#pete must have a killer reputation

[magicaldreamfox1]

so i'm just thinking abt the reputation pete must have post-canon among main family bodyguards.

like as we know from pete himself, word travels fast amongst main family bodyguards and there must be a few who survived the ep 14, confrontation. obviously people would've known pete at least in passing, he's tankhun's head bodyguard that must mean something. and suddenly he's missing for a few days, rumour has it he went to the minor family's house (with the fit tankhun threw (rightfully so) surely people would've heard abt it right? right) and everyone knows what happens to bodyguards who are sent to the minor family's house. except pete returns and word spreads fast about that too. pete returned, covered in blood and injured but alive. then the family showdown happens, a lot of people die but surely a few main family bodyguards would survive. and they would hear abt it. pete left. he resigned. and they let him. which i'm sure not many bodyguards can say for themselves. rumour has it he went after vegas. and then shot a bodyguard of the main family dead for him. and that he's with vegas now.

vegas who has A Reputation, everyone knows that. so pete not only made it out of the minor family's house alive, he also managed to resign and then went to be with vegas.

and maybe they'd even see him sometime, pete coming to visit porsche or tankhun and he looks fine like he's doing well.

and like. they must be terrified of him. and like even when they get new bodyguards word would spread just as quickly. u don't fuck with pete bc pete has seen the worst of the worst of this world and not only come out alive the other end, he also willingly walked back right into it.

[sarcasmandships]

synthesia

pete is blue.

and mikey is orange. 

pete knows that these colours do not mix. 

Pete is blue.

And Mikey is orange.

These are facts that Pete knows, even when his hands shake and his mind seems to slip away from him, and he wants to reach for a bottle of something to numb his manic thoughts, he knows that he is blue, and Mikey is orange.

These are facts that Pete knows even though he doesn’t know how he knows them.

Everyone has a colour, but the gentle, golden-orange glow that emanates from Mikey is always the brightest in the crowd. It’s a soft hue, not overly saturated, and it reminds Pete of the remnant rays of the setting sun. It’s warm and inviting, and Mikey hates it.

Most people dismiss the notion that people can have colours, even more when Pete tells them that he can see them. Most people are used to Pete’s enigmatic ramblings and ignore his stranger claims, maybe he’s experimenting with new song lyrics, they think.

Even Patrick gives him an exasperated look when Pete tells him that he is red, not a bright or gaudy shade of red though. Its deeper, more like maroon or burgundy, something with depth and soul.

Mikey doesn’t like being orange. When he asked Pete to tell him what colour he was, his nose wrinkled and he repeated orange back to him, as though the word itself was poisonous. Pete rolled his eyes, Mikey likes to think he is ten times edgier than he really is, Pete knows he was hoping for something stupid like onyx black, blood red, or charcoal grey.

But Pete stands his ground.

“Yes, orange,” he repeats.

Mikey grumbles about it for a few more minutes, moaning that Pete must be wrong because how is he meant to maintain his reputation as the coolest member of My Chem if he is the same colour as a highlighter pen.

Pete could tell him that he isn’t neon, it’s more like the glow of a candle in a darkened room, like the worn rust on a chain, like the sunset. Pete could tell Mikey lots of things, how he likes the purple bruises that he leaves on his skin, how he likes the pink flush that creeps over his cheeks when is pressed beneath him, how he likes his lips best when they are red and swollen from his kisses.

Pete could tell Mikey a lot of things, but he can’t sort out his tangle of thoughts and feelings into real words. They exist only in his unpublished song lyrics and live journal posts; Mikey doesn’t know about any of these things. And Pete knows if he did tell him, he wouldn’t just wrinkle his nose and tell him he is wrong, he’d spit the words back at him as though they were worse than poison.

Mikey might be soft and golden and warm, but sometimes the orange has an edge. When Mikey is angry, which isn’t often, Pete can see the burning orange of an inferno around him. The dancing flames lick his skin, highlight his furrowed brows, his clenched jaw, when Mikey is angry the orange is too.

Pete also knows that orange and blue don’t mix. They are on opposite sides of the colour wheel; when Pete was still figuring out why he could see people as colours he tried to make sense of it all by painting. He learned early on that when he mixed blue and orange paint, it made a muddy brown.

Pete knows he is blue.

He sees it in his reflection, but he also feels it deep in his soul. Sometimes the blue is electric, it buzzes like the glow from the fly killer light on Mikey’s porch, its deep and multi-dimensional, like the crashing ocean waves. Pete associates this kind of blue with his stretches of mania, when he feels invincible, and the blue is bold and fearless.

On these days, Pete almost thinks that blue and orange could work together.

Other times the blue is dull, it has an almost grey tinge and remind him of blue hospital gowns, cool-toned fluorescent lights, the blue plastic capsule of an Ativan pill. On these days, Pete feels cold and invisible, and he craves the warmth of Mikey’s sunset orange.

Blue precedes the sunset, but the soft blue of the sky dissipates to make way for brilliant streaks of orange, and red, and pink. Blue follows the sunset too, when the last rays of sun fade away the sky turns to a deep inky blue, before it melts into black.

Pete is blue.

And Mikey is orange.

These are facts that Pete knows even though he doesn’t know how he knows them.

There is no place for blue in a sunset.

Pete needs the warmth and light of Mikey’s orange, but what use does Mikey have for his blue?

His moods flicker between blinding azure and dull cerulean like the old light on Mikey’s porch, it too has a warm orange glow that he can never truly understand.

Pete is blue.

And Mikey is orange.

And Pete knows that blue and orange do not mix.

[dorics]

wip snippet ask game

thank you so so much casey for tagging me even if this is embarrassing because of how many unfinished fics i have. i also i only did my fic folder(s) for this bc my original writing folder also has a bunch in it and there's already like a million things on this list because i have a very terrible habit of writing like one paragraph about something and then abandoning it in my google drive to rot mwah <33333 @aberfaeth

“Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag people! This isn’t just for writing either. Sketch titles? Comics? DnD campaigns? If you have an unfinished project, it counts!”

haymitch fic

never tasted as sweet a poison as you have.

did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen?

chrissy/robin fic

die trying right now.

we must be killers.

the kind of radiance you only have at seventeen.

pamelia fic

delly tribute au fic

i know there's something waiting for us in the light.

the bad kids road trip

penny fic

wayne munson fic

i fought and fought hard and i should have died.

let's raise a glass to all the people you're not speaking to.

marvel fic

everyone thinks that they're too young to die.

thg s&b au

plumbeline fucks around and finds out

evil pete fic

fig & being a tiefling

katniss sole victor au

only code it knows is rote survival.

bad kids parent issues

sandra lynn + reputation

patia fic

fate is to all appearance more unavoidable than unexpected.

thg mean girls fic

thg daemons

bad ends for hardwon and moonshine

tagging @homo-horror, @spoonerist, @dubiousfruitsalad, and anyone else who wants to <3 steal it and say it's from me i would love to see ur wips

[parfumieren]

Drakkar Noir (Guy Laroche)

Drakkar Noir came out in 1982, the year before I became a freshman. This means it had three hundred and sixty-five days to infiltrate the halls of my high school before I even set foot in the building. Once there, I was obligated by various authorities to stay until I graduated. That gave Drakkar Noir approximately 1,460 days to scorch my nasal passages and permanently scar my psyche.

To be a girl in 1983 was to be perpetually under siege by an army whose stench heralded its approach hours before it actually hoved into view. For in those days, boys didn't just wear Drakkar Noir. They marinated in it-- slapping gallons of the stuff on their necks, chests, underarms, and god only knows where else. It blended with the acrid output of their overactive adolescent glands until their very sweat smelled like napalm.

The boys who liked Drakkar Noir best wore tight-fitting sharkskin slacks, torso-hugging cashmere sweaters, shiny leather loafers, copious amounts of hair gel and gold jewelry, and facial expressions of the most consummate blankness. They all lifted weights -- not in the gym after school, but at night in the local sports club -- and they all seemed to be named Todd. Each placed a proprietary monogram-ring-adorned hand on the small of his girlfriend's back when ushering her through the halls. Said girlfriend -- big-haired, short-skirted, with three coats of Bonne Bell Lip Smacker and a 14K gold nameplate necklace -- never spoke except to get into screechy catfights with her rivals. If she wore perfume, no one ever knew. Todd's killer cologne drowned out every other odor within five hundred feet.

But the Todds weren't the only centurions in the Drakkar Noir army. ALL of the boys signed up for it-- even the mohawked and combat-booted ones who would have otherwise pinged big-time on my punk-rock radar. Adopting a hardcore "straight-edge" ethos -- no drinking, no drugs, no meat, no smoking, and above all, no sex -- was shockingly easy with Drakkar Noir around. (This phase lasted all the way into my twenties, when CK One finally slew the dragon with its sword of lemony-freshness.)

If you are so lucky as to never have smelled Drakkar Noir, drop to your knees and offer thanks right now-- for even the angriest and least forgiving god showeth more mercy than this fragrance. Drakkar Noir doesn't give you time to figure out whether it's a fougère, an Oriental, an aftershave, a cologne. Just like the steroidal bullies who wear it, it skips straight to the finger-breaking part, smirking silently while you scream uncle. Seldom have so many innocuous fragrance ingredients been recruited for the purpose of violence; if I were to choose a signature scent for a sociopathic date rapist, Drakkar Noir would dominate the list.

And yet, to this day, Drakkar Noir unaccountably retains its reputation as a chick magnet. From the bottom of my heart, I cannot understand this. I would like to think that anyone with the smallest sense of self-preservation would avoid it (and its wearers) like the Black Death-- but who am I to argue with success?

Even so, I must lay credit where credit is due. I believe that Guy Laroche is the major reason I became an artist-- for while his unholy creation spread its miasma over every other classroom in my high school, the art studio alone seemed immune to the stench. There, I met boys who preferred "sensitive" smells like Clinique Aromatics Elixir-- hell, they could have worn Brut and I would have loved it.* I subsequently put my name down for every art class I could find, even earning independent study credits during lunch hours and after school... all to obtain sanctuary.

Years later, when I first bonded with my future husband over a pile of Pete Bagge comics, I leaned in and smelled… him. Just him. "I know this may seem like an odd thing to ask," I said. "But did you ever in your life, even for one day, wear Drakkar Noir?"

He looked at me as though I had lost my mind. And that was how I knew it was forever.

*Despite its sad status as a drugstore cliche, Brut is actually a solid vanillic fougere. It's good unisex stuff, as is Old Spice, Ralph Lauren Polo, and my husband's favorite, Geoffrey Beene's venerable Grey Flannel. All that is gold does not glitter, etc. etc.

Scent Elements: Lemon, tangerine, lavender, rosemary, artemesia, basil, lemon verbena, bergamot, coriander, juniper, cinnamon, jasmine, leather, fir, amber, sandalwood, vetiver, cedar, patchouli, oakmoss, and SATAN

[jmeddows2]

Guaranteed to blow your mind  (Roger Taylor smut)

Notes: Bear with me, this is my first ever smut. I’m sorry for mistakes and bad writing. English is not my first languages. Inaccuracies can occur concerning the band. (including Deaky joining Queen).  I’m also planning on making more parts of this including sub!Roger. Let’s see how this goes :) Feedback is always appreciated, so I know how to improve my writing.. ALRIGHT let’s do it  Summary: Felicity is a well known and experienced groupie. Roger a rock star on the rise.    Words: 3.7k+ 

Warnings: cursing, sub!Roger  smut: a tiny bit of edging, blowjob, unprotected sex

Felicity, also known as 'fizz Fliss' in the Rock N‘Roll scene always knew what she wanted. She knew it since the day she moved out from her parent’s home at the tender age of only 16 years old. School had never been one of her interests, instead she loved getting in trouble and the feeling of adrenaline rushing through her veins.

Fliss had a big dream, as well as many fantasies. Being a groupie.

Chasing rockstars from city to city, spending the whole night in clubs, drinking, doing hard drugs and having the time of her life with the musician of the night afterwards. She followed bands and artists such as Led Zeppelin, The Who, David Bowie, Aerosmith and The Rolling Stones, just to name a few.

At only 20 years old, she had already made a name for herself. Everyone knew her. Women/ girls wanted to be like her, and men longed to spend a night with her. The 'groupie chasing rockstar scenario soon changed to the opposite. It was the most famous men in rock that all wanted a piece of her and they somehow always gave her a piece of themselves in the form of presents. There would not pass a day without a few parcels delivered to her doorstep, containing the latest fashion, lingerie, makeup, booze, sometimes just money. Most of the parcels had a long journey behind them, many hadmade its way all the way from America and Australia to her flat in London. Besides the adoration and money that was spent on her, Felicity was the muse of many songs that later went on to become classics. When you asked her about how she attracted the attention of all the musicians, she simply claimed that it was all about the glam rock inspired clothes she wore. Beside her well known reputation as groupie, she wasn’t just a typical groupie you’d fuck and chuck. Felicity was often photographed alongside other rock musicians for magazines and ads.

Summer of 1971

 It was very hot day when Fliss stepped into the De Lane Lea Studios in London, to meet up with a band she’d been following since the beginning, which happened to be ‘The Who’.  They’d been there to record their fifth studio album titled ‘Who’s Next’.

 The room where the mixing board was situated was already filled with clouds of smoke, as she emerged and was quickly greeted with a hug.

“Ahh finally. Glad you could come. Missed you, love, how have you been?” Roger Daltrey, the lead singer greeted her with a quick peck on the cheek, while bassist John Entwistle beside them was just about to snort a line of cocaine from the tabletop, that was else covered in bottles of heavy alcohol. Glyn Johns, the producer had already been fiddling with some of the buttons on the mixing board, adding finishing touches to a record from a different band. It surprised her, knowing that Roger (D), John (E), Keith and Pete never liked sharing their studio time. They always used it to full extend, no matter what.

 “you really thought I would miss the opportunity to watch you guys record, huh? I wouldn’t even think about it. besides, I wanted to personally thank Keith here” she was pointed her finger into the drummer’s direction “ for the beautiful necklace. It must have cost you a fortune.” she laughed, clasping the little diamond that graced her decollete and she approached the drummer to place herself in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“yeah it actually did, honey.. but you‘re totally fucking worth it” he replied with a smug smile on his face, caressing her cheek with one hand.

“now come on, baby” Keith fiddled with the pocket of his jacket, only to pull out a pack filled to the brim with white powder. Fliss was quick to realize his intentions, so she pulled her top over her head and tossed it to the floor, leaving her in a red lace bra, another precious present.

 “fuck, see that‘s what I‘m talking about, baby” bringing his hand to lightly grope her breast

“I‘ll buy you 10 of those necklaces. No, I‘ll buy you anything you want, honey” he mumbled and managed to pour a line of the white gold onto the space between her breasts and rolled a 5-pound note to snort it from there. Keith didn‘t manage to catch all of the white powder at once, so he leant his head forward to lick the rest off and rub it on his gums. Their little get together was soon cut off by a loud thump as the door opened and 4 men stood there, totally caught off guard. 4 rather shocked faces. Newbies.  

 “seriously guys? Have you switched to male groupies now? “Fliss laughed sitting herself up in Keith’s lap, to get a better look of them.

 The men at the door seemed really embarrassed, with their heads turning as red as a tomato, except for one guy with long, dark brown hair and high cheekbones. He managed to step forward: “sorry are we interrupting something here? We can come back later?!”

“no, no, come in it‘s alright. Suit yourself” Roger (D) invited the men in with a gesture towards the little table with booze, cigarettes, pills and cocaine.

“Fliss, baby, may I present to you, her majesty: Queen, they‘re new, have some potential AND they are here to record some stuff today” Pete chuckled and winked at her.

 “oh really? And why haven‘t I heard of them yet?” she laughed while studying the men who were still stood by the door having not moved in the slightest. They seemed intimidated. It felt like a game for Felicity and hell, she loved to play. It was true, the band had only started to rehears songs for their first album a few months prior and received a little bit of recognition by playing rather small gigs. They were young, on the rise, seeking attention and where else could you get that from if not from one of London’s most iconic and definitely loudest rock bands of all time?

 “hey hey, I know you. Fuck dear, no I adore you... you are Felicity? Living the dream, right? damn... I bet this was also a present” he winked pointing at her bra. “I‘m Freddie by the way” he took a few steps forward to shake her hand, then heading back to his band mates who still haven’t moved in the slightest..

 “this is her Rog, the girl I told you about the other day” Freddie whispered to the blond-haired boy, gently nudging his side, he just nodded with flushed cheeks. His wavy, dirty blonde hair barely touched his shoulder and his bright blue eyes didn‘t quite know what to focus on, trying to play off the embarrassment. An awkward silence filled the room, until Freddie decided to plunge himself down next to Pete on one of the leather couches trying to lighten the mood. 

“and the others? Do you also have any names? “Felicity stood up from Keith’s lap and made her way towards the men as they introduced themselves to her as Brian, Roger and Mike. Mike was Queen’s bass player at the time and was very soon after replaced by our precious Deaky.

 As the tension and embarrassment settled, the "new boys" managed to get comfortable with a little booze. A magic recipe that always seemed to help loosen everyone up. Roger Daltrey was like the dad of the group, he didn’t take any hard drugs, just sleeping pills, but who didn’t? He also occasionally did a little pot. Roger Daltrey always felt the need to be the tough one, to look out for everyone. He had to, dealing with his bandmates which basically consisted of three addicts. Pete was an alcoholic, John (E) was an alcoholic. All three of them were doing speed and every other kind of drug you could imagine. Roger (D) never touched any cocaine, never had a try of it. He always felt responsible, as singing was his ‘instrument’ in the band and he felt like he would have never been able to master his skills while intoxicated. He tried to lead Fliss into another direction many times, away from her lifestyle, stating points that she would not have a future continuing like this, if she ever got out alive. He just wanted the best for all them, treating them like children of his own somehow.

 “what’s it like, darling?” Freddie asked curiously, he took a sip from his vodka-soda. “I want to know the details, any weird sex habits out there in the world of Rock ‘N’Roll? Any new kinks to know about “he asked flashing his unique, bright teeth at her with a smile. 

“Fred” Brian warned by shooting him a glare.

“Oh, come on Bri, stop acting as if you’re not interested in what this hot little thing here might have to spill” Freddie turned his attention back to Fliss.  “besides I think my good friend Rog here also might be interested” Freddie pointed in his direction, but his blond friend was too occupied having a chat with Keith.  It was obvious that one of his ears was always curiously listening to what she might have had to say. Roger’s eyes also betrayed him by stealing little glances, when he thought that she wasn’t looking.

“ok well... so sorry to disappoint you, but a lady never tells, but” she winked at Freddie and his eyes widened for more gossip as she continued.

“there’s loads of traveling, fine booze, the best cigarettes, expensive clothes and meals, you know the drill” she made a gesture at her body signaling great sex. “a real killer queen” Freddie smiled at her while pouring yet another glass for both of them and they clinked them together, getting lost in another conversation about antiques and all things expensive and glamorous. All of which Freddie admired. “Splendid! I already know we are going to get along perfectly, darling.”

 Freddie moved on to talk to his own band mate Brian again, but the spot beside her on the couch was soon filled by Roger. He clutched his whiskey on the rocks in his hand and was quickly caught off guard.

 -Aren’t you a little too young to drink, Roger? I mean how old are you? 16? 17??? - Fliss asked loud enough for the others to hear as she placed her feet onto his lap, resting them there, while the others started to laugh once they overheard her assumption.

 “no...no I.. I‘m actually 22”  he nervously stuttered.

“Hah I never thought to see the day that Rog can‘t get a word out to impress a girl” Freddie laughed, taking another sip from his alcoholic beverage.

 “no wonder. He‘s probably starstruck, keeps all your pics from the newspapers in his bedside drawer, ever since Fred told him about you” Mike laughed loudly while Roger was getting slightly embarrassed and his cheeks turned pink. No, not embarrassed, he felt humiliated.

 “oh, is that so Roger?”  Fliss said as she got up with a G&T in her hand.

“don‘t mind, do ya Rog?” batting her eyelashes at him, he shook his head and she placed herself onto his lap. Once she was situated comfortably, she smiled at him.

“hi” threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “hi” he smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her touch burned into his skin and within seconds his semi could be slightly felt on her thigh. The effect she had on him made her want to play this game even more.

 “oioioi, someone‘s gonna get lucky, huh?” Pete teased, making her playfully shake her head and roll her eyes. “And he might be the only one tonight” she replied, making all of them go quiet. Felicity felt kind of bad for all the teasing Roger had to bear. It was meant to be her job. Hers only.

“I’m not making you feel uncomfortable, am I?” she asked the blond boy with a hint of concern in her voice, brushing his soft hair over his shoulder.

“nnn no, not at all. I’m fine, perfectly fine” Perfect.

 Roger was quiet and frozen as Felicity constantly shifted in his lap. It made him even harder, painfully hard. Of course, she knew exactly what she was doing, as teasing was her specialty. But this boy was different, quiet, nervous, a perfect prey.

 Roger’s eyes nervously scanned the room, silently praying that no one would notice his now throbbing bulge in his pants. Felicity saw it all and felt him violently throb against his pants as her core was pressed up against him. So, she decided to fuel the fire even more. Another specialty of hers.

 She scanned Roger‘s face with her eyes, then slightly started nibbling his ear, which earned a light moan from him.  She continued kissing along his jawline, making his eyes tightly shut. He was trying his best, not to buck into her. “you’re almost too pretty to be rockstar” Roger opened his eyes as she caressed his right cheek, while her other hand was playing with his hair.

Roger swallowed hard, trying not to moan any louder. He was frustrated that he couldn’t do anything about his miserable situation, the fear of getting caught any second creeping up on him. His only goal at this point was trying not to come in his pants right then there.

- Oh I.. I.. thank you.. you‘re p..pretty- he stuttered.

She continued lightly bouncing in his lap, purposely grinding her ass against Roger‘s clothed length, while the most innocent look on her face. A smirk was plastered on her face as she earned another groan from him.

"What‘s wrong, Roger?" she asked innocently.

"You alright, mate?" John (E) asked from the sofa on the opposite side, he answered with a little nod, trying to keep it together.

Leaning closer to Roger she whispered in his ear: "you‘re so hard down there, huh? Do I really have such an effect on you? I didn‘t even do anything."

Felicity kept tracing patterns into the skin of his neck and chest, which was exposed due to his unbuttoned shirt. It was cute how every little touch and pattern traced along his sensitive skin made him shiver.

 - let‘s go out to eat something, guys, we‘ve got the studio all day long, you can record later- Roger (D) clapped his hands together and jumped up from his seat.

 “Roger are you coming or you glued to that couch? “Freddie joked as Roger glared back at him. Roger knew that he couldn‘t get up, not like that, not with a massive hardon. That would be too embarrassing, and the boys would forever pick on him.

 “actually, we‘ll join you later, King‘s pub it is?“ Felicity asked, shooting them a wink.

 Keith nodded, leaning down to her: “alright, honey, take care” the brunette drummer said as he stole a kiss from her. 

 A wave of relief rushed over Roger as there was only him and Fliss left in the room. Well, as much relief as he could possibly get, despite the problem in his pants.

“so, are you a bassist? singer? “Felicity teased as she brought her face close to his, caressing his right cheek, lightly rubbing circles with her thumb.

 “no I‘m m.. 'm the drummer” he stuttered nervously. “you know it‘s not very nice to not look at me when you’re talking to me” she shifted even more back and forth in his lap, feeling his hard cock through his pants. “you’re lucky, I have a thing for drummers” speeding up her movement, adding even more friction.

 “uhh please” Roger groaned looking deep into her eyes. “what Roger, what do you need?” leaning forward, breathing into his ear. “Is this what you need?” she placed a kiss on his left cheek, he violently shook his head in response.

 “what have been doing with those pictures your band member mentioned earlier, huh? Have you been a naughty boy?” she teased, continuing to torture him further, pressing even harder into him.

“y.. yes, been naughty, touching myself to your pictures...want you.... wanted you since the first time I saw you” he whined, eyebrows knitted in frustration.

“oh really?” Felicity definitely had her fun with this. She often adopted the role of the submissive, in fact, a willing sub. But dominating a guy, making him practically melt in her hands, was just another level. Nothing could ever compare to that.

Roger didn‘t manage to get a word out so she grabbed his cock through his pants, palming him that it nearly made him jump out of his skin. He never felt like this before, never this intimidated by any girl, he usually was the one to charm them, tease them, make them squirm.

 “yeah, yeah” he finally admitted “was so bad, wankin’ my cock every time to you mmmm, please, please, want you so bad” Roger cried out, but she brought her face close to his, kissing soon turned into a quick but heated make out session. Her hand made its way between their bodies into his pants, slowly starting to pump his bare length with her hand, brushing her thumb over his tip, making his eyes roll back.

 “alright pretty princess, let‘s see”  

Felicity got off his lap, kneeled down in front of him, he lifted his hips for her to remove his pants and underwear all at once.

Roger’s cock sprung free, hitting his tummy, the red, swollen tip leaking pre cum already. He was slightly bigger than average with a perfect girth, which surprised her, due to his overall tiny frame.

“fucking pretty cock, princess” his cheeks turned pink once more. It was the most vulnerable state, being all exposed in front of her. She ghosted her hand over his length, making him squirm even more and buck his hips. He was frustrated. But she kept on admiring his cock, taking her time. “Please, please I’m begging you! DO something. I- I can’t take it anymore” Roger whined. 

He hissed loudly when her hand was suddenly wrapped around his length, his eyes falling shut.

“ fuck.. fuck feels so good mmm” he moaned in ecstasy.

Roger’s moans were music to her ears “look at me, princess” his eyes fluttered open and she leaned forward to kiss the tip of his cock gently, staring deeply into his eyes. “mmm more please”

She licked the salty pre cum off that was already dribbling off the tip due to his horniness and it spread on her lips. Licking it off, tasting him. Salty and sweet at the same time. Felicity used her tongue to gently lick his frenulum, making Roger cry out her name. She lowered her head once again, taking all of him into her mouth, rubbing his tummy with her right hand.

“oh yess, fuuuuck feels so good, your mouth... you do it so good I’m not gonna last.. mmm” Roger groaned.

Having him beg for her, motivated Fliss to go not even faster, but also deeper, bobbing her head up and down, having him down her throat. Thanks to much practice, her gag reflex was gone, giving him the full experience.

“fuck m’ gonna c..cum m’ gonna cum” she pulled away, earning a disappointing groan. “You didn’t think I was going to let you come that fast, did you?” his eyebrows knotted into a frown. “Please, I was so close” “aww look at you, all red and desperate to finally get off, princess” Rogers hair was sticking to his sweaty forehead as she was undressing herself. “Roger” he flinched,letting his cock fall from his hand as she caught him pumping himself in a fast motion while watching her naked frame.  “I’m so sorry, please, do something. It’s really starting to hurt now. It’s way too much” salty tears started dribbling down his cheeks. He was so desperate for her.  “ok baby” she climbed into his lap, taking his thick cock into her hand rubbing his tip through her folds and the tears kept streaming down his face. She sank all the way down on him, staying there a few seconds to adjust. Roger rested his head on her shoulder as she managed to swipe a few of his tears away with her thumb.  Fliss started bouncing up and down his cock, Roger’s breathing slowly got louder when he was nearing his orgasm for the 2nd time that night. He felt weak, too weak to be able to thrust up into her.  “Fuck Roger, I’m close. You’re filling me up so good” she groaned, speeding up the tempo and circling her hips with one of his hands resting on her hips for support, the other on her breast, toying with her nipple. “mmm coming, you need to get off” “Come for me, princess” tangling her fingers in his blond locks. He started to whimper at the feeling of her still on his cock, one final bounce and she sank all the way down on him, sending both of them over the edge. Roger came with a cry of her name as he released warm, thick ribbons of cum inside of her. His eyes were fluttering, head on her shoulder, as he slowly came down from his high, relishing every wave of pleasure, not wanting the moment to fade away.

 Roger was snapped out of his little trance when she released his cock, making his him squirm at the sudden loss of contact. Being the little tease Felicity was, she reached down between her thighs, capturing some of Roger’s thick, sticky cum and brought the finger to her mouth to taste it. “so good” she hummed against her hand. “Fuck, you look so hot right now” he watched her in awe, mouth slightly open, not believing his eyes, making his cock twitch one final time.

(kind of inspired by this min 3:00) “Marry me” Roger blurted out. She looked at him, expecting him to be joking but his face remained serious. “You’re fucking nuts, Roger” she laughed as they both dressed themselves again, trying to hide every evidence of their previous studio ‘adventure’. He took a seat on the couch and pulled her into his lap again, giving her a passionate kiss. “Will you at least stay with me tonight then?” “Sure, Roger." he held her close, making the throbbing problem in his pants reappear.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Killing Silvester

He had taught her all she knew about killing, and now he was her prey. He didn’t even know about it. But Steffi had no choice, even if Silvester was her mentor.

This job went too far. Silvester should have never accepted it. She didn’t care what kind of sticky situation they’d be in if he had refused, it would have been better than going through with it.

Killing a teenage girl – that wasn’t okay. Not even for stone-cold killers. Some things, you just didn’t do.

The mark – no, the girl named Angie – was just having a good time with her boyfriend Pete and a group of buddies, hanging out in the town square for the New Year’s Eve fireworks and celebration. They weren’t even all that drunk or doing anything stupid, which is what you would expect from teens. They were just a bunch of young people enjoying themselves – dancing a little, laughing, talking, and hugging each other, joyfully looking forward to an exciting and happy new year.

Angie stood there wrapped in the arms of her boyfriend, her blonde hair flowing out from underneath her beige and pastel blue woollen hat and over her royal blue coat. She was a good kid, primed for a good university but not because of her father’s wealth or influence, but because she was a straight-A student. She worked hard for school, was the captain of the local volley ball team, and she even volunteered at a soup kitchen. All she had done wrong was that she was the daughter of the last remaining member of the housing committee still opposing the Woodland Heights Project.

That project was basically a money laundering scheme, and it would destroy the habitat of three endangered local birds. But the big shots didn’t care about the environment, all they cared about was money. As if their wealth could save them if there was no fresh water left do drink, no clean air left to breathe, and the tipping point of the rise of the world’s average temperature was reached, so that climate change was irreversible.

Steffi was wondering about the weird thoughts she had been having lately. She had never really cared much about the world before. Those ideas must have come from the speech Angie had given at the town hall last Monday for the Youth Against Climate Change event.

Steffi had been tailing Angie for the past two weeks, working out her schedule, trying to find the best moment in Angie’s routine to strike. There were a few good options. When Angie went jogging alone in the woods every Wednesday and Sunday evening, when she sneaked out to see her boyfriend Pete every Thursday night, when she went to the soup kitchen on Tuesday evenings. But Silvester had decided against all of them.

He had been hired to make a point. The local lowlifes were fed up with the goody two shoes Mister Wilkins’ opposition to their pet project. They wanted him to know that his daughter, his little angel, had died because of him not playing ball. So Silvester thought it would be most effective to kill her in the middle of the town’s biggest celebration – the New Year’s Eve Fireworks.

Not only would it send quite the message, but you could even hide the noise of the shots in the din of the crowd and the loud bangs of the fireworks.

Silvester was positively exalted when he told Steffi about his plan, called it movie-like and every contract killers secret fantasy. He didn’t take it seriously, when Steffi asked whether it wasn’t wrong to murder a teenager.

“You’re not going soft on me, are you, Steffi?” was what he said. “We don’t ask questions, and we don’t grow a conscience when the money is right. Besides, it’s too late for that now. What do you think would happen if we terminated the contract now? Best case scenario: they’d ask for a refund and probably a sizeable compensation for their wasted time, dissuade others from using our services and so sully our reputation, and then just find someone else to do the job. Worst case scenario: they’d add us to the list of marks for the new guys because we know too much.”

He was of course right, and Steffi knew that, but her new-found vigour wasn’t easily silenced. It wasn’t right to kill a kid like that, even less so, one with a good heart.

But Steffi also owed Silvester. He had seen her potential and got her off the streets when she wasn’t much older than sweet, innocent Angie was now. But Steffi had neither been sweet nor innocent at that age. Far from it, actually. She had been a juvenile delinquent, with a violent alcoholic for a father, a drug addict who had run off years ago for a mother, and no one to protect her or show her a better way. Except for Silvester. He had shown her a better way.

He had taught her to take her fiery-hot anger and turn it into an icy-cold weapon, and he had even paid her enough so that she could leave that dreadful place she had to call her childhood home and never come back. After that, Silvester had trained Steffi for years, taught her all he knew, got her connected to well-paying customers, and eventually even made her his partner.

Back when he had started training her, Silvester had promised Steffi that he would not only teach her how to make a decent living killing people, but that the two of them would execute some scumbags while they’re at it. But recently, he wasn’t all that concerned about the scumbag part. In fact, it didn’t even seem to be a factor.

With considerable horror, Steffi had recently realised that the very argument Silvester had used to convince her – back when she had been only a few years older than Angie – could now be used against him. For he now fell into the category of “scumbag” himself. Lately, Silvester just wanted to make as much money as possible – “making a killing”, he wittily called it – and that was that.

So Steffi had decided to make a point herself. She’d set her own example and combine it with a new beginning in a new year.

Her resolution to kill Silvester on New Year’s Eve – a day commonly known as “Silvester” in many parts of the world – would be her own celebration of killing her very first scumbag for no money whatsoever. Just because it was the right thing to do.

Steffi also decided that she would keep her “regular” job because she was good at what she was doing. But from now on, she would make sure to only take contracts that were in line with her code. And who knows who she’d meet on her business trips? Maybe she’d kill some additional scumbags while she was at it.

Now, she only had to kill Silvester, followed by all the local lowlifes, or enough of them to make them understand that it wasn’t okay to kill kids just to make a point.

Feeling a little light-headed from a sudden rush of blood to her head, Steffi realised something else. For the first time in her life, she fought for something important, an ideal. She was about to kill in the name of what was right. It felt good.

Steffi lowered her head towards her rifle, feeling the cold, hard rooftop underneath her. She looked at her mentor through her night-vision scope, knowing that he would wait until the fireworks were already well on their way.

Silvester was also lying on a nearby rooftop, looking at his mark though a night-vision scope, having no idea that he was another hunter’s prey.

The crowd down in the plaza, started shouting “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Happy New Year!”

And with a bang, a new chapter started.

—Submitted by Lone-Eyed