#rhythm: spasmodic

[tsunagite]

R-

Rhar'il in Chunithm...

Let’s fucking GOOOOOOOO

[amourrs]

18+ only, implied brat ellie? absolutely no plot just smut with a vague theme and yapping…

pondering the thought of birthday sex with ellie, specifically in the morning when she’s just itching with anticipation. the sun’s ascendant, though at present shrouded, making the whole episode feel more hush-hush. you could even consider it a smidge covert, the way the moment’s kept for your eyes (and other senses) only as her silklike lips trail brazenly up the expanse of your flesh, pearlescent in the maiden light of dawn that spills liquidly through the open curtains. she’d forgotten to close them last night, but now the mishap works in her favour, illuminating your skin as she indents her teeth into it, watches it spring back whilst leaving the ridges of her molars behind. marking you up, running her thumb over the crescents like a prayer.

she continues to traverse a path, tongue abrading the spots she hits as a sorry attempt at soothing the irritation until a particularly harsh nip tugs at a cord in your brain, pulling you from that sweet dreamscape you’d been so happily enjoying just to realise that a better alternative is being offered up to you on a silver platter. you moan, an asseveration of your returned desires as your fingers wind into her hair, a tangled mane-like lattice that silks into soft order as you run your digits through it. her name passes your lips as she grins into your clavicle, mouth wandering down further as her hand reaches into her hair and she interlinks her fingers with yours. like this, she’s all sweetness, no salt, if you’ll pardon the shoddy wordplay— an event that’s not so frequent, so you savour it the more it occurs. her tongue drags over your navel, dipping into your belly button as you shriek, nails scratching at her face as if to ward her off as the auburnette snickers at you. “m’sorry, babe. couldn’t help it— fuck, happy birthday. ‘s been so hard waiting, had to wake you up. you get it, right?”

you go to make a quick riposte on the topic but it withers in your throat like a flower shredded at the stem when her teeth snag your underwear, ivory mismatched against black lace as she drags them down off your legs in irriation. a hindrance, only serving to camouflage her real object. all thoughts of anything but ellie ellie ellie are whisked from your brain with the long stripe she licks up your cunt and you display as such when you chant her name out, a mantra so soft on her ears that she chuckles into you. the vibrations only serve to make you wetter, the freckled girl’s fingers splaying your folds to reveal your slick to her; you’d presume it was ichor and not arousal with the way she looks on in starved bliss. her tongue travels from your perineum to your entrance, fingers trailing with it, eager to explore as she slides one into you. the smothered squeak from you provides only to enkindle her depravities, second finger joining the first as she hooks them, searching for gold as her mouth lays sloppy kisses over your sensitive bud. she lays it on you like it’s religion, like you’re the priest and she’s the acolyte at the altar, treating this sordid affair like something holy as she rests her head devout and innocent on your thigh as if she’s not desecrating you, devouring you with rapture.

it takes you a minute to notice it at first in your pleasure, but there’s an odd rhythm to the motions of her tongue on your clit. almost as if mapping out a preordained plan— and that’s when it hits you. she’s spelling. squinted eyes and bursts of much spasmodic focus assist you in making out the vague idea of many of the letters; you string them together in your mind and easily piece together the gaps, pushing at her head as you choke down a laugh. “are you— are you seriously spelling happy birthday right now? thought it was more traditional to like, sing that in a song alongside the cake.” your teases get to her, face strawberrying softly at your chuckles as her freckles stand out in soft definition. “okay, well. i did actually make you a cake— don’t worry, dina helped,” an interjection much needed after the look of abject horror plastered across your face, “so. i’ll sing later. right now, kinda in the middle of something. in case you hadn’t noticed.” it’s pointed, the way her mouth nestles back in between your thighs, the aforementioned muscles squeezing tightly around her skull in a way that has her groaning as her tongue flicks out across your clit again. you’re pretty sure you can discern the shape of the A and Y at the end of ‘birthday’ as her digits curl into your walls at the perfect spot, grinding until you see stars and the coil inside your stomach snaps, legs shaking as you ride out your high against your girlfriend’s face. fuckin’ goofball.

happy birthday to one of my all time favourite mutuals, the lovely @astralnymphh — couldn’t hand deliver ellie to your door as a gift, so considered this to be a consolation 🎂♡

[chvoswxtch]

revenge

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader x frank castle

summary: matt may have won the battle, but frank wins the war.

warnings: all of them. every single one of them. swearing, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

a/n: there's not enough brat taming frank, especially in terms of frank brat taming matt, and I took that personally. this is the last installment in this accidental little mini series, and it's pure filth. enjoy, xoxo.

word count: 1.7k

[part one: jealousy] [part two: forgiveness]

The second that Matt pulled Frank in by the back of his neck, Frank’s plump lips wrapped around your clit and he began to suck fervently. The sudden sensation had you nearly jumping off Matt’s lap, and if it weren’t for his strong hands holding you forcefully in place with his blunt nails digging into your hips, you wouldn’t have even been able to sit up right any longer.

The feeling of Frank’s wide, warm tongue flicking over your clit back and forth repeatedly like a metronome while Matt stretched out your pussy with his thick cock at a legato tempo was almost too much to handle. Frank aided in keeping your legs spread wide open with his broad shoulders nestled between your thighs, preventing them from closing even an inch. Matt groaned lowly into your ear every time Frank’s greedy tongue swiped over his sensitive cock while he devoured your pussy. His large nose rubbed against your clit deliciously as his tongue teased Matt’s sensitive balls, paying repentance to you both simultaneously on his knees for his previous teasing actions. 

You had been blissfully, but painfully edged by them both, and you weren’t going to last another minute. From Frank’s skilled fingers to Matt’s sinful mouth, and now the combination of Frank’s ravenous tongue and Matt’s unrelenting cock…you weren’t seconds from combusting. Matt had been ready to come in his office earlier just from hearing the way Frank had touched you over the phone, and you knew he was just as close as you were. Matt was moaning a string of curses and prayers into your ear, leaving marks on your waist with his iron grip, and the sloppy rhythm of his hips pistoning upwards into your own chaotically indicated his own fuse was about to detonate.

Frank’s teeth gently grazing over your overstimulated clit started the chain reaction of fireworks that abruptly exploded within you and Matt both. Your fingers tugged roughly at Frank’s unruly ebony waves as you bucked your hips against his face, a cacophony of moans leaving your lips that were directed at the Heavens as your head fell back against Matt’s shoulder. While you rode out your high against Frank’s face, Matt buried his face into your neck and bit down on your flesh sharply while gripping onto your throat, a feral grunt echoing in your ears as he emptied his pent up arousal deep within you with irregular spasmodic thrusts.

The apartment was silent apart from the sound of you and Matt panting heavily, and while the two of you were basking in the afterglow of gratification, Frank had risen to his feet with a renewed sense of vigor. 

Because if there was one thing that fueled Frank Castle more than anything in this world, it was revenge.

The sharp sound of leather snapping pulled you and Matt out of your euphoric trance, and your eyes widened in a mixture of shock and awe seeing that Frank had ripped his own belt apart to free his hands. Frank swiftly reached out to grab you by your waist to remove you from Matt’s lap, and you winced slightly at the sudden motion and loss of contact when he pulled you off Matt’s softened cock.

“Sorry darlin’, ‘scuse me a minute.”

His voice was gruff while he gently set you down on the opposite side of the couch, laced with a dangerously low timbre that indicated there was no room for an argument. He had never used that particular tone with you, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash of recognition on Matt’s face, and he instantly tensed up. His half-lidded hazel eyes that had been glossed over with rapture were now wide open and shining clear with apprehension.

“Frank-”

Matt’s desperate plea was quickly caught off by Frank’s large hand darting out to grab Matt by his throat. Frank had Matt at a complete disadvantage, and he knew it. While Matt was still coming down from his high and depleted of the energy he had used in fucking you to prove a point, Frank was running off pure adrenaline and ready to prove one of his own.

“If I had a fuckin’ attitude comin’ home it’s cause you’re an impatient and selfish fucker, Red. You get her to yourself all the goddamn time, and I can’t get twelve hours alone with her without you showin’ your fuckin’ ass.”

While Frank moved his hand up to yank Matt’s head back forcefully by gripping onto his hair, Matt let out a soft grunt that was layered with arousal and a twinge of displeasure. You watched with an almost unhinged jaw as Frank freed his fully erect cock from his jeans and guided himself past Matt’s welcoming lips. The three of you seemed to moan in unison; Frank from finally getting some relief, Matt from the taste of Frank and the thrill of being used, and you from the delectable sight in front of you.

“Maybe everytime I come home, I need to make sure you got a taste of my cock in that fuckin’ bratty mouth of yours so you’ll remember who the fuck you’re s’posed to be sharin’ with, yeah?”

Matt only moaned around Frank’s thick cock in response. Frank didn’t give Matt any time at all to protest or adjust to having Frank’s cock practically shoved down his throat, and quickly began to fuck Matt’s face at a brutal pace. The sounds coming from both of them were downright pornographic, and it made you wet all over again. Frank’s full brows were knit slightly in concentration as he continued to harshly grip onto Matt’s hair, and his plump lips were parted in pleasure while he watched intently as Matt sucked his cock with a sense of urgency.

“Ain’t runnin’ that fuckin’ mouth now, are ya? ‘Bout time you put it to good use.”

Your hand snaked its way between your thighs of its own accord, and you began to slowly tease your clit as you watched Frank dominate Matt. He didn’t do it often, but when he did, God it was a sight to behold. Matt was usually the more dominant of the two, especially when it came to you. There were rare times Frank let himself lose control, but for the most part, he was mostly gentle. Still, it always excited you when you got to witness even a tiny fragment of why they called him the Punisher. Right now he was fucking Matt’s face with a vegeance, and you were steadily approaching your second orgasm of the night as you touched yourself to the incredible show in happening right before your eyes.

When Matt’s hand eagerly fisted around his cock, which was now fully erect again, Frank smacked his wrist away with a grunt, and he gripped at Matt’s throat with his free hand.

“What’d I say earlier, huh? No touchin’. Pull that shit again, and I’ll tie your ass up and make sure you can’t sit down for a fuckin’ week, altar boy.”

The sound of Matt whimpering around Frank’s cock made you moan in response, and Frank’s eyes suddenly snapped in your direction. His features that were hardened with retribution instantly softened into pure lust at the view of you with your legs spread and fingers toying with your soaked pussy. His tongue quickly darted out to wet his plump lips, and he released his grip on Matt’s throat to reach for you. 

“C’mere, baby. Bring that pretty pussy over here and lemme finish what I started ‘fore this asshole interrupted earlier.”

In a flash you were scrambling onto your knees, moaning at the taste of yourself lingering on Frank’s lips when he leaned in to capture your mouth in a heated kiss. While his large hand found its home between your legs and two of his thick fingers slipped easily into your cunt, his thumb rubbed purposeful circles over your clit, and his tongue slipped past your lips like he wanted to ravage you whole. Frank kept his rough grip on Matt’s hair, but he steadied his hips in favor of letting Matt suck him off at his own pace while Frank focused on fingering your needy cunt. 

Your head was spinning from the way Frank kissed you, like he was stealing the very essence of life right from your lungs. It was messy and frantic the way your tongues and teeth collided, and you grabbed onto the back of his neck and gripped onto his broad shoulder for support, moaning into his mouth as his hand worked expertly between your legs. 

Frank had said Matt couldn’t touch himself, but he never said that you couldn’t touch Matt, and he didn’t make a move to stop you as you blindly reached for Matt’s impatient cock. Matt instinctively grabbed onto your wrist and guided your hand towards his hardened cock, and the muffled moan of gratitude he let out from the contact made Frank shudder against you both. The three of you worked in tandem to bring the other to the peak of pleasure, and it didn’t take much longer for you all to collectively erupt into unmitigated elation.

Pulling his spent cock from Matt’s mouth, Frank fell back onto the couch between you two, putting his arms around both of your shoulders to pull you and Matt in towards his large body as you all attempted to catch your breath. When Frank pressed a soft kiss to the top of yours and Matt’s heads, your eyes fluttered open slowly, and you couldn’t help but let out a quiet amused laugh at the sight of both your boyfriends sitting on the couch together with their pants around their ankles. 

After a few moments of silence, Frank cleared his throat and relaxed back further into the cushions, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch.

“So, what’s for lunch?”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @desert-fern @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

[oneshotnewbie]

I hope your feeling well. I would like to request an Amelia shepherd x reader where the reader is in recovery of self harm and one day Amelia comes home and finds her harming herself. First angst and then fluff if you are comfortable <3

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of self-harm, blood and the brief mention of suicide. These plots are presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

In a dimly lit room, you sat at a shabby old desk belonging to your predecessor. The room seemed cramped and suffocating, as if the bare walls were getting closer and closer the longer you stayed there in your chair. You stared at the screen of an overloaded old computer, your eyes wide open and your forehead furrowed thoughtfull, the table littered with all the papers from a new case, scattered in a chaotic arrangement while the coffee in the cup next to it has long since become cold, ignored and forgotten.

Your hands clinging to the mouse, sweaty and shaking, the cursor on the screen frantically darting over various tabs and icons as you desperately tried to get anything done amid the pressure, stress and sleepless nights of the last few weeks. Your breathing was heavy and shallow, but your chest was still falling quickly and in an irregular rhythm. The air around you thick and the pressure within it palpable, as if invisible hands were constricting your throat.

"Hey, y/n. Are you okay?" A bright, feminine voice asked, her fitting figure standing in front of your desk. Your eyelids flickered as you lifted your head, the thoughts in your head swirling wildly as you tried to keep control of them and yourself. But the only thing you wanted at that moment was to go back to the blade and relieve yourself, even though you had already been clean for three months and had promised yourself never to fall back into this addiction.

"Y-yeah, everything is fine," you lied in a broken and raspy voice, the desk lamp next to you flickering dimly as the room filled with a muffled, monotone sound that seemed to penetrate through your ears and lodge in your head. "Are you sure? You look pale and you are sweating. Do you have a fever?"

The pressure inside you grew with your colleague's questioning, heavy like an unbearable weight that rested on your shoulders and pulled you further and further to the ground. Every second that the blonde's eyes were on you seemed like an eternity, and the pressure inside, mixed with a deep panic, felt like a bubbling volcano, ready to erupt and consume everything around you. "You know what? I feel sick. I am going to go home and rest."

ᕚ---ᕘ

As soon as you got home, you quickly ran to the bathroom and looked for a brand new disposable razor, which you had disassembled in seconds. The world around you blurred into a diffuse mist of colors and shadows as you sat down on the bed and violently tore your jacket down. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears and your gaze was blank, fixated on the cold silver between your fingers. Your hands shook as you placed the blade spasmodically against your thin skin, fighting the inner storm to hurt yourself and destroy the promise you gave Amelia.

There was an ominous silence around you, broken only by the dull thumping of your own pulse. Your body was heavy, bound by an invisible chain, your legs rooted to the ground. Your face marked by fear and desperation, but also relief as you pulled the blade through and a thin line of blood appeared on the cut. It helped you release the pressure you were holding inside, pouring out the stress of the days.

It was a moment of liberation that no one understood. Another cut brought you repeated relief and at the feeling of burning and escaping emotions, you closed your eyes as you tilted your head back and took a deep breath. In your trance, you didn't even hear how the front door closed and your girlfriend checked on you in every room. "Y/n? My love, where are you?" Amelia called but you did not hear her, the environment around you seemed unreal and vague.

Amelia had come home after your colleague called her and told her about the incident that had happened at work. She was worried that you really were not feeling well, leaving you go home alone in case something happened to you, so to be on the safe side she had called the emergency contact number listed in your file to make sure you were not alone and someone could look after you when you got home. "Elizabeth called me and said that you-" she stopped perplexed in her tracks, her jaw hanging low as she spotted you, bloody razor just inches away from your wrist.

Close to it, there were cuts, angry red blood dripping down onto your thigh. "Hey, what are you doing there? Put that down, please" she demanded softly, mostly out of fright and shock. You looked down at the ground, refusing to meet her gaze as she dropped her bag on the floor and immediately made her way to the bathroom to grab some bandages. Amelia returned with a small, wet rag, which she gently placed over your wrist and pressed firmly onto it. There was not much bleeding, she did not have to worry about serious injuries, however tears threatened to fall. The brunette was scared- terrified for you.

"Why?" she asked sniffling, not showing the slightest bit of anger in her voice. You looked up nervously, your shiny and relieved eyes meeting her sad hazel brown ones. She ran her fingers delicately through your strands of hair before her hand came to rest on your cheek, her thumb lightly stroking your cheekbone. "You were clean. Why did you do that, darling?"

„I just needed to escape the harsh and bleak reality. Life recently got so rough and I felt like I may burst,“ you began to speak and she pulled you into her chest by the back of your head. Amelia kissed your hair, ran her hand through it and gently rocked you from left to right. Her chin rested on your skull, her eyes closed to calm her racing heart. She was not mad at you, never could be. She herself knew what it was like to fight an addiction; it took her several attempts to be sober for a good three years. "I am sorry, Am."

"It is okay. Please only answer one question," you nodded your head, still hidden in her chest and held by her. "If you could kill yourself right now, would you?" You quickly jumped and tore yourself away from her, your eyes wide at the shocking question. Placing your hands on her thighs, you gently rubbed her knees and looked deep into her eyes. "No, because suicide means that you have given up on yourself. And I am not going to do that. I just had to let the pressure go because I did not see any other option."

[pencil-of-ashes]

Things That Happen: Phigros Edition

Jackhammers

[Flips to mirror mode] "Oh this is worse"

Realizing you have to get an A on preceding songs for an unlock requirement (especially for IN level)

Suddenly, 4-finger tap

A whole stream of notes but you forget the rhythm so they're all good/bad instead of perfect

Judgment line disappears, a random flick note becomes the judgement line

You look away for a moment and that random note floating in the middle of the screen? Yeah a judgement line just swept across it. Yeah you start the song with a missed note.

You thought the song was over? Surprise, a final note zoomed down

First time seeing the Spasmodic unlock cutscene

Loading tips

Attempting to piece together lore from the little snippets

[friendlylocalwhumper]

It looks peaceful. Soft, short hair flowing in the water, pretty green eyes squeezed shut, freckles blended in with tanned skin by the haze of the water… Jaylen would almost look majestic under there, if he wasn’t jerking with the failed attempts to hold his breath.

At the tap on his shoulder, the silent commend, Corbett pulls his boyfriend back up with a worried grimace. Jaylen’s head lolls back as he’s lifted out of the metal tub where his back was bent over it, hair hanging straight back and slicking to his skull as he flops forward.

“Ghh, guh…” The hand cupped at the back of his head is all that keeps Jaylen from slumping against the tub and falling into a heap. He relaxes into the support, even as Corbett has to twist his fingers into that slicked hair to keep him upright.

“Sorry, sorry, Jay,” Mutters the unwilling torturer, sharp teeth gritting with his apology. His pink fluffy hair has gone dull and fine, his bright eyes a pale blue.

“Again.”

The voice above and behind him comes with an impatient shove. Corbett’s expression twists further, his grip tightening on his gasping boyfriend’s hair. “He can’t breathe. He can’t, he can’t-!”

Knees pressing harder into the floor for leverage, Jaylen sprays droplets across the room as he shakes his head. Leans backward with water still dripping from his nose. “C-, Cor. ‘s okay. ‘s okay.” Star-studded bandaids across Jaylen’s cheek and nose flop wetly. He tips his head to smile. It is pained, apologetic. Those breaths sound clogged. His fingers tap an anxious rhythm, where his arms are bound tight around his back.

At least there’s no shortage of sensory input for him right now. In fact, Corbett thinks as he wipes wet hair from Jaylen’s brow, there might be too much. Water is good and neutral for a path, for sensitive magic reading pasts and feelings, but it’s not so nice when it’s forcing itself down and up your nose and throat. A lot of pain, a lot of stress. If Corbett pays close attention, he feels a buzzing, a twitching of muscles where Jaylen needs to bolt.

Corbett took too long, staring forlornly at his soggy boyfriend. A hand shoves at his back, forcing him toward the tub and dropping Jaylen back into it. Skittish hands scramble to scoop Jay back up, but there’s no room to get him into the air again, so they settle for covering Jay’s eyes. There’s no point to it, but for some reason, Cobett doesn’t want him to see. No pretty jade eyes blinking feverishly under the swirling water. No fear that Corbett cannot soothe.

Jaylen’s stomach is bare with how he’s twisted backward, his colorful jacket riding up. The smooth expanse of chilly skin is too much, and Corbett finds himself biting down onto it, jaw locking. Bubbles rise in the water as Jay tries to cry out in surprise, maybe tickled by the bite. Blank, panicked, now-lavender eyes stare out at nothing as Corbett latches on with another bite, seeking comfort, frowning around the mouthful as he tastes blood. Oops, didn’t mean to chomp that hard. Poor Jay.

The drowning one writhes spasmodically until he can angle his legs differently, putting more pressure on the edge of the tub digging into his back, just to press his knees in at Corbett’s side. A makeshift hug, clinging. The biting is painful, but always a comfort. Always. An anchor of pressure, of familiar input. Corbett nuzzles miserably as he continues to hold him down. Until the bubbles slow to a stop, until the legs around his sides relax. Corbett doesn’t get to decide when it ends, that’s the job of the man standing over them. Bruised arms slide around Jaylen’s chest, feeling for any more twitches of failed breaths, ready to pull him up as soon as it is allowed.

[ajgrey9647]

"I'm yours. Only yours." Jason x Tommy

Couple Stubborn Asses

Time seemed to slow down and he felt as though he couldn’t draw breath, even as he paced agitated circles about the Command Center. Refusing to power down, the green and white boots clicked a steady rhythm as he moved, first one way and then around the other. Gloved fists twisted, clenched, and unclenched spasmodically.

Despite the other Rangers’ best efforts, nothing calmed Tommy’s panicked fretting. 

‘Please be ok, please be ok, please be ok. Jason, you have to live…’

He couldn’t get the awful sound of Jason’s agonized scream to quiet in his mind, couldn’t drown out Goldar’s triumphant cackle. The sight of the Red Ranger dropping limply to his knees before collapsing backward, his sword clattering to the packed stone, the hollow, sickening thud of his body striking the ground.

As the Green Ranger mindlessly shoved and fought his way to Jason’s side, he’d been laser focused on the crimson staining the crisp white of his best friend’s uniform and the smear of blood across his mouth guard. Unable to tell if the Red Ranger was still breathing, he couldn’t stem the enraged roar as he tackled Goldar, pummeling him so viciously that the golden ape had barely managed to drag himself away.

Scooping Jason’s limp body to his chest in a perverse bridal carry, his arms dangling like a rag doll’s, head lolling over Tommy’s bicep had been surreal. This couldn’t be happening. Not Jason, not the Red Ranger, their leader…

‘Please be ok, please be ok… Because I swear to God, I’m going to wring your neck like a fucking chicken when you wake up!’

Why had Jason let Goldar goad him in a fight like that? When Tommy was grappling with Rita’s newest monster of the week? And the others had been unable to teleport to the battlefield, blocked by the evil witch’s magic?

‘Fucking bullheaded, stubborn…’ Tommy swore hotly to himself. ‘Why couldn’t he just fucking WAIT!’

“Tommy?” Kimberly’s voice cut in, her small hand settling on his shoulder like a bird. “He’s going to be fine, alright? Billy and Alpha have him and they’re going to bring him around. You know they will…”

The Green Ranger shrugged her off and growled deep in his throat.

“You need to let Trini scan you, make sure you’re alright,” she tried desperately.

Whirling, the distraught teen snarled, a choked sob of fear flowing beneath the hostile sound.

“I’m fucking fine! Jason’s the one bleeding out!”

The emerald helmet obscured his scalding tears and for that he was thankful. 

“Easy, man!” Zack soothed, stepping between Tommy and the Pink Ranger. “Kim’s right. Jase’s in good hands, he’s strong and tough. I just know he’s going to pull through.”

But the Green Ranger wasn’t having it. Hissing, he turned his back and continued his anxious trek around and around, determined to wear a path in the bright blue tile. He chewed and sucked his inner cheek until he tasted the coppery blood coating his tongue. It made him feel marginally better.

“Goddammit!” he bellowed, making the others jump. Kimberly even let out a tiny, high-pitched squeak.

Zordon’s face swam in the otherworldly tube above the Ranger’s, his own expression tight with worry.

“Tommy, you must calm yourself. This isn’t helping Jason. Only serving to keep you isolated from your friends,” the sage advised. “Allow them to be here for you.”

“I want Jason!”

He hadn’t meant to scream at Zordon nor utter such a private sentiment, but there it was. He attempted to play it off as best he could considering the circumstances. 

“I mean I’ll feel better when Jason wakes up! This is killing me, Zordon! Waiting and wondering! I can’t bear this!”

He collapsed to his knees, not even feeling the sharp pain as he struck the tile heavily. His gloved hands went to his visor in a bizarre attempt to hide his pain and fear.

Before the others could come to his aid, Billy was rounding the corner, relief radiating from his brilliant blue eyes. It’d been a VERY close call. Jason had lost so much blood, the wounds nearly fatal. But, with Alpha’s assistance, a pack or two of blood, and Ranger healing, Jason had made it out of the woods at least.

The Red Ranger was still very weak, grumbling and muttering angrily like a bedraggled kitten. Jason hated being weak and helpless and he was mad at himself for being so boneheaded. With Alpha’s help, he had managed to sit up on the bed, though the movement left him shaky and short of breath.

“Ayi yi yi, Jason! You need to get some rest!” Alpha scolded. “But Tommy’s out there beside himself with worry! Is it alright to let him back here for a moment? So he can see you’re still alive…”

‘Poor Tommy,’ the injured Ranger groaned. ‘He’s probably about to shit a brick.’

“Of course, Alpha,” he gasped, one hand bracing the bandages to his lacerated belly. “Send him back.”

Scuttling off towards the door, the little robot didn’t have a chance to exit because the Green Ranger was barrelling past him, nearly dropping him to his metal ass.

“Tommy! Ayi yi yi! Everything’s fine,” he tittered in surprise as Billy’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist before he could topple over.

But the Green Ranger was frozen in place, staring at Jason’s pale face, a sharp contrast to his dark hair and eyes, unable to make a sound. Was this just a hallucination? Was Jason really sitting there looking at him like he was daft?

He’d almost lost him, his best friend, his partner, his leader. 

His love…

Then his hands were popping the clasps on his helmet as he darted towards the bed. He tossed it absently to the floor where the enamel emitted a sharp crack before it rolled into the shadows. Tommy’s hazel eyes were wide and blazing with an emotion Jason wasn’t able to name.

For a moment, he considered that the Green Ranger was going to deck him, knock his head around for his dumbass actions. But it wasn’t exactly anger glowing there; it was merely a small part of it.

Reaching Jason, the gloved hands briskly glided along his cheeks, cupping his head as the fingers threaded his thick hair.

“You foolish, willful ass!” Tommy hissed, his lip lifted in his signature snarl. 

Then his mouth was covering Jason’s in a passionate kiss, his thumb tenderly brushing the Red Ranger’s jaw. 

For his part, the injured Ranger sat stock still in stunned shock, eyes wide as his best friend kissed him deeply, pouring every fiber of his emotion into the lip lock. Was this really happening or was this a hallucination brought about by severe blood loss? Perhaps even he was dead…

Pulling back roughly, Tommy’s forehead rested against Jason’s, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Do you know how it would have destroyed me to lose someone I love so deeply?”

The feel of Jason’s soft exhalations ghosting his lips brought him back to reality. At the same time, a gasp behind him made him jump.

‘Oh. My. Fuck…’

Did he really just suck Jason’s face in front of the other Rangers and Zordon and Alpha?

Sure as fuck he did…. And he’d confessed his love all in one fell swoop…

‘I wish I was dead.’

Risking opening his eyes, Tommy looked into Jason’s confused face, his poor dry tongue snaking out to lick his lips in the aftermath of the kiss attack.

“Jason, I… I mean… I didn’t…”

He felt the weight of the other’s eyes squarely on his back. No one dared utter a word.

There was no coming back from this, no way to spin it or play it off as a fever dream. He’d gone and fucking done it!!!

‘Fucking idiot! Jason will never talk to you again!’

Lips trembling, Tommy backed away from the Red Ranger, his legs staggering and struggling to keep him upright. He nearly slammed into Kimberly and Zack in his panic. The two Rangers stared at him, their expressions unreadable. 

“Tommy…” Zordon tried but it was too late.

The teen was off and running, scooping up his errant helmet as he dashed out the door, through the Command Center’s main room, and straight out into the desert night. He didn’t even teleport, unsure he could accurately do so while in such a harried state.

Embarrassed tears flowed freely and he was sure that they would all be repulsed by him, would order him to leave the team with his dirty, disgusting lustful behavior towards their leader.

“Fucking hell, Tommy! Will you slow down?” a weak voice rasped. 

The Green Ranger spun around to see a determined Red Ranger huffing and puffing his way after him, one hand holding tight to his injured belly, sweat beading his brow.

“Jason, what the fuck are you doing? Why did they let you out of bed?” Tommy yelled, crossing back to catch his best friend before he passed out from exhaustion.

“You should know… better than… anyone,” Jason panted, bracing himself on Tommy’s shoulders. “I don’t… listen… that well.”

Despite the circumstances, the nervous teen chuckled.

“That’s the understatement of the century, Jase.”

Helping the Red Ranger settle himself on the rocky outcropping, Tommy perched next to him, ready to have his ass chewed out mightily for what he’d just done.

“Why did you run from me?” Jason whispered. 

The green clad shoulders hunched.

“Because I embarrassed the shit out of myself? I told on myself?”

Jason’s brow scrunched.

“You love me?”

Taking a deep breath, Tommy lifted his face to meet Jason’s gaze.

“Yes, I love you. No, I don’t mean like a friend or brother. I ‘love you’ love you. Romantic love…” he hissed. “You know, the whole butterflies in the pit of my stomach, excited to see you everyday, lost in your beautiful eyes, coming of age romance movie style love.”

Now that it was out in the open, Tommy groaned and dropped his head to his knees.

“So, if you want to beat my ass, scream at me, insult me, tell me how I disgust you… go ahead. I don’t care anymore…”

Jason stared wildly at his Green Ranger. He’d never anticipated that Tommy felt this way about him. He was sure that he had a thing for Kimberly… how the fuck had he been so off base?

Swallowing nervously, he took a deep, calming breath. How did he feel about this? If he admitted he returned Tommy’s affection, what would that mean? How would the others respond? How would KIMBERLY respond? Would they openly hold hands, kiss, cuddle, go on dates? Was he ready for that even with another Ranger? What would his parents say?

Jason shook his head.

‘How do I feel about Tommy? That’s the real question. We’ll figure everything else out.’

He gently placed a hand on the other Ranger’s hand resting on the rocky ground between them.

If he were honest, he’d always felt a pull towards Tommy and he too had felt the butterflies swarming in his belly when the Green Ranger slung a friendly arm around his shoulders or when they sparred in the Youth Center. 

‘I do have romantic feelings for Tommy…’

“Hey.”

“Hmmm?” The Green Ranger rolled his head to the side to look at Jason’s flushed cheeks.

Softly, the Red Ranger’s fingers fluttered along Tommy’s hand and up his arm playfully. 

“I’m yours. Only yours,” Jason breathed. “If you’re alright with that, Tommy.”

The other teen’s eyes widened and he sat up, turning to face Jason. 

“What did you just say?”

“You heard me.”

“You mean… you like me too?” Tommy stuttered, unbelieving. 

“I mean… I love you too.”

Tommy looked down at himself in panic, his hands palpating the green silk and golden shield.

“What’s wrong?” Jason frowned in concern.

“Just making sure I’m not on death’s doorstep and imagining all this. It’s too good to be true.”

Grinning, the Red Ranger leaned heavily against Tommy’s side, feeling an overwhelming exhaustion settle over his shoulders. 

“Oh God, Jase. We’ve got to get you back inside! You still got turned into Goldar’s personal pin cushion and I’ll kick your ass if you start bleeding out again up here!”

Jason chuckled as one again Tommy scooped him up in arms, only this time he was able to incline his face towards the Green Ranger’s.

“Kiss me again?” he breathed, biting his lower lip.

“You don’t have to ask me twice!”

[sylphmacabre]

Somnos Scherzo

Fandom: Nightmare Dork University, an AU of RISE OF THE GUARDIANS that has become its own subfandom

'Verse - Collegeverse

Characters: NDU Piki Black, NDU Jack Sickle, NDU Pitch Black

Pairings: StageFright [Piki/Jack]

Rating: General

Summary: The sleeping habits of Piki Black, hyperbolic playwright.

Notes: If you are wondering what the devil Nightmare Dork University is, and what it has to do with either the movie RISE OF THE GUARDIANS or the GUARDIANS books by William Joyce, please visit the NDU 101 page on Tumblr and its accompanying tags. It's a wild and woolly ride involving four different versions of Pitch Black and a very different version of Jack Frost, all of whom either room together or "fraternize" in a college / university AU. And let's not forget a taxidermied ferret named Mr. Pickles.

Originally posted on Archive Of Our Own on May 15, 2016.

A clinical observer would note that Piki Black succumbed to sleep in sections.

He did not snore, precisely, but his breathing had a sharp difference between inhale and exhale, a staccato rhythm on the upbeat of air leaving his nostrils which would then fold in upon itself as he more softly took air in.

He would most often lie on his left side while sleeping alone, his left hand tucked under one of his two pillows, his right arm wrapped around himself, his right hand grasping his left shoulder.  Occasionally the right hand could be seen to twitch, opening and closing spasmodically.

Once Piki’s breathing settled into a more even pattern and his arms relaxed, there would usually be some erratic scissoring of his legs, with the occasional backwards rabbit-kick, before he gave in to letting sleep take him entirely.

==================

Jack Sickle liked to sleep on his right side.  Piki had noticed that, the very first time the younger man had stayed over at the apartment of iniquity his brother shared with the brute and the horror.

His Jack, his dear, dear Jack, was worth any sacrifice.

So for years, both before and after Jack moved in with him, Piki ignored the constantly pinched nerve in his arm and the eternally pulled muscles in his neck that were a result of him sleeping curled around Jack, while both slept on their right sides.

His leg movements diminished until they barely happened at all, since Piki seldom now descended into utter relaxation.  How could he, when he had all of earth and heaven too in his embrace each night?

The dark shadows under Piki’s eyes deepened more and more during each year that he and Jack lived together, but he brushed aside Pitch’s concerns about sleep deprivation.

==================

Pitch stayed in Piki’s room on an airbed for a full two weeks following Piki’s breakdown, after Jack left.

Never the deepest sleeper himself, for the first ten nights he watched his tormented brother insist on sleeping on “Jack’s side” of the bed.. on what was, in his opinion, the wrong side.  Pitch observed Piki repeatedly try to mould his body to fill an imaginary hollow, contorted into a space that covered barely a tenth of the surface of the mattress, right on the edge and perilously close to falling on the floor.

On the eleventh night, Pitch awoke to hear Piki shifting restlessly.  Keeping his own counsel, he pretended to be asleep himself until the rustling ceased, and then ventured a look over to the bed.

Piki was lying flat on his back, in the center of the mattress.  Tears were leaking from beneath his closed eyelids, as they generally did every night, but tonight Piki’s breathing was deep and even; he was finally, finally sound asleep, and looked more peaceful than he’d been in ages.

Pitch felt his own eyes fill, briefly.

==================

New bed with a double bookcase headboard, new sheets, new pillows.  

A night-table for each of them, rather than both of them sharing Piki’s.

A new double reading-lamp light fixture for over the bed, with switches on each side within easy, independent reach.

Reading aloud to one another became their nightly ritual.

Some nights they slept back to back, Piki on his left side, Jack on his right.

Sometimes Jack curled around Piki, or let Piki pillow his head on his chest.  

Jack never minded the occasional kick in the shins, since he knew that it meant that Piki was actually on his way to a good night’s sleep.

[hornyspacedkitty]

I want someone to lose control with me. To be so stricken by the moment and how much they desire me carnally that they can't take their hands off me.

I want to be thrown into furniture in their need, not out of a desire to hurt me, but for the necessity of purchase. Pulled into position so that they might satisfy that thirst, if but for a moment.

Hands grasping for purchase, finding it in hair, on hips or shoulders. The waves of pain as they pull being met by the pleasure of their thrusts into me.

I want them to grow feral as they draw closer, losing regard for my needs and wants as their release draws near. The thrusts speeding up, losing that steady rhythm as sensations overwhelm them until, with ragged breath they shudder into me.

Finally twitching a last few spasmodic jerks before panting against me, collapsing and slowly, very slowly, coming to their senses enough to make sure I'm ok before we settle down with my head nestled on their chest.

Satisfied... for now

[coffee-guy]

The waves that drag me in

Some nights ago, I was explaining to my friends that the time of friendship for me is dense, spasmodic, continuous, like what a falling in love unfolds. Indeed there are people I need to "drag" with me, just like the waves do.

Bernard from the novel "The Waves" by Virginia Woolf came to my mind, when he said he was unable to distinguish his life from that of his friends who "stir the waters" and the pages of that book, together with him.

Often, I cannot either draw a line between the person I am and the person who becomes my friend and so we happen to misunderstand where our existences begin and end: they rise, swell and crash, mixing like the sea foam. They are continously pushed towards each other by an unconscious motion, created between us, a fluid rhythm that doesn't actually need to be understood, but that works that way by nature.

When the weather gets abnormal or tsunamis are announced, I'm pretty sure these friends, the waves that build inside, manage to keep me afloat.

[tsunagite]

Miscellaneous

Random fact: Someone on the rankings in the current PJSK event mentions DA’AT -The First Seeker of Souls- on their profile and I was jumpscared by that.

[im-a-walmart-bag]

Chapter 7 part 1

Leonardo and the Fallen Kingdom

Inside the throne room now dark from Shredder's presence. Shredder angrily paces near the throne, his armor clinking with each step on the towel floor, his cape ruffling as he walks. Karai stands by, fiddling with a knife. watching her father with confusion. "Father, what's wrong? Why are you pacing around? We have to feed it Splinter and The Wretched Turtles! why are you not celebrating your victory?" sugar stops, pacing and glares at Karai with anger. " victory? you call this a victory?! you do not understand Karai. Victory is hollow without the full prize! I searched not just their defeat, but their power!" Karai walks closer, trying to comprehend what her father just said. " but we have the castle, people, that are weapons, their secrets-" Shredder cuts her off with a snarl. " what good are their secrets without their Ninpo?! When Leonardo was sucked into that portal, his ninpo along with his brothers' and Splinter's went with him! Their Ninpo Remains out of my grasp!" Karai's eyes widened in realization. "Leonardo escaped?" Shredder's fists clenched tightly. "Yes, and with him, the essence of their power, but don't worry.. I won't be denied, I may have a way to find him." Just then the large double doors of the throne room open. guards enter dragging the lifeless bodies of the Fallen Warriors behind A them. The guards position the bodies before Shredder and Karai. Karai's face tails at the site. "What... What is this?" Shredder steps forward to the bodies, a Sinister smile spreading across his face under his kabuto, two guards closing the door. " a contingency plan.. if I cannot have their needle entirely, I will still wield their power in another form" Shredder raises his hand chanting in the dark, ancient language. The air grows thick with dark magic. the bodies on the floor twitch, their fingers curling and uncurling spasmodically. Slowly, their movements become more coordinated as some unseen force is pulling their strings. the room is filled with a low hum, the sound of dark magic coursing through their veins. Shredder continues his chant, his hand glowing black and deep purple. "Tenebris potestatem meam auge animas tuas recludam!" A dark Aura envelopes the bodies seeping into the corpses' skin. Their eyes snap open, now black as obsidian, voids that seem to absorb all light. red markings appear over their injuries, glowing anonymously, pulsating with the rhythm of Shredder's incantation. The wounds, those stove is cool scene to close slightly, the flesh knitting together with dark energy. the turtles' tapes would flow behind them as they stood up. splinter, now standing as well, his maroon robe would ruffle as he joins the turtles, his eyes just as dark and lifeless. Karai watched both in awe and horror. "Father.you can control them?" Shredder's lips curl into a malicious grin. "Their bodies are mine to command. They will serve us for our little quest to reclaim what should have been mine." Shredder lowers his hands, and with a final word, the now dark magic controlled warriors stand at attention, their movements unnaturally smooth and precise. Shredder steps forward, examining his new shoulders. "Arise my dark legion. You abound to my will. With you, I will find Leonardo, and this time... Nothing will stand in my way..." The warriors nod in unison. Karai looks at the warriors, smirking. "I will get Stockman to start at dawn, Father." Shredder smirked back, both of them laughing evilly.

I know it’s short, but damn, it took me a while to find the right words (I used big words! :>) for this to sound even more cool, and the Latin, I just used Google translate 😂 Hope you like it my Lovelies!

[wordsonly]

Geist

Man in his relationship to the world

Indubitably a late developer

Total reality, elevated to metaphysical musings

Pantheistic phenomenology of minds lost

Floating the zeit

Eternally divided

Between apes and angels

Rocking and rolling through

Hegelian thesis,

antithesis

synthesis

thesis

Deific alienation trolling the process

The historical rhythm

Consciousness of freedom

Knowing all is one;

He is you

Me is he

We are them

Rational peace

Desires in harmony with reason

Chop off their heads

Dialectical razors

Self projecting to the skies

Bursting rain clouds

Washing away the charm of development

Laws

Liars, thieves

Plateau in the abstract

All darkness, all the zombies strutting

Shuffling

Staggering the grimy pavements

Crooked

All you

Spilling your drink

Pissing up against the wall

Stumbling the organic whole

The freedom of markets

The spring collection

Buggery and balderdash

Manipulating a new set of targets

Manifestoing

The mighty algorithm

Curator

Knowing you

Knowing all

Better than you know your self

Form and content

The logic board, eternally mutable

Our exposition clumsily droppped

Into the natural order

The perpetual change

The universal mind lego’ing reality

Trotting out the next burning rod

The greater reactor

The spasmodic ejaculation

Beginning and ending life

[theottens]

"Music creates order out of chaos: for rhythm imposes unanimity upon the divergent, melody imposes continuity upon the disjointed, and harmony imposes compatibility upon the incongruous."

Stuck in the middle of a mystically labyrinthine world. Avow the melancholic-soul to camouflage beneath the cavernous cobalt waves of Au revoir. #AnOdeToJoy, pertaining to recalculating about wherein all the consecutive music scurried vengeance throughout an auditory cocoon—filled with spasmodic hope and mellifluous stanzas.

Equiponderate droplets inescapable forte through the crescendo of #AnOdeToJoy’ star, foreshadowing every lethargy when mellifluous rhythm fluctuates in the air.

[salvador-daley]

[holt voice] CLONE????

Congratulations, @katplanet! You have successfully located the filth.

This is a deeply smutty but chronically unfinished reader insert featuring an OC based loosely on a certain green-eyed, curly-haired Irish actor, plus his identical female clone created in a somewhat farcical lab accident. I’ve been playing with this one recently so who knows, maybe I will actually post it someday.

NSFW snippet after the cut. 😘😘

[send me a WIP title and I’ll post a snip]

Her technique is similar to his, yet gentler, more intuitive. Plaintive moans rise from your body as she works, her strokes intensifying, becoming more self-assured. She hums as she devours you, the vibration travelling through your body like lightning.

You feel Irish throw his head back behind you and a laugh rises from his chest.

“What’s so funny?” you ask between gasps.

“I can taste you,” he says, showering your shoulder with kisses. “I can taste you.”

You can’t help but laugh along with him. This is so weird, being held in your boyfriend’s arms while his identical female clone goes down on you. Those long fingers dig into your hips as the motion of her tongue intensifies, seeking, searching, rolling, wrapping and then-

Oh shit. Sucking. Sucking with a relentless rhythm, just slow enough, just fast enough to send that familiar tingle to your inner thighs, to drive that spasmodic spark through the centre of your body until-

Irish grips you tightly. Holds you in place with his breath hot against your neck as you come. You clamp your thighs around her head, but she doesn’t stop. Urgent pants rise from your chest as all your major muscle groups tense in unison.

Endless, blissful oblivion.

Over too soon.

When the dark tide rolls back and you finally catch your breath, Robin comes up and wraps her arms around you.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you,” she whispers, stroking the sweat-soaked hairs away from your face.

A reply eludes you. All you can do is release a breathless laugh as you take in her radiant face. You lie here for a moment, the three of you tracing your fingers over each other’s bodies, trading sweet kisses in the dim light.

[ad--misericordiam]

Screw him, literally. Not SFW. (B. H. Ver.)

w: female-coded language.

Brahms is quite selfish in the beginning of your relationship. In his day-to-day life and with his sexual urges, he expects you to be selfless, generous to a fault. He's egotistical and self-centered, and thus the more you give, the more he wants. That's the only way to stay in his good graces. At least, for a few months. If he worms his way into your lap until his face is buried on you stomach, you'll have to indulge him. If he wants you to read out loud while he eats, then you do. His hands will stay on you whenever you're close by, on your waist, lower back, thighs, just so he can remember the feel of you when he's in bed, fisting his cock while thinking how warm and pretty you'd look sprawled there. He always imagines you begging, for his cock, for his love, for him. “Deeper, Brahms”, you'd say, “I want all of you, please”, and he'd have to grip himself tighter to fight off the need to cum. This would only pacify him temporarily, soon his fantasies are not enough.

You'll never shower alone. He'll resort to his voyeuristic inclination in order to observe you without your knowledge (or so he thinks), creeping inside the walls with practiced ease, eyes zeroed on the way your hands glide over your sudsy skin. He matches his strokes to your movements, when you wash your hair, when you scrub your legs, he'll pace himself in a shared rhythm. It makes the experience more real for him, somehow. After allowing you to see him sans mask, the only way this smelly brat will take a shower is if you offer to join in. Brahms will soak in the romantic atmosphere, being bare in front of the object of his affections, but that won't last long. You want to wash his hair? He'll wash your tits then, caressing them until he can feel your nipples harden against his palm. He wants to shave your pussy, and unless you want to put up with his temper tantrum, you'd do well in letting him. But rest assured, he'd be awfully mindful of the razor, and rinse you thoroughly when he's done. He expects praise, gratitude, and a soapy handjob.

His concept of love is distorted and outdated, due to the lack of human interaction and his fondness for harlequin romance novels, respectively, but that doesn't mean he's completely incapable of loving you. He does love you, but that love is complicated and, most likely, poisoned at the roots. That means you shouldn't get used to one side of Brahms. There'll be days when he cradles your face and kisses you deeply, thumbs rubbing your cheekbones, so patient and loving you'll be the one to rush things for once, licking and nibbling and savoring. You'll catch a glimpse of the man Brahms could've been when you sit on his cock, his head thrown back to reveal thick tendons, the mere sound of his real voice luring you into a frenzy. There'll be days when he slams you against the nearest surface, be it the wall, the couch, the counter, tearing layers of clothing apart until he can only see supple flesh. You'll be split on his length before you can utter a word, his hand on your hair, jerking your head backwards until you can feel your scalp aching. He'll use his child voice, because he knows it repels you, even more so when having sex. He's a huge brat, taunting you, grinding his hips in circles until your cunt quivers, the spasmodic clenching leaving him hooked.

Titty-fucking you? Fuckyeah.png. It doesn't matter if you don't have a chest big enough for this, it's not a requisite, he'll hump your bosom like a dog either way. He's nasty about it too, straddling your upper body while he rubs the frenulum on your nipples until they pebble, coating them in the stickiness of his precum, running the sleek crown of his length over your décolleté until the skin there reddens. Brownie points if you stick your tongue out so he can rub his prick on it while his thumbs tweak your nippies or his fingers play with your messy cunt. He wants you to push your tits together, shaking them up and down his shaft, head bowed to suck on the glans clumsily. When he comes, he'll order you to open your mouth wide so he can shoot his load there, but some will end up pooling on the dip between your collarbones. If you scoop it up with your fingers and suck it off, his refractory period will shorten to seconds.

A grower, not a shower. He's five inches long when soft, eight and a half when erect, completely smooth, a couple shades darker than the rest of his body. Hairy, of course. If that bothers you, you'll have to take matters into your own hands, as Brahms could care less about that. Unless you refuse to suck him off, then he'll shave it off reluctantly (with your razor, cause he's a piece of shit), but he'll find he enjoys his clean look quite a bit because it makes him look bigger. In addition, if you massage his perineum while working your tongue on his slit, you'll get to witness his abdomen tensing and clenching, erotic moans pouring out from his parted lips completely unabashedly. He prefers cumming on your face, as if he's marking you with his seed. Brahmsy is possesive like that.

Like Michael, Brahms started eating you out to quench his curiosity. Gently parting your outer lips until the labia minora gives away to his insistence, leaving you open to his keen stare and avid mouth. He'll circle your hooded clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking and blowing cold air on it, pleased with the way you moan and squirm. His kisses on your hole feel horribly obscene, lapping up your juices until the entrance puckers cutely under the attention, tightening around nothing. He wants you to beg, giving you enough stimulation to keep you needy, slick gushing out from your cunny. Soon enough, he realized he actually liked bringing you pleasure, so you can expect him to drop to his knees at any time of day and make you fuck his face, lips closing around that precious bundle of nerves and burying two fingers inside of you.

Cockwarming him is a good way to keep him docile. Whether you're on the bed, the couch, the bathtub, he wants to feel the warmth only those gummy walls of yours can provide. As gross as he may be about intimacy at times, he craves the loving aspect of a relationship as well, so this will mainly happen when cuddling. He's just quite... unorthodox about it. You could be reading or trying to take a quick nap between chores and he'd undress you from the waist down, without warning, slipping his cock inside your snug canal down to the base of it. The way your muscles flutter trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion makes him bury his face on your neck with a choked groan. He'll tell you to go back to whatever you were doing before. He could stay like this for hours if he wanted, content with the physical connection, erection holding up thanks to the constant trembling of your pussy. He wants to ruin you for any other man, turning you into a tailored cocksleeve. “I love you so much, Brahms”, he hears you say, pressing kisses to his masked cheek, and he believes you. After all, you're his. His to love, his to keep, his to spoil.