#smear frames are fun I love smear frames and shit

[pebblezone]

I have many thoughts in my head

[neopuppy]

alpha step brother jaemin 😏

you went for it💀

warnings. step-siblings, thigh riding, kinda fluffy 👻

“aw mannn,” Jaemin pouts, releasing a loud dramatic sigh from the kitchen. the frown pulling his face down enough for you to notice from across the way.

“what’s up?”

he saunters over to the living room, plopping down to occupy the empty space at your side. the Alphas warm bare arm brushing against yours raising goosebumps to erupt across your forearm.

“my date cancelled on me! I reserved these haunted house tickets weeks ago!” his lower lip juts out even more as his vocals grow higher in pitch. not typically one to whine, it amused you to see your playboy step-brother upset over getting ditched last minute.

“I’m sure you have plenty of Omegas on speed-dial ready to jump at a chance to have Jaemin Na swoon over them for the evening.”

his lip quirks, tilting to look at you with cartoonish large eyes innocently blinking. “what about you?”

“ah, no.. you know I can’t handle scary stuff like that.”

“pleaseeee?” he grovels, dipping his chin to rest on your shoulder. the waft of his peachy scent tickles at your nose, flinching away to hide the deep inhale you take in. “Alpha will protect you from the monsters.”

Jaemin laughs, pushing you more to agree to accompany him. the alleged date he had planned now forgotten about, because he never really had a date. the idea that monsters ready to jump at you from every corner should be the least of your concerns sets a smirk on his lips.

“I promise I won’t let any of those monsters touch you.”

it shouldn’t be this scorching hot with October right around the corner, but rolling heat waves following out of summer into fall have you sweating as you stand in line. panic circulates throughout your gut faster, an immense fear worsening the amounts of perspiration secreting from your pores. groups of screaming attendees heightens your worry the longer you wait, squinting at the flames that rise above the exit each time crowds bust free shouting as they run from the house.

“you’re looking a little nervous there.” Jaemin’s low tone startles you, jerking in place as you wave him off.

“it’s..I mean— fuck, why did I agree to this?”

“because you love me?” his usual menacing smile feels comforting for once, making you force out a laugh to calm down. “listen, when Halloween’s over, this house isn’t even here anymore. it’s all for fun, harmless fun, alright?”

“easy for you to say, you watch Horror movies out of enjoyment.” you glare at him, nudging against his side regretfully as sweat smears on your arm. “that’s some serial killer shit.”

“you wouldn’t get it.” he grins, nodding ahead now that you’re the first in line. “you don’t need to be scared, I got you.”

he positions you to stand in front of him, the large expanse of his palms belting your waist to press your back against his built chest. the heat radiating off of him only making your head spin more between anxiety and lack of cool air entering your lungs.

the pseudo zombie butler at the entrance welcomes you in, belting out a boisterous manic laugh as you pass the threshold. each step you take into the dark hallway more of a struggle than the last, shaking too hard as you gingerly pat the toe of your shoe on the ground to be sure of your next step.

“it’s ok, it’s ok.” Jaemin coo’s near your ear, hot breath fanning down the side of your face the more he leans in, engulfing your frame with his like a shield of protection. “you think I’d let anyone hurt my little sister?”

step-sister… you’d correct him if your teeth would stop chattering long enough to let out anything other than a scream as costumed figures continue to jump out of dark holes shouting. the sounds of chainsaws revving up combined with ghoulish screams and murderous theme music resounding from speakers around you has you screeching.

“I can’t!” you cry out, twisting free from Jaemin’s hold to hide your tear streaked cheeks in the comfort of his muscular chest.

“hey hey,” your step-brother sighs, nuzzling his nose into your hair as his weighty hands stroke up and down your back. “what did I tell you? don’t you trust me?”

he waits for the feel of your head nodding against his chest, pushing your hair back to clear a space for himself. tilting your chin up, his nose trails lower to graze along your scent gland in a comforting way shared between siblings. “Alpha would never let anyone harm you.”

scenting calms you enough to regain your mind for a minute, quickly soothed by fields of peaches taking over the darkness around you.

Jaemin’s thigh nudges between yours to hug you tighter, his eyebrows lifting up curiously with another press forward. the heady strong scent of arousal twitching his nostrils the more he adjusts a space between your legs. “You must not be that scared..”

his smirk traces down your cheek, burning hot to the touch as his palms glide down to cup your bottom. a firm grip placing your core directly on his flexed thigh to bounce you up and down.

“Alpha..”

“you like it, don’t you?” he taunts, flicking the tip of his tongue out to tease at your parted lips. “Alpha protecting you from the boogeyman, dripping down my thigh like some stereotypical innocent virgin in a horror film.”

he’d laugh if he wasn’t so turned on, grinding you faster on his thigh to get you off. planning how to escape the haunted house easily, the sooner he can lay you out in the backseat of his car; the sooner he can have you screaming your head off once you’ve realized you never got away from the real danger.

“Alpha, I’m—“ your heavy panting echoes louder than any of the horrific sounds surrounding the two of you. too caught up by the bulging biceps rippling under your palms, the consistent jerk between your thighs smearing a mess inside of your shorts. clit overly-sensitive from the rough friction dragging back and forth.

“if you scream, I’ll fuck you right here.” he says, voice gone hoarse from straining his arms to fuck you down onto his leg faster.

“Alpha!” it’s more of a hiss, half lost and muffled between his pecs. shivering from fear and pleasure hitting you hard at once.

Jaemin sighs, stilling to allow you time to calm down and catch your breath. he’d have to force you to sit and watch a scary movie with him next time, maybe now you’d get it.

[garnetea]

elysian rain

who itachi uchiha x black! male y/n. length 3.7k words. byr mature/smut!, black male! reader, he/they pronouns, gay relationship obvi, fluff and smut, rainy date, pottery ouu, body kisses, some y/n praise, implied love making, and third person.

leman's letter! this shit was fun to write, it's just mad oldddd. this's a re-post and i’m still proud of it *wipes tears*; male reader representation!!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ★

The weather was rudely unpredictable, choosing this lovely day to perform an obnoxious tantrum against Y/n and Itachi’s wide window panes. The sky was a clear shade of blue just this morning, the only feature to align with its welcoming color being the white smears of clouds and specs of flocking birds towards north. Though now those clouds were much less white than grey, and the once clear blue sky was nothing but a murky dark shade to reciprocate the dreary weather. So much for that cute picnic date the couple had planned. It was undoubtedly a dispiriting fact that they were forcibly stuck in this fuck ass apartment; disclosed from the damp air and muddy puddles encroaching the rest of the city.  

  “Mtch, Itachi?” Y/n called, rolling over on the couch with aggravation as he stretched. He faced his boyfriend, Itachi, from across the living room with a sigh of boredom. The dark haired man glanced up at him from where he was sitting, strings of hair escaping his respective ponytail and tickling the divine frame of his feminine features. In that peaceful spot by the window with his cozy rocking chair, a new novel he recently picked up laying idly on his covered lap.

  “What is it, Y/n?” Itachi’s voice was similar to a mumble, being so far away, but Y/n could hear the usual gentle tone of his deep voice. His eyes were as attentive as always, analyzing Y/n’s annoyed expression and dramatic position laid out on the couch. From the way his limbs flopped over the arm and back of the furniture, it was clear that the cancellation of today’s romantic plans was wearing him down. He couldn’t even fish out the energy to shift across the coffee table and grab the remote. Instead, he laid there with nothing to stimulate him but the clashing of rain against the glass and the low rumbling of the dryer in the distant laundry room.

  “What type of date is this, bro?” Y/n complained, dull disinterest teeming from his plain tone. It was painfully obvious that on such a dreary day there wasn’t much the couple could do, but damn was this nigga bored beyond recognition. He pondered on what happened to their neatly packed basket and folded polka dot blanket. The strawberries sprinkled in sugar and packed away in the fridge, and the expensive cheesecake he went to the trouble of buying. Was it all for nothing? No, they could reschedule for another day, without a doubt- but Y/n was still a bit vexed about the situation. “Man, at this point I’m boutta k-,”

  “Y/n.” With a glare slimly present, he spoke- but Itachi did more than simply call out his lover’s name. As a follow up, he sighed and stood from his seat, stretching his arms out and placing his book neatly on the coffee table. The glittery feeling of responsibility to lighten your bitter mood seemed to have a hold on his actions. “I told you to stop kidding like that." 

  The knitted blanket once draped over his lap was in a bundled heap at his feet, and he held a relaxed demeanor as he stepped over it’s mountain-like appearance.  Itachi then walked past the living room to the narrow hallway without another word, disappearing into the other side of the lavishly sized apartment. Though Y/n was too uninterested to get up and follow his boyfriends figure as he usually did, finding it unfavorable to act like a lost puppy on such an irritating day. All he wanted was to pamper Itachi for once, the man was always being the gentleman of the relationship. For once, Y/n wanted to be the one to hold open the door, or to make his plate for him. Of all days for a downpour to devour this glistening city of buildings and street lights, it just had to be today.

  A few minutes later, Itachi’s presence had returned to Y/n’s active acknowledgment. His thin, well built figure had re-entered the room with an armful of familiar looking supplies. If Y/n couldn’t see the small Pottery wheel under Itachi’s arm, they would’ve still known what his boyfriend was planning to entertain him with. Simply because the nostalgic smell of clay was now prominently befalling against the once cream vanilla scented living room.

  Rather than let Y/n ask any questions, Itachi proceeded to make his way back down the hall, returning a few more times with more pottery supplies. Y/n sat up on the couch, finding amusement in watching everything be prepared so neatly. The sheet beneath the table to prevent any messes, the needles and wooden modeling tools, they were all aligned in their respective places on the coffee table. 

  It wasn’t until everything was in order that Itachi finally decided to speak again, standing before Y/n with his thin hand stretched out to greet his lover. A hand that, of course, Y/n found no resistance in accepting; idiotic giggles escaping his tittering smile as he moved to the spot on the floor. "Today we can do pottery.” Itachi decided calmly, finding a comfortable seat beside you on the floor. “Then, tomorrow we can pick flowers to fill our vases. Alright?”

  To say Y/n was congested with a sense of contentment and benevolent affection was a bit more than an understatement, though he did his best to remain composed. Other than the gratified smile protruding across his brown lips, they appeared to be primarily unfazed by their boyfriends kind actions. “That sounds nice, Itachi.” He agreed softly through their upturned lips, placing a hand over Itachi’s on the floor and leaning upwards with an obvious intent. Y/n pressed a feebly gentle kiss to Itachi’s cheek to express his appreciation, resisting the urge to tackle the man and instead shower him in butterfly kisses. Oh what an urge that was, but they did well to hold their composure as he added a genuine, “Thank you.” before leaning back into his respective spot.

  Itachi closed his eyes in sweet acceptance, letting out a soft “Hm..” as he held no resistance against the gentle smile greeting his lonesome lips. In the back of his mind, he’d hoped his boyfriend would take this opportunity to douse every inch of his face with peppered kisses, as he usually would. He expected the orange sulfur and monarchs in the center of his slim stomach to expand and throw a fit, azalea and daffodil’s blossoming in his chest as they’d done when the men first met. In fact, he might’ve even been looking forward to it. But of course with little hesitation, he deemed this as being  a bit needy, pushing his subconscious desires elsewhere. Itachi instead directed his attention to the navy blue pottery wheel in front of him, deciding it was paramount to not keep his beloved waiting.

  Y/n watched in wait of some form of directions as Itachi took a grey piece of clay from the supplies, handing a palm sized chunk to Y/n and began forming his own into the necessary shape. Not knowing much about pottery himself, Y/n cleared his throat awkwardly and followed their boyfriends actions- taking it as a nonverbal instruction. Once both pieces of clay were in a gumdrop shape and the couple’s hands were besmeared with grey, Itachi plopped his on the wheel and began patting it down in order for it to stick to the center board. A necessary first step it seemed to be since he was sure to really hit  the poor clay before he began modeling it into what would soon be a pot.

  “Once I’m finished with mine, we can do yours.” He assured, taking notice of Y/n glancing at him and the wheel with clear uncertainty. Between his own lump of clay, Itachi’s, and the wheel, there was an ambivalent question mark stapled across his expression, and it didn’t take a genius to notice- although Itachi sure was one. Therefore, Itachi calmly reassured him with, “It won’t take long." 

  Though Y/n didn’t swallow this response as he intended him to. "No, no! You’re good, I just don’t want mine to dry before I start.” Y/n admitted genuinely. He figured if he didn’t make the block into something soon, it would dry and be harder to use- not to mention it would be wasteful. Regardless of his theories, he had no reason to fear. Itachi was experienced, this being his hobby and all, and knew well that it wouldn’t harden as long as some water was kept in contact. Therefore, he sped up the pottery wheel and dipped his hand in the nearby bucket of water before beginning the messy process of his masterpiece.

  “If you keep your hands wet as you hold it, it won’t dry.” Itachi informed, holding his focus on the spiraling grey piece as it pulled its length up similarly to the extensive frame of a building. Y/n couldn’t even form a response as his attention found more interest in watching the satisfying build up of the smooth material, coating Itachi’s slender fingers with every change of shape. It transformed from a sphere to a tower, then it was flattened midway and given a hole in its center. It resembled an odd cup, or a stubby volcano, but somehow Y/n still found it more impressive than he let his unfazed facial expression let on. 

  Itachi found tranquility in his pottery, it could be referred to as something like his desired, irenic haven. Which would have to be why he found himself paying no mind to the compliments Y/n couldn’t help but adorn him in. It wasn’t until he heard the sweet adjective “pretty” that he tuned in, hoping he hadn’t missed anything vitally blush inducing while he was drowning in those imaginative thoughts of ceramics and porcelain. 

  “I mean, you look pretty too, but I’m talkin’ about the clay right now.” Y/n corrected himself, leaning in closer to get a better look at the details enveloping itachi’s fingers. The thick, viscid pieces of clay sticking and smearing across his fingers as he dug the two pointers into the middle of the block; spreading the spinning walls apart to make a wide opening as you’d see in a pot. Then, with one of the nearby sponges he’d brought out, Itachi began smoothing down the inside of the unfinished creation as well as the outside, pressing a bit harder on the petal so the wheel would spin at a temporarily accelerated pace. It was truly a satisfying process that made Y/n consider taking more interest in his boyfriends artistic hobby- though it was messy. This would have to be an activity solely for when his nails were bare and ready to be temporarily filthy, because goodness was it clinging to Itachi’s under nail like a star fish on glass. 

  Not long after he smoothed the sides and evened out the length, Itachi slowed the wheel down to an immediate halt. “Is.. Oh, that’s it?” Y/n asked with fascination, quickly tugging himself away from the dedicated entrance he found himself in.

  Itachi told him that that indeed was it, it wasn’t too difficult a process; it simply takes practice to make a good piece. So with that, he quickly cleaned off the wheel with the sponge and peeked over at Y/n, awaiting some form of response. Maybe a “Ight, so it’s my turn now”, like he’d usually say, brimming with self confidence and natural optimism. Alas, there was nothing of the sort to greet Itachi’s sanguine expression, Y/n was as quiet as a mouse… It was apparent that his attention was held entirely too well during the process. So much that he didn’t hear the minor instructions Itachi had mumbled to him as he fixed the undeveloped pot. Hence the confusion on the man’s face as Itachi slid the pottery wheel towards him, expecting him to slap on his clay and get started. 

  “Itachi, you know I don’t know much about pottery…” Y/n began, pursing his lips and glancing between the wheel and their boyfriend’s deadpanned expression. Itachi didn’t even bother forming a response, he refused to repeat himself simply because Y/n wasn’t as attentive as he should’ve been. When the awkward silence became entirely too much to bare, Y/n simply said “fuck it” and slapped the clay on the center of the wheel. “Now don’t be mad if mine looks better than yours, shit just comes naturally." 

  Such confidence was almost comedic, the man clearly didn’t have a thorough understanding of what he was doing. Slightly pushing on the petal before lifting back off when the quick acceleration caught him off guard. Had they forgotten how they attentively observed Itachi follow each step within the past six minutes? Surely that must’ve been the case, because by now Itachi was sighing as a way to cope with the horridly taunting chuckle threatening to befall his pretty lips.

  Without a word to announce his next course of action, Itachi adjusted from his respective seat at Y/n’s left; instead, moving to the back of the man’s struggling figure. "Come on, Y/n. Were you not watching?” Itachi inquired calmly and knowingly against Y/n’s neck, leaning his chest against his back and innocently pressing his covered crotch to his boyfriends ass. Of course, this was genuine innocence, he was only placing his knees on either side of his boyfriend’s calves in order to help him make this pot. He was in no way trying to provoke anything sexual. If anything, he was promoting a moment of intimate romance in replacement of today’s scheduled picnic, the weather being so intrusive and all. Though regardless of his motives, the position was clearly a bit… less than decent, or at least less than “innocent”. And Y/n wasn’t a dense dumbass, he knew quite well what this looked like- or rather what this felt like.

  He managed to clear his throat and re-dip his hands in the bucket of water along with Itachi, swearing that he was paying attention. He was just a bit forgetful that was all. The exact details seemed to slip his mind, replacing his vital memories with the pale details of Itachi’s clay covered finger tips and palms. Though he’d be too awkward and embarrassed to openly confess this to Itachi, the reason as to why he knew not a thing about how to start this shit. Therefore, he decided to simply move on and let Itachi show him the ropes. 

  It was a gentle, warm feeling- almost ticklish, and surely sensually memorable, as Itachi maneuvered his arms to comfortably guide Y/n’s fingers around the thick clay. Both hands drenched in water, the droplets landing on the surface below as it began to accelerate and rotate in place. The low whirl it vibrating through the air wasn’t as relevant or noticeable as a fly when Y/n had this fluttering feeling contorting through his abdomen. Delicate panzica and rare begonia building up in the pit of his stomach before blossoming politely in his amiable chest. Itachi’s fingers were soft and slender as they linked with Y/n’s, and both of them- or more Y/n than Itachi- were doing their utmost best to remain composed regardless of the warmly heart rate surging contact. The constant shifting in place, Y/n squeezing his thighs together with an awkward sense of sexual anticipation and intimacy draping itself naturally around his fuzzed head space.

  “Am I- Uh, we doin’ it right?” Y/n inquired, mentally cussing at himself for stumbling so doltishly over his simple question. He was just too focused on the gliding of Itachi’s fingers between his, so much that he struggled to piece together audibly literate words. The delicate interlacing of their skin with the wet clay, only interrupting the messy labyrinth to dip their hands in more room temp water. It was impossibly euphoric and held no effort in encasing Y/n’s rib cage with silky cirrus and suffocating cumulus. 

Itachi was extremely talented, it was obvious that he knew what he was doing, especially when it came to art. Nevertheless, he responded to his boyfriends query, simply because it was considered rude not to. Not to mention that he too was beginning to sense the desperate shared heat for sexual pleasure, but was striving with every morally correct thought to deny such impulses. Today was meant to be purely peaceful and virtuously winsome; containing nothing as inappropriate as what his intricate subconscious was concocting.

  “Yes, you’re doing just fine, Y/n. Shape it with my hands, like this.” Itachi replied in what felt like a butterfly’s hushed tone. His lips unintentionally tickled Y/n’s shoulder as he spoke, the bare brown skin slipping desperately from the white tee all on its own. Tempting and taunting Itachi like a pretty Rosary Pea, one he knew he shouldn’t touch for it was doused in sweet beguiling poison. The bottom line of reality is that no man is perfect, and this naturally charming person sitting before Itachi was indeed, if nothing else, his. Who was he to deny himself such gestures  for someone he desperately adored and, in fact, was his? Thus, when he suddenly lost interest in maintaining pressure on the acceleration pedal, and when he finally grew bored of this growing tension between the two warm bodies, no one could blame him for how his hands ventured bluntly up Y/n’s shirt. The smears of cold clay on the other male’s torso and chest surprising them, a soft gasp escaping their lips brimming with staggering pleasure and satisfaction.

  Itachi discarded all of his care and consideration for his boyfriend’s clean tee shirt. He found no time to go wash his hands first, surely Y/n would understand that he held more value than a simple tee shirt. That he, unlike the cotton material, held needs and wants and elysian desires. Especially since this was out of complete adoration and affection for his beloved boyfriend, the one he loved with every piece of him. 

  Without a word, Itachi gently placed his lips onto Y/n’s naturally warm shoulder, fluttering sensitive kisses across the soft brown skin before him. His eyelashes tickling just at their blade, sending teasing butterflies through their chest and stomach, the parts of him that had already blossomed with fondness for Itachi’s sudden change in action.

  “Itachi?.. You alright?” He asked, in a silky tone of honey dewed benevolence. He was informed that Itachi was more than alright from the way he exhaled through his nose in response, light breaths warming Y/n’s goosebump traced skin. Though still, he expected a response even as Itachi found it imperative to gently dig his finger tips into the skin of Y/n’s abdomen; gliding the slender digits across the skin with a scintilla of tranquility gifted by clouds. His kisses only became more sensual and- dare one be honest- messy as Y/n moved their neck to the side in amusement. Both sets of eye lids flutter in acceptance to these emotions, impure and all, as the poisonous flowers of Rosary Pea and Oleander dominate their united and scandalously intimate actions. 

  “I don’t mean to act so intrusively..” Itachi noted in an apologetic voice, though he still failed to reduce the actions of his clay drenched fingers across Y/n’s skin. The impulsive suggestions his head- or maybe his crotch, were tempting him to continue couldn’t be explained well with words. Which gives reason to why he didn’t bother, he simply did; and Y/n found no urge to stop befalling his current state. His only responses were the gasps of breath he fell into, and agape lips he licked between those inhales and exhales. 

  Two warm bodies, delicate fingers tracing Y/n’s skin with care, Itachi’s lips suctioning lightly despite being heavily drenched with addictive inhales and delicate saliva. Before Y/n knew it, he was spewing noises he didn’t know could escape his chest so facilely. Noises that even Itachi, as attentive and intuitive as he was, didn’t expect to greet him so tactlessly. Mere milliseconds later, those same muffled sounds were persuading Y/n’s hands to find Itachi’s, reenacting the intertwining of their messy fingers as they’d recently connected between the forgotten lump of clay. Without shame or caution, he guides Itachi’s palm further past his torso. Pressing it towards the growing distraction in his pajama pants, which clung to his milk chocolate brown hips with little to no responsibility; exposing his v line more with every pitiful air hump he commits.

  Y/n mumbles in an affable, sultry tone beyond the suppressed moans and exhales of his built up arousal. “Whatever’s gotten into you today..” Before moving his unoccupied hand to Itachi’s sweatpant covered thigh, holding a firm grip on it as he hears his lover’s lips unclasp from his abused and drenched shoulder. Neither of them release his hands, nor their positions, as Y/n skews his line of vision to Itachi’s expression; light spurs of rose petal pink prickling and glistening across the man’s light cheeks and the tip of his nose. Y/n dares to speak while analyzing, in awe, such a gloriously handsome- no, divine front, and his lips curl into what one would call a grin as he leans in impossibly closer. “Don’t stop.”

  And at that moment, as the never ending downpour imprisoning the glistening city in murky puddles finally came to a close, Y/n and Itachi found themselves in an artistically divine portrait of doves and pearly whites. Clinging to one another desperately as they passionately shared their pure adoration and seraphic, intimate reverence for one another. Smears of clay and forgotten boredom confining the two men to sloppy kisses and unfeigned compliments. A sweet “Handsome” and an irrepressible “I love you” lugging the acts of intimacy to a solar level of buoyant roses and vanilla extract. Even Aphrodite herself found it imperative to simper and fan herself, for these two were so terribly enveloped in one another’s features of perfection, it was adorably laughable. It seems one could presume that sometimes the convivial things in life aren’t derived from the long-winded, tedious plans we construct. Maybe it’s stupidly less arduous to find pleasure in creating a pot- preferably with Itachi Uchiha on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

★ garnetea productions. all rights reserved, do not plagiarize.

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟafter a long day you just want to help hanma bury his sins ♱ warnings : f!reader, blood / violence mentioned cause of his job, unprotected sex, sort of comfort sex, hanma uses the word whore once.

there was a certain depth in hanma’s eyes when he’d came home today, his jaw was clenched and his usually perfect suit was disheveled and those signs alone told you his day had been.. well, shit.

he’d only groaned when you sent him for a shower which had been the only other thing you needed to know something was off, considering you didn’t actually think you’d ever miss him trying to convince you to join him.

but within the time it had taken him to rinse off his day, rid himself of the blood and the dirt that came with a life of knocking out teeth for fun, you already had a plan — not that you even had a chance to put it into action.

considering the next time he sees you, black and blonde hair a little wet where it lays flat, framing his face while his towel hangs loosely around his waist, he was already pressing you against the kitchen counter, licking feverishly into your mouth to glide his tongue along yours as he keeps your hips tight against his — his wild want and desire to have you, evident in the hard press of his cock as it grinds against your abdomen.

“let me make you feel better, shuji.” you gasp, voice a dripping whine against hanma’s lips while his chest almost pins you against the cold marble. his hum of agreement vibrates through the kiss, his tattooed hang gliding up to grip your jaw and hold you in place as he admires how cute you look, desperately trying to roll and grind your hips against his cock.

“that it, doll? want me to bury my sins in this pretty pussy, yeah?” you groan at his teasing question, watching the way the amber in his eyes sparks with something wild, a dripping desire to take everything you’re offering him and more, and the grin on his lips makes the heat growing in your abdomen tickle its way down your thighs when you look at him.

“u-use me, please. i want you.” you know you’ve got him when you trace your finger along his jawline, watching the way he melts at the soft touch makes your toes curl against the cold kitchen flooring and you hear hanma sigh when your hips rock against his thigh, a sort of drop in his guard within the exhale.

“askin’ me to use you like a whore even though i’d burn half of fuckin’ tokyo for you.. aren’t you romantic, doll?” it’s filthy, the change in his tone, the way it drops to something that feels dangerous. it’s dripping with want in a way that makes your pussy ache for him when he finally pushes down the confines of his towel, letting it pool around his feet on the floor until his cock is smearing precum along your thighs.

“yes.” you mutter, feeling hanma groan and shiver with every press of your lips against his jawline as he messily fumbles with pushing your panties down your thighs, not even bothering to take them off completely before he’s returning to you — placing his cock between your legs as he lets the blunt tip glide through your folds.

“you’re somethin’ else.” hanma slurs, the silky drag of his cock along your pussy making you burn as he keeps you pinned to his chest — deliberately avoiding sinking into your pussy like you need him to, just so he can feel the way your fingers grab at his shoulders, making him laugh low in your ear despite the desperate undercurrent it carries.

you feel his fingers trace through your folds, gathering your slick onto his fingertips before he’s wrapping them around the base of his cock — guiding the blunt head in eager, teasing swipes along your clit until you’re whining for him.

“you’re so mean, shu—ah!” your complaints are cut off by a sharp gasp when he cuts you off, letting the fat tip of his cock finally sink into your pussy with ease as your folds give into the spread, feeling him clasp at your wrists to keep you in place as he pushes deeper with dizzyingly, slow grinds.

“oh? i thought you loved me a lil mean, doll.” hanma’s words are a low drawl when his lips press to the corner of your mouth, sinking into you with a deep groan that you feel vibrate in his chest with another hummed kiss, rolling his hips forward to sink more of his cock into your twitching walls as your pussy throbs around him.

your head feels like it’s reeling, you want to flail and grasp at his shoulders but the tight grip he keeps around your wrists makes you feel even more hazy — to take every inch of pleasure he gives to you as you arch your chest against his own with the first deep kiss of his cock along your swollen spots.

“fuck—see, you fuckin’ love it, baby.” hanma pants against your cheek but you can still feel the way his lips are stretched into a grin, feeling his body shift forward to push the rest of his cock into you — snug and tight inside of your walls while they squeeze around the thick spread of his cock and you moan at how full he makes you feel.

“y-yes, love it.” you whisper, words tight and hissed through your teeth but he still hears the way your breath skips with a plea, the desperate hump of your hips as you try to convince him to finally move — to finally fuck you dumb, lose himself in the addictive push and pull of your pleasure and your pussy, and he does.

the first draw back of his hips is slow, but the first jut forward is anything but — the beginning of his rhythm making him release your wrists to sink his fingers into your hips, keep you steady as your body jolts with every drag of his cock inside of you. every loud clap of his body against yours makes you feel dizzy, the cool hum of his breath against your skin and the feeling of finally being able to grab at him making you whine so sweetly for him.

“you like that?” hanma grunts, teeth catching against your jaw with a low groan when your walls squeeze around him in reply, his strong fingers tightening into the squish of your hips as the weight of his cock presses against your insides — making you twist desperately with every heavy thrust.

but this isn’t enough, he needs to feel more of you — he wants you pretty and dumb on his cock, until the only thought in that gorgeous little head is him.

“this what you wanted, yeah? fuck sake, feel better already — but i’m just gettin’ started, baby.”

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[eddiemunsonboyf]

Can you do Eddie Munson w male reader whos goth/emo and has a lot of piercings😭

Eddie x goth!male!reader head canons

Warnings : slight suggestive in some areas

A/N : As a goth this had me blushing and shit.

- Absolutely obsessed with everything about you

- Your clothes, piercings, makeup, the way you hold yourself up

- You don’t take shit from anyone. You truly don’t give a damn

- They can talk about your style all they want. Accusing you of devil worship and all they will get is middle finger

- If they talk about your sexuality/relationship on the other hand you might just jokingly “ looks like I have my next sacrifice ”

- He is absolutely wrapped around your finger

- Speaking of make up, he absolutely loves to watch you apply it all.

- He has a weird fascination of your eyebrows (penciled)

- “Your eyebrows are straighter than you”

- “Says the one that sneaks through my window every night”

- Black , red or purple lipstick are his favorite on you

- Your bold black eyeliner is a must. It makes your eyes looker “sexier”

- Sometimes he will have you sit in his lap and apply it for you (usually ends with his mouth against yours and your lipstick smearing)

- Will help you do your hair if it’s taking you a while

- Loves to do your makeup and hair to get a good look at your piercings. Especially if you gotten a new one wherever

- JEWELRY FOR YOU IS A MUST PRESENT

- Tongue jewelry, nose, eyebrows,ear jewelry, necklaces, bracelets everything for you

- “Anything for my prince”

- He will introduce you to Robin and crew

-Most of them view you as quite intimidating

-But Robin and you instinctively become best friends (You are the second one after Steve that she comes out to)

-Now back to piercings

(suggestive is coming)

- Loves the feeling of your tongue piercing

- During make outs you best believe tongue

- He loves the feeling of it against his. Makes him fucking weak

- Gliding your tongue against is skin (let him feel the piercing) is the easiest way to get him in the mood

- GO DOWN ON HIM

- Okay back to fluffy

- Like I said he loves your style

- It’s to the point he will even steal your clothes (especially after fun night)

- “Are those my pants?”

- “Maybe but I gotta admit babe your ass looks better than mine I’m this” Follow by a light tap of your ass

- He will also steal your rings

- In response of him stealing your shits, pants and rings

- You will steal his hellfire club shirt and wear that around your place with just some boxers (especially the night before his campaigns. To you know motivate him 😉😉) - Y’all little thing to do is to go to music festivals together

- But the best thing is to show him your favorite horror/slashers

- There is nothing better than being wrapped in each other’s arms

You stood inside the bathroom in front of the mirror. With a needle and lighter in your hands. Is it recommended to pierce yourself? No but you do it anyways. It’s just like getting one done at the shop. Wear gloves and have a clean needle and jewelry. You have done every piercing that you have and not one has gotten infected. Shit maybe you should become a piercer. That thought has went across your mind time and time again. You wouldn’t have to worry about college and student loans. But then again your family would be even more disappointed in you than they already are

When the felt like the needle was clean enough you brought the needle up to the bridge of your nose and poked it through. “Hey babe do you wanna go to my campaign tonight” Your boyfriend stopped at the door frame “Ummm you got something right there” He pointed to the bridge

“Yeah I know.” You put your focus back to the mirror as you push the needle through follow by the bar. As you put the ball onto the other end. You could see the concern on your boyfriend’s face “Is that safe”

“Is what safe?” You asked as you were cleaning up your area. You walked to him pressing a kiss to him. “You know piercing yourself. Aren’t you supposed to get it professionally done” You played with the end of his hair. “Yes you supposed to. But I have never gotten them done professionally and I will never” You smiled at him before moving past him

“Wait come here can you put eyeliner on me for the campaign?”

[marciaillust]

i reread the clockmaster today for the first time in a year and. holy shit i love it so much. truly it brings me so much joy. i love orion and rosie and garret and the silly gags and the clear progression in my art that can be tangibly graphed page by page, week by week. the little failures, the small victories, the tiny experiments. 

god i cannot wait to work on it again. the year long break i took from it taught me a lot about comic making as well, with the doujinshis and all other side projects. My linework and panelling and typography are so much stronger now. I feel much more confident in my visual language, and my page making process has become so efficient. And I cannot wait to see how it all of that contributes to shaping the clockmaster in the future. 

reading it today made me realise that truly, unequivocally i do not care if nobody remembers the clockmaster after my year long break or wont pick it back up or whatever else. I just want to create it. I want to have more fun with these characters and the world they are in. They mean so much to me and bring me so much happiness

I have always struggled with loving any of my works because they are all so imperfect and ugly to my little brain - they are far in quality from the masters I look up to.

so I can’t possibly express what it means to me that when I look at tcm, and I see all the occasional flaws in pages here and there - the wonky frames, the graphic-design-is-my-passion typography, the illegible speech bubble order - and all they do is decorate my face with the most sincere of smiles because all I feel for this comic is this deep profound love. a love for something I made

it’s imperfect and clumsy in the same way a child eating their favourite chocolate smears the stickiness all over their face, but no matter how bad it gets it’s also the sweetest expression of eagerness and excitement and how could I ever hate any of it? 

i look at it and all i want to do is to cherish it further

[ac1dl4v3]

elysian rain.

who . . itachi uchiha x male y/n

length . . 3.7k words!

byr . . mature/smut!, black male! reader, he/they pronouns, gay relationship obvi, fluff and smut, rainy date, pottery ouu, body kisses, some y/n praise, implied love making, third person, this shit was fun to write-i'm so proud of it *wipes tears*, male reader representation yess!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ★

𝒯he weather was rudely unpredictable, choosing this lovely day to perform an obnoxious tantrum against Y/n and Itachi's wide window panes. The sky was a clear shade of blue just this morning, the only feature to align with its welcoming color being the white smears of clouds and specs of flocking birds towards north. Though now those clouds were much less white than grey, and the once clear blue sky was nothing but a murky dark shade to reciprocate the dreary weather. So much for that cute picnic date the couple had planned. It was undoubtedly a dispiriting fact that they were forcibly stuck in this fuck ass apartment; disclosed from the damp air and muddy puddles encroaching the rest of the city.  

  "Mtch, Itachi?" Y/n called, rolling over on the couch with aggravation as he stretched. He faced his boyfriend, Itachi, from across the living room with a sigh of boredom. The dark haired man glanced up at him from where he was sitting, strings of hair escaping his respective ponytail and tickling the divine frame of his feminine features. In that peaceful spot by the window with his cozy rocking chair, a new novel he recently picked up laying idly on his covered lap

  "What is it, Y/n?" Itachi's voice was similar to a mumble, being so far away, but Y/n could hear the usual gentle tone of his deep voice. His eyes were as attentive as always, analyzing Y/n's annoyed expression and dramatic position laid out on the couch. From the way his limbs flopped over the arm and back of the furniture, it was clear that the cancellation of today's romantic plans was wearing him down. He couldn't even fish out the energy to shift across the coffee table and grab the remote. Instead, he laid there with nothing to stimulate him but the clashing of rain against the glass and the low rumbling of the dryer in the distant laundry room.

  "What type of date is this, bro?" Y/n complained, dull disinterest teeming from his plain tone. It was painfully obvious that on such a dreary day there wasn't much the couple could do, but damn was this nigga bored beyond recognition. He pondered on what happened to their neatly packed basket and folded polka dot blanket. The strawberries sprinkled in sugar and packed away in the fridge, and the expensive cheesecake he went to the trouble of buying. Was it all for nothing? No, they could reschedule for another day, without a doubt- but Y/n was still a bit vexed about the situation. "Man, at this point I'm boutta k-,"

  "Y/n." With a glare slimly present, he spoke- but Itachi did more than simply call out his lover's name. As a follow up, he sighed and stood from his seat, stretching his arms out and placing his book neatly on the coffee table. The glittery feeling of responsibility to lighten your bitter mood seemed to have a hold on his actions. "I told you to stop kidding like that." 

  The knitted blanket once draped over his lap was in a bundled heap at his feet, and he held a relaxed demeanor as he stepped over it's mountain-like appearance.  Itachi then walked past the living room to the narrow hallway without another word, disappearing into the other side of the lavishly sized apartment. Though Y/n was too uninterested to get up and follow his boyfriends figure as he usually did, finding it unfavorable to act like a lost puppy on such an irritating day. All he wanted was to pamper Itachi for once, the man was always being the gentleman of the relationship. For once, Y/n wanted to be the one to hold open the door, or to make his plate for him. Of all days for a downpour to devour this glistening city of buildings and street lights, it just had to be today.

  A few minutes later, Itachi's presence had returned to Y/n's active acknowledgment. His thin, well built figure had re-entered the room with an armful of familiar looking supplies. If Y/n couldn't see the small Pottery wheel under Itachi's arm, they would've still known what his boyfriend was planning to entertain him with. Simply because the nostalgic smell of clay was now prominently befalling against the once cream vanilla scented living room.

  Rather than let Y/n ask any questions, Itachi proceeded to make his way back down the hall, returning a few more times with more pottery supplies. Y/n sat up on the couch, finding amusement in watching everything be prepared so neatly. The sheet beneath the table to prevent any messes, the needles and wooden modeling tools, they were all aligned in their respective places on the coffee table. 

  It wasn't until everything was in order that Itachi finally decided to speak again, standing before Y/n with his thin hand stretched out to greet his lover. A hand that, of course, Y/n found no resistance in accepting; idiotic giggles escaping his tittering smile as he moved to the spot on the floor. "Today we can do pottery." Itachi decided calmly, finding a comfortable seat beside you on the floor. "Then, tomorrow we can pick flowers to fill our vases. Alright?"

  To say Y/n was congested with a sense of contentment and benevolent affection was a bit more than an understatement, though he did his best to remain composed. Other than the gratified smile protruding across his brown lips, they appeared to be primarily unfazed by their boyfriends kind actions. "That sounds nice, Itachi." He agreed softly through their upturned lips, placing a hand over Itachi's on the floor and leaning upwards with an obvious intent. Y/n pressed a feebly gentle kiss to Itachi's cheek to express his appreciation, resisting the urge to tackle the man and instead shower him in butterfly kisses. Oh what an urge that was, but they did well to hold their composure as he added a genuine, "Thank you." before leaning back into his respective spot.

  Itachi closed his eyes in sweet acceptance, letting out a soft "Hm.." as he held no resistance against the gentle smile greeting his lonesome lips. In the back of his mind, he'd hoped his boyfriend would take this opportunity to douse every inch of his face with peppered kisses, as he usually would. He expected the orange sulfur and monarchs in the center of his slim stomach to expand and throw a fit, azalea and daffodil's blossoming in his chest as they'd done when the men first met. In fact, he might've even been looking forward to it. But of course with little hesitation, he deemed this as being  a bit needy, pushing his subconscious desires elsewhere. Itachi instead directed his attention to the navy blue pottery wheel in front of him, deciding it was paramount to not keep his beloved waiting.

  Y/n watched in wait of some form of directions as Itachi took a grey piece of clay from the supplies, handing a palm sized chunk to Y/n and began forming his own into the necessary shape. Not knowing much about pottery himself, Y/n cleared his throat awkwardly and followed their boyfriends actions- taking it as a nonverbal instruction. Once both pieces of clay were in a gumdrop shape and the couple's hands were besmeared with grey, Itachi plopped his on the wheel and began patting it down in order for it to stick to the center board. A necessary first step it seemed to be since he was sure to really hit  the poor clay before he began modeling it into what would soon be a pot.

  "Once I'm finished with mine, we can do yours." He assured, taking notice of Y/n glancing at him and the wheel with clear uncertainty. Between his own lump of clay, Itachi's, and the wheel, there was an ambivalent question mark stapled across his expression, and it didn't take a genius to notice- although Itachi sure was one. Therefore, Itachi calmly reassured him with, "It won't take long." 

  Though Y/n didn't swallow this response as he intended him to. "No, no! You're good, I just don't want mine to dry before I start." Y/n admitted genuinely. He figured if he didn't make the block into something soon, it would dry and be harder to use- not to mention it would be wasteful. Regardless of his theories, he had no reason to fear. Itachi was experienced, this being his hobby and all, and knew well that it wouldn't harden as long as some water was kept in contact. Therefore, he sped up the pottery wheel and dipped his hand in the nearby bucket of water before beginning the messy process of his masterpiece.

  "If you keep your hands wet as you hold it, it won't dry." Itachi informed, holding his focus on the spiraling grey piece as it pulled its length up similarly to the extensive frame of a building. Y/n couldn't even form a response as his attention found more interest in watching the satisfying build up of the smooth material, coating Itachi's slender fingers with every change of shape. It transformed from a sphere to a tower, then it was flattened midway and given a hole in its center. It resembled an odd cup, or a stubby volcano, but somehow Y/n still found it more impressive than he let his unfazed facial expression let on. 

  Itachi found tranquility in his pottery, it could be referred to as something like his desired, irenic haven. Which would have to be why he found himself paying no mind to the compliments Y/n couldn't help but adorn him in. It wasn't until he heard the sweet adjective "pretty" that he tuned in, hoping he hadn't missed anything vitally blush inducing while he was drowning in those imaginative thoughts of ceramics and porcelain. 

  "I mean, you look pretty too, but I'm talkin' about the clay right now." Y/n corrected himself, leaning in closer to get a better look at the details enveloping itachi's fingers. The thick, viscid pieces of clay sticking and smearing across his fingers as he dug the two pointers into the middle of the block; spreading the spinning walls apart to make a wide opening as you'd see in a pot. Then, with one of the nearby sponges he'd brought out, Itachi began smoothing down the inside of the unfinished creation as well as the outside, pressing a bit harder on the petal so the wheel would spin at a temporarily accelerated pace. It was truly a satisfying process that made Y/n consider taking more interest in his boyfriends artistic hobby- though it was messy. This would have to be an activity solely for when his nails were bare and ready to be temporarily filthy, because goodness was it clinging to Itachi's under nail like a star fish on glass. 

  Not long after he smoothed the sides and evened out the length, Itachi slowed the wheel down to an immediate halt. "Is.. Oh, that's it?" Y/n asked with fascination, quickly tugging himself away from the dedicated entrance he found himself in.

  Itachi told him that that indeed was it, it wasn't too difficult a process; it simply takes practice to make a good piece. So with that, he quickly cleaned off the wheel with the sponge and peeked over at Y/n, awaiting some form of response. Maybe a "Ight, so it's my turn now", like he'd usually say, brimming with self confidence and natural optimism. Alas, there was nothing of the sort to greet Itachi's sanguine expression, Y/n was as quiet as a mouse... It was apparent that his attention was held entirely too well during the process. So much that he didn't hear the minor instructions Itachi had mumbled to him as he fixed the undeveloped pot. Hence the confusion on the man's face as Itachi slid the pottery wheel towards him, expecting him to slap on his clay and get started. 

  "Itachi, you know I don't know much about pottery..." Y/n began, pursing his lips and glancing between the wheel and their boyfriend's deadpanned expression. Itachi didn't even bother forming a response, he refused to repeat himself simply because Y/n wasn't as attentive as he should've been. When the awkward silence became entirely too much to bare, Y/n simply said "fuck it" and slapped the clay on the center of the wheel. "Now don't be mad if mine looks better than yours, shit just comes naturally." 

  Such confidence was almost comedic, the man clearly didn't have a thorough understanding of what he was doing. Slightly pushing on the petal before lifting back off when the quick acceleration caught him off guard. Had they forgotten how they attentively observed Itachi follow each step within the past six minutes? Surely that must've been the case, because by now Itachi was sighing as a way to cope with the horridly taunting chuckle threatening to befall his pretty lips.

  Without a word to announce his next course of action, Itachi adjusted from his respective seat at Y/n's left; instead, moving to the back of the man's struggling figure. "Come on, Y/n. Were you not watching?" Itachi inquired calmly and knowingly against Y/n's neck, leaning his chest against his back and innocently pressing his covered crotch to his boyfriends ass. Of course, this was genuine innocence, he was only placing his knees on either side of his boyfriend's calves in order to help him make this pot. He was in no way trying to provoke anything sexual. If anything, he was promoting a moment of intimate romance in replacement of today's scheduled picnic, the weather being so intrusive and all. Though regardless of his motives, the position was clearly a bit... less than decent, or at least less than "innocent". And Y/n wasn't a dense dumbass, he knew quite well what this looked like- or rather what this felt like.

  He managed to clear his throat and re-dip his hands in the bucket of water along with Itachi, swearing that he was paying attention. He was just a bit forgetful that was all. The exact details seemed to slip his mind, replacing his vital memories with the pale details of Itachi's clay covered finger tips and palms. Though he'd be too awkward and embarrassed to openly confess this to Itachi, the reason as to why he knew not a thing about how to start this shit. Therefore, he decided to simply move on and let Itachi show him the ropes. 

  It was a gentle, warm feeling- almost ticklish, and surely sensually memorable, as Itachi maneuvered his arms to comfortably guide Y/n's fingers around the thick clay. Both hands drenched in water, the droplets landing on the surface below as it began to accelerate and rotate in place. The low whirl it vibrating through the air wasn't as relevant or noticeable as a fly when Y/n had this fluttering feeling contorting through his abdomen. Delicate panzica and rare begonia building up in the pit of his stomach before blossoming politely in his amiable chest. Itachi's fingers were soft and slender as they linked with Y/n's, and both of them- or more Y/n than Itachi- were doing their utmost best to remain composed regardless of the warmly heart rate surging contact. The constant shifting in place, Y/n squeezing his thighs together with an awkward sense of sexual anticipation and intimacy draping itself naturally around his fuzzed head space.

  "Am I- Uh, we doin' it right?" Y/n inquired, mentally cussing at himself for stumbling so doltishly over his simple question. He was just too focused on the gliding of Itachi's fingers between his, so much that he struggled to piece together audibly literate words. The delicate interlacing of their skin with the wet clay, only interrupting the messy labyrinth to dip their hands in more room temp water. It was impossibly euphoric and held no effort in encasing Y/n's rib cage with silky cirrus and suffocating cumulus. 

Itachi was extremely talented, it was obvious that he knew what he was doing, especially when it came to art. Nevertheless, he responded to his boyfriends query, simply because it was considered rude not to. Not to mention that he too was beginning to sense the desperate shared heat for sexual pleasure, but was striving with every morally correct thought to deny such impulses. Today was meant to be purely peaceful and virtuously winsome; containing nothing as inappropriate as what his intricate subconscious was concocting.

  "Yes, you're doing just fine, Y/n. Shape it with my hands, like this." Itachi replied in what felt like a butterfly's hushed tone. His lips unintentionally tickled Y/n's shoulder as he spoke, the bare brown skin slipping desperately from the white tee all on its own. Tempting and taunting Itachi like a pretty Rosary Pea, one he knew he shouldn't touch for it was doused in sweet beguiling poison. The bottom line of reality is that no man is perfect, and this naturally charming person sitting before Itachi was indeed, if nothing else, his. Who was he to deny himself such gestures  for someone he desperately adored and, in fact, was his? Thus, when he suddenly lost interest in maintaining pressure on the acceleration pedal, and when he finally grew bored of this growing tension between the two warm bodies, no one could blame him for how his hands ventured bluntly up Y/n's shirt. The smears of cold clay on the other male's torso and chest surprising them, a soft gasp escaping their lips brimming with staggering pleasure and satisfaction.

  Itachi discarded all of his care and consideration for his boyfriend's clean tee shirt. He found no time to go wash his hands first, surely Y/n would understand that he held more value than a simple tee shirt. That he, unlike the cotton material, held needs and wants and elysian desires. Especially since this was out of complete adoration and affection for his beloved boyfriend, the one he loved with every piece of him. 

  Without a word, Itachi gently placed his lips onto Y/n's naturally warm shoulder, fluttering sensitive kisses across the soft brown skin before him. His eyelashes tickling just at their blade, sending teasing butterflies through their chest and stomach, the parts of him that had already blossomed with fondness for Itachi's sudden change in action.

  "Itachi?.. You alright?" He asked, in a silky tone of honey dewed benevolence. He was informed that Itachi was more than alright from the way he exhaled through his nose in response, light breaths warming Y/n's goosebump traced skin. Though still, he expected a response even as Itachi found it imperative to gently dig his finger tips into the skin of Y/n's abdomen; gliding the slender digits across the skin with a scintilla of tranquility gifted by clouds. His kisses only became more sensual and- dare one be honest- messy as Y/n moved their neck to the side in amusement. Both sets of eye lids flutter in acceptance to these emotions, impure and all, as the poisonous flowers of Rosary Pea and Oleander dominate their united and scandalously intimate actions. 

  "I don't mean to act so intrusively.." Itachi noted in an apologetic voice, though he still failed to reduce the actions of his clay drenched fingers across Y/n's skin. The impulsive suggestions his head- or maybe his crotch, were tempting him to continue couldn't be explained well with words. Which gives reason to why he didn't bother, he simply did; and Y/n found no urge to stop befalling his current state. His only responses were the gasps of breath he fell into, and agape lips he licked between those inhales and exhales. 

  Two warm bodies, delicate fingers tracing Y/n's skin with care, Itachi's lips suctioning lightly despite being heavily drenched with addictive inhales and delicate saliva. Before Y/n knew it, he was spewing noises he didn't know could escape his chest so facilely. Noises that even Itachi, as attentive and intuitive as he was, didn't expect to greet him so tactlessly. Mere milliseconds later, those same muffled sounds were persuading Y/n's hands to find Itachi's, reenacting the intertwining of their messy fingers as they'd recently connected between the forgotten lump of clay. Without shame or caution, he guides Itachi's palm further past his torso. Pressing it towards the growing distraction in his pajama pants, which clung to his milk chocolate brown hips with little to no responsibility; exposing his v line more with every pitiful air hump he commits.

  Y/n mumbles in an affable, sultry tone beyond the suppressed moans and exhales of his built up arousal. "Whatever's gotten into you today.." Before moving his unoccupied hand to Itachi's sweatpant covered thigh, holding a firm grip on it as he hears his lover's lips unclasp from his abused and drenched shoulder. Neither of them release his hands, nor their positions, as Y/n skews his line of vision to Itachi's expression; light spurs of rose petal pink prickling and glistening across the man's light cheeks and the tip of his nose. Y/n dares to speak while analyzing, in awe, such a gloriously handsome- no, divine front, and his lips curl into what one would call a grin as he leans in impossibly closer. "Don't stop."

  And at that moment, as the never ending downpour imprisoning the glistening city in murky puddles finally came to a close, Y/n and Itachi found themselves in an artistically divine portrait of doves and pearly whites. Clinging to one another desperately as they passionately shared their pure adoration and seraphic, intimate reverence for one another. Smears of clay and forgotten boredom confining the two men to sloppy kisses and unfeigned compliments. A sweet "Handsome" and an irrepressible "I love you" lugging the acts of intimacy to a solar level of buoyant roses and vanilla extract. Even Aphrodite herself found it imperative to simper and fan herself, for these two were so terribly enveloped in one another's features of perfection, it was adorably laughable. It seems one could presume that sometimes the convivial things in life aren't derived from the long-winded, tedious plans we construct. Maybe it's stupidly less arduous to find pleasure in creating a pot- preferably with Itachi Uchiha on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

★ ac1dl4v3 productions. all rights reserved, do not plagiarize.

[cyborg-alchemist]

Hey Cy (can I call you Cy? What about Cybal?) What's your favorite or strongest welding process? What's the most difficult metal or alloy you've welded successfully? What's your least favorite process and alloy? Do you have any favorite stories in the shop you currently work at or just from engineering or welding jobs in general? If you've already told those stories then what are the tags?

Sure thing! I haven't actually thought of any sort of tumblr name other than my URL and I guess those work.

So my favorite welding process is, by far, stick welding. It's my first arc, first love, and the first prices I felt like I was actually good at. It's also the last time I really had a ton of fun welding, when I got ahold of a pound of general purpose stainless rods for a personal project. It's really fun to strike an arc and then just being along for the ride, and it smells like woodsmoke. The great tragedy is that I actually kind of hate most professional situations that call for stick welding. I like working on a table or saw horses in a shop, not in a mud pit or crawling across beams.

My strongest process is semiautomatic wire fed. I'm particularly fond of flux core, as it's the one I actually use at work. I'm good for everything from like ⅛" to... technically my certification is for unlimited thickness, but I've only done up to 2".

Either way, I prefer welding if I get to crack a slag layer when I'm done.

Honorable mention for TIG: I love you, but it's been fucking ages and these days I'm lucky if I can run a stack of dimes and not a stack of blobs.

My most difficult metal... So, most of the time I'm just working with structural steel. You know, boring, low alloy stuff. I've worked with stainless and aluminum, and both of those were pretty fun, but they were the sorts we use in a trade school, so pretty easy, all things considered.

The actual worst stuff I've had to work with is zinc. Ok, technically I'm not actually welding the zinc, I'm welding through it, but it's still the actual worst. It spits and sputters and spatters and tries to throw the whole damn weld back out at me. The only times I've been genuinely concerned that I'd say myself on fire with sparks was from going slightly too fast/slow and having the weld shot out, over my mask, on top of my head. Yesterday, I also got up close and personal with how much it can fuck up a job, even if you don't have to weld it. The place that does our galvanizing charges by weight, so they basically smear on as much as they can, and in addition too warping the fuck out of our precisely drilled holes, and made them so much larger the frames would no longer fit where they needed to go. Even grinding it gums up my wheels and smells like cherries if you lean hard enough to actually get through all that shit.

For whatever reason, my work frequently breaks the "weld first, then galvanize" rule for logical reasons. I once had to weld through galvanized shit for three months because the job only called for half of each piece to be galvanized, and we were too cheap to do the whole thing after I'd done them.

Galvanization sucks and I hate it.

Most of my stories from work are along the lines of spot the OSHA violation, we almost built an entire floor backwards because apparently I'm the only one who can read prints, and we actually built this flight of wall rails backwards because the engineers programed these cuts, why would the fabricator need prints? At least that last time I finally got proper respiration PPE, because both me and my helper were getting sick welding through the paint fixing that job, and my helper is the owners son.

Oh, and one day I watched two people in a row set themselves on fire with the acetylene torch, and a third one almost setting his fuel line on fire when he set the torch down, still lit, and walked off to move the stuff he set it down on.

When I lay it all out like that, it almost sounds like I'm not paid enough to deal with this shit.

[cherievol6]

drunkrry

(This is my first time posting my writing but I have a few drafts saved that I thought I’d share!)

harry comes back from a party a little wine-drunk word count: 1116 (a short but sweet one!) warnings: none! just a lot of fluff lol

You hear the door handle first. Rattling relentlessly as your boyfriend attempts to enter your quiet house at the crack of dawn. Any sane person would be concerned by the insistent attempts to essentially break into the house, but you know you need not worry when all six foot of Harry comes stumbling through the door with a string of swear words following in his trail.

"Fuck!" He not so subtly exclaims, it echoing through the tiled walls of the kitchen and travelling down the long corridor to your shared bedroom. You can only lie on your side and stifle a laugh as you hear his spindly legs struggling to navigate their way across the floors. He's always been a massive klutz, and inebriation does not help his case one bit.

You'd sent him off to his producer's birthday party suited and booted, licking your thumb and smearing away your Dior lipstick from the corner of his mouth. He'd snogged you like a teenager and insisted he stayed home...to which you obviously said no, encouraging him to leave his hermit life for once and socialise. He'd protested with wandering hands until you'd promised him doting and...loving...the day of his hangover.

Whiskey never got him clumsy drunk, it always made him confident and loud, and you knew he wouldn't go near a pint of beer...so the only explanation was wine.

"Shit. Who put that fucking lamp there. I know it wasn't bloody me..." he mumbles incoherently as he enters the bedroom, but you're so attuned to his drunken babble that you can understand every word.

You smile even harder, too amused by his attempt to be quiet in order to not wake you, shifting slightly when you feel the bed dip and a warm arm slip around your waist.

Harry huffs a breath out into the back of your hair and tightens his arm, noises of approval leaving his throat as he situates himself.

You wait for a beat of silence before speaking loudly, "have fun then?".

His body jolts and he lifts himself to look at your face, his chest rising and falling in terror at your jump scare. His eyes look glossy but elated as he stares at you with an open mouthed smirk. You admire his strewn hair and glowing face, the wine evident in his flushed cheeks and neck.

"Sorry babe. Did I make you jump?" You cackle and his reaction is delayed, a low chuckle with his eyes screwed shut, soon after his face dropping down to yours to kiss you.

You only let him peck you once before you grab his cheeks, not wanting to get too intimate when he's in a state, and he pouts at this.

"'Want to kiss you. Wanna kiss my girlfriend." He mumbles, a faux frown on his face.

"Not with that red wine breath."

You mirror your action from the beginning of the night, swiping the red wine stain on the corner of his mouth and pinching his cheek.

"Let's get you sorted, H," he groans and tries to pin you to the bed, clearly too tired to move, "you're not sleeping in your nice shirt."

After a few failed attempts of heaving Harry out of the bed, he complies, but insists on leaning his entire weight on your small frame. You undress him, leaving him in just his boxer shorts, even though he insisted he sleep naked. You situate him in front of the counter in the bathroom, heaving yourself up to sit on the counter and directing him to stand between your legs. He complies, a lopsided grin on his face and his eyes fluttering open and closed.

"Stay awake, pretty boy." You whisper, and he leans forward lazily with his lips puckered and his eyes shut, waiting for you to kiss him again.

Instead, a dollop of face wash smears over his face and he makes noises of disgust, pinching your thighs between which he stands. You shush him, massaging the face wash into his cheeks with gentle swipes and rinsing it with a cloth from his face. His eyes stay shut and his chin tilts toward you, him looking as soft and beautiful as ever.

"How much fun did you have tonight, baby?" Your teasing tone is dropped and you ask the question with a sweet yet quiet tone, not wanting to disturb the seemingly relaxed state he's in.

"About six glasses. Soooo barely any." He muses, and his face stretches into his award-winning smile. You can't help yourself when you poke your fingers into the dimples that carve themselves out.

"Bloody hell." It comes out as a humoured scoff rather than a scold.

"You have such pretty eyelashes. Who- did anyone tell you that? 'M so lucky to have you." The nonsensical sentences make you laugh even louder this time, cradling his cheek and kissing it with complete and utter adoration for the man in front of you.

"'M lucky to have you too. Even when you have red teeth." You say pointedly, pulling a thumb along his bottom lip to reveal his wine-stained teeth.

"Heyyy." He frowns.

"Oh, hush. Get cleaning." You're passing him a toothbrush with a heap amount of toothpaste, soon watching him lazily drag it back and forth as his head tips forward and back. Your thighs tighten around his waist in attempt to steady him whilst he finishes cleaning up his teeth, giving you a exaggeratedly wide grin to show them off.

"Love your thighs." He mumbles as he taps the brush on the side of the sink, dropping it into its respective pot sloppily and dragging his hands up your thighs to your waist, nestling his head into your neck and trying to sleep.

"Harry, let's get you to bed."

"Mhm. 'M fine here."

Hauling his lanky body proves more difficult than you'd anticipated, and you end up having to dump his body on to the bed, moving to drag his legs around so he's in a lying position.

Lying down yourself, you sigh and flick off the light, Harry not waiting even a beat to get his hands on your waist and thighs. His head returns back to its place in your neck as he sighs.

"Gonna marry you so I can go to bed with you and wake up with you every single day. Wanna give you my last name. And our kids. If you want them? Hm. They're annoying sometimes though." His sentences get sleepier and sleepier the more he goes on, yet you felt the conviction behind this one. Your hand goes to his hair and rakes through it.

"Maybe that's a conversation for when you're sober, hm?" You're feeling defeated yourself, caring for a man child taking the energy out of you completely. He nods nonetheless.

"I love you. S'much." His breaths go heavy and he finally falls unconscious, leaving you to whisper to him gently as he passes the realm of unconsciousness.

"I love you too. More than y'know."

[keilemlucent]

mother knows best

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~4.6k

keigo’s dick catches up with him in the form of a fat, red strap

warnings: daddy kink, subby hawks, mean reader, lingerie, pegging, dumbification (a wittle), dacryphilia, revenge sex, degradation, keigo’s a cock slut ❤️

...

oh wow so this is actually a wip from all the way back in august!! i got some good inspo, so enjoy some subby hawks goodness loveys <3

You wanted nothing more than fucking ruin Keigo.

He’d been a shit lately, more annoying than usual. Fuck, you’d even say that he had been a downright brat.

It was obviously somewhat endearing, getting bent over countertops, teased through your clothes and getting left wet and wanting as he would just so happily walk away, whistling triumphantly to himself. 

Or, maybe, it was how at the recent Hero’s Gala, Keigo had dragged you into one of the hotel’s lavish bathrooms, meters away from his colleagues and shoved you up against the large dressing mirror, his bulge shoved against your ass, whispering about how he was going to shred your dress from your frame. 

“You just look too good, babe,” Keigo’s hands raked up and down your chest, nearly pulling your breasts from the delicate fabric of your dress. 

You’d pleaded with him, “I get that you’re horny, but this really isn’t the place.”

You still let him fuck your mouth to orgasm.

Twice.

He’d been at least nice enough to help you wipe the smears of the professionally done makeup from your face.

“Sorry,” Keigo spoke with a smile, thumbing away a run of mascara from under your eyes as you sat on the edge of the sink. “You did great though. You were so beautiful for me, angel. So sexy. ”

You frowned, grabbing his hand and pulling it away from your face, meeting his eye with an uncomfortable amount of intensity. 

“Keigo.”

He blinked.

“Yeah?”

You felt his palms begin to sweat in your grip.

You smiled, something eerily dark.

“How do you feel you’ve been lately?”

You watched his throat bob, his keen mind going just where you wanted it to. As much as you loved indulging in Keigo’s insatiable, unstoppable, carnal need to bend your back until it broke, you were also very tired of the attitude he’d gotten from it lately. 

“I think...” Keigo wet his lips, pressing between your spread legs from your perch, “I think I’ve been good.”

“You do?!” You repeated, laughing a bit as you squeezed your thighs around Keigo’s trim waist. You grabbed his cheeks between your thumb and middle finger, forcing his gaze to be on your messy, smeared face. “I didn’t think my ‘good boy’ was such a fucking dumbass.”

A whimper dripped from the back of his throat as you frowned, knowing how quickly being taken down a peg got him hot and bothered.

“You’ve jumped my ass without any regard for circumstances how many times in the last week?” You sneered, digging your nails into baby fat above his jaw. “Did you think about the consequences of your actions, babe?”

Keigo let out a deep breath, “Angel, I—”

You fully grabbed his cheeks and jaw, squeezing his lips puckered, “What did you just call me?”

His eyes went wide, hands tensing on the tops of your thighs.

“If I let you speak, are you going to do so properly?” You relished the frantic nod he tried to give you.

You dropped your hand to the front of his dress shirt, hooking your fingers into the top of his tie, “Speak then.”

“I’m sorry, mommy,” Keigo’s eyes went big and doughy, refusing to look at you. 

“That’s better,” You hummed, playing with the silky fabric. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, okay, sweetheart?”

He forced his gaze up to yours.

“We’re gonna go back out there, smile for the cameras, and then head home and get some good sleep.”

“B-but aren’t you going to p-punish—” Keigo words were gluey and slow, giving you all the more reason to interrupt him, even going so far as to shift to tighten his tie around his neck, perhaps a bit too constricting.

“I will, when the time is right. You just try to be a good boy until then, see you actually can.”

A filthy, but very fun plan was brewing in your head. It just would take some time.

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

The opportune time struck a few weeks later. Though Keigo had at first been on some better behavior, he reverted to his typical, bratty self a week after your threat was made.

You were just biding your time, besides, custom orders took some time.

It wasn’t hard to contact Keigo’s PA, requesting his measures for ‘unknown’ purposes. 

What was harder was wading through the hundreds of beautiful designs you could order for him. You spent a good few hours scrolling and fantasizing about what colors and patterns Keigo’s pretty, lithe body would look best in. After beating one out, you made your decision, entered his measurements, and sent the order off. It might’ve been the fervor of hot pleasure you had, but you threw in an extra item or two to your purchase. You were spoiling yourself, really. 

Three weeks later, it arrived, perfect in every way, along with the extra items.

Then, it was just about watching Keigo and waiting to strike.

...

He came in late one night, feathers all but bare, uniform muddled.

As Keigo fell on the bed following his shower, you took note of his downy stubs, bare of most of his usual feathers. You grinned something wicked. 

Tomorrow was the day.

Keigo crawled up to you, immediately pulling your back to his chest, peppering your shoulders with kisses before drifting off. You turned to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, hoping he’d get enough rest to be ready for all you had planned.

...

The next morning, Keigo lumbered out of bed while you were finishing your coffee on the couch, already donned in your business casual attire (with some additions, but he couldn’t see those yet). 

“Hey, angel,” His voice was scratchy with sleep as he plopped down next to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “How’d you sleep?”

“I slept super good,” You smiled, returning his sweet gesture. “How about you?”

“Good, very good. I’m just glad I have a day off.” Keigo relaxed into the cushions. He flexed the roughly two-foot-long stubs of crimson feathers, “Gotta grow these back out, and that means I’m relaxing all day.”

You grinned, the pieces of your plan having perfectly fallen into place.

“I’m very glad, sweetheart,” You gave him a fleeting kiss before standing up and heading back to the bedroom. 

Keigo called after you, “Where’re you off to, angel? I wanna give you some love before you gotta leave me.”

“One sec! I just gotta get my shit together for work,” You purred back knowingly. Your purse was already packed and ready. You had other traps to lay.

Flitting into the closet, you rummaged through a small set of drawers to retrieve one of the several packages you received. It was a clean, white box, about half the size of a pillow, wrapped in red ribbon. 

You laid it on the freshly made bed, adjusting some of the satins as you did. 

Keigo beamed at you as you exited to the living room, sauntering up and wrapping his hands around your waist to kiss your forehead. 

He stiffened when he felt the straps beneath your work blouse.

“Angel?” He squeezed your waist. 

You smirked, kissing the corner of his mouth before gently cupping his jaw, “Now, sweetheart, can you be a good boy for me today?”

Keigo, the sweet thing he was, turned to putty in your hands.

He nodded, his bottom lip poking out. 

“Good,” You tightened your grip on his jaw. “You have a lot to make up for, considering what a brat you’ve been lately.”

The way Keigo trembled in your hold, cheeks hot, made your head spin with your ideas for the evening. 

“You didn’t forget, did you?” You walked him back, only stopping when his ass hit the kitchen table. He jumped when he slid just the slightest bit back, forced to sit. 

“F-forget what?” Keigo genuinely couldn’t remember, based off the quirk in his brow.

You clicked your tongue, shifting a knee between his legs, “At the Gala. Use your brain, sweetheart.”

His expression fell with the revelation. 

Your punishments were never easy. Very fun, but god, they were excruciating. 

Watching the expression on Keigo’s face drift as he worked out the context of your actions made you shiver. You were sure he’d be a brat later, but catching him off guard always made him particularly weak to your touch.

“Now, baby, I was nice enough to leave a pretty present for you in our room.” You pinch his plump bottom lip between your fingers, “When I get home, I want you on the bed all dolled up for me, understand?”

He swallowed, nodding against your hold as enthusiastically as he could manage.

“Good.” You released him, kissing the indent that your nails left. “I’ve got to get going, but I love you lots, okay?”

Keigo was comically stunned with a very noticeable bulge in his boxers, “I l-love you too.”

You throw your purse over your shoulders, smug at your ability to turn Keigo into obedient mush. 

As you opened the door to leave, you were gracious enough to shout and remind him, “Oh, and sweetheart? Be a good boy and don’t you dare touch yourself today, or I’ll make tonight far worse for you. Have a good day off, love!”

...

The moment you left the apartment, Keigo let out a tight breath.

Holy fuck.

He really thought he’d get to spend the day relaxing and letting his wings regrow, but as it turned out, you had far better plans for the two of you and Keigo didn’t have the mind to fight it.

Not yet, anyway.

He’d give you shit later. It was fun to push you around, in any context.

When he was sure you were far out the door, he quickly padded to the bedroom, eyeing the box that lay on the duvet.

Slipping onto the sheets, he kneeled and pulled it closer. He rubbed at the ribbon, frowning. 

The two of you had used toys and...  devices plenty of times, tending to each other, just in different ways. But, when Keigo picked up the parcel, it seemed far too light to have any sort of toy in it.

Keigo frowned, slipping off the satin and pulling off the lid.

...

Oh fuck.

Inside, neatly packaged with crisp tissue paper, was a carefully folded set of clothes. Special clothes, notably.

This became abundantly clear as Keigo carefully pulled the mesh and lace out of the box, blood rushing to his half-hard cock. 

It was an incredibly pretty set. Stockings, garters, even a ribbed bodice with lacey cups, all pale pink with gold embroidery and accents. 

It was pretty, but not your size at all.

As he pulled out the last item, a pair of satin and lace panties with extra fabric at the front, he realized that these were undoubtedly for him.

A hot blush sped to his cheeks as he stared down at the pretty mess in front of him. 

Sure, he’d talked about this kink to you in passing, but you’d never mentioned it and he’d never asked you to indulge him in it. 

However, it was quite clear that that was indeed what you were doing, giving him such a beautiful set. 

There was even a small card.

“Keigo, 

Despite the fact that you’ve been nothing but an ungrateful brat lately, 

I’ve been gracious enough to give you a sweet gift.

You’ll have to earn it tonight. 

Be good.

(Y/N) <3”

 Keigo stared down at the garments and the note, already far too hard to be comfortable.

It was hardly going to be a leisurely day off.

...

 You took the opportunity to torture Keigo just a little.

Honestly, you deserved it. With the way he’d been randomly dragging you into bathrooms, alleyways, and dressing rooms to wreck you, it was truly only fair that you got to wreck him. 

So, you started early.

You sent picture after picture to him throughout the day, stepping from your office to tease at your own special garments that hid just under your modest clothing. Keigo probably wouldn’t touch himself, knowing what that would cost him. Fucking with him throughout the day would just make your revenge that much sweeter. 

He was easy to get riled up, it was one of his biggest weaknesses when this dynamic came up. Keigo might’ve had the stamina to go for hours, but he didn’t have the heart or mind not to beg for it.

And god, by the end of reaching your own workday, straps feeling almost too tight and pussy dripping, you were more than ready to fuck Keigo up beyond belief.

 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 “Kei’? I’m home!” You called as you came in the front door, slipping off your shoes and hanging your purse.

“I’m in here,” Keigo’s voice echoed from the bedroom.

Oh.

Perfect.

Your plan, long thought-out, had turned out perfectly. Now, you reaped the reward.

You were going to fucking ruin Keigo.

Destroy him.

If he wasn’t a shaking pile of cum and sweat when you were done with him, you’d just keep going. 

You strode to the bedroom, anticipating the sight before you with bated breath.

And god, did Keigo take yours away.

Like a ‘good boy’, he was just as you ordered him to be. 

He was kind enough to keep the lighting the room low, though he was more than visible and fucking gorgeous.

The lingerie set fit him beautifully, as you expected. The pink satin and lace stretched over his tanned skin so well, showing off the tone of his muscles and the swell of his light curves, as well as his already weeping bulge. 

He sat on his spread knees atop the bed, garters pulling tight over his upper thighs. The panties were maybe a bit small for Keigo’s fat cock, but seeing a bit of him peeking out was never a bad thing.

The bodice of the piece was truly beautiful. It was ribbed, a blushing pink and had small threads of golden stitching accenting the lace work. The cups of the piece were pressed to Keigo’s hardened, pierced nipples, the fabric undoubtedly teasing the skin raw (not that you didn’t plan on getting them such a way yourself.) 

“Oh, baby,” You sigh, a light, genuine smile coming to your face. “You look beautiful.”

Keigo must’ve already been pretty deep in it, ducking his head and biting his lip, “Thank you, mommy.”

You smiled at his usage of the proper title, though none of your irritation or anger faded. It was only a few drops of water on a much hotter burn. 

You walked up to the bed, leaning over the end of it to tilt up his face to yours, “Kei’, what’s your safeword?” 

“Quill,” He leaned into your touch, stubbly cheeks brushing against your palms. 

Nodding to yourself, you stepped back from him. Watching Keigo was like observing a moving piece of fine art, the shadows and highlights of his body crafted by some finer being than you. You were just there to tend to him, use him and bend him in the ways you knew he craved.

You fetched the last two parcels from the closet, setting them onto the nearby dresser. Close by and in-sight, teasing the two of you.

 You turned, directly regarding Keigo. He must have been watching you move about the room, eyes rounded and knees spread just right.

“So, tell me, Kei’,” You hummed approaching the bed while popping the buttons on your work blouse. “Have you been a good boy lately?”

His fingers stiffened over the lace of the stockings, stubs twitching behind him, “I... don’t think so.”

You hummed, fully peeling off your top, “Wow, so someone’s finally got some sense to himself now? Mommy’s proud, but it’s a little too late for that.”

Keigo audibly swallowed now that you were barer to him.

Your set was a leather of some sort, black straps adorning and squeezing your frame and flesh in the best ways, linked by o-rings and pretty buckles. If Keigo was in a different mood, he would have half a mind to tug you close by the ring dangling between the slope of your breasts. 

But he wasn’t, he was mommy’s good, sweet brat, and that meant sitting and shutting up unless he wanted this to be worse for himself.  

You tapped your hip, over the slim zipper to your skirt.

“Unzip.” 

Keigo nodded, too quick and too eager as his shaking hands slid the zipper over the curve of your hip.

You stepped back before Keigo could get too much satisfaction from the action, shimming the skirt down your legs—

And the set you had on top kept going.

Garters and black stockings settled over your thighs, perfectly fitted and perfect for you and your perfect body, Keigo just wanted a taste—

You slapped his hand down onto the bed, holding it there and leaning forward with a sickly syrupy smile, “I thought you said you knew you were being a brat, baby boy? Wouldn’t that mean you know not to push your fucking luck—?” 

You left his hand on the duvet with an order to not move it, to which he complied.

And you slipped back over to the dresser, unfurling your last parcels. 

Rope and a pretty new toy.

He didn’t deserve them, they were for you.

The new harness was perfect, custom made to your size, so it sat perfectly over the curves of your thighs and ass. It looked even better when you attached the curved, thick strap to it.

“Is that—”

“For you?” You finished Keigo’s sentence with a click of your tongue. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll just suck on that cute little cock of yours until you’re fucked dry. Maybe, I would let you near my dick. Or, you learn to be a good boy like you say you are—”

You grabbed his jaw in one hand and squeezed, “And you’ll get mommy’s pretty strap?”

...

To his merit, Keigo really, really was being good. 

Each expression of his was just so, so delicious, and that wasn’t even taking into account the beautiful ways his body arched and writhed below you. 

What would the public think if they knew ‘Hawks’ was fucking mama’s boy who craved nothing more than getting stuffed with thick cock and edged until he was crying sweet, sweet tears?

Who knows! You didn’t, and you didn’t fucking care. 

You’d stuffed Keigo with a cute plug as prep, one with a glittering, yellow gem that just looked so good between his pert little ass cheeks. The new rope was put to use as well. Though, the knots were kept mainly to his arms and wrists. The new lingerie was too pretty to hide. You had tied the intricate knots and binds torturously slowly, as you’d be so kind as to attach a small, vibrating egg to the tip of his dick. 

Though, the first thing you did was lock a cock ring at his base with the promise that he ‘wouldn’t be cumming until he was screaming’. 

You had him under you, tits squished to his ribs. Your thighs slotted on the sides of his braced and squeezing him just enough so he knew not to dare to try and move with your word. 

You smeared lube up and down his angrily red cock, thumbing the head. The slick and pre slipped down and stickied his balls and the roughed-up panties tucked beneath. 

Keigo was a fucking mess for it. Whining and gasping with each breath for little, reverent pleas— ‘more, more, more—’ 

His wrists were tied together, pale pink rope making flushed marks against his heat softened skin. They were secured high on the bed, pulling his body taut and flat against the sheets.

You nipped at one of his pierced nipples, tugging the tender bar with your teeth with little regard for how Keigo squealed again. 

Each sound had you dripping, just as needy and wanting as your sweet, sweet boy, but you’d be damned to let it be as apparent as his wanting.

Keigo was a goddamn sight. 

Blond waves stuck to his forehead and temples, cheeks red and lips bitten to cherry. His mouth hung open, drool spilling from the corner and soaking the pillow you graciously kept under his head. 

(Only because you’d ridden his face for a good while prior, and you were such a nice mommy, you gave him a nice cushion while you let him tongue fuck you to another orgasm.)

“M-mommy,” Keigo’s voice shook. “Please.”

You tsked. 

“Disappointing, sweet boy,” You chastised, lightly. Keigo had already wept hard enough, you didn’t need to push much more before he cracked just as you wanted. “You know to beg better.”

Keigo choked on a sob, something that made his bound, stubby wings shudder and writhe against the sheets.

“But, I-I already have,” Keigo sputtered, tugging on the bindings and breathing hard as you toyed with the ring at the base of his swollen cock. “Please.”

He deserved it, all the teasing and sweet torture, considering what a bastard he’d been in the past week. 

“Needy and you’re talking back?” You rolled your eyes. “So what, you want me to ride your cock? That’s too good for you.”

“‘T-too good for me,’” Keigo repeated, tearfully, stomach shaking with the way he was still trying to holding back.

He just needs to let go. Be the shameless cock slut he is. 

“Guess I’ll just fuck that cute little ass of yours until I’m satisfied.”

Keigo gulped as you helped him onto his tummy, bound hands freed from the headboard to brace below him. His back arched, a practice ‘c’ curve that you made dip deeper with a press to the small of back.

“Do better,” You reminded him, cruelly. He stifled another sob, nodding.

He shrieked as you eased the lubed plug from his ass. You poured a gracious amount over the red strap-on, admiring it. 

It was thick, it’d be a stretch and would press deep enough to knock Keigo out if you so chose.

Good.

As much as Keigo loved fucking you hard and fast, wherever and whenever he pleased, he needed this sometimes. A bit of handful (or so) of mean words, and a thick cock to fuck him full and dumb.

“Baby boy,” You cooed, tapping the toy over his blushing bottom. “You ready? Or should we wait—”

The impatient bastard. 

“No, no, no,” Keigo sputtered against the sheets. “I c-can’t mommy, I can’t—”

“Can’t what, baby?”

“I can’t wait!”

It was the concept of waiting any longer for your fat cock that sent him sobbing into the bedding, hiccuping and writhing. 

Keigo, the sweet thing he was, sagged and fell apart. Breaking good and proper, coherency gone. 

You guided him through it, good and proper. 

Truthfully, Keigo had been put through it. The sudden expectations, having him wait his entire day off, tempted by your skimpy little photos. And when you finally deemed him worthy of you, it was just to tease him and pretty cock for a few hours just to let off some of your own steam was cruel. 

But Keigo had been bad, and loved getting used when you both needed it.

His tears must’ve felt damn good, considering when you reached under his hips (while rubbing tender little circles over his spine) his cock was harder than ever, leaking and wet with need.

He seized beneath you, sputtering little ‘n-no’s and ‘p-please’s mixed with his weeping. He twitched in your hand as you ran the pad of your finger around the ring at its base.

“I could take this off,” You mused, pressing the tip of the strap against his hole. “Or—” 

With a slow grind of your hips, you stretched him wide and trembling. 

Keigo’s cries got louder, deeper and rougher as he clasped his hands in their binds. Bent over his body, you teased his cock with a light hand, humming as you nonchalantly fucked him to the hilt of the strap.

“Now, sweet boy,” You nudge your hips flush to his, just barely shifting “If I take this off, can you come for me? I need you to cum for me as much until you can’t anymore. Can you be a good boy?”

After a moment of sniffling, he nodded, “Yes, m-mommy.”

You flicked the clasp on the ring, discarding it and rolling your hips.

And Keigo instantly came. 

With all of that build-up, he shuddered, wings writhing as his back bent harder as he drenched the sheets beneath the two of you.

“My good boy,” You hummed, petting between his wings as he rode it out. “Keep it up.”

And without relenting, you grabbed his wings for leverage and fucked him.

Maybe, it was a little cruel. 

Your pace was set hard and fast, tugging the feathery stubs and enjoying the feel of his round, downy feathers where you held the base. Your grip was the only thing keeping Keigo as he resisted collapsing.

You were nice enough to occasionally reach down and give Keigo a few quick pumps, just enough so he’d crest again, sticking your hand so well and thick. The cum was smeared onto the fatty round of his ass with a slap or two. 

As much as it was a damn treat to see Keigo so fucked up and fucked, you let up when his orgasms were still hot and harsh, but his cock was nearly dry. It hardly sputtered anything, drained and sticky and overstimulated beyond belief.

“N-no more, no more!” Keigo sputtered as he trembled and convulsed with a dry, painful orgasm, your hand still fisting the sore flesh on his cock. 

You knew him well enough to stop then.

Your hips stilled, breath labored, though nothing like Keigo’s teary, nearly-dry sobs. He slowly fell into the sheets, aching body falling with nothing left to give. 

Everything was slow for a moment. 

You pulled out, graciously slow and tender, mindful of his raw state.

With a few skillful tugs, his wrists were free and unbound. Weak arms and shaking hands grabbed for you, needy as ever, but still, you could indulge him. 

‘Mommy, m-mommy, please,” Keigo tried to tug you down into the soaked sheets as you unbuckled the harness from around your hips. 

You raised an eyebrow, “Still needy?”

Keigo choked on something between a sob and scream, nodding and needing. 

(Completely wrecked, just as you craved and planned. He really was good.)

Your heart softened, the energy in the air diffusing as you freed his wings, coaxing them to stretch out and release any remaining bottled up tension.

And you fell into the bed with him, tugging your sweet boy to your chest and peppering kisses over his salt-slicked cheeks.

“You were wonderful dear, my good, sweet boy,” You layered on the praise, enjoying how his shudders came from your words as opposed to the discarded cock. 

Keigo opened his cracked lips but quickly closed them, settling before nuzzling under your chin and practically purring as he came down.

You always knew that you did your job well when Keigo was fucked silent. 

|||||||||||||||

thank you for reading 💞 

ko-fi

[graylinesspam]

Y'know I've been thinking a lot about how the bombing at the jedi temple was turned into a media frenzied smear campaign against Ahsoka and by proxy against the jedi.

Like Palatine really wanted to use her act of terrorism to really stir public doubts about the Jedi. To make it easier to sell the war criminal story and justify killing them off.

But I've also been thinking about Anakin being seen as the hero with no fear. Naboo's savior and the most prolific general in the Grand Army of the Republic.

I just can't believe that Ahsoka wasn't all over the holonews just for being Anakin's padawan. Obi-wan was the high general, literally every where he went major politics was happening. He was the famous nagotiator. His policies were changing the shape of the republic constantly. He must have been all over the holo news too.

Then you get this pretty little girl following around arguably the two most famous players in the war and she must have been big headline news. Reporters would have been asking for interviews, spreading some serious gossip, asking all these questions about who she is and how powerful a Jedi she is and wether or not she deserved to be Anakin's padawan.

There would have been some nasty assumptions made about her but I think as charming and capable as she is, and with a little bit of a how to craft a public image run down from Padamé, she would have inevitably become Coruscant's sweat heart.

There would be pictures of her sitting next to Padmé at political functions all done up for the occasion, and sitting proper. And pictures or even clips of her from the front slicing through droids and dragging men to safety. Ahsoka would have become a kind of mascot for the war, in all the good ways and the bad.

And would that have made her "betrayal" all the more stinging when she was charged? Absolutely. Palps would have tried to take every inch of her reputation and use it against the jedi. Because even bright-eyed little padawan was capable of subterfuge. But it also would have made the revelation that she was framed all the more stinging. Realizing that the Republic was ready to sentence an innocent child to death so quickly after having loved her for years? That would have blown up in sheevies face.

And I really am not on board with the whole 'disappearing into the lower levels shit they tried to sell us'. I want Ahsoks on the damn holonews useing her face and name to call to attention all the shit that's been going down with the republic. I want her tearing the Sith supreme's empire out of his hands with well-articulated gossip and a smile.

I want Ahsoka to fucking expose the GAR for the way the clones are treated. I want her to snitch on positions who say dehumanizing things about her brothers. I want her to ream the Jedi for their corruption, for the way they treated her, and for how she was betrayed. I want her to call them out on their fear and how it's blinding them to the real dangers.

I also want her to discuss the fun stuff and the stupid stuff. I want her to humanize the troopers so they're finally seen as people and I want her to humanize the jedi so they're not being treated like gods anymore. I want her to expose how they are trying their best but are often just wrong. For lack of a better phrase, how human they are.

And that will really start with Anakin.

And I don't want her to be perfect about it. I want her to slip up and say too much. I want her to be bitter at the jedi but also tond of them. I want her to be remorseful. I want her to cry and feel guilty. I want her to be angry.

And I want the press to actually be the press. To ask inappropriate questions and push too far. To miss the point sometimes. To run with the wrong story. To make heroes out of soldiers that are actually just scared men.

And I want Ahsoka to try and find her way. To self-destruct a little and to be rebellious, but also to find something in her freedom that lets her move on, build herself back as something other than a jedi.

And on this note, I want to write it. Through a serious of interviews. They'll be clunky and not in order. They range from cheesy gossip rags to in depth investigations into the war. They probably won't be in chronological order. If you guys want to read it let me know. I've been obbsessing oiver it for weeks.

[foli-vora]

stay with me

A/N: LMAO where did this even come from? No idea. Dave decided to back the fuck up for a small while and let me finish a Whiskey WIP. I’m still new with the whole smut thing so please forgive me if it’s not decent! Let me know what you think! ☺️❤️

❗️It’s been bought to my attention that the creator of the GIF I’ve used isn’t correct—it was made by, and all credit goes to, @interstellarflare! Thank you for the heads up @rebelforthebadtimes ❗️

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x f!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: STRICTLY 18+, minors please exit the vehicle! Swearing, mentions/descriptions of oral sex and p in v sex, hand job, cum eating (if there’s anything else, please let me know!)

+

The hammock sways softly in the cool spring breeze, the sun shining through the canopy of apple trees towering above you, holding you steadily suspended from the ground. The clucks of distant hens echo in your ears, tangling with the occasional buzz of an insect flying past, but all overwhelmed by the steady thump of a strong heartbeat in your ear as your head rests on a sturdy chest.

“You awake, darlin’?” The husky baritone vibrates beneath your cheek, your heart fluttering as it melts into your ear.

You hum lowly, tiredly. “Barely.”

“I really need to get goin’ now.”

“Five more minutes.”

Jack chuckles deep in his chest, your head jolting slightly as he does so. His hand is warm, fingertips calloused, as he rubs along your brow bone with a gentle rhythm, almost lulling your body to sleep. You make no effort to move from your position half on top of him, keeping your leg hitched comfortably around his thighs.

“Now sugar, you said five more minutes a good twenty minutes ago.” He tries to sound stern, like you’re causing him a great inconvenience, but he doesn’t move; doesn’t pat your leg as a sign to let him up. He stays perfectly comfortable, enjoying the sunshine and warmth of your body pressing into him.

“Mmm,” you nuzzle into his chest, fingers drawing random patterns into the soft fabric covering it. “Don’t go.”

He groans softly, arm briefly tightening around your body. “Darlin’, don’t do this to me.”

“Stay with me,” you purr quietly. He watches through fond eyes as your own flutter open and gaze up at him, his heart skipping a few beats as the rays of spring sun paint your skin. “Please?”

You watch the struggle play across his face, knowing he would love nothing more than to stay here at home with you rather than go on this mission. You knew it was wrong to feel like this—he had told you about his job early in the relationship and how he’d be away a lot... it was fine and you supported him, but today you were just feeling needy. He eventually shakes his head with a tired sigh.

“You know I can’t.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Not even if I... I don’t know... gave you an incentive to stay?”

“Darlin—”

His breath hitches as your finger traces lower, weaving between the buttons of his shirt before dancing along the waistband of his pants. You loved him in his work suits, all clean and fancy. Usually he would change and leave, but this particular day he let you lure him into your embrace, grumbling about creases but still climbing into the hammock nonetheless.

“We could move to the bedroom—you could spread me out on the bed... or bend me over in front of the mirror like the other day... you liked that, didn’t you Jack? You liked making me watch myself while you fucked me.”

His frame, previously relaxed, is rigid beneath you, muscles coiled and winding tighter with each word you breathe so prettily into his ear. He remembered... your eyes locked onto your face, a beautiful mess of tears and sweat, mouth open and singing his praises as he drilled into you from behind, a firm hand weaving into your hair to keep your head up when it started dropping.

“Or do you want your cock in my mouth? You know how much I love it, Jack. You’re so big, baby. I always make such a mess...”

He sees you on your knees, pretty eyes blinking up at him while you gag around his length, saliva smearing along your cheek when he pulls back and smooths his swollen tip along your jaw. He watches you watch him, wide watery eyes locked onto his hand jerking his cock in open admiration. You hear the catch in his breath, the tell tale sign of his impending release, and open your mouth, watching his face crumble in ecstasy as thick ropes of cum paint your tongue and cheek.

“Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever seen.”

“Yeah? You like it when I’m messy? Like it when you cum all over my face?”

Shit. He was throbbing and you hadn’t even touched him yet. His hips twitch, the movement causing his pants to rub along his cock and he fights to keep his resolve. What was he meant to be doing again? Right, leaving...

“Fuck sweetheart, I really have to go—”

He doesn’t look at his watch. He doesn’t need to. He knows he’s already a good hour late. Champ is going to string him up alive—

His nostrils flare as your fingers move to his belt, releasing the clasp and unzipping his fly slowly. Your lashes flutter as you blink innocently up at him, tongue momentarily peaking from between your lips to moisten them. He watches the movement hungrily, eyes darkening as your teeth bite down onto your bottom one.

“Or we could stay right here. We’re so comfortable, after all.” You breathe, fingers lightly running the velvety skin you could feel between the open zipper. “You love my hand, don’t you, Jack?”

His teeth mash together as you delicately free him for the confines of his pants, fingers wrapping around him and giving an experimental jerk. He curses quietly, eyes squeezing shut as your thumb rubs at the drops of precum gathered on the swollen head and you watch it smear, glistening in the rays of soft sunlight. Jack’s incoherently mumbling as your hand starts to pump slowly, and it brings a small smile to your face.

“If you want me to stop, just say so and I will.”

His head is violently shaking from side to side before he can even think it through. He needs to leave—this is his job, people are depending on him but oh... oh fuck... how could he go anywhere with your hand doing that? Just five more minutes... five more... Christ—

“Don’t you love me, Jack?”

His brows pinch together, hips bucking into your hand as you move too slow for his liking. “Of—fuck—o-of course I do, baby—”

“But you’re leaving me...” Your grip tightens and his mouth pops open.

“Sweet Jesus—I’ll never... fuck baby—I’ll never leave you.”

Your thumb rubs over the tip again and he jolts, the hammock swinging under the sudden action. “No?”

“N-never—I wan’... I wanna give you e-everything.”

“Everything?”

He nods, groaning when you finally speed up. You reach up to kiss along his throat, nipping sharply at the skin before soothing it with a hot swipe of your tongue. He curses again, head turning and seeking your lips out. You indulge him, mouth opening when his tongue hungrily swipes along your lip and then he’s in your mouth, tongue raking along your teeth and then sliding passionately along yours.

You speak against his lips, “You gonna stay with me, Jack? Or should I stop? You’re so late, I should just let you go—” You halt your movements and pull away.

Lightning fast, his hand is covering yours and wrapping it back around his cock, leading your pumps as he growls lowly, “Don’t you fuckin’ dare—”

“You staying with me?”

He nods, face slack and mouth hanging open as you work him closer and closer to the edge, stomach tightening.

“Promise?”

“Holy sh—I—fuck—I promise, sugar—”

“Good.”

And then he’s cumming, groaning loudly into your hair, hips spasming wildly as he spills hotly over your hand and onto his pants. He sucks in a breath, twitching in your grip as you slow your movements and milk him for everything he has. He feels you shift and peaks an eye open to watch you bring your hand to your mouth, groaning deeply when your tongue peaks out and collects the cum from your skin.

“You’re gonna be the god damn end of me, woman.”

-

“I really appreciate you helpin’ me out.”

He shoots you a half hearted glare from where he stands in the corner of the room, phone to ear, and you laugh quietly, legs kicking in the air as they dangle off the bed. Your eyes rake over his frame, taking in his creased shirt and cum stained pants, still undone and giving you a little peak of the neat patch of curls.

Tequila hums down the line, voice deep with mirth, “That little lady sure has got your head in a spin.”

“What are you talkin’ about, kid? I got a migraine.”

Tequila chuckles, “Yeah, okay. Have fun, gramps.”

Jack finishes the call and throws his phone onto the dresser before striding to the edge of the bed. He frowns down at you, but it does nothing to stop the heat curdling deliciously in your belly, the slick between your legs growing under his intense gaze. You bite your lip, grinning up at him innocently.

“You’ve gotten what you wanted, pretty girl, now it’s my turn. Spread those legs—show me that pretty little pussy that’s keepin’ me from earnin’ an honest livin’.”

+

Tags: @anu-simps @seasonschange-butpeopledont @withasideofmeg @you-got-me-starry-eyed

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I really wanna know what happened during the painful bath that Nanda promised Jameson a while back. Baths in whump have the potential to be so soothing and excruciating at the same time, which kinda fits Jameson’s whole character don’t you think?

CW: Pet whump, dehumanizing language, intimate whumper, dubcon touch NSFW (not explicit), implied dubcon (fade to black), referenced blood and whipping, sadistic whumper, creepy whumper, creepy comfort, drowning, talk of sui (to escape torture), implied death by drowning (unnamed oc)

r/LetsTalkTrueCrime

NEW VIDEOS of the Box Boy Killer! Never Before Seen!

•Posted by u/oshaycanyousee 14h ago

So I got a really good response to my short series on the mysterious Box Boy Serial Killer (you can find my previous write-ups here, here, and here).

Well, recently I discovered something entirely new that I think you'd enjoy getting a look at! Found among personal items belonging to Nathaniel "Nanda" Matthew Benson: a medium-sized external hard drive containing nearly 750GB of photo and video content.

The hard drive was labeled 'Personal'. Police stated there was a second hard drive labeled 'Professional', but what content was on there, if anything, has never been released.

Technically, neither has this. Someone from within the police department leaked a bunch of videos and photos at some point, and I was able to get ahold of them thanks to a friend of a friend (who shall go unnamed, don't want to tip off whatever FBI agent is watching his internet activity, haha... or is it her or their internet activity... FBI Agent will never know.)

In my writeup on Nanda Benson's life with his Boxie, I didn't have a ton of details on how they interacted with each other. Finding this trove of info definitely changed a few things on how I view their relationship.

Take a look and let me know if it makes you maybe reconsider a few details, too. FYI: This does have nudity and some spicy times! Nothing worse than you've seen on HBO or whatever, but like, fair warning.

[Embedded Video Player With Title: Bathtime With Boxie: NSFW and Yet Somehow Still Oddly Wholesome Kind Of]

The video begins with the tub already filled with water, hot enough to gently steam. It's a gigantic soaker tub, large enough for four people to easily sit without crowding, nestled alongside a window in a truly enormous, incredibly well-lit bathroom. Everything is in shades of white, which makes the person in the frame even more immediately the enter of attention.

A young man with short, shaggy brown hair and dark eyes sits in the tub. He looks up, wrinkling his nose and glancing away. Only then does a bright red mark, darkening already to a bruise become obvious on one side of his neck.

"Don't fucking tape this," He says. His voice is slightly rough-edged, as if he's been screaming, and he sounds exhausted. "That's weird. Not taping the fucking but taping the after bit."

Red welts are visible above the line of water, marking his shoulders and arms. The welts are a deep red that is nearly purple - they are surrounded by bright red irritated flesh.

"Oh, but I like you like this." The voice holding the camera is deep and amused. The camera wobbles slightly and then settles, and soon enough a second man enters the screen. It's clearly Nanda Benson himself, stark naked.

Where the Boxie is heavily bruised and beaten, Nanda himself would be spotless if he weren’t flecked with drying red spots that are clearly the pet's blood.

"Yeah, well." The pet shifts to the side as Nanda steps in, hissing softly in contentment at the sudden burst of heat when he enters the water. He settles down against a bench set in to the side of the tub, and opens his arms.

The pet moves immediately into them, without hesitating. His eyes flicker nervously back to the camera and then away again.

"Yeah, well-... yeah well what, pet?" Nanda laughs as he pulls the Boxie into his lap, toying one hand already damp from the tub over the ring at the front of his collar. "Cat got your tongue after that fun we had together?"

"Tongue's the only thing you didn't take," The pet responds, almost playfully flirtatious. "I guess you'd miss it too fucking much."

"If I took your voice, who would call me a fucking idiot before I fuck him into the ground, hm?"

The pet flushes, looking down at the water, at the slightest pink of his blood still running into it. "Sir-"

"Ssssshhhh. I like you insulting me. I like punishing you for it more." Nanda mouths at the unmarked side of the pet's neck, pulling him back-to-chest where he sits, so he's facing the camera directly again. The pet's back arches when Nanda's teeth dig in, making a soft, high-pitched whine as his head drops back onto the man's shoulder.

The camera picks up the quiet splash of water as the pet tries to move away and is pulled roughly right back, catches the refracted sight of Nanda's hands on the pet's thighs forcing them apart, each of his calves on the outside of Nanda's thighs.

"Please-... H-hurts-"

"You love it," Nanda whispers, and bites down again, right into the crook of the pet's neck where it meets his shoulder. The cry this time is wild with a mix of pain and something darker, the pet's hands moving helplessly up and back to clasp just behind Nanda's head. His back is nearly a bow, every muscle trembling with a need to escape and to hold perfectly still, both at once.

When Nanda pulls back this time, the camera picks up the blood smeared on his teeth before he runs his tongue over them. It finds the light glinting off the fresh blood welling from the new bite along the pet's shoulder.

"It's too much," The pet says, struggling to sit back up straight, turning to look at Nanda. For a moment, his shaggy damp hair and angle hides his expression from the camera's gaze.

The twist of his spine, though, shows the bloodied whiplashes making their way up his back nearly to the nape of his neck.

"It's too much," The pet repeats, in a whisper. "Please. Please, it's too fucking much, if you fuck me again I'll fucking die. Please."

"Now, pet," Nanda teases, flirts shamelessly, running his wet hands through the pet's hair. He grips on tight and forces his head back again. The profile of the pet's face shows the slight bump of a broken nose healed almost perfectly, but not quite. The gasp he makes when Nanda's free hand presses over the welts on his chest is loud enough for the camera to catch. "You know you don't get to say when it's too much."

"You'll f-fucking kill me," The pet protests, voice tight from the angle forcing his collar to dig painfully into his throat. "Please, I... everything hurts so much..."

"You love the pain." Nanda's eyes look up to meet the camera before a more sinister smile finds its way across his face. "I know what you can take better than you do, pet, and I think you can handle one more. Sssshhh, here we go. There..." Nanda exhales softly as the two of them shift in the tub, the pet making a soft pained sound, his hips rolling as he is worked slowly down into position.

Then Nanda chuckles and slides his entire arm over the welts marking the pet's torso, holding him tightly in place. "Now take a deep breath."

"Wh-what?" The pet's eyes widen, comprehension coming a half-second too late. "Wait, don't-"

Nanda's hand gripped into the pet's hair plunges him forwards, bent at the waist, forcing the Box Boy's head suddenly under the water. The pet struggles desperate trying to get his head back up to breathe. Nanda grunts in a rhythm as his hips snap up and down again. He groans, "So fucking tight, goddamn I love you, you fucking slut for me-"

[/END VIDEO]

The video cuts off there, but my friend tells me the rest of it is basically the kind of stuff you have to pay a monthly fee for everywhere else on the internet.

But there's another video, from way later, that I find a really interesting contrast and comparison. Same friend got me this one. It involves Robert, whose write-up you can see right here.

[EMBEDDED VIDEO: Titled Holy Shit, No Wonder He Killed Him]

The screen is black for a few seconds, with the sound of someone taking the cap off a camera before things come into blurry view and then slowly into focus.

The bathroom in this video is tiny. It's barely large enough for everything in it, and a person sitting on the toilet will damn near bash their knees into the side of the bathtub. The grout in the tile floor is dark with old stains, and the tile itself needs either serious scrubbing or an exorcism.

Sitting naked in the bathtub is a young man with long blond hair that hangs in filthy, dirty clumps down to his shoulders. His face is streaked with mud and worse, and he has a black eye that has nearly swelled his left eye shut entirely. His hands are bound with rope stained brown with dried blood, held up in front of him.

His one good eye, maybe blue, follows with a kind of resigned terror the person behind the camera.

He sits in water up to his waist, but by the way he is shivering, it's clear that the water is not even warm, let alone hot. Further bruises mark his ribcage and his legs. One leg juts out in front, and something about it seems like it might be broken.

The camera is handheld, panning slowly from the young man's torn and lacerated heels and feet through his bruised leg - one swollen - and then back up to his face.

"Tell me your name." The voice is Robert Weber's.

The young man's mouth twists in a snarl that fades as quickly as it came and he looks away, to the side of the tub marked with deep soap scum. When Robert's house is searched, there are scratches in the tub as though someone had clawed that deeply into the sides in an attempt to escape. "It's..." The young man inhales, winces at the pain. "It's twe-... Twenty-One. M-My name is... Twenty-One."

"Good. And-... what did we practice saying next?"

The man's jaw trembles visibly onscreen. Then he says, flat and numb, "My name is Twenty-One and I have... two weeks to l-live."

"Perfect. Now I promised you a good scrubbing if you played along downstairs-" The young man flinches, closing his good eye and curling up in the tub as best he can. "-and I will keep that promise." There's a pause, jostling as the camera is slotted into a tripod to continue filming. Then, Robert's voice is suddenly deafening. "Dog! Get the fuck in here!"

The door opens with the creak of hinges deeply in need of oiling, and then the Boxie moves into view. He's skinny, malnourished and underfed, and his hair is roughly cut short in uneven hunks. He has bald spots worn in by the muzzle that is buckled over his mouth, making his breathing an audible rasp. He glares with unhidden hatred.

"Give Twenty-One a bath," Robert says, and his hand moves into view as he pats the Boxie on the head. The Boxie flinches but then forces himself to hold still, closing his eyes as the pat turns into prolonged petting. His muzzle is unbuckled and then removed. Robert's fingers drift over his bald spots, play along the red marks pressed into his skin by the muzzle, move over a scar cut into one side of his mouth that wasn't there in the video with Nanda.

The Boxie is naked but for an old dog collar around his neck.

Robert hums, disappears entirely from view. The door opens and closes again. The sound of a lock clicks.

The Boxie looks at the young man in the bathtub, who doesn't look up. "Fuck this shit," The Boxie mumbles, but he moves - dragging one of his legs a little, and there are ropes tied around his ankles that ensure he can do little more than shuffle - and finally kneels next to the tub. "Are you going to be a shit?"

The young man looks at him with surprise. "You... I've never heard you talk before," He whispers, looking fearfully to the side towards the door.

"You've never seen me without the fucking muzzle before, either," The pet replies. His voice is far rougher than the first video, suggesting long-term damage to his vocal chords. "I asked you something. Are you going to fight me and be a shit about this or no?"

The young man hesitates, then shakes his head. "I couldn't fight if I wanted to anymore," He says, like a man confessing a sin. "It all hurts too much. You know? I had a girlfriend-"

"Stop it." The pet cuts him off and leans over, picking up a stiff washcloth and soaking it in the water until it's soft enough to use again, running it over the young man's shoulders. For all the edge of meanness in his voice, the pet's touch is clearly gentle. "You're going to fucking die here, better if you don't talk about stuff that gets you fucked up first. Forget her."

The young man leans over to give easier access to his back. The soft whimpers he makes show that there must be some grievous injuries back there that the camera can't see. "I-I know I will. Die, I mean. Do I really have-... is it really two weeks?"

"Yeah." The pet takes a bar of soap and runs it over his own hands, rubbing them together to work up a lather. The soap found in Robert Weber's house after his death is Irish Spring and Dove - it is believed he used different soap for different captives according to his own odd whims. "He's put little heart shapes on a calendar he marks off. He'll hurt you a little worse every fucking day and then make you beg for him to end it."

The young man slowly nods, looking at his bound wrists. There's a soft sniff, but he seems too tired for tears. "There's no chance of getting away, is there."

It's not really a question.

The pet answers anyway.

"You're the twenty-first, and none of the others have. What do you think?"

"I-I can't do this."

"You have to." The pet gets a red Solo cup sitting on the side of the tub, fills it with water, and pours it down the young man's back. He hisses and cries out softly in pain. "He doesn't exactly ask your goddamn preferences."

"Help me escape," The young man pleads. "Help me get out of here."

"I'm fucking hobbled," the pet snaps. "He'll be on us both before we even made it out of the hallway. You think I'm fucking stupid? I'm the only one who might not die if I stay good. Come on, lean forward so I can wash your hair."

The young man moves to obey, hands disappearing beneath the filthy bathwater, and then he turns, looking over his shoulder. He and the pet share a long, silent moment. Then he leans over far enough to put his mouth nearly to the pet's ear and whispers something so low that the camera doesn't pick up the words.

The pet inhales sharply.

He looks at the door, and then back to the young man.

"Are you sure?" He asks, and the edge is totally gone from his voice, now.

The young man nods, slowly. "Please," he says, a little louder. "If I have to-... please. Not him. I-I know you'll get punished, but... please. God, please, just this one thing." His hands come back up to grip onto the pet's hand where it lays along the side of the tub.

The young man leans forwards, and his forehead gently rests against the pet's. They are silent for a long moment.

"Please, don't let him be the one to kill me," The young man says. "I know I'm g-going to die, but... let me take that a-... away from him. Please. God, I don't even know your name, but-... please."

The pet swallows, then nods, tipping his head back to press a kiss to the young man's forehead. "I don't have a name. What's your name? I'll remember it. Your real name."

The young man's throat bobs and he whispers into the pet's ear again.

He sits back up, leaning over until some of his long hair falls into the water. "I'm-... I'm ready."

The pet takes a deep, deep breath, moves up to kneeling with his thighs vertical, lays both hands on the back of the young man's head, and says, "I hope it's better, wherever you go."

Then he pushes the young man's head underneath the water.

[/END VIDEO]

According to my friend, there's more to that video as well, but obviously it's been cut to take out the end of the poor guy. Now, my friend swears up and down the pet is crying at the end of the video, that he can see tears, but I'm not sure.

That doesn't really line up with the pet killing people before this, you know?

But one thing it does prove is that the Boxie knows the name of one of the unidentified victims. If he could be found, we could give that man back his name and get his family the closure they deserve.

I know some of you argued with me last time that the Boxie is clearly a VICTIM and not a PERPETRATOR, and I definitely admit this second video maybe suggests you're on to something there.

But I still think we have a Boxie killer on our hands here - I just think maybe I was wrong about why he's killing them at all.

I guess we'll find out if he kills again.

-

@astrobly @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @eatyourdamnpears @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @boxboysandotherwhump @outofangband @whumptywhumpdump @thehopelessopus @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @butwhatifyouwrite @newandfiguringitout @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump @oops-its-whump @endless-whump @cubeswhump @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whumpiary @burtlederp

​

[chil2de]

Hii! It's me again, the "teasing mom's broyfriend" anon. I just- you about killed me with that sequel. Hot doesn't even begin to describe it, really 🥵🥵

I have more :))

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

Megumi knows. He knows what a slut you are, knows you've been fucking his father behind his and your mom's back. He knows you only got with him to provoque his father. He knows all of that. And yet, he can't let go of you. He won't do his father this favour.

He avoids going to your mom's house with you as best he can, bc he just can't stand the two of you doing this to her, the poor woman doesn't deserve it. He never touches you when you come back from your mom's, bc he just knows you've been with him. There is, however, an exception. The only thing that can make him help you tease his dad is when they fight.

When it happens, Megumi goes visit your mom with you, and whenever she can't see it, he makes it a point to touch you a little more than would be appropriate in front of Toji. The mix of Megumi's hands all over you and Toji's warning glare could probably make you cum right then and there. Once, when your mom was out doing grocery shopping and Toji stayed behind with the two of you, Megs was all to eager to fuck you, make you scream his name, all for Toji's benefit.

Oh, you do so love it when they fight. You know you should hope for peace and harmony between father and son, but you have much more fun when they are at each other's throat.

You wonder what you would have to do to have both of them filling you up at the same time...

ugh okay sorry if this post is just a massive wall of text i had to cut down on spacing because i kept reaching tumblr’s limit on characters, and uh... incase you couldn’t tell, shit’s about to get serious if i wrote this much LOL this probably looks so clunkyyy :(( i apologise but i have like a line left or two? so i’ll compress everything by saying a massive thank you because this would not have been possible without your sexy ass intellect. i was seriouly fucking dying writing this, it might be the first or second piece i’m genuinely proud of and i thank you :) i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it

this piece makes sense as a standalone, but works a lot better if you read the previous piece! read my disclaimer here if you’re new <3

w.c: 2.8k / characters: 15k (incl spaces) and a special thank you to my beloved anonie. couldn’t have done it without you ❤️

day and night: two.

your bedroom door shuts with a quiet ring. you can only slump down against it, knees held into your chest. your thighs are still quivering like a poor little lamb.

as you move to type out a text for megumi to not come over, there’s a faint knock at the window. your heart burns, throat clogged and knees weak.

you don’t know if you can get up. hell, you don’t know if you should get up. there’s another few delicate rips against the glass and you manage to stumble over in fear of attracting toji’s attention.

“megumi?!” you mouth his name in alarm, dismay crawling onto your features.

your boyfriend gives you a dead once over, noting your matted hair, smeared mascara and weak posture.

of course he knows.

you can discern it clearly from the way he refuses to meet your gaze.

“can you just let me in?” he whispers, tone flat as his index motions over to the lock of the window.

you don’t know what to do.

after all, you’ve still got toji’s cum flowing inside you from earlier.

you fumble backwards, moving to allow his lanky figure to slip inside. megumi manages to hoist his leg up and over, squeezing inside with ease. he closes the window shut behind him, pulling the curtains.

“m-megumi? what are you doing he-“

he doesn’t have time to waste.

megumi knocks the wind out of your lungs as his cold hands seize the sides of your head, stealing your lips for a kiss. he tugs at your bottom lip, tongue drinking you in for a couple of moments like you’re the last meal he’ll ever eat.

“shit.” he hisses, pulling his face back and screwing his eyebrows in mutiny.

oh, but if you didn’t love the way he looked at you like you were pure filth.

“you taste like him. it’s disgusting.” he spits, wiping his delicate lips with the back of his hand.

he knew, but there was always a part of him that wished you wouldn’t submit yourself to the likes of toji. he just had to see it for himself.

“come on, megumi-chan~ thats no way to talk to your girlfriend, is it?

your mother doesn’t deserve this. megumi doesn’t deserve the heartache, either.

megumi can’t see anything but the spitting image of his father all over your body, licking and fondling all the same crevices that he has. but he can’t get enough of you. he can’t stop, can’t turn away from you. he knows that at the end of the day you're spoon-feeding him phrases he wants to hear.

but you’re so good to him.

your pussy fits him like a glove. your hand intertwines with his perfectly. your head is the perfect size to cuddle onto his chest.

there’s something about you that makes you more addicting than nicotine.

bony and slender fingertips ghost over your thighs. you can’t help the squeak that hiccups from you. megumi raises an eyebrow in scepticism before flipping the hem of your miniskirt up.

he scoffs, slicking his long middle finger against your hot cunt.

“don’t hold it in.” he reprimands you, flashing a grimace as you squabble with him.

“b-but toji-“

“but what? am i not good enough for you?”

you swallow thickly, chanting a small prayer before allowing toji’s cum to drip out of your pussy. you shiver, goosebumps licking your skin when you can feel the warmth of his seed ooze and coat your soft thighs. you can’t avoid the burn of megumi’s regard as he watches the cum slowly flow out of you.

he’ll make you want him.

megumi can’t fully comprehend why you keep running back to his father instead of him, why you choose toji over him. like father like son, it evokes a bubble of magma in the form of competition and jealousy.

he’ll make you beg for him. that’s for sure.

“get on the bed.” he whispers, tone cold and even. there’s no warmth to his voice, even with his usual monotonous tendencies you can tell you struck a nerve. it makes your stomach churn, butterflies swooping in and adorning your vital organs.

like a moth drawn to a flame, as though you have no mind of your own, you step backwards until the back of your knees kiss the metal frame of your bed. megumi towers over you, pushing you backwards as he crawls in between your thighs.

the crisp ring of his zipper sliding down clashes against the room. why should he undress himself properly for the likes of someone like you?

“there’s no point in prepping you. i think you know that.” megumi sighs, relieving his twitching cock from the confines of his painfully tight boxers.

you can feel the avarice swirl in your abdomen, cold fear stilling in your veins at the mere thought that you could get caught by toji at any second. it makes your fingertips tingle and stomach churn. when you wail a needy whimper, megumi only shakes his head before plastering his icy cool hand against your wet lips.

a part of megumi wants to let all hell break loose. if he allows you to moan as you please, it won’t be just toji hearing your cries of ecstasy. knowing your mother, perhaps she’d be a little glad to know that your boyfriend is meeting your needs sufficiently. whereas toji?

it puts him in a predicament. from a bystanders point of view, toji has no right to storm in here and to shriek at megumi for blowing your brains out.

why?

because he’s not your dad.

he’s not a paternal figure in your life. there’s no right for him to say what you can and cannot do. he won’t hold that kind of reign over you like your mother does. and megumi likes that. he relishes the idea of toji being forced to listen to you babble megumi’s name, to mewl and cry for him to hit it deeper whilst he can’t do anything but complain.

it’s not like you haven’t heard your mother with other men plenty of times. it’s only natural, right? hell, she’ll probably gossip with you about it.

a carnal desire glosses over megumi’s steel blue gaze. like a wolf waiting to pounce onto a hare. he can see the way your thighs squeeze, how you gulp before him with those doe eyes of yours. you’re practically purring underneath him. for once, megumi gathers the reasoning to understand why his father finds you so intriguing. there’s nothing better than having your own toy melt and oblige under every command.

your boyfriend’s hand finds its way to your chest, where he rests the palm flat underneath your breasts. he steadies himself, using you as leverage as he guides his dick through the cum stained mess of your cunt. your heart pounds in anticipation, drool coating the back of your tongue as your pussy throbs around him. he manages to fit his tip in, dragging the enlarged and sensitive muscle against your walls. your ankles flutter around megumi’s waist, lower body strength trembling as you attempt to pull him in further.

“m-megs- please..”

“what?” he screws his eyebrows, staring you down. you can’t find the words in you to plead for him.

“what the hell? why act all coy now?“

“that’s not how we do things around here, is it? so spit it out. i won’t get what you’re trying to say otherwise.”

megumi slips his dick out, grinding against your clit as his torso flushes against yours. he pulls you in for a quick kiss, enough to relinquish his appetite, but not enough to taste the filth that corrupts your sweet and innocent lips.

“those cute little whines of yours won’t help you, either.” his breath flickers against your skin, sticky tongue licking trails as he works to mark up your neck. you can feel the tears prick your eyes already. you’re suddenly hyper aware of your heartbeat pounding in your ears, how it throbs against your cunt and the droplets of perspiration trickling along your skin. you can feel megumi’s pulse heavy against your clit, the way his dick twitches as he smears the tip through the folds of your slick. it’s slowly driving him insane. but that’s okay. even through the static that bounces around in his skull- he knows that you hate it more.

after all, your boyfriend knows best.

your fingernails soar around to megumi’s back. you want to scratch him, but you can’t access his toned skin through the layers of his jacket. instead, you’re left fumbling and scrunching the fabric like a feline with an insatiable desire to itch its claws.

“megumi- please, it’s too much-“ you huff through laboured breaths, peering up at him through tear stained eyelashes.

it’s almost enough to make him melt. almost.

“what is?”

“this?”

he shifts himself back up, grabbing his dick and slipping only the tip in once more. he allows you a few centimetres extra before dipping back out and repeating the process again. megumi’s gaze locks with yours, as though he’s asking ‘is this what you want?’

“s-stop teasing me.. just put it in alreadyy~” you choke out a groan of frustration, ready to slam your hips down onto the full length of his shaft.

“why should i?”

“megumi, i swear to god- if you don’t fuck me right now-“

“-or what? you’ll go to my dad? good luck, when you couldn’t even fulfill your duties as being his toy.”

so fucking humiliating.

the way megumi instantly stands up and proceeds to stuff his still hard and leaking dick back into his boxers.

he’ll deal with it later.

you’re left stuttering, unable to form any coherent words, thoughts or insults to spew back at him. legs wide open, cunt empty and glistening in the blue tint of the moonlight.

he leans over, swiping some of your excess drool with his thumb before dipping it into your mouth. he half expects you to lick at his thumb, convince him to stay a little longer, but his skin sits in your mouth like a forgotten thermometer for a couple of seconds.

“if only you could see your face right now.” he hums, tone flat with a certain mockery.

sometimes, as the days pass, you can notice his resemblance growing closer and closer to toji.

-

the following day

you haven’t left the quarters of your room for the entire day. you’re stuck in bed, face mushed into the confines of your pillow. you’ve always held high regards of the fact that your libido isn’t necessarily extremely high, but when you’re promised dick just to be neglected of it? shit feels like you’re in heat. you can’t go to toji, because you’re mother’s home. not only that, but he’d be sure to teach you one of his lessons. you’re already shivering thinking of the conversation with him, how you’d even try to dig out of that hole you were already so deep in.

you can’t call megumi either… at least not for now. you sigh wistfully into the pillow, kicking your legs about on your bed as you hiss a groan of turmoil.

there’s a sudden knock at the door that snaps you out of your haze. it leaves you pumped, blood coursing through your veins and you shoot up like an attentive little puppy about to be taken for a walk.

“it’s open!” you clear your throat, humming.

the disappointment rocks your features so clearly that it’s embarrassing. it’s just your mother.

“you okay? thought you died in here, baby. lunch is ready, and your lovely megumi-kun came to say hello.”

what?

“megumi? that’s nice. did he leave a message or anything? like he just dropped by to say hello or-“

“hm? oh, no. he’s having lunch with us.”

“is everything okay, dear?”

“yeah! yeah, i’m good. sorry, i spaced out a little bit. small headache, that’s all. i’ll change clothes and i’ll come out to eat.” you dismiss your mother, keeping in the hyperventilation you’re about to undergo. she gives you a small glance of concern before returning to the dining room to serve her guests.

“(y/n)! we were just talking about you!” your mother hums, gifting you a smile of warmth and radiance as she pours drinks into some cups.

you can feel toji’s mocking stare dig holes into your skin.

you can fucking feel it.

you can imagine him saying it.

“slut.”

at the six chaired table, you scurry to sit the furthest away from megumi and toji. your mother shoots you a sideways glance, motioning for the seat between toji and megumi. you swallow thickly, awkwardly striding over to take a seat.

your knee accidentally knocks into toji’s and you instantly utter an apology.

“you should be.” he mutters underneath his breath, disguising the words as a sigh.

“so? you said you were talking about me?” you straighten yourself, perking up a semblance of cheerfulness and perfect innocence.

“oh, right! toji was just telling me how stuffed you were yesterday!”

your lids flicker in shock and you abruptly stare at toji, whose half lidded jade green eyes slowly land on yours before locking to meet your attention for a few seconds.

“sorry, what?” you stutter, finding it difficult to believe the situation.

“you know, the food? are you sure you’re alright, honey? you’ve been acting strange since this morning.”

“i’m fine, i swear. just some painkillers would be nice.”

when your mother turns around to rummage for some painkillers, she emits a squeak of alarm at the lack of them.

please. you’ll do anything to get out of this predicament.

“are we out? i can go grab some-“

“-no, that’s okay. i’ll head out. i need to grab a few extra things for dinner anyway. you three, make nice with each other!”

sure.

when the door shuts, you realise you’re out of options.

you can’t run away.

“so, megumi. how’s eating up after my leftovers feel?”

“leftovers? because one woman wasn’t enough for you?” megumi scoffs, averting his gaze.

“it’s not my problem that your woman came running to me. doesn’t that say something about you?”

“like what?”

“like, you can’t fuck her properly?”

“i can’t fuck her properly? but you’re telling her to keep your cum inside her? don’t you care what’ll happen if she gets pregnant?”

“see, megumi. she’s on birth control. you didn’t know that? and besides, if i didn’t know any better-“

toji finally allows you his undivided attention, staring right through to your soul.

“-i’d think your little girlfriend here likes walking around with my cum inside her.”

you’d be able to run a butter knife through the tension hanging in the air. the room holds its breath, and as do you in compliment of trying not to set things off into a piping hot mess.

“isn’t that right-“

“-princess?”

your fight or flight response kicks in at the malicious tone that coats toji’s tongue. you swallow thickly, throat parched and lips cracked.

but fuck.

if it isn’t the most arousing thing- the two of them squabbling over you.

toji screws his face at you, features lighting in a mix of awe and delight.

“really? you’re seriously enjoying this?” toji hums with mockery, eyebrows perking at your unusual behaviour. he can smell the sweet nectar of your arousal slicking against your underwear.

you abruptly stand up, ready to leave.

megumi’s hand curls around your wrist. he slings your hand behind your back, slamming you over the table. some silverware and plates clatter and dash against the hardwood floor.

“answer the question, (y/n).” he hisses.

you whimper a soft whine. there’s no way you’re answering that.

“get your fucking hands off of her.” toji barks, kicking his chair back.

“try me.”

something washes over you. a premonition, say. that if you don’t speak up, someone will end up seriously injured.

“i can’t choose between you two. i just can’t. so i think it’s the best option if we just stop this completely.” you sigh, prying megumi off of you. his stance relaxes and you wince at the pain in your spine. you rub your wrists in slight agony, refusing to meet either of their gazes.

“it’s been fun, but i think it’s time to draw the line-“

“no.” toji remarks offhandedly.

“huh?” you contort your face in offence. there’s something thick on megumi’s face, too. it almost looks like determination?

“i said no.” toji reiterates, taking a stride towards you.

his index and thumb caress your chin, tilting your jaw up to look at him.

“i don’t care how long it takes. whether it’s me or him-“

“-i’m making you choose.”

[hawnks]

Party Attire 

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

r18 (mdni)

wordcount: 1,600

my drabble for the valentines day exchange uwu. for @some-kindofgnome hope i did your wants justice. smooch. 

warnings: dom/sub undertones, oral s** (giving & receiving), edging, spit, size kink

.....................................................................

He’d warned you about that skirt. 

In the hall outside the bathroom of the four star restaurant his parents invited you to. Crowding you against the posh wallpaper. Fingers digging into the skin just below your hemline. Admittedly, it was pushing the boundary between business chic and let me get railed on my five break and then meet you back here to talk about the budget requests. A cute, pink pleated number you’d thrifted a few months back. The weather had just turned right to wear it with some knee socks. It was fun and flirty, you thought. A little daring, sure, but not enough to draw any attention that was too salacious.

Katsuki had other opinions. 

“We get home, I’m fucking you so hard you won’t be able to form a coherent thought for days.” 

He made good on his word. And after pampering you a little bit (no thinking required with your boyfriend literally carrying you wherever you needed to go), Katsuki passed his final judgement on your dinner attire. 

“No.”

You put on your best pout, waggling the (now very stained) skirt at him. He slapped your hands out of his face, but you didn’t miss the way his eyes followed the swish of the fabric, or how they fell to the marks he left on your thighs. 

“Throw that shit out,” he groused. 

You know he would never actually dare to tell you what you can and can’t wear. You also know he had a soft (and inexplicable) spot for that particular outfit. So you don’t feel bad about tucking it away for a rainy day -- after a very thorough washing, at least. 

Now seems like the perfect occasion to break it out again. 

Your boyfriend hasn’t been home in three days. The two of you keep up a constant back and forth over text, but you could tell the stress is beginning to wear on him, his responses getting pricklier and shorter the longer he’s away.

Finally, you get the message you’ve been waiting for. Home in ten.

Just enough time to get ready. 

You hear Katsuki pull into the garage. He likes his cars fast and loud, which has never bothered you -- but the sound of the motor cutting out has your heart thundering in your chest. You’re seated on the plush couch in the den. You’re not sure if you should arrange yourself pleasingly or just plant yourself. You try several poses before you hear the front door open and shut, and Katsuki appears in the doorway, peering at you through the dimmed lighting as you struggle with one leg on the floor and one off. 

It’s an uncomfortable position, and you can’t extract yourself without doing a bit of an awkward shimmy, which you suspect is endearing but not exactly seductive. Finally you end up with your legs hugged against your chest, your eyes trailing over to your boyfriend as he watches you, not moved from his spot by the entrance.

He’s in civilian clothing, sweats and a dark t-shirt, both perfectly fitted. It’s the first time he’d changed from his hero uniform in days, and the loungewear feels strange on his skin. Unnatural. 

He leaves his coat on the floor in a heap, forgotten as he finally starts stalking toward you. His expression is bland, impassive -- but you catch a glimpse of interest in his eyes before your gaze darts, landing on his thighs. They’re massive, just like the rest of him. Sometimes you catch yourself watching him on slow days, as he leans over the stove, or grabs something from the top shelf from you, just marveling at the sheer size, the strength of him. It’s like he was designed with you in mind. Like he was made to make you feel small. 

You can feel the divine heat of him as he stops before you, knuckles brushing your chin up until you meet his gaze. “Cute.”

You lean into his touch, and he cups your cheek, thumb petting the soft skin. “Missed you,” you say.

“Oh, yeah?” He stares at you for a second, the arches and slopes of your face. His thumb continues stoking, moving ever so slightly until he’s rubbing your bottom lip, dragging it down until he can see the dark color of the delicate inner skin. His forefinger creeps in, prodding against the soft point of your canine before finding your tongue. He presses down, a gentle pressure, but one that won’t let you ignore it. “Prove it.”

Your tongue presses back against his finger, licking around it, sucking. You do all of this without modesty, groaning when he presses back, gagging when his finger sinks deeper, edging toward your throat. 

Katuski has big hands. You know that -- how could you ever forget that every part of him is a mountain -- but it’s moments like these that remind you just how big. How much bigger than you. How well he can fill you, in any way he chooses.

Your teeth are held open against his knuckle, and strings of drool begin to trail down your cheeks, land on your chest. Katsuki takes all of this, you, in with red eyes hooded, his other hand clenched at his side until he can’t hold himself back any longer.

With one arm he picks you up by the waist and repositions you, laying on your back beneath him as he straddles your midriff. He wipes the spit from his index finger off on your cheek, peering down at you as you let out another low whine.

“Impatient, huh?” he murmurs. At your eager nod, he grins, all teeth. “Guess I gotta show you who’s in charge here.” 

One hand on the arm of the couch, the other cradling your chin, he crawls up your body until his hips are hovering over your face. 

He lets go of you for just long enough to rip down his sweats, cock hard enough to tap his stomach, just from playing with your tongue, then his fingers are back on you, teasing open your mouth. He grits his teeth as you so willingly let him tap himself against your tongue, a dab of precum already budding at the tip. 

You’re caged in by him from all directions, his thick thighs framing your temples, his hand stroking his cock in slow jerks just above your face. You should feel smothered—instead you feel intoxicated, drowned in his and his domination, and your lips continue to part further and further as he teases you, until you’re gaping and he’s grinning down at you. 

“That’s it baby,” he hisses, nudging his cock in (finally in) to the warm cavern of your mouth. 

He’s too big for you to take all of him like this, laying down, his legs splayed over you, but he continues to prod at the back of your tongue, his hips rolling in a firm, shallow rhythm. He edges himself in your mouth, pulling out and letting his cock smack gently against your cheek, smearing precum and your own spit across your skin. 

“Yeah,” he says, voice worn thin, self control fraying. “So goddamn cute.”

Twice more pulls out just before cumming, smearing your face with your combined slick, groaning as his hips jerk against your jaw. 

With a hiss he crawls off you, goes to his knees on the floor. In less than a second he’s manhandled you into the position he wants, hips hung off the couch, your whole body supported by his strong arms. With a wicked growl he flicks your skirt up, then he lowers his face. 

Nothing Katsuki does could ever be considered sloppy. He’s perfect, sometimes maddeningly so. When he’s between your thighs he does things with a brutal finesse, one that you appreciate to the fullest extent. But what’s happening right now can only be described as messy. 

He still knows how to treat you right, the exact pressure to make you buck, the spot inside to stroke with his index and middle finger while his other hand squeezes the meat of your thigh just this side of painful. But all of that is interspersed with split seconds of ravenous mindlessness. There are moments you don’t know what’s happening because it’s all so much, before he pulls you back in with a perfectly timed tweak of your clit, a particularly firm thrust. 

And when he pulls back, just before you reach your peak, once, twice, three times, his praise is gravely and soft, his eyes have that mean glint that you hate love. 

“Too soon, princess?” he says. 

Or, “I told you to be fucking patient.” 

Or, “Look at you, so fucking fucked. Just let me take care of things baby, I got you. Fuck that look on your face. So good for me—“

And when he finally (finally) let’s you cum on his tongue, he’s quick to follow after. You didn’t even know he’d been jerking off while he was eating you out, but you watch him rise up onto his feet, keeled over as he spends right on your pretty pink skirt. 

He takes a moment to just look at it, you, all fucked out, a loopy smile on your face. He doesn’t think about what does it for him, how he likes how delicate you are compared to him, or how sometimes he just wants to fuck you up a little, how the urge lives closer to the surface when he’s stressed. Like today. 

He runs an index finger through the cooling puddle caught in a pleat of your skirt, brings his wet finger up to paint your swollen bottom lip. 

He says, “Was thinking about Italian for dinner tonight.” 

[dinosaurtsukki]

-lipstick on your cigarette

pairing: chuuya nakahara x f!reader

word count: 1.4k words

contains: brainrot content, chuuya being a flirt

a/n: brainrot hours go brrrrrr also excuse this not being proofread i am drinking wine

usually, you enjoyed going to parties. usually, you enjoyed squeezing and melding with the bodies of dancing people, feeling the loud bass of the music over the stereos in your chest, and of course, drinking from the mystery punch that your friends always made.

but that was back then when your boyfriend was around to do all those things with you. dressing up for this party felt like a chore and every single thing you used to love about parties annoyed you to no end. you regretted being swayed by your friends to come when you clearly didn’t feel like it so after grabbing a beer from the kitchen, you retired to the balcony of the house on the third floor. for a while, you relished in being alone, feeling the beer warm you pleasantly against the cool, night air, until someone came in and ruined the quiet.

“mind if i join you?”

you turned around at the voice and found a man, with red bright red hair, a dark brown fedora, and wearing a leather jacket and black, skinny jeans, leaning against the doorway. in one hand, he carried a half-empty bottle of wine and a paper cup. you shrugged, as if to say ‘be my guest’ and took a swig out of the rest of your beer. the man walked up and leaned against the balcony railing next to you.

“so, you alone?” he asked. you let out a sigh, instantly pegging him as someone who was here to pick up girls.

“no, i came with my pet hamster,” you snorted. 

“hah, never heard that one before,” the man laughed. “sorry, just wanted to talk. not really here to flirt with you if that’s not what you want,” he said, backing off just a bit. “well, unless you want me to,” he smirked.

“charmed,” you smiled, feeling a bit better now that things had been cleared up. and now that you could see him up close, you didn’t really mind talking to such an attractive man at a party.

“i’m chuuya, by the way. chuuya nakahara,” he introduced himself, reaching a gloved hand out for you to shake.

“y/n. y/n l/n,” you shook it. 

“so, what’s got you so down?” he asked. “if you don’t mind me asking.” 

“just not really feeling this place is all,” you shrugged. “i mean, i like parties but, it’s not quite fun when your friend who brought you is getting to third base in the master bedroom and your ex is out there with some new girl beside him.”

“well, if it’s any comfort, the guy who’s with your friend is probably going to forget about her the next morning,” chuuya said.

“that makes me feel a teensy bit better,” you chuckled. 

“other than that, i’m afraid i only know alcohol as the one solution to all problems,” he grinned, pouring wine out into the paper cup he had and offering it to you. you weren’t really one to accept drinks from strangers but you didn’t really sense anything malicious from him.

“you know, i’m actually not that into wine,” you said after taking a sip. “it’s just... sour grape juice.” 

“sour grape juice that gets you drunk,” chuuya pointed out. 

“you get drunk from wine? pssh, lightweight,” you snorted.

“shut up, it’s 12.5% alcohol,” chuuya muttered sourly. seeing his expression made you laugh even harder. “glad to see you smile for once.” 

“you’ve only known me for a few minutes.” 

“yeah, but i already figured you looked prettier when you smiled,” he said, smirking at the apparent embarrassment on your face.

“are you always like this?”

“sometimes i show a magic trick or two,” chuuya shrugged.

“is that an innuendo or something?” you raised an eyebrow.

“pshh, no way,” he shook his head. “want me to show ya?”

“sure,” you shrugged, turning to face him. chuuya reached into his pocket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes, and took one out before handing it to you.

“put a mark on it. you could put a pen mark or anything to identify it,” he said. “i have a pen on hand if you want.”

“hmm,” you looked at the cigarette, turning it this way and that, before lifting it to your lips and placing a kiss on the side of the white paper, leaving a red lipstick mark. 

“no one’s ever did that before,” chuuya shook his head and chuckled, taking the cigarette from you. 

“and no one’s ever shown me a magic trick before,” you smirked. chuuya took out a one-dollar bill from his pocket and wrapped it tightly around the cigarette. then, he reached into his pocket again and pulled out a lighter.

“watch closely, alright?” he said. he lit the very end of the cigarette and blew on the flame until it grew and burned through the whole thing, leaving only ash in his hands. chuuya closed his fist and blew the ash over the balcony. the entire time, you couldn’t help but admire the lines and contours of his face and how his red hair framed the sides of his cheeks. 

“and now....” chuuya smirked, reaching a hand behind your ear before pulling out a cigarette with a flick of his wrist. he rolled it to the side, revealing your red lipstick mark along its side.

“whoa.” you clapped your hands and chuuya bowed.

“that’s always a favorite,” he grinned, looking down at the cigarette before sliding it back into the packet. 

“keeping a souvenir?” you said, nodding your head at the cigarette.

“i usually smoke these right away but... i have a feeling this one’s worth keeping,” chuuya said. you bit your lip. even though it was your idea to mark the cigarette with your lipstick as a way to flirt with him, there was something thrilling about someone as attractive as chuuya keeping it.

except, you didn’t really feel that thrill for long when you spotted your ex out of the corner of your eye inside the house. your blood ran cold when you saw the other girl who he had his arm wrapped around.

“shit,” you cursed, turning away when you realized that he spotted you.

“what’s wrong?” chuuya frowned, looking over inside the house.

“well, it’s the very guy i was hoping to avoid,” you gritted your teeth.

“ah, the one who looks like he had his face slammed by a door?” 

“the very one.” you watched chuuya narrow his eyes in distate at the sight of your ex.

“is it weird that i already hate him?”

“hah, wish i had that instinct,” you laughed bitterly. chuuya took a step closer to you, leaning your head closer to yours. you felt your face flush at how close he was.

“let’s mess with him,” he smirked.

“h-how?” you asked, even though you already knew what he was thinking of.

“kiss me.” 

you didn’t even need to be told twice. you grabbed at his shirt collar and pulled chuuya close to you. his lips were surprisingly soft and they moved effortlessly against yours, deepening the kiss. he tasted just like the wine you just drank and smelled like a mixture of cigarette smoke and men’s cologne. neither of you had the mind to pull away any time soon, even though you were certain your ex had already seen you and left. but how could you pull away when chuuya had his hands around your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin and daring you to even leave.

when you finally parted, you were both breathless and panting for air. the way chuuya looked at you with half-lidded eyes that hinted at something more brought a chill down your spine.

“you have... a little something there,” you cleared your throat, gesturing at chuuya’s lips which had your red lipstick smeared on it. 

“yeah? you do too,” he said. before you could even react, chuuya licked his thumb and wiped at the sides of your mouth.

“i think that did the trick too,” you grinned, turning to find that your ex was no longer around. you only wished you could see the look on his face with you in the arms of someone else. someone undoubtedly more attractive than him.

“glad i could be of assistance,” chuuya bowed again. “now, i do believe you owe me for that kiss. and the magic trick.” 

“oh yeah?” you raised an eyebrow. “and what would that be?”

“your company for the rest of the night,” chuuya smirked. 

“only if it’s someplace better than this party,” you said. 

“well, i have a motorcycle and an appropriate amount of alcohol in my system,” chuuya said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “just say the word and i’ll take us there.” 

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