⤷.Contains: experimental drabble, unspecified character (best friend's dad kind of troupe), age gap, masterbation
Going over to your friend's place when you were younger, spending time with him and his family during the holidays. They were kind to you even after his parents would split and get back together, on and off but ultimately staying for their son's sake.
It wasn't until you were both grown and out of college, going out of state for better work opportunities that things changed.
Coming back to visit his folk with him during the holidays or break, walking into his childhood home and greeting his father. Now his once clean shaven face and well groomed appearance shows signs of aging.
Crows feet at the corners of his eyes as he welcomes the two of you with a smile, his hair mussed and peppered with grey streaks and a matching beard.
His eyes would linger on you, taking in just how much you've grown since he last saw you. He liked you from the start. Having a good influence on his son and being there for him whenever things got rough. You were a good kid.
The way you'd offer to take care of some the housework while you were around, dragging his son along to ease the load. He admired that. You weren't the type to sit still or stay put if things needed to be done.
You could see how much of the house has changed, given you use to spend quite a bit of time there. Cleaning up the place as your friend would twine and moan while washing the dirty dishes.
In the end he had to go back, something about a work emergency that needed him to return as soon as possible.
But you had time off, deciding it wouldn't be so bad to spend it there with his old man. You'd wave him off, claiming you'd be alright on your own and if he could make it back before you went back, the two of you could hand out again, like old times.
He gave you the green light to stay in his room, it was cozy enough, even if the bed was a bit on the small side. At least now you didn't have to find a place to sleep.
In exchange, you promised you'd help his old man, make sure he didn't break his back out lifting heavy objects and looking after him during your stay.
Guess that took a turn after the third or fourth day.
He had accidentally walked in on you while you were getting out of the shower, towel hung low on your hips with water still sticking to your damp skin. His mouth went dry, eyes widened slightly before he forced his gaze away from the chance he'd get caught staring.
His eyes started lingering with every small glance he'd give you. Trailing over you from head to toe as if engraving it to memory. You weren't that small, meek young man anymore. Soft boyish features turned sharp and worn from working late nights and long shifts, defined muscles that'd make any woman swoon.
There must be plenty of ladies dying to catch your eye, maybe you got one waiting for you, he thinks.
That time you were stretched out on the couch he felt a flush of heat surge through him and a flurry of less than innocent thoughts following shortly after.
The two of you took turns cooking but every once in a while he'd walk in to get something to drink, brushing past you as he gets a beer from the fridge. Staying by your side and making small talk before scampering off to the living room.
After a week and a half he grew restless, constantly looking over at you and unable to stop those crude thoughts that have made themselves at home in his mind.
With how strong you've gotten. You'd probably be able to get him in all kinds of positions.
Bring his knees up to his chest as you loom over him. Your rough hands roaming his body, manhandling him with ease as he would be unable to do nothing in return. And he'd love it every second of it. He would probably let you do that and so much more even if he'd end up all sore and achy.
More often than not he would hop into the shower late at night to wash away his shame. How could he allow such thoughts to fester when you are very well his son's age. A young thing like you has a whole life left to live, he's much too old for you.
But his hand would still find it's way around his cock. Forehead pressed against the shower wall, imagining it were you touching him instead. Driving himself over the edge at the thought of you bending him over. Taking him right there beneath the cool water.
It's risky. You can probably hear him from outside, he's forced to moan into his fist─ desperately trying to stay quiet as his palm slides up and down his cock. His hips bucking slightly as he nears the edge before he stills, tipping over the edge as the ecstasy washes over him.
Then he hears your voice, calling out his name from behind the door and he goes stiff. Maybe he wasn't as careful as he originally thought.
It’s easy when you’re feeling down to just shut yourself in your room and do nothing. To curl up in bed and be content to watch the world pass you by while you refuse to participate. To refuse to eat or bathe and simply rot away, be content to turn to dust and do nothing about it. To let the depression devour you whole. After all, who would miss you? There’s nobody stopping you from rotting, so who would mind if you rotted until you were gone?
And then there’s someone there. Someone who surprises you by caring. Gentle hands, kind smiles, soft lips. It’s easier to roll out of bed and drag yourself to the shower to at least freshen up when you know there’s a reason. To force yourself to have a snack so you have the energy to move from your bed to the sofa to watch that series you’re watching together. To brush your teeth so your breath doesn’t taste of garlic when you kiss. To at least shove all your crap in a cupboard and pretend it isn’t there so you can let them into your place. To wash your sheets so they can stay the night without the shame.
It doesn’t disappear, you know that. It’s still there when you close your eyes and when you’re alone without the music blaring through your headphones. But over time, it at least feels less suffocating. Less all encompassing. Having your lover there beside you does not cure you, and both of you know that won’t happen. Love does not conquer all. But, with your own strength and dedication you can at least learn to survive the lows without losing yourself in it, and that becomes easier if you have someone to help you back up to your feet when you fall down.
Your lover leaned down and pressed their lips to yours, that same smile you’ve come to love gracing their features, and you know that at least today isn’t as bad as yesterday.
“You okay?” They ask, and you nod. You’re not good, you’re not perfect, but you’re okay. Right now, that’s all you need to be because they accept you at that. At your okay, your fine, your bad or your truly good. Because you love each other, and that involves showing up for each other and they do that for you every day. You know, in the future, when your entire life feels less like it’s caving in, you’ll do the same for them, time and time again, not to repay a debt, but because you love them and you want to.
Tag list: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @fanaticsnail @mermaniaa @hyperfixationthingss
Today's disabled character of the day is Heather Mason from the Silent Hill series, who has an unspecified trauma disorder
Requested by Anon
[Image Description: 3D model of a girl with a light skin tone and freckles. She has short blond hair with dark roots and brown eyes. She is wearing a white vest with a short sleeve orange shirt underneath.]
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; mentions of not eating & sleeping, implied death
He felt,, psychotic without you in his arms. It felt weird, unnatural, and unusual. His senses were becoming blind to him. He wasn't his usual self. He had blocked everyone out of his life, he needed you back. He yearned for you to come back to him. For you to come back to your senses.
It just wasn't the same without you being around, without you and your annoying ways, without you and your stupid pestering questions, and without you being your usual self,, he needed you to survive. To live on. He didn't need oxygen, he needed you. And without you being around, he couldn't find a way to live on.
You were his oxygen, his water that he needed to live on, and without you being there, he just couldn't.
" [Name]..''
He kept whispering your sweet name in his sleep, having the most wonderful dreams about his beloved, yet he still woke up to you not lying next to him. He missed the smell of your pancakes in the morning, he missed the ultimate sounds of your humming while you spun around the large kitchen in such a cheery mood, he missed the smile on your face that made the cutest smile come on his face.
It'd been at least three months since you went on your business trip. And he was still losing himself, he couldn't remember if you told him a date that you'd be coming back, (January 6th), which was directly today.
Meanwhile, you fiddled with the ring on your finger. You missed your husband dearly, you're currently drained as you rode the plane back home to your wonderful lover. You were only thirteen (13) hours away, but to him it felt like forever.
He couldn't even get out of the bed to eat. All he did was cry himself to sleep, wake up, turn over to the other side of the bed, hug your pillow with all his self-strength, and miss you more than ever. It's a repeated cycle, honestly.
He couldn't wait any longer, he just felt empty on the inside without you. Please, dear god, come back to him. He's dying (possibly literally) without you.
Homophobic co-worker who agreed to try something out with you (it was actually his idea).
His mouth hot and wet around your cock as he blows you off in a secluded corner at the business party. Music blaring from the main area— muffled and drown out by how eagerly he's sucking and bobbing his head.
Taking more and more of your length with each pass, pulling back until his lips are wrapped around the head. His eyes glare up at you when he sees that smug look on your face.
"I'm not enjoying this at all." His words dulled by the mouthful of cock in his mouth, even if his words are bitting they lack any heat.
With how insistently he laps at the pearly beads of pre that come out, you'd think he's been looking forward to this. He sticks out is tongue after grousing about how this was your idea in the first place.
He dives back in for more, yet you pull away at the last moment, a whine crawls up his throat in protest which he wasn't able to stop in time. "Wha- Why? Don't move away from me." His hands grip your hips to stop you from moving further.
"Thought you had enough already," a frown marrs his face, brows creasing as he glares up at you again. His knees are tingling with numbness but that's the least of his concerns right now.
To rub salt in to the wound, you tap the tip of your cock against his spit slicked, puffy parted lips. His tongue quickly darts out for a lick of its own accord— eager for any taste of you he can get.
"Look at you," smearing his lips with your essence, which he undoubtedly licks off. "Acting like a cock-hungry slut," he shouldn't feel turned on by your degrading words. The condescending undertones that make him want to prove to you otherwise. "You don't even care that someone might walk in this and see you."
Yet, he can't find it in himself to deny how the weight of your cock on his tongue makes his head get all fuzzy. Every throb and twitch whenever he takes it all the way down his throat— has him leaking in his slacks.
There's already a growing damp spot at the front, clear evidence of amounting arousal. He sputters out many remarks about how he isn't gay or into you. That he'd never entertain the idea of being with another guy, much less fuck one to let off steam. Denying everything as if he isn't slowing inching closer.
They die down quick, his mouth inevitably latching on again onto your cock with a pleased hum, sinking down until his nose is pressed against the whirly bush at the base. All he can smell is you— his senses overridden by that musky scent that drives him up the wall.
"Fuck," he curses out, muffled by how deep in his throat you're buried. His tongue tracing over the veins, circling the head whenever he pulls back for air. He looks so debauched, needy even.
Guess he'll stick to it for a while longer. He doesn't seem to want to part ways just yet, it's a good thing no one's come looking for the two of you.
❧࿔*:･༄˖°.Pairing: Unspecified Character × Male Reader
⤷.Contains: slight mention of blood; character is presumably a shapeshifter, stalking and misguided shielding (<- implied); experimental drabble
—-wanted to try something new for a change regarding SPN and it's array of monsters, cyprids, creatures, etc.
Even a sliver a kindness can make a significant difference and impact on another's life. Unbeknownst to you, that meek injured creature was not actually what it appeared to be.
Sure, it looked and sounded like your average stray dog. Limping down the barren road on the way back home. It was late at night the moon high in the dark sky but you caught sight of it trying to cross the asphalt.
There was blood on its brown and white spotted coat, leg mangled as if it had been bitten or intentionally broken by another. You managed to coax it into the backseat of your rusty pick up. Placing whatever clothes or soft materials you had at hand to make it as comfortable as possible.
It would whine at times on the way but stayed put until you pulled up to the drive way. Who knows if it would have made it through the night if you had left it to it's devices.
With quick thinking you stopping the bleeding and started tending to the wound. You're no vet but how different could making a splint for a dog be compared to a small animal, right? You did help a bird with a broken wing before.
In the morning you'll take it to the clinic since it was closed for the day. They don't open at night anymore with the current string of robberies and break-ins. Perhaps if all goes well and it has no prior owner or chip, you could keep it as your own. The company would be nice, coming home to an empty house isn't all what its cracked up to be.
Much to your surprise, it had left as the sun began to rise. No traces left behind other than the bloodied bandages and gauze that had been wrapped around it's leg. It couldn't have just got up and walked away or did it? No matter, you just hope it's well enough to go on it's own and that it doesn't get into any further trouble while mildly injured.
Should it return at your doorstep and look for shelter, you wouldn't have the heart to turn it away. It would keep you safe and guard your home while your out, perchance. Since that night the neighborhood became more peaceful. The thefts and robberies dwindle as the days go by.
However, new issues have came to light— disappearances and kidnapping. Suspiciously enough people you've known or see every-once in a while. It was only natural for you feel a bit paranoid. hopefully it is all merely coincidence and not deliberate. All that's left for you to do is be vigilant and cautious.
﹂Contains: gender neutral/male reader since there's no use of pronouns, needy character, teasing
The air is hot and heavy, bodies intertwined— not knowing where one starts and the other ends. Soft gasps and moans creep past your interlocked lips, hands gliding and caressing every inch of skin available.
His own grasping the back of your head to keep you from pulling away. The taste of your lips against his is like a drug he just can't get enough of.
The lack of air makes his lungs burn but it doesn't matter, all he wants is to keep tasting you. Your tongue dances with his in a passionate stricken manner.
The feeling of your hands grabbing onto his body ever so gently but firm enough to prevent him from squirming out of your grasp has his heart fluttering and pounding loudly in his ears. Your touch feels branding —a trail of heat burns his skin under your fingertips.
"More," he moans into the kiss, not even knowing what he's truly asking for. Eyes glazed over and hazy from the pleasure running through his veins.
Your lips part from his as they trail over his jaw and down the expanse of his neck. He gasps at the teeth grazing his skin, surely leaving a mark but he doesn't care.
"Fuck," his voice's shaky and breathless. At a particular nip on the soft column of his neck, he shudders against you. His grip on your hair tightening with a soft moan.
He feels so overwhelmingly sensitive and you're nowhere near done with him
Every muscle in his body is taut, his hips jut against you in search of much needed friction between his thighs. He's achingly hard against his stomach, pearly beads of white seeping from the slit.
"C'mon, I need more than this," he breaths out, neediness interlaced into each word. Urging you to skip the foreplay and get right to the main event.
He's been waiting so long for this— wanting to have you alone for himself.
Don't tease him too much, maybe he'll get frustrated and turn the tables on you.
Today's disabled character of the day is this unnamed pit bull from Kitbull, who suffered traumatic injuries and has an unspecified trauma disorder
Requested by Anon
[Image Description: Drawing of a pit bull standing and looking at something below them. They has pale cream colored fur, black eyes, and a magenta nose. They have scars on their face, shoulder, and back. They are standing in front of a graffiti covered wall.]
