#I can smell the bisexuality reeking from him

[areesvt]

jj maybank is two kinds of bi: bipolar and bisexual

[toysrguts]

Jeff the Killer Headcanons!!

literally nobody asked for this but these have been sitting in a doc for like a year so i wanted to share :)) (I WILL DRAW HIM ONE DAY!!!)

•19 yrs old and 5'9

•multitude of piercings: 14mm ear gauges, along with snake bites, nips, a navel, an eyebrow piercing on either side, second lobes, and an industrial on the right side

•is naturally brunette but dyes and cuts his hair himself. usually uses the cheapest black box dye he can find at the drugstore, and has a classic 2000s emo cut but messier and slightly below shoulder length (when hes lazy he just hacks away at his hair with a knife and calls it a day)

•picked up guitar playing cuz he thought it was cool and sexy but he totally kinda sucks at it (he cannot keep a hobby to save his life)

•raspy voice from smoking so goddamn much; in the morning hes practically whispering

•nails are always painted black but theyre always chipped cuz he picks his fingers when hes bored or anxious

•kind of a twink but has some muscle mass in his upper body (still skinny to the point where you can see his ribcage) (i guess hes more of an otter 💀)

•has a trampstamp he got while absolutely WASTED

•his car floor is completely covered in cans and bottles and garbage

•and it smells like cigarettes and is practically falling apart

•actually everything he owns absolutely reeks of weed and cigarettes and also blood

•bisexual and usually prefers he/him pronouns but he seriously couldnt care less

•TRANSGENDER.

•cant go a whole 5 seconds without making a sex joke or mentioning his huge dick

•has a really bad temper and would literally pull a knife on you for beating him in mario kart

•favorite band is BMTH and enjoys hardcore, deathcore, and most metal genres the most

•ADHD

•insane pyrophobia due to trauma related to fire

•absolutely no shame whatsoever. literally wanders around the slender mansion wearing nothing but boxers and dirty socks with a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of jack daniels in his hand

•wears crop tops occasionally just to show off the belly button ring (AND HE LOOKS AMAZING)

•really bad at showing affection but tries his best. he doesnt usually like showing his softer side and hes very defensive but you can tell he cares deep down

•super impulsive when it comes to killing. if something small sets him off he will not hesitate to go on a rampage. if someone looks at him wrong he'll overthink it and wont rest until they're bleeding on the ground gasping for air

if this does well i'll do part 2 cuz theres a lot more where this came from :D OK BYE HOPE U LIKE

[gh0st-t0wn3]

Lmk ss edits + headcanons, Part 4 (Jin & Yin, Ao Lie, Tripitaka, Bai He)

- He/Him, He/They

- Pansexual, Bisexual

- They both have chronic separation anxiety, its why they're never apart; Yin tends to go non-verbal and more withdrawn without Jin, and Jin gets really agressive and paranoid without Yin. 

-  Yin can't sleep if he has nerves, Jin can do nothing BUT sleep if he has nerves

- Jin always forgets something at home, Yin reminded him a hundred times before they left

- Yin doodles on the corner of their blueprint papers whenever they're making something new, Jin cuts them out later and glues them into a sketchbook so they don't get lost

- Jin's hips are constantly covered in bruises because he's always bumping into shit (has NO spacial awareness whatsoever)

- Yin listens to rock music, Jin doesn't have a specific genre

- Somehow are simultaneously the most innocent and dirty minded people, you'll never know what you're gonna get at any given moment

- Yin always finds a way to drown in inch deep water (really bad at swimming)

- ^^^Jin laughs at him

- After they found out Mei and MK didn't like eachother as anything more than friends, they tried to trap him in the calabash again but used Redson to try and seduce him instead, MK immediately knew it was them

- Jin was talking really fast cause he was panicking once and called the Demon accountant "Semon accountant" and has still not recovered

- Yin laughed his ass off when it happened and constantly reminds him of it

- Jin likes his pillow warm (he's insane)

- They both occasionally become self aware and wind up having a weird crisis trying to figure out whether their horns are a part of their skull or something else

- Both are cat people, they're terrified of dogs, being trapped in a room with one is one of their worst nightmares

- Neither of them has clean hair, it is a fucking rock you will not be able to comb that shit out

- Jin rants about new ideas, Yin writes/draws them down

- Yin will bite you if you get near him while he's eating, bro's feral

- Jin stubs his toe atleast three times a day and screams in agony every. Single. Time. Eventually Yin just stopped running to check on him, it's happened so many times that he can distinguish what Jin's scream sounds like specifically when he stubs his toe

- Yin spent several months slowly moving everything in their house slightly to the right everyday, Jin cried cause he thought he was going insane

- Jin smells like cinnamon, Yin smells like caramel (I'm delusional, they both reek)

- Jin's love language is words of affirmation, Yin's love language is quality time

- Yin is terrified of cockroaches, Jin keeps some as pets

- Jin tried to dox Mei during one of her streams, Mei showed up at their house instead, it was terrifying

- The Demon accountant has to use a pressure hose to wash them

- They were banned from the arcade but they kept showing up begging to be unbanned, the staff eventually started feeling bad and let them back in

- Yin always throws out his drawings if they don't turn out how he wanted them to, Jin fishes them out of the trash when Yin isn't looking and keeps them in a sketchbook under his bed

- He/Him

- ??? Bisexual, probably

- Favourite animal is a leaf slug, it just feels right

- Mei's number one supporter

- Ate a strawberry once and found a worm inside, never ate strawberries again

- Constantly bothered Zhu Bajie during their Journey to the west, he thought it was funny seeing him get upset

- "I swear to buddha, if you ask me 'why' one more time" " Why?"

- Wukong pulled a bug out of his hair once and he freaked out and made Tripitaka go through his hair for him

- Heaviest sleeper of the group, when he falls asleep he is OUT,

- Has horrible bed head and his hair takes forever to comb out

- Really bad at math

- Wakes Tripitaka up in the middle of the night to ask the dumbest questions

- Refuses to wear shoes, he's in his horse form for most of their Journey anyway so he doesn't see the point in having any at all

- Would absolutely down a container of melatonin gummies if he had the opportunity

- Had to comfort Wukong while he puked after chugging a gallon of salt water once

- Mei gets her ':3' face from him

- Trips over his hair as much as his sleeves, no matter how much of his hair he ties up somehow it always ends up in his face or under his foot and he's down

- Follow up on the last headcanon, he's tried to cut his hair before to stop this from happening, it did not work, his hair grew back really fast

- He's like a cat, if you tell him not to push something over, he'll push it over

- Favourite colour is actually rose gold, but green is a very close second

- DBK let him hold Redson after the Samadhi removal ritual was over and Ao Lie immediately dropped him (DBK caught him before he hit the ground, but Ao Lie was banned from holding him again)

- Can eat an entire buffet and not gain a single pound

- Smells like Mint

- Love language is physical touch

- Chews on his sleeves when he's bored

- Gets along surprisingly well with Nezha despite Nezha's and Ao Bing's history

- Really good at singing

- Since he's a water Demon, he gets overheated really easily in the sun so whenever they come across any kind of water (river, pond, puddle, etc) he'll just flop sideways and lay there for like 20 minutes to cool down

- Actually thought Mei was his sister for a minute until he realized it wasn't her when they first met

- He/Him

- AroAce

- Sometimes gets visons and dreams of his life as the Golden Cicada

- Tripitaka, Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujin can see what their descendants/reincarnations are up to

- He cried on Freenoodles wedding day... it was not of joy, Zhu Bajie also threw up several times

- Once joked about having to shave all of Wukongs fur off now that he's a Monk and Wukong cried

- Absolutely HATES when people enter a room before knocking

- Would probably be scared of popping candy if he ever heard them (bubblegum, pop rocks, etc)

- Hates when people fold the corner of a page as a bookmark

- Constantly corrects people's spelling; "it's 'you're' not 'your' "

- Can't stand the sound of people chewing with their mouths open

- Has naturally long lashes

- Weak ass ankles

- Tried to teach Wukong how to read and gave up in a few hours because he refused to pay attention

- Cries whenever someone brings up his and Zhu Bajie's pregnancy, it's what keeps him up at 3am (if you haven't read JTTW, I'm sorry that this is how you found out)

- Surprisingly has a really good singing voice

- Always writes in cursive and no one can read it

- Understands cicadas

- In JTTW (chapter 39, i think) Tripitaka encountered a demon who impersonated him so well that even with his golden vision Wukong couldn't tell them apart and mistakingly attacked the real one, Tripitaka still gets nightmares about Wukong almost killing him

- Favourite colour is yellow

- Smells like oranges

- Love language is words of affirmation

- Has little freckles

- Extremely texture picky

- Vegetarian

- Has almost lost his hat (???) multiple times due to being kidnapped so often, it's a miracle he hasn't lost it yet

- Loves watching the sunset

- VERY light sleeper

- Smiled at Redson once, who immediately burst into tears (He could see that Tripitaka was the golden cicada and got scared), Tripitaka freaked out and also started crying while trying to calm him down

- She/Her

- Ally

- Has stretch marks as a result of her bones and skin being stretched out while she was possessed by the Lady Bone Demon

- White streaks in her hair from the possession

- Even after being freed from the Lady Bone Demon, her skin was never quite right, always too pale or too cold, with little snowflake markings here and there just barely visible

- Always cold, she has to wear multiple layers of clothing to help deal with it, doesn't matter how hot it is outside, she's always wearing something warm

- Has eyebags because she gets recurring nightmares about the Lady Bone Demon and hardly gets any sleep anymore

- Has very faint freckles

- Definitely believes/believed in those "spells to turn you into a mermaid/fairy/vampire" YouTube videos

- Made potions as a kid (it's windex, food dye, and glitter mixed together)

- Probably collects rocks

- Mei and Macaque taught her how to scam other kids in roblox

- Used to believe that if you ate a seed it'd grow in your stomach and had a meltdown when she accidentally swallowed watermelon seeds

- "Guys, stop swearing!" Whenever someone says "Frick", "Heck", "Dang"

- Cut her own hair once when she was really little, it was a disaster

- Eats whatever anyone gives her

- LOVES kumara

- Always eats lucky charms for breakfast but she'll pick out all the actual cereal so she just has milk and marshmallows

- Her dad is Pigsy's boar rival from across the street

- Loves street food, especially tanghulu and cheese tea

- Chews on her sleeves

- Smells like vanilla

- Love language is quality time

- OBSESSED with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and watches it on repeat (she once compared MK to Donnie because they both fight with staffs)

- Has a charm bracelet with personalized charms she made for everyone she likes/loves

- Loves orbeez and has a heart shaped orbeez lamp that she uses as a night light (I had one as a kid, it was awesome and I miss it very much)

- Dyes the white streaks in her hair pink, but they fade pretty quick so they have to be re-dyed frequently

- Has a tooth gap

- Her favourite flowers are chrysanthemums

[seraphdreams]

DRIVING HIM CRAZY | WAKASA IMAUSHI & SENJU AKASHI.

ღ SYNOPSIS. Having one best friend isn’t enough for you, maybe her lover could show you a thing or two.

ღ CONTAINS. fem!reader, weed mentions, alcohol mention, senju is 21, waka is 27, bisexual reader/senju, threesome-ish, scissoring, puppy girl antics from senju. 18+ mdni.

ღ WORD COUNT. 1.3k.

ღ LINKS. masterlist.

Senju’s tongue is warm in your mouth, pulsing and tasting akin to the herbal flavor of what activities you both got up to prior. Her short, manicured fingers found their way into your panties, pumping them slowly inside you, and all you can do is moan in return. You’re thumbing her nipples over her dress, watching the buds harden like pebbles beneath the thin satin fabric.

For someone as highstrung as the Akashi sister, she seemed to get so docile when it came to intimacy. Every tug, pinch, lick and bite against her skin had her whimpering into your mouth and dripping into her underwear. After a much needed night out with your best friend, you somehow found yourselves in front of the suite that housed a particular man, while you both were having wasted thoughts. It was mainly Sen’s idea since she had always taken an unusual interest in Imaushi.

Footfall coming from down the hall of the emptied corridor seemed to grow closer and closer, the light sound of an impassive voice causing both you and Senju to lose your focus. “Eh?” His hum is low under his breath as he approaches you two, eyebrow slightly quirking up to show a vague amount of emotion. his phone was in his hand, raised to his ear as if he was in an active conversation with someone.

“Seems there’s two needy lil’ girls at my door. I’ll have to call you back, Keizo.”

He ends his call as he nears the front door, pulling his key out of his pocket without any acknowledgment of you or Senju. Instead, he opens the door; wide enough for the two of you to slip in behind him as if it was his intention. Once you’re all fully inside, he closes and locks the door behind him, standing up against it while his glacial gaze dawns on you. His low eyes and long lashes do an expedient job at hiding the mirth in his behind them as he creeps closer.

In his right hand, your cheeks — fingers taut around your jaw to purse your lips in the prettiest pout; and in his left hand, Senju’s face, her emerald eyes and blown out pupils shining like diamonds. He pulls you both closer, getting a better look at your eyes. A small smirk is present on his features, noticing the reddened hue of your scleras.

“You two are high as hell.” He ends his inference with a soft chuckle, gently removing his hands from your faces. Senju’s the first to comment, pouting in her admirable way. “Am not! You don’t know what you’re talking about, Waka.” Vaguely, both of his eyebrows slightly raised up as if he found solace in her reaction. “But I smell it on you, you reek of alcohol too.” His eyes shift from Sen’s to yours. “This is why i can’t leave you unsupervised for too long. Wanna tell me what that little stunt at the front door was a few minutes ago?”

This time you speak up, the desperation from before climbing its way back up to lace your tone. “We’re so horny, Waka” — You reach out for his hand, slipping it up your skirt and down your panties. “Feel how wet i am.”

Like the puppy she is, Senju’s quick to paw at Imaushi as well, eager for his attention. “No, feel how wet I am.” Flushed and vacant her expression was, focus set on winning her lover over, although he was always enthralled by her. “We need you, our fingers aren’t enough. Please?”

Imaushi pretended to mull over her suggestion for a few seconds before moving to sit down onto the couch, calling you both over before him. “I’ll help. On the condition that you both make yourselves cum first.” Wakasa was never one to make anything easy for anyone, no matter the situation. “How can i make her cum?” You query, looking to him for further instruction. “Eat each other out, or better yet, scissor. You can do that right?” The condescending tone in his voice was hard to miss and with that, you found yourselves on the floor beneath him, panties discarded and legs crossed over each other, inching your heats together.

The warmth and pulsing of her clit against yours caused a torrent of pleasure to surge within you, your hips following suit and grinding back against her. It feels so humiliating to be watched like this, letting your last shred of dignity dissipate and all sense of pride vanish. Fuck, she feels so good.

“Y’so fuckin’ pretty, Sen.” You mewl, watching her face contort in pleasure, her plump pink lips parted enough to let cute moans slip, and strands of platinum ivory hair sticking to her forehead; times like this is when you’re glad she decided to keep her hair short. Agilely, she changes your positions, laying you on your back while continuing to rut against you, determined to feel you at a better angle.

On the couch, Wakasa looks more relaxed, except for the visible excitement that’s currently seeping through his bottoms, yet he chooses to ignore it and keep a watchful eye on the two of you.

Senju leans forward to land messy kisses to your lips, panting between each one. Soon enough, with the steady rhythm being set, your grinding becomes more erratic, signaling the build up of your near orgasm. “Gonna cum! So hard!” She moans, head dropping to the juncture between your neck and shoulder. Your hands find her hips and help her grind. You’re too much in a daze to notice how she trembles in your hold, creaming herself and you in the process.

Within seconds. you’re hitting your climax too, both your ministrations slowing to a halt and breaths scattered.

“That wasn’t so hard was it? I knew you dumb girls had it in you.” Imaushi sits up, hand over his hard-on, stroking himself slowly through the fabric. His eyes fell onto you, as if his expression could spew more words than his sly tongue could. “Y’wanna ride?” He queries, slipping his cock from his boxers. You untangle your limbs from Senju’s and position yourself upon his lap.

He watches Senju quietly as you hover over his cock then proceed to sink down. You couldn’t see her but, as best friend telepathy could tell it, you knew what she was thinking. Her eyes observed how your pussy stretched around Wakasa’s length, neediness pooling back inside her core. She didn’t know who she wanted more, you or Imaushi. Shockingly, it’s always been you.

“Calm down, i didn’t forget about you.” Waka says in response to the hand slipping between her legs. He pats the cushion beside him and she seats herself down, back resting against the armrest and legs spread enough for him to inch his fingers inside you. Meanwhile, you’re feeling dizzy, trying to accommodate the huge size inside you. Just bouncing on the tip wouldn’t be enough, yet his other hand reaches out for your hips, helping you sink down even further.

Sounds of moaning and wet squelches fill the room. Your head is rested on his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure builds up within you. Senju’s hands move to play with her nipples, pinching the buds roughly. You both continue your ministrations, intent on coaxing yet another orgasm. Senju ruts her hips in tandem to the growing pace of Waka’s fingers as he groans out, feeling how you tighten around him.

He holds you down onto his lap, planting his feet onto the lacquered wood beneath him and thrusting up into you ruthlessly. It feels as though you’re losing air from the trajectory of his thrusts yet you take him as best as you could, determined to make a mess all over his pretty cock.

Momentarily, you feel your core tighten, that familiar feeling of release washing over you as you finally cream his shaft. Like usual, Senju orgasms as well with the cutest, shrill moan a girl could ever make. Just from the sight of you both losing yourselves from the pleasure Waka offers; After one, two, three thrusts, he’s planting his seed deep within you, letting white ropes paint your insides like the prettiest picture.

If Senju’s whims always ended like this, you’d be sure to let her make every decision for the rest of your life.

[restwellsoon]

Introductions

Summary: Jason finally takes a chance with the handsome guy at the bar.

/ It was the first time he was alone. There was usually a pretty girl on either side of him, trying to catch his eye. To any on-looker they’d say he’s a ladies man with the way he’s charmed them and how he never leaves the bar empty-handed. But you’ve seen the way he looks at the man who orders a double shot of Jameson every Wednesday night and you’ve definitely seen the way he looks at you.

Pairing: Jason Todd x M!Reader

CW: discussions about sexuality, bisexual!Jason Todd, anal, smut, language

“Been seein’ you a lot lately,” you said, casually sliding onto the bar stool next to him.

It was the first time he was alone. There was usually a pretty girl on either side of him, trying to catch his eye. To any on-looker they’d say he’s a ladies man with the way he’s charmed them and how he never leaves the bar empty-handed. But you’ve seen the way he looks at the man who orders a double shot of Jameson every Wednesday night and you’ve definitely seen the way he looks at you.

His eyes were trained on the glass before him, idly swirling the liquor before taking a sip. “Only thing to do around this shithole.”

You hummed, the noise a pleasant vibration against the stupid bar talk that surrounded you. “Aside from pretty girls.”

The dark-haired beauty was a tease with his silence, lips formed in a tight line at your joke.

“There’s other things you can do aside from drinking and girls.”

His head finally turned towards you at the suggestion and his eyes were as blue as his cool demeanor. Except it’s slowly crumbling, you realized as you watched his mouth twitch as he tried to form words. You told yourself it was the alcohol that made him glow, not your words. There’d be more time later, if he gave you the chance, to get cocky.

“I’m listening.”

A quick gesture to the bartender and a pen appeared before you. You lazily scrawled your name, number and address on a napkin and slid it over. His eyes scanned letters and words, your name a quiet utterance. It’s okay if it’s said quietly now. There would be more opportunities to say it louder, say it longer and say it more if he took your offer.

You threw him a wink as you headed towards the door. You’ve dealt with his type before. Tough but a bit shy when it came to things like this. It was easier this way. Less pressure. It also lessened the blow of a possible rejection.

---

A knock two hours later told you that he was interested. He looked cute despite the scowl on his face.

“Jason,” he said, finally offering his name now that you were in private. “And don’t think…” His voice trailed as he tried to find resolve. “Look. I’m only here because I’m bored. I’m not –”

“I don’t care what you are.” You mentally winced at how stern your voice came off. Despite the harshness, your words put the man at ease, his broad shoulders slacking. “Ya know what I do when I’m bored? I fuck around.”

His lips formed a perfect ‘o’ but he’d need to open wider if he was going to fuck around with you tonight.

---

It was kind of cute the way he followed you like a lost little lamb, large hand engulfing yours, as you led him towards your bedroom. There was always a risk when bringing big guys like him home but something told you that he was more soft and gentle than he let on.

The closer you were, you could smell him. He didn’t reek of booze but of a familiar cologne. You didn’t blame him for the liquid courage, but after some kissing, you hope he’d be more comfortable with you.

His eyes raked over your body as you undressed, the same way he’s been ogling you at the bar for weeks. You tried to go slow but you couldn’t contain your excitement. The way he lounged on your bed, legs splayed, watching you with an eye of appreciation made you eager.

“Your turn,” you said as you crept back into bed in your underwear, shooing him out of his spot to take his warmth.

Jason’s movements were clumsy compared to yours, something you wouldn’t expect out of a man you thought to have a good grasp on movement based on those muscles. But it’s not because of a lack of coordination, you realized, as your eyes met his with a cheeky grin. He was nervous.

It’s not as if Jason couldn’t get a grip on himself. He’s been in far worse situations. Yet the man before him made him anxious. He hated that he cared about what you thought. He hated that he felt self-conscious. It’s my first time, Jason reminded himself, trying to show an ounce of self-compassion.

Biting your lip and sucking in a sharp inhale, you watched as Jason returned to your side with an unintentional saunter. You wondered if he hid his nervousness like this all the time as each step shook the floorboards with confidence, a cocky smile on his lips.

“Like what you see?” He asked dryly, laying on his side, dark hair getting into those beautiful blue eyes. There was an edge to his voice that belied the tension.

You weren’t sure whether you liked the front or the back view better and tried to weigh the pros of each in your head. You knew Jason was hot but fuck. He looked like an absolute god, smirking at you in his jock. A shift in positions had Jason on his stomach and you made your decision. The view from behind was definitely better.

“Maybe you should give me a lil show before I decide.”

He snorted. “Pay me.”

“You take credit or cock?”

His body stiffened up at the joke, triggering you to tell him he doesn’t have to do this if he doesn’t want to, you were only kidding and you didn’t mean to make him uncomfortable.

There was hesitation in his voice and a hard swallow before he responded. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just… my first time. With all of this. And I guess it’s hitting me now.”

Oh.

Your heart suddenly ached for him in a way that differed from lust. It was that painful understanding. It was one thing to watch porn. It was another to admit to yourself. But it was something else entirely to experience it firsthand. There was no way to make it seem more real than the introduction of touch.

Jason wasn’t the sentimental type. He whispered lewd things in the ears of countless women that would make Satan blush. Yet he felt a strange sort of shyness and flutter as your hand covered his, sweet smile on your lips as you said you understood. He wanted to melt when you said that you’d take care of him.

He tried to still his heart. This was everything that he’s been dreaming of, the closest thing to it being when he and Roy got too drunk in London and nearly kissed.

He recalled all the countless nights he spent wishing for such an encounter. He’d be cool and suave. The dominant one. Yet here he was mewling under your touch as you reached around and palmed his cock through the cotton fabric.

Kissing, Jason could do. It wasn’t any different from kissing a woman. You were more daring as your hands wandered his body, trailing down his abs and grinding your clothed cock against his. In-between kisses, the two of you became a mess of limbs, positions changed and on your sides. Your touch was shocking really and as much as Jason wanted to pull away, he couldn’t. He felt his hips drawn into yours, his hard bulge rubbing your thigh.

A tweak of his nipples made Jason gasp in your mouth, making you do it again to try and get a moan. You broke the kiss to watch him pant, eyes half-lidded in want.

“Not bad for a guy, right?”

He nodded his head, eyes focused on you as you slipped off what remained of your clothes.

“Wanna try a different kind of kissing, pretty boy?”

Jason licked his lips in preparation before diving down onto your sex. It was almost embarrassing the way that he gagged on your length, too eager to take you entirely. It would have been embarrassing if he didn’t look so hot, admitting defeat and taking only half of it instead, the other half covered by his fist.

“There you go,” you cooed as Jason got used to the feeling of having a cock down his throat. You fought the urge to pull on his hair and just fuck his mouth with the way he was looking at you and the way the jockstrap pronounced his toned ass.

For a first timer, Jason sure was bold, making sure you watched him with great attention as he flicked his tongue over the head, hand cupping and playing with your balls. You didn’t know that he’d been fantasizing about this for years.

“Fuck,” you cried as Jason slipped a drool-laden finger into your hole, finally deepthroating you at the same time as he pumped. You tried to remember to ask him later if he was lying about this being his first time but all you could think about was how he needed to keep hitting that spot.

You had to force him off of you lest you cum then and there. “Tryna prove a point there, Jay? Fuck. I get it. You really know how to get a guy off.”

He looked at you, wiping off the drool that dribbled down his chin with the back of his hand. “I do?” His mouth spread into a boyish grin.

You gave him a pointed look. “Don’t act all innocent. I’m sure you heard just how well of a performance you had.”

His face was already flush from sucking, but your compliment reached his ears, making them burn a dark red. Your praise only made Jason more confident in himself. It was a good thing.

“Won’t be so cheeky when you’re the one who’s moaning my name. See. I’m not the one who’s creamin’ his pants.”

Jason looked down at the dark stain on his underwear, growing shier. He cursed his excitement.

It was honestly your fault. You were the one who dragged his head up and down your length, tugging at his locks as Jason hummed once you were deep in his throat, the vibrations sending tingles down to your toes.

A hand shot down to Jason’s underwear, freeing himself of his clothed cage, as you reached in the dresser for lube and a condom. The slap of Jason’s cock against his abs almost made you want to omit the rubber, the thick member leaving a teasing string of precum that connected his abs to his tip, which he wiped off with the back of his hand.

“You ever…?” Jason turned his head to the side, blush evident as you squirted lube onto your fingers and his hole.

“Been pegged a few times and I have a toy at home.”

“Oh yeah?” You asked, trying to put the man at ease once more. “You like ‘em big or what?”

His words were sweet enough to make you pause for a moment. “I like yours.”

You mouthed an ‘o’ before asking if he was ready. Jason let out a hiss and closed his eyes as he felt your finger slowly sink into his hole, trying to get used to the feeling. Opening one eye to look at you, he stated. “I wanna ride you.”

“That a challenge, handsome?”

You didn’t need to know that Jason had more than a few toys at home in different sizes. You didn’t need to know that he loved the feeling of a hands free orgasm, wishing the toy was something more real as he came. You didn’t need to know that he was practicing riding on top an hour before he arrived in case that was something you wanted.

One finger turned into two, scissoring your fingers at times but mostly focusing on hitting that sweet spot that made Jason squirm. He was a red hot mess beneath you, fingers tweaking nipples and hands squeezing his muscled chest as you fingered him.

“Ready?” You asked, already knowing his answer. There was already a small mess of pre on his stomach from his cock bobbing up and down as his hips matched the rhythm of your fingers.

After rolling on the condom, you pressed in as gently as you could, watching Jason’s expressions for any sign that told you that you should stop.

“That’s it. Keep breathing. You’re taking my cock so well, Jay. Hey, don’t –don’t do that. Just be patient.”

You had to keep a stern hand on his hip to keep him from taking all of you too quickly. You were doing this for his own safety, but you couldn’t help but take a bit of pleasure in hearing him whine beneath you, your name broken up by breathy syllables.

A few breaths later, you finally had your length in him, giving him a moment to breathe and take you in. It was good for you too with how tight he felt around you. You needed to focus.

“Fuck me. Please.”

With his voice so whiny and request so polite, how could you deny him? Your hips snapped forward, building up to an even pace as Jason bounced on your cock in return. For a second you stopped and watched as he got himself off on your cock, back muscles rippling and ass bouncing.

Lunging forward, you placed a foot near his shoulder to deepen your angle, a gutteral sound of pleasure coming loose from his throat as the sound of heavy breathing and balls slapping filled the air.

It was time. You couldn’t take it anymore. The two of you needed release.

By this time, Jason’s cock was slowly leaking cum, begging to be played with and have the rest of it milked. You obliged, smearing the milky fluid on your palm and down his length, letting experience guide you as you fucked him and got him off simultaneously.

Jason was nothing more than a muscled mess of ‘fuck,’ ‘please’ and more, his face buried in one of your pillows as you brought him one stroke closer to ecstasy. He vaguely heard your low ‘Cum for me, pretty boy,'' doing as you commanded a second later. His breathing was heavy as you felt you still inside him, wishing that the condom wasn’t there so he could feel how much you would’ve filled him.

---

A shower later, you met Jason on your bed again, the scent of sex still clinging to the sheets.

He’d been quiet the whole time and you were starting to feel uneasy over it, questioning if it was right to be his first. Maybe he regretted it.

His voice was quiet but his eyes on you told you that he was earnest. “Thank you.”

Unlike the other times, you gave him an audible ‘oh.’ “I uhh, I thought you didn’t like it.”

Jason shook his head, a few stray droplets shaking out of his hair. “No,” he argued, realizing that you misunderstood his silence, “I loved it.”

You gave him a small smile, “I’m glad.”

“Thanks for introducing me to this,” he shyly added. You grinned. He was just too cute.

“It doesn’t have to end at an introduction, handsome,” you teased and then you threw out a wild suggestion, not expecting anything from your offer. “You know where I live and I’m free every night if you’re ‘bored.’”

Return to

Curated Masterlists

Jason Todd’s Masterlist

[thecorbyin]

are the tf2 mers gay? give me several paragraphs explaining why or why not pls :)

RUBS HANDS TOGETHER

Scout- bi

At first I was a Scout is straight truther. However the more I look into it, the more he just acts very closeted and very confused.

There is not much explaining here he's just. Just look at him. Busting it down bisexually.

A bit more closed off and awkward about his attraction to men though, doesn't bring it up much and would date a girl just to get people to stop assuming he's gay.

Sniper- bi and demiaroace

This man is so so autism and anything romance related makes he flinch and get so flustered. Awkward hermit man doesn't leave his van for 37483683 days and then cries when a woman interacts with him.

Was probably very confused the first time he found himself being attracted to a man. Like scared confused. Like get drunk and lay in bed staring at the ceiling panicking scared confused.

Just stands so bisexually I can't explain it.

Trusting people is very hard for Mr Mundy he gets very suspicious of people. That is where the demiaroace comes into play he will not date anyone unless he's known them awhile.

Spy- bi and a whore

My man sleeps around and he is not picky when it comes to gender. If he wants to romance someone, he's romancing them and it doesn't matter if they're male, female, both, or neither.

But he has commitment issues so like. It's usually just one night stands and then he's gone. Maybe some money left on the table or a gift if he really likes them. But he's scared of staying for long and growing attached.

All bi himself, if you will. Despite being a massive manwhore.

Soldier- unlabeled

He doesn't know. His wife doesn't know. His team doesn't know. If you ask him, he's just going to say "AMERICAN."

But he is not straight. That much is very certain. But he's fiercely loyal to Zhanna so good luck everyone else.

Does get a bit touchy feely with Demoman (hugs, cheek kisses, getting drunk together and whatnot) but that's kind of just their best friendness.

Engineer- bi

An absolute gentleman when it comes to the ladies, and absolute stuttering mess when it comes to the gents.

No really. He could charm his way around any woman he sees. But men are a different story. He gets awkward and laughs a lot and his whole face turns red and he tugs at his collar and... boy is it hot in here or is it just him?

I am so tired of everyone saying he'd be racist and homophobic just because he's from southern Texas. My man would never he's literally the sweetest thing.

Pyro- gay (and genderfluid)

That's right I'm a genderfluid Pyro truther. And a gay Pyro truther. But not in a MatPat way I hope MatPat gets fucking obliterated.

Her love language is gifts. He will make you so many little crafts and drawings if he likes you. This is a threat.

They're also very protective of anyone they like methinks. *cough* Pybroing *cough*

ALSO IN THE COMICS SHE LITERALLY LIVES WITH ENGINEER AND IS THE CEO OF AN ENGINEERING COMPANY ERM... HELLO? That reeks of homosexual activity.

Medic- gay

An open heart surgery is actually something that can be so intimate.

Yeah he had a wife... apparently. But he moved away from her or something because she is barely ever fucking mentioned AND she cheated on him. Smells like... divorce and Medic going off to discover things about himself. Gay things.

No motherfucker looks at Heavy like that and can be deemed straight I'm sorry.

This motherfucker probably gives the weirdest gifts to him too like "happy birthday!! Have a pig heart 😊"

Heavy- gay

"I LOVE THIS DOKTOR!"

Not much can be said that hasn't been said already *gestures to Medic* it is just so extremely obvious these two men want each other so bad.

Demoman- unlabeled

He also has zero idea. Sometimes he'll look at a lady and go OOOOOO and sometimes he'll do that for a man too.

But really, labels don't interest him and he's content with just "whatever. I like who I like and that's that. There don't have to be a name for it."

Good for him honestly.

Everyone please send me more asks like this I love them

[yaboymercury]

Your honeymoon was a nightmare. The charming bride you married had transformed into a bossy manipulative asshole who was dictating your every move.

After she'd finally fallen asleep you desperately craved some real peace so you snuck out to visit the rooftop pool hoping it would be dead. As you dropped your mostly naked body into the pleasant warmth of the pool, you sighed deeply finally getting to enjoy a moment of relaxation this holiday. Through the silence you began to hear splashing from the darker end of the pool. You looked over from the side you were sitting at and saw a beautiful man swimming towards you.

It ashamed you but you almost immediately got hard under the water. Your wife never knew about your bisexuality since you'd heard her say some pretty unsavoury things about the gay community as a whole, you were pretty sure that's why your parents liked her so much. But as this man stood in front of you top half glistening in the pools lighting, face smiling flirtatiously, bottom half submerged but seemingly uncovered, all your repression melted away as you shamelessly stared.

"Nice night eh?" His deep voice softened your ears used to your wife's screeching.

"Nice view too." You smiled back too, you knew you were freshly married, but that didn't matter right now.

He smirked and winced a little. Bubbles rose to the surface. As they popped you nose was met with the sweet pungent smell of manly flatulence. Yes it was disgusting, but it was the masculinity you'd been craving. And watching him stretch his physique in front of you with his gas rising around his body, your cock ached.

"Didn't think there'd be anyone else up here to I thought it would be a good place to relieve some," he winced again as more gassy bubbles popped around him, he exhaled, "tension."

You reached out stroking his wet chest. "Well don't let me stop your fun," you wafted your hand jokingly, "stinking fun that is."

He softly chuckled as he leaned against the side of the pool. His butt rose above letting you get your first look at the behemoth this man was carrying behind him, glowing as it tempted you. "If you think that's stinky you don't even know the half of it!" He moaned.

BBBBBBBBRRRRRAAAMMMMMMPPPPPPPTTTTT

The expulsion echoed around the rooftop as the gaseous winds melted into your face. The rotted stench was overwhelming making your eyes water. But it was just the masculinity you craved.

"Now that," pppppprrrrappp the short blast spat water into your face, "is stinky!"

He chuckled as he wafted the lingering aroma in your direction.

Even though your brain knew you should resist the potent pheremones your dick wouldn't let you. You pushed yourself towards him and dove face first into his ass. Your speed shocked him making him gasp as your tongue invaded his hole.

It reeked between his cheeks, but it was that deep masculine pheremone which stopped you from even wanting to leave.

Pppppppprrrraaaaappppppp

"Well who would i be to reject a guest at the gassiest buffet around." He sensually joked as his personal brand of stink assaulted your face. It was rough and it churned your stomach but it was what your body desired as your tongue kept exploring his toxic hole.

Fffffffffrrrrrrarrrrrrrrrrrppppp

Bbbbbbtrrrrrraaaaaafffffffffffftttt

Pppppppprrrrrrappppppppp

The farts wouldn't end as he kept twisting his ass letting out stinky blast after stinky blast into your ravenous mouth and nose.

The noxious encounter was unbelievably pleasurable for the both of you, neither wanting it to end. However you both froze when you heard your wife's unmistakable screech:

"What the fuck are you doing!"

-

(*loved the picture but couldn't find it without watermarks, if you can find it I'll fart on u thanks*)

ko-fi if you wanna tip or make a commission :)

[avintagekiss24]

SIGN ON THE LINE || STEVE ROGERS

PRETTY WOMAN AU

pairing: Escort!Steve Rogers x bisexual!black!reader ; minor pairing: escort! steve rogers x bisexual!black!reader x bisexual!natasha romanov || word count: 14,446 || warnings: smut, sex, rough sex, ass eating, butt stuff, oral sex (male & female receiving), rough oral sex (male receiving), vaginal fingering, face sitting/riding, 69, cockwarming, nipple play, consensual voyeurism, prostitution, daddy kink

authors note: right under the buzzer! this is for @allaboardthereadingrailroad​ marvel diversity challenge! my prompt was Pretty Woman AU. this is a pretty loose interpretation of the movie, but there are some similarities threaded throughout if you’re familiar with it. once again, a lot was inspired by @honeychicanawrites​ headcanons here, here, and here. there was also a black and white gif floating around of an animated woman, rubbing, sucking, and fucking her dude, but i lost the link! (i was gonna embed it, but i don’t want my post flagged). also, daily convos with @tropicalcap​ led to some of the filth. enjoy!

line divider by @firefly-graphics​

The wine glass clinks against the porcelain of the bathroom counter as you set it down gently, backing up to eye yourself in the mirror. You push your box braids off your shoulders and twist your body, smoothing your manicured hands down your hips as you primp. Sliding your fingers underneath the thin band of your thong, you adjust it slightly, pulling them up on your hips before letting the material snap back to your body, cutting into your flesh. The Zodiac tights come next, wiggling your hips to pull the crystal embedded fishnets up your smooth legs and up over your behind.

You dig your hands into your bra, pushing your tits up so they sit a little higher in it and pucker your lips, adding a little more gloss. A deep buzz sounds throughout the bathroom, your phone illuminating as a text slides through.

In the lobby

A smile spreads across your face. You grab the fluffy, white hotel robe and shrug into it, tying a tight bow at your waist before arranging your hair again and bringing the glass of white wine to your lips to finish it off. The small bottle of Baccarat Rouge 540 is the last accessory you reach for— spritzing your neck and wrist, rubbing them together slowly to spread the sweet, floral aroma. Grabbing your phone, and the now empty wine glass, you move out of the bathroom and hit the light switch to cover the lavish room in darkness.

You’re wet already— tight muscles clamping around nothing as you pad back into your Presidential suite. Blood starts to race, skin heats up as your heart beat grows harder. You’re so fucking horny it hurts. Stomach is tight and knotted, your clit achy and sore— fingers not enough to quell the need. So you went out one night, found a sex shop, which isnt hard in the heart of L.A.; bought a pretty glass dildo and a diamond studed butt plug— even a pocket vibrator, but it wasn’t enough. You need the real thing, a big, hard, dripping, warm cock to put you out of your misery so you can focus on the reason you’re in L.A. in the first place.

“Oh girl,” Natasha winked, handing over an off white business card, “Having dick on retainer is a must.”

You flipped it over in your hand, your dark eyes skimming over the telephone number printed in the middle of the card, the initials S.G.R. scrawled out just underneath it, “Give him a call,” she winked, “He’ll keep you plenty occupied while you’re here.”

That was two days ago— over a business lunch when the VP of Operations and CEO of the company you’re trying to acquire stepped away from the table. You’d known Natasha Romanov for exactly one week at that point, but she knew the desperation of a woman going without— you're convinced she smelled it on you as soon as you walked into her office. It took her a few days to pry it out of you, but once she caught you discreetly making eyes at the waiter, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you in close.

You’re a woman of the world, you both realize and understand sex work is a valuable commodity, and champion it, for men and women alike. But you never honestly had to give it a second thought, you’ve always had options. A cute little black book that sits just inside of your nightstand, full of names that can satisfy your every mood.

Tony for a quickie when you’re buzzed and on the way to an event, Sam for a back breaking, fingers in your mouth, ‘call me daddy’ romp, sweet Bruce when you want it real nice and slow— somebody to love you just for the night. That little black book doesn’t help you in L.A., and you aren’t about to fly somebody out for a four hour layover.

There’s a rap at the door, three quick knocks, “Just one second.” you call sweetly, slipping into a pair of Giuseppe heels— your favorite Giuseppe heels.

You untie the belt around your waist and throw the robe over the back of the couch as you click towards the door, leaving you in your black, strapless bra, thin thong, and waist high tights. There’s really no need to be modest— you’re both adults. Turning the square, stainless steel door handle, you pull gently, throwing it open for the tall, blonde man leaning against the far wall. He stands up straight, blue eyes going wide as they drop down your body, pink lips quirking into a lopsided grin.

You spin on your heels and retreat back into the room slowly, hearing the door as it hitches when he catches it with his palm. Eyes are on your body as you switch your hips seductively, moving towards the minibar. You can’t help the smile that curls onto your lips.

“Would you like a drink, Mr. Rogers?” You purr, voice low and smooth.

“Steve’s fine,” his voice equally low, equally smooth, “What do you have?”

You hum, opening the small fridge and bending just slightly, poking out your ass, “Looks like Modelo, Vodka, Rum,” you point towards the ice bucket, a bottle of Dom Perignon resting in the chips, “Champagne. I also have some white wine.”

You glance back at him, your braids dangling over your shoulder, swinging gently with each little movement you make. Steven Grant Rogers is a sight for sore eyes— and a sore pussy. He’s tall and lean, chest and shoulders wide and broad, biceps thick. His waist is small, but it adds a little allure to his frame, giving him a little shape. He has a sense of style about him too, another tick in the ‘pro’ column for him. His suit is a simple one but it reeks of great expense. Black, slim fit, no tie. Crisp, white button down with the first couple of buttons undone. Black red bottoms, and a titanium, black faced Hublot watch.

Creed Aventus fills your nostrils as you breathe in and your muscles clench again. You like a man with lavish taste.

“Champagne, please. Not too much though, I don’t like to drink when I’m with a client.” Curious eyes follow you as you move towards the ice bucket, staying on you as you pour two flutes, “I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“Misunderstandings?”

His thick fingers brush along yours as you step close, handing him the tall, thin flute. They’re soft, his fingers. He nods gently, clinking the rim of his glass with yours before he lifts it to his pink lips, licking them slowly, “Gotta keep a clear head.”

A sharp inhale of air fills your lungs; a sly smile tugs at your lips. Through hooded eyes, the two of you keep watch of the other as you both down the bubbly champagne. Your lips tingle as you rub the glass along your bottom lip, your eyes bouncing around his handsome, heavily bearded face. His eyes twinkle underneath the lights as they roam— down your chest and stomach, down your long legs— slowly. Drinking you in. Taking stock of each curve, each dip, each line.

His eyes snap back to yours suddenly, but they’re different. Hungry. Aggressive. You take another breath, holding it in your chest for a tick before you exhale and cross your legs, squeezing them tight.

He takes a step forward, closing the already small distance between the two of you to a mere inch, maybe even less than that. He drops his eyes again, his eyelids closing to slits, the dark, delicate, long eyelashes lining them splash out on his cheeks. He inhales deep, a small, thin hum vibrating in his throat as he’s filled with the sweetness of your perfume.

“Nervous?”

The word greets your ears softly, just as it left his pretty mouth. You lick your bottom lip and pull it between your teeth, chewing as your eyes bounce between his. He smiles, pushing his face closer so the tips of your noses touch. He rubs your noses together slowly, up along your bridge, and then the tips again, his smile growing.

“There’s no need to be nervous. We’ll take it real nice and slow, okay?” his voice steady and smooth, low and soft, “You’ve never done this before?”

Two mammoth hands push along your hips, slowly dragging up and down, up and down, up and down. You swallow, a pathetic tremble sounding in your throat that gets him to smile again, “It’s that obvious?”

He chuckles, “It’s okay, honey.” he answers, hands pushing over your ass, “I’ll get you warmed up.”

He squeezes your behind; you inhale again, your hands settling on his chest. Your body is moving, swaying gently back and forth at his insistence, his hands pushing up to the small of your back. Blue eyes stay on deep browns as his warm palm settles in the center of your back, holding you in his orbit. You start to rub his chest, feeling the bulk, the muscles of him— the thick. Your index finger drifts; drifts towards the open buttons of his shirt, playing with them; eyes settling on the sliver of skin and dark hair showing through.

A knuckle pushes just underneath your chin, pressing, pressing, pressing until your head, more importantly your mouth, is tilted up to his. Your eyelids instantly— instinctively— droop, lips part in wait, in want; in need. Hooded blue eyes gaze back at you, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“May I?”

Shudders ripple down your spine as reddened lips brush along yours, “Please.” It’s desperate— the way you ask.

Steve licks into you with his tongue, groaning a little when he sucks your top lip into his mouth. He pulls you in, right up against his hard body, your hands sliding over his shoulders and wrapping around his neck. This mouth is skilled— tongue slipping along your bottom lip and caressing your own. Not too rough, not too gentle, just enough to make you melt into him; to make you go a little limp in his arms.

He nibbles on your bottom lip, pulling softly until he lets go, letting it snap back to your face. A giggle bubbles up, filling the air surrounding you and you swear you feel his dick twitch.

“Feel better?”

You smile sweetly, pulling out of his grasp and sauntering towards your abandoned phone. Tapping into the short text stream with him, you snap your eyes back to him when his phone chimes seconds later. You watch as he digs it out of his pocket and another grin cracks his face as his cash app alerts him to the fifteen hundred deposited into his account.

“Does that answer your question?”

Those pretty white teeth of his dig into his bottom lip, trying and failing to hide the grin that’s been brought upon by your quick wit. He pulls his jacket off of his shoulders, tossing it over the back of the couch before ticking his head towards the bedroom, “Bed please.”

You do not hesitate. You pass by each other as you move towards the bedroom, him towards the ice bucket, plucking it from the table in the center of the room and turning on his heel to follow you. You toss your eyes over your shoulder as you flounce, hips switching again, heels clink, clink, clinking against the marble floor.

The lights of the bedroom rise automatically from the sudden motion in the room. You feel weightless as you fall onto the mattress hands first, crawling into the center of the king bed. His footsteps continue to sound as he enters behind you, setting the champagne bucket at the end of the bed as you prop against the headboard, drawing your legs up, swaying them back and forth slowly.

Steve keeps his eyes on you as he starts to pull on his cufflinks, unclipping the double knotted, sterling silver Tiffany & Co. accessories to free his arms. He rolls his sleeves up his forearms, revealing hair and thick veins— more flexing muscles. Blue eyes bounce between the task at hand and you, that soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips never wavering, never leaving. Foreplay at its best.

Once his forearms are free of the constricting material around them, he grabs the champagne bottle by the neck and plucks out a crystal flute, dropping his eyes from yours as he pours another glass. He moves around the side of the bed, champagne bottle in hand as he sits next to you, handing over the full glass. Lifting it to your lips, you snap your eyes to him when he tuts quickly, wagging that thick index finger back and forth.

Your mouth drops open, eyes go large as you watch him take a swig, right from the bottle. He then leans over you, pushing his index finger into your chin again, tilting your head up towards his. Warm, pink lips crowd your open mouth, his eyes closing gently, the cool, bubbly liquid slipping from his mouth right into yours. You sound— sweet, tiny, pitiful— as you swallow his offering, him kissing you quick after, not giving you time to reel from the intimacy of it.

He’s gone again, just as quickly as he came, heading back to the end of the bed. He knees onto the edge, large palms sliding over your bent knees, fingertips slipping down your calves, gripping and groping as they go. He drops one hand— right to his pants— sends his eyes back to yours as he pops the shiny button and unzips them at a snail's pace. Steve lets his pants hang open as he slides his hands down your thighs, all the way down to the juncture of your hips and legs, pushing his thumbs into the creases.

Steve pushes forward, forcing your legs open as he settles in, resting that hard, lean, strapping body on yours— kissing you again. Deep this time. Bruising. Tongue kneading yours, smacking and sucking your lips into his wet mouth. Moans, both his and yours, thrum and vibrate in your chests and throats. Your muscles clench again.

Lips and mouth are on the move— down your chin, nuzzling into the soft, sensitive crook of your neck. He licks, slow, before sucking the skin, finding that one little pesky spot that makes your hips jut up into his quick. He’s hard, and that makes you whimper again. You hold the champagne flute up high in your right hand, trying not to spill the contents as your hips start to roll, free hand wrapping around and digging into his thick bicep— but you aren’t so lucky. A few drops dribble from the glass and onto your chest, slipping down between your cleavage.

You shiver when his hot tongue slides between your tits to collect the cold droplets, his hands prying the silk material of your bra down. There’s a sound, a grunt, that cultivates deep in his throat at the sight of you, bare and wanton— nipples thick and perky. He slips his hands behind your back to unhook your bra, tossing it without a care to the floor once you’re free.

He inhales sharp, a hiss slipping through his teeth, “Fuck, these are beautiful.”

Your back arches up into his hands as he grabs your tits, squeezing gently, him moaning all the while. He thumbs your nipples before taking one into his warm mouth, tongue flicking and swirling, teeth grabbing. Your body jerks up into him, hips and chest, mouth falls open before your face twists in pleasure. He gives your other breast the same attention— kissing, licking, sucking before he ventures on, his fingers digging underneath the thin band of your tights and pulling gently.

Reddened lips follow his fingers, down your waist, down your hips, down your thighs, calves, ankles, toes until you’re free of the sheer garment. You sip on the bubbly champagne as his hot tongue pushes up the inside of your calf. Sweet kisses are pressed against the subtle curve of your knee, blue eyes through long, dark eyelashes on yours the whole while. Deep, stormy eyes— the kind of eyes that make you wanna think they’re only for you; aroused by you and you alone.

He draws that red bottom lip between his teeth, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, eyes twinkling with a bit of mischief as he nuzzles into your thigh. His fingers curl around the strings of your thong as his eyes dip quickly. You close your eyes and take another sip of your drink when he starts to pull, a soft smile of your own spreading on your face as he exposes you.

There’s fingers— suddenly. Softly. Rubbing. A low hum vibrating in his throat as he touches you. A soft moan slips from between your lips as your hips start to roll, meeting each pass of his digits. Your slick already; clit hypersensitive, almost pained from going so long without. His touch is experienced, slow and deliberate as he presses soft, warm kisses against your thigh, rubbing his bearded cheek against the delicate skin.

The tips of his fingers start to drift. Down, down, down, away from your nub and to your slit where he rubs— caresses— gently. Then they’re pushing, his fingers, index and middle, sinking into you deep, pulling a sharp gasp from you.

He smiles wide before pushing out a breath, “That’s a tight fit, honey baby.” he purrs before blowing softly onto your hot, wet cunt, “It’s been a while, huh?” his voice soft, fingers pumping slowly, “Yeah, it’s been a while. Look at you squeezing down on me, baby.”

Your body jerks when Steve presses his lips to your pussy. He hums as he kisses you again and again and again, before he flattens his tongue against your clit, rubbing gently. He sucks you into his mouth, his eyes closing, eyelashes spreading over his cheeks. Your thin fingers thread into his long, blonde hair, gripping and tugging as your hooded eyes watch his head bob left and right, up and down while he devours you.

Heat blooms in your chest and stomach as you take another sip of champagne and it settles in your belly. You rest your heavy head against the headboard, licking your lips as uncontrolled moans spill from your mouth. Another sharp gasp fills the room as a third finger slips into your eager body. You can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up in your chest, and the satisfied groan that follows.

“Is this what you wanted, baby?”

His voice is as smooth as silk, the deepness of it rattling your fragile bones, “This isn’t all that I wanted, but this is a good start, Mr. Rog—” you pant, words cut off as you lift your hips when he starts to hit that little spot, “Ah, fuck.”

“Mmmm,” he purrs again, “I know this isn’t all you wanted, greedy girl.” Greedy girl. Your cunt clenches at the words, “Oooh,” he smiles as sitting up a little when he feels you tighten, “You like that? Are you Daddy’s greedy girl?”

The champagne flute slips from your fingers, the liquid spilling over your chest and stomach, pooling in your belly button, “Uh oh,” he coos, slipping his tongue up your body, sucking up the spill with his lips as he goes, “Responsive little thing.”

He pulls his fingers from you, leaving you empty, causing a frustrated, childish grunt to rumble through your chest. Steve tuts at you again, although smiling all the while as he starts to work himself out of his shirt. You bite down into your bottom lip as you watch him, more and more of his buttery, tanned, smooth skin coming into view.

His chest is wide, thick with conditioned muscles. Dark hair is splashed across the pallet of his pecs, the little happy trail spreading out across his lower stomach. There’s a deep v carved into his hips— hard abs and biceps flex as he moves. His weight leaves the mattress as he stands and shoves his fingers into his pants, pushing them down sturdy, hairy thighs. Your eyes instantly fall to the dick print in his black Armani stretch boxer briefs. Fuck.

You slip your hand down your side, over your hip and right between your sticky folds, hissing gently as you start to rub yourself, impatient and needy.

“Good girl.” he praises, making your heart sing.

He drops his hand to his dick, squeezing himself as he smirks at you. What a fucking tease— but nonetheless, your pussy clenches around absolutely nothing from just the sight of him. Those fingers of his push underneath the stretchy band of his boxers and start to tug, slowly, slowly, slowly, exposing more and more of his wiry, dark hair and skin. You drag in a deep breath when his cock finally springs free, an impressive girth bouncing as the material pushes over it.

He steps out of his boxers and starts to stroke himself, long, slow drags of his hand up and down his shaft as he watches you dip your fingers into your pussy. You tilt your hips upward as you pump your fingers, the heel of your palm pressing against your clit. Your mouth falls open, your eyes flutter, air chokes up in your throat as you fuck yourself for him, enjoying his hungry eyes on all of you.

But when he’s had enough, he’s had enough. He falls onto his knees, his weight dipping into the mattress and inches towards you, pulling your hand away. His fingers replace yours, rubbing your clit, pushing through your folds, teasing your slit quickly before he slides his hands underneath your butt and pulls you down the bed. His fingers dance over your knees before he pushes them apart and your legs fall open, pussy on full display.

Steve falls over you, hands on either side of your head, as he leans downs and captures your lips again, kissing you sweetly. There’s a sharp taste on his lips and tongue— it's you. You lean into his kiss, deepening it with your tongue as you push your hips upward, shivering when the tip of his cock glances over your clit. Shivers wrack your body again, prompting him to laugh, “Okay greedy girl, okay.”

He pulls back, rolling his shoulders as he slips his fingers between your breasts. You reach for him too— raking your fingers down his chest and stomach as he starts to push at your opening. You grip his side, digging your nails into his thick skin as the head of his cock breaks into you. He slides, agonizingly slow, his long fingers wrapping around your throat as he disappears into you, his own mouth dropping open as you envelope him.

“Fuck,” he groans, letting his head fall as he pushes a breath out of his mouth, his grip around your neck tightening slightly, “You fit me like a glove, honey.”

You push your hips, urging him to move as you wrap your small hand around his wrist and push it up his long arm, stroking gently, “Come on, baby.” You murmur, using your head to push away from the mattress slightly.

“What’s that, honey?” he asks, “Tell me, baby. Use your words.”

You mewl, husky, hips still pushing up into his, “God— fuck me, Steve. Please.”

You push your hips down into the mattress, his dick drawing out of you just slightly. You thrust back up, pushing him back in, deep, before you pull back again— over and over and over. He watches the connection, watching himself disappear and then reappear as he squeezes your throat, a steady, gentle pressure. You keep a hold of his large wrist, gasping and whimpering as you fuck up onto him.

“That’s right, doll,” he whispers, “You fuck my dick, baby. I should be paying you, shouldn’t I?”

You roll your shoulders, moaning loud, “Please,” you beg— nearly cry, “Please, fuck me. Please!”

He thrusts into you hard— biting off the words in your throat. You squeak when he fucks into you again, your tits bouncing with the force.

“Is that what you want?” he asks, thrusting into you a third time, “Hmm? Is that what you want, honey?”

You nod quickly, your face breaking, a long, strangled noise spilling out of you as he pushes his hips into yours. He sets a bruising pace after the first teasing thrusts. Hard, fast pumps of his hips into yours, skin against skin, the sound bouncing off the walls. Wet, choked sounds squeak out from you as he keeps a hold of your throat, your small hands still wrapped around his wrist and forearm. You swallow hard, the pressure from his hand making it slightly difficult but the sheer power— or the restraint he shows despite his obvious strength— makes you want to melt into the mattress.

Steve leans down, licking into your mouth with his tongue as he fucks. He kisses you hard, releasing with a loud smack before he grabs your face and chin, squeezing your cheeks as he shakes your head back and forth gently, “Does that feel good, baby?” he taunts, his red, full lips brushing along yours, “Come on sweetness, don’t go all quiet on me now.”

“S’good,” you grunt, slamming your eyes closed, “Fu— ah! Fuck!”

“That’s right, girl. This is exactly what you needed.”

You’re hoisted up, right up into his lap, your legs curling around his sides. Not missing a beat, you start to bounce and rock freely, throwing your head back as you hang on to his broad shoulders. His large hand wraps around your throat again, but his fingers creep up over your chin, the tips pushing into your mouth. You hum as you suck on them, sucking the salt of your slick right off the pads of his fingers.

Your wet muscles squeak with each push of his cock. Quick, hot spurts of precum dribbling into you as his hips thrust to meet yours. His free hand grips your hips, hefty fingers pushing into your skin, helping you move. Your nipples brush along his chest, the gentle sensation sending flashes of heat and electricity through your body— shudders racing down your spine. The hand around your waist snakes up your back, his fingers playing with the ends of your braids.

He pulls gently, then backs off, mouth agape and eyes wide as they search your face, seemingly asking permission. He tugs again and you let him— your head falling back as your tongue pushes down the length of the index and middle fingers still shoved in your mouth. Your scalp prickles with pain as he pulls harder, craning your head back further, exposing your neck. A screech explodes from your lips when his pearly whites sink into the crook of your neck before he sucks hard, pulling blood to the surface.

Faltering hips, wet smacks, damp skin to damp skin— it’s all so filthy. So crude— but exactly what you’ve needed. His hands leave your hair, leave your mouth; one wraps around your throat and the other thumbs your nipple. He keeps his eyes on you as he hisses, his hips pushing, fingers tweaking, hand tightening to push you closer and closer towards a release. Your pitch heightens, your grunts and cries shaky and desperate as he eggs you on.

“You gonna come for me, sugar?” he asks sweetly, kissing you quick and hard, “It’s okay baby, you can let go. You’ve earned it, sweet girl. You’ve been such a good girl.”

A broken moan chokes in your throat. He ruts harder and faster, each thrust pushing deeper, touching that sweet, vulnerable spot until—

Red hot is the orgasm that ripples through you. You wail as it blooms across your flesh, your toes curling and fingers digging into his shoulders. He grabs your hips as you come, guiding you down onto his cock, and then helping you rock back and forth to drain every last drop of your release. His grip around your waist tightens, his own grunts growing louder before a burst of heat swells in your cunt.

Steve punctuates his spurts with deep, sharp thrusts, hissing and groaning with each one until he’s spent. He murmurs sweet nothings into your neck, hot breath sticking to your damp skin. Your limbs turn to liquid, your head fuzzy and warm as he guides you down to the mattress. He slips out of you, strings of silk following, trickling down your hot, trembly cunt. Sweet, soft lips press against your chest and stomach, over your hips and down your legs as large hands massage your thighs and calves.

A calm washes through you as your eyes grow heavy, your breaths getting deeper and longer as you melt into the soft mattress. You feel Steve moving around, crawling back up to where you are. A long arm slips over your stomach, pulls you close, right into his warm chest and stomach. His beard and lips brush over your temple and cheek, soft fingertips run up and down your arm, pretty epithets lulling you into a gentle sleep.

You’re just as sweet as sugar, honey baby. Such a good girl.

~~~

You roll your shoulders as you shift, eyes fluttering as you start to wake. It takes a few long seconds before your eyes adjust, the room lights having long since dimmed. The moon is high in the jet black sky as bright stars smatter across the canvas. You're still cocooned underneath a heavy arm and crushed against a burly chest, a soft smile spreading on your face as he snores gently.

3:12am flashes on the digital clock on the nightstand as you feel him roll away from you in his sleep, rolling over onto his side, exposing his wide back. Your fingers instantly glance over his smooth skin, skimming down his spine before they curl over his bicep. You should have been sated, but there’s another pull— deep in your belly; still eager, still wanting. Closing the distance between your bodies, you push your bare breasts into his back as you slide your hand underneath the sheets and down his chest and stomach.

You push up onto your elbow and thread your fingers into his dirty blonde hair as your other fingers brush over his soft cock. You wrap your small hand around him and stroke him gently, right from his stomach to the tip of his pretty dick, your palm sweeping over his cockhead and slit. Another smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as he stirs after a few minutes but doesn’t fully wake; just pushes his hips languidly into your hand.

His deep breathing soon turns shallow and choppy, soft moans scratching at the back of his throat but he never opens his eyes. Warm droplets of precum bubble from his slit and you brush the pads of your fingers over the wetness, dragging it back down his quickly hardening shaft. You rile him up, make his cock rigid and angry before you pull on his hip, rolling him over onto his back.

You throw your leg over his body and settle on top of him, ass up, lips mere inches from his hot sex. In one fell swoop, you follow your hand down his cock with your mouth, his hips jerking softly from the wet warmth surrounding him. Humming, you flatten your tongue along him, the tip tracing the thick vein that runs the length of his shaft. You bob your head up and down, sucking and swirling your tongue over his tip, teasing his slit as more drops of salt-sweet cum dribble on your tongue.

Steve’s hands slither up your thighs, grab your ass and squeeze as you suck him off, his hips jutting upward into your velvet mouth. Your mouth goes slack, your eyes fluttering when he slips two fingers into your wet cunt. He fingers you slow, his thumb pressing against your asshole as you start to writhe, rolling your hips against his hard abs to massage your clit.

You pull off of him, your hand still moving up and down, squeezing him as you pucker your lips— letting them gently brush against his cock. His hips rock up into your hand, his moans growing louder by the minute, deep gasps and sighs making his chest tighten underneath your body.

“Goddamn, baby,” his voice low and groggy from sleep.

Your muscles clench around his fingers as they delve and prod, his thumb pushing and circling your warm rim. A hot breath and a quick groan push out between your teeth, his dick jumping in your hand as the air tickles his skin. You swallow him again, taking every inch, relaxing your throat to accommodate him as you bury your face in the dark blonde hair at his groin.

Steve curls his fingers, lightly scratching at your insides, making you clamp down on them, squeezing them tight; holding them in.

Steve shifts underneath you, sucking in a sharp breath, “Get up here, baby. I wanna taste you.”

The sound of his voice rattles through you. His words still slurred with sleep, voice husky. You oblige, wanting his beard between your legs once more, sweeping along the inside of your thighs. You clamor up to him, straddling his face, your thighs closing in on either side of his head. Steve flattens his head on the pillow underneath him and opens his mouth, pushing his tongue out in anticipation of you.

You push your hips forward, rolling your cunt over his lips and tongue. Your head falls back, jaw goes slack as you start to ride his face, his tongue pushing through your sticky, puffy folds with ease. A wet noise fills the room— both his tongue and lips smacking and sucking on your messy flesh. Your hand finds his cock again, your fingers fondling his tip and that pulsing vein.

A chorus of whimpers and whines, quick gasps and deep growls roll through your chest as you grab his hair, pulling his face— if it’s possible— even closer to your cunt. Steve's face is flushed red in the moonlight. He balls the sheets in his hands as he flicks the tip of his tongue against you before he sucks your folds and clit into his mouth, his head shaking gently back and forth. He only releases you to drag in quick, wet breaths before closing back in on you, humming and moaning.

A soft burn spreads through your thighs as you canter your hips, using his chin and nose, along with his tongue and mouth to cop a feel. You’re close again, hips jerking with unexpectancy, your core also starting to burn as your body strains with its need.

Steve isn’t done with you yet. He rearranges you quickly, lifting you right off of him. Your knees sink into the mattress as he grabs your wrists and flattens your hands flat on the headboard.

He fucks into you from behind, not wasting a second in setting a brisk pace. He holds your hips in his hands, fingers digging into your skin as you drop your head, your braids swinging. Your tits bounce with his thrusts, your head knocking into the velvet headboard as you hold yourself up against it. Steve’s hips and balls slap against your ass as he gruffly pulls you back into him. A hand curls around your hip and travels up to your tits, grabbing your nipple between his index finger and thumb to tweak and pull and roll the thick nub.

You’re panting again, cursing and howling as your stomach tightens and your heart leaps, heat rippling through you. A quick sweat pops up on your brow, goosebumps prickle up along your body as your toes start to curl again. Steve’s hips are relentless, driving, driving, driving hard, his girth filling every inch that you have to offer. His fingers start to prod your asshole again, pushing gently against your rim as it constricts and relaxes.

It doesn’t take much. The soft pads of his fingers against your rim, and one, two, three more  strokes of his hips and you’re gone. Your mind going blank as your orgasm rushes. Steve fucks you right through it, dropping a hand to your clit as it jumps with the contractions of your cunt. He teases it— your clit— slapping and rubbing quick circles as your walls squeeze around him, finally coaxing him to come again.

You decide that you like the way it feels when he comes inside of you. His silk ribbons coating your squeaky muscles. You collapse against the mattress after your release washes through you. Steve falls beside you, rolling over onto his back and flattening his hand in the middle of his chest as he catches his breath.

“Gettin’ your money’s worth, huh?”

You dissolve into laughter, pushing your face into the blankets as you lay on your stomach, “I am a shrewd businesswoman, Mr. Rogers.”

“You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

~~~

“It’s a financial risk, for sure,” you reiterate, hands shoved into the pockets of your slim fit pants, your suit jacket open, “But I assure you, we can turn this company around. Carter & Danvers hasn’t had an acquisition fail in over thirty years. I will personally oversee this transition through— until it’s turning a profit.”

All eyes are on you in the boardroom as Hank Prym, CEO and pain in the ass that just won’t sign the goddamn contract, of Lang & Prym Inc. stares back at you, fingers threaded over his lips. For whatever reason, he doesn’t trust you or anything that you have to say, despite the fact that within six months— or less— his company will have to file bankruptcy. Natasha Romanov, CFO of Lang & Prym, sits to his left, green eyes sliding between his and yours. Her delicate fingers play with the pen between them, rolling it slowly as she tosses her short, red hair.

“Mr. Prym,” she starts, “We have to do something. We aren’t going to last much longer without their help. I crunched the numbers for you multiple times.”

He shakes his head slowly, his dark eyes glancing off towards the windows, “We have time, right?”

“We do,” Natasha nods, “But—“

“I’m not ready to sign yet. Not yet,” he stands, and everyone else placed around the table follows his lead. He moves around the table and up to where you are, extending his hand and shaking yours gently, “You’re good, but I’m just not ready yet.”

You smile softly, tapping the back of his hand with your free one, “That’s alright, this is tough, I realize that.”

“I’m glad they sent you instead of that Wade Wilson,” he chuckles, “How long are you in town for?”

“Indefinitely. Until you sign with us, Mr. Prym, I’m a Los Angelean.”

“Well,” he starts, taking a step towards the door, “Have Natasha show you around town. She knows this little taco place that’s to die for.”

You toss your eyes towards Natasha as she approaches and wink, “I’ll take her up on that. She’s already given me a tip or two about the lays of the land.”

You shake hands with the rest of the board members as they exit the room, finally leaving you and the smirking redhead alone. There may be a little underlying tension between you and her, you aren’t entirely sure yet, but you know that her eyes tend to linger on your frame just a tad longer than they should— not that you mind the extra attention, especially from someone as effortlessly attractive as she is.

Her arms are crossed over her chest as she sits on the edge of the mahogany table. A tight, black pencil skirt accentuates her shapely hips and long legs. A red satin blouse, unbuttoned strategically to show off her soft, pretty, full breasts.

“You’re looking a little more lively today.” Her silk smooth voice floats towards you, making you smile, “You gave my pal a call, eh?”

A devilish smile curls on your lips as you push your hands back into your pockets, “He was worth every fucking cent.”

“Glad to hear it.” She winks, and pushes away from the table, her manicured fingers reaching for your tie. She steps in close as she drags her hand down the length of the skinny tie, her big eyes following, “Maybe the three of us can get dinner sometime, hmm?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, “You just name the time and place, Ms. Romanov.”

She hums approvingly before smoothing down your tie and turning on her heel, clicking out of the boardroom with her file folders in hand.

You plop down in the chair behind your open laptop, exiting out of your powerpoint and bringing up your email. You work for a while, but your mind drifts, back to the night before, back to one Steve Rogers. Broad shoulders, smooth skin, sweet, pretty mouth… soon, the thoughts keep you from working. Soon, you’re leaning back in your chair, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as you sway gently back and forth.

You slide your phone out of your pocket and thumb through your messages, landing on his number. Tapping the screen, you stand and bring it to your ear as you take a few steps towards the windows, your eyes scanning over the city as the phone rings.

“Back so soon?”

You can’t help the smile that spreads on your face as his warm voice fills your ears, “You make it hard to stay away, I must admit. How are you, I’m not disturbing you am I? I mean, you’re probably a busy man.”

He laughs, a warm, deep laugh and your body tightens “I do take breaks, you know.” You giggle, a sudden nervous energy filling you, which is strange. You usually have no problem asking for things you want, “Don’t get all shy on me now, girl.”

“God,” you scoff, tittering again, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Come on, I thought we were passed all this? Do I need to come over there and help you relax again?”

Muscles you weren’t even sure you had, clench tight, “Are you free tonight, Mr. Rogers?”

“You know, I like that. All that Mr. Rogers stuff,” You hear him moving around, then a deep exhale, “I wish I were, doll, but I’ve got a date. Dinner and a function.”

You click your tongue, your shoulders dropping as a quick flash of disappointment washes through you. It doesn’t last long, the disappointment— hell, you make deals for a living, “I’ll double whatever she’s paying you.”

“Oooh,” he purrs, “Jealous, baby?”

“Not jealous,” you point out, “I just don’t like to wait, and I don’t like to lose. It’s not in my nature.”

“That’s very flattering, but I can’t do that. I have a reputation in this city.”

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I’m sure you do.”

“I do! I can’t cancel on such short notice.”

“Then meet me for dessert.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” He laughs earnestly, “Listen, I’m good, but I’m not that good.”

You cover your face with your hand, laughing again, “Oh my god,” you sigh, “Well, fuck. I’ll get with Natasha and see if she can recommend another option for the evening...”

You hear him shuffle through the phone again, another deep sigh pushing out of his nose. He’s quiet for a beat as you tap your index finger against the edge of your phone, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Let me get back to you a little later tonight, alright? You and Ms. Romanov behave over there.”

“I told you I was shrewd.”

“You sure did. Wait up for me, babe.”

You smile big, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “Will do.”

~~~

His knock sounds through the hotel room, making you tear your eyes from your laptop. You finish your email before pushing away from the small table and padding towards the door, your lace, burgundy kimono flailing with the air. You pull open the door and step to the side instinctively as Steve traipses through the threshold. You let it close with a soft click before you lean against it, crossing your legs and tilting your head as you find two crystal blue eyes on you.

The two of you blink at each other, eyes traveling over one anothers frames. He shrugs out of his black velvet jacket and tosses it over the back of the couch before he starts on his cufflinks. You watch in silence as he rolls up his sleeves, one by one, exposing his forearms just how you like— all veins and hair. His biceps bulge in the white button down, chest rippling underneath his black vest. He keeps flipping his eyes towards you, peeking through those lashes as he smiles.

He beckons you with his index finger and without hesitation, you’re moving towards him, pushing away from the door with your hands. Once you’re within range, he reaches for you, wrapping his long arm around your waist to pull you into him. Laughter bubbles up in your chest as you crash against him, his lips capturing yours in a flurry of kisses.

His hands push over your ass, squeezing your flesh before his palms push up and down your hips, “You look beautiful.” He says softly, his eyes drifting down your matching burgundy and navy bra and panties

You toss your braids over your shoulder before placing your hands back on his chest, “Thank you. How was your dinner?”

“Filling,” he smiles, “But I left room for dessert.”

“Well,” you start, pulling out of his grasp and moving back towards the table, “Hopefully you like chocolate.”

You spin on the balls of your feet to face him again, holding up a small plate with a large piece of chocolate cake. You smile as he laughs, shoving his hands in his pockets as he steps up to you, leaning down just a tad to take a whiff of the freshly baked German chocolate cake. He opens his mouth, flicking those big blue eyes up to yours again, waiting patiently. You pluck the fork that’s dug into the spongy cake and cut off a small piece before placing it at his lips.

He takes it slowly, keeping his eyes on you as he slides his tongue along the bottom of the fork, sucking the cake into his mouth. He chews it carefully, closing his eyes as he hums in satisfaction, licking his lips, “That is good.”

You pop a piece into your mouth, agreeing with his sentiments, “Mmhmm, this is really good.”

Cutting off another piece, you slide it into your mouth, closing your eyes and moaning again. You feel his gaze, drifting down your chest and stomach, down your legs and then back up again. It feels nice— having his full attention. You don’t intend to go without it for the rest of your stay in L.A. While waiting for him, you came up with the perfect solution— your greatest deal yet.

With a gentle flutter, your eyes are open again, finding his staring back into yours. A flush of red seeps into his cheeks and lips, down his neck as his eyes drop to your chest quickly.

“Something the matter?” You ask coolly.

He shakes his head slowly, sucking his teeth, “Rethinking my decision to have dinner, that’s all.”

A smile quirks onto your lips, “A man has to eat, Mr. Rogers.”

“I can survive on chocolate cake and champagne.”

“Not for too long; unless…” your words drift away with ease as you step away from him again, grabbing your phone and heading towards the bedroom.

The soft click of his Christian Loubotin slip ons against the marble floor greets your ears as he follows. You point the fork towards your champagne glass still sitting on the table but keep walking, passing through the threshold of the sprawling bedroom and plopping onto the equally big bed. He enters moments later, hands full of a champagne glass and bottle. The mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the edge, right next to you, where he watches you chew on another piece of the rich cake intently, his gaze only leaving to top off the bubbly, golden liquid.

Steve waits until you pause to pass the square champagne flute your way, thick fingers brushing along your thin, manicured ones. That strong gaze stays on you as you sip, a lopsided grin pinching his cheek, slow blinks until you hand the flute back and cut into the cake once more.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

He clears his throat at your sudden aloof demeanor, “Don’t be coy, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

He laughs, “Maybe a spanking will help rejog your memory.”

You cut your eyes towards him, inhaling sharply at the notion, “Do you charge extra for that?”

“Only for naughty girls.”

“Let me grab my purse, then.”

You throw your legs over the side of the bed to stand playfully, but he catches your calf with his palm and gently rearranges you on the bed. He takes the fork from your fingers and digs it into the half eaten cake before bringing it to your lips.

“Answer me, please.”

You accept his offering slowly as your body constricts at the firm tone of his voice. You bat your eyes while you chew before slipping your hand down his wrist and forearm, stroking gently, “I was just thinking that you could possibly survive off of chocolate and champagne if that someone indulging you is also offering other vital nutrients.”

His eyes squint as he goes for another piece of cake, this time eating the bite himself, “Ah,” he says after a minute or two, his eyes towards the ceiling as he works it over in his mind, “You’re saying you’d also like to be my dinner.”

“Precisely. I mean, it doesn’t really make sense to leave one restaurant after the main course just to go to another for dessert.”

“It is timely; and, as you know, my time is extremely valuable.” He nods slowly, “My clients are a demanding bunch.”

You smile, “And don’t like to share.”

Steve pushes in close, brushing his lips against yours just to tease. He drops his face and nuzzles into you, the soft hair of his beard caressing the sensitive flesh of your neck before his lips start to nip and nibble.

“So you are jealous.”

The husky fullness of his voice sends a targeted missile to your core— your heart skipping a beat as the air freezes in your lungs. The feeling sinks right to your bones. A devilish hand slips along your bare stomach and around your hip to squeeze, before pulling you closer. A pink, velvet tongue presses against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, sliding up to your ear before he plants gentle, gentle kisses.

“How are we going to solve this problem?” He whispers, teeth nibbling at your earlobe.

“Mmm,” you hum, “Maybe we should talk when you aren’t so full. I’m a woman of class— I don’t eat leftovers.” Your sentence ends in a whisper as you lean up and get right next to his ear.

His chuckle is deep, vibrating through you. He takes a breath, his chest puffing up, straining his shirt and vest before he pushes it out slowly, “I still have two hands and a mouth.”

“I don’t know where those have been either.”

“Well then why don’t you give me a bath? That way you can be assured I’m clean.” He stands, extending his hand towards you, “Maybe I can work up a second appetite.”

Steve whisks you into the bathroom, only dropping your hand to start the bath. You lean against the long counter, crossing your legs as you watch him undress. He takes his time of course, flicking those eyes up at you every now and again as he sheds the rest of his Tom Ford suit, taking the time to fold it up and set it aside. Your eyes can’t help but drift, down that chest and hard stomach, over the smattering of coarse, dark blonde hair at his lower stomach, right to his thick, long cock.

“I usually make clients pay before letting them ogle me,” he winks, “You’re getting a freebie. Come.” He beckons again, curling his index finger towards you.

“Oh?” you purr, pushing away from the counter and sauntering to him, “Why am I so lucky to get such a perk?”

Steve inhales deep again as he slides his hands underneath your kimono at the shoulders, pushing it right off, “I like you.”

“You barely know me.”

He spins you around, fingers unhooking your bra before he crushes his chest to your back, “I have a feeling that’s going to change.” He whispers, pressing his cheek against yours as he stares at you through the mirror.

He pushes his hands over your hips, fingers curling around the strings of your thong, slipping it down your thighs. He bends to lift each leg, pulling the undergarment from you and tossing it atop his pile of clothes. A large hand encases yours and moves you to the edge of the tub, keeping a tight hold as you step into the hot water.

“My phone, please?” you ask sweetly as you settle down, resting your back against the porcelain.

Steve disappears momentarily only to return with your phone and another flute of champagne. He sits the items on the edge of the tub and slips into the opposite end, grabbing your feet and placing them against his chest. He lifts your right leg and starts pressing his thumbs into the bottom of your foot, rubbing firm circles, smiling slowly when you moan. Grabbing your phone, you thumb through your music before Prince fills the bathroom.

“I thought I was supposed to give you a bath?”

“We’ll get to that,” he says easily, lifting your toes to his lips, kissing them softly, “I want to hear this plan of yours.”

You pull your foot from his grasp and reach for your loofah and shower gel before pulling on his wrist to get him to move towards you. Steve slides between your legs as you separate them, wrapping them around his waist as he lays against your chest. You dip the loofah into the water, letting it soak it up before you squeeze it over his chest. A smile and a laugh bubble from you when you start to wash his chest as low groans rumble through his chest.

You push him up to sweep the soap over his shoulders and back, admiring the smooth canvas of tanned skin. He relaxes easy, muscles cooling and calming under your fingers, his breaths getting deep and long. The length of his body captivates you as you push the sudsy loofah over his bicep and down his arm, not able to reach his wrist without straining.

“You alright back there?”

“Shut up,” another giggle pushes through your lips, “You know, my legs are forty four inches from hip to toe, so that means you have eighty eight inches wrapped around you right now and you’re still longer than I am.” You kiss the tiny spot just underneath his ear, “Your mama fed you well.”

“She was a good woman, my mama. Hell of a cook.”

“Was?”

He sighs deeply as he runs his hands up and down your legs, “She died, a few years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, “That’s the meaning of life, right? You live, you love, you lose. I was lucky to have been able to take care of her until the end, some people don’t get that.” He tips his head up to yours, his eyes searching your face, “But that’s enough about me. How was your day?”

“Long,” you smile, anchoring your left hand in the middle of his chest as you continue to push the loofah around his body, “I couldn’t close my deal, so it looks like I’ll be in Los Angeles indefinitely.”

“We’re not that bad, you’ll fit right in.”

“You’re not a Los Angelean,” you tease, poking him gently, “I can hear that Brooklyn in you, no matter how hard you try to hide it.”

His laughter fills the bathroom, making you smile wide. It’s a nice sound, his laugh. It’s also nice knowing you can pull such a genuine response from him— the slight distance he’s worked so hard to build over the years slowly starting to slip away.

“I miss New York sometimes. I haven’t been back since—” he cuts the words off, but you know what he was going to say. He clears his throat, visibly catching himself slipping and tenses, trying to regain his control, “I’m sure this news has something to do with you wanting to be my dinner and dessert?”

“Yes, so,” you start, clearing your throat as well, “If it isn’t obvious, I quite enjoyed my night with you, and I’m sure you’ve picked up on the fact that I hate to share.”

“Only child, huh?”

“Shush,” you slap at him, “I don’t want to have to wait my turn for you, and I’m much too active, if you catch my drift, to go days between having you.”

He nods slowly, “I’m with you.”

“I’ll have business dinners and such, actually I’m attending a polo match on Saturday and I um, well, I’d like you to be… mine… while I’m here. Be at my every beck and call.” You click your tongue, “You know, like an employee of sorts.”

You peer at the side of his face as he sucks his teeth, nodding slowly, hands still dragging along and squeezing your legs, “That’s an idea, isn’t it?” he turns his head towards you, “You’re a very attractive woman, you could have anybody you want, for free. Ms. Romanov to start.”

“She talks about me?” you gasp, giggling a little, biting your lip, “But I can’t flaunt her around the way I want to, we’re technically working together, imagine if HR gets a whiff. No, I’d like a professional, although if you don’t mind, we could invite Ms. Romanov over to play every now and again.”

“Whew,” Steve chuckles, pecking your lips quickly, “I like the sound of that. Well, if you’re talking indefinitely, it’s gonna cost ya.”

You nod, “Of course. We’re both business people, we can work this out.”

He pulls in another breath, blinking towards the opposite walls, “That sounds lovely, and I’m flattered but,”

“Steve,” you whine, “Come on, you’re not even thinking about it.”

“I have dates lined up already.”

“Cancel them.”

“I can’t do that,” you scoff, “I can’t! Once you head back to New York, I’ll be the one dealing with a horde of angry women— if they’ll even want to see me again!”

“Okay,” you cut him off, “I’ll let you finish out your week. How’s that? Then, starting Saturday, you’re mine until my deal is closed.”

“That could be a month, or more.”

“It could be a day,” you shrug, “Name your price, I’ll pay it either way.” He grows silent, “The uncertainty makes you the real winner here.”

You walk your fingers up and down his chest, nuzzling against his cheek and wet beard as he thinks it over, “Let’s do some math,” you say after a while, grabbing your phone, “You charge fifteen hundred a night, right?”

“Yeah, but you want twenty four hours a day, and you want to show me off like some boy-toy,” he smiles, wiggling his eyebrows, “Price goes up.”

“Say it.”

He knocks his head around a few times, “Twelve thousand a week.”

“Fifteen hundred times seven is ten thousand and change, and even so, that alludes to you having a date every night of the week— which I doubt. Try again.”

“Fine, nine.”

“Five thousand a week,” you counter, “And I’ll pop for dinner on nights I don’t have a business engagement.”

“Eight thousand and I won’t charge you for threesomes with Ms. Romanov, which, I can easily talk her into.”

You laugh, “That’s not fair, we’ll both be enjoying those threesomes with Natasha. Six thousand, threesomes included,” you wink playfully, “You can stay here while I’m at work, and you can use up my thousand dollars a day per diem. The hotel has a spa, a gym, a world renowned five star chef in the twenty four hour restaurant— you can book a masseuse everyday for god sakes.”

Steve sucks his teeth, “Seventy five hundred.”

“Sixty five hundred.”

He smiles, “Seven thousand. You pay upfront, every Monday, and no refunds— no matter when your deal closes.”

You grab your phone, flipping over to your cash app. His phone vibrates in his pant pocket as you turn the face towards him, the seventy five hundred dollar transaction still lighting up the screen.

“A tip?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at the extra money.

“For humoring me. We got a deal, Mr. Rogers?”

He stands, water falling off his body as he steps out and grabs one of the fluffy, white towels, “Let’s fuck on it.”

You smile wide.

“You know,” he starts, wrapping your shoulders with the towel as you stand, “I would have stayed for five.”

You wiggle your eyebrows, “I would have paid twelve.”

~~~

It’s been a little over a week since your deal with Steve was struck, and the two of you have fallen into quite a lovely little routine. You’ve already gotten used to falling asleep on his chest, his long arms wrapped around your middle. Waking up at random times in the night to find him rutting into you softly, his warm breath on the back of your neck, hot lips pressed against your shoulder, fingers digging into your hips.

The two of you get along well— having dinner together every night, laughing and talking aimlessly whether it’s down in the restaurant or curled up on the couch, you in Steve’s lap as a random show plays in the distance (not that you’re ever paying attention to it). He’s a charmer, becoming an instant hit with the businessmen and women at the polo match and business dinner you were invited to. He looks good on your arm, and you like having him there.

Waking up with Steve is also fun. You currently stand in the bathroom, brushing your teeth as CNN plays in the embedded TV in the long mirror. There’s a shift in the reflection of the bed, Steve rolling over and letting out a deep sigh as he drifts back to sleep. Blinking back towards yourself, you glance down at your phone, tapping it to illuminate the time. You’ve got a few minutes to spare.

You rinse your mouth quickly and pad back into the bedroom, pulling the white sheets away from his naked body. The mattress dips under your knees as you climb onto it and place your hands on his thighs, raking your painted fingernails down his flesh. You knead the muscles, squeezing gently as you massage each thigh, working your way up from his knees. Within minutes, he’s growing, cock twitching before towering up, the light from the bathroom helping cast its shadow over his stomach.

There’s a quick sound from him, a half grunt, half moan, and you can’t help but smile— you’ve learned he’s a light sleeper. You sink your warm mouth over the head of his cock, your tongue swishing and teasing his slit. He gasps, and it sends a quick shiver down your spine, your pussy constricting as you push down his length, taking him all in.

You only bob your head a few times before his hips start to join in, pushing up into your mouth gently. Soft little moans choke up in his throat. Breaths hitching before he squeaks, his body twitching with each pass of your tongue. Hums vibrate through his throat and chest as he licks his lips and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip— a deep red flushing through his fair skin.

Each tiny sound from him, long hisses, desperate pants, quick, sharp whines as you work him over, sends jolts through your own body, your pussy wet and achy, stomach tight. But you have an early Zoom meeting, and time is slipping away. You reach for his hands and place them on your head as you slow down, giving him a clear signal.

He slips one of his hands down your cheek, rubbing his thumb gently against your skin to get you to peek up at him. You nod quickly, and not a second goes by before he grabs a handful of your braids and fucks hard up into your awaiting mouth. You moan with him as he forces your head down with his hands, his hard, long cock slipping down your throat.

Tears slip out of the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks, spit and cum bubbling out of your mouth as he fucks your face. Steve leans up to watch you take him, his hips still grinding hard.

“Tha’s right, baby,” he slurs, pushing out heavy breaths, “You take my cock so good, baby. That’s s’good, sugar. That mouth is so fucking pretty around my cock.”

Your heart leaps in your chest at his praise, the stroking of your ego making your body clench. You keep your nails dug into his thighs as he fucks into your messy mouth, lips flushed red, swollen and slippery. Steve whines loud, his octave high, the sound bitten off and broken as he slams his head back on the pillow, his mouth falling open. His hips pulse as he nearly cries, your scalp burning as he grips your head and hair.

You fight the urge to touch yourself, wanting to keep the delicious ache with you throughout the day. Steve lifts his head to make eye contact with you again, his face strained and broken as he whimpers, “Fuck, I’m gonna co— ,” he groans, loud and drawn-out, “That mouth is perfect. Ugh, I’m gonna paint that pretty mouth with my cum, baby— ah!”

He freezes suddenly and then pushes his hips upward, pushing his rigid cock deep before he spills, your warm, rough, pink tongue helping to coax him. He slams his head back down on the pillow, chest and muscles tense hard as each pass of his orgasm grows stronger, his spurts long and hot.

When his hips stop thrusting, he softens into the mattress, his limbs damn near liquid. His eyes flutter as he drags in deep, ragged, audible breaths, each one shaky and wet. You clean him up with your tongue, bobbing your head again, gripping his hips as filthy little noises and sweet cries squeak out of his throat. His body jerking and jutting. Once you’re finished, you kiss his tummy and smile before pushing off the bed.

“Where you goin’?” he mumbles, reaching for you as move back into the bathroom, “Hey, come’re”

You spin around to wink at him before closing the door a little to finish getting ready for your day.

“That’s not fair,” he shouts, making you giggle, “Fuck.”

~~~

One Zoom meeting turns into two, turns into three and beyond. You jot down notes, shaking your head slightly in agreement as you grab your phone, calculating a few numbers before you recite them for the rest of the group. It’s kind of amazing how you all deal with millions of dollars like it’s absolutely nothing.

You’ve had your nose so stuck in your laptop and phone all morning, you haven’t had a chance to pay any attention to the tall blonde traipsing around the place, shooting you little looks and quick smiles as you work, in hopes to garner a glance. It hasn’t worked so far; until now that is, as he saunters out of the bedroom after his trip to the gym and a late shower, chest bare, grey sweats hanging low on his lips.

Water still beads on his shoulders, a few strays slipping down his pecs into the dark hair that covers his chest. You cut your eyes towards him and slide them with him as he moves into the dining area, watching as he bends over to pluck a bottle of water out of the mini fridge. He stands back tall, rolling his broad shoulders a bit before he tips his head and guzzles the cool liquid, Adam's apple bobbing.

“Hello? You still with us?”

You snap your eyes back towards your laptop, a smirking Natasha Romanov staring back at you, “Sorry, I think my, uh, connection got a little wonky,” you lie, sending your eyes quickly back towards the chuckling Steve, “What were you saying, Ms. Romanov?”

“Scott Lang, our other CEO is flying in next week from Chicago, he wants to set a meeting with you but was wondering if you could carve out sometime to call him beforehand. He just wants a run down of the numbers you’re proposing.”

“Sure, I’ll pencil him into my schedule later today, if that’s okay? Around three?”

Natasha taps on your phone, “Perfect, looks like he’s free. Mr. Prym also would like to see you and Mr. Parker again to go over the construction plans of the possible new building.”

“Okay,” you nod, turning your attention to your phone to text Peter, “I’ll get back to you whenever Peter shoots me his schedule. He’s kinda busy though, so it might not be until next week.”

“That’s alright.” she answers absentmindedly, “Clint? Do you have anything for her?”

“Nope, I’m good I think.” The short blonde says.

“Nick? Wanda?”

After a chorus of no’s, you all say your goodbyes before you end the call, returning to your notebook, forgetting all about the burly man stalking towards you. Your phone buzzes, and you grab it up, skimming over Peter’s text message before you respond quickly, setting up a quick call with him for the following day and asking him to share his calendar with you. A soft ding sounds from your computer and you’re immediately turning back towards it, bouncing slightly when a weight pushes into the couch next to you.

The taps of the keys on your keyboard are followed by the swoosh of your outbound email before you grab your pen and start scribbling again. A constantly buzzing phone, more taps, more swooshes, and your gentle, random hums are all sounds you’re used to; not so much your sudden roomie. He’s bored and slightly annoyed by your snubs all morning— also wanting a little payback for your shenanigans so early in the morning.

You haven’t even noticed that he’s now completely naked.

You lean up a little, squinting as you study the growth chart on your screen, your fingers playing with your bottom lip as your mind crunches the information. A gasp fills your chest as you’re lifted from your spot and settled right onto his lap. Before you can protest, he shimmies the short shorts covering your lower half down your thighs and over your knees, and pushes your white satin panties to the side.

Steve sweeps your box braids over your shoulder as the head of his cock pushes through your folds. You feel his eyes on the side of your face, that soft beard brushing against your jaw as he rocks his hips slowly, teasing your clit and opening with his dick. He grazes his fingers over your thighs before he cups your hot sex in his palm and uses his fingers to spread you open.

With a firm press, he slips inside of you, pushing until he bottoms out. He wiggles his hips, just so you can feel him moving inside of you before he grabs your laptop and places it back in your lap, “Don’t let me disturb you.”

You squirm on top of him, your hips rolling slightly as he starts to play with your clit, rubbing slow circles against your soft, wet skin. Your mind is blank as you stare at the computer screen, breath light and choppy, body tightening around his rigid cock. You want him to move, to thrust up into you real nice and slow while he thumbs and pulls at your nipple, breathing hot, hushed words into your ear. Trying to coax him, you wiggle again, pushing down onto him but he doesn’t relent— he just turns on the tv and settles back into the couch, throwing his arm over the back like you’re not even sitting on his dick right now.

He continues to rub your clit lazily, keeping his eyes on Sports Center as your body tenses every now and again, tiny, needy moans vibrating your vocal chords. You try to focus on the numbers and emails in front of you, but your mind is mush— a dull ache throbbing in the pit of your stomach, your teased clit starting to sting from his gentle pressure.

Natasha’s name flashes across your laptop, sending a sudden strike of fear through you, heart dropping to your feet, “Steve—”

“Answer it,” he says gently, “I’ll be quiet.”

“She’ll see you!” You hiss.

He just chuckles in return, “Not if you stay still, she won’t. Answer it.”

Your fingers tremble over the mouse pad, the arrow hovering over the accept button. Steve reaches around and taps the button before relaxing back into the couch, sinking lower into it as Natasha’s smiling face pops up on your screen.

“Hi,” she greets happily, her chin in her palm, a pair of red, thick rimmed glasses over her eyes, “Are you busy?”

“Um,” you start, clearing your throat as your voice quivers, “Not, um, not really. What’s, uh, what’s—” you grunt when Steve finally thrusts into you.

Natasha’s eyes squint as she tilts her head, “You okay?”

Smiling quickly, you nod, “Yeah, sorry. What’s up? Does Mr. Prym need something else from me?”

“Oh, no, this isn’t work related.” She laughs lightly, “We’ve missed each other in the office this past week, I was just wondering if you were doing okay, see how L.A. is treating you.”

Steve shifts underneath you, pushing his hips hard. You tense hard, muscles quivering around him as you dig your nails into his thigh, trying to muffle the squeak that rises in your throat.

“It’s great,” you strain— high pitched and shaky, “It’s um, I l-like it here.”

“Have you seen Steve lately?”

Your eyes widen when Steve snakes his free hand up to your chest, grabbing a handful of your left tit. You turn the laptop away from you quickly as Steve leans up, resting his chin on your shoulder, another deep rumble of laughter falling from his lips.

He centers the screen on the two of you again, kissing your shoulder as Natasha feins shock, “She’s seen quite a bit of me lately.”

Embarrassment flushes through you— heat rising in your cheeks, but Steve rolls his hips slowly and jossles you on his lap and you can’t help but sound, a wet little whimper as he thumbs your nipple underneath your shirt, “S-Steve.”

“It’s okay honey,” he whispers, kissing your jaw, his eyes cutting back towards the laptop as Natasha leans back in her chair, teeth dug into her bottom lip as a pretty pink blush blooms across her cheeks, “Little Natasha has a voyeur kink,” he pushes his mouth right next to your ear, his octave dropping, “She loves watching me fuck pretty girls like you,” he lifts your top up, exposing your see-through bra as he turns his attention back to the screen, “Don’t you, baby?”

“Are you fucking her right now?” Natasha breathes, her voice thick and deep, “I wanna see.”

Steve sets the laptop on the glass table in front of you, pushing it back until your lower halves are exposed— his cock rooted deep in your cunt. You hear Natasha groan, watch as she starts to drag the pads of her fingers across her chest as she sways gently back and forth in her swivel chair.

“Does she feel good, Steve?” She asks.

“Oh,” Steve purrs, lifting your bra slowly so your tits fall out one by one, bouncing softly, “She is so tight, Nat. So warm. You’d fall in love with this pussy.”

You fall back against his chest, turning your head slightly to nuzzle into the side of his face as he gropes your tits in his massive hands, squeezing hard as he pinches your nipples between his index fingers and thumbs. Languid thrusts start to push you up and down, the fingers on your pussy spreading you open for Natasha as she stands, wiggling her hips to hike her skirt up.

She sits back in her chair and lifts her left leg, resting her foot against the edge of her desk. Her thin fingers push through her slick, wet folds as she watches Steve fuck you slow, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. You open your eyes just enough to watch her unbutton her blouse, slipping her hand in to pull her left breast out, exposing her pierced, pink nipple.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan quick, before hissing as Steve pushes in and out, humming soft as he starts to let it go to his head, “You’ve been hiding those from me.”

“You can see them in person soon,” she purrs, her head falling back on the chair as she pushes two fingers into her cunt, “I can’t wait to feel your tongue on my tits.”

You tense at her words, Steve cursing as your muscles squeeze around him. He bites down on your shoulder as he starts to fuck into you faster. He rolls your nipples in his fingers as the sound of your skin slapping against his gets louder— sharper. Natasha blinks slowly through hooded eyes, her sweet mouth falling open as her hips buck, one hand slapping at her reddened clit and puffy, slick folds, the other pumping in her slit.

A shudder races up your spine— hips jerk unexpectedly, digging down into Steve’s, “Sugar’s getting close, Nat,” he breathes, sliding his hand back to your clit, “God, I wish you could feel how tight she’s squeezing me. Hear how wet she is?”

You should be embarrassed; how spread open you are, the wet, filthy squeaks and squishes of your cunt as he ruts into you. But watching Natasha as she fucks herself to you, hearing her mewl and curse, her fair, smooth skin blushing red while she loses herself. It’s all obscene. Sleazy; but that’s why you like it.

“Oh, make her come, Steve,” Natasha groans, her tongue slipping out to lick at her nipple, “I want to see that pussy quiver.”

Steve wraps his arm around your middle, holding you tight, breathing into your ear as his hips go into overdrive. He fucks into you fast and hard, bouncing you on his lap. He shoves his fingers into your mouth, hissing and groaning as you suck them. The sweet whimpers and whines of Natasha make you shiver, the sight of her hips thrashing and the sun glinting off of the diamond studded bar nipple rings accenting her perfect tits, send you right over the edge.

You throw your head back as your orgasm blooms, spreading through your veins like fire. You whail as you slam your eyes shut, Steve dropping his wet fingers to slap your cunt, teasing your clit as it jumps with contractions.

“Oh, God, yes,” Natasha pants, her fingers rubbing quick, hard circles against her clit, hips pulsing, “Yeah, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna... come, baby— you’re so fucking perfect, sweet girl.”

“You are perfect, honey,” Steve moans into your ear as wave after wave of your orgasm washes over you, “That tight pussy feels so good around me. So sweet— that’s why I call you honey.” He wraps his fingers around your neck, “You want me to come in her, Nat? Huh? You wanna see my hot cum spilling out of her?”

“Yes!” She cries, hunched over as she thrashes her hand back and forth, her mouth hanging, “Yes, Steve.”

As if on cue, he grunts deep, his cock jumping as he starts to spurt. He keeps a tight grip around your neck as he fucks hard with each spit, the hot ribbons coating your slick muscles. He pulls out of you unceremoniously, cantering your hips to give Natasha the full view of his silk dribbling out of you, your spasming, tight cunt pushing it out.

Natasha comes hard, her moans growing louder and higher as the coil finally snaps. Her tits tremble with the aftershocks, her hips jutting upward randomly as she creams. Her fingers slow as her eyes close, her head tilts back and resting against the back of her swivel chair as she licks her lips. Deep, smooth breathes swelling her chest as her hips come to rest.

Steve kisses you deep— tongue pushing into your wet warmth to massage the roof of your mouth. He sucks on your top lip, smacks on you loud as he palms your thighs before kneading gently. Smiling against his lips, you let your body go limp; melt right into his burly chest and stomach, his cock resting against your balmy, used, sticky cunt.

“Goodness, me,” Natasha purrs, a sated, soft smile on her lips, “That was sweet. We really need to get together now.” She laughs.

You giggle, pushing your fingers into Steve’s hair, “Steve let me work threesomes into his base price, so you’re welcome any time, babe.”

“Oh, he did, did he? That’s not fair Steven Grant, you nickel and dime the shit out of me.”

Steve shrugs, “What can I say, she’s a better business woman than you.”

“I can see that. I hate to come and run, but I need to freshen up. I have a meeting with Hank in a half hour. Maybe we can all have dinner Friday night?”

“I’ll make reservations. The restaurant in the hotel is fabulous.”

She winks, her lips curled in a smile, “Text me.”

The connection ends and you fall back into Steve’s chest, brushing your cheek against his, “Now that your debauchery has ended, can I get back to work now?” you laugh.

“Nope,” he answers quickly, slapping your laptop shut and lifting you with him as he stands, “It’s lunch time.”

“Steve,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you back into the bedroom, “I have so much to do. I’m waiting for the architect to call me back, I have a presentation I have to put together—”

“Numbers to crunch, businesses to buy, blah, blah, blah,” he drops you onto the mattress and grabs the menu from the nightstand before plopping down next to you, “They got sushi today, yummy.”

Work becomes an afterthought. You and Steve lay in your nakedness, eating slowly as you stare at each other, rogue fingers reaching out and sliding along hips and arms and tummies. Lingering blue eyes skip along your face and body, his deep laugh rattling every bone, every muscle, every vein you possess. He opens up a little more, talking aimlessly about he and Natasha’s friendship, how they met through his friend, and fellow escort Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky,” you lay on your back, leg bent at the knee as it sways back and forth slowly, Steve curled around you, “Even his name is kinky.”

He nuzzles into your neck, exhaling deep as he rests his eyes. His long arm is slung over your chest, legs tangled with yours, “He’s a good guy. I might let you meet him one day.”

“Might?”

“I don’t want him stealing you away from me.”

The words hang over you like a cloud. You blink slowly up at the ceiling as they, the words, swirl around you, filling your chest and head. Maybe you’re thinking too much into it, putting too much weight on them. He probably says this to all of his clients while in a post sex haze. You’re being silly, you don’t even know this man… but you want to.

That scares you.

After only a week, you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. What started out as just needing some company every now and again, has turned into looking forward to seeing him after work. Not being able to wait until you're across a dinner table from him, being squeezed against his body while in the tub, not wanting to pry yourself out of his arms in the morning. There was a time where you thought nothing of work— buying, selling, making money, climbing the corporate ladder— you ate and breathed your work.

Now?

All you want to do is eat sushi and nap the days away, with Steven Grant Rogers wrapped around you like a blanket.

~~~

Steve glances over his shoulder at your sleeping body as he sits on the edge of the bed. He stands slowly, running his hand through his hair as he moves towards the double doors and out onto the balcony. Night is falling over L.A., the sky dark as the moon and stars start to shine through. He leans over the concrete columns as he thumbs through his phone, casting his eyes out over the streets as he taps on a name.

“Steve,” a deep voice says, “Shit, I thought you died, man. Where have you been?”

“Sorry Buck, I’ve been with a client all week.”

“All week? Wow, big spender.”

“She’s from New York, in town on business.”

“That sounds fuckin’ awesome. Where are you?”

“The Waldorf Astoria, Presidential suite.” Steve turns, tilting his head as he watches you sleep.

“Oh, shit! You lucky bastard!”

Steve continues to stare at you, blinking slowly as you roll over onto your side, “You know, she hasn’t been out on the balcony once since she’s been here,” He says absentmindedly, nibbling on his bottom lip, “She’s afraid of heights.”

“O-kay?” Bucky chuckles as he draws out the word, slightly confused, “Why do you sound so sad? What’s going on?”

“I’m breaking rule number one.” Steve answers softly, dropping his head.

“Steve,” Bucky warns, his octave dropping.

“I don’t want her to go.” Steve answers softly, “I’m— fuck, I think I’m falling for her, Buck.”

~~~

Your phone vibrates softly against the couch, illuminating in the darkness as a text from Natasha slides in.

Good news! Hank’s ready to sign the deal first thing tomorrow morning!

[goddamnblazeinthedark]

reputation. (m) {chapter one: ready for it?}

pairing: Stiles Stilisnki/ Jackson Whittemore

genre warning: fanfiction (teen wolf) ; Teen (contains sex and cursing)

words: 1,146 words

summary: a secret relationship at the pack meeting.

a/n: the full story is out on ao3, but wanted to post on tumblr for people who use it more. new chapter on tumblr every Wednesday!

I-I-I see how this is gon' go Touch me and you'll never be alone I-Island breeze and lights down low No one has to know In the middle of the night, in my dreams You should see the things we do, baby In the middle of the night, in my dreams I know I'm gonna be with you So I take my time Are you ready for it?

Stiles sat on the sofa in the loft, nestled in the middle between Scott and Liam. Derek and Peter sat across from them, Jackson sitting in the chair with Lydia on his lap, while Isaac sat on the floor. Nothing had happened in the town, it had been quiet and it was a welcomed change for their senior year. Everything supernatural just took a break, so now the pack meetings had become just a way to check in each week and eat pizza. No one minded the change, in fact it was very welcomed. Stiles looked up for a moment as he reached for another slice, stealing a quick glance at Jackson. Lydia was rubbing his arm, and he was smiling. Looking in on meeting, everything looked so picture perfect. Like someone had cut it out of dough but nothing was what it seemed. Jackson and Stiles were keeping a secret from the others, no one knew they would sneak away to be alone with each other. Making out in the woods or various places without the others around. They made sure to always take precautions when they did this. They both knew they would smell Jackson on Stiles, so they always made sure to be seen together doing something stupid. That way it made sense for Jackson's scent on him. They had been doing this for two years and no one had caught on. Sometimes Stiles felt guilty lying. Lying to Stiles that he liked Lydia when he would catch him staring at her and Jackson together. He felt guilty that they were lying to Lydia; she knew nothing. Stiles compensated this guilt by saying they could only kiss, anything more than that would be wrong. That didn't bother Jackson because he was still having sex with Lydia. There was never a case of blue balls, least for Jackson.

"What about a group limo?" asked Lydia, breaking Stiles out of his thought, taking a bite of the pizza.

"That could be fun, I guess. I still have no one to go with." Said Scott, Derek rolled his eyes as his uncle followed suit. They hated when the conversation turned into a high school trope and would excuse themselves to go do something else but this time they stayed.

"I am sure, Stiles will be your date." Said Peter with a smirk, Isaac let out a laugh from the floor.

"Scott hasn't asked me. I would need a big promposal to go with him." Said Stiles sarcastically, getting a smirk from Jackson from behind Lydia's back, literally.

"I am sure I will find someone before there will be any of that." Said Scott.

"Your loss, Scotty Boy." Said Stiles taking another bite of his pizza.

"We can still go in a limo together, even if not all of us have dates." Said Lydia, Jackson shrugged.

"Why not?" Jackson said nonchalantly, but there was a tug inside of him that wanted Stiles beside him in the limo, but he wouldn't say that out loud.

"Excuse me." Said, Stiles, as he stood up and made his way down the hall towards the bathroom. Talk about the prom had been making him feel odd lately. He didn't think about it like some kind of rite of passage. Maybe the issue was that he couldn't go with whom he wanted to or the fact that he wasn't out to anyone besides Jackson, though neither of them had ever labeled themselves. Stiles was pretty sure that he was fully gay and Jackson was bisexual, but those words never left either of their mouths. It was as unspoken as their relationship. Stiles zipped up his pants and flushed the toilet before making his way to the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror, not even sure why he was doing it but it always felt like a pull to look into one when you are alone and in front of one. He dried his hands off before opening the door to find Jackson pressed against the wall beside the door, Stiles looked to see everyone else was in the living room and out of vision range.

"What are you doing?" asked Stiles curiously, moving in front of him.

"Waiting to use the bathroom and doing this." Said Jackson bringing his body into Stiles' space and kissing him hard on the lips. Stiles kissed back, placing his hand on either side of the wall behind Jackson, as the other's tongue slid past his clothes lips. Stiles allowed his tongue to move against Jackson's tasting the familiar taste. His cock stirred in his jeans, which he pressed against Jackson's crotch, feeling the same hormonal side effect.

"What are you doing after the meeting? Lydia?" asked Stiles causing a chuckle to escape from Jackson's full lips.

"Depends, you have something better in mind, Stilinski?" asked Jackson, Stiles shrugged and licked his lips.

"My house, usual time?"

"Sure, why not." Said Jackson kissing him again, before moving into the bathroom quickly. Stiles was unsure why but 20 seconds later, Scott rounded the corner.

"Figured Jackson would be out by now." Said Scott standing beside Stiles.

"I just got out like five seconds ago and he went in. So still no prom date? I thought you were going to ask Kira." Said Stiles giving his friend a curiously glace.

"Haven't worked up the nerve yet, even werewolves get nervous"

"Well, as a true alpha, you would think you would be impervious to butterflies in your stomach"

"Still a teenager, Stiles," Said Scott, raising a brow for a moment, "were you looking at porn in the bathroom?"

"What? Why?" asked Stiles his heart racing.

"Dude, you reek of arousal."

"Maybe you just turn me on, Scott. You are the hot girl, remember." Said Stiles with a chuckle as he made his way back to the living room. He didn't need to risk Scott smelling anything else on him. Lucky for him, Scott knew about his Tumblr porn habits so he wouldn't second-guess Stiles being turned on by it. Even if the reason he was so turned on was Jackson. All the wolves in the living room made a face when Stiles walked in, Derek rolled his eyes, while Peter, Isaac, and Liam just laughed and shook their head. That was enough to fully get the feelings of horniness to leave his body. Stiles willed himself not to think about the meeting he had with Jackson later tonight, even if the thought kept trying to slip inside of his mind.

[potatopossums]

Your comment is getting deleted but I'm gonna clarify it once, and then not anymore, because I will not be discussing gatekeeping after this, regardless of your intentions. Oh, you're blocked anyway, because I know you're an infamous lgbt gatekeeper who delights in telling people they're not actually what they say they are, like you're some kind of expert. I guess that's what a gold star gives you.

But for everyone else who wants to understand, here we are:

Non-binary lesbians exist. They are a wholly valid identity and concept. We are not dumbing ourselves down for anyone, we are using the language we have available to us (and creating new language as well) to express our sexuality and our gender. Lesbianism is not and never has been limited to the binary understanding of gender, and lesbianism has always always ALWAYS been intrinsically connected to gender non conformance.

The experiences of nonbinary lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of trans-nonbinary lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of he/him lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of they/them lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of pansexual lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of bisexual lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experience of asexual and or aromantic lesbians are absolutely valid.

The experiences of all nonbinary / gender non-conforming people, regardless of their gender identity, are VALID AND REAL.

However someone expresses and understands their gender and sexuality within the complex context of sexism, heteronormativity, compulsory cisgenderism, religion, etc. is entirely valid, doesn't concern you, doesn't take away from cisgender lesbians in the slightest, and will ALWAYS be valid.

I will not tolerate anything less, and I will not be discussing this further.

Secondly, I'm going to be very clear.

Gold star lesbianism is misogyny in fancy new clothes. Yeah, I've seen your name floating around. You conveniently show up and start gatekeeping arguments on innocent lgbt positivity blogs, and I'm not going to tolerate it. I know I am gay enough, and I've struggled enough in my own goddamn life to come to terms with who the fuck I am. I don't have to justify my sexuality and labels to anyone, and especially not you.

You are pathetic for daring to enter other people's safe spaces, completely unaware of their upbringing and understanding, and imposing your vague, sexist, misogynistic views onto vulnerable, oppressed people who are part of your community. And the fact that you don't see it that way, the fact that you think you're protecting yourself and your "true" lesbians from appropriation is absolutely asinine. You're delusional from the beginning, down to the core, if you think doing this helps you.

You're proud of the fact that you're a gold star lesbian. Have your pride, celebrate who you are, but don't you dare come after people who haven't come into their identities the same way you have. Don't you dare insinuate that bisexual people or lesbians who don't fit the gold-star standard are somehow tainted because they've been touched by a man. You're a misogynistic, puritanical snake.

The lgbt community is for people who don't fit within the prescribed cishet cookie cutter expectations. Just because you can't fathom us belonging doesn't mean we aren't who we say we are. And if you're going to refuse to take someone at their word when they tell you who they are, you're no better than our oppressors. You should be absolutely ashamed of yourself.

Don't ever make the mistake of coming onto my blog again. I know what misogyny and purity/virginity politics smells like, and you absolutely reek of it. Go jerk off to your gold star somewhere else.

Now get the fuck off my page. And stay away from my friends. Likewise, any like-minded people can join them. You and your intolerance is not welcome here.

[electrozeistyking]

ZIMVOID KING ARC - Headcanons and Facts for the AU

So! I spent a few days working on headcanons and facts about my Invader Zim AU, the Zimvoid King ARC (or ZKA for short). All written along side of installment three, "Dark Claws of a King", and now here on the net to burn your eyeballs, here's the master post on the ZKA facts and ideas I've recently spawned for the AU. Enjoy!

if you manage to read this all, you’re a certified creature

   ~   ZIB RELATED    ~ Facts that mainly surround the cockroach (and i'm pretty sure the majority of this post mentions this guy).

-Zib has fobidden himself to go on any adventures involving Zim. He's decided that it's not his place to try to stop a version of the Irken that is not his own. Plus, he's a merger. (This is all just nonsense he tells himself. The real reason is that he doesn't want to get involved with that shit all over again. PTSD and stuff, yanno?)

-Zib has a real problem with keeping his hands from doing things. He's actually gotten a Rubrix Cube to keep his hands occupied, and he keeps the cube in one of his pockets at all times in case he needs it. It's probably due to a deep, insatiable urge he has to build, build, build; creating his mech, modifying Voot Cruisers and such... once he'd had nothing else to make, he'd been left with an itch in his hands.

-Zib can also be seen tinkering with some forgotten technology Professor Membrane has laying around. The professor has actually only caught Zib doing this once; the roach had almost finished with an invention Membrane was only preparing to start working on.

-Zib's senses are all heightened and improved. His eyesight has never been more perfect, his hearing (despite his obvious lack of ears) has never been clearer, and though he regrets having it, he does happen to have a perfect sense of smell. So he knows if something stinks, it fucking reeks. Ugh. Awful, dude.

-Sometimes Dib will be like "Oh, lookit us, we're a couple of Dibs, ain't that cool" and then Zib does something very Zim-like and he goes "Fuck, I totally forgot he does that".

   ~   PAK!ZIM RELATED   ~ Facts that mainly surround PAK!Zim.

-Zib and PAK!Zim occasionally do something I like to call "syncing", where the two act and think as one entity, one mind instead of two. When synced, these two can be caught using terms like "us" and "we". Neither of them knows how this works, but I like to think it's like fusing in Steven Universe, minus the dancing and stuff; any distruptions to their sync (like if one of them really doesn't like something), they become two minds opposed to one again.

I like to think this is syncing in a nutshell:

   ZIB: We'd love to!    DIB: We?    ZIB: aw shit    P!ZIM: nice going genius

Zib finds syncing to be very relaxing. PAK!Zim likes how powerful syncing feels, even if he won't provide a comment on it.

-These two may have overcome their differences (well, were forced to), but Zib and PAK!Zim are still a Zim and Dib duo. From time to time, their little playful fighting turns into a real spat, and in the Zimvoid, it always hurt Zib whenever PAK!Zim tried to pull the silent treatment on the bug boy.

-PAK!Zim still occasionally threatens Zib that he may dig one of his PAK legs into the roach child's shoulders again. He feels too weirdly guilty about doing it the first time (as mentioned in the first installment of ZKA, "King of a Barren World"), so he'll never actually do it... but Zib doesn't know that.

-PAK!Zim calls Zib "stinkbug", since I thought that was more fitting, as people do call him a roach (this is especially true for me). He's a little cockroach.

-PAK!Zim can only talk in Zib's head. Zib once wondered if PAK!Zim's voice is real, or if it's false. He quickly remembered that inner voices you typically have in your head cannot change volume. PAK!Zim can yell, and it gives Zib headaches and nosebleeds every time he does. PAK!Zim often tries not to yell when the duo are around other people; both are worried if people would think the PAK is ruining his head, and they don't want to know what could happen.

-PAK!Zim has terrible eyesight. And by that, I mean he can't see. The only time he can see anything is when he and Zib are synced. Neither of them really mind it, but they always try to avoid syncing when Zib's showering. Despite how comfortable they are with each other when synced, that is the only discomfort both of them have. They just... I dunno, I'm kinda getting uncomfortable about it myself.

-Zib finds himself to be weirdly possessive over PAK!Zim. Maybe it's because that he sees the sentient robotic backpack to be an anchor for him when shit's getting tough. Having had four years to get over their differences, Zib has actually befriended the PAK and doesn't know what he would have done without someone to talk to all that time.

-To branch off that last one, I have the firm belief that because of Zib's weird attachment to the PAK fused to the back of his head, Zib would probably cease to function if PAK!Zim is ever removed. Ever since PAK!Zim officially woke up, Zib has developed this seemingly comfortable, permanent sense of knowing that someone is there for him, will always be there and they're not going to leave him alone because guess what? PAK!Zim has no choice but to go wherever Zib goes. He occasionally forgets that, though.

The idea of having the PAK (his PAK) removed terrifies him; you'd be tearing that feeling of never truly being lonely away from him. Removing the PAK would remove his buddy, his pal, his Zim. He'd be lost, confused, alone, and he'd have no idea what to do. It's just him by himself all over again, no one else. Plus, who knows what else could happen to Zib? What if it turned out he relied on the PAK to survive, and removing it could potientially kill him? Neither PAK!Zim or Zib are willing to see what could happen.

TL;DR: Take away the PAK, and Zib gets crippling depression and he might die.

-Though he can't see, PAK!Zim can hear pretty damn well (even if he barely listens half the time).

-No one else knows that PAK!Zim is alive. Dib wants the PAK removed because he thinks that if they remove it, Zib's thoughts will stop being so... "corrupted". In his own mind's eye, Dib thinks that if they remove the PAK, it'll be helping Zib, but what he doesn't realize it would absolutely DESTROY Zib's mentality.

   ~   FAMILY RELATED   ~ Facts that involve the Membrane family as a whole.

-The fact that his other son has claws perplexes Professor Membrane to no end. He pretty much tried to see if he could study Zib's weird claws once he found out about them. So far, what he's found out from his studies is that Zib's claws are really fucking sharp and they really hurt (mentioned in installment three of ZKA, "Dark Claws of a King").

-More facts on the stinkbug because yes, Zib has another huge problem: it turns out rants from his "brother" Dib helps Zib conk right the fuck out. It unfortunately works every time.

-Zib, Dib and Gaz just... they kinda see themselves as siblings, even though Zib and Dib are just alternate versions of one another. After a while, they kinda got over it and now it's just:

"This is my brother! I have a brother! We're brothers! We're practically twins! See this? This guy right here? Him? That's <my> brother. I love my brother, and I'll kick your fucking ass into the goddamn dirt if you insult him in front of me." (this is all just from zib btw.)

   ~   GOOFY   ~ Facts that are INTENDED to be goofy.

-For whatever reason, I enjoy the idea of Zib having a weird addiction to eating sticks of butter. Yes, his new family decides to have an intervention about Zib's addiction, but it totally fuckin' flops, so they end up having to try to hide the butter and cut him off from it instead. (they gave up trying when it all disappeared from its hiding spot later that very same day.)

   ~   IDK FACTS   ~ Facts that I've no clue where they should go.

-On Keef in ZKA: the little red head has actually mellowed out now that he's a teen. He still adores his friends, but he's calmer, not as clingy, and is an excellent listener, so he'll let Zib ramble, but will occasionally interrupt to ask questions. He's like Zib's mini therapist.

-I like the idea of Keef being bisexual.

   ~   AUTHOR TRIVIA   ~ Trivia from the author that you totally won't need but may find interesting anyway! why was i speaking in third person—

-"King of a Barren World" was posted on the fifteenth of May, but Archive kinda fucked up and it says I published it on the sixteenth.

-You'll see me call Professor Membrane "the professor", but only because I totally forgot he's a scientist. Not sure how, because his schtick is REAL SCIENCE, but—

-This AU was made by accident. And by that, I thought up a scenario, wrote about it, thought up another scenario and wrote about that one too, and then found out people actually liked this nonsense I was writing, so it's an AU now and forever -or at least until I die-.

-The Zimvoid King ARC is not a real arc. I just thought the name sounded cool.

-Before anyone asks "what does ARC stand for", it doesn't stand for anything. I just capslocked the word arc because I just thought that looked cool.

-I accidentally made a Discord server for ZKA.

-Speakin' of accidents, I may have accidentally started shipping Keef and Zib. Oops?

-I really like calling Zib a stinkbug. As user MelodyoftheVoid once put it: Half man, half bug, all stink.

-I have strictly forbidden myself from making Zib's hair-scythes antennae. I love headcanons on them being antennae, sure... but I decided that I'd have no idea how to write them in ZKA, so I was like "Nah, dog".

-Of all my IZ AUs, ZKA is the one I haven't dropped yet. Maybe because it's only four days old at this point, but still. omigosh zka is a baby au :0

[otheliame]

one on the fluff/ general list!!

“how much did you drink?”

You didn’t give me a couple so Imma just go with Klance modern au bc ... ya know... 

THIS TURNED OUT WAY LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD but i needed a good warm up, thank you for the prompt, friend, enjoy the mutual pining meal. 

---

“Enough to have a good time, which is more than I can say for you, Mullet!” Lance proclaims with a wicked smirk, a perched elbow draped on Keith’s shoulder and holding him prisoner where they sit together on the couch in Pidge’s apartment. 

Keith enjoys these parties well enough. It’s why he’s here, after all. He enjoys spending time with his friends, especially when Matt’s in town, which makes these parties all the more eventful because of some crazy scheme he develops. His favorite part though is usually at the very beginning when Lance would always challenge him to some drinking competition, and it would end with one or the other getting so plastered to the point they’d have to either depend on Hunk and Pidge or each other to get them to help. But that didn’t happen tonight, much to Keith’s surprise. Lance had shown up at some point when Keith was otherwise occupied - probably when he and the rest of the party was watching Hunk trying to get Matt untangled from the big hydrangea bush that he’d decided was a softer landing than the grass when he’d leapt from the roof... But show up he did, as Keith didn’t even know Lance was here until he had a pair of long, gangly legs in his lap where he sat on the couch on his phone, nearly knocking the mixed drink in his other hand to the carpet. He reeks of liquor, it’s like his very clothes, a light blue button down with the top two tastefully undone and jeans, were originally woven with the alcoholic essence infused into its fibers. 

“I am having fun.” Keith huffs indignantly in response, his phone shoved in his pocket so his free hand can rest on Lance’s thighs in his lap, mostly to keep him from kicking around. “When did you get here?” 

“An hour ago!” Lance pouts, suddenly weaving his fingertips into the long fringes of Keith’s hair at the back of his neck, the warmth of them spreads straight through his pleasantly buzzed veins and makes Keith flush a little harder than he thinks ought to be necessary. “You’ve been avoiding me!” He accuses him with his fingers tightening in his hair like a warning, his eyes narrowed and his tongue stuck between his teeth. 

Keith furrows his eyebrows at the other, “No I wasn’t, I just didn’t know you were here yet-”

“Excuses, excuses!” Lance waves a hand dramatically to silence him before he swings his feet out of Keith’s lap, much to Keith’s sudden and rather surprising disappointment, and grabs his hands in his, “Now come on, quit brooding!”

“I’m not brooding!” Keith grumbles as he’s hauled to his feet but he follows the other, excitable man faithfully and without complaint as he’s led away, outside. 

“You’re always brooding.” Lance proclaims with a shot look over at Keith as he tugs him through the sliding doors until they’re on the porch. It’s brisk, fall is beginning to settle and despite the alcohol to keep Keith warm the nip is still tangible, hence why the rest of the party is inside. The silence settles on Keith’s shoulders like a pair of icepacks, he finds himself looking over at the freckled profile of his friend as he stops at the railing, his jawline cuts like the night sky itself and his eyes look like the essences of the stars were caught within them, blued and serene moons that Keith could stare at for years. That he has been staring at for years. 

“What’re you?-” Before Keith can question Lance he seals a hand over the other’s lips, silencing him effectively. He quickly shushes him with an angry whisper in response, “Just watch!”

Keith follows his gaze upwards, to the skies and the stars, and for several minutes he wonders if he should really be listening to the demands of a drunk... until the first flash of light, like a thrown lighter across the cosmos. He sucks in breath as Lance twines his fingertips with his, he almost misses the second shot, then the third. 

The doorway behind the pair opens and the celestial cloud Keith found himself caught in almost evaporates as a voice, Hunk’s voice, calls from behind him, “Whoa, meteor shower! Guys, come over here, you’ve gotta see this!” There’s the sound of many feet and the jumble of voices as the others join the pair on the porch but Keith can’t find it in him to notice them. All he can see is the shooting stars reflections in Lance’s eyes as they reflect the heavens themselves, deep and alive and bursting like the ocean. 

Eventually the space dulls as the meteor shower ends and the patrons of the party head back inside, complaining of the nip and chill of the air, but Keith couldn’t care less. He doesn’t even feel it, truthfully. All he can feel is the slight chilled fingers in his palm providing him with a warmth that transcends mere temperature. 

Keith remembers to breathe when the eyes that he’d been lost within turn to regard him, “Whew! I’m glad I remembered that! Pretty cool, huh?” His words slur with the alcohol, the space between them smells like fireball and coke and Keith almost wishes that he could taste some. “Keith?”

He was staring. He quickly clears his throat and smiles a bit crookedly in response, squeezing Lance’s hand in his, “How’d you know about the meteor shower?”

Lance rolls his eyes and draws his hand away from Keith’s, but before he can think to miss it his fingertips instead drag up his forearm and to his elbow, bicep, shoulder, it leaves such sharp electricity in Keith’s skin, even through the material of his jacket, that he almost doesn’t hear his blasé response, “Uh, saw it on Twitter on my way here, duh. Perks of following NASA.” He winks at Keith and sticks out his tongue at him as his hand refinds itself back in the fringes of Keith’s hair at the nape of his neck, running through the locks like a pen through rivers of ink. 

Keith can’t help but smirk at him in response, his pulse is coming faster and he tries to best to hide it by instead teasing him gently, “Nerd.” 

Lance cocks an eyebrow at Keith with a challenging air, “Bold words coming from you, Mr. Full-Ride-To-Carnell.” 

Keith rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Not the same.” 

“It so is.” Lance insists, but when Keith doesn’t response he lets the matter drop with his hand back to his side, turning instead to lean on the railing. Keith moves to join him, drumming his knuckles on the metal idly to keep the feeling in his fingers. After a few beats of silence Lance suddenly turns to face him, “Why did you turn that down, by the way?”

Keith raises an eyebrow over at Lance a tad incredulously, “Why didn’t I go to Carnell?... That was... three years ago, now, Lance.”

Lance huffs, Keith tries to refrain from biting his lip when he sees the carmine bloom in the other’s dark skin, “Well you never gave me a good answer then, so I’m asking now!”

Keith shrugs, pondering the question over for a moment before he replies tersely, “... ‘Cause I didn’t want to.” 

Lance sighs dramatically, throwing his hands tiredly in the air, “That’s such a you thing to say.” Keith continues to watch the way the star-kissed skin of the other crinkles by his eyes when he smiles as Lance continues without a pause, “I mean... I thought you liked the place.” He suddenly pauses, his baby blue gaze drifting to the ground below as his voice changes entirely, it grows smaller, quieter, tentative, “I thought you wanted to get out of here.”

Keith’s immediate reaction is to say ‘I do’ but he stops himself at the last second. Lance is right; Keith has felt stir crazy sitting in the same town for so long, he’d been on the move his whole life thanks to his... upbringing... but when he reconnected with his Mom he settled here for high school and then for undergrad at the local college. He would talk to Lance about it once they got to be good friends in their junior/senior year, when they grew inseparable. Lance and Keith, neck and neck. “I can’t believe you remember that.” Keith murmurs in response with evident shock in his tone, his tongue feels heavy and grows heavier with every word that slips out of his mouth, almost like chains getting latched onto each of his tastebuds individually. 

“Of course I remember.” Lance waves a hand at Keith dismissively, but before he can question what do you mean of course Lance continues, he talks far faster when he’s drunk and it takes Keith a moment to process, to keep up with him, “I can’t believe you didn’t take that free ticket to someplace new. They had a great vet program and everything, too! It seemed kinda... perfect for you.”

Keith raises an eyebrow at Lance. At his arching brow of question, his searching gaze for something that Keith is unsure what he will find. “It was missing what was most important to me.” He murmurs softly in response, keeping his words as vague as possible as he affirms his gaze onto the night sky, allowing the deep black to swallow his attention instead of the oceanic worlds caught in his best friend’s eyes. His best friend that he’s been in love with for years. Which of course he never told him. Even when Lance came out as bisexual a few years ago. He never wanted to jeopardize what they had; he valued his friendship more than anything else he could gain, especially because of how much of an uphill battle it was for them to get to where they are. 

That’s why Keith isn’t telling Lance he didn’t go because he didn’t want to leave him behind. He’d wanted to see the world, sure, but why would he want to go anywhere when his world was already right here next to him? 

Keith can feel the other’s eyes examining his profile as he stares at the naked cosmos, after a moment Lance’s slurred voice breaks the silence, “But-... What’s most important, then, if not for... ya know... all the important stuff that you needed. You know?” 

Lance has always had a way with words, but most especially when he’s drunk, Keith thinks with bemusement to himself. 

“There’s more to a place than the programs. And stuff.” Keith tacks on, his gaze flickering down to the railing, at his hands grasping it. 

Lance doesn’t answer for a long time. He leans his shoulder on Keith’s, instantly heating his side like he’s a furnace, when his head snaps a bit to the side as he hums, “I never told you this, but I’m really glad you didn’t go.”

Keith raises an eyebrow and glances over at the other in confusion. Lance’s expression is pensive, almost downturned and crestfallen like his thoughts are dragging down the corners of his lips. “Why?” Keith ventures when it appears that Lance isn’t going to continue. 

“Because I’d miss you.” 

Keith blinks  at Lance in surprise. His tone was raw, vulnerable, like he had to yank out a tooth to get the four simple words out, and the starlight in his gaze reflect it, the illumination of bandages in the night. 

Keith chews on his lip briefly, considering the wisdom of his words only for a spare second before he hums, “I’d miss you too, man. That’s... that’s why I didn’t end up going.” 

Lance blinks. Once. Twice. Then, like a crack of lightning, Keith starts when he finds the other’s hands in the collar of his jacket, pinning him roughly to the railing as he cries out, “What do you mean you didn’t go? Because of me?!” Lance sounds like he’s trying to be hurt, but it sounds more incredulous and shocked than anything else, like that was the last thing that he was expecting Keith to say. 

Keith grabs Lance’s wrists in response, growling with pure, deadly seriousness in his voice, “Of course it was because of you!” 

Something about his words sucks the tension in the air into a vortex, leaving the pair staring at one another with wide, owlish eyes. After a moment Keith takes a surprisingly shaky breath, his skin itches and his lips ache to press closer, even more so with the alcohol in his blood and the proximity of Lance to him. But he manages to wrangle himself under control after a long moment, meeting the confused, bruised fires in Lance’s gaze as he whispers with breaking words, “I couldn’t go off somewhere without you. You’re my... it’s... always been you, Lance.”

Lance stares at Keith like he just started speaking tongues, his hands still wound up tightly in his collar like he’s about to start throttling him, which for a moment Keith wonders if that’s what he’s planning to do. But he doesn’t. He does the last thing that Keith expects. 

Keith makes a noise in the back of his throat in surprise when Lance suddenly surges forward, his lips are on his and the taste of cinnamon and liquor is so startling strong and powerful that he finds his breath coming harder than before, sucking the heat off of Lance’s soft lips like an ice cube dropped on a hot plate. Lance’s fingertips dig into Keith’s collarbone as he presses closer, pinning Keith to the railing as his lips start to move against his and Keith’s thoughts shamble to pieces, leaving nothing but the texture of his bottom lip firmly imprinted onto his brain as he kisses him back. He doesn’t care to think about whether this is a good idea, no, he doesn’t give a single fuck about that at all, especially not when his hands wind around Lance’s waist and he feels his breath hiccup on his tongue. Lance’s hands drag up the skin of Keith’s throat, parting his quickly panting lips as he digs his fingertips into his hair and holds him flush against him. It’s not one kiss, it’s not three, it’s something infinite and melting one into the other just as the two are, their breath mingling with the sudden realization of mutual want and sending shivers up both of their spines, no longer cold, not hot, something transcendent and caught between. 

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for Keith’s mind to clear out of the fog induced by Lance’s expert lips to think again, but when he does he realizes just how much he tastes like a distillery. A brief moment of cold seizes his chest as the thought of impermanence flakes into his consciousness, unwelcome and unhappy... but a needed wakeup.

He wedges a hand between himself and Lance, much to the other’s drunken disgruntlement, and takes a second to compose himself, to catch his breath, “... Y-you’re drunk. You’re not thinking straight-”

“Damn right I’m not thinking straight.” Lance jokes with a wicked smirk and a brilliant, mischievous twinkle in his eye, but seeing the expression on Keith’s face he pauses his movement to return into his arms, instead staying at the brief, cut distance Keith enforced; it feels like miles away in comparison to how close they were but seconds ago. Lance furrows his eyebrows after a moment and huffs indignantly, “I’m not wasted enough to think you’re somebody else. You’re Keith.” Keith lets out a disdainful ‘tch’ but it’s cut off when Lance’s fingertips draw across his aching lips, “I’m kissing you, Keith, on purpose. Not just ‘cause I’m drunk or nothing.” 

Keith furrows his eyebrows at him and he can’t help but growl with a hard edge in his voice as he responds, “Then why are you doing it now?” Why now, Keith thinks to himself with the bitter taste of fireball on his tongue, and not earlier? A week, a year ago, two years, three? If you truly feel the same way then why now? 

Lance sighs and shakes his head a bit as if he’s clearing his thoughts of bees, “I... It’s kinda been a long time coming. I kept wanting to, but it never seemed like the right time, or I would second guess myself and wonder if you actually liked me or if we were just good friends to you, or... I don’t know.” He winds his fingers into Keith’s hair idly, Keith wonders if he’s even conscious of the invasiveness of his touches but he’s so suddenly starving for them that he doesn’t find it in him to care to point it out to him. Lance touches his forehead to Keith’s, his eyes close and Keith gazes into the openness of his face with dying fear as he continues in a low hum, “I dunno, man. I’ve always had... something for you, too, I guess. I don’t know, it just sounded like you felt the same way when you said that. I’ve wanted it to be you too, Keith, It’s you, too. It’s always been you, too!”

Lance sniffs as emotion almost visibly swells in his throat and Keith suddenly finds a smile coming to his face. He cups his face, surprising the other so hard that his sky blue eyes leap open like the crest of a waterfall, and touches his nose to his tenderly. “Well,” He grumbles in a deep, husky drawl, “It certainly took you long enough.” 

Lance’s bottom lip wobbles and then tugs upright, Keith’s heart is ripped up with it as Lance leans heavier into his arms, “Geez, I fuckin’ guess so!” Without another word he presses forward and kisses Keith again, this time it’s gentler and more affirming than anything else, a seal at the end of a sworn oath. 

Keith mumbles against his lips in between kisses as his hands are dragged back to his hips, “We’re gonna- f- talk about this more when ... we’re sober.”

Lance proclaims with the joy of a kid on Christmas morning, “Yes! But now, more kisses!” He presses forward and holds onto the other tighter and tighter, keeping true to his word. 

[astrabecks]

introducing astra!!

first of all, hi, i’m arielle! i reside in the cst timezone, go by she/her pronouns, and i’m super excited to be here :) outer banks is my shit so saying i’m excited is an understatement. i also play wesley here! but enough about me....

(( giorgia whigham, 22, she/her, bisexual )) have you met [ASTRA BECK]? they’re a well known [POGUE] in the outer banks. rumor has it they can be [RESOURCEFUL && ADVENTUROUS] but also [SECRETIVE && RECKLESS]. they’ve lived on the island for [TWENTY TWO] years and work as a [FREELANCE HACKER AND MECHANIC]. when you hear their name, you can always picture [LATE NIGHTS SPENT IN FRONT OF A COMPUTER SCREEN, BRUISES AND CUTS LITTERING HER SMALL BODY, WITTY COMEBACKS TO EVERY SITUATION]. 

TW: suicide, parental death, verbal & physical abuse, drugs, alcohol

BORN ON MAY 14, 1998 & RAISED IN THE OUTER BANKS, astra beck knows this place like the back of her hand. although technically, she was born as alexandra marie beck, but no one hasn’t called her that in a long time. being the only daughter of a prostitute and a drug addict, astra was never destined for the “kook” life. she was fending for herself by the tender age of five, as her parents quite literally did not care to interact with her. with that being said, astra has quite the warped view of families and love - not having either for her entire childhood. to her, families are chosen, not born.

VICIOUS INSULTS LACED WITH POISON were frequently inflicted upon her by the two people who were supposed to love her the most - her parents. you see, the two were never married and had a very toxic relationship, so would often take their anger out on an innocent astra. the young girl retreated into her shell and refused to talk to any of the other kids at school - all because she believed the words her father said the most “ you’ll never amount to anything “. 

WITH NO FRIENDS OR FAMILY TO TURN TO astra sought comfort in her books. reading was a way for her to escape to an alternate reality, a place where young girls were brave and could fight off the most terrifying monsters. by the time she was 9, she spent most afternoons at the public library, staying there until the librarians forced her to head home. 

ONE NIGHT IN PARTICULAR, astra had just gotten back to her family’s trailer when she felt something was off. it’s practically unexplainable, but she just knew that something was wrong. her father met her at the door, where he told her that her mother had taken her own life. astra didn’t say a word. but what was she supposed to do? she was barely 13 years old - she couldn’t process it. 

A WEEK LATER, AT THE FUNERAL, astra still hadn’t spoken a word to her father. in all honestly, she was terrified of him. his way of coping was violence, and astra was the target. this was when the physical abuse started. once her father was drunk, there was no going back. it didn’t happen too often, but some nights, astra’s father would come home, the smell of alcohol reeking off his body, and he’d hit her.

TOO SCARED TO GET HELP, astra simply let it all happen. soon, her father started disappearing more, sometimes being gone for a week at a time. astra was never told where he was going, but was given $50 and instructions on how to buy food for herself. she’d stay home alone sometimes, but she also stayed at friends houses.

WHEN IT CAME TO SCHOOL, astra was always the top of her classes. even though she was bullied for her tiny malnourished figure and the fact that she lived out of a trailer, she maintained a 4.0 average and never turned an assignment in late. she especially excelled in coding and math classes though - where she found her passion truly lies. to get extra cash, she often tutored student, even kooks, in those classes.

HER FRIENDS WERE HER ROCKS, they kept her sane and made sure she had a place to sleep at night. she loves them more than anything in the world. they were typical teens - spending late nights on the beach, getting drunk off their parents alcohol, fucking around...

WHEN SHE WAS 17 YEARS OLD, her father left and never returned. no note, no explanation, nothing. obviously, astra didn’t care too much - they had never been close. it was, however, concerning for the school when he didn’t show up for her parent-teacher conferences. so, astra worked up an elaborate lie and wrote down the address of a friend’s house for where she was living. if they knew the truth, astra would’ve been forced into a foster home, and there was no way in hell she was doing that. besides, she’d been self-sufficient for most of her life anyways.

NOW, astra has been working as a mechanic for the past four years. you name it, she can fix it, or at least get it looking pretty again. on the side, she’s a mild kleptomaniac, and enjoys stealing shit from kooks for fun. additionally, she’s an expert hacker, and can get you any information on anyone, can hack into security systems, and can access bank accounts. in terms of relationships, she’s pretty reserved and non-trusting. she’s just afraid of people leaving her like her parents did. lastly, she’s lowkey into drug dealing? but only when she needs the extra cash. 

[vernonfielding]

Life Writes Its Own Stories

Chapter 10. (And AO3.)

Jake dug his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and stomped his feet, trying to keep himself from shivering and looking pathetic in the freezing cold. Rosa, of course, was just leaning casually against the brick side of the building.

“You need better CIs,” Rosa said.

“I know.” Jake pulled out his phone to check the time again. “Let’s give him five more minutes.”

“You sure you can survive that much longer?” Rosa raised her eyebrows and looked him up and down.

“Not really,” Jake said with a sigh.

They’d already been waiting for his CI for more than half an hour, at the far end of a dingy alley that reeked of urine and something sweet-rotten. While it wasn’t unusual for informants to run late, Leo James was pretty reliable – except this would be the third time in a row that he’d asked to meet Jake and then skipped out. Jake wasn’t sure what to make of that, but it was making him edgy, and slightly more eager than usual to hear what Leo had to say.

Not necessarily so eager that he was willing to risk frostbite, though. Jake opened his mouth, ready to call it, when Rosa said, “So what’s up with you and Amy?”

“I- what?” Rosa never initiated conversations about relationships. Even when she accidentally started one she shut it down when things got uncomfortable, which was immediately. She’d once commented on a concert T-shirt he wore to work on a Saturday and when he started to tell her he’d stolen it from an ex-girlfriend she had yanked his arm behind his back and told him to keep that shit to himself. They’d been working together for two weeks.

Warning him about trusting a reporter back when Amy was just that –  some reporter –  was one thing. But now that they were dating, he’d assumed Amy was off limits. And Rosa did look pained now, her face scrunched up like she’d just smelled something Charles had baked for them.

“I’m worried about you,” Rosa said with a wince, the words spilling out all at once.

“Rosa-”

“Look, you know how much it horrifies me to talk about this-”

“A lot,” Jake said.

“So much,” Rosa said. “But I’m going in anyway.”

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “As far as I can tell, Amy seems like a not terrible person. Like, she has ethics and shit, and she’s obviously really into you. But you’ve got to know, she’s not like us. Even the good journalists, they have different goals. We’re trying to protect people, they’re trying to sell newspapers.”

“Digital subscriptions,” Jake said.

“What?”

“Newspapers don’t really make much off print newspaper sales anymore, it’s all about the online- you know what, never mind.” Jake ran a hand through his hair. “First, you’re wrong about me. My singular goal is to jump out of a helicopter with a knife between my teeth and a super cool semi-auto pistol strapped to my thigh, with one objective at hand: Get all the hostages out, alive.”

“Out of where, exactly?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jake stared off into the distance for a moment, lost in thought. He started when Rosa coughed pointedly. “Anyway, I guess you’re right that Amy and I don’t share the same goals. Although, I’ve never asked so maybe we do? Should I ask her how she feels about jumping from helicopters?”

“Jake-”

“I know, Rosa.” He sighed, hunching up his shoulders when a gust of cold air swept down the alley. “I get it, but you’re wrong about Amy. Yes, she wants to sell papers, but that’s just so they can make money and keep doing the work they do. She wants to make the world a better place, just like we do. We want the same things.”

Jake didn’t like the hint of defensiveness that had crept into his voice. And he did understand why Rosa was concerned. But at the same time, she’d only met Amy twice – the one time at Shaw’s, when they’d barely interacted, and two weeks later at a dinner arranged by Charles, which had ended early when everyone got violently ill on the horsetail soup. All of her concerns were based on her preconceptions of journalists in general and had nothing to do with Amy herself.

Jake didn’t need Rosa’s approval. But it didn’t sit well with him that his partner – whom he trusted more than anyone, and whom he knew with absolute certainty would always have his back, despite whatever issues she had about emotional intimacy and maintaining boundaries – didn’t like his girlfriend.

“You really trust her?” Rosa said, narrowing her eyes at him – it felt like a challenge, like she was daring him to look away. “Are you sure this isn’t just about the fact that she’s hot and for some reason you’re into her weird pantsuit aesthetic and obvious nerd brain?” 

“Yeah,” Jake said, without thought. Then again, “Yeah, I trust her.”

Rosa broke the eye contact and exhaled sharply, her breath puffing cloud-like in the cold. “Okay.”

She had her hands in her pockets now, and she shivered, just the slightest tremor across her shoulders. Jake sighed and kicked at a crumpled ball of newspaper at his feet. He glanced once more around the alley.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

Rosa pushed off the wall and they headed back to the precinct in silence.

+++

Amy twisted her hair into a sloppy bun as she padded into her kitchen, hoping Jake hadn’t discovered the pint of Cherry Garcia she’d hidden in the back of her freezer, behind the box of orange popsicles and the stack of frozen pizzas. She smiled to herself when she spotted the container, the plastic seal unbroken. Amy grabbed the ice cream, picked up a spoon, and headed back to her couch.

It had been a while – almost exactly two months, actually – since Amy had been alone with just ice cream and her pajamas on a Saturday night. A part of her had been looking forward to an evening of solo indulgence when Jake had first mentioned that he had plans. But now that the night was here, she was just feeling bummed out.

Jake was at a dinner hosted by a New York City Council member, honoring Commissioner Wuntch. The dinner – which was actually more of a gala, as far as Amy could tell from her petty internet sleuthing – was being held at the New York Public Library. Jake and Rosa had been ordered to attend by Pembroke, as representatives of the Nine-Nine. Amy had been very distinctly not invited.

At first, she’d been okay with that – a little disappointed because it would have been fun to dress up fancy with Jake, to see him in his full uniform, his dress blues, to dance with him and exchange knowing glances behind glasses of Champagne, but okay. She really did understand his hesitancy – she’d accepted it at Shaw’s, and she accepted it now. It wasn’t like she was so eager to be fodder for the neighborhood gossip blogs anyway – she had a career and a reputation to protect too.

But there was not going public, and there was hiding. And what Jake was doing was starting to feel a lot more like the latter. They still hadn’t told Gina they were dating. Amy hadn’t met his mom, or any friends other than Rosa and Charles, who barely even counted since she’d already known him. Jake wasn’t ashamed of her, she was sure of that. But after two months of dating, his reservations were wearing thin.

She suspected that for him, keeping their relationship private – and keeping it contained – wasn’t just about protecting his career, but his heart. She didn’t think he did it on purpose, necessarily, but she knew he had trust issues. It probably went back as far as his father leaving when he was young – a fact he joked about sometimes, though it obviously still hurt –  and it hadn’t gotten better in his years as a cop, especially working under someone like the Vulture.

He’d told her recently, in the darkness of his studio late at night, that he could count the number of people he trusted on one hand, and not even use all his fingers. She hadn’t asked him then if she’d made the cut, and he hadn’t said, but the way he’d cupped her face and kissed her, gentle and thorough, had told her everything she needed to know.

Still, as the past week had gone by, she couldn’t help thinking that he knew how much she loved the public library and how thrilled she’d be to attend a private event there. Then they’d spent Thanksgiving apart because he was on duty and he hadn’t even managed to swing by for pie, and her whole family had seemed quietly judgmental. And the day after that, he’d mentioned that Rosa was bringing her new girlfriend to the dinner-slash-gala – and that was what finally, officially ticked Amy off.

Rosa, who barely tolerated people knowing her phone number, was taking a date – a female date, less than a week after coming out as bisexual – to the dinner. And Jake still wouldn’t be seen in public with Amy, his girlfriend of two months.

She’d spent the night before the dinner at Jake’s and woken up feeling bruised and sensitive. She’d seriously considered talking to him about it, even crafting a monologue in her head while she showered, but eventually decided it would keep for a day. Jake already wasn’t thrilled to be going to the dinner, and she didn’t need to make him feel like an asshole on top of it. She would take the night to sit with her feelings and approach him in the morning with a reasoned, carefully practiced speech about treating each other with respect.

For now, though, she was going to eat an entire pint of ice cream on her own and watch the Hallmark Channel until she couldn’t see straight. Amy dropped on her couch and pulled a blanket over her lap. She turned on the television, picked her channel, snapped the plastic seal on her pint and dug in.

“Fucking men,” she muttered.

+++

From the spot he’d staked out at the back of the hall, Jake couldn’t help marveling at the spectacle of it all. Orange and yellow lights bounced off the columns and arches far overhead, and flickering candles clustered on small tables around the perimeter gave the hall a warm, intimate vibe, despite the expanse of the space. About half the crowd were in uniform, and the rest were wearing gowns or tuxes, everyone looking polished and glowing in the soft light. Even the Champagne was sparkling like glitter.

The party was, Jake had to admit, super romantic. And he was a jerk.

He set down his empty glass on a table and tugged at his necktie. He badly wanted to check his phone again but he’d only looked at it maybe two minutes ago, and he knew he’d be annoyed when he saw the time. He’d decided that he needed to stay at least until the speeches were done – or until Wuntch had spoken, anyway – and then he was booking it. He’d already identified the best exit to make a covert escape.

“Knock it off,” Rosa hissed beside him, swatting his hand away from his neck. “Stop acting like a frat bro at prom.”

“Frat bros don’t go to prom, Rosa,” Jake spit back.

“Not the point, Jake.”

Rosa’s date nudged her way between them, handing them each a fresh glass of Champagne. “You two are adorable.”

Rosa grunted and Jake opted to down his drink in one go. He wiped his hand over his mouth and set that glass aside too. He could feel Rosa’s disgruntled stare on the side of his face and he ignored it, turning instead to her date.

“So, Melanie, how’d you two meet?”

“Oh I am so not falling for that one,” Melanie said, throwing a smirk toward Rosa. “She warned me you’d try to get all my secrets.”

“Oh for- since when is your origin story a secret? Unless you met at a sex club.” Jake thought that over. “Wait, did you meet at a sex club? Rosa, did you meet Melanie at a sex club? Melanie, which sex club was it? Never mind, doesn’t matter, I don’t know any of them.”

“It was not a sex club, dumbass,” Rosa said.

“We met at BronyCon.” Melanie said, casting a sideways glance at Rosa as though seeking permission. Rosa just shrugged.

“What’s BronyCon-” Jake paused. The name was familiar. “My Little Pony convention? Wasn’t there a riot at it last year?”

Rosa nodded sternly. “It’s a rough scene.”

Jake stared at Rosa and Melanie, who were both stonily impassive as they looked out over the hall.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Whatever, man,” Rosa said.

A crackle from the speakers that had been mounted discretely around the room made them all startle, and Jake looked up toward the raised stage, where someone in a suit was tapping on a microphone. The man introduced himself as an aide to the councilmember hosting the event and said the presentation was running a little late and they’d begin in another 45 minutes.

Behind Jake, someone squealed, and he turned to see Scully darting toward one of the buffet tables.

“More time for chicken wings, Jakey,” he said, delighted, and disappeared into the crowd.

Jake groaned and yanked at his tie again. He’d been feeling guilty all week about not inviting Amy to this event – it was at the New York Public Library, only her favorite building in the city – but he’d managed to push it aside, mostly, until he got here and saw how beautiful the space was, and saw how happy Rosa looked with her date. (Rosa had smiled, exactly once, when she introduced Jake to Melanie. It meant she was pretty much in love.)

Rosa leaned into him now, only instead of knocking his hand away again she said, under her breath, “Just go. I’ll cover for you.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, but he also glanced impulsively toward the exit he’d marked earlier.

“I saw Pembroke making out with a city hall intern half an hour ago,” Rosa said. “He does not give a shit.”

“How do you know she was an intern-”

“How does that matter? Seriously, go. Now. Before I realize that I’m helping you.”

“Thank you.” Jake briefly squeezed her shoulder, waved at Melanie, and then he slipped off to the side and out the back exit.

The cold air stung his face as he stepped outside and jogged down the front stairs toward the subway station across the street. He changed his mind when he got to the curb and pulled out his phone to call up a car instead – it might take him an hour or longer to get to Brooklyn by train and he didn’t think he could handle the wait. He even splurged on the UberX.

The ride was still torture. He thought about texting Amy that he was on his way, or even calling. But if she’d decided to go out with friends, he didn’t want her to feel like she had to leave them to hang out with him now that he’d come to his senses.

One of Amy’s neighbors was opening the front door to the building just as Jake’s ride pulled up. Jake called out to him to hold the door, and the guy saw his uniform and let him in, and Jake jogged the three flights of stairs up to her apartment. He paused at her door to catch his breath, though he couldn’t seem to make his heart slow down. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tapped on her door.

He heard her footsteps, and a pause as she (hopefully) looked through the peephole, and then the deadbolt clicked and the door swung open. Amy was wearing baggy pink sweatpants, thick fluffy socks, a T-shirt printed with “word nerd” in crossword squares, and one of his hoodies. Her hair was frizzy, strands falling out of a bun. She was frowning, slightly, but mostly she looked surprised and confused.

She was breathtaking. Jake stepped toward her and kissed her, sliding a hand around her waist to her lower back to pull her closer. She went tense for a moment, then relaxed into him, and her lips parted to deepen the kiss. She tasted sweet, like chocolate and cherries.

Jake broke the kiss and breathed her in. “You bought ice cream?”

“I hid it.” She kissed the corners of his mouth, then gave him a pointed look. “I was saving it for a special occasion.”

Her smile was soft and hesitant, and he could read the hurt in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

Amy didn’t say anything, just took his hand and led him the rest of the way into the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind them. In the living room he turned to face her and opened his mouth to apologize again. But Amy held a finger to his lips.

“I know we have stuff to talk about, but first-” She looked him slowly up and down, her gaze so intense that Jake felt the blood rush to his face, and a few other spots. Amy nodded and hummed to herself. “Yeah, this is working for me.”

Jake smiled and couldn’t resist pulling her into him again, wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling at her neck. He didn’t typically like wearing the uniform, but there was something about this contrast – the stiff fabric of his coat, the badge on his chest, even his shiny shoes, when everything about her in this moment was soft and warm. Holding her close felt like he was keeping her safe, and cherished.

He felt her arms go around his neck, felt her shirt ride up. He could pick her up, he could carry her to the couch, or the bed. He could let her take this uniform off, one piece at a time. It could take all night.

Jake sighed and backed off, kissing her once on the temple. Amy let her hands fall to her sides.

“I was at the dinner, and there was classical music playing and candles everywhere, and everyone was dressed up, and I just-” Jake looked her in the eye, made sure she was listening. “I realized, the second I walked in, that I didn’t want to be there. Not alone. Not without you.”

“Jake-”

“Ames, I don’t even know why I’ve been hiding. You are amazing and I want people to know about us.”

“Your job,” Amy said. “That’s why. And I get it, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Jake shrugged dramatically. “Fuck that – the NYPD doesn’t get to decide who I’m with. If the Vulture doesn’t like it, you know, whatever. He was making out with an intern tonight. I’m done hiding something- someone, I care about. A lot.”

Amy searched him, eyes locked on his. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Okay then,” Amy said, and it was like a light came on inside her, her face and eyes suddenly aglow.

They closed the space between them together, arms sliding around one another. Their kisses started sweet, and then more heated, until they were both breathing hard, and he was pulling her hair out of its bun and she was scratching at the back of his neck.

When Amy broke off and started biting at his ear and undoing his tie, Jake had a moment of clarity and pushed away once again.

“This,” he said, slightly out of breath, “is awesome, but in the spirit of coming out, I was actually going to ask if you wanted to go back to the dinner with me.”

Amy gaped at him. “Tonight? That dinner?”

“Well, dinner’s over, but it’s actually still early so we could get back before the event’s over.” Jake pulled out his cell phone to check the time. “There’ll be dancing. And Champagne. In the New York Public Library.”

Amy laughed and threw up her hands. “Jake, look at me. What would I even wear?”

“One, you already look amazing,” Jake said. “And two, I’m sure you have a dress that would work.”

Amy grinned at him and shook her head. She wrapped her arms back around his shoulders, locked her fingers behind his neck, and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

“I like it fine right here,” she said. “We can come out some other time.”

He grinned back and swept her up into his arms, and Amy screamed at him to put her down all the way into the bedroom, until he dropped her on top of the comforter. It did not take her all night to strip him out of his uniform.

+++

Amy woke up alone, but she spotted the note on his pillow right away. She smiled to herself as she brought the paper up close to her face so she could read his messy print without her glasses.

“Went for three Bs: Breakfast sandwiches. Bear claws. Bacon. PS: I turned off your alarms. ALL OF THEM.”

Amy flipped over and reached for the two battery-powered alarm clocks on her bedside table. They were both dead, their batteries pulled and set beside them. She sat up and squinted at the three other alarm clocks placed strategically around the room but her vision was too bad to tell if they were dead too. She was going to assume yes. Amy laughed and shook her head. Somehow he’d managed to not only wake up before her and sneak out for breakfast, but trick her into sleeping in.

She picked up her cell phone – and yes, he’d somehow turned off those alarms too – and blinked herself fully awake when she saw the time. It was almost 11.

Amy stretched and rubbed at her eyes, feeling deliriously indulgent. She got up and crossed toward the bathroom, pausing at the reading chair beside her bookcase. Jake’s uniform coat was slung over the back, along with his tie. She ran a finger over his badge and the commendations pinned above it. She’d have to ask him sometime to explain them all. The coat itself was heavy and stiff, and though she was sure it wasn’t the most comfortable apparel, she’d loved seeing him in it. Next time, she realized, she might be dressed up too, holding his hand or looping her arm through his as he escorted her into some other dinner party.

She wasn’t usually a sucker for romantic fantasies, but that was a good one.

Amy brushed her teeth and put in her contacts, and she ran a comb through her hair before giving up and pulling it back into a ponytail. After a moment of consideration, she put on the same sweatpants as the day before and slid Jake’s hoodie back on. They didn’t have any particular plans for the day so she could change later if they decided to go out.

Jake hadn’t mentioned coffee in his note, so even though she was pretty sure he’d pick that up too she set some hot water to boil for her French press. While she waited she turned back to her phone, pulling up the app for the Bulletin.

She gasped and slapped a hand to her mouth when she saw the lead headline: “99th Precinct to the Birds? ‘It’s the Vulture’s nest,’ detectives say.”

It was written by Gina, her smug face staring up at Amy from the photo that always ran with her columns. Amy’s stomach clenched as she read the first paragraph – she felt sick by the time she’d reached the end. When her teapot began to whistle she startled so badly she almost dropped her phone, pressing it into her chest to keep hold of it. She turned off the stove, her hands shaking. Then she leaned back against the kitchen counter and read the column again.

Gina had it all: not just the nickname Jake and Rosa used, but how Pembroke made a habit of stepping on their cases or of swooping in when they were close to a solve, and handing the victories to his friends in major crimes. Gina wrote that the detectives blamed Pembroke for blocking them from pursuing the deputy commissioner’s son on graffiti charges. She wrote that his precinct despised him and wanted nothing more than to force him out.

Jake wasn’t named in the story – Gina said her source was a precinct official with “knowledge of the situation” who asked to remain anonymous – but Amy knew he’d be Pembroke’s prime suspect. Amy didn’t know if there were other detectives besides Jake and Rosa who disliked Pembroke and called him “the Vulture,” but Jake was the only one who’d been blamed for leaking to a reporter in the past. He was the only detective in the precinct who’d been quoted, by name, in a Bulletin story recently. He’d be the first person they looked to now.

And this column wasn’t just a tip – it was a full-blown expose, and it made Pembroke look like a fool and a monster. Jake was in real trouble.

Amy jumped when she heard the click of her front door unlocking. She knew she had to show him the column right away, but just the idea of it made her feel nauseated. A thought occurred to her, as she faced the door – that this was going to drive Jake right back into the relationship closet. She hated the surge of selfish disappointment that brought on.

The door swung open slowly and Jake stepped inside, his back still to her as he locked it again. He dropped her keys onto the hall table and turned toward her. He was wearing his uniform pants and his shirt was untucked, and he held a paper bag that looked heavy with greasy food. It would have smelled amazing if Amy hadn’t so thoroughly lost her appetite.

In his other hand, he had a copy of the Bulletin.

“Jake-”

He brushed by her toward the kitchen, setting the bag down with a thud. He stood facing away from her for a moment, then turned around and tossed the newspaper on the counter, and set his palms on either side of it. His face was a mask she’d never seen before. She recognized the anger and the fear, but there was something else, something he was barely holding onto.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, going to him and laying a hand over one of his. He jerked away.

“I trusted you.” His voice was thin, like he could be on the verge of tears.

Amy stepped back. “What are you talking about?”

He huffed a joyless laugh and gestured to the paper. “You told her. And you didn’t even warn me.”

“You think I did that?” The punch of realization was like a physical blow, and Amy folded her arms over her stomach, holding herself tight. “Jake, I would never do that. I told you-”

“Yeah, you said that stuff was just gossip, nothing worth writing about.” Jake jabbed a finger at the paper, right over the “Vulture” in the headline. “Maybe not for you, but for Gina, right? It’s great stuff for her gossip column.”

“No. No!” Amy wanted to stomp her feet, to grab his arm and shake him out of this. He knew she was better than that. He had to know. But she held herself still, tried to keep her voice steady. “I told you that what you said was between us and I meant it. I wouldn’t ever do that to you. I didn’t.”

But Jake was shaking his head, and Amy hated it but she understood, with sudden clarity, how bad this looked. Every line in that column could have come from her – every single word of it. All Jake had was her word that she wasn’t responsible. She could talk around it, she could explain over and over that she didn’t know how this had happened. But it wouldn’t matter if he didn’t trust her.

“What I don’t understand is why,” Jake said, the words catching, coming out rough. He cleared his throat. “I thought we were in this together, you know? I thought we wanted the same things.”

“We do.” Amy felt her eyes fill, and she brushed at a tear before it could roll down her cheek. “Jake, this wasn’t me.”

He looked up then, and his eyes were red and bright. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

Amy’s breath caught in her throat and for a moment it felt like she was suffocating, like her heart had stopped, like she couldn’t move at all. She said, “You don’t mean that,” the words barely a whisper. Jake opened his mouth, like he had an answer for her. Then he shook his head again and stepped past her.

He disappeared into her bedroom and returned a minute later, his uniform coat on. He paused at the edge of the living room, and Amy approached, stopping when she was an arm’s length away. She wanted to hold him, to kiss him. She wanted to beg him to believe her. But she shouldn’t have to.

She held out a hand to him. “Don’t go.”

Jake stared at her hand, and she willed him to take it. When he looked up at her, his eyes were wet, the irises black and depthless.

“I can’t do this,” he said. He left without saying goodbye.

Amy felt lightheaded, and her legs were unsteady as she backed up and collapsed on the edge of her couch. She buried her face in her hands. She could smell traces of him as she sobbed into the sleeves of his hoodie.

CHAPTER 11

[su-young1998]

Response to Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic by Alison Bechdel

I can vaguely recall the first graphic novel I read in middle school being visually very blue. I remember those strips of drawings of this young lady who always came to swim in a local pool that reeked of chlorine. No words could have described the smell of chlorine better than the pages filled with drawings of a blue swimming pool. Visual representations are powerful in a way that provokes our deep memories of scent, temperature, sound or taste of a particular moment. Alison Bechdel’s (the author who came up with the Bechdel test!) graphic memoir Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic dives deep into her memories of her earlier life regarding her closeted gay father who killed himself few weeks after she came out as a lesbian to her parents. Alison’s detailed memories are illustrated through graphics added with her strategic use of specific words that perfectly depicts her visions and her knowledge and usage of old literature help her and us to understand events in a unique lens. 

Alison’s depiction of her father is literally like a fictional character. His obsession for arranging house decorations in a certain symmetrical way reminds me of Wes Anderson’s movie sets but less alluring knowing it was probably his mechanism of suppressing his desire to be openly bisexual or gay. Suppressing deep emotions or one’s own identity is simply not healthy for the human mind and it will explode eventually in many different ways and forms. To borrow from the Freudian way of explaining the human mind and behaviour, Freud asserts that the human psyche has more than one aspect: the id, ego and superego. The id is the unconscious part of our psyche which responds directly and immediately to basic needs and desires. The ego is that part of the id which has been modified by the direct influence of the external world which affects our decision-making processes as well as reasoning. Then there is the superego that incorporates the values and morals of society, and it persuades the ego to turn to moralistic beings that should strive for perfection. 

Based on Alison’s representation of her father, it seems like he was in denial of his sexual identity in the fun house and around his family members but also lived a double life as being bisexual or gay. To understand this in the Freudian lens, his superego was probably pressuring him to conceal his other side which externalized as his ego; obsession with house decorations and dressing Alison in a certain way he thought was “right.” I understand why Alison went through tough times of inquest and self-blaming for her father’s death because she came out as a lesbian prior to the incident. Not to assume something so hard and disturbing, but I could not stop but wonder, what if her father felt remorseful and hopeless knowing he could have lived a completely different life only if he accepted his sexuality and desire like how Alison figured out in her early twenties? This realization might have shocked him to deep despair, and it is true that many people back then thought they had no better choice than to live as the “norm.” That being said, I am hoping that the rest of this book will be more about Alison’s journey of recovering from her father’s death and finding her own identity in a healthier way.

(Visual representation of what I was trying to explain about human psyche by Sigmund Freud)

[kingfisherunion]

I’ve never...

Chapter 5 - 2015, St. Petersburg

Read on Ao3

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)

Relationships:

Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky

Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky

Otabek Altin/Jean-Jacques Leroy

Otabek Altin & Jean-Jacques Leroy

Characters:

Otabek Altin

Yuri Plisetsky

Jean-Jacques Leroy

Potya | Puma Tiger Scorpion

Additional Tags:

Drinking

Underage Drinking

Past Relationship(s)

Heartbreak

Jealousy

Bisexual Male Character

Drinking Games

Fluff and Angst

Flashbacks

Unrequited Love

DJ Otabek Altin

Pining

Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky Are Best Friends

Protective Otabek Altin

Jean-Jacques Leroy Being an Asshole

Singer Jean-Jacques Leroy

Bisexual Jean-Jacques Leroy

Eventual Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky

Post-Canon

Pre-Canon

Otabek smokes

Depressed Otabek

Pining Otabek Altin

Language: English

Series: Part 1 of the What He Was to Me series

Yuri was really all he had right now.  If it weren’t for some… uncomfortable hang-ups he harbored about cohabitation he probably would have tried to room with him to dodge the looming loneliness that came with living a continent away from home.

“I need to smoke,” Otabek huffed, rising warily to his feet.  Yuri didn’t move.  “Coming?”

Nothing.  He leaned precariously over the boy curled up on the rug only to find that he’d fallen asleep, curled tightly around his cat, fingers still combed idly through soft white fur.  Taking great care to lift with his legs and making every effort not to disturb Yuri’s slumber, Otabek hoisted his friend onto the bed and tossed the plush blanket overtop him.  Potya jumped up with a possessive mrowl and situated himself sleepily on top of his human, leering up at Otabek with daring eyes.

Yeah, I know, he thought bitterly, he’s yours, not mine.  I’ve never really gotten the hang of “mine.”

He stepped out into the warm summer night; the air hung heavy and humid around him as he fished a cigarette from the carton in his pocket.

There was no wind.  Everything smelled like wet asphalt.  Otabek fiddled numbly with his lighter for a few moments before producing a flame.  The smoke mingled with the balmy air was sweet, sticky like molasses.  He watched his own stress swirl in sinewy strands around his head as he exhaled, felt the tension leave his shoulders and lower back with guilty indulgence.  What a joke of an athlete.

I’m the king, J.J.! Just follow me; this is who I am…

Jean had blown it; he’d been pitiful out on the ice at the GPF and he, Otabek, had given it his all.  He’d worked twice as hard.  He’d landed all his jumps.  Somehow, though, he still fell short.

The same had happened at the Four Continents.  Back up against Katsuki and with the news that Viktor was returning to the ice, Jean’s nerves were visible – almost tangible.   And yet he still made the podium – second to the Ace of Japan and just ahead of Leo de la Iglesia.  Otabek had flubbed a few jumps. He missed the podium by half a point.

This past season had only reinforced his desire to cast aside skating altogether and focus on his music.

 But he’d only just begun to train here in Russia.  Viktor was taking on more students after clinching gold at Nationals and Europeans and Worlds, Otabek was one of the first he approached, impressed with the unconventional beauty of his GPF program.

Viktor was infamous for seeing the beauty in the work of losers.  Look at Katsuki.

He couldn’t leave Yura.  Not when they were just starting to get to know one another.  Not now.  He could tell the abrasive, ambitious teen wasn’t rich in the friend department, and neither was he.  Not since he’d moved home.

Yuri was really all he had right now.  If it weren’t for some… uncomfortable hang-ups he harbored about cohabitation he probably would have tried to room with him to dodge the looming loneliness that came with living a continent away from home.

 “Bek… Beks… hah… fuck… right… right there… fuck… oh my ffffffffucking god don’t stop…”

He pulled hard on the cigarette and watched the glowing end brighten and crawl in response.  The smoke trickled from his nose and hung low over his head – his own personal dark cloud.

Maybe the right thing to do now was to give Yuri some space.  He’d panicked.  Stacked the shit of his soul on top of the shit of his past all in the course of an hour.  He still didn’t know what his best friend was thinking after all of that.

 He wouldn’t know until morning.

“Goddamnit,” he growled, crushing the remaining half a cigarette between his fingers and stamping it out on the sidewalk.

He slipped silently into the apartment and sat at the café-style table in the kitchenette.  Yuri kept a notepad there patterned with succulents and cats, next to a coffee mug full of assorted pens.  Otabek used purple to scrawl out a quick note.  He taped it to the back of Yuri’s phone to ensure he’d find it in the morning.

Yura, I’m sorry last night went to shit.   I really do care about you. Your friendship is the best thing that happened to me this year, and I’m not ready to give that up. Maybe we should actually talk about what we’re both looking for. Call me when you wake up.  I’ll buy you breakfast. ~Beka

The lithe figure curled up on the bed was snoring a delicate little snore, and as Otabek crept over to gather his things Yuri stirred, shifted under the covers.  His hair fell in silky tangles over his face. Otabek absent-mindedly smoothed his bangs back, tucking them behind his ears.

 “You reek,” Yuri mumbled into his pillow; Otabek jumped, pulling a quick double-take to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently woken him.  When he was certain he was getting no indication of consciousness, he leaned over and brushed a quick kiss onto the bit of forehead he’d just uncovered.  Then he slid his laptop into his backpack, gingerly gathered up the empty cans, and slipped out once again into the heavy summer air.