#unable to control his bladder

[absentlyabbie]

on the cat post: barn cat thoughts?

i understand the rationale and practical applications, and i grind my teeth about it less if they're at least spayed/neutered and given proper, regular vet care, but if that cat is just allowed/able to wander freely it's gonna have a shitty and likely very short life, on top of the negative impact it will have on the local environment beyond the barn's pest control issue.

i'm in no way an expert, but it's hard to imagine there's not some alternative that, while it may not seem cheaper, doesn't cost a life.

[simonbrain]

hi sorry i was the one who asked about piss but YAY SAFESPACE!!

ugh like.. just imagining that it isn’t even you peeing that is most erotic (it is erotic but not what strokes their ego most) it’s more so the power play between you and whoever keeps your panties hugged right up against your clit. rubbing the little button till you eventually fall apart, but it isn’t arousal that slicks your lips. and your partner, usually so sweet is now the complete opposite, scolding you for wetting yourself as if it wasn’t his doing. you’ve made a mess of yourself and him, so why don’t you get on your knees and clean him up.

sorry for the long thing but this has been plaguing my mind for a while

cw: piss kink 🔥🔥🔥, dubcon

writing this with simon in mind but—

thinking about how selfless he is when it comes to your pleasure, how giving he can be, because in his mind nothing can compare to unravelling you until you're too boneless to even string together a sentence. he thought he had already seen you at your highest peak: the teary eyes, the drool that trickled from your open mouth, the incoherent babbles. he had even managed to make you squirt once—the excessive warmth around his cock felt rewarding, had him fucking into you harder just to see if he could get your sweet cunt gushing around him again.

you're squirming more than usual, unable to listen to his gentle commands to keep still. the position is a little odd with you lying on the bed while he sits upright between your legs, but you can't even begin to care about how dizzy you're getting without proper head support when he's stroking your puffy clit so well, soft pants leaving your lips with each taut circle you receive. your approaching orgasm feels so much more intense than usual, and you slur out that you're close, so so close, pleasepleaseplease—

the first spurts that trickle down to your ass makes you freeze because the feeling is wrong. it's not the beginning of an orgasm but rather the relief that comes from emptying your full bladder, and you immediately go to grasp his wrist, but the bastard shakes you off and slips his hand down your panties.

"simon," you gasp, mortified by how he's still going even as a small stream begins to seep through your underwear and down onto his sweatpants. the second it started, your control went out the window, and it doesn't help that with each thrash you make, the pressure against your clit grows firmer, more purposeful. it feels good, relief and shame flooding you. "simon, stop—"

"look at you, pissin' all over yourself like an untrained pup," he tuts, shaking his head to really emphasise his disappointment, as if he's not about to burst in his damn sweats just from watching you struggle. "fuckin' filthy."

it's not difficult for him to push you to the brink of tears, to see those pretty eyes leak while your cunt shares the same sentiment. he should feel bad about the way you're snivelling out apologies, feel guilty for pushing you so far out of your comfort zone, but there's an awful little itch in his brain that's being soothed by your indignity.

when you attempt to squirm away, the harsh smack that lands dead centre of your cunt makes you cry out. as a result, everything beneath you gets drenched, and simon thinks he likes this a lot—being selfish. it's not a sin to indulge in his own greedy desires, is it? to push down on your bladder and coo if you have any more for him, and throb in his soaked pants when you give him a few more pathetic spurts before you're finally empty.

no, it can't be. especially not when he's so kind all the time, when he places you and your pleasure above everything else. doesn't that feel good, letting go for him? even if you shake your head no, he knows the relief that's flowing through you. the soft moans leaving your lips and the little jerks of your hips give you away.

looking down at the mess honestly almost finishes him off because fuckkkk, he should've had you sitting on his face instead, should've made you ride his tongue until you couldn't hold it in anymore. the thought has heat flaring up all over his body once more, the desire to taste you rolling over him like great, clashing waves. "look at this mess, baby, you fuckin' soaked me; think we need to look into buyin' some plastic for the mattress, aye?"

the look on your face has his heart melting and his dick twitching, embarrassment painting your cheeks red. "it's not my fault!" you whine, trying to shove him away like an angry cat, yet all simon can think about is how fucking cute you are like this, hissing and snivelling like you weren't just humping his hand. (you were trying to get away from him, but it's not like you were given much of a chance to. what an asshole.)

"well, i'm still a mess," he huffs, gesturing to his lap. "won't you clean me up, pet? s'the least you could do."

yeah, he thinks as you reluctantly position yourself between his legs and pry his sweats down to lap at his cock, your grumpy expression having absolutely no effect on him other than making him want to pinch your cheeks. he's definitely indulging in this little kink with you more often. hopefully you won't notice if he begins reminding you to drink water more frequently than usual.

[itwdoris]

no, spread your knees. he explained, so he could see you well. strong hands helping you with the position, pussy right above his belly mouth. your bladder was painfully full, he worked for it, filling you with water all day long, all so that he could teach you how to pee properly. sukuna kept supporting your body, looking at you and seeing your face all red. now do.

but it didn't seem that easy, which made you whimper quietly and call him to help, your hole clenching and the urge growing, but you didn't want to make a mess, even if you could feel it already dripping down his tongue; which you love to play with. just- arg. c'mon, breathe and relax. his voice was low, calming you down little by little, you could feel his fingers lightly squeezing your skin, caressing you. just piss, i'll take it all.

you sniffled, a slight pout on your lips as you stared at his mouth, your hips swaying slightly with the will unable to control more. then finally, whimpering his name as a shiver of relief ran through your whole body in a zap, every muscle relaxing, your bladder releasing everything into his belly mouth, which took it all. good. he murmured, watching the stream of warm piss gushing out of your pussy, splashing out a little.

his fingers hurried to your folds, opening them so that he could see everything, sighing with pleasure because it was so good. and it would have been every time, when again sukuna put you over his belly mouth and made you piss right there, until you do it yourself.

and sukuna didn't say it out loud, but he thought it was so fucking cute as you did it, and every time, and the times he can see your pretty needy hole clenching around nothing after getting off his big cock, just to pee as you had learned. or when you do it because everything is so good and you don't even realize it, after drinking all the bottles of water he gave you...

i need piss!! need piss need piss!! when ill drink piss lord?

[zippiestdraws]

Choking Curiosity Ch21

Michael Myers x ftm reader

Read on ao3

The fuzziness in your head keeps pulling you in and out of a doze but the puddle of drool on your arm is slowly cooling and dragging you into the waking world of bothersome sensations.

Trying to hold onto the comfort of dreamless sleep proves futile when your bladder starts to protest. Uncurling from the awkward position you passed out in sends crackles through your bones, eliciting a small groan when you push up onto your right hand and blearily wipe your face with your left.

Squinting in the predawn light renders your vision blurred and you start at the figure sitting against the wall across from you, kicking your blanket off of yourself in instinct.

You stare back into Michael’s mask for awkward seconds that feel like an eternity, your brain unable to provide backup so soon after waking. You look back down at the blanket from your bedroom that you definitely didn’t bring in here with you. When your gaze returns to him, a delicious zip of adrenaline shoots down your spine at the coy tilt of his head and the cross of his arms.

So he is awake…

“S-sorry. Um-” your embarrassment turns to indignation, “I mean, you’re the one who stole my shit first!”

And now you take your exit, keeping your eyes on him as you get up and then try to speedily shuffle out of the room. You make it across the threshold before an iron grip clamps on your wrist with preternatural quickness. It isn’t painful, but borders it.

“Ugh- Michael!” You give a few useless tugs, “Dude, I have to pee-”

You stumble forward when he releases you and only get a quick glance at his towering form as you duck into the bathroom and click the lock behind you.

In the mirror, your flushed reflection and bedhead look back at you.

***

The sensation of your soft skin and delicate bones of your wrist under his grip lingers long after letting go. Michael looks down at his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist. It made his mouth water dangerously.

His gaze sweeps back over where you were sleeping, landing on the large black t-shirt crumpled next to his sleeping bag. A smug feeling creeps up on him as he snatches it up.

You hadn’t noticed the hours old blood staining the clothes on his body- too distracted. He takes this time to strip off the fabric that was slowly sticking to him, tossing the spent overalls into a corner and pulling on the shirt you had been using.

The bathroom door creaks back open and your gait on the stairs sounds through the quiet house. Michael is tying the arms of his green jumpsuit that you had brought to the laundromat last week around his waist when he hears you yell from the kitchen.

“Michael, did you eat my fucking leftovers?!”

***

You glare at the aluminum pot of water on the stove to make it boil faster. Glaring at Michael would be a waste of energy because he doesn’t care, so you contemplate ruining his breakfast. Then you contemplate saying so out loud that you wouldn’t ‘because SOME people have impulse control…’

You rip open two packs of ramen and dump them into the boiling water. Turning and leaning against the counter next to the stove, you face your shielded expression toward him.

Michael is sitting on one of the mismatched thrift store chairs you’ve outfitted the space with. You have a hard time maintaining your glower seeing how poorly he fits behind the cheap ply board table. He watches you right back, eyes shaded behind his mask.

You push yourself off the counter to grab two eggs from the fridge, preparing to add them to the water with the broth powder, conveniently not having to look at him while you talk.

“I’m going to be locking up the back door now. Don’t break it. I’m-” you pause, hit with the implications your point comes with, “...giving you a key.”

Avoiding his stare, you plonk the bowls of breakfast ramen down on the unsteady table and slide his across, following it with a copy of the back door key you received from the locksmith.

When you sit, Michael cautiously grabs the key, his eyes never leaving you until it’s in his hands. You put your hands around your soup bowl, waiting for it to cool and sheepishly waiting for his reaction.

Multiple slow heartbeats go by as he fingers the key like a precious material, his gaze piercing it until he clenches it in a large fist rather than stow it away in a pocket.

You don’t see him release it as he turns up his mask to eat. It could be the steam from the broth, but you swear his cheeks look pink.

***

Work was work. It sure had a way of making the day feel over even when you had errands to run after your shift. You had to stop at the hardware store you’ve become a regular at before going home.

Today Laurie called ahead to meet you, saying it was actually the best place to go over the plan, and you see her standing out front with the hay bales when you turn the block.

You both pull your jackets tighter at a chill breeze, share a quick greeting, and shuffle in through the front door with a tinkle of the store’s bell. Giving a friendly wave to the clerk stuck at the register, Laurie ducks the two of you into the nearest aisle out of sight.

“Okay, let’s hash out the plan- do they have a hunting section here?” Laurie says sounding overwrought, then commandeering an abandoned cart left by a cardboard display of spray insulation.

“I need to get some glass cut, so is this something that a random guy shouldn’t be exposed to?” You sigh, hands in your pockets. The distinct smell and enclosed space of the store relaxes some of your tension. Laurie sets a meandering pace, seemingly browsing the stock so you can talk.

“We can’t rely on a phone to reach each other, but since we’ll be in range of the house a walkie-talkie will work perfect.” She grabs a can of long range wasp spray and dumps it in the cart.

Your brow furrows “Is Jed going to be in the loop? Not that I’m complaining he isn’t here, but the walkies would broadcast to both of you, right?” Apprehension leaks into your voice at the idea.

“Yeahhh,” the annoyance in her voice is clear and you’re glad you don’t have to justify your misgivings. “I’m gonna keep him updated, but it’s not like he’s doing any of the dirty work.

“Only important ‘cause of his damn camera and connections.” She grumbles under her breath.

You grimace and follow her restlessly into the firewood section, seeing her push the cart with a destination this time.

“I’m going to give you a taser, which might give you enough time to use this.”

Laurie sneers at the length of wrought iron she lifts from its place, a dark fire poker with a wicked hook curving down below the spear tip. From where you stand behind her, she doesn’t see the look of horror on your face.

“Uh. Not to be that guy, but I don’t know if a taser would work?” You delay, trying to school your expression into something like ‘nervous’ as she tests the heft and tensile strength of the improvised weapon.

Laurie shakes her head at you knowingly as she sticks the poker in the cart. “Pfft- of course not, a regular one would do jack shit. This one is for bears.”

Your mouth is agape.

“Wha- where did you even get something like that?” you demand, whisper yelling.

She shrugs and doesn’t look at you as she drops the poker in the cart.

“Supply order for animal control. Turns out they don’t ask too many questions and we’re close enough to Wyoming to qualify for grizzly grade equipment.” her smirk leaks into her voice with a mirthless chuckle.

You warily follow in-step behind her as she pushes the cart onward.

“Okayyy, then what’s the poker for?”

“To yank the mask off at a distance or rip it.”

You don’t have a response for this, but she takes your silence as affirmation- or at least not disagreement- and details the rest of the plan.

Processing only the gist of it, you capture that all of you will be armed with a camera, walkie talkie, and appropriate tools. You with a bear taser and fire poker, Lori with a gun that she assures you she has a permit for.

You place your glass cutting order.

To defeat the awkward silence growing in the space of waiting at a service desk, you bring up Dwight’s party.

“So, do you plan on going to that Halloween party at Jake’s- wait, shit, is it in three days already?” Interrupting yourself when you realize how soon it’s impending.

“No way, I can’t stand that stuff anymore.”

“Yeah, I can get behind that,” you nod grimly. “Plus I don’t have a costume so I’ll probably look like a total dipstick.”

***

When you get home, you check the mail even though every part of yourself screams not to.

Another blank envelope is waiting for you.

You want to slam the bag you’re carrying onto the porch and scream, but you set the paper wrapped glass pane down gently anyway.

In the last of the evening light, you rip it open with shaky hands.

A single developed photograph. The flash of the camera illuminates the blurry background of your bathroom sink, in center focus is the clear and legible label of your testosterone prescription. You don’t have to speculate what they mean with this threat.

Infuriating scrawl on the margin says ‘flip me over <3’.

Very creative new curtains, sweetheart, but we can’t have that~

Take them down, or else. XXX

On shaky hands, you replace your front door’s window. Your palm stings from where you let the glass dig into you when you crumple the photo, and bury it in the kitchen trash.

***

Your legs are locked around the bottom half of your pillow as you try to smother the fear and anger in the top half. The streetlights and moon send in enough ambient light to mock your plight.

You took your T shot today and the jack rabbit needs of your dick are warring with everything you have to worry about. It’s fucking exhausting. You don’t want to think anymore.

Who knows when you started instinctively grinding on the pillow between your legs, but that dopamine starts to be really tempting.

Flopping onto your back, your hand is already in your boxers trying to narrow the buzzing focus in your brain with a new physical pressure. It lets your shoulders relax, the withering tension coming out in a sigh.

Your dominant hand cups between your legs, cushioned by the thick hair that leads up in a happy trail. The head is way too sensitive for anything direct, like an electric shock between the legs, so you stick to stroking the length of it.

Falling into the routine of your favorite spots makes your breaths come heavier, but it plateaus. No dirty magazines, you have to use your imagination. With a free hand tugging at your hair and sweat beading at your brow, you try to recall what’s worked before.

In your mind, all you can see is Michael in that damn black t-shirt. A dirty thrill runs down your spine as you trace the line of his body underneath it, your fingers dipping lower and slick themselves to pleasure your cock better.

That one jumpsuit of his that's smaller than the rest, the way it hugs his ass and accentuates his waist should be considered lethal. How he might look with his erection straining against the fabric, chapped lips and blush peeking out underneath his mask…

It feels so good. Your hips move in rhythmic little thrusts, your mind a haze, unsure if you want to ride to your finish on Michael’s thigh or fuck him into putty. The T shot has you craving it so bad it aches, your mouth watering like an eager virgin.

You swallow and it doesn’t matter which part of you you imagine him filling because your thighs are tensing as you approach the precipice.

A groan pushes itself out of your chest amid your panting as your fingers dance over where you’re more sensitive, wishing it was his large, strong hands playing you instead.

“Mmm Michael-”, it turns into a breathless keen, your free hand now grasping at the sheets.

Working yourself hard and fast, almost like a punishment for saying the forbidden part outloud, it rushes towards you in an explosive wave.

“Ah-!”

An almost startled moan escapes you before you can stifle yourself. Mind blanking and body reeling through the pleasure, your fingers continue to work you through a powerful orgasm.

It takes several moments before the room begins to bleed back into awareness as you milk out the sensation just a little longer, only stopping when the stimulation becomes too much.

And you start to catch your breath.

***

The room is dark and his view is interrupted by wooden slats with the closet door between you both. Even so, he can make out your form just enough and hear all the sweet noises you make

[nethhiri]

Can't Hold It

Kid x Reader

I’m so sorry the horny thoughts won this morning 🫣

Warnings: Omorashi/wetting, use of a dildo, inappropriate use of devil fruit, 18+

Kid had ordered you not to move. You were sitting on his lap while he fiddled with some things in the workshop. You wanted to obey him, but it was so hard when there was a rather large dildo inside you. Not only that, but it had a metal core, which meant Kid would toy with you every now and again, making it move or vibrate. This was a fairly regular occurrence. What made it different this time, was that you really had to pee and the dildo pressed right up against your bladder. Every time it moved, you squirmed, trying to stay still and trying not to lose control of your bladder. Your panties were already quite damp. You didn't want to soak your pants, or Kid's, too.

You shifted to get up, "May I be excused for just a second?"

"No."

"But-"

"No."

You felt the dildo move in and out of you ever so slightly, the drag along your walls made your toes curl, and every press into your cervix made you squeeze your legs tightly together, for fear that you would leak.

"I have to pee," you whined, rubbing your legs together.

Kid's amber eyes were full of amusement. "Oh yeah?" His arm wrapped around your waist and his hand came to rest on your crotch, fingers dancing over your clit through the fabric. "That's too bad. I told you not to move."

He rubbed lazy circles around your clit, changing the pressure he used, all while not paying attention to you, working on his project. You could feel the shift in your wet panties as the dildo moved slightly faster.

You pleaded, "Kid, I'm gonna-"

"I don't care. I told you not to move."

"You're being so mean."

Kid pressed harder into your clit, chuckling darkly into your ear, "My bunny loves when I'm mean.” Kid nipped at the shell.

You leaned against him for support as he brought you closer to the edge. You were so close, and then he stopped. Kid picked you up and set you in the middle of his lap, putting your legs on the outside of his and spreading his knees. You could feel his cock rock hard under your ass.

"Kid," you whined.

He was making it impossible to avoid. He put the heel of his hand over the outline of the dildo he could feel through your pants, pushing it back inside you every time your clenching pussy pushed it out. His hand slipped inside your panties to play with your clit. You wanted to close your legs but were unable to because of the position he had you in.

"What is it, bunny? Ya gonna make a mess?"

You bit your lip to keep from whimpering. You were unwinding fast under Kid’s fingers. With every push of the dildo, the pressure increased against your bladder, threatening to break the dam. Your back arched, pressing your body into Kid’s as his actions refused to relent. Your thighs quivered and heat pooled in your lower belly as you were brought to the edge again.

Your hands feebly tugged at Kid’s arms to make him stop but it was too late. Your head fell back into Kid’s chest with a long moan, cunt twitching and clenching around the dildo. At the same time, in the throes of your bliss, all control went out the window, and the piss that was pent up, flowed freely, soaking through your clothes and Kid’s under you, then dripping onto the floor.

Kid groaned. “That’s my girl. Let it all out.”

“Fuck. M’sorry.” You panted, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“It’s ok, bunny. Yer gonna help clean me up.”

[tempfrangit]

💚 wip wednesday — 26/3

from that idea of if you separate from price and he's not happy because what if I just let him be his toxic princess self?

content warning: dacryphilia, noncon sexual content (vaginal fingering) with the implication it will be full noncon, toxic relationship, piss

You realize in that instant.

“J- John!” His name leaves you in a shudder as try to raise yourself, to sit up, something, but his fingers remain steady, left hand coming up to hold you down below your belly button. Applying pressure on you-

You claw at his wrist desperately, core tightening, desperately pleading him to stop as your walls began to flutter around his fingers. John had always known just how to move his fingers with you, to get you off like it was nothing. The irony wasn’t lost on you, unable to get yourself off even with your vibrator.

“John, stop! I-“

The knot snaps, inner walls clenching around his fingers and your bladder empties.

Hot tears of shame slip free, and you throw your arms over your face to cover your sobs. He’d always liked to be the one in control but he’d never made you piss yourself in bed. Had ever not stopped.

“Naughty bird,” John tuts above you.

[mama-berry]

Im really upset because I cant regress...not because I'm just unable too but I'm scared because the last few times I've had accidents because of bladder control. and I don't have money to buy nappys....and idk, I just feel bad because I've been stressed and I cant be little

Hi sweetpea!

I know how hard it can be to control your bladder when you’re feeling so tiny, don’t worry!

I also understand how hard it can be to get the money for certain things, what I will suggest to you is looking into reusable nappies that you can just wash when you’re feeling big to get ready for when you’re feeling little!

I’m sorry you’ve been feeling so lousy, little one, sending lots of of hugs from mama Berry!! 🫐

[otissbluebearshirt]

Clothes - [ Gabriel ]

Prompt: How he’d react to you wearing his clothes requested

Word Count: 1155

Warnings: female!reader, fluff, suggestive tones

A/N: the prompt was meant to be a headcanon but i decided to make it a little fic instead

Masterlist | Gabriel Masterlist

You were always cold in the mornings. No matter how warm the room you were in was or who was sleeping next to you, you couldn’t help but feel a chill. It’s what made getting out of bed that much harder for you most days.

And today was no different as when you woke, your eyes fluttering sleepily open at the sound of rowdy neighbours in the motel room beside yours, you were quick to feel the cold seep into your body. Right down to your bones in a way that had you shaking almost immediately and it was as though someone had you on vibrate.

Normally you’d just pull the covers back up and nestle into the bed until you felt a smidge of warmth beneath your skin. But this morning you really, really needed to pee, therefore you couldn’t wait any longer otherwise you’d burst. So you were left with no other choice but to suck it up, and face the cold of the room.

Before you did that though, you glanced to your side, the early morning sun that crept through the thin curtains casting perfectly over Gabriel’s sleeping face, making you smile softly as you still couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the fact that you were dating an archangel.

If someone had told you back when you first met him, when he was making people believe they were being abducted by aliens and having alligators roam about the sewers, that you’d be here with him now you’d have laughed in their face.

Yet here you were, nestled beside one of God’s first born angels in bed after a night of… Fun. And honestly? If you could go back and do it all over again, you wouldn’t change a thing as there wasn’t anywhere else you’d rather be than right here next to him.

Well actually, there was one place you’d rather be right now and that was the bathroom. You may have stared dreamily towards Gabriel a little too long and now you were on the verge of being unable to control your bladder anymore. You swung your legs out of bed, wincing at the sudden coldness that cascaded over you, erupting your skin in fierce goosebumps that could be seen from a mile away, they were that prominent.

Your feet hit the linoleum floor with a soft thud, sending a chill straight up your legs as they carried you around the bed. You grabbed the first article of clothing you could find on your way across the room, of which most of your clothes had been scattered about last night in yours and Gabriel’s vigorous attempts at speeding things along as it had been a while since you last saw each other.

It didn’t click in your head that you’d picked up Gabriel’s shirt. The dark red button down that the angel favoured so much, which was evident by how often he wore that same outfit as he never had any reason to change. He didn’t sweat, not like humans did. He was able to clean them up with a click of his fingers should they get bloody or dirty, therefore he could wear the same clothes for a lifetime and never once need to change them.

And you were totally not jealous of that at all. (You were.)

But anyway, you didn’t seem to realise that you were wearing it, not until you left the bathroom, feeling much better, and spotted him sitting upright against the headboard, his arms folded over his chest and a rather cheeky grin on his face.

“Look at you…” Gabriel exhaled, trailing his eyes up and down the length of your body, drinking in the sight of you hidden away beneath his shirt. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were purposely trying to turn me on.”

“What are you talking about?” You chuckled, hurrying towards the bed again as even though your top half was covered, your legs were still bare and you always did get incredibly cold feet.

“You’re wearing my shirt.” Gabriel pointed out, watching with amusement as you slowed down on your travels across the room and glanced down at yourself.

He could see that smile itching to rise on your slowly blushing face. The way your hand landed on your stomach telling him it was fluttering beneath the fabric of his shirt and it was only then you both came to realise that even after the years you’d been seeing each other, you’d never once worn an article of his clothing.

“I was cold.” You said shyly, dipping your face to hide it from him.

You didn’t know why it felt so… embarrassing to be caught wearing his shirt given the things you both did together, but perhaps it was because it was seen as a more romantic thing than inherently sexual is what made you a tiny bit nervous as to his reaction.

“There’s no need to be shy, hotstuff.” Gabriel said playfully, cocking his head a little to motion for you to come towards him. “Not when you look far better wearing it than I ever could.”

He held out his hand the closer you got to him, pulling you onto his lap the second your fingers brushed and the moment you landed on him he could feel the goosebumps on your legs as they straddled him. His hands were quick to delve beneath the material, holding you close to him and allowing his own body heat to help warm you as he kissed you.

“Mhm, you like seeing me in your clothes, don’t you?” You teased, your shyness gone instantly as your arms slinked around his neck, fingers threading through his hair. “In nothing but your clothes.”

“You’re damn right I do, baby.” Gabriel whispered, the hotness of his breath puffing out over your lips before he took them in his again, kissing you with enough heat that it was like your entire body went up in flames. “It’s almost better than seeing you without any clothes at all.”

He kissed you once again, his hand trailing its way up your back, his fingers ghosting over the bumps of your spine in a way that had you shiver beneath his touch. Your own hand slipped from his hair, dropping between your bodies as you slowly began to pop open each button, something Gabriel was well aware of given how his lips rose beneath yours as he couldn’t help but smile.

It’s safe to say that what happened after that final button popped open, the way your bodies pressed tightly together; each brush of his lips and graze of his hands over every inch of your skin, was enough to make you forget all about the cold. And enough to make you want to wear his clothes forever as after that, you were pretty sure you’d never feel anything but hot ever again.

Like this? Apply to my Gabriel tag list here!

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[cookeybg]

The Colony Possessed - Chapter 1

Title: The Colony Possessed

Main Characters: Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

Narrators: Hal Jordan, will add others as chapters progress

Honorable Mentions: Barry Allen, will add others as chapters progress

No romantic relationships

Stuff to Know: Cryptid Batfamily, maybe a bit spooky, Hopefully a bit amusing, Gotham LOVES Batman and she always will, it's concerning

[The Colony Possessed Table of Contents]

Chapter 1 - Hal didn’t get spooked easily.

Hal walked through the halls of the Watch Tower, the silence of the comfortably cool halls welcoming. The tower itself had many rooms for the various heroes to live in, but despite the ample room and pretty sweet amenities, which included not paying rent, the majority chose to live down on earth, himself included. Many stated that it was much more comfortable to be amongst the people, the whole work-life balance that has become popular as of late. While others placed the blame on the rumors of the place being haunted. In Hal’s opinion, what establishment didn’t have those kinds of rumors? In their line of work, where anything was possible, he wouldn’t be surprised if the place actually was. It didn’t bother Hal in the slightest, he enjoyed scaring the others with made up ghost stories. It was fun giving the tower a bit of a mythos, especially when a certain speedster got so spooked. He reached the door leading to the monitor room, tapped in his code and the door slid silently open. The room was dark, darker than normal, the florescent lights unable to penetrate it. A set of glowing, hazy, green eyes stared back at him, no pupil, no white, only green. Its unfocused body leaned over the hunched figure who sat in front of the monitors, its wispy arms wrapped around the figure’s neck. Hal felt his heart sink into his stomach, felt like the oppressive darkness would swallow him, felt the tinge of something, other, stain him. “You’re late.” The sitting figure turned toward him, voice like thunder, white eyes too bright. Hal let out a very unmanly scream, his focus on the horned monster in front of him. Green eyes forgotten. The monster stood, stalking toward him. The paleness of his muzzle left him shaking, did he smell blood in the room? Without much thought he surrounded himself in a spherical green shield, his body ready to bolt. No, he should fight, running sounded better. The hair on his body stood on end, his bladder ready to let go. The figure let out a grunt, one of disapproval, familiar. “What’s wrong with you?” Batman said, grumpily. Right, he was in the Watch Tower, he was here to relieve Spooky. This was Batman, not some monster, just some human, well he claimed to be human. He let the sphere dissipate and clutched at his chest trying to get his breath back. He looked around the room, it was well lit, the monitors doing their monitoring and Spooky was just standing there in all his broad shouldered, thin waisted, menacing demeanor. Yeah, there was nothing strange here, except for the bat themed furry. “Nothing.” Hal said, clearing his throat. Batman stared at him for an uncomfortably long time. Hal did his best to look nonchalant, the cold sweat at his back slowly drying, trying to control his slight trembling. No way in hell would he give Spooky the pleasure of knowing he got scared of him, no surprised, he got surprised. Batman grunted and walked passed him. Hal shivered, he could swear he heard something laugh, could feel cold fingers touch his cheek in passing and see a dark tendril trailing behind the black clad man. It was probably just his cape. Yeah, he must have been more tired than he thought, imagining things, jet lagged from his trip to Oa…the one he took three weeks ago. He texted Barry, asking him to join him at the tower, he didn’t want to be bored during his shift. That’s all it was, not the possible darkness coming to life. Hal didn’t get spooked easily.

Let me know what you think. I get super excited seeing comments, a bit nervous too, but it brings me joy.

I really enjoyed typing up Gotham possess so hopefully this one is just as fun!

FYI: I'll start adding the chapter in the title to my posts to make it easier to find.

[icycoldninja]

FLUFFCEMBER DAY#25: (Raiden x Reader)

Spending Christmas together headcannons

-If you're planning a quiet Christmas with just the two of you, prepare to see Raiden's goofy side.

-The nanomachines responsible for his digestion will be unable to keep up with the amounts of spiked egg nogg that he consumes, leaving him heavily drunk for a while.

-Naturally, this results in eccentric behavior, from slurred jokes to really weird robotic dancing that usually ends in him tripping over something and falling over.

-Because of his drunken state, Raiden's behavior will be unpredictable and he will temporarily lose control of his bladder. It's best to keep him away from alcohol and confined to the bathroom until the nanomachines catch up.

-Now, if you decide you want to spend Christmas with your family, things will be very, very different.

-Raiden gets really never out around other people because he worries that other people will hate or judge him for being a cyborg. He's also afraid people will poke and prod him since they'll undoubtedly be curious about his metal body parts.

-He may or may not get along with your family, depending on their personalities and how they treat him. Of course, he won't be acting like some jerk, he'll try to make a good impression too.

-You could swear he started sweating when you formally introduced him to your parents. Odd, because he doesn't have sweat glands. There's always the possibility that he's leaking machine oil, but if that's true, he needs to be taken to Doktor, pronto.

-Because nanomachines regulate his digestion, he can eat as many cookies as he wants and not regret it a few hours later.

-Gets really emotional (on the inside, of course) whenever someone gives him a gift because it's not something he's used to.

-He does want to being something for your family too, but he will need your help to pick out gifts beforehand.

-In the end, he ends up enjoying the festivities, but he won't want to stay for too long because he, like most introverts, get nervous around crowds of people.

-Will decorate himself to look like a robot Santa, minus the beard and the round belly...and a jolly looking face...but still, it's the thought that counts!

[atefingersdagger]

unspoken feelings? more like angst opportunities! "every time I see you, my heart aches with things left unsaid" with clove's post-death arena projection perhaps?

“Every time I see you, my heart aches with things left unsaid.”

Thank you for the ask. Somewhat proud with this one! <3

---

‘Clove, I want you.’

It’s a thought, nothing spoken. He could- should have been honest after the scores, when she was in his bed, curled up at his side. Calmer breathing from her nose, calmer than earlier when he stopped her from ruining her laminated, wooden drawers with a stolen knife in pure anger.

But what is he supposed to know about regret? Cato learns from mistakes and disciplines himself with them. There is no point in regretting...

“I want you to stay with me.” He speaks in the present to her, kneeling and spear discarded.

She is prone, body lying, on the grass, and not on his mattress. A dent in her skull, at her temple, tells him she won’t last another few minutes. Clove is a goner, and he can’t seem to accept that.

...

‘I think you should stay with me.’

He had been cocky the next night, kissing her in a hallway of their floor while everyone else was asleep, hands on her cheeks like he could snap her neck easily. She returned it with a bite of his lower lip, only to pull away and hiss at him that he’s an idiot. Her blush told him that her veins were widening under her soft, pale skin.

That pale skin that is only draining further today, the blood loss at her arm from an arrow wound contributing to it. Clove’s chapped lips – losing their pink – let out a pained squeak, her tongue unable to give him more as he brushes his fingers over her dark, matted hair. Someone tell him she can be saved.

“Stay with me.”

...

‘My other side of the coin, the other half of the wishbone.’

They have a lot in common; arrogance, bloodlust, eagerness, and, worst of all, loyalty. The last had been getting in the way for a while, and it is biting him in the ass. It is teeth sinking while Clove gargles up saliva, a difficulty swallowing from intracranial hemorrhaging; a bleeding between the skull and brain.

She seems confused, like she doesn’t know who he is when he turns her stiff neck, hand lifting it and cradling her. Cato gathers she can’t talk, but if she could, she might ask him what is happening. An answer he wouldn’t be able to give her, leaving another thing unsaid.

“Win with me.” He begs.

...

‘Broken away too soon, and not evenly.’

After the interviews, they slept together in his bed again, but it involved sex. Her sweat had made her long, dark hair stick to her forehead, the back of it a tangle from rubbing against the pillow. A sight that he never wants to forget.

Even while a deep bruise, purple and red, is forming at the area of impact, Cato does not regret meeting her. Or getting close to her, for that matter. There is no point in regretting...

“Don’t leave.”

He said that before, when she was standing up from his mattress, her backside facing him and beautiful. She was blushing still, but her glare had returned into being sharp, a change from the contortion of pleasure it had for the past hour. Clove laughed that he was pathetic, but he didn’t take it to heart, simply making a comment about liking the way she tastes. That made her break away from any other touches he could give her.

Here, in his arms, she is thrashing. However, it is not from pleasure as it had been in his bed. She is having a seizure, limbs uncontrolled in their shaking. Then, he notices the wet spot of her pants; she lost control of her bladder. Cato dips his hand to her waist, uncaring about the smell of urine, and brings her to him with difficulty as Clove jerks around.

“Don’t leave me.” Cato proves he is indeed pathetic.

...

‘Let sleeping dogs lie.'

Wasting their breath would have done them little good. There were many moments they could have argued in the arena, but they bit their tongues, exercising the self-control and discipline training gave them. Despite their hot-headed moments.

After the tracker jacker incident, she drew a knife on his chest. That was the only time they were truly at each other’s throats, perhaps more from the remaining venom in their systems than their need to kill.

Clove about stabbed him for letting the ones from 12 escape. Screaming her pretty head off, pale face gone an ugly puce. She was unbothered, un-intimidated by his clenched fists at the side and his barking of rage.

He wanted to tell her not to worry about it; he got the boy’s thigh gashed with his sword, and therefore, they should hear a canon soon enough. Cato didn’t until later on, and the day their supplies were pulverized into smoldering dirt. How many times could he be proven wrong until he goes mad?

Turns out, not much, because he thinks he’s seeing her again, despite her being dead for a few days now. He’s still soggy from rain water, barely washed of blood from Clove’s killer when he fist fought with him. A cut is still on his forehead, a similar spot to where she had been hit, and he wipes at it while finding her steel-gray and blue eyes, their ring of brown emerging from foliage.

Only, it isn’t her. Something similar, with her lips, curled up to a snout, her dark hair turned fur, and nails grown to claws. A mutt.

A dog, crawling to him where he’d been laying to sleep, slow and lacking the attractiveness Clove had when she came to him on all fours, knees causing the bed to dip. Around it’s neck is a collar, a thick number 2 having rocks of marble and slate inlaid.

There’s an indent in the mutts skull, near to its left ear that flicks to the side when he gasps.

It sniffs him, his heart rate and inhales increasing to serrate his ribs. The nose bats at his legs, then presses to his groin, over him in a violating way, then moving to his neck. Cato closes his eyes, turning his head away because it’s breath even smells like her saliva when it was bubbling from her dying mouth.

...

‘I miss your hands on me.’

He wanted to touch her in the arena, more than they had. Than their hug brought about from the rule change, than her kiss on his cheek minutes away from the feast. Or her head resting on his shoulder to warm her freezing self in the darkness.

But most of all, he wanted her to touch him, and he almost asked her to do so. He didn’t, of course. She already had enough reasons to call him pathetic, and she already had too many times.

Clove has paws, or this mutt does at least, and after it nips his neck, it shoves his face into the dirt. At the smell of mud, pine pricking him, Cato grunts and realizes he’s trembling. Carefully – as though it plans on torturing him in the way she’d been planning to torture the girl on fire – it drags it’s claws across his cheek. Three down to his chin, fresh blood flowing.

He yells in agony and kicks it off him. Right in its stomach, a pale underbelly that is like how her skin was. It’s whimper is a mix between the sounds Clove made during sex and the ones she made as her life was fading in his arms.

Cato still misses her hands and accepts that this is the closest he'll get to having them on him again.

...

'Every time I see you, my heart aches with things left unsaid.'

Too much; it is too much like her. The mutt rips his flesh as Clove had promised she’d do to him with that knife at his chest, welts and bug bites still on her arms. As much as he needs to run, he can’t.

They’ve swarmed him, the rest of the mutts, and his back hurts from the fall off the Cornucopia. Many of his bones are likely broken, and he knows his muscles are on display for the whole nation. And don’t they love his tears as the dog does, licking the salt with its course tongue.

He sees her eyes, and as its tears at his aching heart, he whispers all the things he left unsaid.

[mellowsadistic]

Before & After - Ice Queen

Set in the world of The Magician’s Game.

***

Candice Holbrook was a rich socialite, famous in certain well-to-do circles both for her stunning beauty and for the cold, stuck-up, utterly disdainful attitude she showed towards anyone she considered to be beneath her, which was just about everyone. She was known among her friends (though ‘friends’ was a generous term for the underlings she surrounded herself with) as the Ice Queen – but people who were less charitable simply called her the Frigid Bitch. Even her own husband was sick of her frostiness.

It is perhaps no surprise, then, that she came to the attention of the Magician as he was selecting the unfortunate women who were to take part in one of his life-altering games. Candice started out strong, avoiding penalties and taking charge of the other girls, but during the second round she irritated the Magician so much with haughtiness that she was rendered incontinent and, as an extra insult, was stripped of the ability to change her own diapers unless they were right on the verge of leaking.

Candice tried desperately to hold on to her refined, authoritative persona, even as she toddled about attempting the challenges with an increasingly full nappy under her dress, but she may have tried a little too hard. Her fellow contestants didn’t take kindly to be scolded and bossed about by a woman in stinky Pampers, and Candice was voted out in the third round. Horrified as she was by the thought of spending the result of her life in adult diapers, Candice’s icy façade began to crack – but not enough to satisfy the Magician. Determined to put Candice in her place, he took away the one thing she prized above all else: her self-control. Robbed permanently of the power to regulate her own emotions, not to mention control her bladder and bowels, the Ice Queen had been melted into a puddle princess, and she was ready to be sent home…

Candice’s New Life

“WAAAAAH!” Candice wailed at the top of her lungs. She tried as hard as she could to stop, to pull herself together, but it was useless. “WAAAAAH!”

“What’s the matter, baby girl?” came her husband’s voice, and Candice squinted through her tears to see him lounging against the doorframe of her nursery, smirking at the sight of her bawling like a baby. She knew she must look utterly ridiculous with her nose running, her beautiful face red from shouting, standing in a giant playpen wearing only a Disney Frozen dress, a thick diaper, and a large, pale blue bow in her hair – a mockery of a tiara. But she still felt a fresh wave of uncontrollable anger rush through her at the sight of his smug expression.

“Don’t look at me like that!” she blubbered, stamping her foot. “I’m Candice Holbrook! I’M CANDICE HOLBROOK AND YOU CAN’T LOOK DOWN ON ME!”

“What a fussy little girl,” her husband cooed, walking over to her. “What’s got you so grumpy, hmm? Daddy fed you earlier, and you’ve had your nap…” Once he reached her, he turned her around, lifted up the hem of her dress, and pulled out the waistband of her nappy. “Just as I thought,” he said, chuckling. He spun her back around and looking her directly in the eyes. “Baby Candice made a stinky, didn’t she? Does the big baby want her dirty diaper changed?”

Candice wrenched away from her husband, her anger and shame totally spilling over. “I’M NOT A BIG BABY!” she screeched in an ear-piercing voice that made her cringe. “I’M NOT, I’M NOT, I’M NOT!” Her cheeks burned with humiliation at what she was doing, at the absurd spectacle she was making of herself, but she was completely unable to stop herself from stomping her feet and pumping her fists in an impotent fury as she shrieked and cried like an oversized two-year-old having a meltdown. “I WANT MY OLD LIFE BACK!” she wailed, jumping up and down on the spot and making her sagging nappy jiggle about stupidly between her legs. “I HATE POOPY DIAPERS! I HATE THEM!”

Her husband simply stood there, watching her throwing her tantrum with a wide smile on his face, until at last she wore herself out, and she was left gasping and hiccupping between quiet sobs. Her nappy felt disgusting.

“That’s it, baby,” her husband said gently, pulling her into a cuddle. “You got it all out, that’s a good girl.” He reached down and patted her padded rear, cupping the heavy seat of her diaper with his hand. “There’s plenty of wee-wee in here too. I bet you want a nice, clean diapie now, don’t you darling?”

Candice nodded, her face buried in his chest. A moment later, an unwilling giggle spilled from her mouth as her husband’s hands shot to her waist and tickled her sides. Her heart leapt with sudden, unwelcome happiness. She’d always suppressed her playful side before, but now, because of that foul Magician, there was nothing to stop the more childish aspects of her nature rearing their heads at any time. She hated how she couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her lips. But an even more embarrassing urge arose in her a second later as she pressed her body against her husband’s firm chest. No. She had to stop herself. She couldn’t lower herself like that!

“Daddy, I’m horny!” she blurted, grinding her diapered crotch needily against his groin and blushing scarlet.

Her husband laughed. “Alright, baby,” he said, his voice rich with amusement, “Daddy will change your nappy, and then we can have a little bit of grown-up time together, okay?”

“Yay!” Candice squealed. A big, dumb grin spread across her face, even as she cursed fiercely inside her head. This was almost worse than her tantrums! “I love doing grown-up things with Daddy!”

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, I'm working on an Avatar OC. She is a relatively strong waterbender who gets into an accident that paralyzes her from the waist down. It's the kind of paralysis where there is no danger in someone else moving her legs around for her, but her brain is unable to control her leg muscles itself. She ends up secretly learning how to bloodbend, and decides to use it to help make her walk by bloodbending her own legs (a process which takes a long while to learn, but gradually becomes more second nature after a year of constant practice).

I thought it would be a cool way of utilizing bloodbending in a positive way rather than a negative way, however, I realize this may fall into the "curing disabilities with magic" or "disability basically non-existent due to powers" tropes. If my OC's waterbending is taken away or significantly weakened, then she can't move her legs anymore, and walking still requires quite a bit of concentration (and more advanced movements like running are even harder). But I'm still concerned. Any advice on how to make this work without perpetuating harmful tropes?

Hi!

My first advice before getting to the superpower curing thing would be to thoroughly research spinal cord injuries. It's basically unheard of to only be paralyzed below the waist with no other symptoms. An SCI could be complete, incomplete, and then it has specific levels - sometimes people assume that it's either "below the neck" or "below the waist" but there's a whole more that can happen. For the purpose of this ask, I'm going to assume that she has a complete spinal cord injury on the lower thoracic level, maybe T9 to T12. If it's higher (like T6 or above), you should definitely research autonomic dysreflexia as well.

I'm glad that you caught this; I would classify this as a cure thing, or at least cure-adjacent.

I'm not certain how bloodbending her own legs would work - unless she was manipulating her whole body like a marionette, I don't think it would help much? I don't remember how exactly it worked in Avatar, but she would need her leg and hip muscles to actually contract (or at least consistently spasm) to bear her weight, or they would just bend underneath her. Her legs would probably be atrophied, so it'd be even harder.

None of this means you can't have her bloodbend to make her life easier while still leaving her disabled. There's definitely things that could work for her while also being more authentic to the issues she could have, rather than just un-disabling her.

One of the problems that she would have - that's also related to blood flow - would be pressure sores. It's basically when there's prolonged pressure on part of the skin and eventually tissue death occurs, if it's not treated it's lethal. As you can guess, it's a huge problem when it happens, and it's even worse when you can't feel a sore like this forming in the first place. She could make her life much easier and safer by learning how to push her blood everywhere to make sure she doesn't, you know, die. This is huge and genuinely life-changing, just not as spectacular as being able to walk with paralyzed legs I guess. She could maybe learn to bend her blood specifically to prevent this - she would learn of this being a possible problem very early on - and thus realize that bloodbending can be a positive and life-saving tool?

There are also scenarios where moving legs via bloodbending could be helpful. Legs weight a lot, and it can be a pain to move them around when transferring. Rather than having her manually grab them to get out of/into her wheelchair, she could just bloodbend her legs to be where they need to go. This omits the problem of her lower body probably not being able to hold her weight.

If she has complete paraplegia, she will have issues with her bladder - she could probably use her bending for that as well? If you don't want to go into a lot of detail, you can have her just empty the leg bag via waterbending. I imagine that being able to manage that whole process in a much faster way would be helpful for her.

These are just a few suggestions - I definitely encourage you to look deeper into spinal cord injuries and their symptoms, and think of some creative ways for her bending to help her other than making her walk.

mod Sasza

[wordsofhoneydew]

🌟 fic rec friday 🌟

9:42, nyu apartment by @cricketnationrise

If you’d told Alex ten years ago that he’d love being pinned to his own couch and kissed to within an inch of his life by Henry fucking Fox, he’d have laughed in your face.

on my knees (i’m aphrodite) by luisasfalsegod

“Baby, we gotta start getting ready for dinner. Ma’ is gonna kill me if I‘m not on time.” June murmurs.

“Tell me to stop and I will” Nora rasps.

June shivers, goosebumps rising on her skin. “Something tells me you don’t want me to” Nora smiles as she cocks her head.

“Oh my god” June whines.

Nora unhooks her bra, pulling it off June‘s body impatiently. She ghosts a hot breath across June‘s skin, delighting in the fact that her nipples are turning harder by the second.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” Nora asks, looking up at June with serious eyes.

Or the one where June and Nora are forced to attend a state dinner at the White House when all they wanna do is fuck

You’re Gonna Go Far by @inexplicablymine

He would let the rich pavement and wide open highways take him home. Texas bluebonnet wild, cicada strong, sideways pampas grass floating freeways situated between wildfire season and the inevitable downpour of hail that tramples Mother Nature's roadside finger paintings.

But he fucking can’t.

Because New York City doesn’t have cicadas; it has cockroaches.

He can’t take the key around his neck and let it be a homing device—protective shield across his heart when he’s run out of air and the gas tank goes low.

Or, After the dust settles and the Brownstone becomes home, it should all be okay. So why does it all still feel so hard?

Is it casual now? by ncfariouvs

There are a couple things in this world that are absolutely unbearable for Alex.

The sound of her parents fighting, for one. She still remembers it, the yelling, that is. It was always so loud that even headphones couldn’t cancel out the noise.

Another thing she cannot fucking stand is when people don’t know how to make good coffee. It’s not that fucking hard.

Thirdly, people not letting her explain herself. She fucking hates being blamed for things that she didn’t do without having the chance to defend herself.

There are a couple more extreme ones, such as racists, bigots, and outright assholes…

But one thing she can’t fucking stand at this particular moment is the snobby, blonde, British girl in her English class who always has her nose stuck in a fucking book.

Henri fucking Fox.

no control (all yours) by @comethedaylight

Alex feels the first twinge in his bladder as he’s moving to the fridge to grab the water pitcher, an ache that’s sharp at first, but settles into something manageable, something almost… exciting. Like a buzz under his skin that he wants to ride out, like a high.

He’s been at this point before, after one too many coffees during late night study sessions in undergrad, too distracted by his readings to take a break, but the difference between then and now is he would just cut his losses. He’d feel that first ache and get up, bookmark his spot and nip it in the bud, but that’s not the plan tonight.

Tonight, he refills his bottle, lays back on the couch, and turns to his phone.

or alex learns something about himself while trying to learn more about his husband

no bunny compares to you by winterpine

Henry is a lot of things as a person and while much of his personality transfers over to his bunny form, his physical attributes do not. Most notably, his size.

Where Alex’s boyfriend stands tall and regal, his furry counterpart is small and fluffy, unable to summit even the most minor of obstacles.

Take their sofa, for one. Alex is watching TV and minding his own business, when he hears a steady thump from just below him. Peering over the edge of the dark cushion, he spots his boyfriend angrily pounding his back foot against the carpet.

“Ha! Is my little bun too tiny to get up here on his own?” Alex teases. He’s promptly rewarded with a whisker twitch followed by a nose scrunch. Henry is pouting and it’s the most adorable thing he’s ever witnessed.

or, five times Henry shapeshifts for himself and one time he does it for Alex

never wanna stop (‘cause your taste is so divine) by strawbgrl

Henry grins in contentment and rakes his fingernails along the backs of Alex’s thighs. “There’s my good boy,” he praises. Alex muffles a whine into the bend of his elbow and Henry watches in astonishment as he relaxes against the mattress. The verbal approval settles deep in Alex’s bones. “I knew you hadn’t forgotten your manners. You just needed a bit of a reminder. Isn’t that right, darling?”

Henry gives, and Alex takes.

l’échappatoire by @anincompletelist

A sea of dark curls. Warm, kind eyes. A slanted, smiling mouth, a dimple carved into the side. One hand holding a tall, steaming coffee, the other a mug full of Henry’s favorite tea. A whisper, a brush of fingertips in the trade off. The more important details.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

It’d be something out of Henry’s most treasured fantasies if he didn’t already know they’d be the last words this man ever says.

Henry fixes anomalies in other people's timelines. It's quite predictable and impersonal work for the most part. (Save for when it seems intent on unraveling his own, of course.)

Don’t Let Them Eat Cake by Magentarivers

Something shifted in the breath between them.

"Are you going to say something sappy?”

“Maybe.” Henry grinned tightly, as though caught red handed.

“Okay good, because me too. You go first.”

It's the night after their anniversary party, and the boys just want to do what any husbands want to do. Unfortunately they are parents first.

I’ll Wait for your Love (1 day before the Reddit Post) by Swoonoveryou

Alex sends Henry flowers for their friendship anniversary. What does this mean? After all these signs, does this mean Alex could actually like him?

He thinks maybe asking the internet might help.

Vegas, Baby by @porcelainmortal

“Hold on, Nora. I need some luck.” Alex holds out his hand, a pair of dice cradled in his palm. “Blow for luck?” He winks and throws Henry a devastatingly gorgeous smile.

Henry’s breath catches in his throat but he manages to inhale sharply before blowing on the dice in Alex’s hand. Alex’s pupils dilate as his eyes are drawn to Henry’s lips. Henry feels as if time has stopped, but he can hear the people at the table still talking and the bells of the machines going off around them. Nora nudges Alex with her elbow, seeming to break the spell Henry and Alex have been under. Alex’s attention is ripped away and he turns, throwing the dice down the middle of the table.

OR, Alex & Henry meet in Vegas, get drunk, and get married. Woops.

[wroteclassicaly]

for kink hour I am so sorry (not really) but s3 of st actually gave me a huge piss kink for Steve after the elevator scene. I don't really know what it is about it but I kinda wanna piss with him? like maybe going on a camping trip and there's no where to go and I watch him piss against a tree and then he watches me go too. if this is too dirty I'm sorrrryyy lol

Lawd have mercy… NEVER be sorry for that! Because… guess what? *whispers* Same.

Warnings: Language, smutty-ish, piss kink, watersports, summer of 1985 Steve, perv!reader/ perv!steve, masturbation, & voyeurism.

This got outta hand. Oops…?

Steve would be the type to not know he’s into it until it literally happens. Sure it’s crossed his mind, because he’s seen a lot if different kinds of porn, read some magazines that venture out of the norm. But when he realizes that you’re into it too, that you’re literally watching him as he struggles to pull himself from the confines of his tight little jeans - he figures he has to piss fast before the hard on kicks in. He isn’t sure he can come back from this kinda animalistic release, not when he licks his lips as you bashfully apologize (knowing you’d be caught), his leg jiggling as he stops, his flow disrupted by the growing hardness. Your eyes have widened and you stutter.

“I didn’t mean - I’m sorry, I just had to go too, and —“

“Then go!” A little flushed with embarrassment, an aching that’s attached itself inside of his bladder and clinging to his ballsack - he snaps too harshly.

You swallow, tears threatening. That’s when his bolder confidence he hadn’t held since highschool bubbled back up. Yeah, he still has it with you…

“Come here a second.”

You’re hesitant, but he hears the crunch of sticks and leaves beneath your worn sneakers. His breathing is heavy, much like the weight of his shaft in his hand. He’s already begun swiping a calloused thumb over the sticky head. You stop behind him, panting visible and heard in the small wooded expanse.

“Steve, are you sure? Are you -“

“Not behind me. Get beside me.”

“Steve…”

“What? You wanted to watch bad enough. And I only perform on the weekends, so you better not miss your chance, sweetheart.”

You aren’t prepared in all of your lifetime to see the defined veins of his wrist, flexing tendons accentuated by the watch, helping his fingers wrap around his massive length. He’s wet, dripping piss and cum, balls drawn up nice and tight.

“Holy fuck…” you’re practically drooling, body propping on the adjacent tree.

“Yeah, kinda hard, pun completely intended, by the way, to piss like this. So if you get hit then that’s not on me.”

“Does this turn you on? I mean, it obviously does if you’re hard, right?” You’re waiting, breath baited and caught with the heave of your rising chest.

“Didn’t really know it did till just now. You’re the one who was watching me.”

“Well you’re the one that’s invited me over here —“

“Oh, fuck…” His voice cuts in with a diaphragm-deep rasp, cutting you off as that first wave sprays from the tip of his cock and splatters onto the tree, some splashing your bare leg. His spare, massive palm splays out and slaps the tree as he struggles to control his flow.

You’ve dug your fist into your t-shirt, balling it up within your grasp, knuckles pressed into your stomach. You swear your heartbeat has fallen into your ass.

“M’ going to. Fuck, I have to. Might make this easier… Can I?” He’s begging, his gentleman questioning clear as his need grows.

You nod. “Touch yourself.”

“Need you to do it too. Show me, please?”

You can’t find it within yourself to fight or have those reservations of insecurity. You’re too fucking horny.

Your shorts and panties come off, arousal strung down to the crotch. You kick them off across the dirt and grass as Steve jacks himself with his never ending flow, that’s coming in spurts again. You aren’t sure you can hold yourself up, so you resort to leaning back against the tree and parting yourself, unable to hold it back as your stream takes over, soaking the ground below, your creamy wetness mixing in. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so gone.

“Take your tits out.” You obey, shirt and bra cups raised, and you immediately grab your breast, legs spreading wider.

“Shit, I’m close, babe. So fuckin’ close.”

// Eat me paragraph //

[phefics]

warnings: a tiny bit of dub-con (reader verbally protests but is actively into everything), piss, gn!reader

“stu, fuck, stop—” you say, body twisting wildly.

stu grins, and doesn’t stop tickling you. his long fingers are very skilled at things like playing with your clit, but unfortunately, he’s also very good at tickling you breathless.

it’s sweet, in a way, that he likes to make you laugh, and how he smiles like a fool the whole time. deep down, you know he also likes to make you squirm, to watch you try and fail to get away.

he’s got you pinned against his mattress, no one else home to hear your shrieks of laughter as he squeezes your sides.

“seriously, i’m—i’m gonna pee if you don’t stop!” you exclaim, regretting not using the bathroom before agreeing to cuddle. you should have known it would lead to sex or this, both inconvenient situations to have a full bladder during.

stu pauses, letting you catch your breath.

“seriously?” he asks.

you nod. “dead serious. let me up before i piss on your sheets.”

he hums, like he’s considering it. “i mean, i have a washing machine. and a dryer, too, if you can believe it.”

you blink, confusion followed by realization, which turns to a mixture of disgust, embarrassment, curiosity, and…arousal?

“don’t be ridiculous,” you say, still pinned beneath him. “that’s fucking gross.”

stu shrugs. “it could be hot, though. c’mon, baby, please?” he asks, giving you his best kicked-puppy expression.

you bite your lip, considering. you can always borrow a pair of his sweatpants while he washes your clothes…if he’s practically begging to try it, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.

“fine. but if you tell anyone about this: sid, billy, anyone, i’m serious, stu—”

“i won’t, babe,” he says, holding out his pinky to make it an official promise.

you lock pinkies with him, unable to keep from smiling at him as you do so.

the moment your promise is complete, stu is tickling you again, making you jump in surprise, laughter tumbling from your lips.

he places extra attention around your belly, putting pressure beneath your navel with one hand while the other tickles, and your thighs clench instinctively.

the need to release sort of hurts, almost burns, and you know it’ll be easier to just give in, stu wants you to give in, but some bit of pride within you still fights.

stu pushes against your bladder again, hard, and you can’t fight it any longer. you feel the warmth pooling between your legs, and stu stops tickling you to watch the wet patch grow.

you feel humiliated, yet somehow exhilarated, too. you feel exposed, vulnerable beneath his gaze, but your eyes focus on his blown-out pupils, his slightly open mouth, and down to his hard cock in his pants.

“satisfied?” you ask.

he nods, seeming dumbstruck. “that was fuckin’ hot,” he says. “love it when you’re dirty for me, baby. i love watching you lose control.”

you flush. “can you help me get cleaned up?” you ask.

“sure thing, babe. laundry, shower, comfy clothes…cuddle?” he suggests, grinning.

you chuckle fondly. “sounds perfect.”