his hands, situates himself in his jeans and makes sure he looks presentable before leaving the bathroom.

An older gentleman stares at him over his reading glasses. His judgmental glare follows Eddie all the way to the table. As he sits he glances at the menu, makes a quick choice, so he can pen another text to Steve.

The server stops by their table.

/Eddie/: nothing more damning than an old man staring you down because he knows you’ve been doing impure things in a public bathroom.

He grins to himself as he taps send.

“Earth to Eddie!” Gareth snaps his fingers. The server taps a pen on her order pad. Eddie looks up at her.

“Fair maiden. I apologize for my negligence.” He flashes his cheeky grin at her. “I’d like to partake in a stack of your cinnamon roll pancakes and a side of bacon.”

He hands her the menu. She rolls her eyes with a faint smile as she walks away. The guys eye him. He shrugs.

“What?”

“You’re not as charming as you think,” Gareth snarls.

“He’s landed Steve via long distance.” Jeff shrugs as he sips his soda. “That’s something.”

“Steve hasn’t met him in person yet. Give it time.” Grant sticks his tongue out with a grin.

“I…” Eddie sighs. “I haven’t landed anyone. Like Grant said, we haven’t even met in person. I could annoy him or maybe I’ll despise him. You never know."

“Nah.” Grant elbows him. “I see the way you are when you talk about him. I haven’t seen you happy like this since Chrissy.”

The group groans.

Eddie holds up his hands. “Oh shush. I’m fine.”

Steve really has woken something deep in him, something he thought he had lost. Trust doesn’t come easy and falling for someone has been something he’s avoided since--

“Good sir.” The server was back. “Your stack of confection.”

She sits the pancakes in front of Eddie, the rest of their food follows close behind. They all dig in and cheers to the last few days of tour. This whole trip has been a whirlwind of emotions and Eddie wouldn’t change any part of it.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 7 - our boys finally have phone sex and the promise of my personal favorite kink - ✨emotional intimacy✨

My Twitter.

[bucknastysbabe]

if it isn’t done . impact play aegon if possible ? ( with him as the recipient .. love torturing that man )

YUPPPPPL the final kink bingo fill, I too, enjoy torturing the blonde bimbo. Enjoy mwah

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Incest, Age difference, AU!Vis and Daemon have a sister, incest, older woman/younger man, Aegon’s mommy issues, paddling, impact play, kink bingo, aftercare, ball smacking, fluff

A/N: I found this awesome vintage vid and had to use it…

She grinned at the spreader bar holding Aegon’s skinny ankles apart. He laid over the elongated leather stool, whimpering. His aunt laughed. She hadn’t even begun to paddle the brat yet. Aegon looked up with quivering lips, his violet doll eyes red rimmed. The older woman smirked, petting his soft cheeks. She cooed, “Will you be alright for this princeling?”

The Targaryen took after her elder brother, Viserys. Daemon could be harsh and cruel. She inherited the inclination to inflict punishment like Daemon but she loved coddling her perfect nephew so much more. Hold his shaking and battered frame while Aegon sniveled how good and perfect she was. The Princess’ actual husband preferred younger whores and ladies of the court. Deemed her too old.

Aegon said once, “He’s a fool, you’re as beautiful as ever.”

Enough of the reverie.

Aegon wanted to hurt. An outlet for his inner frustration. The elder blonde slid the paddle up his pale quivering back. She hummed, “Tell me when you’re overwhelmed. Just tap if you can’t speak. I have some wine, water, and cheese over by the window.” Aegon nodded earnestly, wiggling around like a fish. The woman couldn’t help but smile.

Aegon whispered, “No talking this time, just hit me. Mother has berated me enough.”

“Okay.”

The aunt stepped behind Aegon, placing a gentle hand on his lower back. She reared back and smacked his pale rump hard. Aegon shifted and moaned lowly, begging for more. His hard cock was trapped underneath him, probably felt good with all that squirming.

She did it again in quick succession, one paddle for each cheek. And again. And again. Aegon sobbed and stuck his ass out for more. He sniveling, “Yes- yes- hurts so good.” The princess smiled and rubbed a hand around the reddening cheeks, the prince mewling at the tenderness. She tapped his swollen balls a couple of times, earning a whorish howl.

“More, harder!,” he cried.

Hmm. He’d never asked for that before. She’d be gentle, smacking the hard wood against his sac until they tightened up and Aegon was humping the leather. He gasped out little sobs, looking a right mess, skin reddening all over from arousal. The princess thumbed around his tight pucker while laying strokes on his ass and balls. She moaned in delight when Aegon seized up, back muscles rippling as he dug his hips into the leather and wailed. The princess smacked his thighs through the brunt of the orgasm, Aegon spilling so much it dripped off the side of the stool.

He whimpered, “E-enough, oh gods, that was good, oh thank you aunt, oh you’re so kind.” The poor thing developed into overstimulated sobs, interspersed with more declarations of passion. His relative unchained the bar and sat up the limp prince, pulling him into a tight hug, hand rubbing his heaving back. Aegon wetted her braids and top, clinging on desperately.

The princess murmured, “Was that good? You were gorgeous.” Aegon croaked, “The balls, I like that,” he idly fidgeted with her blonde hair, meekly asking, “May I have some wine?” His lover smiled and stated, “I’ll be right back with the tray.” Aegon’s sulky eyes waited for her return, eagerly gulping down the red and nibbling on cheeses, hand fed by his aunt.

Aegon swallowed and pled, “Don’t leave me? You love me right?”

The elder thumbed his tears, tucking back a stray of pale hair. She promised, “Love you always, not going anywhere.” The woman sealed her declaration with a kiss, content on pampering her prince for the rest of the day. After she applied salve to his sore ass, of course.

[justonemorechapternicercy]

Merry Christmas, sweetie! Love you, @unbeknownstunknown

"Nonna's going to love you," Nico promised for what seemed like a hundred times.

"Sure," Percy nodded, not at all convinced. "Because I have such a great track record with being loved by your family members."

"You know you and Poseidon are also included in my family, right?" Nico asked lightly.

Percy deadpanned, not amused for the slightest.

"The di Angelos are awesome. They took me in when they realized I was family, they didn't mind when I told them I was a demigod as some of them are clear sighted, and they helped me deal with my trauma. They are loving and open-hearted. They will love you, if not for anything else, because I love you, but I know they will find you adorable."

For a moment, they walked in silence, before Percy sighed. "I'm just scared. It's one thing to be disliked by your father, who has more than one reason to hate me besides me being your boyfriend. But it's completely different to be disliked by people who have no preconceptions about me. What if even without the underlying issue of me being the son of my father, and constantly being disrespectful towards gods, I'm still not good enough for you?"

Nico stopped, staring at the loveliest person alive. He always knew Percy had self-esteem issues, but he didn't think-

"Percy, you are the love of my life. And I don't say that lightly. I've been in love with you ever since I first met you, and believe me, I know all about your worst qualities. I love you with those, not in spite of them. I look at you, and I see us getting old together. Nothing can make me change my mind. Not even my family."

Taking Percy's hand into his, he pressed a kiss on each knuckles. His boyfriend blushed, a small smile adorning his face.

"I love you too. Okay, let's go now. We don't want to be late!"

Nico continued holding Percy's hand as they walked up the porch of the di Angelo home. Previously, they lived in a dangerous neighborhood, in a small apartment, but Hades, in a weird show of honor (?), fatherly love (?), guilt (?), or something else, decided to pay for a new home for them in the suburbs. The fight between the Lord of the Underworld, and nonna di Angelo would be recounted by generations of di Angelos.

The door burst open before they even had a chance to knock and Nico was nearly knocked over as he was suddenly enveloped in a hug, curly white-gray hair just brushing against his cheeks.

"Niccolò! Bambino, mi sei mancato!" The woman said, and Percy was floored.

That voice… that rapid fire Italian… that petite, yet strong woman…

"Ciao, nonna," Nico replied, visibly melting into the hug. And if the grandmother was the person Percy thought it was, he wasn't surprised. Luisa San Lorenzo - nee di Angelo??? - gave the best hugs in the world. And that's saying a lot when one was the son of Sally Jackson.

The small woman stepped back to critically look over the young man, black eyes so similar to Nico's. Percy felt so foolish.

"I'm doing okay, nonna, don't worry. I took care of myself," Nico said, raising his hands to defend himself.

"You are still way too skinny. Will have to feed you," grumbled the woman, and as she took a breath to start another tirade, she noticed Percy standing awkwardly behind her 'grandson'.

Her eyes widened, a little gasp escaping from her mouth.

"Ciao, nonna," Percy repeated Nico's earlier words with a shy smile, looking down at his shoes, feeling like the young little boy he was at the last time he spoke those words.

"P-Percy… my boy," she breathed.

"Wait. You two know each other?" Nico asked in confusion, but the two of them ignored him.

"Come here, my boy!" She opened her arms, and Percy almost threw himself into her hug that he misses so much. "I was so worried when your mother got kidnapped and you went missing. That disgustoso maiale just kept inviting over reporters and bimbos, not caring about you at all, and then suddenly you two got home, and he disappeared, and you disappeared…" her Italian accent became stronger and stronger the longer she talked, and it was almost too fast to follow her.

"I missed you too, nonna Luisa," he confessed. She got quiet and her hug became almost crushing. "We got better. We moved out. My mom became a writer, she has a much better husband now, and I have an adorable little sister. I'll have to introduce you to Estelle. The next time-" Percy stopped. Was he being too presumptuous?

"The next time you two visit us, bring her. And that mother of yours. I might not agree with her about some things, but you grew up into a lovely young man, so I can't stay angry at her forever, can I?"

The relief Percy felt at her words brought tears in his eyes. He quickly blinked them away, but the feeling remained. He loved her so much.

"How are you? And Gianna? The little ones?"

"Oh!" Luisa blinked. "Come in! I'm a terrible host. Sul serio, Luisa, dimenticandoti così…"

"Percy?" Nico asked again as they walked inside, following the whirlwind of a woman.

"You remember when I told you about the family I spent time with when my mom was working and Smelly Gabe was… one of his moods?"

Nico nodded, then the realization drowned on him. "They were-?"

"Yes."

"Oh wow!"

"Whoo!" A girl yelled, and before they could realize what was happening, she threw herself at Nico.

"Wha-?" He asked, staggering backwards a few steps, suddenly finding himself with an armful of brunette teenager.

"You visited us such a long time ago!" She pouted, and opened her mouth to say something else, when she notices Percy.

"B-big brother?" She stammered.

"How's my little Star?" He asked, opening his arms. She jumped off of Nico just to throw herself into Percy's waiting arms.

"Percy! It is you!" She exclaimed excitedly. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Stella. Now, come, let's sit down and then you can tell me everything about what happened to you."

"Nico!" A door slammed, and little feet slapped on the wood.

"That would be Elli," Stella said. "They are my cousin, and they adore Nico."

A little kid around six years tan towards Nico.

"Il mio Sole," Nico shouted, lifting then up to make them fly.

Percy ached.

"Ugh," Stella mimed to be sick. "You are disgusting," she drawled as her eyes jumped from Percy to Nico and back. "It's kinda cute, but don't tell anybody I said that."

"I just… he is just so good with kids," Percy sighed like a besotted fool, as Nico listened to the little kid's tale on how they lost their teeth.

"Who are you?" Came the suspicious voice from Elli.

Nico smiled, turning them around to introduce them each other. "He is Percy, my boyfriend."

"You like Nico?" They asked, studying Percy who felt like he was under the microscope. It was a weird feeling to be intimidated by a little kid, but these di Angelos all had the ability to turn his life upside down.

"I do," Percy said seriously.

They narrowed their eyes. "We'll see," they said, the finished telling their story.

Stella laughed at Percy's face, and even Nico smiled mischievously.

-

As the night went on, they all became more and more comfortable, swapping stories and having a good time. They met with new and old friends, played boardgames, joked around and felt like a family. Elli still tried to intimidate him, but it was more adorable than scary, so Percy wasn't that worried. Nonna, on the other hand… she was a force to be reckoned with. When she realized Percy was a demigod too, and that even after all these years, the gods still depended on them, she became scarier than anything they faced before. It was a nice thought that she was angry for them, not at them.

"Visit us more, okay? Don't be strangers!" Luisa said when it was time to part.

"We will," Nico promised, and they left with a smile on their faces.

[forrestfanfics]

So This is Love || Civil War 13: “Self-Cooking Hot Dogs”

“So This is Love” Masterlist

Previous Chapter  ||   Next Chapter (Coming Soon)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Captain America: Civil War

"To generate, disseminate and preserve knowledge. And work with others to bring it to bear on the world's great challenges..."

The sparkle in my eyes couldn't be more apparent as I recited the statement alongside the mass group of students and professors in the auditorium.

I stood backstage, watching through the small gap in the curtains, as I wasn't allowed to show my face to anyone besides the select staff members.

"Well, you are the others. And quiet as it's kept, the challenges facing you are the greatest man kind had ever known." My dad was standing dead centre of the stage, giving his speech, where each word was provided by a teleprompter only visible to himself.

MIT... My dream.

I would've been in my third year there if I hadn't struggled so hard with Aeronautics.

But I'd be starting my first year in September and with the exhausting amount of preparation my dad put me through the past year, I passed the test with flying colours...

"Plus, most of you are broke."

Laughter came from the crowd.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Rather, you were."

Okay, well. Exhausting preparation and a comically large hypothetical check.

"As of this moment... Every student has been made an equal recipient of the inaugural September Foundation Grant. As in..." Pause for dramatic effect...

"All of your projects have just been approved and funded."

A round of applause from the students.

"Absurd."

I turned to the man who spoke next to me. A tall, skinny man in a black turtleneck with the ugliest, nastiest look on his face directed at the back of my father's head.

"Dude, you're kinda ruining my vibe here-"

"This was mine. All my hard work. And he makes a fool out of me. How can he stand there without a care in the world like he hadn't just taken credit for and mocked my life's work in front of all these people? BARF? Look at him! A pathetic man like him shouldn't take geniuses like me for granted," he spat every word like it was poison.

"You work for my dad?" I asked monotonously.

The scowl on his face disappeared when he looked at me with a bit of shock. "You're Y/N Stark?" He asked so casually. As if he wasn't just insulting my father to my face. "My name is Quentin B-"

"Yeah... I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to talk to strangers. Especially those who talk shit about my dad and his work," I waved my hands up in defence, turning to walk away when his hand got hold of my forearm. My head snapped back at him, chills running up my spine as the hairs on my arm stood up from the strange fear I suddenly felt around this man.

"You think you can help me out?" He asked like he wasn't just insulting my father a second ago.

"What?" I scrunched my nose, attempting to pull my arm away, but his grip was iron and my wrist was starting to ache.

"Put in a good word? Convince him my project is worth the care? Convince him to reimagine its purpose in the way I intended it! And for God's sake, give me the credit I deserve!"

"Please, let go of me," I said, trying to sound calm when in reality everything about this screamed danger.

"He'll listen to you. You're his little girl. He'll do it."

"Please stop!" I finally managed to claw his hand off of my arm and shove him back. "Don't ever come near me again," I warned with a shaky voice.

Before he could call out to me, I booked it, rounding the back of the stage to the other end just in time to see my dad being bombarded by the Dean rambling.

I took a moment to hold my hand over my chest, breathing heavily and shakily as I gently rubbed the part of my wrist he held.

Whoever the hell that psycho was, I hoped what he said wasn't true.

From what I was aware, that project was meant to act as some kind of therapy for my dad.

The idea of him stealing some guy's idea and passing it off as his own made me sick to my stomach.

I thought back to when he was first showing it to me. It was his way of introducing me to my late grandparents.

"They would've loved you," I remember him saying.

Sick. Absolutely sick. I refused to believe it. Why should I? He could've been lying to get me to talk about him with Tony Stark. That guy probably didn't even work for him.

My intrusive, distressing thoughts came to an end when I heard the conversation between my dad and the Dean.

Well, the one-sided conversation the bald guy was having with Tony.

"Hear me out, I got this killer idea for a self-cooking hot dog-"

My dad's eyes landed on my approaching figure and got hold of me, only to push me between him and the blabbermouth.

I took the hint and pulled the Dean aside while my dad spoke to another staff member.

"We'll catch up later!" He said to Tony as I dragged him away.

"Hi, my name is Y/N Stark. Tony's daughter. It's very nice to meet you, sir. Say, what's this about a self-cooking hot dog? Maybe I could pitch it to the old man," I gave my best fake smile and the most chipper attitude I could muster as the guy in front of me beamed.

"Oh, why, it's very nice to meet you, Miss Stark. As you're aware, I'm the Dean around here. I actually have a lot of questions. Like, why were you hidden away for 15 years? Do you know what a pedicab is? Because let me tell you, I know a great guy who can hook you up, and maybe I could-"

"Get on with it," I shook my head when I realised my dad was already gone.

"Right. Hot dog. Basically a chemical detonator embedded-"

"Say, why don't you e-mail me, huh? Here's my card," I smiled even wider, plucking out the random business card I grabbed in the lobby and placing it face-down in the palm of his hand.

"Oh, wow! You just gave me your number. There are so many things I want to discuss with you and your dear old dad."

"Yeah, yeah. I gotta go," I jerked back, going to move when I noticed something and stopped myself. "You look very familiar." I pointed out.

"How so?" He asked, tilting his chin up to the side.

"Probably just look like some character... I watch way too much TV," I shrugged and left to go after my dad.

"Wait! Which chara- Miss Stark! Which character?!"

●    ◉    ◎    ◈    ◎    ◉    ●

"Dad!" He was standing in front of an elevator down the hall when I found him. There was a woman who eyed me before saying something to my father and walking away.

"Hey," I greeted as I approached. "Oh my God, who was that guy?" I chuckled. "I know you don't want me throwing around my name like that to just anyone, but I'm really reconsidering that self-cooking Hot dog idea. Sounds like a million dollar investment."

The smile on my face faded when I noticed the dread on my dad's face.

"What happened? Who was the lady?" I asked, glancing down the hall to where the lady disappeared.

He seemed to be deep in his thoughts. But his face only showed horror the longer he looked at me.

"What?" I asked before I was abruptly brought into an embrace.

"I love you," he whispered into the top of my head, planting a kiss in the same spot.

The sudden impetuous affection ceased my working mind, clearing my head of any thoughts as I tried to digest the action.

Whatever he was talking about with that lady made me wonder what exactly was going through his head at that moment.

I decided against trying to come up with an answer for receiving unprompted affection from my dad, and wrapped my arms around him.

"I love you too, Dad."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[melissa-titanium]

SCUG HEAD CANOSN jsutbecause iknow ill never draw them all

(warnijng. LONG ASS POST)

FOR 1. SIZE CHART BABY

monk < survivor < arti = rivulet < spearmaster = saint < hunter = gourmand!

survivor: a little on the skinny side, inbetween artificer and monk. albino i think :) if not then has sort of snow leopard patterning. small eyes, taking after their mama (i . headcanon gourmand is monk and survivors parent if this is dis proven by canon im So sorry i havent finished the game yet)) triangle shapes mostly. quiet and cautious (they used to be curious, but the world didnt allow that) and always tense, prepared for a fight. desperate to find monk :(. journey < destination. glass half empty

monk: takes more after gourmand! orange tabby coloration (+ karma flower marking on back) if that makes sense. big round eyes (sort of like how scavs with big eyes r usually friendlier) and significantly healtheri than survivor ! (i think slugcats r sort of like seals, they hv a ton of bodyweight. though they can vary, gourmand is like a little over average scug size) circular mostly (round ears, round eyes, round body etc) kind and curious, sees good in the world but above all wants to find survivor. journey > destination. glass half full.

hunter: very big slugcat, almost unnaturally so. a little skinny cause having the rot is no good for your health :( i dont have many headcanosn for hunter but ithink they have poor sight , completely blind in their canonically scarred eye which i think it was overtaken by the rot. the reason they can hold spears isbecause they have tendrils of the rot growing out of their back and wrap the spears around if that makes sense. square shapes mostly. a bit stocky, more muscle than fat. quiet, stern, and rarely takes risks. a bit lethargic from the rot eating away at them. journey < destination. glass half full

gourmand: THE best rainworld character *THE BEST* i think aboutthem alll the time ohohoo o RUBS CLAWS TOGETHER IGOT A TON OF SHIT. ok ok so basically they r THE ultimate slugcat . u guys know that one post about gourmand having the power to throw spears with the strength of a missile being shot. i cant remember if that was the exact wording but YEAH that was my exact idea of them they are incredibly inventive and smart and STRONG AS FUCK. they throw spears with *three times damage* than the average amount and that s FUCKING insane they kill so many creatures in literally one single hit man you cannot tell me that isnt Ridiculous. like no wonder they get exhausted after that?? god DAMN??? i straight up forgot what i was writing about in this post ilove gourmand too much OH RIGHT HEADCANONS . well for one they r surv and monks parent . due to ahving explored pretty much every corner of the region, they know a significant amount of rain world's history, just by piecing it together themself! very wise, emotionally. very strong morals and very strong will! they are surprisingly humble despite their incredible feats, but arent afraid to show confidence when needed. they are a friendleader forreal, they definitely know every slugcat in their colony by heart and are always there to cheer you up when u r feeling downl. good slug,best friend. knows a TON about fighting, very good at paw 2 paw combat i bet theyd spar with the little ones for fun sometimes :). already mentioned this but they r very kind and generous To a fault. a very competent leader but they do tend to take on too many responsibilities! i think they maybe stopped doing this when idk one day a scug in the colony saw them pass out from overexerting themself or some shit and then everyone started to pitch in after that. they are very grateful and a little embarazed. also when they lost monk and survivor i think the whole colony stepped up for a while to help while they were grieving (dunno if they were in the colony while losing monk and survivor, maybe losing them was what motivated them to keep pups safe IDK bare with me)) i think theyd be the eldest or second eldest of all the slugcats . they try to be fun with kids and are INCREDIBLY protective, letting no threat get within 100 feet of someone they wish to protect. they have been EVERYWHERE imean fucking everywhere. almost photographic memory, stores so much knowledge in that jineeeeeeourmos brain of theirs. boisterous/charismatic, welcoming, kind, and above all (despite the odds!), very happy with life :) mostly square shapes but theres some circles thrown in. . journey >>> destination. glass half full

love this thang. the spug.

*ok* holy shit i got off track. anyways

artificer: surprisingly, an incredibly small slugcat. just over the average juvenile size (a little bit bigger than survivor, and smaller than pretty much everyone else.) incredibly thin. before losing their pups, they were significantly healthier and just generally happier. i think they always had their xsplodey shit but it was more like a snail, a loud pop of noise used by detonating their explosion fluid stuff to startle predators if that makes sense? but then after losing their pups and doing nothing but KILLING KILLING KILLING KILLING scavengers for cycles upon cycles, they neglected caring for themself - including eating. eventually, they became near spearmaster in size & were able to propel themself into the air with the blasts due to their near-nothing weight. most scugs groom themselves as to not have their short fur become overgrown and tangle, but due to artificer's l;ack of nutrients they probably dont have their fur grow alot (does that correlate? idk if eating -> fur growth BARE WITH ME) BUT. they have it grown just enough to tie spears to their back with it. its matted and tangled and is rock solid when you touch it. OH ALSO before losing their pups, they had light brown fur! but then it stained permanently with scavenger blood :) atleast in my hc haha. ALSO their scar isnt just over their eye it covers about half of the left side of their body, renderng them entirely blind and deaf in their left eye and ear. partially deaf in their right ear from all the EXPLOSIONS they hear all the time. covered and imeanCOV;ERED in scars, moreso than hunter. unhinged fucking CRAZYYYY other slugcats are scared shitless of them bt they have a soft spot for slugpups so they would hypothetically always try to remain semi-not-deranged when around one But they havnt met any without guardians yet bc i know theyd drop everything and adopt them (or maybe not, in fear of having past events repeat?). square and triangle shapes. journey <<< destination. glass half empty.

rivulet: :) FISH . GUB GUB GBU i think out of all the slugcats i know the least about them BUT i love them all the same :) they r the MOST fun ever to play as! they strongly resemble a seal! their ears r almost nonexistent + they hv very short limbs and loooong whiskers. fat as FUCK (normal slug size) and incredibly fast they dart around like a bullet! actually pretty big, a little bit shorter than spearmaster (who is around saints size and a little shorter than gourman) big round fucking eyes and Surprisingly super quiet? usually just Stares......they radiate such a jittery energy youd think theyd talk alot (if scugs could talk) but no not really :) my cat is drooling on my arm thought id let you guys know . OK back to this ! very helpful and outgoing, a *little* nosy but out of genuine curiosity, always up to the task no matter how daunting. charming in their sillyfunny gooberific way. im sorry i dont have a whole lot here i wish i knew more about them :(( mostly circular shapes with some triangles. journey = destination. glass half full

spearmaster: very tall and VERY thin slugcat. pretty much all of their bodyweight is stored in their tail and you can. imagine how that i;s ! a bit lethargic from prety much having NO nutrients at all.. but to make up for it theyre pretty speedy and flexible as hell, they can bend their bones pretty much to fit into small spaces. also INSANE reflexes. pretty plain everywhere except their tail, you can very much tell they were Created. i think they are a bit irritable, but otherwise peaceful. tends to have tunnel vision when they are tasked with something to do, and are always wiling to help (i think most purposed creatures share this trait) they are pretty smart but have really bad memory i think. ALL triangles. journey < destination. glass is filled with water, what else are they supposed to think?

saint: second tallest (only a LITTLE taller than spearmaster). fluffy, curly, braided-in-some-parts fur. they have a faaaabulous mustache and FAAAABULOUS eye lashes. pretty thin, surviving as a vegan in a snow-covered world is difficult. their tongue works more like a chameleon tongue ithink ifthat makes sense? like they cant control it it just FWIP flashes out and sticks to stuff with barbs on the end. i do not know NEARLY enough about saint to say a single thing about them But ilove them theyre awesome. composed of pretty much all the shapes, maybe some diamonds in there too though. geometrical lookingikd ifthat maekssen8JURDTHJURDTIH. completely neutral on journey/destination and completely neutral on glass half full/empty.

also, . consi;der. ., arti <3< saint. if you know you KNo;W;98JRSEY9J8SH5E

[em-williams]

good omens rants I sent to my friend at 1am pt. 2

Frick it. It's 11pm and I'm going to ruin your morning.

Had Crowley just said I love you or I need you, Aziraphale would have stayed. I also would like to point out that that bitchy little angel truly did want to kiss Crowley. So much so that in "every" he holds Crowley. He grabs his skinny little man waist and holds him. He wants Crowley to stay with him. Not the earth, not heaven, with him. Aziraphale also just really for some God forbidden reason just wants to go back to a toxic work environment. It's the whole reason why they have this moment of "bich run to me I need you or I'm going to give it up." Aziraphale doesn't see this as a good bye or I might not ever see you again. He sees it as I'm going to fix heaven and he will come back to me. Crowley doesn't see this. he sees it as the management of heaven taking the one thing he cares about away from him. For Crowley this is goodbye. Unless we start the coffee theory then something has to be missing. You don't just kiss your not husband who you loved for the past 6000 years and embrace him with all your love then leave him for your toxic work. Crowley sees this and begs him to stay. Now, It might sound like I'm going off track but no.

Aziraphale is going back to heaven because he feels as if he has failed in every aspect as an angel. If he learns how to be a proper angel like he was supposed to Crowley might have followed him is what he is thinking. He believes he is doing this all for Crowley he wants to believe he is bettering himself and heaven for Crowley so that Crowley will run back to aziraphale. This whole season was about Aziraphale not obaying the rules of an angel.(lieing, failing to save someone, glutany, disobaying direct orders. Losing his loved one) This is going to be the braking point for Aziraphale once he realizes Crowley wanted him to stay. He just wanted him. This is going to be the driving force behind season 3.

Have fun digesting this.