#like.. why can.. THEY wear.. but not.. uh.. ME

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 8

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Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn’t go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: have a great friday, dudes.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Maris Street. You rarely go that way. It’s near the core of the town, closer to the west end where green hedges and white picket fences cordon off the suburban elite from the commoners like you. It suits him, doesn’t it? You assume this is what he’s used to. 

The venom roils in your gut as you approach Oxford Drive. You stop before the sleek grey exterior. The black trims and large golden moniker in all caps add to the extravagant effect. Flowers boxes stand outside the windows that glow amber with rich ambience from within. The nicest place you ever went was the Korean Barbecue your dorm mate dragged you to; this is well beyond that. 

You take a breath and look down at yourself. You’re still wearing the black jeans and plain tee you sport for your job. Former job. Your beat-up sneakers perfectly match your thrifted aesthetic and the purse strap twisted around your hand and wrist frays as if to assure everyone that you don’t belong. 

You go to the front door and pull it open. You step inside to the low drone of stringy music and the subtle clink of glasses amid the low murmur of voices. You chew your lip as you approach the tall round desk where the hostess stands over the open reservation book, like some mystical keeper of scrolls. How very Skyrim of her. 

She gives you a look, one you expect. You sniff and cross your arms, the strap of your purse further straining your circulation. You exhale and peek over at the dining room. 

“Hi, I um...” your cheeks pinch as you find it difficult to speak. “I’m meeting someone.” 

“You are?" Her skepticism drips from her voice, “are you certain they’re... here?” 

“Yeah. I don’t know if he made a reservation or whatever. Obviously, I’m not a regular,” you snipe back. You’re too exasperated to hold back. You don’t need her judging you too. “Older, beard, uh, tall... Andy Barber. Is he in the book?” 

She flutters her pretty lashes and looks down. You watch her. She’s a few years older than you. Tall, balayaged hair, slender, perfectly bowed lips. What about her? Or someone like her? Why wouldn’t he want that instead? Why is he bothering you? 

“Barber,” she nods, “yes, he’s here.” 

She seems surprised by that. She steps out from behind the desk and tells you to follow. You obey. You have to. This is all just pulling teeth. He has you toothless already. 

You keep your head down as you trail behind her. You only look up as you sense a figure on the other side of her. Andy stands as you approach and you nearly choke. You want so bad to just turn around and run away. 

A line deepens in his forehead and disappears. He smiles as the hostess waves you forward. He comes around to pull out the other chair before you can. You retract your arm and barely withhold your frustration. Can’t he understand you want nothing from him? 

You sit stiff and fix your bag in your lap, slowly unwinding the strap from your wrist. The hostess promises a server will be with you soon and struts away. You stare at the table cloth and as Andy sits, darkening the edge of your vision, you turn to glare at the far wall. 

You feel even more demeaned sitting there in your jeans in tea among the crystal and tall-stemmed lilies. The tinkle of the soft woodwind music makes your head buzz yet the smell of the food teases your empty stomach. Your eyes drift to a group of older women, laughing over wine, a symbol of what you’ll never be. Happy. Free. 

“Thanks for meeting me. I guess you’ve never been here before,” Andy begins. 

You shake your head and flick your eyes to the ceiling. You grit down on his words. Why is he acting like this is normal? 

“Nice place, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” you snap and look at him directly, nearly growling in his face, “very nice. Upscale. Well above me.” 

You cross your arms and sit back, your purse strap still loosely clinging to your wrist. His chest rises and he exhales through his nose. He leans forward and his cheek ticks. 

“I brought you here for dinner, so we could talk, get to know each other--” 

“That’s not what I’m here for,” you insist, almost teary-eyed from your rage. You don’t like being angry. You’ve never been very good at and more times, you end up blubbering. “Kara, my friend--” 

He tilts his chin up and sets his gaze firmly on you, “we’ll get to that.” 

“No, now,” you hiss. 

He huffs through his nose. He looks around, silently chewing his agitation. He sits up and replaces that manufactured smile as a server approaches. 

“Good evening, can I get you started with drinks?” He asks, his dark shirt finely pressed and buttoned to the very top. 

“No thank--” you begin. 

“We’ll take a bottle of cabernet,” Andy interjects, “for the table. Oh, and could we get some fresh bread. This has been sitting out.” 

The server acquiesces and takes the basket as Andy hands over the wine menu. You barely keep from rolling your eyes. You’re not here to eat and drink and be merry. Kara is quite possibly behind bars. 

You glare at him and wait. The server leaves as you keep your arms folded, fingers clamped tightly. He looks at you as if there’s nothing wrong. As if this is all normal. 

“I want to know what’s going to happen to Kara. You said you can help--” 

“I can,” he says casually, “so let’s have a nice dinner and then I’ll do just that.” 

“But she’s--” 

“They’ll have her in holding, question her, then they’ll have to figure out charges, yada, yada,” he explains, “don’t worry, I’ll give them a call after, tell them my client is invoking her right to an attorney.” 

Your chest thumps and your ears ring. He’s so confident. He already knows you can’t say no. Not to him or this dinner. You have to sit there and celebrate his victory that came with your defeat. It’s not right. It’s... it’s... deranged. 

“Why?” You croak. 

“Why?” He shakes his head. 

“Why are you doing this? Why me? Why not someone... someone you can relate to? Someone your age?” 

“Why you? You’re perfect, sweetheart. Perfect for me,” he coos, “come on, we get along. We did. I know I messed things up but it can’t change that we had fun. We did, didn’t we?” 

You swallow and shrug. Those nights you stayed up and mined or raced or whatever, they were fun, they were nights you look forward to. But every single one was a lie. 

“Sure, but... what if I’d lied to you? What if I wasn’t me? What if I was some guy in a basement--” 

“You weren’t.” 

“But what if--” 

“I know you weren’t.” 

“How could you know--” 

“I just did. You’re so genuine, so... kind, that can’t be fake,” he insists. 

You sink down, slumping your shoulders, and look away. What can you do? You’re exactly where you never wanted to be. With less options. With none. 

“What do you want from me?” Your dry mouth crackles around your words. 

He’s quiet as the server returns. He sits back and you lift your chin as you watch the server uncork the bottle. He pours the wine and Andy asks for a few more minutes with the menu. Again, you have no appetite. 

When you’re alone again, Andy takes a breath and shifts in his chair. He brings his hands together, pinching his left ring finger as if he’s missing something. He quickly pulls his hands apart. 

“You. That’s all I want,” he breathes. 

You stare at him. You don’t understand. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to. If you keep denying it, it might not be the very idea that makes your skin crawl. 

He reaches for his glass of wine and holds it out. You stare at it, then look him in the face. You can’t wipe the horror from your face. 

“Cheers to us, sweetheart,” he says, “me and you.” 

You shake your head as he waits. Slowly you take the glass before you and raise it. He clinks the crystal between you. 

“It’s the first day of the rest of our lives,” he declares, “we can both build the home we always wanted. Together.” 

🎮

Andy pays the bill as you wallow in futility. This is it. Your life is over. All because of one mistake. All because you trusted the wrong person. 

He stands first and you follow. He grabs the to-go box of the food you barely touched. You’re in such a fog, you can barely think. He gestures you towards the door as he nudges you with the box. You hug your purse to your stomach and walk between the tables. 

The cool night air wakes you up. As you come to the sidewalk, you stop. You turn back to him and wet your mouth, a hint of wine on your tongue. 

“Call. Right now,” your voice shakes. 

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” He inclines his head as if he doesn’t understand. 

“The police. Call. You said you would help Kara,” you insist. 

His brow arches and he nods. He holds out the container and you take it stiffly, letting your purse dangle from your shoulder. He pulls out his phone as he stares at you. Finally, he looks down and scrolls. He clears his throat before he puts it to his ear. 

“Hi, yes, this is Andy Barber, I’m an attorney for a woman in your custody. Yes, I do.” You listen to the piecemeal conversation, “name is Kara Orascio. Yes, she won’t be talking to the police any longer. That’s correct.” He pauses and listens intently, “I’m out of town but I can be there tomorrow. Sure.” 

He hangs up as his eyes cling to you still.  

“So, looks like we need to pack,” he says. 

“What?” You utter. 

“Don’t you want to see your friend?” He challenges. 

“Well, yes, but I thought you--” 

“I’m not coming back here again. So, you’re coming. We’ll deal with your friend’s charges then we’ll go home.” 

You blink, “home?” 

“Sure, sweetheart, I got it all ready for you,” he turns down the sidewalk and takes your hand. 

You have the urge to rip your hand out of his. You want to tell him not to touch you. You want to scream and run away. You don’t because you want to save Kara more. 

“I meant what I said before. I can get you into school down there,” he guides you along, “you’ll like it. It's close to Boston. Place called Nelson. You ever been to Massachusetts?” 

“Hm, no, didn’t travel much.” 

“That’s okay. We can do some of that too. Still got lots of summer left. We could go somewhere sunny,” he drawls, “you know, it gets gloomy in the fall so we may as well enjoy it while we can.” 

“Sure,” you murmur. 

Your feet are heavy, your head too, every part of you just wants to give up. Haven’t you? Isn’t that what this is? You surrender.  

“You okay, sweetheart?” He stops and lets go of you, fishing around in his pocket. 

“I’m...” your vision narrows in; just like the moment you first met him. As Andy. As the real him. As the twisted man you just sold your soul to. “...tired.” 

“Aw, yeah, well, it’s been a long few days. For both of us. You wanna come back to my hotel. The bed’s really cozy and the tub is deep. You could relax for the night before we gotta get on the road,” he offers. 

You shake your head, “n-no,” you stutter. The last thing you want to do is be alone behind closed doors with him. “You said... pack. I should... do that.” 

“Ah, I did. Alright, I’ll take you to your grandma’s. I’ll have to come early so we can get to your friend.” 

“Right,” you agree coarsely. 

“Trust me. I know how to handle cops,” he chuckles and pulls out his keys, unlocking the car right beside you. He opens the door and steps back, “I’ll call ahead. Get us a room as there too. I guess you’re going to want to catch up with your friend while we’re there. Might be a while before you see her again.” 

You wince and look at him. A while. You look around at the street lights. You’re not unhappy. Leaving this place doesn’t matter to you but leaving Kara, possibly forever, that’s a knife in the chest. But forever is easier if you know she’s okay. If you know she doesn’t pay for your stupidity. 

You nod and get in the car. You can’t speak. If you even try, you’ll bawl. The end is there, you feel it closing you in with the car door. 

[awellposhmagazine]

needles + pins

matty x tattoo artist! reader

warnings: 18+, fem reader, alcohol, hand stuff (m recieving), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, gratitious masochism, impact play, strong insta-love but its MY fic i get to choose the immersion breakers. not edited as well as it should have been because proofreading makes me want to die.

5.7k

love u!!!!!

you can always hear matty before you see him, and today is no different. 

in fact, you can hear him before you see anyone; boisterous cackling laughter ringing out from the studio and onto the street outside even before you push the doors open. 

he’s leaning over the counter like he owns the place, and he might as well, for the amount of time he spends hanging around. he’s got two regular artists in the studio, usually robin or mark, but today he’s picked you. god knows why, really - you’ve probably spoken to him for a grand total of 5 minutes in the six months you’ve known him. but he’s nice to look at and tips well, so you’d taken the appointment without second thought. 

whatever conversation he’d been in can't have been very important despite its volume, because his head turns on a swivel the moment he hears you come in the door. 

“hey- there she is. sorry i’m a little early.”

when you lean past the counter to shake his hand, you catch a whiff of him; spearmint gum cutting through the heady scent of cigarettes.

“no worries. come through and take a seat - i’m just gonna get settled and grab my sketches and then we can get started. can i get you anything? water, tea, coffee?”

his gaze is lingering on your hand where you’d just grasped his.  “nah - i’m all good, darlin’. lead the way.”

you get him set up in the little waiting room off the entrance and busy yourself with prep; wiping down the table and firing up your ipad. you shoot him a glance or two throughout the process -. he’s sprawled out on the red velvet couch pushed up against the back wall and he can’t seem to sit still; smacking his gum back and forth and bouncing his knee up and down. a couple of thick silver rings adorn his fingers, and a single silver hoop hangs inconspicuously from his left earlobe. he’s wearing gym shorts and some band t-shirt you can’t quite make out from the angle he’s sitting. as every time you’ve seen him, the man is a livewire. you hope he can sit still. 

he straightens a little and reduces the intensity of his manspreading when you step into the room, and you bite back a smile. 

“okay,” you start, settling beside him and titling the screen of your ipad in his direction. “here’s what i worked up based on your references - have a look and let me know what you think. don’t be shy in letting me know if there’s anything you really hate, or something missing - i want you to love it.”

matty’s eyes fall on the screen and his brows furrow immediately, but not for disapproval. “fuckin’ hell, that’s sick. ‘s exactly what i had in mind - better, even.”

a little ball of warmth settles nicely in your chest, and you beam. 

“that’s awesome. you’re totally sure - nothing else you wanted to tweak or add? i know some of these lines are pretty harsh-”

matty’s head shakes, and he exhales a breath of something like relief. you smell spearmint again. 

“nah, i love it, honestly. you’re insane..”

your smile splits a couple notches wider still. “thank you. uh - you know the drill - if you could just fill out the waiver for me, i’ll get some stencils done up and come back and grab you when i’m ready, ok?”

you slide the screen over to him across the table with the empty form and accidentally brush his finger.

as you fire up the printer matty taps away at the form and you wonder, offhandedly, who he’s putting down as his emergency contact. 

you print out three or four possible sizes of the design and do a smack job of cutting them out, and then you’re back in the doorway. “okay - where’s this guy going again?”

“uhhh-,” matty looks down and seems to briefly eye each of his limbs one by one, and you realise he has no idea. “where do you think?”

the question catches you off guard, but you’re quick to recover. “uhh- let’s see- where’ve you got space?”

matty nods and makes an endearing little humming sound that rumbles in his chest. “er - ‘ve got one on my chest, one by my hip. couple on my lower legs. arms are a little full.”

you ponder the design in your hand for a moment. 

“how ‘bout a thigh?”

for some reason the suggestion seems to knock the wind out of him. you read it as discomfort immediately and get halfway through suggesting an alternative when matty nods. “thigh could be cool.”

you blink at him a couple times, surprised. “you sure?”

“yeah- fuck it. lets do it.”

he says the same again when you pull out the second biggest of the stencils and map it out on his upper left thigh, and you’re inclined to agree. 

“well - you’re an easy one.”

he is, all things considered; settling on the very first design you show him and ticking the no allergies box on his waiver. the way he chuckles shly at the double entendre of your words is just a bonus. 

“ok, i’m gonna get you to sit up for me to get started, but if you need to lie down or lean back at any point just let me know.” 

matty nods and gets himself settled onto your chair. he looks nice there - like he belongs. you’ve positioned the seat up fairly high so you can get a good angle between his thighs; so much so that his feet barely touch the floor. you’d pay him out for it if you knew him better. 

you can feel his eyes on you as you go about your preparations; pouring out your ink and snapping on a pair of plastic gloves. it’s a nice feeling. there’s nothing nervous or domineering in his gaze, just a gentle fascination. 

you’re screwing on your first needle of the afternoon when you remember to ask - “oh hey sorry - do you smoke at all?”

matty shakes his head absentmindedly, looking down at the stencil on his leg. “no, thanks.”

you can’t hold back the laughter that bubbles up your throat. “sorry - i should’ve clarified. are you gonna need smoke breaks?”

he flushes a lovely shade of pink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose and huffs out a laugh. “fuck, sorry. er- yeah, sorry.”

“no worries. smoking area is out the back and round to the left, and so are the toilets. let me know when you need to tap out.” 

he nods again but says nothing, and you carry on as usual. when you lean down to shut a drawer on your rolling table and your hair brushes against the bare skin of his thigh, matty’s whole body erupts into a shudder like someone’s walked over his grave. 

you don’t say anything, but something burns hot and fiery in your gut as you ready the needle. 

“okay. are you all good to get started?”

you look up at him just once when you first make contact out of habit, just to check on his reaction. you can feel his breath, forcibly slow and even, on your scalp and the tops of your hands. he shoots you a soft, giddy smile and you settle into routine. 

you’ve seen him being tattooed before, or better accurately heard. in the wild he’s a blur of motion; crowing and cackling and throwing his hands about when he talks like a hurricane. it makes sense that when he’s in the chair and his limbs are forced into stillness that his mouth runs double time to make up. but for you he’s eerily quiet. everytime you glance up to check on him his eyes skip from your fingers to your eyes and back again. the intensity of his gaze is almost off putting. 

you work in effective silence for an hour or so, save for noting your progress or shooting a quick smile in his direction. that is, until you pass over a particularly thick line for the fourth time in a row and matty breaks the silence with that little humming sound again. 

your eyes flick up to land on his, and you wish desperately that they hadn’t. any composure he’d readied himself with has seemingly turned to jelly. his arms are wide behind his back, palms splayed wide on the leather, and his chest puffs rhythmically outward, rising and falling with noticeably harder breaths than before. his face is the worst bit. his eyebrows are pinched just the slightest bit in the middle of his forehead, and his pupils are blown wide like saucers. 

if you hadn’t seen him breeze through a chest piece two months ago with little more than a wince, you’d chalk it up to a pain response. 

this is something else. something that sends a realisation twisting and curling hotly down your spine. 

he liked it. the pain. your pain. 

his hips jerk lightly as you trace over one line particularly tight in his inner thigh, and you nearly send a whole inkcap flying across the floor. 

the cigarette break he requests not long after is equally relieving for both of you, you think. 

he disappears around the side of the building, treading delicately on his canvassed leg and fiddling with a lighter between his forefingers. you, mature and professional as ever, disappear into the bathroom and shove as close as you can manage to your entire head under the tap.  

you figure you can get away with two minutes before you’re back out there and snapping on a new pair of gloves. matty’s beaten you back to the table when you do, leaning gently forwards to inspect your progress. his feet, still hanging a few inches above the ground, bounce incessantly. 

“feeling okay?”

matty looks up at you with a smile, perhaps a little more forced than before. “yeah, perfect.”

he seems to be able to control himself in short windows. twenty minutes or so will pass of you pressing the needle into his skin over and over with little to no reaction, and then one particular bit of shading will have him covering an unknowable noise behind a cough. 

you’re regretting the placement for many reasons, but the biggest is turning out to be that you can’t watch his face while you’re working. 

“need another break soon?” you offer. 

matty’s eyes open as you glance up. you hadn’t realised they’d fallen closed. 

“actually uh- i’m not feeling super well. ‘m really sorry - do you think i could leave it here for today and book another session?”

your first reaction is to feel guilty. here you were, assuming he’d been getting off on the pain when he very well could’ve been holding back puking in your hair. still, you’re quick to bury the thought, laying down the gun and pinning him with a look of sympathy. it had been strange to see him so quiet. 

“of course, whatever you need. don’t be sorry, please. do you need some water or something to eat?”

he shakes his head and tucks his phone into his back pocket; brushes a wayward strand of sweat soaked hair from his forehead. 

“nah, i’ll be ‘right. thanks though.”

you offer your arm to matty as he slides down from the chair, but he doesn’t take it. there’s a funny sort of tension in the air that you blame on his sickness and your guilt as you schedule another appointment and set him on his way.

it's a week and a half later when you see matty outside of the chair, albeit not where you’d expected. 

georgia from the front desk has dragged you to one of the afterparties she gets in on by swiping up on lighting technicians instagram stories. you can’t even remember the name of the band, but the drinks are free and the weather’s nice, so you’ve dragged yourself out and gotten half cut on a bar stool when you spot him across the room. 

his head is thrown back cackling in conversation with a dark haired man, ringed hands nursing a gin and tonic. your heart does a stupid little flutter at the sight. 

“hey, g - i’m gonna go say hey to my friend. if i lose you, keep your phone on and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do.” 

“sure, babe. same goes.”

you exchange a hug and when you look back he’s gone. your heart sinks, until you feel a soft lingering touch on your elbow and turn with a start. 

“jesus- where did you come from?”

he smiles and leans in over the music, and the smell of spearmint and tobacco permeates your senses. “sorry.” 

you want to ask how the tattoo’s healing. what he’s doing here. whether he’d actually been sick during your session or whether he’d just had a raging boner and had to excuse himself. with only one drink present between you, you think you’d better stick to the first two. 

before you can open your mouth again, matty’s tightening his hold on your elbow and gesturing with his head to the exit. 

out in the street, away from the drinks and the music, the weather is decidedly less nice. despite the warmth exuding from the man falling into step beside you, the night air bites and stings at your bare arms and legs. 

“sorry - didn’t even ask if you were headed out. was just getting a little too loud in there for proper conversation.”

“no, that’s okay. you’re probably right to have cut me off anyways.” its not a lie. you have work tomorrow. 

“can i like - walk you to your car, or anything?” 

“oh uh- i was just gonna walk, i’m like, two blocks away.”

“want some company?”

“sure, matty. thanks.”

you fall into a comfortable pace beside each other - your arms folded across your chest and matty’s buried in the pockets of his leather jacket. you fall into light conversation; your art, his music - all punctuated with flirty smiles and bursts of laughter that make you glow warm inside. you consider lying about where you live just to keep him walking for longer. 

“this is me,” you nod to the red-bricked building on the corner of the block as you approach, “thanks for the walk.”

matty nods, blinking with glazy, owlish eyes.  

“well uh - ‘t was nice to see you. sorry again about wimpin’ out the other day.”

you frown and bite back a laugh. “happens all the time. you’re doing great, honestly - it’s a rough spot.”

he raises his eyebrows and scoffs, and you can tell your words have done little to quell his embarrassment. that won’t do. on impulse, you lean forward and press a sweet kiss to the fleshy middle of his cheek. “goodnight, matty. i’ll see you next week.”

you pull back and meet his eyes. they glitter with something incommunicable that makes your mouth goes dry.

and then you lean in again, cradle a hand on the hard line of his jaw and slowly, slowly, ghost your lips over the line of his cupids bow. against your mouth, matty lets out a hard, shuddering breath, and then you’re kissing him all at once. 

the tip of his nose presses flush to the edge of your own with the force that drives his lips. your heart feels like it might actually beat out of your chest. he kisses like he speaks, electric and passionate and never in one spot for long enough to get used to. when you tilt your head to accommodate him better he makes a noise like a whine into your mouth and you have to pull back for fear of dropping dead on the front lawn. 

up close, you realise his hair isn’t black like you’d thought, but a deep, chocolatey brown.

“‘i’d really like to invite you in right now, but i have appointments from 8am.”

matty laughs, breathless. 

if he asked nicely enough, you’d cancel them all. 

—-

the wednesday of his next appointment arrives at a painful crawl. it’d been lovely normal week all things considered, but your stomach was rampant with butterflies at every mention of matty’s name. you’d seen him tagged in a photo on instagram on monday and had to take a moment in the bathroom to shake the memory of his tongue in your mouth. 

its his tongue that gets you again when he finally makes his return. 

“up for round two?”

you turn from your spot stocking shelves of aftercare behind the counter so fast it borders on whiplash. his hair is tousled around a pair of sunglasses on his head, and a fresh layer of cling wrap around his thigh glistens in the sun. 

you return his smile, trying to suppress the fluttering in your chest. “totally. come on through.”

you’ve arguably never experienced more sexual tension in your life than you do that afternoon. the presence of the other artists and their clients scattered around the studio is only making things more dramatic. you manoeuvre easily around each other this time, settling comfortably between his legs while he leans back with a certain air of cockiness that hadn’t existed before. 

still, you hear his breath hitch to the heavens at the first kiss of needle to skin. where he’d watched you work with keen interest last time, he can’t seem to hold it today. from the corner of your eye you watch his gaze flit back and forth between the ceiling, the prints on the wall, the fingernails on his right hand. 

other than his insistence to avoid looking down, the space and the conversation between you is entirely innocent. you keep accidentally catching each others eyes and smiling like idiots. 

you carry on like that just fine for about half an hour until he fails to suppress a particularly violent shudder and your heart jumps into your throat. 

“you okay?” 

he nods; subtle, embarrassed - and doesn't meet your eye. its then that you decide to torture him a little bit. 

you’ve leaned in to get at a particularly large section of shading when your free hand comes down on his opposite thigh for leverage, nails against bare skin, and he whimpers like a kicked dog. 

you have to lean away and cough into your elbow to hide your grin. 

he’s all twitchy and hot like he’s down with a fever when you eventually switch off the machine & wrap him up with the saniderm. 

“ok, uh, you’re probably a pro with aftercare at this point, but there’s a little guide out by the counter if you need a refresher.”

“sure, yeah - thank you.” 

its just the two of you now - the other artists having finished up an hour ago and left you to lock up. matty stares, unmoving, and you sigh. 

it’s of the messy, certain-death, shirt-tugging variety when your lips connect across the table. the rolling stool you’d been sitting on goes flying towards the back wall, and a few bottles of ink crash from cupboard to floor. your gloves are quick to follow as you stumble blindly to slot between his legs. 

his lips are moving so fast, so impatient, and you want to tell him to slow down but you can’t even get a breath in, so you just tug his lower lip between your teeth and bite. 

from the proper porn-star moan that rips from matty’s throat, you discern it was the right move. 

“‘d’ you always get so worked up after getting tattooed that you have to stick your tongue down the artist’s throat?”

he tries to laugh, but the fervour of your kiss steals the breath from his lungs. “just the hot ones.”

your fingers knot in his curls and you give a gentle tug at the base of his hairline. a gasp against your mouth. “you, fuck- just you.”

in your attempt to get closer, your hand brushes ever-so-slightly across the newly inked skin of matty’s thigh and his sharp exhale hits you like a train.

“oh fuck me - do that again.”

“what?”

“please,” he pants. 

your fingers dance experimentally over the bandage. you can feel the heat reverberating from his tender skin; even more so when you give in and apply the dull, spread-out pressure of your palm to the centre of his thigh. 

like before, matty’s eyes screw shut and his hips buck toward the ceiling. 

“you like the pain, is that it?”

his head falls forward to land on your shoulder and he groans, thighs twitching against leather. you can feel the heat radiating from his skin everywhere you touch now; red hot and pulsing like an exposed nerve. 

you wait for him to surge forward - to grip your waist or pull you on top of him. 

he never does. one hand is busy propping himself up and the other rests softly on your shoulder, tracing circles so soft they might as well not be there. 

“do you get yourself off? afterwards?”

his shaky breath on the skin of your collarbone twists a hot coil of pleasure in your gut.

“fuckin’ hell- yes, yeah – sometimes.”

“did you do it last time? after our first session?”

he can’t or won’t answer, but you take his huffy silence as confirmation and can’t help the squeezing of your thighs.

“want me to do it instead?”

his answer is half breath and half moan. “please.”

as you shuffle closer and move for the waistband of his shorts, your heart does a little dance in your chest. you don’t think you’ve ever been this excited to get somebody off before, and you likely never will be again. maybe its all those lovely noises he’d been making, or maybe its the way he’s looking at you. not with greed or any desire to devour, but with something akin to reverence. 

you pull him from his shorts and underwear quickly, and a moan rips through his entire body as you wrap your hand around him. a dam of pleasure, long restrained, seems to roll over him like a wave. 

“jesus christ - fuck me; are y’ sure this is okay?”

his eyes are wide and panicky and the concern in his voice is genuine despite his desperation. it makes the dull heat between your thighs tingle and twitch. 

better actions than words, you make sure matty’s watching and then dip a hand between your legs, up past your skirt and swipe at the wetness gathering in your underwear. hand slick with your own arousal, you wrap your hand back around the length of him and give him a single hard jerk, and a litany of curses spill from matty’s lips. 

in the recesses of your mind, you find yourself thinking you could keep at him like this for hours; till he’s writhing and sobbing and hating you. it’s a thought for another time. you’re not that cruel, at least not today.

“got you nice and worked up in front of all those people, didn’t i?”

“fuck, darlin’, please-”

“want me to hurt you and then fuck it better?” 

“g’na make me cum,” he whines breathlessly, and your desperate need to kiss him is stamped out by a desire to commit the sound to memory. again, you press down lightly over the plastic wrapped skin of his thigh. 

he doesn’t let go of his bruising grip on your hipbone as he comes, and you don’t think twice before darting forwards and wrapping your mouth around the tip of him to let him spill down your throat. he’s whining and writhing around something pitiful the whole way through it. 

you don't meet his eyes again for a good thirty seconds on account of them being scrunched shut in rapture, but when you do there’s a lovely little sheen of tears across them. his chest is heaving and sweat marks the spot where his palm had splayed across the leather. 

in your move for the roll of paper towel at your feet, you lean in and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

“wanna come past mine next week and i can check out how you’re healing up?”

matty nods sweetly, still trying to settle his breathing. 

“won’t be any needle foreplay. think you can manage?”

this time your words earn a toothy grin. his voice is rushed and rasping when he speaks, tugging you back in for another kiss.  

“i'll make do.”

matty’s on the edge of your bed, breathing heavy around the feeling of your thighs bracketing his hips. 

you’re being cruel, you know it. you’ve been kissing for upwards of twenty minutes and not one bit of clothing has come off, nor one hand dipping beyond a waistband. you’re being cruel but he’s so beautiful like this; sweaty and whining and gasping into your mouth. 

“look at you,” you run your thumb gently over his cheek, watching as he leans into your touch.

“stuck a couple needles into your skin and now you're fucking gagging for it.”

there’s something glittering in his eyes, lust bright and teasing. 

“was planning on making you gag for it, actually-”

you frown and smack him gently across the chest, ignoring the pit of flames in your stomach at the mental image. 

“pervert.”

matty hums happily. he pauses to think for a moment before he speaks again, which you’ve come to notice is a rarity. 

“‘f you’re gonna hit me, do it properly, hmm?”

“yeah?”

there’s a moment of silence where the space between you turns to molasses; hot and sticky and unmoving. and then you lean in and drag a finger across the line of his jaw, admiring the way his muscles go slack in response.

a sharp crack echoes around the room as the palm of your hand connects with his face. the sound of it hits you between the legs just as it does him. his mouth falls open in a wanton moan, cheek blooming pink, and his hips buck up hard against your centre. 

 as you push back down against him, another tumble of gasps and curses spill from his lips. 

“wait, wait - fuck- hold on. let me get my mouth on you first, please? ‘s only fair.”

warmth blossoms in your chest and between your thighs. “yeah, alright.”

matty’s face splits into a sparkly grin. “sick, thank you.”

you’re flat on your back in seconds, hips flush to the bed while matty works at tugging off your jeans. it hits you in a shuddering breath, how easy he's manhandled you into position. the reminder serves to make every one of his reservations and submissions stand out with renewed passion; that he’s only ever letting you win when you shove him around - and he fucking loves it. 

you’re pulled quickly from your thoughts by his own body hitting the bed, but your knee lands square centre in the middle of his chest. slowly, you nudge him backwards and down until his knees are buckling on the carpet, and then he understands. he pulls you to the edge of the bed with little more than a tug and slots your right leg over his shoulder.

all composure you’d been clinging to crumbles to ash as matty paws at your underwear and suckles at the heat of you through the fabric. the noise that rips from your throat is the first of anything resembling a moan he's heard out of you, and it seems to ignite something in the fervour of his actions.  

he shifts his face upwards jerkily, eyes wide and lustful, and pushes your underwear to the side. without breaking eye contact, he rears back a little and spits messily at the apex of your thighs.

one of your hands flies upwards, fumbling for a blanket, a pillow - anything to hold on to, and the other plants itself firmly on his head. 

you can tell from the sparkle in his eyes and the tone in his stupid voice how much fun he's having watching your reactions. when he speaks, his voice is laced with an amusement you’d like to smack right off. 

“doin’ okay?” 

you don’t dignify him with a response - just a light hum, and then you’re shoving matty’s head back between your legs. he gives a little kiss to your clit and your thighs involuntarily squeeze around his ears. 

pleasure drips into your body as he kisses and suckles at you until there’s a moan lacing your every second breath. his thumb, deft and cruel, works tight circles at your clit in conjunction with his mouth. it’s so messy and intimate and he’s watching your every reaction with such dedication to your pleasure that you could cry. biting back a sob, you tangle your fingers harder into his curls.

just like that, he’s hurtling rapidly back into his own desperation. 

“fuck-” he gasps out, reedy and rasping, and your head spins. 

“pull m' hair, please-”

your knuckles tangle deep in his curls and you tug hard at the root. the feeling of his moans against you is arguably better than the sound.

one of his hands shifts suddenly from somewhere below, and you realise with a hot pang of pleasure that he’d been palming himself the whole time. his fingers land across the expanse of your stomach and tap. you glance down, confused, and his eyes flit back and forth between your free hand and his own. eyes growing blurry with mounting pleasure, you feel like you could catch on fire as you lace your fingers together and feel him squeeze. 

he gets you there embarrassingly quick all things considered; stiffening and twitching against the hot, moaning mass of him between your legs. his mouth presses gentle against your hips and thighs as he waits for your breathing to settle. 

only then do you let him clamber on top of you. he’s beautiful as ever but far too composed, you think, as he looks through you with a dopy grin. you want to make him cry. it’s a start, when he lets out a pitiful noise and nearly drops the full weight of himself on top of you as your hands wander downwards and squeeze him through denim. 

“wanna fuck me now?”

“yes please.”

with a grin to match the one you’d just wiped from his own face, you wiggle out from underneath him and shrug off your top - flip onto your stomach on the other side of the bed. 

his eyes jump between your exposed chest and your face in slight panic. 

“wait - no, ‘wanna see your face, please.”

your heart swells something stupid, and you flip flop over to meet his eyes again.

"that’s better.” he's grinning again too, all sick and pretty. you find yourself inclined to agree. 

he manoeuvres out of stupidly tight jeans that go flying across the room and then he’s on top of you again, sinking into you with one slow thrust and making a noise like he’s been stabbed. 

“fuck - oh my god, i like you so much.”

you’re so far gone into dizzying affection that you forgo the teasing his words would have earned in any other circumstance. instead, you cup his cheek and mirror the sentiment; “really like you too, matty.” 

he doesn’t answer, but you think he might be holding his breath.

he’s quick to set a pace that suits you both, glistening chest pressed flush to your own and one big hand on the side of your neck. he’s so warm and loud and suffocating; a mess of open mouthed kisses and wayward hair and you can’t decide if you want to pull him closer or push him away. 

“matty, baby - fuck, you’re so good- gonna make me cum again.”

he tilts his head back and groans, and you mark at least three spots you’d like to sink your teeth into. your praise seems to spur him on further still; overriding the rolls of your hips with unforgiving thrusts and moaning hot into your mouth. 

his thumb finds your clit again as he fucks into you and you lose yourself in the sensation, seeing bright white stars behind your eyes. 

“you’re an angel,” he whispers, mouth pressed against your ear. “takin’ it so good.”

like the manhandling before, the offhanded, casual dominance of his words sends an electric shot of pleasure through your body as you fall apart. it’s all you can do to moan in response, clenching around him and fighting back tears. 

when you get a good look at him again he’s fucking wrecked. his eyes are heavy lidded and his mouth is slick and hot on your chest, your neck; your chin. there’s something dark and begging in the shadows of his face. 

“will you, fuck - please?”

you’re over-sensitive now, nerves pinched tight and limbs turning to jelly. still, you’re desperate to give him what he needs.  “yeah, baby. what do you need?”

“‘m leg, my hair again - anything, please- fuck,” 

you hum sweetly and grab his face between two fingers. his resounding whine is cut off by your other hand, pressing just so against the fresh ink on his thigh. “so greedy, honey. already letting you fuck me and that’s still not enough, huh? gotta make it hurt too?”

you push gently at his chest and he pulls you up with him, leaning back on his haunches and continuing to fuck into you, albeit slower now. you shuffle up onto your elbows and watch as his eyes flutter shut at the altered sensation. 

“say thank you.”

“thank you, thank you-”

you cut him off with another sharp smack of your palm across his cheek. 

his mouth falls open, brows knitted together and amber eyes turning to black, and then he’s pulling out and spilling all over your stomach with a litany of curses and shaking limbs. all the while he’s still chanting thank you and it’s a view from the dirtiest of your daydreams; your ink marking his thigh as he marks up your chest. 

he’s gone quiet again in the moments that follow, as you clean yourself off and he falls face first into the pillows beside you. your hands tangle in his hair again, massaging gently at the places you’d assaulted on his scalp. 

when he does speak, his voice is soft and wrecked and muffled by cotton. 

“can’t ever let anyone else tattoo me now, y’know that? you’ve ruined it.”

when you roll him over for a kiss, it’s not hot and filthy like before or a quick punctuation to the sex, but slow and tender in a way that makes your heart thump in your chest.

"wouldn't let you even if you tried."

[judesmoonbeauty]

Black Wedding: The True Vow For A Jet-Black Bride - Harrison Gray

Fan translation only. Not 100% accurate. Please expect grammatical errors. Cybird owns everything. Feel free to re-blog, but please do not post my translations elsewhere. What I obtain is what will be translated. If other blogs have translated the stories before I do, I will notate their blogs. Thank you, for you support! ☾.

On a day before the wedding -

(I think I prefer this dress.)

We were at a boutique having a custom-fitting done.

While white dresses are popular, I chose a jet-black wedding dress.

(The black wedding dress means that no one else can stain it, but you.)

I remember wearing a dress of the same color for a mission once upon a time.

(At the time, I never thought I’d have a wedding.)

The delicately embroidered dress captivated my eyes as I spun around in front of the mirror.

(Beautiful….I wonder how Harry will react.)

From the time we started dating until today, there has not been a day that I have not thought about him.

(I’m sure Harry will tell me it looks good on me, but I think he’ll lie again.)

(But now, I know his true feelings.)

We went through a lot before I was able to see through his lies.

(He thought he shouldn’t be happy, but he’s changed and swore to be with me forever…..)

(What should I do……I’m going to cry even though the ceremony hasn’t even started yet.)

I felt a burning behind my eyes and looked up trying hide them-

Harrison: Kate, you finished changing?

I heard his voice through the curtains.

Kate: Yes, I’m done.

When I looked through the gap in the curtains, I saw him looking different than usual…..

Harrison: Why are you just sticking your neck out?

Kate: It’s a little embarrassing……Harry, you look great.

As I admired his unfamiliar appearance, the realization of our marriage was growing rapidly.

(To have such a wonderful man to be my husband……)

Harrison: …..I’m just as embarrassed. Let me see you in your dress.

Kate: Oh, right! Here…..

I try to open the curtain, but it’s blocked by his hand.

Kate: Harry?

Harrison: Uh….wait. I’ll turn around.

Kate: What?

Harrison: I just need to be prepared.

He turns his back on me and takes a deep breath.

Harrison: …….Okay.

As soon as he turned around, I opened the curtains and stood in front of him.

Kate: …..Harry?

Harry was unusually frozen.

He didn’t respond or even blink when I waved in his face.

Kate: ……Perhaps it doesn’t suit me?

(It didn’t suit me so much that it left him speechless…….?)

Becoming anxious, I pulled at his sleeve, and the moment I did, he suddenly hid his face.

Harrison: Sorry, I made you uneasy. That’s not it.

Kate: Then why are you hiding your face?

I tried to peek, but he turned his face away…..

Harrison: Don’t look at me.

Kate: Huh?

Harrison: …..Because I feel like I’m going to cry.

The slightest glimpse of his eyes were shining,

Harrison: It just hit me that we’re really getting married…….I can’t wait to be with you.

Harrison: I’m so happy……

As his voice trailed off, he crouched down on the spot.

The sound of sniffling echoed through the room, and seeing him for the first time, made me want to cry as well,

I crouched down and faced him.

Kate: We’re getting married, Harry.

Harrison: …..Yeah.

Kate: We’ll be together from now on.

Harrison: Yes……..

He took my hand while trembling.

Harrison: ……I never thought this day would come until I met you.

Harrison: It makes me anxious when I’m this happy.

A single drop slides down his cheek and falls onto the back of my hand as he mutters.

That makes me feel so happy and loved.

Kate: …..I also, never thought this day would come until I met you.

Kate: For the first time, I felt like wanted to be happy with someone.

A drop falls from my eye as I can no longer bear it.

Kate: I love you, Harry. Love you.

Laughing through his tears, he hugged me with all his strength.

Harrison: I love you too.

Kate: I love you more.

Harrison: Nah, I’m on my side for this one.

When I shake my shoulder in uncontrollable laughter, I can hear the same laughter in my ears.

Harrison: ……The dress. It looks great on you. I don’t want anyone else to see it.

Kate: Heh……thank you.

Harrison: I’ll be sure to escort you on the day of the ceremony.

Harrison: Just for now…….let me savor this happiness.

Sunlight pours down to bless us as we are filled with joy and love.

We will surely share a lot of happiness in the future.

[Black Wedding Master List] Tag list: @theimaginativelyreticent

[keirawantstocry]

qfit finally coping with having gynecomastia bc his boyfriends also have tits and are taken seriously as men

boobs for everyone

Fit spent years hiding the extra tissue on his chest. He wasn't quite sure what caused it and he had tried everything he could think of to fix it. Exercising, eating less, eating more. There were no doctors in the wasteland, nobody who could tell him what was wrong with his body. All he could do was wrap. It started with cloth wrapped round and round but it grew to be uncomfortable. Fit had stopped for a while to see if the pain lessened. And it did, but his embarrassment and fear of people noticing and calling him less than a man was stronger than any pain the wrappings caused. 

Things were so incredibly different on the island. He still binded his chest, ignoring the pain but there was something that felt… calm about the island. 

And then there was Pac and Tubbo. They were his best friends. He had honestly never thought he could care about people to the extent he cared about them. They were strong. The awe he felt seeing them in battle was indescribable. And part of him couldn't stop and think, now these are real men. 

Fit was thinking it now as he relaxed down in the soft blankets that Tubbo had gathered for the three of them. Tubbo was brash and protested affection until he was blue in the face but he cared. So much. That was why he did things like this. Made sure Fit and Pac got the sleep they needed after sleepless nights working and watching over their kids. 

The kids were with various other islanders currently. Ramon and Richas with Mike while Sunny was spending the night with Tina, Bagi, and Empanada. 

They had the house to themselves. 

Fit tried to relax but the bindings around his chest made it hard to breathe. He tried to keep any visibility of it away from his boyfriends. Truthfully he knew they wouldn't care but the fear from deep down was stronger. 

Tubbo gave a contented sigh as he looked over the pile of blankets and pillows, hands on his hips. “I don't know about you two but I'm so fucking ready for bed.” 

Pac and Fit laughed in unison but Fit's laugh died as he watched Tubbo peel off his shirt. They had never all slept together in sleepover fashion like this before so the sight that met his eyes was surprising. 

“Uh,” Fit said, trying not to stare but failing tremendously. 

Tubbo blinked at him as he reached down to the bottom of his sports bra. “What's wrong?” 

“You're wearing a bra.” 

Pac turned to look at him curiously while Tubbo continued to stare. “Uhh, yeah, man. It hurts to bind for too long so I wear bras half the time.” 

“Bind?” Fit repeated slowly. 

“I have tits,” Tubbo said plainly. “You know that right?” 

Fit shook his head. 

Tubbo's expression turned to one of surprise. “Oh. Fuck. Sorry, man. I thought you knew.” A sliver of self doubt was forming in his stance and Fit snapped himself out of his surprise to reassure him. 

“I didn't. But it's okay. It doesn't matter to me.”  

Pac laughed, sounding a bit nervous. “I should hope not, considering we both do.” 

Fit turned his head to look over at him. “You… you do too?” 

Pac nodded, flatting the front over his shirt to show how the fabric clung to the roundness of his chest. “We thought you knew, Fitch.” 

Fit shook his head slowly. “Um.” His heart was racing, thoughts buzzing around his head. “I'm not. Trans. But I have.” He shrugged and reached back under his shirt to undo the bindings. He let them fall onto his lap, feeling his body visibly relax. When was the last thing he took those off, he wondered but was interrupted by both of his boys, throwing their arms around him.  

“Thank you for telling us that,” Pac murmured in Portuguese, Fit catching the translations as they flew up above his head. “I know it can be hard coming from such a backwards place to accept yourself.” 

Tubbo didn't say anything, just let his body language speak for itself as he held Fit tightly, tracing his fingers over his back where the cloth had dug in so tightly. 

Fit was too overcome for words. He just let his body fall back, both of them still in his arms as they snuggled into each other and the blankets. 

“Wait,” Tubbo squirmed out of the grip before pulling off his bra. “Can't have that thing on.” 

“Why not?” Fit asked as Tubbo settled back down. He was so incredibly warm. 

Tubbo squinted at him. “Cause it hurts your chest. It's not meant to be contained like that.” Understanding dawned in his eyes and he smacked Fit on the arm. “Have you been wearing that thing for years?? No wonder you have so much body pain.” 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Pac said, butting in. “No more of that.” He shook his finger threateningly in Fit's face. “We're gonna make sure you take care of yourself. No binding for a while. We need to assess the damage to your chest and figure out when it will be okay for you to bind again.” 

Tubbo and Pac fell into frantic discussions of medical stuff that flew right over Fit's head. But he didn't mind. He was relaxing. He was safe. And he was laying with two of the strongest men he had ever met. Nothing about their bodies could ever change that. He smiled and pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads before drifting off to sleep. 

[theslowesthnery]

The end "twist" and final boss is actively insane to me because the items and world design stuff that I'm seeing early in the DLC all foreshadow Mohg as Miquella's consort. It's all Omen-y, blood-related, and blood-grown flowers. There's a guy who uses Swarm of Flies who's native to the Land of Shadow (and the spell explicitly draws on Mohg's power, per its description). There's the hornsent guy and his talk of spilling the blood of the Erdtree faithful. There's an Omen/hornsent knight guy in Belurat and, if you try to fight him, Miquella's magic will randomly shoot up like there's some kind of defense mechanism to protect him. The Empyrean-Blood Burgeons look to me like a cross between a lily and a rose with gold and red as its coloration. (It's both their flower and color motifs combined.) Red amaryllis is also associated with love, and we can get the blood-grown 'Sanguine Amaryllis,' which also ties into the Dynasty nomenclature with the Sanguine Nobles. (The story of Amaryllis in Greek mythology is about a nymph who wounds herself for a shepherd she loves and the flowers sprout from her blood droplets.) There's also the thematic connection to bloodroses in the base game (and how red roses are also a symbol of romantic love). On top of that, the base game foreshadows Mohg being Miquella's actual consort. It speaks of Mohg's stuff in future tense- that the Spear becomes the symbol of the dynasty in the future and the bloodroses mention his inevitable reign. (You can also piece together that the situation with Mohg grabbing Miquella wasn't a kidnapping at all, based on the world design stuff.)

I've seen nothing so far hinting to Radahn so far apart from "one of the people in the Land of Shadow followed Radahn before now."

yeah, i may be wearing my mohg/miquella-tinted glasses but that makes a million times more sense than "uh actually radahn was miquella's promised consort all along lol". and just from a non-lore standpoint, did anyone actually want more from radahn? and i don't mean that i dislike him or anything, but his story and part in the greater story of ER was over and done with, with nothing hinting to him having a larger and more important part in it, so the DLC suddenly bringing him back is such a "...wait what?" moment. i think that's why a lot of people assumed the leaks were fake, because no one expected radahn to be brought back and couldn't see any sense in it. and it's true, it doesn't make any sense!

it's all just...really really weird and confusing. i never expected the game to make mohg/miquella any more canon than it already was (= mohg having a one-sided, unrequited love for miquella), but even that would've made more sense than this radahn shit.

[erwinsmithsmissingleftarm]

hello i was reading your works and are really good may i request zeke x reader smut hc? Or warriors smut hc? thanks you

Warriors and how they fuck you

Zeke is a real beast. He plays dirty, teases you until you beg on your knees for him to touch you and fucks you until you nearly pass out from pleasure and exhaustion. This man does not show you any mercy when he pounds into you from behind. Real nipples play enjoyer and addict with your chest, Zeke is sucking on it like a leech until your breasts are covered in purple, red and blue marks. His favorite position is the doggy cause he likes to mate like an animal in heat. Bonus fact: Zeke often falls asleep with his head on your boobs, using them as a comfy pillow. Sometimes he even sleeps with one of your titties in his mouth, like a baby.

“What do you want? Sorry, did not hear you speaking.” “You like it when I touch you here, right? Yeah, that’s my good girl.” “Eh, you are already wet and I only touched your breasts? Needy brat.” “I said, I want to hear you beg for it…”

Reiner is a secret softie when it comes to making love. He’s pretty shy about the subject but all the embarrassment disappears once in the bedroom. This guy is a big cum eater and there is nothing better for him than you riding his face. He needs to feel your weight on his face and your wet cunt on his lips. Gets really whiny if you tease him because he’s such a needy man for you. He prefers traditional positions like the missionary when it comes to penetrative sex as he knows how to do them well. Also, a LOUD man. Whimpers and moans escape his lips non-stop, and he does not even hold them back. Bonus fact: he absolutely despites wearing condoms. Reiner says that they are uncomfortable and reduce his sensitiveness.

“You taste so fucking good. Could eat you out all day, baby.” “Hey, keep them spread for me, alright?” “Stop teasing and put it in already or I’m going to put it myself.” “God, you drive me crazy… pussy feels so tight and warm.”

Bertholdt the most lovey-dovey of the Warriors. He makes love to you like it’s described in a romantic book: slow and passionate. His thrusts are precise and gentle so you could feel every inch of his cock going in and out of your pussy. He often puts you legs on his shoulders and pulls your hips forward to hit the deepest parts of you. Bertholdt is a silent one, the only noise you can hear coming out of his is a gasping sound when he cums. He likes when you ride him, the view of your face twisting at the pleasure while you lower yourself on his dick drives him nuts. Bonus fact: foreplays can be very long with him because he takes the time to kiss all you sweet spots and caress every inch of your exposed skin.

“Does it feel good here? Need me to hit that spot again, uh?” “Can I move? Alright, I’m going slowly in.” “I’m gonna show you how much I love you tonight.” “Take a deep breath… yeah that’s my darling.”

Annie is not often in the mood for sex but when she is, she is giving her 110%. You are this woman’s dearest thing and that’s why she can’t help but praise you every time you do something good. Her cold hands run up and down your curves until her fingers reach your moist spot. Annie is gentle and soft with you, like if she is scared to hurt you by accident. Her hand works quickly but carefully on your genitals before she leans in to suck on it. Annie does not have a favorite position, but she prefers when she can see your face because it reassures her to see the pleasure of it. Bonus fact: She also likes to receive oral, soft sounds escaping her lips while your tongue works on her wet pussy.

“Yes, right here please. Feeling so good-” “You are so good for me. Fuck, I’m going to cum if you continue like this.” “Someone’s excited? Don’t lie, I can see the wet spot on your underwear.” “You are so needy, aren’t you?”

Porco is more of the mean and arrogant type. He’s always bragging out to his friends about how good he is at sex and how much you love it and it’s true. Porco is fucking you better than anybody could have. His thrusts are quick and harsh, hitting your cervix every time he moves into you. This man spanks your ass when you start to give him attitude or when you try to hold back your moans because there is nothing he loves more but hearing your voice. He enjoys making love to you against a wall, your legs and arms wrapped around his hips and shoulders while he lowers you into his cock. Bonus fact: Porco likes to spoil you by buying you sexy outfits to wear in the bedroom. He loves the way your cheeks turn red when you are standing in front of him in that red lacy lingerie he just bought you.

“So pretty for me sweetheart. Come closer.” “You like when I fuck you like that? Answer me, slut.” “Keep that pretty mouth of yours open, let me hear how much you like my cock.” “You need it so bad, it’s almost pathetic.”

[murdrdocs]

age gap (r is 18+!); southern coded r; implied domestic violence; fingering MDNI 18+ w/ GARY JOHNSON

the scent of jealousy reeks back at the precinct and it’s fucking with gary’s mindset. he’s been off of his game lately, thrown for a loop since people have been questioning him. to put it short: he's getting sloppy.

he's staring at you more than he's listening to you. he's stuttering over his words, trying desperately to follow the script he's made up in his head.

"so ... uh." he clears his throat and adjusts his position. "how d'you want me to do it?"

how do you want him to do it? what kind of question is that?

he can feel claude and phil wincing in the van.

you don’t question it. you take a breath, and then you take a breather. gary—or grant, as you know him—watches your lips wrap around the straw in your sweet tea. his eyes dip for a second, settling on the red of your bra peeking out beneath your low cut white shirt.

he swallows as your lipstick leaves a mark behind on the paper straw and lifts his eyes just soon enough to meet your gaze.

“i…i think there should be a body. if it wouldn’t get you—us—into too much trouble. not havin’ a body just seems cruel. my momma deserves better. that’s why im doin’ this.”

you speak slowly, meticulously, as if you’re holding off tears. when you sniff, gary pulls a tissue from the dispenser to his left and hands it to you. you wipe under your eyes, uncaring of the mascara you leave smudged behind.

"okay. we're doing this for your momma, yeah?"

you nod, lips pulled into a thin smile. "yeah."

gary shouldn't do this. he's done it once, and the backlash he got was heavy. he shouldn't do it again.

but you're young. you care about your family. he sees the bruise along your wrist and he can only imagine the ones your mother has, likely more severe if he's following the picture you painted for him.

you've told him that you refuse to finish school when she's with him. you refuse to do anything other than work and go home. it's not a life you should be living.

you don't want your stepdad killed. you want your mother liberated. you want liberation.

it wouldn't be right for gary to let you incriminate yourself.

when you turn to the side and reach into your purse, gary stops you. he gives you the spiel, the spiel he shouldn't be giving, but he stops you while you're ahead.

"listen, let's stay here. you can finish your pie and your sweet tea. and then after this, you promise me you'll get someone involved—someone else involved—and you'll get you and your momma out of that house. alright?"

you nodded and gave gary your word.

he paid the tab and left the diner after you.

he got shit for his choice. he defended you as best as he could. he saved two lives that time and then he put it in the past. grant, a good southern boy who said ma'am as pure instinct, was shelved.

until gary got a phone call.

not too far past eight, the summer sun starting to make its descend past the horizon. the cats are fed, gary's fed, his second episode of jeopardy! of the night is playing in the back and then his work phone buzzes against the coffee table. he doesn't have your contact saved, there was no reason to, so he doesn't answer the first time. he didn't know it was you. but when you call again, and he picks up this time, he regrets hitting the red button the first time around.

because you're crying. sniffling and gulping down breaths of air. he can hardly understand what's wrong. he has to ask you to repeat your plea to be picked up at least three times, and even then he's apprehensive.

he's not grant right now. he's gary. sitting on the couch, covered in cat hair, wearing his blue light glasses as he partially reads on his kindle. but you sound so pathetic and gary wants to help you so he slips on a pair of sweatpants and an old college sweatshirt that he thrifted just for grant (UT Austin) and in half an hour he's pulling up outside of your trailer and watching you slip out of a window and run to his car.

he doesn't have anywhere to take you. he asks you if you want to go to a friends place, his fingers nervously tapping against his steering wheel.

you sniffle and gary's taken back to the first time he met you. then, he was wearing a wire. he was sitting in the vicinity of cameras and other people. many things keeping him on his best behavior.

but now he's alone, in his car, with you. a you who has a friends place to go to, but you don't wanna go there yet. a you who asks to grab food from somewhere, but when you get there you sit in the car, unmoving. a you who leans across the console and presses your lips to gary's.

he's not gary anymore. he's never been gary to you, always grant, but right now he's not gary to himself, either.

gary wouldn't kiss a vulnerable younger girl in his car. gary wouldn't entertain the way you slip your tongue into his mouth. gary would shut this down, drop you off, and go home where he would wallow in self pity and copious amounts of guilt.

but grant indulges.

grant slides his seat back and taps his thighs. grant rests his hands on your hips when you straddle him. grant slips your shirt over your head and his hand down your shorts. grant gets you off with his fingers, kissing you through it all, taking in the salty taste of your tears as you let out wanton gasps into his mouth.

and grant drives you to your friends house, kisses your forehead, and tells you to call him if you need anything.

(later in the night when he's laying in his bed, gary barely has any regrets about it all)

[yeehawfml]

dont forget what they took frum u 💔💔

THEY DONE SKINNIFIED AND DENOSED DA GEROME HUMANOID GIRL COUNTERPART. DO NO5 LET THEM GET AWAY WITH THIS.

[toxictranny]

hey sisters, i know u (my fans) were wondering what i’m gonna wear to my ex stepdad’s wedding because i’m best man and there’s gonna be 200 ppl there who haven’t seen me since i was single digits so it’s a rly big event BUT i’ve got no clue what the fit will be because the dress code he gave me: wear whatever you want. GDNKE.???ATFJJF...!!! ARE YOU OH-FUCKING-KAY???? WHATZVER I WANT ??????THEY WONT EVEN GIVE ME A COLOUR SCHEME WHAT THE FLCUKC ALso no i can’t wear a wedding dress it was the first thing i thought of but i asked my mom and she said that would b mean :/

[homosexual-fanfiction]

in celebration of the fic ALMOST being done here's a piece of the scrapped outline from 2019 that still makes me laugh

[youssefguedira]

unsolicited medical advice from a customer today 😃

[silverselfshippingchaos]

this is one of my favorite k.yohei moments!!

[daisychainsandbowties]

hi casper, don't die

it’s okay anon i quicksave before i do anything dangerous

[keeps-ache]

reactions concerning auto-correct are either 'oh so sorry i didn't realize i spelled 'haphazard' wrong again, thank you :)' or 'i meant to spell 'waouh' take your little red squiggly lines and shove it'

[orcelito]

ok so i was obsessed with tokyo mew mew in 8th grade. OBSESSED with it. that was my #1 interest for like the whole year.

at 12 years old i was in love love Love with Kisshu. very genuinely i loved him to bits. and i H A T E D aoyama bc of it. bc Competition or w/e but also i just thought he was super fucking boring lmao

& now at nearly 26 im just like. yea he's a lil boring but him & ichigo are genuinely pretty cute. that middle school crushes stage. it's rly sweet !!!

and then kisshu shows up lol. i still very much appreciate him as a character.

[leatherbookmark]

i swear to god, jgy being bitchy/prickly as a proof that he's finally opened up to someone is possibly my most disliked fandom treatment of him, because with obvious jgy haters at least I know we have exactly nothing to talk about! aaaaand block! but then people who claim to love him just make him into a total opposite of who he was in the novel and it's just like. sigh