#brokenfist

[notfeel]

▐║　　⌖　　[nuzzle.] sender buries their face in receiver's neck mid-fuck. + [stroke.] sender gently runs their hands through receiver's hair during sex.　 @brokenfist　[Jong-woo]

Now more than ever,　you aren’t sure how to feel.　Jong-woo stuffed inside you is nice enough,　too-tender in how his frame moves atop yours　⸻　how you are bereft of bitemarks and bruises and skin stinging pink　⸻　sinking into you every time he thrusts,　as if you are fragile ornament,　splayed stolid beneath him in array of uncertainty.　Without inclination to reward his apparent lack of passion,　you’re still,　only just gathering the wherewithal to snake a palm up to the back of his head,　embroider lithe digits through strands already sweat saturated.　Jong-woo must be hellbent on progress in the opposite direction,　nuzzling reddened face into the crook of your neck.

It’s repulsive,　in a sense,　tenderness without purpose.　You would consider forgiving him if he teethed and suckled at your neck,　maybe,　marred you with sweet purples and reds.　He just doesn’t.　Matter of fact skin to skin;　something to be appreciated,　if you were a completely different kind of girl.　Another buck of his hips to guide stiff cock further inside of you.　You tense at the blissful intrusion,　walls tightening around him　⸻　he seems keen on mirroring your gesturing,　what with how his hand closes in toward your skull,　but all anticipation fizzles out in lust-guided haze as he gently,　GENTLY cards through sleek blonde.　

Irritating.　Next he’ll utter something schlocky,　like how beautiful you are or how good you feel,　and you’ll be forced to resist a fluid eye-roll.　God fucking forbid.

❛❛  You can touch me without breaking me.  ❜❜　What gives,　really?　Most men you know fuck hard,　selfish;　fistful of hair gives a firm tug in accentuation,　your knuckles glowing white from your grip.　It takes little effort,　then,　when he has retracted from you once more,　to roll your bodies over,　flip the script,　end up on top of him.　Finally,　you grin down to him in sinister stretch of pearly teeth.　Herein lie the benefits of svelte,　unsuspecting strength.　One hand pushes Jong-woo down at the chest,　the other lining his length up for you to roll yourself down and onto.　❛❛  Really.　Not like you’re strong enough to do real damage.  ❜❜　Then,　while building up a rhythm of him sheathed inside you,　agile hips rolling in fluid motion,　you inquisitively tilt your head.　Had you really bought a nice room for this?　❛❛  That’s right,　isn’t it?  ❜❜　Sealed with a firm smile,　naturally.　Fingers digging into his cheeks to pucker his lips,　you plant one soft kiss against them.　You’re such a bitch.

[holyscorch]

trying to queue and i got @brokenfist and @m-11o on the dash

[puncia]

i don't think i deserve to be safe and happy.　⌖　@brokenfist

The question strikes her as odd,　initially,　the sort of rumination she has never afforded herself.　Is she meant to feel sorry for him?　Some little thread of pity tying her stomach into knots?　She doesn’t,　and it does not happen,　and Leopard instead looks to him with shallow intrigue,　black eyes wide in their ogling as internal circuitry whirs from within.　What has always been her greatest distraction is the tangible,　something to steal cognizance away with a shock or a startle or another surface level physicality　⸻　with delusion,　she believes she is helping.　With delusion,　she believes that she wants to help.　❛❛  Then don’t think it.  ❜❜　At fundamental odds with comfort’s abstraction,　she shifts in place,　near-straddling pristine white leather of her couch in equally unnervingly furnished apartment.　Looking into the hollows of her soul and nothing more.　But her shifting permits new positioning,　to where implements of her arms snake in around his form,　taking Noname into pastiche of an embrace that tapers off into weight pushing him down against the couch.　Blink once,　twice,　cache the rhythm of his heartbeat.　❛❛  No one gets what they deserve,　anyways.  ❜❜　Finally sealing this mock-sympathy with a kiss,　her teeth roughly dig into his bottom lip,　abrupt gesture that beckons lips to stretch into a grin.　

[damnd-feels]

@brokenfist : 「 GRIND 」 : for sender to grind against the receiver /samisam rise

Sweet, sweet Sami. Always confided with her in your moments of breakdown, had remembered the time you always ran to her after trouble or when a fight night was over. had mended your wounds without question and offered emotional relief, support in matters you didn’t even deserve. Still so distrusting of people, it’s only been a couple of years since you decided— Maybe life wasn’t for you. so the wrong side of tracks was the only path. She really remains the good in your fucked up life right now. Fights every night, errands by day by shady jobs you were not proud of and she’s still forgiving from it all of it. Why was she so nice? So kind to you? you wanted to pay her back, make up to her, anything to make her feel …special.

needless to say, this also sparked interest with her. You weren’t gonna lie you found her pleasing to the eyes too. You weren’t blind to it, and her innocence, purity made you guilty to think of thoughts that wanted her more than just the kisses you’ve shared. wanted to take things slow, and so you did, respectful to women, that was always what your mother had asked of you. and she was the rarest of women you’ve come by. and soon enough, encounters upon more entanglements of company together led to closeness. kissing turning into touches, and now here she is, on your lap and you couldn’t help the tension build. her subtle grinding was endearing, your hands at her hips as you plant kisses against her neck and somehow you’re guiding her now, to move closer to your hardening and lightly grinding with her— a cue to wait for her but enough of a consent on her part as she grinds on you. still clothed, still testing the waters but god you wanted to touch her where she seemed heated. free hand snaking closely to her thighs as the other cupping her cheek and letting lips travel her jawline, soft tender kisses that eventually reached her lips, deepening and letting hand flow into her undergarments, teasing as digits brush against skin just above the hem, “Let me make you feel good this time” murmuring between her lips, asking for permission to go further

[starsmourn]

@brokenfist

you stand a few feet from them, hesitant to approach. would your presence even be welcome after beating them? you can definitely imagine some people being too annoyed about it to want help from you. but you still feel like you should do something, and if nothing else, trying to help feels like some sort of rebellion to your situation. you can be blackmailed into these fights, sure, but they can't control your behavior outside of the ring. so eventually you step a little closer, all but shoving the first aid kit in their direction.

"if it's any consolation, you lasted a lot longer than most people do. usually people fall within the first thirty seconds." and that's with you holding back and occasionally letting them get a hit or two in.

[narrativefinale]

@brokenfist // you are a house haunted by itself

And you will always be haunted, even as you try and drown your woes in another person.

You will always be haunted, even as you hold him to you, him bent over the bed, you inside him, bent over him in turn. Your stomach and chest press into his back, burning painfully hot. You are haunted, and tears roll down your cheeks as you pull back and press in, gasping for each breath and yanking him closer by his hips.

You don't love him, but you can pretend you do, your whole life has been farce in pretending to love and you can keep up the charade forever. "fuck," you whisper, "fuck."

[rinkholy]

@brokenfist said: [38.] sender accidentally says "i love you" during sex. / noname shane yeah

Anything could happen, really, during sex. Anyone can say anything. Words can be uttered and not really meant in the heat of the moment. They've been dancing around it for a while, the L word. Because Shane is too afraid of what coming to terms with his own sexuality means and because nothing can really come of it, can it? Not publicly, anyways. Not now. He doesn't want Noname to feel obligated to wait around for something that might not happen for well over a decade. Hockey is everything to Shane. Hockey is all he knows. If he loses that because he dares to love someone that he can't--

But it happens anyways, when Noname is buried deep inside of him and Shane feels his heart leaping into his throat. He hears it whined against his neck, muffled, barely there, but it's there all the same. Shane could ignore it. Oh, he could ignore it, couldn't he? But it's said again, and again, as if the floodgates have opened and simply can't stop.

"H-holy shit," he chokes out, urging Noname to lift his head, to really look at him. Their eyes meet, Shane's wide and brimming with tears because that's how he always gets. "I--fuck, I love you, too," he chokes out, despite knowing he shouldn't, despite knowing it could fuck both of them forever. "I love you, No, I love you-"

[mournus]

"Maybe, a hero was just a reject from the herd."

@brokenfist liked this for a starter

Sang had seen this stranger come here several nights in a row. The first night, he'd spotted the other, but didn't believe he'd been seen himself. The next morning, he'd awoken from a dream where the stranger appeared like a vision. It had compelled him to come to this same place again. And then again. And now it had become a habit, coming here, just in case he caught a glimpse of this man invading his sleep.

His back straightened when the other came in, sat down... and this time he had a black eye.

He was only able to sit still for so long before the terrible powers of compulsion and temptation tugged on his puppet strings and made him stand. He moved over, lingering by an empty chair at his table.

"Is this... seat taken? May I sit with you?"