#nastyfck

@nastyfck -> "so... when ya finally gonna kiss me?"

How often had they just done nothing at all aboard a starship? If Peter could relate it to anything on earth he'd picture a frat house. After all they were once just two young men figuring out their lives among the cosmos. Fighting wars, bleeding together, dying together, comrades in arms, best friends, his other half. He could wax poetic about all the things Richard made him feel even to this day, but Peter was not a poet. Nothing he could say, recite or write down could possibly amass everything that Richard meant to him. Which was why he was STARSTRUCK his friend decided to suck the air out of lungs with just a simple inquiry, breaking the immersion of their relaxing lounging session within his ship. His body stiffens, his heart rate accelerates and an uncomfortable cross between hope and nausea fills him. Richard was a teaser, he teased, he wasn't cruel, his Richie wouldn't lead him on . . . would he?

Peter couldn't hide the pained expression he felt as he finally glances over at him. Gauging Richard's expression while the silence ticked on and on. If he was being completely honest he didn't know how to react. Any suave response he'd have for any hook up he brought aboard his ship didn't exist now. Not here, not in this moment, not with him. " Don't. " He finally croaks out rawly, a warning, and to the surprise of even himself, his eyes were wet. Emotions were a real bitch when dealing with such an open wound. Feelings he knew he felt since their first adventure together, feelings he brushed aside because there were more pressing matters, death, war, complications, Gamora. He'd never want to hurt her, a sentiment he knew both of them shared.

But neither of them were attached now, and there he was, handsome- no, beautiful as he always had been and something snaps in Peter. His blood boils and he stomps forward, fingers gripping at the lapels of Richard's jacket, shoving him against the wall. " You do not get to say that when I've been waiting half our lives for you, fucker. " Satisfied that he said his peace, Peter surges inward, lips meeting Richard's harshly and he kisses him eagerly, throwing all his emotions and affection towards his best friend in one simple embrace, his first real taste, a feeling he had dreamt of for so many lonely years.

The kiss didn't last nearly as long as he wanted, he could and wished to spend hours exploring Richard's mouth, memorizing the feeling of their stubbled jaws scratching together, but there was too much to say so he pulls away yet remains close. Noses, bushing together and his tone is softer when he finally speaks, no longer angry yet still cautious. " I'm yours, Rich. Don't you know that? I've always been yours. You and me, only us. " Nova & Star-Lord, a partnership etched in stone in an entire memorial.

@nastyfck; stannis

the  set  had  gone  quiet  hours  ago. vancouver  nights  carried  that  kind  of  chill  that  got  under  the  skin—cool,  damp,  smelling  faintly  of  pine  and  distant  rain.  trailers  sat  lined  up  in  the  gravel  lot  like  silver  teeth  catching  the  floodlight,  most  of  them  dark,  a  few  still  humming  with  muffled  music  or  laughter  from  inside.  the  rest  of  the  crew  was  long  gone,  out  in  the  city,  chasing  warmth  and  noise.

adrian  wasn’t.

he  liked  this  hour,  when  everything  slowed  down  enough  for  his  head  to  catch  up.  he’d  peeled  out  of  costume  hours  ago,  swapped  the  hero’s  armor  for  sweatpants  and  an  old  t-shirt,  something  that  didn’t  ask  anything  of  him.  his  body  was  restless  though,  humming  with  the  leftover  static  of  the  day,  so  he  moved.  stretched.  the  rhythmic  pull  and  release  of  muscle  felt  grounding,  like  shaking  the  performance  out  of  his  bones.

there  was  something  feline  in  the  way  he  did  it—quiet,  fluid  and  balanced.  the  kind  of  grace  that  came  from  instinct  rather  than  effort.  his  shadow  rippled  across  the  gravel,  long  and  lean,  almost  part  of  the  night  itself.

he  was  halfway  through  a  set  when  movement  caught  his  eye.  someone  was  walking  the  line  of  trailers,  their  pace  too  deliberate  to  be  aimless.  not  crew.  not  cast.  tall,  broad,  moving  with  a  kind  of  heavy  confidence  that  drew  the  eye. 

adrian  dropped  lightly  to  the  ground,  landing  without  a  sound  except  for  the  faint  crunch  beneath  his  shoes.  curiosity  sparked  in  his  chest,  half  caution,  half  intrigue.  it  wasn’t  unusual  for  people  to  wander  too  close  to  set,  but  this  one—this  one  didn’t  look  lost  so  much  as  searching.  and  then  that  scent  hitting  his  nose. 

he  let  the  towel  fall  around  his  neck,  rolling  his  shoulders  back,  posture  easy  but  alert.  “you  lost?”  he  called  out,  voice  low,  carrying  just  enough  warmth  to  sound  casual.  he  took  a  step  closer,  squinting  through  the  light  haze  of  mist.  “’cause  if  you’re  looking  to  hire  extras,  you’re  about  three  hours  too  late.”

random early morning psa: normalize calling my guys sluts and fags (yes i'm treating that post like a meme now i guess lol)

It was hard to figure out what had Fabian flustered the most; there were simply too many layers to his humiliation. There was, of course, the slur itself, the simple fact that the other man chose to degrade him in the same breath as he commanded him. Perhaps more shameful than the word itself was the effect Fabian could feel it had on him, his body immediately feeling warmer, his mouth dry and his breath going heavier. Yes, he was clearly turned on by Quentin calling him a fag, the demeaning slur making his heart race a bit faster, his hole twitching as if some button had been pushed in Fabian's mind. But perhaps the biggest hint of his arousal, and somehow also the most humiliating, was the puddle of cum he'd made as he previously climaxed inadvertently, not meaning to or providing any direct stimulation to his genitals. Any warning or pleading had not stopped the other from pushing him to the edge, challenging Fabian not to cross the line - but he had failed, he'd made a mess, and now Quentin made him clean it up. Shameful, but obedient, the man leaned down, going from kneeling to all fours as he lowered his shoulders and faced the ground, opening his mouth to stick his tongue out, lapping and licking at his own seed right off the surface where he'd spilled without permission.

Nicholas had always been a big man. Not heavy, just built on a larger frame than most. Six-foot-two in his socks, with a torso that seemed to take up more than its fair share of any room he walked into: broad through the shoulders, deep through the chest. The kind of frame that made off-the-rack shirts fit everywhere except where they were supposed to. He'd long since given up fighting it and just leaned into tailoring instead.

He pushed his plate a few inches forward, the universal signal that he was done, and let his back rest fully against the booth for the first time all evening. He'd been folding himself forward for the better part of two hours.

"Not bad for a blind date" He put his elbows on the table, resting his entire weight on them, and watched Luken's eyes flick to them and back up, something amused and a little appraising in his expression.

There was something about the contrast in their sizes that Nicholas couldn't stop noticing now that the food was gone and conversation had slowed into something looser. The way Luken seemed to take up so little space. Nicholas, by comparison, felt like he was perpetually apologizing for his own dimensions.

NSFW MUSE REACTION PROMPTS

@nastyfck asked: [ knife - your muse using a knife in bed, whether for threat or actually cutting mine. ] for aj.

Ally was too peaceful a word to call him, friend was even further from the truth, but they weren't enemies, exactly, either; not yet, anyway. AJ had known about the other's network for sometime now, he had even manipulated a few of the man's connections to make use of his underground supplies and information, but barely dealt with each other directly; mostly because of AJ's pride. In his mind, having to actively seek out help from someone outside of his own group-- someone that was clearly more suited for this, someone who had more power-- would mean having to admit that his group couldn't cut it on their own; that he was weaker... but right now he didn't have much choice.

Coming to Eric was embarrassing enough as it was, it didn't help his pride that after an hour and half, or so, of constant back and forth between the two AJ now found himself bent forward on his hands and knees; his face pressed against the dirty concrete by the boot baring down on his cheek; his pants down and around his thighs as Eric stood over him laughing, mocking him, as he grunted and squirmed beneath the man's strength. He was being humiliated for asking for help, for being weaker despite all his bravado, and he was getting off on it.

Gasping as the foot came off his face, the faint sound of metal clinking behind him, AJ pressed his palms against the ground and began to lift himself back up onto his hands and knees only to stop as the sudden weight of the other man fell over his back. "Eric," the man's name left his lips in a hissing breath, like a curse, as he the man's powerful arm wrap around his neck; tauntingly squeezing and tightening around him as AJ arched back and bucked against his body. That's when he felt it. Eric's own arousal resting heavy and thick in the valley between his cheeks. He wasn't sure which made him gasp; that or the feeling of the cold, sharp metal now pressing into his throat and scratching against his adam's apple as Eric held the knife blade firm against him, but either way there was no denying how hard AJ was in that moment.

Or how needy the whimper that escaped him sounded.

M/M NSFW GIF STARTERS

nastyfck asked: [ 30 ] for reagan.

Usually when his wife was away on one of her many trips he spent his time at the office, or doting on Casey but every now and then he got to actually enjoy having the house to himself. Or, rather, having the house empty of anyone that might keep him from what he really wanted; and right now he really wanted him.

Soft music played from the speakers built into the bathroom ceiling, mostly just to fill the background with some kind of noise, but Reagan paid it no mind as he moved forward in the bathtub; soapy, warm water rippling around him as wedged his way into place between the younger man's legs to steal a kiss from him.

He had intended for it to be quick, playful even, but all it took was one simple taste of the other against his lips for Reagan to find himself stuck. His arms wrapped around the other's neck and shoulders as he sank down on top of him; as he laid on top of the other's chest, refusing to pull his mouth away from Robert's.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice breaking into a breathy laugh as he felt the other man's hands move over his hips to grab onto the ample meat of his backside; gripping onto him and spreading him apart, a bit, as one of his hands teased over Reagan's entrance. "You know my wife and I have an arrangement, an understanding," he mumbled, "but she still hates you. You're the only person I know that makes me this... insatiable..."