#2024 fic a day challenge | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pastafossa · 4 months ago

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"Sharing is Caring" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, 🔥)

Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 4 (Matt very much did not like this only being a drabble so now it's 5600 words, fuck me), I chose to combine the kink and fluff prompts (69 and 'Are you blushing?'). You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 5.6k, Matt fought me and won

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: smutty smut smut, 69 position so oral for both plus face riding, overstimulation, lil bit of prostate stim, multiple orgasms, panty tearing, matt is a MENACE

LOOK AT THIS SMUG MOTHERFUCKER, I HAD A NEAT AND ORDERLY TIMELINE AND A DRABBLE OUTLINE, INSTEAD HE THREW THAT OUT THE WINDOW AND HE HAS FILLED THIS FIC WITH SIN, THE AUDACITY, WHAT TIME IS IT, MATT THIS IS YOUR FAULT

Matt was a giving lover. That much you knew.

No round of sex with Matt ended without at least one orgasm for you, and often more if he had his way, which he often did, the audacity of that man. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend hours with his head buried between your thighs, skilled tongue lapping hungrily at your sex in a way that made you see stars, and had also led to you tearing a hole in the sheets on more than one occasion. He’d bent you over every last surface in the apartment, and some of the surfaces outside it too. Somehow he always managed to sink himself so deeply inside you that you’d have sworn you felt him in your throat, and that feeling was always followed by him fucking into you with a practiced athleticism that never failed to leave you a melted, howling mess.

In other words, if sex with you was an artform, your climax was the masterpiece Matt lovingly devoted himself to creating. You’d never been with someone who took such joy in giving you pleasure. But sometimes he was… too giving.

Like now, when what you wanted was to get that thick cock of his into your mouth.

“Oh, but sweetheart, I’m so hungry,” he purred, a warm, distracting light in his eyes. He was all heat and hungry fire where he stood in the bedroom doorway, a slow, lazy lick of his lips that admittedly had your cunt clenching around nothing. That look meant he had no intention of letting you out of bed for at least the next three hours. The growing outline of his hardening cock against his slacks only confirmed your suspicion as his voice dropped into something low and tempting. “I’ve been thinking about tasting you all day. It’s the only reason I got through work. Let me get my mouth on you, just for a little while. I’ll make it good for you, you know I will. Don’t you want that?”

It was a good offer. A very good offer, and one he was more than capable of fulfilling. You both knew it. But damn it, you also knew what you wanted.

“No,” you said stubbornly, crossing your arms. “I don’t want that.” “Lie,” he murmured. His head cocked, his sightless gaze dropping to your chest, and then lower until they landed somewhere around your hips. His lips slowly curled up into a smirk. “Mm, big lie.” “...Alright, so maybe I always want that,” you admitted reluctantly, biting your lip as you stared down at the outline of your prize, heavy and thick even through the cloth. It was enough to make your mouth water. “But right now I want to suck you off more.”

And god, did you ever. It was rare for him to let you go down on him, but those memories had become regulars in your fantasies. There was just something about his soft moans and hitched whines when you took him in your mouth, the way he threw his head back and his mouth hung slack, his spine arching when you let the tip of your tongue gently brush that spot below the head of his cock until he fucking begged for you to swallow him down. And if you kept going after he’d already come, kept sucking at his softening cock and pressed your knuckle just right behind his balls, drove his trembling, writhing body carefully into overstimulation, you could even drag something like a second orgasm out of him in short succession. He’d been a melted, purring, barely coherent puddle for a good hour when you'd last managed it and you had every intention of seeing if you couldn’t do it again.

His brows shot up, as if he were genuinely surprised at just how truthful you’d been, or maybe surprised at just aroused the thought of your mouth on him made you. But those same brows quickly furrowed in open confusion. “You…” His head shifted back and forth, checking again that you were telling the truth. “You want that? Over me going down on you?” “Why is it so hard to believe I want you like you want me?” You snorted, wandering over to him until you could lean in and kiss him playfully. He still seemed puzzled, but he made a little huff of amusement when you did it again, dragging your nails down the front of his shirt. His chest rumbled beneath your touch, a quiet groan of pleasure. “Come on. Share, Matt. Let me have a taste this time.”

He tipped his head down slowly towards you, clearly tempted. You leaned into him, another rumble leaving him when your lips brushed tantalizingly against the corner of his mouth. You almost had him. The blatant note of your arousal in the air would only help your case now that you were up close. There was a growing flush on his cheeks, and his nostrils flared, taking your scent in when you not-so-subtly rubbed your thighs together. You slowly hooked one finger in his belt, giving it a tug. “Please?” Your desire left you almost breathless, the word hushed and pleading. You weren’t above begging if you needed to. “I need you in my mouth, Matt. You can have me after, can’t you?” “Or…” He drew his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, sucking lightly before letting it go, his mouth parted and wet. “Or we can both get what we want, with a few adjustments.” Oh.

Your breath caught, and you went still, something thick and rich as molten honey rolling through your veins. “Why, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping his head until he could feather his lips over your ear. One of his fingers brushed over your sternum, so light you almost didn’t feel it, before it traced its way gradually up your throat to your cheek, stirring all the tiny hairs in its wake. “Are you blushing?” “No,” you whispered, caught up in visions of what that might look like, feel like, to have his tongue licking its way hungrily into your cunt, all while you took his cock in your mouth and tried your best to make him lose his mind. Would he grow sloppy then, clumsy when you toyed with the head of him? Or would he tap into that focus of his, the two of you in a blatant competition to see who broke first? You wouldn’t deny just how wet the idea made you, but that would also be a lot of sensation for him, especially when you both knew he could come from the taste of your cunt alone. “Or… yes, I… Would that be… too much? Your senses—”

“I’ll be fine. I may have…” He let out a low chuckle, his own cheeks now the lightest bit pink as he cleared his throat. “I may have gone into the office bathroom before I left work, and… taken care of myself. I’d been thinking about my head between your thighs all day. I had to make sure I could get home.”

The visual slammed into you with the force of a truck: Matt with one scarred hand pressed tight over his mouth to stifle his moans while he frantically stroked at his cock. And it was all because he’d spent hours thinking about how he was going to go home, throw you into bed, and find his way right down to your cunt. Your low moan was quickly swallowed up as he caught your chin and tipped your head up so his lips could find yours. The kiss was all teeth and burning heat, fire and fierce need, his stubble rasping against your skin until you felt like you were on fire. One of his hands swept down and behind you, fingers spread wide as he groped roughly, greedily against your ass. He used that same grip to haul you forward into him, making you whine when his hips ground into yours, letting you feel exactly what you’d done to him. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I can smell you, how wet you are. Tell me you want that, sweetheart. Tell me—” “God yes, please, please, Matt.”

You didn’t bother to keep track of where your clothes fell as you both stumbled your way into the bedroom, neither of you willing to pull your hands and mouths off each other long enough to figure that out. You managed to get everything off but your panties by the time you neared the bed, and you fully intended to slide those off, too, but you were distracted by the pleasure of Matt’s mouth as he determinedly nipped and licked at the skin of your throat, blatantly drinking the pheromones from your skin. Fortunately, Matt was a bit less distracted.

The tearing of fabric rang out, and then Matt’s fingers slipped between your soaked folds, stroking three fingers eagerly along your slit until you gasped out his name.

“Oops,” he said with a smirk.

“You’re paying for those,” you grumbled. “Happily.” He side stepped around you, and by the time you’d turned he was already on the bed, rolling onto his back and tipping his head back in clear expectation. Then he brought his wet, gleaming fingers up to his mouth, inhaling intently as he rubbed his fingers together. The reaction was immediate: a fierce groan, his other hand shooting down to wrap tightly around his cock as his hips bucked.

“Shit,” you whispered, absolutely mesmerized as he took another greedy breath, a creeping flush spreading across his pale skin. He may have come an hour or so ago, but his cock already looked achingly hard, the whole of it flushed dark and red, a decadent droplet of precum beading at the tip. He was an absolute vision, all of that strength and power, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen laid out like a meal for you, this affected just by the thought, the scent of your arousal. It lit a fire in you, and Matt must have sensed it, because he let out a growl before giving in and shoving his fingers into his mouth. His eyes snapped shut, a loud moan tearing through him. His other hand started to stroke quickly at his cock, firm drives up with a smooth sweep of his palm over the head before sliding back down, all as he sucked the taste of you eagerly from his fingers, unwilling to lose even a single drop. It was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen. “Holy shit, you’re trying to kill me.” “Get up here and ride my face, sweetheart,” he grit out, shifting to let his thumb rub against the wet head of his cock. A delicious shiver ran through him, and he rolled his head on the pillow to face you. There was something far darker in his eyes, then, whispers of the Devil, of merciless rain on hard city streets. “Do it before I drag you up here myself, because I’m not going to fucking care if you can reach my cock when I do.”

It was the only invitation you needed, and you scrambled up onto the bed before he could change his mind. You had no intention of missing the opportunity he’d given you.

You hit another brief snag, however, once you’d crawled over to him. You’d ridden his face before, but that had always been with you facing the headboard or the arm of the couch. This required the opposite angle. After a moment’s consideration, one that ended quickly when Matt growled a warning, you muttered a quiet, “fuck it,” and did a half turn, throwing your leg quickly over him so you had a knee on either side of his shoulders. Then you walked back a step or two on your knees, Matt’s free hand taking the meat of your thigh in his grip. It was difficult to figure out just where you needed to be to get the angle right. All you could see from this angle was his body stretched out like a long, open road before you, his other hand still stroking roughly at his cock, his knees bent, feet braced so he could rut lazily up into his grip. You didn’t really know where to put your hands, so you settled for placing them against the broad line of his chest, using them to brace yourself as you tentatively adjusted.

Matt, however, had lost his patience.

With a snarl, he let go of his cock. Both his hands caught your hips, and with one hard yank he wrenched you down, burying his mouth against your pussy as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

You both let out a sharp moan, Matt’s far more muffled than yours. There was no gentleness now, no parting you with his fingers to tease you with the tip of his tongue before settling in. Instead, it was something ravenous and filthy, animalistic, Matt’s mouth open wide as he licked and sucked at your folds and slit, greedily drinking up every last drop of your arousal he could find. For a moment you forgot what your plan had been. Your head fell to rest against his abdomen, your lips parted on a whine as Matt devoured your slick with heavy grunts and rumbles of approval, your hips starting to rock against his mouth. He was eating at you with everything in him, no thought given to things like air, based on his hitched breathing and muffled groans. He’d told you once, lips curled into a smirk, his chin still wet with your arousal, that if he died between your thighs, well, he’d consider that death a victorious one.

“Mm—Matt, oh god, please,” you whimpered, your fingers curling against his skin, red lines left in your wake.

Apparently satisfied that he’d taken in everything he could get, Matt tipped his head down just a hair, using his grip on your hips to adjust you until his tongue found your clit. With a purr, he began to lap warmly, steadily at it, over and over and over again, every now and then pursing his lips to kiss at it with a fond affection that was almost tender. The attention to your clit made your eyes flutter shut, quiet whimpers escaping you with each pass of his tongue, your body clenching in want. At the fresh trickle of wetness, Matt groaned in delight. “Taste so good, sweetheart, all mine,” he slurred warmly, syllables thick and sounding almost drugged, before his tongue found you again, falling right back into his aphrodisiac of choice. As he did, his body began to shift beneath you, before settling into a steady rocking. Startled, your eyes fluttered open, and you glanced down his body. What you saw made your mouth fall slack.

Matt had begun to roll his hips, rutting up in lazy waves. At first you thought it might be an invitation, a reminder, but as you watched you quickly realized what he was doing. With every flex and buck of his hips, he managed to rub his cock against his abdomen, just a little. You could already see the smears of precum pooling in the lines and grooves of flexing muscle, and that only made each successful contact smoother, Matt’s moans against your cunt growing stuttered and hoarse. It likely wouldn’t have been enough sensation for anyone else, but for Matt and his senses, it was just enough to drive him further upwards, his thick thighs starting to tremble. Hell, he was probably enjoying it, considering how he liked to tease himself.

Fortunately, it was also a reminder of what you’d wanted to do.

You quickly stretched out above him, headed for your goal. Your hips shifted just a little as you did, and Matt let out a low, possessive growl, his hands tightening on your hips in a warning. He didn’t like the idea that you might pull away before he was done, you had a feeling.

“Relax.” You choked out a shaky laugh, lowering your head to kiss fondly at the crest of his hip. Your affection softened his growl to a gentler, contented groan. “Just-just trying to get to you.” He seemed soothed by that, at least. Then again, maybe he just wasn’t listening, far too focused on your cunt to really hear you. Either way it didn’t matter, because you’d finally maneuvered yourself to where you’d wanted to be. You braced one hand shakily on his thigh, some of your weight settling down on top of him. His chest rose and fell on a happy sigh beneath you, more than happy to have you sprawled out over him. It also meant his cock was now in range of your mouth.

It was even more tantalizing up close, flushed, wet, and practically begging for your attention even if Matt’s mouth was otherwise occupied. You eagerly caught the base of it, wrapping your fingers tight around it. Beneath you he let out a grunt, his tongue faltering against your clit. You had no interest in waiting any longer, so without a second’s hesitation you dipped your head and stuck out your tongue, catching one of the drops of precum rolling down the shaft. From there you rose with one long drag along his length, following that damp trail back up to his tip like you might a melting drop of ice cream. The moment your tongue swept over the head of Matt’s cock, he let out a startled moan, one that morphed into a hoarse cry when you lapped warmly at his slit, chasing the taste of him, taking in every fresh drop that welled up beneath your attention. It had been far too long since you’d gotten to taste him like this, bitter and salty in equal measure, the scent of musk and sex so much stronger here.

“God,” he choked out, squirming beneath you, his hands practically clawing at your hips. His head dropped back and away from your cunt as he gasped up to the ceiling, breath hitching on a high moan as the strokes of your tongue grew more firm. “Ah-ah! Your mouth, sweetheart, I need it, just—”

Time to see if you could break him before he broke you.

You dropped your mouth open wide before starting to slide him into your mouth, using your hand at his base to angle him and make it a little easier. But easier was… relative.

Shit, you thought with a low moan, one that had Matt crying out behind you. He was so fucking thick, broad enough that you felt a faint ache in your jaw, saliva already leaking out past the corners of your mouth to drip down his length. There was no graceful way to swallow him down, but the sensation of your saliva rolling down his shaft, your stifled huffs through your nose as you slowly worked your way down his cock had him absolutely wrecked. His body trembled beneath you, his hips jerking in an only barely aborted attempt to thrust up into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. He actually whined when you gave him your first little suck, and those whines only grew in number as you did it again, his panting music to your ears, so wet you were practically dripping down onto him. And maybe you really had, because before you could blink, he’d yanked your hips back down. This time, however, he brought his hands around so he could use his thumbs to part your body for him. With a wild moan, he’d buried his mouth against your slit, licking hotly at your opening over and over until he’d managed to worm his tongue inside you.

Your eyes rolled back at the feel of his tongue lapping eagerly at your inner walls, his chin grinding roughly against your clit. He’d burrowed in so hard against you it was if were intent on drowning, on latching onto you and never letting go. The angle was perfect, and you found yourself grinding down instinctively against his face, riding his tongue inside you and the stubbled texture of his chin, chasing your pleasure just as you were seeking his. His delighted moan as you started to use him the way he wanted was so muffled you swore he shouldn’t have been able to breathe, but still you couldn’t bring yourself to stop, whining around the length of him in your mouth as he slurped deeper, your thighs locking up around his head, his skin slick with you. He was dangerously close to coming based on the way his cock had started to throb against your tongue, and you weren’t much further behind, but he was clearly aiming to get you there first.

No.

No, you wanted to ruin him too. Focus, just a little more. You clumsily lifted your head halfway up before skating back down to meet your hand around his base. Neither of you were coordinated enough to make this last much longer, too distracted by the rising waves of pleasure, but that didn’t matter. You knew his body. You could outlast him, by a few seconds at least. But to do that, you’d need one more thing. So, determined to win, you quickly worked your free hand down past his cock, pausing to knead briefly at his sac just for the way it made him moan roughly against your cunt before you drifted past it. You didn’t slide your fingers inside him—something you both hadn’t tried quite yet—but you did curl one finger and press your knuckle up gently just behind his balls, indirect pressure against that spot deep inside him.

His back arched so sharply and suddenly beneath you he almost managed to throw you off, and his choked gasp hit air as he threw his head back. With a shaky whine, he ground down desperately against your finger before snapping his hips up, clearly torn between the wet suction of your mouth around his cock and the firm pressure against his prostate. But unlike last time he’d thrown his head back, this time you followed his mouth with your hips. You were too close to that edge now to go without it, especially not with the noises he was making—whimpers and broken moans, slurred pleas—so you tried desperately to find his lips again, grinding down against his face. And though you were reluctant to let him go, you still managed to tear your mouth off his cock just long enough to gasp out, “Fuck, Matt, please!”

Your begging dragged him up out of his haze, and he hunted for your clit with his lips and tongue, licking at your cunt until he finally found it. He closed his lips around it just as you did the same to the head of his cock. Two warm pulls of your mouth to match his, and with one more shove of your finger against that spot inside him, he cried out and came hard into your mouth in salty, bitter waves that tasted like fucking satisfaction. His hoarse moans, desperate and so very needy wound up pushing you the rest of the way. Matt’s tongue lapped sloppily against your clit, and with a moan that matched his, you joined him in falling over the edge, your body tightening and releasing in a rolling tide of pleasure that left you floating, whimpering his name around his cock. He quickly shoved his mouth against your slit, grunting as he greedily drank down everything your body gave him.

You thought you were done, then, your chest heaving, your thighs shaking as the waves began to ease into aftershocks. Matt nuzzled roughly at your clit, his tongue brushing over it almost curiously. Abruptly he moaned, dragging your hips back down. “Don’t stop,” he rasped hoarsely, yanking your hips back down. Just like that, his mouth was on your clit again, which was great except that you still hadn’t quite finished the last orgasm. The sudden rush of overstimulation before you could fully come down left you shaking, clawing wildly at his thighs, but your squirming got you nowhere, your hips firmly held in an iron grip.

Don’t stop.

There wasn’t much you could do but follow the instruction.

You moaned and began to suck clumsily at him, the velvet softness of his cock cradled gently on your tongue. The noise he let out was strangled and hoarse, almost pained, because this had to be too much for him, it had to be, and yet… he couldn’t resist starting to rock up instinctively against your mouth, a broken whimper breathed against your cunt when you managed to probe your tongue against the tip of him. You knew, distantly, remembered that you’d had this plan: if you did this fast enough, did this just right, using his senses to your benefit, you could make him come again. And, well, it had helped before, so you slipped on hand down between his legs again, grinding your finger hard against that spot inside him in steady waves, sucking harder at his cock just for the way it made him writhe. His head snapped back against the pillows, his hands dropping away from you to fist in the sheets. He brokenly cried out your name, his thighs trembling, but you didn’t care, your goal in sight. One of these days you were going to get your fingers inside him to see what noises he made then, and just to taunt him, you hooked and curled your fingers against his soft skin, your message clear.

You weren’t sure who was more startled when he came—you, or him—but either way, he did, his cock only half-hard at best as he snapped his hips up, his body locking up as he spilled into your mouth. He made a sound you’d never heard from him before, one part shout and one part high, hitching moan, the sounds rising falling with each jagged wave of pleasure you dragged him through, almost enough to hide the sound of tearing fabric. There wasn’t much left for his body to give, granted, but you still accepted those few drops anyway, swallowing them down with a satisfied moan as you milked him dry, massaging your fingers against his cock and that spot inside him to drag it out. You didn’t stop until his sounds grew pained, and even then it was a struggle. You had to force yourself to lift your head, sitting back against his chest. The sudden return of pressure against your clit made you whimper, your body shaking, because despite the overstimulation, as predicted he’d managed to shove you up far enough again that you were hanging right on the edge again, orgasm just a breath away.

“Matt,” you choked out, not even sure what it was you needed—his hand maybe, or even just for him to hold still so you could ride some part of him, be it his chest or his abdomen. One glance over your shoulder, however, let you unsure of what he might be able to give.

Matt’s head was still thrown back on the pillow, his wet mouth hanging open as he panted, hair damp and sticking up in every direction. His eyes were glazed over and dark, absent any real awareness or thought. You knew that look. It was one you usually only saw when you’d really managed to fuck him senseless or leave him wrecked. He was out of it, his senses momentarily overloaded, out of order, come back later. You quickly pulled yourself off of him, just in case your weight over him had been unpleasant. He’d need some time to come back to himself, but fortunately, sitting here and staring at what you’d done—Matt Murdock, fucked out and drunk off your body—would be just the sort of visual you needed as you took care of yourself. You dropped one hand, sliding it between your legs until you could circle your clit with your fingertips, your lips parting on a satisfied moan. It wasn’t as good as Matt, but it was good enough.

Or… that’s what you thought you’d do, until Matt’s head snapped in your direction. His hand darted up, grabbing for you.

Except that he missed, his hand snatching at the empty air about two inches to your left.

“Matt,” you huffed shakily, using your other hand to take his. He probably just wanted to stay close, he usually did when you got him like this. “I’m-I’m fine, just, unh, gonna fini—Matt!”

Your hand brushing against his had apparently been the compass he needed. You abruptly found yourself shoved back onto the bed with a grunt. He was on his hands and knees before you could blink, scrambling and groping around the bed to feel out how you’d fallen, his eyes burning and wild. The moment he made contact with you again, he shoved his head forward with a growl, mouthing at you, licking, biting at whatever skin he could find, which happened to be your ribs, the nip of his teeth sharp enough to make you cry out. You knew that you knew you’d have a mark there tomorrow, one to join the bruises on your hip. But it clearly wasn’t the part of you he’d been aiming for, and he snarled in clear frustration, swinging his head back and forth in a failed attempt to orient before he managed to find your hips with his hands. Your own hands wound up tangled in his hair as he dragged himself roughly over your legs, and fuck, if he was offering, you were happy to take it. You canted your hips, tugging at his hair to direct him. “Here!” you gasped, pushing his head down between your thighs. “Here, Matt, right—”

He buried his face sloppily against your cunt again, not a hint of shame or hesitation in him. His furious, messy lapping at your clit was exactly what you needed. The sound you made was raw and torn, almost a shriek as you suddenly got the stimulation you’d been looking for, your body tightening in rapid waves beneath his mouth. He caught your clit between his lips, growled, and sucked hard enough to have you seeing stars. That was it for you, your back arching as you fisted your hands tightly in his hair and came across his tongue, a flood of wetness drenching his face. With every pulsing wave of pleasure, he let out a satisfied little rumble, sucking in time with the rhythm of your body, dragging your orgasm out until the world burned white. The moment those waves began to ebb, he switched to broad flat licks along the entire length of your cunt, moaning and mindlessly drinking up every last drop, his eyes falling half closed in apparent bliss.

Which was nice. Until your body started to request a break.

“Matt,” you choked out, trying to shift away. He instinctively followed, blearily keeping his mouth latched onto your cunt, the pressure on your clit almost painful now. “Matt, that’s—fuck—I need a break, sweetheart, please! Matt!”

The sharp call of his name seemed to snap him out of it, and he finally let you go with a groan. He didn’t get very far, though. All he did was tip his head sideways until it landed on your thigh with a soft thump.

You let yourself breathe for a minute, twitching now and then when an aftershock rolled through you. When you were feeling a little more able to focus, you finally lifted your head to glance at him. “That,” you wheezed, still panting, “was… we need to do that again. But in… in a while.”

He blinked slowly at you, blissed out and lazy as a lion who’d just had a meal. He hadn’t moved from your thigh, his face still shining and absolutely drenched. Then he grinned. The expression was so absolutely, drunkenly smug that you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “I take it you’re ok, then?” You snorted, reaching down to stroke your fingers down his wet cheek.

He blinked at you again, and there was a brief delay before his head turned and he nudged affectionately at your hand. Sometimes when his senses got too overloaded after sex, he needed a few minutes without touch to come down. This time, however, it seemed like touch was what he wanted.

“You wanna come up here and listen to my heartbeat until your senses are all back online?”

He seemed to think that over for a minute before he slowly started to drag himself up your body. He didn’t even bother to lift his head from you, simply dragging it along your skin as if he were loathe to lose the sensation of you against him. He only ran into a slight hiccup when he bumped into your breasts. He nosed around for a second, huffing briefly, before he found the space between them and continued on. “You’re drunk as hell,” you choked out a laugh, as he rubbed his ear fondly back and forth over your sternum, hunting for whatever spot sounded best. “You’re legitimately pussy drunk. God, I love you.” He finally selected his spot on your chest, his head dropping down to lay against it. The rest of him followed shortly thereafter as he settled down on top of you with a long groan of satisfaction. He rumbled out a contented sigh as you got your fingers in his hair, stroking through the sweat-soaked strands. One of his hands fumbled its way down to your hip. He kneaded clumsily at it, your affections very much returned. “Mhm. Love you, too.”

“Little more coherent?” “Mm. You taste good.” “So do you. Don’t make me wait so long to get my mouth on you again.”

“Mhm,” he sighed. He absently licked his lips, before purring quietly, his eyes falling shut. “I promise. We’ll share.”

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toriscrazycornerblog · 1 month ago

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My submission for The Drarry100 Christmas Challenge 2024🎄

artist: goldmanrustic

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silverskye13 · 6 months ago

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“To what end, do we fight, Hels?” Welsknight asked, his voice soft and distant. Shocked, perhaps, that these were words he was uttering.

“First blood,” Helsknight replied, his gaze still locked on his own hands, tracing the way his fingers curled against the stone tiles on the floor.

Welsknight let out a little noise, something only the optimistic would call a laugh. “You don’t hate me enough to kill me, yet?”

#spazzcat doodles #Summer's Glooming #Helsknight #Welsknight #Silver stop drawing stuff for your own shitty fics challenge 2024 #tw blood #anyway uhhhhhhh #yeah sorry i've wanted to try drawing this perspective all day #the image is very clear in my eye

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esilher · 2 months ago

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Art: @esilher Fic: @mynonah Thank you so much @bossymarmalade for the quick beta reading! <3 You can read it on AO3

Andersons’ Bakery Kurt stopped in front of the shop and looked up at the sign above the door. On the black glass, in gold letters, was the name of one of New York's most popular bakeries: Andersons' Bakery. It was a long shot, he knew, and for a moment he wondered if he should go home instead.

"If you never try, you'll never know." His father's words rang in his ears. He took a deep breath to brace himself and reached for the door handle.

As he stepped through the door, the smell of freshly baked pastries immediately hit his nose. Behind the counter, one of the Anderson brothers was restocking the shelves with freshly baked baguettes. There was a small line, as always, but no one seemed to mind the wait. It was worth it.

"Welcome to Andersons' Bakery. What can I get for you?" The man asked and Kurt realized that it was finally his turn.

"Oh, I... Hi, um. I'm here to apply for the job. I saw that you…”

"You're looking for Blaine," he interrupted Kurt with a smile. "I'll let him know. You can wait over there," he gestured to the other end of the long counter, and by the time Kurt looked back to thank him, he was already gone.

Kurt walked over to where the man had directed him and stopped in front of the pastries. As he studied the assortment, he nervously adjusted his bag. Pies, donuts, biscuits, muffins, croissants - the selection was impressive, but that shouldn't intimidate Kurt. There was nothing here that he hadn't baked a hundred times before. Still, he was nervous.

"Hi, I'm Blaine," a new voice interrupted his thoughts. "You're the one here for the job, right?"

"Yes," Kurt answered, smiling at the man on the other side of the counter. "Kurt Hummel," he added quickly, extending his hand to Blaine.

"Blaine Anderson." The man smiled back as they shook hands. Blaine's mouth opened again, but suddenly he wasn't sure what to say. Beautiful eyes, Blaine thought. But maybe that's not the right place to start. "May I have your resume, please?"

"Oh, sure," Kurt replied, then pulled out the zipper on his shoulder bag and began to rummage through it. "Sorry," he mumbled nervously. "I'll have it in a minute."

He pulled out some papers one by one, but those weren’t what he was looking for. Some notes from college, some sheet music, a new cheesecake recipe he'd written down two weeks ago, some drawings of how he planned to redecorate his apartment, a few pages torn out of a fashion magazine... more college notes.

"I know I put it in here... It's just…” Kurt glanced up at Blaine, smiling nervously. “Just a minute.”

"Take your time,” the man tried to reassure him.

"No, I mean... it's here somewhere. Where the fuck did all these college notes come from?” He snapped suddenly. “Can you believe I've already graduated? And I'm carrying all this around with me. Fuck. Oh God, I just said fuck," he said, covering his mouth with his free hand.

"Actually you said it three times," Blaine added, clearly amused by the scene.

Kurt's eyes widened. "I'm so sorry. I don't usually swear, I just... I mean, I do, everybody does, right? But not here. I mean, not like that. Anyway... Sorry, I... I know I put it in here," Kurt said again as he began to frantically flip through a folder.

"Hey, don't worry! Maybe you can just email it to me and then next time…"

"No, no, no…” Kurt shook his head. “It's here somewhere, I swear."

"Okay, then... Maybe in the meantime you could tell me about your work experience...? What bakery did you work at before?"

"Well, it's... it's a little... So I don't really have any experience, at least not the kind you're thinking of. But I love to bake. I've just never worked in a bakery before."

"You've never worked in a bakery before." Blaine repeated in shock and Kurt dumped the entire contents of his bag onto the counter for the third time.

"No," Kurt continued, oblivious to Blaine's dismay. "But I've been baking since I was 6. I started with my mother's recipes. I did it with my mother, of course. I actually have a lot. I mean, recipes, not mothers.”

Blaine bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. “Thank you for clearing that up.”

“My family and friends say I bake pretty well. Of course, they love me, so what else would they say..." Kurt suddenly froze. He looked up at Blaine. “God, that sounded awful, didn't it? Shit," he muttered and went back to his bag. Blaine couldn't help but chuckle.

"I FOUND IT!" Kurt exclaimed, clutching a folder as his bag landed on the floor with a thud. He pulled the sheet he was looking for out of the folder and handed it to Blaine with a triumphant grin. Blaine took the paper, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

"You're hired," he said.

Kurt's jaw dropped in shock. "What? I mean... really? But you haven't even read my resume."

Blaine looked down at the paper in his hand, his eyes scanning it quickly. "No criminal record, you’re from Ohio too, your family loves your cookies..."

"So do my friends."

"So do your friends." Blaine repeated, looking up at Kurt. "That's more than the last two applicants can say for themselves. You're hired."

Kurt let out a squeal and with a sudden impulse, he leaned over the counter to hug Blaine. Blaine froze for a second by the unexpected reaction, but his arms instinctively tightened around Kurt.

"We have a new baker," Blaine called to Cooper as Kurt left the bakery.

"So I heard. You two weren’t exactly discreet." The older brother walked over to Blaine and took the resume out of his hand. His eyebrows furrowed. "You hired an ACTOR?"

"What?" Blaine grabbed the resume back from Cooper and for once actually started to read it.

"You didn't even read it??"

"I'm reading it now."

"Are you crazy? This is a bakery, Blaine."

"Yeah. I noticed that," Blaine mumbled and put the resume down. "Did you see his eyes, Coop?" he asked.

Cooper blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“He has beautiful eyes,” Blaine added, as if that was an acceptable explanation.

"Cool. That's a big help when you're working with dough," his brother replied sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief.

Blaine sighed. "I'll train him."

"You better, little brother." Cooper said pointedly before heading back to the customers.

His brother turned back to Blaine who was looking at the resume again.

"You don't look like you regret it," he said, smiling fondly at him.

"I don't. He starts tomorrow." Blaine winked at his brother and disappeared into the back of the shop.

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ghostgirl-22 · 3 months ago

Text

18+ !NSFW!

Patrick would definitely try to convince Art to wear his ex girlfriend’s lacy red panties. And Art would tell him to “fuck off”. But one weekend when he expects Patrick to be out late he gets bored and pulls them on wondering what they’ll feel like.

The cool silky sensation turns him on and suddenly he’s touching himself probably not even realizing he’s lying in Patrick’s bed and not his own. And when Patrick gets home early and walks in on Art flushed and moaning. Squirming in his bed, his swollen cock barely contained by the thin fabric and he’s already come at least once (maybe more) so it’s all over him. Art sits up on his elbows looking guilty as sin and so debauched. He whispers shyly, “I think I like it.”

Patrick gets so hard so fast he nearly passes out.

#challengers #challengers 2024 #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengerstober #challengers fic #kinktober #challengers smut #art x patrick #random blurbs #back to regularly scheduled programming #in a day or two #work and life is kicking my ass

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serickswrites · 3 months ago

Text

I'm Just Not Well

Warnings: rescue, captivity, torture, broken bones, blood, bruises, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery, hospital

"Whumpee, you gotta talk to me, please," Caretaker said as they sat in the back of the ambulance with Whumpee.

Whumpee's skin was mottled with bruises in various stages of healing--some deep purple almost black, some red and swollen, while others had taken an almost blue green tint as they healed. Their collar bone was clearly broken. Blood had dried in their matted hair, clotted on their split eyebrow, and had dried on other parts of their body that was visible.

They sat quietly on the gurney, responding only to a few questions asked by the EMT. Their voice was low and hoarse. Clearly they had been screaming from days. They stared out with a hollow look in their one not swollen shut eye.

"Whumpee?" Caretaker tried again.

"I'm alive," they croaked, "I'm just not well."

Caretaker's heart sunk. They had hoped Whumpee would open up a little bit more to them. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Whumpee closed their one good eye and leaned back on the gurney. "There's nothing else to tell you, Caretaker. I'm alive."

Caretaker opened their mouth and closed it. Clearly Whumpee wasn't ready to talk about whatever horrors they had endured at Whumper's hands. "Well, I'm here if you ever want or need to talk, Whumpee."

Whumpee nodded, but didn't say anything. They kept their eye closed, their body swaying with the motion of the ambulance speeding down the city streets.

"We'll be at the hospital soon, Whumpee. You're going to be ok," Caretaker said, hoping that their words were true and Whumpee would be ok.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

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medusapelagia · 6 months ago

Text

04 Back in town

written for @steddieangstyaugust (prompt: Angst with Happy Ending) and @augustwritingchallenge (Prompt: Zombie Apocalypse) Rating: Mature Relationship: Steve & Hopper, Steve/Eddie TW: AU zombies, body horror, injuries, blood, whump, presumed dead character Words: 1221

Steve always knew that he would die alone, fighting some monstrous creatures.

Since the first time he hit a Demogorgon with a nailed bat in Jonathan's Byer living room, he never stopped fighting.

What he wasn't expecting was having to fight people he knew.

Maybe Jason Carver and his brother Christian weren't exactly his best friends, but finding their rotting corpses chasing him while he was looking for supplies in the back of Malvad wasn't exactly on his wishlist.

Steve jumps on a rusty car's roof, holding his backpack tight and looking for an escape. He still has Hopper's gun, but the noise would only attract even more zombies, so he grabs the switchblade from his back pocket and clicks it open, still looking around, weary. If there's something he has learned, it's that towns are way more dangerous than the woods: too many blind corners where zombies can hide.

Jason Carver is already trying to climb on the car when Steve kicks him in the face and his rotten teeth fall on the ground, bouncing like white marbles. Christian is just behind him, and Steve loses no time: he stabs him in the stomach and pushes him to the ground. That’s not the right way to kill them, but the fastest to get rid of them while he runs toward the old movie theater.

The old signboard where Tommy wrote some slurs against Nancy in another life, is dangling, so Steve runs toward it, planning to use the slope at his vantage to get on the roof. He kisses the black and red guitar pick around his neck for good luck and jumps from the car's roof to the concrete before sprinting toward the theater. The signboard cracks loudly before breaking in half under Steve's weight, but he manages to cling to the ledge of the theater, with his legs dangling in the air.

A sudden burning pain makes him scream, and for a moment his left hand slips and moves instinctively toward his injured leg. Christian Carver is standing under him, reaching out toward Steve's legs with his discolored arms. Steve kicks him hard, freeing his leg from the zombie's hold, and with the adrenaline still pumping in his veins, he pulls himself up on the movie theater's roof, rolling on his back and finally catching his breath.

The Carver brothers are still growling, and Steve knows that the smell of his blood will attract every fucking zombie still in town. He's utterly fucked. And Hopper will be furious. He told him not to go in town alone, but El was sick and even some expired meds are better than no meds at all.

Steve rummages in his backpack: going to the school's infirmary was a good call, he found some gauze and a few meds, but Melvald was a disaster. He knew it was one of the first places that got ransacked. He grabs a half-empty bottle of water, drinks some, and pours some on his leg. It looks nasty.

Fuck.

With a sigh and trembling hands, he takes the walkie-talkie from the backpack and turns it on. It slowly cracks to life while the growls under the theater get higher and louder. How long till those monsters find a way to get on the roof?

"Hey Hop," he says, pushing the button.

"Steve? Steve, where the hell are you?"

"In town."

"How many times did I tell you-"

"Got El's meds."

"Ok. Ok. Now get your ass back home. It’s going to get dark soon."

"Don't think I will. Christian Carver got me good."

"Steve."

Steve can hear Hopper grit his teeth, "How long? We could still-"

"I'm in Hawkins and it's getting darker. No reason to risk it. I'll leave the backpack somewhere safe here on the movie theater roof. Come and get in the morning, ok?"

"Steve."

Steve whimpers softly. He has some gauze in his bag but he doesn't want to waste it. He's going to die on that roof anyway and the others will need it more than him.

“Sorry Dad,” he says, before turning off the radio and pulling the batteries out.

No goodbyes. Steve hates those.

The throbbing pain from his leg keeps him awake, while the sun slowly sets. It’s not a bad way to go, he thinks to himself.

He’s drinking some water when he hears the noise of a helicopter propeller.

He must be hallucinating: gas is long gone. But the noise gets closer and closer, and a bright yellow light blinds him for a moment. A rope falls from the helicopter and someone dressed all in black climbs down with ease. The unknown man gets closer to him, and Steve shivers in fear. Maybe he's not so ready to die after all.

The man moves slowly, studying Steve's face before bending next to his leg, "How long?" he asks, staring at the bloody injury.

"Hours."

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

The voice seems so painfully familiar.

"Ok, we can still take you to Owens and-"

"Eddie?'' Steve asks, confused. The last time Steve saw Eddie he gave him his guitar pick before leaving with his band to make it big. And then the world split in two and people were turned into zombies.

"Hey, big boy. You always had a wicked sense of humor. Now that I finally found you, you play me a trick like this?"

"Sorry, Ed. Didn't mean it."

Eddie grabs the bottle of water, helping him drink a few sips.

"I'm going to take you away from here," Eddie says, helping Steve stand, who whines loudly even if Eddie helps him hold his weight. He tightens the rope around Steve's middle and holds himself with his arms while the crew on the helicopter pulls them up.

As soon as they are on the helicopter someone yells, "Are you fucking crazy? He's infected!"

"I wasn't gonna let him die on that fucking roof alone, ok Gar?" Eddie replies, while a dark-skinned man, Jeff if Steve’s memory isn’t wrong, points a flashlight on Steve's leg.

"There's no bite." He whispers, pulling the skin while Steve grits his teeth and Eddie and Gareth keep bickering in the back, "Hey, morons! There's no bite! Just a very nasty scratch!"

"Are you serious?" Eddie jumps next to Jeff, staring at Steve's wounded leg. The cuts are deep and need a very thorough cleaning, but if there's no bite.

"I knew you were a lucky son of a bitch, Harrington!" Eddie says in a jubilant tone, hitting Steve’s shoulder who whimpers and immediately asks for forgiveness.

“El. I have medicine for El in the backpack.” Steve tries to explain, while Jeff is still trying to clean the cut as well as he can.

“We’ll find them and we’ll take them home. For the moment all you have to do is rest and recover.” Jeff says, wrapping Steve’s injured leg.

“Home?” Steve asks, confused.

“Dear Steve Harrington, you’re now a member of the Nina Project Community.” Eddie grins, sitting on the floor so that Steve can rest his head on his legs.

Eddie brushes some sweaty strands of hair away from Steve’s head with his fingers, “Don’t worry, Stevie. Everything will be fine.”

And if Eddie is still alive and he found a safe place to call home, maybe there’s still hope.

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tessa-liam · 1 month ago

Text

Royal Adventures

Season’s Scrambles

Chapter 2

Books: Choices, The Royal Romance Finale, Choices, The Royal Holiday

A Smoke & Mirrors Series Alternate Universe

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F! MC Riley Brooks-Rys

All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios

Series Inspiration: Royal Misadventures, Smoke & Mirrors series 1-shot

Series Premise: 12-year-old Crown Princess Eleanor Rys of Cordonia has officially started her Royal education. Tutors that had been personally selected by His Majesty King Liam Rys and Queen Riley Rys were set to begin her royal lessons, and her days were packed full. The young princess was a natural leader, and the King and Queen could not be prouder.

Royal Adventures Masterlist

Smoke and Mirrors Masterlist

Rating: M, not Beta'd-please excuse all errors

Category: On-going series, fluff

Warnings: swearing, drinking, sexual innuendo

Most Characters belong to Pixelberry Studios

Chapter Inspiration: National Lampoon’s ‘Christmas Vacation’

Katie Campbell – Theme Song 1989

Royal Adventures

Season’s Scrambles, chapter 2

Chapter Summary: Olivia invites the Royal Family, Leo & Amalas, Drake & Delaney, Alex Cossoy, Hana and Maxwell to the Dukedom of Lythikos to enjoy the winter season for the holidays. Ellie, along with Drake, Leo and Maxwell decide to have a sledding competition. In secret. Olivia and Ellie conspire to grease Maxwell's sled with a super slippery substance where his sled flies down the hill at an extremely fast speed.

A/N: My submission for King Liam Appreciation Week 2024, Day 1 - Baklava

A/N2: My submission for @choicesholidays, @angelascribbles -Week 5- Prompt: New Traditions

A/N3: My submission for Choices December 2024 Challenge, Prompts: 4-Traditions/5-Baking/8-Spices/21-Tree/26-Hot Chocolate/10-Snow, All I Want for Christmas is You (Mariah Carey)

@lilyoffandoms

Words: 2445

Lythokis Keep, Lythokis, Cordonia

Carefully laying out the phyllo dough, Riley hummed a Christmas tune as she started to layer the ingredients for Baklava for Liam. The sweet honey drizzle and cinnamon made her mouth water. The smell of his favorite dessert would draw him into the kitchens quickly. Luckily, he was off to fell a talon tree with Leo, Drake and Alex, having left at the crack of dawn, not expected to return until later in the afternoon.

"Baklava?" 12-year-old Ellie asked, as she watched her mother gleefully preparing her father’s favorite sweet treat. Sitting on the stool next to her mother, Ellie sighed, “I love Baklava,” looking longingly at the sweet confection.

"Of course you do," Riley chuckled, nudging her shoulder. "I'll try to save you some," as Riley continued to sprinkle chopped pistachios onto the dish.

"Thanks, Mom!"

"I want to lick the bowl." Stefan said, jumping up and down.

"No way!" William cried. "You always get to lick the bowl, Steffie."

"Stefan, you can't eat it all," Riley said, looking down at her youngest. "This is your dad's and he's going to be hungry after felling that tree."

"But I love baklava," Stefan pouted, his eyes tearing up.

Riley looked over at him, seeing the tears in his eyes. She knew that look anywhere.

"Stefan, no..." she warned.

"Please?" He begged.

She shook her head, chuckling.

"Go ahead."

"Yessss!" Stefan cheered, leaping into the air.

Riley grinned and finished placing the top layer. She took the pan and placed it into the oven.

"So," she said, turning to look at her children. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"Auntie Livvie invited Micaela and I to go sledding," Ellie said.

"Oh really? Okay, before you go, please help your brothers with their skates.”

"Sure, Mom," Ellie nodded agreeably.

Riley took a sip of her coffee and walked away to get herself dressed for the winter chill, leaving the kids to their own devices.

"Alright, boys," Ellie said, walking over to them.

"We wanna go sledding!" William whined.

"I'll help you get your skates on," she said. "Then you can go sledding."

"Promise?"

“Yes, I promise."

❄️❄️❄️

"Alright, boys," Maxwell said, standing in the middle of the ice rink with Hana and Amalas, holding his nephews' hands. "Are you ready to learn how to skate?"

"Yes!" Stefan yelled.

"No!" William cried. "It's cold out here."

"You won't even notice once you get started," Hana said, kneeling next to him.

"Really?"

"Trust me."

"Alright," William said, nodding.

"Come on, you two," Riley said, taking their hands.

"Mom," Ellie said, grabbing Riley's hand.

"Hmm?"

"When is Daddy coming back?"

"In a few hours, sweetie," she replied, rubbing her arm. "He should be done by lunch time."

"Ok."

"Now," Riley said, standing on the ice and taking the twins' hands. "Let's go."

"Wait," Stefan said, stopping.

"What's wrong?"

"How do we stay up?"

"Don't worry," Hana said, sliding next to him and taking his hand. "We've got you."

"I'm scared."

"Just relax and don't think about it," Maxwell said.

"Just like when you're walking," Riley added.

"Just don't fall," Stefan nodded warily.

"Stefan," William groaned, rolling his eyes. "Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"You'll jinx us."

"How would I-"

"Hey," Maxwell said, crouching in front of them. "Look at me. Do you know who I am?"

"You're Uncle Maxwell," Stefan nodded.

"Do you know that I'm not going to let you get hurt? Or your mom or your Aunt Hana?"

"No."

"And you trust me, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you have nothing to worry about," Maxwell said, winking at him.

"Okay."

"Good."

"I want to go with you, Auntie Hana!" Stefan said.

"Me too!" William cried.

"Ok, ok," Hana chuckled.

As the twins began to glde with Hana, Riley looked up at Maxwell and smirked.

"Race you."

"Oh, you're on, queen Riles," Maxwell said, smirking back.

They sped off across the ice, the kids squealing as they picked up speed. Amalas slid next to Hana, smirking.

"How much did you bet on this?"

"1000 euro," Hana smirked.

"Excellent."

Riley and Maxwell were neck and neck, their kids cheering from the sidelines.

"Last lap, Beaumont," Riley breathily laughed.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ri," he responded cheekily.

Riley laughed and sped up. She passed him and he tried to speed up as well but instead lost his balance and fell on his face. Riley burst into giggles, falling onto the ice, dramatically, as well. The twins cheered, hugging their aunt tightly.

"You beat Uncle Maxwell!"

"I told you, Mom's the best!"

"Thank you, thank you," Riley chuckled, bowing.

...Meanwhile, Olivia was preparing Maxwell's sled as Ellie watched closely.

"So, it's a secret sled?" Ellie asked. "What are you spraying on the bottom of the disk?

"This," Olivia said, holding up a can.

"What's that?"

"Graphite oil spray. It's not even for sale in the Capital. It's just something I had on hand."

"Nice," Ellie grinned.

"Now, we just spray it on the sled and ...voila."

"It's not gonna look too obvious, right?"

"Don't worry," Olivia said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He won't know until he's already halfway down the hill.... and by then, it will be too late."

"Perfect," Ellie said, clapping her hands together.

"Now, we go over the plan again."

"Exactly, good thinking." Olivia nodded.

"And if it works, we get to win the bet with uncle Leo and uncle Drake? And they will have to be our personal butlers for a week?

"Yup."

"But Uncle Drake and Uncle Leo will hate us forever."

"Oh ... not forever," Olivia chuckled. "Just until the next competition. And they won't win that either. They will not be pleased."

"This is mean."

"It's a bit mean," Olivia cackled.

"But I still think it's a great idea."

"Good. Now, let's go over the plan again."

❄️❄️❄️

As Liam, Leo and Alex was returning to the keep, the sun was setting and snow was falling gently from the sky. Riley and the kids were standing on the balcony of the grand suite, waiting for their arrival.

"Look, boys," Riley said, pointing down the path. "There they are."

"Where?" Stefan asked.

"Right there."

"Daddy!" William yelled.

Liam looked up, waving to them. Riley and the kids waved back, the kids jumping up and down.

"Daddy, Daddy!" They shouted.

Liam walked noticeably faster, the other adults quickening their pace to keep up. He made it to the stairs, climbing them two steps at a time. Once he reached the top, the boys ran and leapt into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"Hi, Daddy," Stefan said.

"Hi, boys," Liam chuckled. "Have you been good?"

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah, Daddy."

"I'm so glad."

"Did you have fun, Dad?" Riley asked, leaning against the rail.

"I did," he said, nodding. "Leo almost fell off a tree, but other than that, we had a lot of fun."

"Uncle Leo almost fell?"

"Yeah."

"That's hilarious!"

"You're telling me."

"Come on, boys," Riley said. "Let's give your father a break and get him some hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate!" They yelled, running down the hall.

"Ahhhh ... there is my beautiful bride." Liam placed a sweet kiss on her cheek as Riley wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I can't believe this will be our first year spending the holidays here since after our wedding ... and that was our first holiday as a married couple."

"What special traditions will you make this year, love." Liam wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I'm ready to make some new traditions with you."

"Oh yeah, I can't wait, love. So, what did you and the twins do while we were gone?" Liam asked.

"Went ice skating." Riley grinned.

"Oh really?"

"Maxwell taught the boys how to skate," Riley said. "He kept them occupied while Amalas, Hana and I had some girl time."

"Sounds like fun."

"It was. How was your time with the other men?"

"It was interesting," Liam chuckled. "Alex and Leo tried to make a tree fort, but Alex fell through the roof."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"So," she said, stepping closer to him. "Did you bring home the prize?"

"We did," he nodded. "A 20 foot talon tree."

"Excellent."

"Mm-hm," he murmured, leaning forward and kissing her.

"Come on," Riley said, taking his hand and pulling him to the hall. "Let's get you warmed up. I have a surprise for you."

"Ooh, what is it?"

"If I tell you, it's not a surprise, your Majesty."

"Fair point," Liam chuckled, following her down the grand staircase.

Once they were in the kitchen, Liam's eyes landed on the counter.

"Is that...?"

"Baklava," Riley said matter of factly.

"Really?"

"Really," she nodded and smiled coyly. "Made it this morning. Our new holiday tradition: freshly baked, homemade baklava."

"Oh, baby, you are the best," Liam sighed.

"I know," Riley giggled.

"Mom!"

Riley turned and saw her sons walking into the room.

"Daddy, do you want to come sledding with us?" William asked.

"Can't," Liam said, picking up a slice of baklava. "I've got business to take care of."

"Oh, please," Riley said, looking up at him. "Come play with us."

"You don't have to convince me," he chuckled, popping another bite into his mouth.

"Yay! Come on, Daddy!"

"Ok, ok," Liam laughed.

They put their jackets and boots on and walked outside.

Olivia, Ellie, Micaela and Alex were standing on top of a snow hill planning the race, surrounded by lots of freshly fallen snow. Drake, Maxwell, Hana Delaney, were chatting and drinking Lythikos nog. Leo and Amalas met Liam, Riley, William and Stefan to take them to watch the race.

"Are you ready?" Olivia called, looking down the hill.

"Bring it!" Drake yelled.

"Oh, you're gonna get it!" Ellie shouted.

"Alright, let's start this," Maxwell said, clapping his hands.

"Who's racing?" Maxwell asked.

"Me, you, Auntie Laney, and Uncle Drake," Ellie said, hopping up and down.

"Oh," Maxwell said. "Then it's three against one."

"Yeah," Olivia smirked. "I'm rooting for my niece."

"Same here," Amalas chuckled.

"Oh, boy," Maxwell groaned.

"You've got this, Ellie!" Micaela cheered.

"We'll win this," Delaney said.

"Suurre, you will," Drake said.

"Oh, we will," Ellie countered, nodding.

Alex placed the circular discs in a line, 10 feet apart for Ellie, Maxwell, Drake, and Delaney.

Olivia and Ellie looked at each other, smirking.

"On your mark," Alex said, "Get set. Goooooo!"

They pushed their sleds down the hill, the cold air hitting their faces. Olivia looked over and saw Maxwell's sled was flying down the hill, far ahead of the others. She and Ellie looked at each other, laughing.

"He's gonna crash," Ellie said.

"He's not gonna stop," Olivia chuckled.

"You're right," she sighed. "He's gonna wipe out."

"Hopefully he'll learn his lesson."

"What lesson?"

"Never bet against us," Olivia smirked.

"Yeah," Ellie chuckled.

As they neared the bottom of the hill, Olivia saw Maxwell's sled skid off the side, sending him flying into the air.

Maxwell was having a blast, the speed at which he was barreling down the hill was exhilarating.

"Woo-hoo!" He yelled. "I'm flying!"

"Not for long!" Ellie laughed.

"Huh?"

Suddenly, Maxwell's sled flew off the side, sending him tumbling into a snowbank.

"Maxwell!" Riley cried out, running to him.

"Ouch," he groaned.

"What happened?" Liam asked.

"I don't know. My sled just shot off the hill."

"He's fine," Riley said. "I'm sure it's not the end of the world."

"Yeah," Maxwell nodded.

"Oh, man," Ellie chuckled, nudging Olivia. "Good thing they can't prove anything."

"I agree," Olivia whispered.

"You are a bad influence, Liv" Riley said, noticing their devious expressions

"Maybe."

"Alright," Drake said, stepping next to the snowbank. "Who wants a turn?"

"I do!" Ellie cried, leaping into the snow.

Liam stepped up and stopped his daughter from lifting the fast disc.

"Ellie, hold on a second," Liam said calmly.

"Why, Daddy?"

"Because that's not a toy, and it's dangerous."

"I can handle it," Ellie said.

"You need to be careful."

"I will be."

"No, Ellie. Just use the slower sled."

"But-"

"I won't tell you again."

"Fiiinne," Ellie groaned, trudging over to the slower sled.

"You know, Li, you never used to be so strict," Leo said, stepping next to him.

"Well, times have changed."

"True."

"I can't risk her getting hurt."

"Of course not," Leo nodded. "But she's your daughter. She's gonna want to try new things and get out of her comfort zone."

"I'm aware."

"So maybe let her have a little more freedom. It's not going to kill her."

"I'll think about it."

"Good. But remember, we did a lot of stuff we shouldn't have when we were kids."

"Exactly.”

@choicesficwriterscreations @choicescommunityevents @kingliamappreciationweek @choicesholidays @choicesmonthlychallenge @choicesdecember2024 @choicesprompts

📌tags in the comments

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shiorimakibawrites · 2 months ago

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Day 25 - Older

Day 25 - Older Prompts: Day 25: “What's Wrong?�� + 23: Father {angst} Character: Matt Murdock Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader Word Count: ~560 Warning(s): Referenced canon character death, grief, mourning, drinking, mild swearing Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist

This was an one-shot written after random bit of inspiration one day. But now with art!

Older

Now, it wasn’t entirely unusual for you to turn on the lights and find Matt already home. He never used them when it was just him. Sometimes he flicked them on when he heard you coming up but other times he didn’t. You think he enjoyed making you jump with a startled ‘Matthew!’ when you hit the switch and found him standing right you.

Not tonight. Tonight, you found him sitting on the couch with his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. In one hand, he was holding a bottle of whiskey. He didn’t seem to have noticed your arrival, something that only increased your concern.

“Matty?” you asked. You had spoken softly but he still flinched like you had shouted. He lifted his head and you felt your concern turn to worry. His eyes were red, his cheeks stained with salt. He had been crying. “Matty, what’s wrong?”

He flinched again.

“D-don’t –,” he started, his voice thick with pain. “N-not that name. Please.”

“Okay,” you said, keeping your voice low. Sometimes when he was stressed, Matt experienced sensory spikes. Not always but that flinch implied this might be one of those times. Regardless, you tended to err on the side of caution. You came closer, torn between your desire to hug him and the knowledge that touch might be painful . . .

Qualms that Matt apparently didn’t share. He scooted over to the edge of the couch, dropping the whiskey bottle to the floor. Thankfully, it didn’t break. Just hit the wooden floor with a dull thud. Must have been the fancy one that Frank gave them as wedding present. This particular bottle had proven surprisingly resilient. But the bottle was put out of your mind in favor of the man wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face against your chest.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him against you more firmly. Then you slide one hand up to run your fingers through his hair. Matt usually found that soothing. Today was no exception. You felt some of the tension start to drain out of his muscles in his shoulders and back.

“Matt,” you said, lowering your voice even further. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid,” he muttered.

“I doubt that,” you said, massaging his scalp with your fingertips. “I doubt that very much. Anything that upset you this much isn’t stupid. Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that.”

A deep shuddering breath. “Today was my father’s birthday.”

You remembered. Matt had been a little melancholy this morning but he always was when Jack’s absence was especially painful. Like his or Matt’s birthday. The day Jack was killed. Holidays. The day of your wedding. You made a soft, encouraging sound.

“He should have been turning fifty-four this year. But he’s not. And I just . . . I just realized that I’m older than my father. I got to see thirty-three and he never did. Risk my neck almost every damn night and I’m alive. But he’s not. And it hurts.”

His voice broke on that last word and fresh tears begin to soak your shirt. You tightened your arms around him, wishing there was something you could say that could ease this pain. Anything that would make it all better. But there wasn’t. All you could do was hold him while he grieved.

#tuna tober 2024 #tuna tober prompt challenge 2024 #day 25 #daredevil #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock hurt/comfort #matt murdock angst #fan fiction #fan fic #repost #fan art #traditional drawing #colored pencils #color pencil

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risiblesamour · 15 days ago

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DOG DAYS ARE OVER Florence + the machine

« And I never wanted anything from you except everything You had and what was left after that too, oh »

« Leave all your love and your longing behind. You can't carry it with you if you want to survive »

« The dog days are over, the dog days are done »

#i feel like it’s kinda Patrick zweig coded #i want to write a song fic about ”dog days” being over for Patrick so the aftermath of the challengers lol #patrick zweig #artick #art donaldson #challengers #challengers canon #or not #challengers 2024 #challengers movie

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pastafossa · 4 months ago

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"Poor thing." (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) 🔥

So as promised, I'm taking part in the October Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day One I had three prompts to choose from, and I wound up going for the kink prompt of somnophilia cause, well, I'd hinted at it in TRT as being something Matt liked, but never actually sat down and wrote anything out for it. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me, but for now, please enjoy Day One! This is not specifically written as any fem!Reader in particular, although any readers of TRT can choose to see this as TRT's reader!

As a reminder, if you'd like notifications when I post something, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck. But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he?

Wordcount: 3.3k words

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: consensual somnophilia (they talked about this being fine, don't worry), oral f-receiving, grinding, PiV sex, some dirty talk. 18 and up only please!

Oh and we're black suiting this cause fuck yeah.

Your arousal hit him the second he opened the rooftop door.

The scent of it stopped him dead in his tracks, threads of heat winding through him as he drew in a long, slow inhale, savoring it. Another inhale, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure, his mouth already watering, cock stirring.

Well, that was one way to be welcomed home.

Not that he was complaining. His night had gone well enough—the fights visceral and satisfying, with multiple people he’d ensured would make it home safely. But your skin against his, fucking his way lazily inside you while you moaned loudly into his ear, dragging your nails down his back, would only make a good night better. However, as he eagerly stepped through the door and closed it behind him, it quickly became clear that your body’s call to him wasn’t exactly intentional.

He directed his senses down the stairs and into the bedroom, hunting through sensory information, through the fire of the world until he found you in bed. You were laying on your side and tucked under the blankets, one of your arms thrown over his pillow to hold it up against your chest. And despite the tempting scent of you in the air, you weren’t moving. Not really, anyway. At most, every now and then your fingers would twitch or curl, your heartbeat uneven and a little restless.

Asleep.

You were dreaming, then.

Maybe even dreaming of him.

He slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, considering his options.

But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he?

Just like that, he settled on a course of action.

He crept silently down the stairs, stripping out of his gloves and black mask as he went, tossing them aside without care for where they fell. The bottom step was carefully avoided, thanks to its tendency to creak and alert you to his presence. He stopped only long enough to kneel and quietly unlace his boots, tugging them and his socks off so that he could slip barefoot into the bedroom, weaving through the shadows, navigating around any floorboards that might give him away. He did it all without a sound, his senses so focused now he could hear the faint whisper of the dust motes in the air stirred by his passage, hear the tiniest shift of your skin against the sheets as you breathed, hear the blood flowing hot beneath your skin where you’d grown flushed and aroused.

The scent of your arousal was even stronger here in the bedroom, more than enough to thicken the heat inside him, an instinctive little purr halted in his throat before it could stir the air with sound. His body knew just as well as he did what that scent meant, what always followed, and his nostrils flared as he got closer to you, taking in how your pheromones had mixed with his in bed. It stirred some possessive, lazy satisfaction in him to take in the way you’d curled up with his pillow, chasing his scent, and you were even wearing—

Oh.

You were wearing his shirt.

It was like you were begging for this, for him, for what he had planned.

He crept up onto the bed on his hands and knees, each shift of the mattress followed by a pause, a confirmation from your heartbeat and breathing that you were still asleep. He had to be careful if he didn’t want to wake you. It wasn’t that you’d be angry, of course—you’d both agreed that this sort of thing was alright, though he’d had a far easier time making use of that agreement than you had thanks to his senses. No, this was about ensuring you still had a chance to rest.

Though, if he were honest, the challenge of this was a thrill all its own. It was a delicate balancing act to give you the sensations you needed, allow himself access to your body, all without waking you. It was as if he were hunting you, gradually gaining ground from the shadows until at last he could take hold of his prize. Fortunately, this prize was one that would leave you both satisfied.

The moment he found himself over your hips, he shifted to catch the blankets and slowly, ever so slowly began to edge them down.

Gentle.

Inch by inch, he bared your body to the air. You didn’t so much as stir, well and truly asleep, and presumably still caught up in your dream. Even so, he held his breath, listening closely to the beating of your heart and your shallow breathing. But he’d been careful enough, and besides, you were used to him climbing into bed in the middle of the night, shifting the blankets around as he crawled under them to join you.

The scent of you that rose up as the blanket slid down was so much richer now that it wasn’t stifled and trapped by thick fabric. It made him shiver, his cock already so hard he could feel a damp spot growing on the silk of his boxers. He needed more of that scent, and to taste it, too, but the angle was all wrong with you on your side. So he gently traced one fingertip up the side of your thigh, applying the barest hint of pressure. You were normally fairly responsive to him even in sleep.

“Roll over for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips, light as a feather, against your hip. “You smell so good. I need a taste.”

He wasn’t sure if it was his touch or his voice that made it past whatever dream you were lost in, but either way, some part of you heard him. You breathed out a soft sigh, twitching a little until he helped you roll slowly onto your back beneath him. You made a soft sound that might have been his name, and he couldn’t resist letting out a reassuring little croon as he pressed your slack thighs outwards, gradually parting your legs. There wasn’t so much as a hint of resistance as your legs fell open, baring the wet heat of your pussy to him.

God, your scent.

He quickly backed up a few inches before dropping to his hands and his knees, lowering his head just over your hips to quietly inhale the scent of your cunt. The rich, musky tang of your arousal—all pheromones and slick warmth—left him half mad, his eyes rolling back. His hips instinctively snapped forward against nothing but air, his body curving as if he were already fucking his way into you.

It only got worse, got better when he let his head fall further, hungry for just a taste. He slipped his tongue out until he could use the tip for the barest little lick at the line of your slit where your arousal had gathered, your body twitching as he did. Even that small taste hit him like a drug, and he swallowed down a ragged moan, his chest hitching as he kept the sound from reaching the air. He’d told himself he’d just have a taste, just one, but one quickly became two became three, hungry, quickening laps at your slit until he finally whined softly in want and dropped the rest of his body down, burying his face desperately against your cunt.

Your hips twitched, rocking against him just slightly, and you let out the softest little whimper as he grunted and slurped quietly at your slit, wetness smearing across his chin and mouth. Only once he’d thoroughly tasted what you’d made for him did he slide up to your clit, tongue extended to lap at it with little kitten licks, ones designed to encourage your body to give him more of your slick wetness, your body jerking with every pass. He tried to remind himself to be gentle, to take things soft and slow so you didn’t wake, but that was so hard when you whimpered again, whimpered as he pursed his lips to suck lightly at your clit, drawing it into his mouth to work with his tongue. Your fingers curled and released against the sheets, and you tasted so good that he found himself fucking against the mattress, humping mindlessly at the folds in the blankets like an animal.

“M… Matt.”

His eyes fluttered lazily open, his gaze drifting up around the sensory shape of you. You were all flowing air currents and sounds and scents, twisting tongues of flame fed by the growing heat of both your bodies. Your heartbeat was still too slow to signal you’d woken up, but your breathing had picked up, your eyes fluttering more rapidly behind your eyelids.

If you hadn’t been dreaming of him before, you were now. And if you were still dreaming, he was safe.

He rumbled a low noise of satisfaction, using his fingers to part your folds before dipping down to your entrance. Once there, he began to lick firmly at you, pressing deeper and deeper until at last your body opened to him and he slipped inside. You let out a sleep little mewl, one of your legs shifting restlessly in your sleep, your head rolling on your pillow as he moaned quietly, curling his tongue inside you to drag against the silken heat of your clenching walls, his nose grinding gently against your clit.

Did you know, somewhere deep down, what he was doing? That he’d spread you open like this and worked his tongue inside you? Or did all your dream self know was that you suddenly felt so, so good?

The very idea that you might not know, that you’d left yourself so vulnerable to him, had him dangerously close to coming, his motions growing just a hint more frantic. Wetness smeared across his face as he kissed sloppily at your slit, kissed at it like he might your mouth, snaking his tongue out to slide inside you with every pass of his lips.

He listened carefully to the quickening pace of your heart, your breathing, taking in the faint sheen of sweat forming on your skin. Every time your heartrate rose too high, he’d slow just a little, or shift his mouth over to your folds or the inside of your thighs. It was there he left you a mark or two, sucking gently at thin, delicate skin. Even if he managed to do this without waking you, you’d know tomorrow what he’d done when you saw the little love bites and bruises between your thighs. The very idea made him purr warmly against you, and he quickly worked his hand down beneath himself until he could undo his pants, pushing the fabric down until he could pull his hard cock free. He took a moment to grind slowly, deliciously against the sheets, presing his mouth to the skin of your thigh to muffle his hitched moan. And that reminded him of what he’d planned on from the start, before he’d become distracted by the taste of you.

He was close, and he needed you. Fortunately, based on the way your body had begun to tighten in increasing waves, you were close, too.

He let his head roll to the side to rest against your thigh as he panted, still grinding himself against the sheets. “Do you want my cock, sweetheart?” he whispered, his lips curling up into a delicious little smirk when your body clenched at the sound of his voice. “I think you do. Even when you’re asleep, you need me inside you, don’t you?”

There was no verbal response, but the growing heat of your skin was enough for him. He rocked himself up as gently as he could, stopping just long enough to strip the rest of his clothes off before climbing slowly up your body. As he went, he caught the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up your body with him. He couldn’t take it off you—even he wouldn’t be able to mange something like that—but he had no desire to. The idea of fucking you while you were sleep, while you were wearing his shirt, was a fantasy he’d used more than once while taking himself in hand. He did, however, tug your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts to him.

Obscene, something inside him whispered in delight, a wave of throbbing heat flooding through him. Here you were asleep, shirt pushed up over your breasts, your naked cunt practically dripping onto the sheets. He balanced his weight on one arm as he hovered over you, indulging himself as he palmed gently at one of your breasts, dragging his thumb slowly against your nipple. That won him another soft moan in your sleep, your cunt clenching, body tightening around nothing. Your next moan was even louder when he dropped his head to drag his tongue hotly against your other nipple, drawing it into his mouth to catch it gently between his teeth, sucking lazily until you let out an even louder moan, one of your hands curling as if to claw at the sheets before relaxing. “Poor thing,” he crooned quietly, reluctantly leaving your breasts to climb the rest of the way up your body. “Listen to you, so needy.”

And it would only be right to help with that, wouldn’t it?

Once his hips were level with yours, he settled in, rocking and grinding his cock gently against your slit, slicking himself up with your warmth and the saliva he’d left behind. The sudden sensation of your burning heat against the underside of his cock made his mouth fall slack, and he started to pant at the little shocks of pleasure that washed over him every time he caught the head of his cock against your clit. You weren’t much better even asleep, whining as your hips jerked, eyes rolling frantically beneath your lids. It took everything in him to keep his motions gentle and slow, no matter how much his body demanded he grind and rut, fuck his way desperately inside you even if it woke you. No. No, not when he was so close, his cock now slick and ready for you. He let out a shaky breath, burying his face against your warm throat, huffing in the scent of you as he shifted the angle and began to slide inside you, centimeter by warm, delicious centimeter.

“Fuck,” he whispered shakily, one of his hands fisting desperately in the sheets beside your head. “Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so good.”

God, you were tight, so close to coming that you were already clenching tight around him. That tightness forced him to move gradually, his progress slowed to a sinfully dangerous crawl, one that allowed him to feel every last twitch and shift of your body around his cock. It seemed designed to make him lose his mind when he was already this worked up. In a blink, he’d caught the fabric of your shirt in his teeth, stifling his hoarse, shaky moan, your shallow, hitched breathing a tantalizing whisper of sensation in his ear. It felt like it took hours, ages before he’d finally hilted himself inside you, buried in your slick heat.

He forced himself to still there for a long moment, his chest heaving as he scanned over you with his senses again.

Stuttered breathing, each breath hiding a faint moan.

The fluttering clip of your heart, just slow enough to indicate you hadn’t woken.

Your fingers clenching and releasing, spread thighs shifting in minute, restless movements against the sheets.

It wouldn’t take much more for him to come, he knew that much—the taste of you still lingered on his tongue, filled his nose, and the drag of your skin against his with every breath only left him burning. But he wasn’t a selfish lover, even when you weren’t awake to beg and plead with him for release. No, he’d make sure you got what you needed, too: his sweetheart, so tender and soft and welcoming to the Devil even in sleep.

He slowly, gradually settled his weight onto one arm, sliding his free hand down between your bodies. Even that much shifting around had him swallowing down a groan, and he couldn’t resist grinding just a little inside you. It made you twitch and whimper, hushed and breathless in his ear as he pressed his cock against that spot inside you. Once he was sure that hadn’t been enough to wake you, he quickly dragged two fingers through your folds, raking gently to gather up your wetness before he brought them back up to your clit. The rhythm he started was slow and easy, a gentle grind and loop over your clit that matched the rolling waves of his hips as he began to gently fuck you, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back to fill you once more.

It took him no time at all to work your body up that final hill, your breathing growing shorter, your heart rate climbing as you began to tighten around him. It helped that he knew what you needed—each retreat was slow and gentle, and he never left you more than halfway before rolling lazily back forward, ensuring your warm cunt stayed achingly full as he brought you just up to the edge. This time it was your mouth that moved, not a word but a soft whisper of skin as you parted your lips, your head tipping back. And he knew that motion, even as slack and lazy as it was in your sleep.

He purred quietly at the unconscious request that he fill you there, too, lifting his head to seek out your mouth. One soft lick against your lips and you parted them for him on pure instinct, allowing him to slide his tongue filthily into your slack mouth, dragging his tongue against yours, granting you what you’d asked for. You let out a soft sigh, your throat working beneath him as you sucked at the taste of him, of yourself, of you both.

All it took from there was one more finger grinding against your clit, a gentle buck of his hips as he moaned into your mouth, and you crested, your body tightening and releasing around him in rippling waves. Your head rolled back in your sleep, a soft gasp shuddering up your throat as you twitched and shook, eyes rolling back beneath your lids. You let out what might have been a moan of his name, hot and sweet, a sound that seared its way across his mind like a brand. That was more than enough for him, and he let himself go. He groaned softly against your lips, snapping his hips gently against you as he spilled himself near-silently inside you, filling your cunt with a spreading heat that you wouldn’t notice until morning. He kissed you through it as gently as he could, rubbing lightly, quickly at your clit to drag your orgasm out along with his, pleasure rolling through him in gentle waves. Even once you both began to come down, he wasn’t quite done, rumbling a low, possessive growl as he ground himself inside you further, ensuring he’d coated every last inch of your warm cunt, his, you were his, even in sleep. He toyed with that overstimulation just long enough for his toes to curl, for his spent, softening cock to twitch inside you, spilling a few more drops, giving you everything he had as you drifted back down into a deep sleep.

Satisfied with what he’d given you.

He got one arm down and around your hip, gently, carefully rolling the both of you until you were both on your sides, his cock still buried deep inside you. He rumbled a low noise to reassure your sleeping mind, burying his nose in your hair as you sleepily curled into him, one arm draping itself over his waist.

“Love you,” he murmured. “My good girl.” “Mm.”

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lady-divine-writes · 1 month ago

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"Taking the Plunge" (Rated M)

On their first day in Vail, on the last-minute vacation of a lifetime, Blaine has come up with a surprise for his husband that's equal parts horrifying and confusing. (1461 words)

Read on AO3.

"Tell me why..."

"Ain't nothin' but a heartache..."

"Stop that," Kurt snaps.

"Oh, uh..." Blaine bites his lips together, stifling a giggle. But more importantly, stifling the next verse of the song. "Sorry."

Kurt breathes in, cold air shooting straight to his lungs and freezing them solid. 'This is it,' he thinks, shivering so hard his body vibrates, scooting him a foot to the left against his will. 'This is how I die. I become a human popsicle. Maybe they can preserve me, revive me in the future. God...' He glances up at the dreary sky, his view obscured by his bangs, holding their height remarkably well against the blistering breeze. 'I hope my hair keeps up.'

When they had arrived in Vail and checked in, Kurt immediately threw on his swimsuit at Blaine's request. Personally, he'd been excited to get the debauchery started! It had been too long since they'd taken a proper vacation. Yes, they live alone together and can have sex freely on every piece of furniture they own. But there was something about taking their carnal escapades to a different locale that got Kurt's blood pumping.

What can he say? He loves to travel.

After Kurt suited up, Blaine tossed him his parka and boots, then ushered his husband past the cozy lodge, with its heated mineral spring pools and five-star restaurant, to this foreboding body of black, ice-filled water. They'd stopped at the banks, joining a swimsuit-clad group already gathered and intent on jumping in. Kurt thought Blaine had dragged him there for a laugh - watch the tourists freeze their asses off before they themselves retreated to the soothing waters inside.

It horrified Kurt to no end that Blaine looked eager to take the plunge, too.

When they had planned this vacation together on their sofa in Manhattan, Blaine made no mention of participating in the Arctic Dip. But that must have been his plan all along.

Surprise!

Kurt didn't think he could find a place colder than Ohio in December.

Staring into the water in front of him, ice bobbing at the surface, he knows he's about to be proven wrong.

Everything from his nuts to his nose shrivels at the thought.

"Explain to me again," Kurt starts over, choosing his words carefully so as not to stumble upon the lyrics of another catchy boy-band earworm, "why we're about to do this."

Blaine claps his hands together, rubbing them hard to warm them, and beams ear to ear. "Because it's exhilarating!"

"Your definition of exhilarating and my definition of exhilarating are vastly different then." Kurt pulls his parka tighter around him, attempting to trap whatever heat he has left underneath. It pains him to do it, though. He is certain he has pulled most of the seams loose by now.

A group of older, less dressed gentlemen stroll by as if it's a sunny spring day and not 80 degrees below, laughing at their own jokes and nodding at Kurt and Blaine as they pass. Blaine politely adverts his eyes.

"At least we're wearing bathing suits," he kids.

"Speedos. Which you had me pack under false pretenses."

"No! No false pretenses!" Blaine pleads, hoping his plans haven't lost him access to his husband in a Speedo for the rest of their trip. "They're for the jacuzzi in our suite. I swear."

"Which we haven't even seen yet! You dragged us straight here!"

"We want to take the plunge with everyone else! Before the ice melts!"

"Do we, though?" Kurt whines.

"Yes! This is the highlight of this resort! That's why I chose it! I've been looking forward to this!"

Kurt scowls. "O-kay. If you want to do this, fine. But why can't I wait on the sidelines with a sherry and a smile?"

"Because it's a bucket list item. And we do bucket list stuff together."

"But it's on your bucket list. Not mine. Nowhere on my bucket list does it say freeze my balls off!"

"I was hoping you'd do this with me as a favor? Be supportive of my eccentricities?"

Kurt tilts his head at Blaine, carefully examining his suddenly sullen spouse. "Why do you sound embarrassed about that?"

"Because it's..." Blaine chews his lower lip, trying to avoid the inevitable reveal. But he can't. He can't put this confession off any longer. "It's a... mid-life... bucket list item."

Kurt turns fully towards his husband, eyebrow arcing sharply. "You have your bucket list divided into age groups?"

"More like milestones."

"And you can't just dye your hair blond and buy a Ferrari like everyone else?"

"You mean like my dad? And my brother? Who got it into their heads that married life was holding them back, so they messed up the best things that ever happened to them?"

"I... guess," Kurt says, softening even though every outward inch of him has become rock solid.

"Yeah, well at least they waited a few decades, right? As opposed to me, who started in high school." Blaine chuckles bitterly. "Coop always said I was an overachiever."

Kurt sighs, releasing his death grip on his cramping elbows, and takes his husband's hands. "Honey, where is this coming from?"

"I don't know," Blaine murmurs. It's a knee-jerk answer but it's also a lie. He does know. They both do. Or, at least, Kurt can guess. It was either the invitation they received to Cooper's second wedding to his second wife, taking place in June (only a month after his second divorce from wife number one finalizes... the wife Blaine loves and adores like a sister) or the heads-up from Blaine's mom that his dad, who came back a year ago to joy and revelry all around, is eloping with his secretary.

His 20-year-old secretary.

Blaine's mom broke the news to Blaine over the phone at three in the morning, hysterically crying and sloppy drunk.

But it could also be the out-of-the-blue Facebook friend request Blaine got from Eli, their favorite lighthouse. Blaine had blocked the man on everything he could think of, so to see his name and picture pop up (real picture this time) had thrown Blaine for a loop.

He almost deleted his account.

Either way, that was a ton of emotional baggage for Blaine to deal with all at once. It's ninety percent of the reason why they packed their bags last minute and ran off to Vail. Blaine couldn't face spending the holidays with his family this year.

He wouldn't even know whose house to go to.

Kurt was fine with it. His family had headed off on another Country Music Christmas Cruise. Sure he missed his dad, his stepmother, and his stepbrother.

But Kurt had never declined an invitation so fast.

He had nothing against country music. He did have an issue with being trapped in the middle of the ocean with twenty-five Bluegrass bands and nothing to eat but BBQ for two weeks. Kurt and his father were going to have to have a serious conversation about his cholesterol when the man came back to terra firma.

Blaine shivers for the first time since they've been out here, and Kurt wonders if he's finally feeling the bite in the wind, or if it's from something else.

Something frozen deep inside, so cold that ice water is actually warm enough to melt it.

Kurt looks down at the still water, abyssal black and straight out of a horror flick, then back at his husband, eyes downcast to the snow, lips turning a subtle shade of blue. Kurt knows Blaine is rethinking this decision, and normally Kurt would encourage that. But this time doing what Blaine wants, what he needs, is more important than Kurt's comfort.

And possibly his health.

"Okay, okay. I'll do this with you," Kurt says, abandoning the escape plan he had been brewing in his brain - the one where he takes a step back as his husband leaps forward and books it for the lodge - and embraces the numbing cold. "Because you're my husband, and I love you."

Blaine peeks up at his husband and smiles, a small ray of sunshine in this oppressive chill. "Thank you, Kurt." He considers adding, 'You won't regret this,' after, but he has to be real.

Kurt regrets it already.

"But whatever happens," Kurt says, unzipping his jacket quickly like ripping off a bandaid, "you are responsible for warming me up, whatever that entails, and for however long it takes. Deal?"

Blaine's shy, apologetic smile transforms.

It becomes wolfish.

Through chattering teeth and hard-pinched lips, Kurt's flirtatious tone managed to squeeze its way back into his voice.

Perhaps Blaine hasn't lost access to his husband in a Speedo after all.

Now he has to work to keep it that way.

"Deal."

#december klaine fanworks challenge 2024 #klaine advent 2024 #klaine fic #day 13: supportive

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wowbright · 5 days ago

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Chapter 21: Picture, Again

Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU for december klaine fanworks challenge. Also on AO3.

~~~

Blaine was warming up on the ice. He looked even more stunning as he moved than Kurt had anticipated, the costume highlighting the strength of his thighs, its blue bringing out the glossy blackness of Blaine's hair, the flared openings of the sleeves and ankles fluttering like wings as Blaine flew over the ice.

Sue was standing next to Kurt, scowling. Her hands gripped the railing. “I thought we were on the same page, Porcelain,” she said without looking at Kurt, her eyes fixed on Blaine.

“I know you usually prefer a more fitted sleeve, but I think—”

“I’m not talking about the costume. Your eye for design is flawless, as usual.” It didn't sound like a compliment. Sue’s tone was bitter. “But your behavior isn’t. You've gone against our agreement. You told me you'd keep your distance, and then the two of you come waltzing in this afternoon like Torvill and Dean.”

“I didn’t say I’d keep my distance. I said I wouldn't be a problem. And I won't.”

“Ha! You're getting him all hot and bothered for you, when what I need him to be hot and bothered for is winning. Cool off.”

“Maybe cooling off isn't what Blaine needs.” Kurt meant it factually, logically—a simple expression that people need different things at different times, and sometimes what they need is not what you expect. But the phrase cooling off triggered the thought of heating up, and then the sensation of Blaine’s chest against the back of his thighs, warmth radiating off his skin and into Kurt’s muscles, and the flames of desire spreading from Kurt’s center through his body, leaping from his fingers and toes back into Blaine, flickering up Blaine’s torso and neck and into his face, his eyes clenching with the heat of his orgasm, his muscles stiff, his mouth hanging open from an ecstasy so brilliant it was almost too much to bear, and again that same face this morning, impossibly intense and as clear as a picture, Kurt clinging to Blaine’s hips as he drove into him as deep as their bodies would allow, driven to madness by Blaine’s cries of yes yes I need you, I need your cock, give it to me Kurt, love me with your gorgeous gorgeous cock, oh yes oh yes love me, love me Kurt, love me with your big cock, I love your cock, I love, I love, I love—

“You played with his poodle, didn't you?” Sue wasn't watching Blaine anymore. She was glaring at Kurt, shooting arrows from her eyes.

They bounced off him like raindrops. “I don't know what you mean,” Kurt lied. He was starting to get the hang of Sue’s strange way of speaking. But he refused to acknowledge what was none of her business. “Blaine doesn’t have any pets. He travels too much.” Kurt turned back toward the rink, toward Blaine. “Speaking of distractions, shouldn't you be paying attention to him? He's about to start.”

Blaine was standing in the center of the ice now, the other skaters cleared from the rink. His head was bowed. His chest expanded as he inhaled deeply. He looked up and his eyes met Kurt’s. It was only for a brief moment, but Kurt felt a new kind of energy crackling between them. It wasn’t sexual—or if sex was part of it, it wasn't at the forefront. It was a new flavor of connection, an exchange of pride and hope and joy.

“You're distracting him again, Porcelain.”

Kurt didn't let the smile drop from his face. “Your harassing me is going to distract him. Stop scowling and give him a thumbs up.”

To Kurt’s surprise, she did exactly that as the music started up.

Blaine was beautiful. Of course he was. And it wasn't just Kurt’s hormones talking. It was objectively true. Kurt could see it in the faces of the skaters and coaches on the other side of the rink. He could hear it in the way Sue was breathing. Kurt had seen this routine before, but he'd never seen this level of passion in it. It looked effortless, almost as if it wasn't Blaine moving across the ice and through the air, but like they were the ones carrying him along: a bird catching the updraft.

“Goddammit,” Sue muttered under her breath when the music stopped and Blaine stood triumphantly at the center of the ice, beaming at the two of them. “That might be the best I've ever seen him.”

Kurt hooted and hollered and clapped as Blaine skated toward them. As soon as his blade covers were on, Blaine kissed Sue on the cheek and tackled Kurt, hugging him so tightly he almost lifted him off the ground.

Kurt watched as Blaine sat down to take his skates off and Sue hovered over him. They were murmuring back and forth in that secret way coaches and athletes have with each other. Kurt watched Blaine’s face for signs of conflict, but he just kept nodding and smiling—genuinely, his eyes alight—and Sue was smiling too.

~~~

The whispering continued as Kurt accompanied Blaine to the locker room. Kurt wondered if Sue was planning to follow Blaine in, like she often had back at the Olympic Training Center. Kurt wouldn’t love that; with Blaine’s meetings this afternoon and the opening ceremonies tonight, this was Kurt’s last chance to be alone with him today. Still, Kurt wasn't going to protest. Blaine was here to win medals, not to be on a honeymoon with Kurt.

Sue slapped Blaine’s back with a parting finality as they approached the locker room. “Remember, we meet in less than an hour with the rest of the team to go over strategy. Be there early.”

Blaine nodded. “Of course, coach.”

“And Porcelain—” She caught Kurt’s elbow. “—I need to talk to you for a sec.”

“Can it wait? I need to help Blaine with the costume.”

“It’ll only be a minute.”

Kurt looked at Blaine for rescue, but Blaine only nodded—reassuringly, but still—before disappearing into the locker room.

“Sue, I don’t want to fight over—”

“Shh, Porcelain.” She pressed her index finger to Kurt's lips. Wow. This woman knew no boundaries. “I've spent the last two years giving Blaine my blood, sweat, and tears, trying to get him back to performing the way he did today. Jean—my sister—she kept telling me that maybe it was Blaine’s time to retire, that his body was done and could only go downhill. But I knew she was wrong. The problem wasn't physical. It was in his head. I did everything I could to put the fire back in him. You couldn’t expect me to just stand by and watch you ruin the tiny bit of progress we’ve made—”

“But I haven’t. You said yourself—”

“Shut up. I’m not done. Every man Blaine has dated, I have hated down to my core. Well, except for the one that tragically turned out to be straight. He was willing to put up with the kind of sacrifices an exceptionally talented person needs to make in order to succeed. He understood that, ultimately, there was only one person who could define Blaine’s purpose in the world.”

Kurt nodded in understanding. “Blaine himself.”

“No. Me. Sue Sylvester. That’s what made the others such losers. They didn't get that Blaine was put on this earth to obliterate the competition. And they made Blaine forget it, too. So you'll understand if I wasn’t happy with your blossoming romance. I'm used to him falling for guys who care more about what they want out of Blaine than what he was born to do. Who suck the life and creativity out of him. But you’re not like the others. If you were, he wouldn't have skated the way he did today. You, Porcelain, are not a leech.” Her voice was never gentle, but on this last sentence, it became more gentle than Kurt had ever imagined it could be. She set her hand on Kurt’s shoulder the same way she did when congratulating Blaine on a good job.

“I don't know how you did it,” she continued. “Whether it was your costumes or your ethereal good looks or biting charm or your penis. But whatever it was, you reminded Blaine of who he is. His fire is back. I envy your power.”

“It wasn’t my—” No. Kurt was not going to legitimize her mentioning his penis by repeating the word. “Those feelings have always been inside of him. I didn't create that.”

“Of course you didn't. I did. But he’d buried them deep enough that I couldn't pull them to the surface anymore.”

Obviously, Sue was deluded in thinking she’d created Blaine’s sense of self. But in terms of his skating, she had done something just as important. “You’re the one who’s kept him going all these years, Sue. You pushed him to get better even when he didn’t care. He told me. And there's no way I could do that. If he looked at me with those sad puppy dog eyes and told me he didn't feel like doing something, I’d surrender in a split second.”

Sue shook her head. “That much is apparent. Even my threatening you with a kitty cat failed to fortify you against the power of those amber orbs. Good thing I'm immune to emotion.”

“I still don't understand how the kitty cat thing is a threat.”

Sue looked Kurt up and down, her eyebrows scrunching together as if she were trying to assess his sincerity. “Really? You don't seem like someone who would be that slow on the uptake.”

“Really.”

She leaned in and lowered her voice, as if sharing a powerful secret that could be misused in the wrong hands. “Porcelain, you're obviously someone who likes to be in control. But you can't be in control with a kitty cat. The kitty cat controls you.”

~~~

“What did Sue want to talk to you about?” Blaine asked when Kurt found him in a secluded corner of the locker room, the closest human off in the showers singing “Part of Your World” from The Little Mermaid in a language that sounded like German, still far away enough that Kurt only caught half the tune. Blaine turned so Kurt could unfasten the zipper hidden in a back seam.

“You don't know?”

“Not really. I mean, I figured she wasn't going to eat you alive, or I wouldn't have left you out there alone. But she didn't tell me what she was going to say.”

“She didn't eat me alive. I think she gave us her blessing?”

Blaine’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Well, she said I'm not a leech, and I haven’t gotten in your way. Those are compliments coming from her, right?”

“Glowing ones.”

“And she seems to think I’ve helped you get your fire back.”

“You have.” Blaine’s voice was soft and full of conviction. He blinked, his mascara-heavy eyelashes fluttering pleasantly as he peeled off the top of the suit, revealing his broad shoulders and the various bundles of back muscles that were merely an undifferentiated mass in most people. “In more ways than one.”

Kurt wanted to plant a line of kisses from Blaine’s eyelids to his neck and across that beautiful back. But this wasn't the place for it. Instead, he held a sleeve in place so Blaine could wriggle his elbow free. “I can't take that credit. I'm glad to be of service, of course, but the talent and the vision and the work you've put in—that's all you, Blaine.”

Blaine met Kurt’s eyes. His own were filled with steady conviction. “Maybe both things are true. Maybe it all comes from inside of me, and maybe knowing you helps me express it. Maybe the sum of us is greater than its parts.”

Kurt's heart swooped. Seriously. How had Blaine ever thought he was bad at romance?

Kurt's body buzzed with it, urging him to curl his hands around Blaine’s jaw and press him against the locker with his kisses, convey them both back to the deep intimacy they had known in his hotel room.

Instead, Kurt sank to his knees to begin gently peeling the costume further away, uncovering the tops of Blaine’s statuesque buttocks. It didn't lessen his desire, but it gave him something else to do with his hands.

“She said something to me, too,” Blaine said. “She likes you.”

Kurt scoffed. “I think that's going a bit far.”

“No, really. I mean, those weren't the words she used, of course, because she's Sue. But she does.”

“What exactly did she say?” Kurt wasn't sure he actually wanted to know, but he needed something to distract him from the incredible muscularity of Blaine’s glutes and thighs and the memory they evoked of their intimacy this morning, when those muscles squeezed around Kurt as Blaine rode him, murmuring praise to Kurt and his cock, wringing unimaginable pleasure from both their bodies.

“Um … I'm not sure me repeating the words would be helpful. A lot of what Sue says gets lost in translation.”

“You realize that saying that only makes me want to know even more.”

“Okay, but—” Blaine rested his hand on Kurt’s shoulder for balance as he stepped out of the costume, leaving him a naked Adonis except for the dance belt covering his genitals and splitting his buttocks into two perfectly risen buns. “—it's going to sound crass. But for Sue, it's a ringing endorsement.”

“You’re not getting out of this.”

“Fine.” Blaine grabbed a towel and modestly wrapped it around his waist before removing his dance belt, a courtesy that felt simultaneously merciful and cruel to Kurt. “She said she knew we were ‘making the beast with two backs’ but she wouldn't hold it against us if I kept performing like that.”

“Wow. Ringing.”

“It's a lot better than what she said back in Colorado Springs.”

“And what was that?”

“Nothing bad about you. Just more ridiculous. She was worried about us getting together before the Olympics because your testosterone might show up on my doping tests and get me in trouble.” Blaine giggled and rolled his eyes. Kurt was used to people who rolled their eyes having disgusted expressions on their face, or at least disapproving ones. But Blaine’s expression looked almost fond.

“What? That doesn't make sense.”

“Nope. But apparently she thinks semen is an illicit testosterone-containing substance and the testosterone somehow enters the bloodstream?”

Kurt burst out laughing. “Ah! So that's the real reason the Olympic Committee hands out condoms.”

“Apparently. I honestly think that was her main concern about us. Well, that and she thought you were the reason I forgot about that meeting on your last day there, even though I explained to her it was the stress of …” Blaine hesitated. “Of all the media interviews that day. Otherwise, I think she’s liked you from the start. You're the only guy I’ve dated she’s called handsome, unless you count Jesse. And all her nicknames for you are based on her favorite fictional characters and celebrity crushes.”

“Which one of those is the Pillsbury Doughboy?”

Blaine shrugged. He looked so comfortable, standing there in nothing but his skin and a tiny towel and sweat-damp swirls of dark hair across his chest and trailing down his limbs while Kurt was covered neck to toe in textiles. “Not sure, but she and her sister have been collecting the figurines since they were little. They have a case full of Pillsbury Doughboy collectibles in their house right next to the trophy case.”

“That … is not something I would have guessed.” Kurt looked down at the costume, paying attention to the way he was folding it as much to distract himself from Blaine’s gorgeous body as to protect the fabric from damage.

“She's often mentioned his stunning blue eyes. Maybe that's why you remind her of him.”

“And here I thought it was because I was pasty.”

“You're not pasty. You’re …” Blaine traced a finger along Kurt’s jaw, coaxing Kurt to look away from the costume and into Blaine’s beautiful brown eyes. “Alabaster and coral.”

“You're not allowed to flatter me when you’re naked except for a towel around your waist and there’s nothing I can do about it because we’re in a semi-public locker room.”

“I wish we weren’t, though. I could go for an encore of this morning. I’m going to miss you so much tonight.”

Kurt glanced over his shoulder before pressing a quick kiss to Blaine’s lips. “When the competition is over, we can shut ourselves in a hotel room for a week and do nothing but that.”

Blaine smiled. “Sounds better than a gold.”

~~~

Kurt loved a spectacle, so the opening ceremonies were right up his alley: floating landscapes, a flying girl, a choir of hundreds of singers in traditional garb ascending from the clouds. Kurt tucked his opera glasses back into his coat pocket and snatched the binoculars from Sebastian’s lap. He needed something more powerful to pick out the details of the singers’ costumes. Each was made of white fabric with gold trim, but every single one was different—different hats and headgear, different cuts and lengths, some with bibs or aprons and others without, each decorated in elaborate patterns sewn by hand. The costume budget must have been massive.

Kurt would have been enjoying himself even more if Blaine were there, explaining what the heck the floating armada and flying volcano had been about. Kurt knew little about Russian history beyond what he’d learned when costuming for Chekhov’s Three Sisters and studying Soviet realism in design school. For each cultural reference that confused him, he knew there were dozens more he wasn't even noticing.

“Do you understand any of this?” Kurt asked.

Sebastian looked up from his phone. He had been glued to it since before the start of the ceremony. That was the life of a manager, Kurt supposed—always on the phone, texting and sending emails, arranging appearances and interviews and lunches and who knew what else. It was getting close to midnight in Sochi, but it was still prime working hours in the United States.

“The Russian landmass is fifty percent permafrost,” Sebastian said. “I think that's what the snow is about.”

“Very helpful,” Kurt said.

When Putin got up to speak, Kurt took the opportunity to check his vibrating cell phone. It was Blaine, who was waiting somewhere in the wings of the stadium and apparently had no interest in paying attention to Putin either. I can't wait until you see our uniforms. They will astonish you.

In a good way or a bad way?

You’ll find out!

Blaine was right. The outfits did astonish Kurt—with their hideousness. Ralph Lauren had been going down the tubes for a while, but this was abominable: saggy white athletic pants; a sweater covered with so many letters, numbers, flags, and logos it looked like a race car; and knit caps whose only saving grace was their size prevented the same excess of symbols that plagued the sweaters.

“Are you going to give me back my binoculars?” asked Sebastian.

“Nope. I’m trying to find my boyfriend,” Kurt said, not lowering the binoculars from his face as he reached into his pocket to retrieve the opera glasses and hand them to Sebastian. “You snooze, you lose.”

“I'm not sure why I thought Blaine’s influence would turn you into a nicer person.”

“It hasn't turned you into a nicer person, has it?”

“No. But I'm not sleeping with him.”

“Oh! There he is! Next to the giant!”

Blaine was cute as ever despite the abominable uniform, waving out to the crowd with a huge smile on his face as he walked between an equally bubbly Sam to his right and, to his left, Mike Chang with a ponytailed Kitty Wilde on his shoulders. She was holding her smartphone up to record the crowd, panning up and down the rows of seats, when she suddenly stopped, lowered her phone, and waved vigorously at Kurt and Sebastian before leaning over to pat the top of Blaine’s head and point him in their direction. He found them and his smile got even wider. He balanced on his toes and waved energetically.

“There's something wrong with these opera glasses. It looks like Blaine is having some sort of fit.”

“He's waving, dumbass.”

“And now he's blowing kisses! Let’s hope Putin doesn't arrest him for that.”

“Seriously, Sebastian. Do you have to ruin everything?”

“Yeah, sorry, that was … not funny. I only said it because I don't think there's any risk of him getting arrested for that. Does that make it any better?”

Kurt ignored Sebastian and watched Blaine turn the corner of the track. Blaine's back was to him now, but Kurt could catch the side of his face when he turned to the side with more waving and kiss-blowing.

“Ooh, Kurt,” Sebastian hissed dramatically. “You might want to look away. He’s blowing kisses to Billie Jean King now. Do you think he’s turned straight? Ow, the betrayal.”

“Oh no, a figure skater blowing kisses to members of the general public,” Kurt deadpanned. “Totally slutty and out of character. I'm devastated.”

Sebastian chuckled. But when Kurt turned to look at him, he saw that Sebastian was not laughing over what Kurt had said. He was looking at his phone again, grinning like the Cheshire cat as he thumbed a message into the screen.

~~~

Sebastian's texting went on through the entire opening ceremonies. Kurt loved his phone as much as the next person, but he was at least trying to enjoy the show. Besides, it wasn't like he could be constantly texting Blaine. It would look bad if, every time a rogue television camera landed on the section of the stadium holding the members of Team USA, Blaine was staring at his phone screen like a bored teenager. Meanwhile, Sebastian was thumbing something into his phone every five minutes. There was no way it was all work, because at least half the time, it was accompanied by the kind of giggling Kurt associated with chatting about celebrity crushes with Rachel and Mercedes in high school.

“I don't understand why you wanted to go to the opening ceremonies at all if you're going to spend the whole time on your phone,” Kurt said on the way back to their hotel. It was a rental car, and Sebastian was driving.

“I wasn't planning to be on my phone the whole time. It just … happened.”

“Work emergency?” Kurt knew that wasn't the answer, but sometimes guessing the wrong thing was the best way to get Sebastian to tell you the truth. Wrong impressions were like pebbles in Sebastian’s shoes. He had to get rid of them or they would drive him crazy.

“No.” Sebastian chewed on his bottom lip. “I … Okay, if I tell you, you have to promise not to be super gay about it. Because I'm driving, and that would be distracting.”

“What do you mean by ‘super gay’?”

“You know. Dramatic. Shrieking like a little girl.”

“Oh, Sebastian. Do we have to have another talk about internalized homophobia?”

“Just promise, okay?”

“I promise not to shriek like a little girl. I don't promise to not be super gay though.”

“Whatever. I … I met someone.”

Kurt inhaled sharply. He kind of wanted to shriek, or at least yell What? extremely loudly. But he had made a promise. “When? Wasn't it like, a week or two ago when you were crying in my hotel room about—”

“I thought we agreed to never mention that again.”

“You said not to mention it to other people, not you.”

“Fine. And yes, since then. Yesterday, to be exact. Or maybe this morning, if you want to be technical about it?”

“You met him last night and you already want to have kids with him?”

“I didn't say that! I just said ... I met someone. Who is interesting and that I actually like to talk to even when we're done fucking. I mean, usually after I have sex with someone I'm through with them, at least until the next time I want to have sex—”

“And you wonder why I never slept with you.”

“—but this guy … I wasn’t hurrying to leave the room. And it wasn’t just because you and Blaine were doing God knows what in our suite. It was … I don't know how to describe it. Like, the noise that's usually crowding my head was gone. I wasn't thinking about work or the things I would need to do today or going through a point-by-point postgame breakdown to compare him to my previous fucks or glean learning points for my arsenal of future sex strategies.”

“Were you high?”

“No! I wasn't high! I don't do drugs when I'm traveling in authoritarian states.”

“Just thought I'd check.”

“And he kept looking at my face, and I admit, I do have a great looking face, but usually it's weird to look at each other's faces too much when you're having sex—”

“It is?”

“—but it didn’t feel weird. Which was weird in itself. It was weird and it should have been a total turn off—”

“Really?”

“—but it just felt ... what's the word?”

“Good?”

“Something like that. So I … I stayed. And I fell asleep. And when I woke up he asked if I wanted to have breakfast, and I … I said yes. I've never said yes to breakfast. And I went back to our suite to change, which gave me the perfect opportunity to stand him up, but did I stand him up? No. Because I … I wanted to talk to him. How crazy is that?”

“For you? It sounds pretty crazy.” Since Kurt had met Sebastian half a lifetime ago, he had come to rely on the fact that, no matter how many months or years passed between them seeing each other, Sebastian never changed. Now, suddenly, Sebastian was changing. Kurt wasn't sure what to do with that. “So, are you going to tell me anything about this guy? What makes him so magical?”

“No. I don't want to curse it. Not that there's much to curse. I mean, I've known him for less than twenty-four hours. And he lives on this side of the pond. I'll be lucky if this lasts the full two weeks of the games.”

“Still, that's new for you, wanting something to last even that long. You're a different man than the one I thought you were, Sebastian Smythe.”

“That goes for both of us.”

#december klaine fanworks challenge 2024 #day 16: picture #wowbright writes fic #Figureskating!Blaine/designer!Kurt Olympics AU #klaine fanfiction

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esilher · 2 months ago

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Art: @esilher Fic: @mynonah Thank you so much @bossymarmalade for the quick beta reading! <3 You can read it on AO3

Winter Magic (Part 1)

“I think we have a problem with one of our customers, Boss.” Santana said to Blaine with a wry smile, leaning against the counter next to him. All the people waiting in line had finally been served and there was no one at the counter. Blaine continued to wipe the coffee machine without looking up at Santana.

“What do you mean?” He asked, although he wasn’t particularly bothered. Santana always had a problem with someone. She was an excellent worker, of course, otherwise Blaine wouldn’t have hired her to work in his coffee shop. Even though her attitude and manners could use some improvement...

“It’s Kurt.” Santana informed him.

“Kurt?” Blaine turned to Santana with a puzzled look on his face.

“Oh, come on!” She groaned. “You know exactly who it is. I’ve been watching you drool over him for months.”

“That’s not true, Santana.”

“You practically push me aside every time you see him waiting in line.”

Blaine gave Santana a disapproving look. “Do I have to remind you who pays your salary?”

“Your only condition was that I couldn’t be rude to the customers. Do you know how hard that is? But you’re not paying me to be blind.”

“Maybe I should.” Blaine retorted sharply.

Santana rolled her eyes. “Whatever. The point is,” she leaned closer, “there’s something wrong with him. You don’t think his orders are... strange?”

Yeah, well, Blaine thought... Some would call it strange. Blaine noticed it too, of course he did. He’d seen Kurt in his coffee shop before. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a very loud brunette. Yes, he remembered him clearly. Because regular customers were important for the business and because he was a good observer. Not because the guy looked gorgeous and always smiled so warmly at Blaine...

But for a while, Kurt had been coming in every day shortly after opening and always asking for the same thing. Their Winter Magic aka Rudolph’s Favorite specialty coffee, one of Blaine’s best-selling seasonal creations. He also asked for an espresso in a large paper cup and a glass of hot water. About 20 minutes later, he would order another espresso, this time decaf, and a glass of hot water. He would repeat his last order one more time before he left. Blaine assumed that Kurt added the water to the espresso, hence the large cup he always asked for. He couldn’t see it because Kurt always took a seat at the back of the shop. And even though the thought made him cringe (why not ask for a standard long black instead?), it wasn’t really any of his business.

“A bit strange what he usually orders, Santana, you’re right but…”

“Not usually, every day,” she corrected.

“But it’s none of our business,” Blaine shrugged.

Santana gave him a devilish smile. “Don’t be so sure about that, Boss!”

This time Blaine turned all the way to Santana, folded his arms and looked at her questioningly. He knew he wouldn’t get out of this pointless conversation until he heard what she had to say.

“I think he’s trying to steal your recipe,” she said excitedly.

“Excuse me?!” Blaine was shocked. He wasn’t expecting this craziness.

“As soon as he thinks we don’t see him anymore, he pulls a bunch of little jars out of his bag and a thermos with some whitish liquid in it. My guess is that those are spices in the jars and some kind of milk or herbal drink in the thermos," she said, grinning at Blaine.

“Could you please have a little less fun with your theory?” Blaine asked firmly.

“I’m trying, Boss, but it’s really hard. And it’s not a theory, I’ve seen it!” She replied excitedly before she continued. “Then, while sipping his Winter Magic, he starts stirring a brew. He repeats this twice more with the decaf espressos and then leaves. I suppose he does it without success for now, because he has always come back so far. So, Boss... He’s either mad and thinks he’s a wizard OR... he’s trying to steal your recipe.” At the end of the sentence, Santana had the biggest devilish grin on her face, obviously extremely proud of herself and having a really good time.

Blaine, on the other hand, was overcome with rage.

“Thank you, Santana,” he squeezed the words between his teeth and turned back to the coffee machine.

“That’s it?” Santana asked, putting her hands on her hips, disappointed. “No raise or anything?”

Blaine gave her a sharp look. “You can take the day off tomorrow,” he said, and the smile returned to Santana’s face. Blaine went back to the coffee machine and started to make a fresh espresso.

“Hi!” Blaine stopped by Kurt’s table a few minutes later.

“Hi, wow,” Kurt looked up at Blaine in surprise. “I was just about to ask for a…”

“Yeah, I know,” Blaine interrupted, putting the serving tray he was holding on the table. “Can I sit down?”

Although Kurt opened his mouth to reply, Blaine had already taken a seat across from him before he could say anything.

“Um... so I was just going to ask for some coffee…” Kurt started again, a little confused, but smiling.

“You know, that’s funny. I was about to ask you the same thing,” Blaine replied with a strained smile. He took the two glasses of hot water and the two cups of espresso from the tray and placed them in front of Kurt. “This one is the decaf,” Blaine pointed to the cup on the left, then leaned back and crossed his arms, looking expectantly at Kurt.

Kurt blinked at the two cups of coffee in front of him.

“I’m sorry, I… I don’t think I understand." He looked up at Blaine and tilted his head to the side.

“I want you to make me a coffee. Like you do for yourself every morning. In MY coffee shop.”

Kurt’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.” He covered his face with his hands. “I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a total jerk.”

“I want you to make me a coffee.” Blaine repeated emphatically, and Kurt just noticed the man’s anger.

After a moment’s thought, Kurt started taking his equipment out of his bag; a thermos of warmed soy milk and the spices packed in small jars, even a shaker, and he started. When he was done, he pushed a cup of fake Winter Magic towards Blaine, who followed Kurt’s hands with a somber expression.

The barista stared at the cup for a while, motionless. Just as Kurt began to find the tension unbearable and thought about breaking the silence, Blaine finally reached for his drink. He took a sip of coffee and a humorless laugh escaped his lips as he placed it back on the table.

“So, where do you work?” He asked impatiently.

“What?” Kurt blinked at him.

“Where. Do. You. Work.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow, not understanding where this was coming from. Neither the question nor the attitude that seemed so out of character for this man. He decided to answer it anyway.

“At Vogue.”

Blaine blinked, confused. “Is that a new place?”

“Is that what?” Kurt frowned. “Vogue.com.” He knew he shouldn’t complain that the cute barista tried to talk to him, but this felt more like an interrogation.

Then it suddenly hit him.

“Wait… You think I’m a spy?” Kurt’s eyes widened.

Blaine raised an eyebrow, and Kurt noticed the tension in Blaine’s body at the question.

“Aren’t you?” He asked harshly.

#december klaine fanworks challenge 2024 #day 3 #observer #klaine #ok…we are not very disciplined but here a new one!#Thank you Mynonah for this cute story!!#klaine fanart #klaine fan art #klaine art #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #klaine fic #glee #glee fanart #glee fanfic #kurt hummel #blaine anderson #esilher’s drawings #myno's stuff

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