#and it's like 3/4 of the way to the side and just below my boxers so there's no way that part of my leg would hit smth without me noticing

[mosspapi]

I have the weirdest bruise on my leg and I cannot for the life of me figure out what the fuck it's from. Like. It's shaped like the worlds skinniest bow tie?? An it's in a bizarre-ass place too. What the fuck dawg

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 6)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 6 Learning

Another night in bed with Alastor, but one that doesn’t feel quite right. You’re both learning about each other still. Unfortunately, it seems you’re not alone in finding out new information.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, blowjob, riding, swallowing CUM, mostly sex honestly, greenhouse , discussions of murder and dead bodies, nervous smoking, a nervous Alastor, tenderness, plants」

The tag list is broken, it wont let me copy and paste them as actual tags so I am manually adding them 😭

Minors DNI 🦌 🚘

You reached for the chain of the ceiling fan light, Alastor removing his clothes except his boxers as it was still too warm for pajamas. He pulled your clean slip from the drawer before making sure the window was locked but the curtains open. The bed softly illuminated with moonlight. 

Oh no. It felt strange. You would think this was a scene you’d seen before, perhaps in a photo beside the definition of home.

“Dear?” Alastor pulled back the blanket and sheet, “Everything alright?” You arm was still extended and holding the chain.

No. I’m too comfortable here already. I don’t feel like a guest.

“Come to bed.” He patted your side of the bed. You got changed, feeling him watching you.

“It’s nice to get undressed with an audience in a…boring way.” You huffed, the ache in your feet still with you. 

As you lifted your dress to unhook your garter, Alastor asked you sheepishly, “Would your stockings and garter be uncomfortable to sleep in?” You opened your mouth to answer before you realized what he was actually asking you. Fingers stopping, you let them be. 

“Not terribly, no.” 

When you slid into the bed in your slip and garters you caught how he grinned at you and suddenly you felt so shy. He always made you feel like it was your first time alone with a man when he looked at you with that smile, with those sharp eyes. You felt naked, deeper than just clothes.

Alastor scooted closer to you, arms wrapping around your waist and dragging you to meet him in the middle. Kisses to the side of your face until you turned, lips captured. As his hand came to your neck, large palm resting on your upper chest, you willed your heart to calm down. 

His mouth was hungry, tongue reaching for yours. You tried to breathe through your nose but couldn’t find the timing. When he pulled away, your mouth still open, he let his nose rub at yours. “I want to spoil you.” His hand slid down your front, fingers making a line through the center of your torso before coming to rest below your belly button. It was more intimate than you thought he realized. His hand sat heavy. “We can do as little or as much as you’d like.”

“Are you sure? I’m happy to cuddle in your fancy—,” you stretched your arms, “two person bed. Don’t worry about me.”

He kissed where your jaw ended, breathing into your ear a husky,  “I don’t want to cuddle. I want to make a new memory in my home.” In truth, he was desperate to feel you still wanted him. Despite what had happened.

That was all you needed. Throwing your leg over him you straddled his lap. You reached down to make sure his soft member had room to grow. His hands came to your hips but you brought them to your face and leaned down to continue greedy kisses. Hips rolling forward against him, your little moans into his mouth earned you sighs in return. 

You knew exactly what you wanted to do. You felt him growing under you as you rubbed against him. Catching his bottom lip in your teeth you gently tugged.

Leaning back, you took his hand and sucked one finger into your mouth. Pulling it out you added another, your teeth coming to rest well past his knuckles. A raspy groan coming from deep in his chest. Your hips kept rocking, tongue twirling as you slowly pulled him out of your mouth again. He fought the urge to say thank you. 

“Fellatio, Alastor.” You maintained eye contact, hips grinding as his golden brown eyes became wide, “Can I?”

His cock was twitching against you, but you needed a verbal yes before giving it your full attention.

“I’m not a huge fan of feeling my release on my skin.” He was frowning.  An honest to god frown like a bummed out child. You couldn’t help but find it cute. He was usually smirking so the frown felt like seeing the Easter bunny smoking. Just, so out of place.

“Well hun I wasn’t planning on giving it back to you.”

A gasp, he opened his mouth to say something about your unsurpassed ability to surprise him for the nth time, but his mouth had gone dry. He was sure you could feel him growing harder against the silk of your slip. He squeaked out an “Okay, yeah. Let’s try.”

You kissed his cheeks, feeling his blush heating your lips. Finally, you could be the one making a mess of the other. Moving down, you settled your own warm cheek in the crook where his thigh met his hip and let your hand lazily stroke him. 

Dicks were remarkably ugly things, possibly done so animals would bury them every chance possible to avoid having to look at them. But Alastor’s cock was pretty. Tan and pink, long and slender with a slight curve up that seemed biologically strategic. It was a shame he didn’t show it off more, but that was none of your business. 

“I missed you.” You cooed.

Alastor lifted his head from his pillow, he had been trying to not look at you because he already knew it would be too much. Sure enough, your barely lit face was looking at up from his lap. Eyes aglow with the dying summer moonlight and hand so tenderly touching him. What was he doing again?

Oh that’s right. You’d said something.

“Hmm?”

You kissed his tip, “I wasn’t talking to you.”

His head fell back down, making a noise that almost sounded like a word. Another peck of a kiss. Then a longer one. Your lips parted and his hands lightly gripped the sheets. Hot and wet, but a different version of wet heat you’d already allowed him to lose himself in. A firm palate and soft tongue running past his head and down his length.

For the life of him he couldn’t understand why you wanted to do this. The truth was you were already soaking through your panties, his little hip ruts and sharp inhales going straight to your core. You’d never wanted to please another person so much in your fucking life. Pornography made sense now, you’d pay to see photos of him spread out with a lusty face. But luckily your cost was minor, an express ticket to hell. 

You took him down to the base before lifting your head again.

“I want you to make the pace.” You brought his hand to the back of your head. His normally sharp features now soft and squiggly. “Fast or slow, little bit or all of it, you can stop me entirely whenever you want.”

His hand was riding your head as you bobbed on his cock. Tongue running along the underside, pressing up as you moved. A muscle twitched in his thigh which you found impossibly arousing. Every time you took him all the way into your mouth you couldn’t breathe and it only made you think of how deep he’d reached inside you before. 

Doting on his swollen head you licked his leaking precum from the slit. The look in your eyes promised to devour him as you sucked in your cheeks and made shallow moves, letting your hands slide down his shaft and balls. The weight of them in your hands had you twitching around nothing. 

Alastor’s breath was rough and strained, but his moans soft. You released him with a pop.

“Alastor.”

His eyes were focused on the ceiling, fingers stroking mindlessly at your hair. “Yes?”

“Are you not comfortable with moving my head? You’re just petting me. We can stop or—?”

Alastor let his hand come down to your chin, thumb running over your bottom lip, “No, no I don’t want to stop,” the look in eyes made you believe that. “I don’t know how to set the pace. You just want me to move your head? I’m not used to this and my brain is completely empty. Tell me plainly what you want and I’ll do it.” It sounded like a plea, almost begging for you to give him instruction. Because he was. He was pleading for you to tell him how to make you happy in new ways. “I want to do it.”

Plainly? Okay. This was one area of life you could manage to be completely straight. “I want you,” you kissed the tip of his cock again, “to guide my head on and off your cock,” a kiss down his shaft followed by another, “until you come in my throat.” You kissed the dark hair around his base, taking a moment to enjoy the scent of his manhood. “I wanna do it at your speed.”

A whimper, his dick bouncing up with a twitch and hitting your cheek, “Fuck.” He nodded, “I won’t last long when your mouth is so skilled verbally and physically, my dear.”

You hummed as his hands guided you back down, was this still letting him take the lead? The lines were blurred of who was leading who. But that was fine, maybe two people could move forward in tandem.

It made your pussy clench with a need to be filled when he finally pressed your head all the way down. With some difficulty you kept your teeth from scratching him while hollowing your cheeks again.

Hands busy cupping and caressing his balls, you let him quicken his pace.

A pleasant surprise as his hips began to buck up with his increasingly strident groans. You moaned around his cock, taking quick breaths through your nose whenever you were pulled off before his thrusts and pushes choked you again. Your eyes were watering, glossy as you tried to focus on his face. Looking down and across his tightened stomach his eyes met yours. The way his mouth was open was one thing but the moan of your name as his eyes lolled back made you feel feral. 

You shifted your hand to pumping his unsheathed length faster as he focused on his head hitting and sliding up the back of your tongue. You were confident he was almost at his peak. Seeing his eyes roll made you hungry to bring him to orgasm. The characteristic lost rhythm of his hips was a dead giveaway as much as the slowing of his hand bobbing your head that you were on the right track.

When you rolled your tongue Alastor loudly moaned in earnest, he seemed caught off guard by the sensation and his own response. The sound made you whimper around him. You wanted to make him make more sounds. More glimpses of him enjoying himself without restraint.

“My love… please,” he sounded like he was holding his breath, “Can I?” He felt insecure, he’d only entertained fellatio twice in his life and both times he found the sensations bordering disgusting and the aftermath humiliating. One partner dribbling his cum back onto his stomach, the other spitting it into his handkerchief. No one seemed happy with any part of it. But your mouth didn’t feel wrong. No part of you made him feel like a chore. Nothing about you ever made him feel put up with, instead in that moment he felt like you enjoyed him. He felt delicious in your mouth.

One hand on the back of your head pushing your head down onto him quicker as he was just at the cusp, the other where your jaw and ear met lifting you off him slightly slower to languish in the drag of your tongue over his cock.

You hummed an affirmative and braced yourself, a thick and salty shot of his release hitting the back of your throat with force. You took him down to the base again, swallowing around his head as much as his size allowed. He hissed, hips rising off the bed. You didn’t stop swallowing despite his whines and spasms, shoulders jerking up and off the pillows as he folded in over your head. The silence of the night interrupted by his overstimulated gasps spilling out around you.

Only when he stilled, body no longer twitching as he lied back down, did you let up.

He was almost scared to look at you. Flashes of a long forgotten face of disgust behind his eyes. 

“Alastor?” Your voice was so sweet, more so than usual. He dared to look.

A smile that reached your eyes. No mask, no grimace, no disappointment.

“You okay, doll?” You took his left hand and kissed his palm before setting your cheek against it. “Was it too much? Uncomfortable?”

What a silly question. He was the one who pulled you into murder, who left you vulnerable to dangerous men, who hadn’t ever considered how loving someone like him could put you at risk of terrible heartbreak. You had never been too much, he was the one spilling out of his canvas and staining you.

“We don’t have to do that ever again, okay?” You kissed his hand again, misreading his face entirely. Odd, you were usually so keen to the finer details of his mood. But when it came to sex, to his preferences, you knew you were better left always giving him room to ask for more, not less. Never make him need to ask you to stop. Never push past an absolute certainty of comfort, or put him in a position where he felt obligated to continue.

You’d decided some time ago you’d close your legs for good if it meant sharing a blanket with him. Your list of needs were rearranged the moment he pushed you into that bathroom, not that had known at the time or that you’d admit it was so early in your meeting.

Alastor smiled, finally, “No, it wasn’t.” While it wasn’t his favorite way to spend his time, he didn’t hate it. He wanted to ask if he was okay, if he was obviously inexperienced or embarrassingly quick. His eyes did that thing again, flitting around your face like he was reading a difficult but intriguing book.

You moved your body up to rest flush against his chest with your own. Silk slip cool on his heated skin. “I am very grateful you let me indulge myself, but,” a kiss to his chest before smiling back at him, your feet kicking up and knocking the blanket off, “Don’t push yourself, baby.” Your finger traced little circles on his chest.

He sat up. Slightly caught off guard, you did too. From the shadows of his bed you couldn’t see it before, but as he kissed you in an almost frantic succession of lips crashing into yours you pulled away to look him in the eyes. Blown out pupils shining back at you again. He stole another kiss, you not noticing his hand coming to his lap.

“I want to go at your pace now.” When he attempted another kiss, a pleasure soaked sigh stopped him. Your eyes traveled to the busy hand between you both.

“You can ride me, I’ve been selfish these last few times.” his hand was stroking himself, trying to get as hard as he could without getting too close to cumming a second time.

Even in the dim light he could see your face clearly, partly why he didn’t remove his glasses yet. You looked genuinely concerned. His free hand’s index finger and thumb came out almost like an upside down finger gun, a promise, “I want to feel you come undone around me.” You hooked your index with his, thumbs touching. It almost made a heart. “You can use me as you need, I just want to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

You’d accepted him but he wanted more. He wanted you to need him. He’d be happy with just a night of neediness, really. Just confirmation he could keep you happy.

A blush spread up from your chest. There wasn’t anything to say. He left no room for doubt with his purposeful request. Leaning back again he slid a hand between your thighs and into your underwear. “Oh, you really did enjoy yourself didn’t you?” He brought his shining fingertip to his mouth and let those love affected eyes take you in as he licked his digits clean.

Unkindly beautiful. He was upsettingly ethereal beneath you, skin a glow in a way that rivaled the sun’s own bloom. His soft hair uncharacteristically messy, glasses fallen just a bit down his nose. The usually confident and sure Alastor was demure and needy between your legs. You’d never seen him look like that, even the first time was a different sight.

How lucky you were to get to devour him twice in one evening. You lifted yourself up and kept your eyes glued to his face as you pulled aside your panties and filled yourself with him. 

A moment of pause when you bottomed out, letting you both adjust. A confession of his own, “I’ve never let anyone on top before.”

You tightened around him, “You skipped straight to eating women out in bathrooms?”

A quick correction by him, “Not women. A Woman.” 

You tightened again, knees riding up over his stomach. “Well, I hope you’ll trust me with every first.”

Fighting the urge to bruise your ass on his hips, you took a gentle pace at first, knowing he’d just orgasmed minutes before. He was still sensitive, evident from his hisses and jerky movements with every bounce. His mouth was hanging open again with already heavy and loud breaths, eyes glued to watching himself disappear into your cunt.

Leaning down, you switched to rolling your hips front and back and kissing at his clavicle. You worked up his neck, pausing to whisper an ask, “Does it hurt?” into the bruised skin of this throat.  He said it was fine so you continued kisses up and then along his jaw. When his mouth reached for yours you dodged and kissed his nose. Another whiny whimper, hands rubbing down your hips and running over the place your skin met your stockings. His fingers ran up the straps of garters and back down again.

You kissed his cheeks, then the corner of his mouth. He looked at you like you were hurting him, like it pained him to not have your mouth on his. A moan pulled his expression from torture to ecstasy.

Alastor felt good, his ego unfurling in his chest with the sight of your pleasure. It was as if he were being worshiped and in worship of you at the same time. Your kisses were an offering, his moans a prayer.

No one had ever doted so sweetly on him during sex, perhaps he never let them. The very notion briefly floated by of past lovers kissing at his neck and it just as briefly made his skin crawl. Though he deeply enjoyed kisses when everyone was dressed. 

Much like small beds, affection was made comfortable by your presence. He wanted to be possessed by you. He felt he would be stronger somehow if he was wholly yours. 

Resting your forehead on his in the most loving act you’d ever offered a man during sex, you used his shoulders as a sturdy support to resume riding him in earnest. A workout you actually enjoyed, lifting your weight off of him and making a controlled descent to impale yourself again and again on his heated member. His swollen tip was sliding past your g-spot but it wasn’t hitting it as hard as you needed. But before you could move, you felt Alastor bring his arms up.

He used his hands like you’d taught him and grabbed the back of your head to bring you into a kiss. Lips on lips, his tongue teasing its way into your mouth.

You broke the kiss to sit back up, giving your thighs a burn as you tried to create enough friction to build up your orgasm. 

Often times you closed your eyes during sex, not because it just felt so good, but because you didn’t know where to look that wasn’t terribly uncomfortable. But not now, your eyes were locked on Alastor’s, every time he bit his bottom lip and every furrowed brow sent tingles that rolled down your shoulders , slipped along your ribs and settled in your stomach. 

You didn’t want to blink and risk missing a single reaction. The soft slap of your ass on his lap became more obscene as you got wetter. Slippery was the best word for it, Alastor trying to compare your mouth to the feeling of your twitching cunt. As you moaned his name and clenched around him, he knew he liked this more. Your mouth was free to make pretty noises for him. Sounds that made him twitch in you. 

How you could be so soft and yet gripping him so tightly he couldn’t understand. He began to realize how little he understood about any of it. Normally not actually paying attention this much during sex, but he let deeper thoughts go and just focused on the way you looked riding him.

A moment shared between you both as your eyes caught again; static shock without the contact.

“Could you cross your legs? At the ankle.” You reached around and made sure his still heavy balls were safely above his legs. Alastor did it without asking questions.

You needed a new angle, but there was no way in hell you’d turn around. Leaning back with both hands on his thighs, you could angle his cock head to graze that bundle of nerves his hands worked so well in the past. Heavy breaths morphed into deep moans as you worked him into that spot repeatedly. 

When you let a hand come forward and flick at your clit you had to sink down onto him, unable to keep your body up the same way. Shorter movements but a quicker pace to match your finger. Alastor tore his eyes from yours to watch your hand work, studying the way you moved so he could master pulling orgasms from you with his own.

Quiet, so softly you gasped and mewled as you quickly raised the tension in your lower belly. No more lifting, no energy or focus to offer, just grinding against him until you felt that snap of pressure and your muscles rolled around his cock. Alastor was quick to watch your face as he recognized the spasms making his thighs twitch again.

As your orgasm waned, the pleasure dying, you felt a clarity you couldn’t before. You looked down over Alastor, and found yourself worried. A small sense of dissatisfaction. You couldn’t put your finger on it so you let it go. Learning about Alastor carnally would take time, and you needed to allow that to happen naturally.

He was the one who suggested it, but it didn’t feel as satisfying as before.  Even with his orgasm, you felt like you’d gotten more from the interaction. And you weren’t sure what that something was or what that meant. The feeling in the air the first time wasn’t there now, and you weren’t sure why. You planted a kiss on his lips, trying to feel if anything was missing. His lips moved against yours and his hands rubbed at your thighs. He felt just like Alastor.

“Feel good, my dear?” He didn’t open his eyes, instead kissing you before you could reply. You hummed into his mouth.

“I feel good anytime I’m near you.” 

The right answer.

His smile widened, “That’s all I want.”

With a deep sigh, you unseated yourself and lied back in your spot. Your slip was sticking to your skin in various places from sweat, it was uncomfortable but you were too tired to even ask him about showering. He took off his glasses and rolled to face you so you rolled too.

Lying there and looking at each other, Alastor’s eyes adjusted to the shadows to see your face. “I feel like…women often over-act during sex. You don’t though. Or you’re a great actress.”

You nodded, “Yeah I can see that. I definitely have. Also I’m a performer, professionally.”

A nervous smile spread on his face.

“I actually really hate touching you.” You laughed. Alastor placed his hand on your shoulder and you faked a gag, “Disgusting. So strong and yet soft. The worst.” 

“Unfunny.” Alastor quoted you.

“No, I don’t do that with you.” Your hand touched at his, “Lots of other people though. I guess we feel like we have to make the guy feel like he’s doing well.” You hadn’t thought before speaking and suddenly worried you’d said something unattractive. There was a relaxation to the way you were talking with him that reminded you of being backstage at the theater.

“I have definitely been on the receiving end of that.” Alastor grimaced, “Feels like making someone a meal you don’t even like, just for them to pretend to eat it and hum loudly with every fake bite. Why push for sex and then just pretend.” Alastor mimed bringing a utensil to your mouth, “Here’s that fried catfish you love darling.”

“Lostsa reasons. And I hate catfish.”

He dropped the fake fork, “Thank God for that, catfish is disgusting.” 

Chewing on your bottom lip you just jumped into the fear, “Did it bother you, when I said ‘lots of people’ just now?”

“Why would it?”

You reached out and touched his cheek, “Just checking. Tell me about your day. If I fall asleep it’s a compliment to your voice and not an insult.”

It had been a boring day, save for his worry about you seeing his home. He rambled about work as boringly as he could until he heard the soft and deep breathing of a sleeper. And then he told you about how he cleaned, and changed the bedding, about how he swept the porch and stared into his fridge.

When he ran out of details, he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. The sound of your breathing was a new noise for his room. It was nice. His hand slid under the sheet until it found one of yours. It didn’t take long for his mind to settle and for him to fall asleep.

And then his eyes opened and it was bright in the room. He was on his side now, facing away from you. Alastor wondered if he was asleep still, but your breath behind him was evidence enough this wasn’t a nightmare. He was awake. He’d slept through the night without a terror or stressor plaguing him for the first time in, well, he couldn’t remember.

But the torment waited for him to awaken, a tinge of embarrassment washing over him from head to toe like a chill. Had he asked you to ride him? To use him? What the fuck was wrong with him? He was mortified, pulling the pillow over his face. He hadn’t even been drunk. He sounded like some horny teenager desperate to be touched. Not at all what he had been hoping to convey.

He managed to hide it well enough, through breakfast and to the patio where he could finally put his attention fully on something else.

“This is where I bring the bodies.” Alastor walked you to greenhouse doors. “There’s no one in there now. But,” he cleared his throat, “You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to. I’ll never have you help with this part.”

You looked at each other, his eyes taking in the places where you’d been bruised before. Bruises he could still see in his head. Your eyes staring at the blooming purples of his neck. You hadn’t seen them before, his normal collar hiding them well enough. But he wasn’t headed to work yet, so you got see him in a clean white t-shirt tucked into his usual pants. Only he could make that look like a state of undress.

You jiggled the handles, looking past the hardwater stained glass to barely visible green beyond, “If you don’t unlock this door right now I will break in.”

Alastor laughed, pulling the key he’d grabbed earlier from his pocket.

You considered making a joke about your skills with rocks but thought better of it.

When the doors opened, you were surprised to see plants.

Not because they were in there, but that it was all you saw. Alastor walked past you and to the left, “Most people naturally turn right when they enter a room. Buys me a little time just in case someone comes in.” You followed him past long and tall shelves of various potted plants and flowers.

“And most people would consider a shed more suspicious than an all glass greenhouse. Nothing nefarious about glass. The plants help obscure the sights and the hard water takes care of the view from ground level.” He pointed up and over to the house, “You can see it perfectly well from the second floor.”

“Aren’t you worried about neighbors?” He turned right to step through some plants then stopped in front of a large metal table.

“Nearest neighbors are at least several acres away on all sides, we don’t interact.” His finger slid across the clean and shining surface, “Dismember, drain, back in the car to then disappear them far away from here.”

Your short heel sank down into the dirt, a memory of Tommy at better times taking your attention away from where you placed your weight. 

“The ground soaks up the water and blood. Bugs take what I miss. And it stays pretty warm even in winter, so the ground stays soft.”

Morbid. You couldn’t pretend it wasn’t morbid as your eyes sank to the soil beneath your feet. Turning around you looked for anything out of place. You saw gardening supplies like shears, axes, hand saws, tarps. Plants everywhere, pretty flowers and small trees. It was a very full but very normal greenhouse. Approaching the table you lowered yourself  to look underneath. Empty clay pots, bags of dirt, seeds. Clean and dry. 

“It looks like a functional greenhouse.”

“Exactly.”

“No I mean— it, not a single trace of,” you searched for a good word, “impropriety.” You’d heard that shouted at you before. “Even the plants are cared for. How much time do you spend keeping this room perfect? When do you sleep?”

His head tilted, “I don’t sleep much. So, I have time. The long nights are just the ones when I have someone in here.”

“I promise my praise is coming but first — Alastor.” You stood, “Ya know you could have just slept last night. Like, a full night's sleep. We didn’t have to stay up. That’s two nights already you barely slept. On top of…years? Of this?”

A suddenly nervous energy, Alastor’s hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he looked away. Oh no, that was a first you hadn’t considered. 

Had you been too harsh? Sounded too much like nagging wife? You felt like one. 

“Sorry. It’s not my place to speak on.” You sighed and set your hands on the waist height table. His back must hurt, he was so much taller than the table, he must be bent over quite a bit when he worked. You couldn’t stop imagining him, tired and hunched.

Alastor came to stand beside you, hands mirroring yours, “No, that’s exactly it. It’s become your place, hasn’t it? But I’m still acting like I’m alone.” You bit your tongue. “Yes we should have slept. I was tired. But, you did a lot recently. For me. Selflessly.”

Ah. His fingers on his left hand intertwined with your right, eyes searching for something in the scratched grey blue of the workspace.

“I want to provide for all your needs.”

A tinge of fear again ran through him. He needed you to need him. So you wouldn’t leave. He wanted you to see how he could give you everything.

You could have screamed in the best way, somehow feeling a spark in your lap, provide for you? Why did it sound like an act of service when he said it and not a threat to your autonomy? 

“You’re already giving me so many things I need. Phone calls in the morning and kisses after work. Respect for my job and myself as a human, not just a woman. Your voice when I’m falling asleep,” you cleared your throat now, too saccharine of a speech already, “Someone to lick the blood off my face. An alibi. That kinda stuff. Ya know?”

“I’m not joking.”

The muscles in your back locked. You gripped his hand, you could feel him staring at the side of your face but didn’t want to see what expression he had. Unfortunately he knew you too well already.

“Look at me.”

Your natural reaction to being given an order was to do the opposite. But you couldn’t muster the petulance. You finally turned to look back at him.

He’d never looked so serious. Eyes brighter in the sun than you’d remembered them being bore into yours. Locked, you were frozen in his stare.

A deer in the headlights.

He wasn’t studying your face this time, he was staring into. Not through you, no, you could feel his gaze being soaked into the back of your skull.

“I’m learning. Be patient with me? And you can tell me when I’m fucking up. I want it be our places in each other’s lives.”

“Al-,” it came out a squeak, you tried again, “I’m not either. Joking, that is.” His intense look was blinked away. “I need all the little things most. I can’t get them from anyone else. I don’t want them from anyone else. The tender kisses, the hand holding, cuddling. I’m terribly happy.” A tentative kiss to his nose, “But I need you tiptop. Sleeping, eating, human things like that. Let me help you balance things. I want to provide, too.”

Arms snaked around your waist, forehead to forehead, his smile grew, small but still a welcomed sight as always, “Can I have that praise you mentioned earlier now?”

You nodded, listing all the brilliant ways he protected himself from detection. A long form good boy. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Across the parish and downtown, a nervous woman fidgeted in a worn wooden chair. She had been woken up by a loud knock at her door when she was still sleeping off her late night.

“I thought this was all done with. Did you really need to drag me down here? Not a big fan of flat foots. You understand.”

He sighed, placing his hat on the empty chair beside him. His partner would be there if his partner was aware he was even doing this. But they had already written him off as obsessed with nothing, “Of course. Just finishing up some paperwork is all, miss. So, not a single enemy? I hear he had debts.”

“Well I mean,” her high pitched voice somehow creeped up into even higher an octave with her nerves, “We all had guesses but, no, never seen him fight with anyone except a dancer here and there. Mean right hook, that guy. I’m glad he’s gone. I hope he’s dead.”

He perked up, “He hit on ya’ll?”

“Once in a blue moon. But he really let Autumn have it before he up and left. Never seen him that mad before. She was bruised up for like a week after.” She ashed her cigarette in the bowl on the table between them, “He wasn’t normally like that. Just when girls refused dates. And Autumn really wasn’t playing along, if ya know what I mean.”

Detective Brady leaned over the interrogation table, “What dates?”

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

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[deesseshesca]

PAC 18+: How can you spice up your sex life with your s/o?

Now let's bring it up a notch...

Good evening, pretty souls, today I'm diving under the cover of y'all relationship to keep up with your panties/boxer.

FLASH SALE

For the next 2 weeks all readings on my ko-fi is 20$, only 

Rules and Disclaimer 

I am the type of tarot reader to say as it is. Nothing is sugar coated but everything is sent with good intention. If you are not ready to face some truth, you should vagabond somewhere else. 

MINOR DON'T INTERACT WITH THIS POST 

MINOR DON’T READ THIS POST 

TW: Sexual abuse, DV

Basing myself on the legal age in my country which is 18 

PILE 1 

4 wands, 5 swords, 3 swords, 9 swords, ‘’I’m going through a lot right now, I need some space & time to gather my thoughts !’’ 

Mutual masturbation 

Edging 

Overstimulation

💌 Your partner don't feel appreciated enough in the bedroom. They feel like u are comparing them to your past lovers. If not, they feel like they don't compare. On your side you are tired of their toxic behavior. They are not toxic is just that they are stuck in bad habits. Which is stopping y'all from evolving as a couple. You are not satisfy emotionally, they are not satisfy physically. Anyway Pile 1, if you need any advice on how to deal with situation, you can always book a reading on my Ko-fi, link down below. Especially now that they are on sales for only 20$. (Link at the end of the post)

Much love, Shesca

PILE 2 

2 pentacles, 2 swords, 4 wands, 5 wands, ‘’I look at my phone everyday hoping I would see a message from you’’ 

Cuddlefuck 

No foreplay 

Voyeurism  

Femdom 

💌I think your partner is usually the one in control. Y'all usually have some hardcore sex or even BDSM. There's a clear difference between a sub and dom energy down to even the look. One of y'all is real petite. You are probably part of the itty bitty community or you dick may be on the smaller side. Y'all are very delicate and graceful being. While he is all tall and buff or she is very curvy and way taller than u. If you initiate with a bratty attitude instead of being your docile self, is going to fire up the spark between y'all. Are y'all going camping trip or on a trip abroad with friend ? You should run your hand up and down his dick while y'all look at a movie in the living room, if they are a women, maybe play with their tits. Or when y'all back in the tent, you should initiate something knowing damm well is hella risky. It's going to excited them and finally give them a reason to do all the punishments they dream to apply on u. Since u been a good girl/boy (is not me...is them ), they only fantasy is about punishing you. Anyway if you guys need any advice how to make it happen, you can always book a reading on my Ko-fi, especially now that's only 20$ (Link at the end of the post)

Much love, Shesca

PILE 3 

Judgment, 5 swords, Page wands, 8 cups 

Check in : Babes, I'm sorry for the fuck up things you been through. You guys have a lot of sexual trauma. You spend your whole in poverty until you made the decision to become an escort or stripper. Which only added to the trauma. Some of y'all been in abusive relationship or all you life you felt like the only way someone will stay with you would be for sex. So you felt obligated to give some. But now you are in healthy relationship. The life you have now is a complete 360 of your past. Stay at home wife in the sunburn, spending most of your weekend supporting your kids hobbies. Nobody would even the guess how hard it was for you to get this peaceful life.

Dirty talk 

Nudist Event 

Power play 

💌 Now girl/boy... what's going ? Why are only serving same old missionary with the men/women you love. I can feel how deeply you love them. So you are completely comfortable around them. Yet no split on dick or feasting on the clit. No crazy lingerie. No lap dancing. No nothing. I don't know much about life but I think when u are married you can defiantly match the freak. Talk nasty to him/her, giving him/her a VIP experience and they will go crazy. Send them nasty pic, girl/boy you have all the power to spice things up. Anyway Pile 3, if you need help on tapping back into your sexual self in more healthy manner, you can always book a reading on my Ko-fi for only 20$.(Link at the end of the post)

Much love, Shesca.

7 wands, Page cups, 9 wands, 7 cups,’’Karmic partner interference’’, ‘’I’m ready to come clean ! I can’t lose you again !’’ 

Food 

Jealousy/possessiveness

Communication 

💌 You are married to someone you don't know anymore. If you know One tree hill (the best TV show in the word), y'all make me think of Quinn and her relationship with her ex-husband David. They were a time, the person on your side was loving and emotionally available. Now he is crazy about profit and barely spend time in the same room as you. Than there's him/her. They know they can treat u better than your husband/wife and is pissing them off the way things are . They dream of licking wiped cream of your nipple, ever since they saw in that sundress at the pool party or when you do your daily run with no shirt on. Anyways Pile 4, I know you are going to figure it all out but if you want insight from your spiritual team regarding this whole mess, you always book a ready on my Ko-fi. Especially now, they are only 20$. (Link at the end of the post)

Much love, Shesca.

[star-writes-sometimes]

look after each other

dealer!remus lupin x baker!reader

words: 1.8k

cw: pining, idiots in love, drug use, tension

---—---

remus always knows when you're upset.

remus watched as you were finishing the strawberry tarts. he was not so sneakily stealing strawberries as you hummed along to the soft music pouring out of the speakers. it was friday night but you wanted to drop them off to mrs silvia tonight so you could sleep in tomorrow. mrs silvia was a kind older woman who lived alone and spoke with an accent neither of you could place - though you did enjoy speculating about it - and every week she would order some kind of baked good from you. 

you put them all neatly in a box and said you'd be quick even though both of you knew that wasn't true. she only lived two floors below you but mrs silvia always chatted for just a tad too long whenever she saw either of you.

so, seventeen minutes later and counting he was browsing through netflix waiting for your return. it was his pick tonight and he knew no matter what he chose you'd tease him about it, but he didn't mind. just as he was starting to get restless you return. you smile softly at him as you lean on the doorframe for stability while you tug your shoes off.  

remus returns your smile and stares at you intently. his gaze feels sharp on you, you always feel exposed under his stare, like he can see all of your secrets. 

you start walking to the couch and flop down on the side closest to the door and run a hand over your face, feeling exhausted. remus cocks his head as his eyes follow you, squinting slightly as he continues study you.

“what’s wrong, angel?”

you met his gaze and glared playfully “nothin’. what's wrong with you remmy?”

he glares back and scrunches his nose up “don't lie, sweetheart it’s not a good habit.”

“says the drug dealer.”

“bunny” you hate that tone. it makes you want to tell him every little thought going through your brain. 

“‘m just tired rem. and my feet hurt those shoes are cute, but fuck do they hurt”

he smiles slightly before he furrows his brows. he noticed your absence over the past few weeks, spending less time with him and working more. he pulls your feet onto his lap and starts massaging them. you sigh contently shuffle around getting comfortable and mumble out a small “thank you” he only hums in response “what movie did you pick?” you ask.

“a new hope”

“again?” you ask in a teasing tone.

“yeah. whatchu got against episode 4?”

“nothin’ just the prequels are better."

“you only say that cause you think hayden christiensen is hot." he rolls his eyes.

“well yeah and ewan mcgregor but carrie fisher is gorgeous so that's not my reasoning. i like the storyline of the prequels better that’s all.”

“you kiddin’ me love? nothing beats watchin’ luke destroy the death star."

“nope wrong anakin and obi wans fight is the best. episode 3 is superior.” you yawn starting to feel the exhaustion catching up to you. 

remus gently smiles and rubs small circles on your ankle “how ‘bout we compromise, bunny? we’ll watch revenge of the sith then new hope. that way we both get our favourites." 

you pretend to consider this and over exaggeratedly tap your chin in thought “m’kay remmy you got yourself a deal.” you hold your hand out to shake. he takes it and squeezes gently. 

“go get changed baby i’ll make the popcorn.” he taps your foot to signal them to move so you slide them to the floor.

“can i borrow one of your sweaters?”

“i left one on your bed angel.”

“you’re the best remsy.”

he scrunches his nose up at the nickname and watches you disappear into your bedroom. you smile as you enter your room upon the sight of one of remus’ brown sweaters folded on your bed. you undress before pulling on the sweater, a pair of comfy boxer briefs and some fluffy socks.

once you’re done you go back into the living room to see remus with a bowl of popcorn and and two cups of tea on the coffee table. he’d taken off his own sweater and was now just relaxing on your couch in his faded graphic tee and grey sweatpants. he’s fiddling with the remote loading up revenge of the sith. 

“hey pretty boy.” you give him a tired smile.

“hey bunny. c’mere.” you fall onto the couch and remus pulls you into him, loving his arms around you and letting your head loll onto his chest. you lean back and look up to him grinning at him. “y’ready for a subpar star wars movie?" 

“if by subpar you mean the bestest most awesomest star wars movie then yes.”

“whatever you wanna believe, love.”

he only half watches the movie. you’d watched them together plenty of time before anyway, he was more interested in watching you. he saw you grow slowly more and more tired.

just as padme gives birth, you start snoring lightly against his chest. he pushes some stray hairs out of your face and kisses your forehead. “g’night bunny.”

—

and you always take care of remus.

the upbeat knocks on his door jolts remus out of his half asleep state sprawled out on his worn out couch. he sighs as he rises and cracks his back on the short walk to the door.

he swings it open to reveal a familiar smiling face holding a loaf of some kind of bread. he can't help but mirror your smile as he steps aside to invite you in.

“i heard you arrive home 20 minutes ago but i wanted to finish making my banana bread first so i could bring you some” you ramble on while heading towards the kitchen and placing it down on the small breakfast bar, then turning to face him again “mrs. silvia gave me some bananas yesterday apparently her son-” you’re cut off by remus’ arms wrapping around you and his head burying itself in your neck.

you softly start to run your hands through his hair while your other arm returns his impromptu hug. “you doin’ okay remmy?” you question softly but instead of responding his arms just tighten around you.

you furrow your brows and lean back slightly to grab his jaw and look into his eyes. “you high rem?”

“mhmm” 

“wanna go to bed?”

a beat passes before he slowly nods into your neck. you slowly untangle yourself from him and pull him into his bedroom. you face him and reach up to run your hands through his hair and down his face. he leans into your touch and closes his eyes. you move your hands lower and reach for the bottom of his sweater and slowly pull it over his head and onto the floor. he pulls you into a hug again and your arms go around your waist and lean into him. 

“remus dear?”

“yeah love?”

“please don’t take this the wrong way but when was the last time you showered?”

“um… maybe 4 days ago?”

“rem?” 

“yes?”

“can i run you a bath?”

“please angel.”

you giggle as you pull away and walk into his bathroom to start drawing a bath. there were plenty of bath products there already you had gifted him after you taught him how to use them properly. remus lingers in the doorway watching you intently. 

you can feel him lingering “strip, lupin.”

“if you wanted to see me naked pet you could've just asked.” he pulls his shirt off before fumbling with his jeans. he struggles a lot with the button before huffing and leaning against the wall. “babyyyy i need help.”

you sigh softly and move closer to him and undo his jeans “you got it from here pretty boy?” you tease lightly.

“you think i’m pretty?”

“course darlin’” 

he smiles and feels his face heat up. your comments always affect him more when he’s high. 

you watch him shyly turn his head away and smile fondly “the baths ready hon’ do ya need anythin’ else?”

he shakes his head, and you leave the room. once you hear the small click of the door closing you turn and head towards the kitchen. you cut up some of the banana bread and get two glasses of water. you take them to his bedroom and place them on his bedside table. you move around the room, lighting the few candles you had bought for him and grabbing some clean clothes for him. 

you knock on the bathroom door “rem, can i come in?”

“yeah, love.” his muffled voice replies.

you walk in and smile down at him. there were enough bubbles in the bath to preserve his modesty (not that he would have cared anyway) so you could only really see his shoulder and above. “i brought you some clean clothes babe for whenever you’re ready.”

“thanks angel.” he smiles, and you leave again.

you grab some painkillers for his unavoidable hangover in the morning. you decide to change into one of remus’ t-shirts and a spare pair of sleep bottoms you left there. you go back into the kitchen and start making two cups of tea. you set out two mugs and chose the tea bags but just as you start adding the sugar you hear a groan coming from the bathroom. you abandoned the tea and rushed to the bathroom.

as you walk in you seem remus on the floor, shirtless, with one leg inside his pyjama pants.

you can’t help the small giggle that escaped at the sight. “need help sugar?” 

“pleaseeee.” he gives you those stupid puppy dog eyes.

you help him to his feet and hold him to stabilise him while he puts his other leg into his pants. once his pants are securely on his hips you reach for his shirt and bunch it up to help him put his head through the hole. then, helping his arm goes into each sleeve. you smile and pat his chest.

you return to the kitchen and finish making the tea. you move to the sink to wash the teaspoon you used and the other few stray dishes when you feel his arms wrap around your waist. he snuggles into you and smells your hair. he starts slowly kissing your neck and rubbing small circles onto your hip bone with his hand.

“you’re being very affectionate,” you comment trying to come off as nonchalant despite leaning into his touch.

“i missed you.” he mumbled into your neck.

“you saw me this morning.”

“i know but it’s not enough.” he whines slightly in a way that is somehow endearing.

“seeing me every day isn’t enough? what did you take?” you snicker slightly.

“pads had some mushrooms. we’re not the right kind of close we need to be closer. i love you bunny.”

“i love you too remmy.”

“no not in the right way. not in the way i do.”

your breathe hitches. he was high. you force an insincere giggle “you’re so high baby. you ready for bed?”

“can you stay? please stay the night with me?”

“yeah, rem. i’ll stay.”

[booglyoogly13]

Don’t Blame Me ~ Rafe Cameron x Reader (Mafia/Mob Au/ Areanged Marriage)

Part 4

Warnings: smut (straight porn with like no plot), toxic rafe, but also softer rafe, big dick rafe duh, he cums inside (oops), kinda dirty talk not really, a little swearing, wrap it before you tap it y’all!!

Word count: 1315

I am so so so so sorry I haven’t updated in so long, I’ve had writers block and the end of the year stuff like finals was super stressful. Then I had a couple vacay, I thought I'd be able to write then but there was no wifi (wtf). But to ask for forgiveness here you go, absolute smut 

Part 3

not my gif, creds to the owner!!

Great, nice one. My breathing gets shallower as I follow Rafe up the stairs, Rafe has that shit eating smirk and I almost want to hit him but I don’t. We get to the top of the stairs and I follow him into what I assume to be his bedroom, a place I haven’t been yet. I look around his room, surprised it isn’t messy. His room is actually very neat, Rafe snaps me out of my thoughts when he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. He trails his hands up my waist and to my neck and pushes my hair out of the way and starts to kiss my neck. It feels good, better than I thought it would and I let out a quiet moan. I regret almost immediately when I feel Rafe’s smirk against my neck. 

He slides his hands back down my waist and squeezes my hips. My legs almost give out when he nips at my ear and he pulls away, turning me to look at him, “You still wanna do this Princess?” He looks at me mockingly expecting me to say no, “I still wanna do this Rafe.” He nods, his face serious for the first time since I got here. He looks at me like I’m a person, like he might care and it makes me want this more but then it disappears, “Take your shirt off.” Oh, there it is, that’s the Rafe I know but I nod and slowly take my shirt off with trembling hands. I expose my bra which isn’t anything special, I wish I had worn something a bit more… flattering I suppose. He looks at me up and down and I can’t help but feel a flush spread across my face and heat flare in my belly. I wait for him to tell me what to do now, not wanting to upset him, he tilts his head, “You aren’t so bad, huh Princess?”.

My face flushes more so from embarrassment now, did he think that was a compliment? What an ass. Rafe rolls his eyes, “What are you waiting for? Take the rest of your clothes off. I’m not gonna wait all night.” I nod and take my pants and then hesitantly take my bra off, I stand there in just my panties while he’s still fully clothed. Rafe walks over to the bed and sits, “Come here.” I walk towards him and stand in front of him, he pulls me to him so now I’m straddling his lap and I feel his erection through his pants. Oh, he's big. He runs his hands up and down my sides and then squeezes my tits. He grabs the hem of his shirt and takes it off, revealing his muscular upper body. I slowly reach my hand out and brush over his stomach with my fingertips.

He shivers when I touch him and I suppress a smirk at the fact that I actually made him feel. He moves me so I’m laying on the bed and gets up. Before I can protest he unbuttons his pants and slides them off, revealing the tent in his boxers. He gets on the bed between my legs and kisses me again. I moan into the kiss and wrap my arms around his neck, needing more. He moves his mouth down to my neck, sucking below my ear, and then to my tits. I arch my back  into his mouth when takes one nipple into my mouth and then the other, “Rafe.” I moan out his name, my fingers threading through his hair. He shushes me and reaches for my panties and slides them off. He smirks when he sees my glistening folds, “Fuck Y/n.” He brings a finger to my slit and collects some of my wetness before pushing the finger into my aching hole. He palms at his erection and lets out a little grunt while sliding his finger in and out of me. He slowly adds another finger and watches my expression closely, wanting to see how I react. He fingers me for a couple more minutes before taking his fingers out. I whine at the loss but he shushes me again.

He moves his face closer to my pussy and lets his warm breath fan out across my slit. I let out another moan and look at him wondering what he’s going to do. My thought is cut short when he darts his tongue out and licks a stripe from my entrance to my clit. He takes my clit into his mouth and sucks. I moan loudly at this feeling being close to euphoric, “Rafe!” He chuckles into my pussy and looks up at me, “You like that?” I nod and he goes back to eating me out, my head falling against the pillow and my eyes shutting. He lets out a little groan and I look up to see him grinding his erection against the bed, needing some kind of friction. I almost say something when he slides his fingers back inside me while sucking on my clit. My head falls back again and my back arches. “Rafe! I- I’m gonna cum.” I can feel him almost smirk while sucking on my clit, “Then cum Y/n.” I do as he says and cum on his fingers and mouth. He helps me ride out my high, my legs shaking.

He lets me recover a little by sliding off his boxers and revealing his cock. My jaw hangs open a little at the sight of it but I shut it when I see him smirk at my reaction.He spits on his hand and pumps himself a couple times, “Lay back, Y/n.” I nod and lay back. He moves between my legs again and slowly pushes the tip into my pussy. My eyes rolled back at the stretch of his cock and I let out a soft gasp. He gives me a second to get used to him and then he pushes in a bit more than halfway. My hands fly to his shoulders, his cock stretching my pussy in a painfully pleasurable way. He grabs at my tits and pinches my nipple causing me to squeeze his cock, he grunts and pushes the rest of his cock into me. He pulls out a bit and then pushes back in, I let out a quiet moan and he thrusts into me again. This time with more force. He starts to pick up his pace and I try to stay quiet until he looks at me, “Why are you being so quiet, huh? Seemed to have a lot to say earlier. Am I just fucking you that good baby?” I nod and let out a moan at a particularly hard thrust and he smirks, “That’s what I thought.” He keeps fucking me at a brutal pace and he can’t but let out grunts, he pulls out and flips me onto my stomach and pulls my hips so my ass is sticking up and slides back in.

He wraps a hand around my shoulder and the other presses my head into the mattress. He pistons his hips in and out of me for a few more minutes before leaning his body over mine, his thrusts faltering, “Fuck baby, you’re so tight.” I let out another moan and his hips still and his cock spews out cum into my pussy. I gasp when he cums in me but can’t seem to care much right now. My body drained, he flips me over so laying on my back again and gets off the bed and walks away from me. He walks into a different room, his ass on full display. I can feel his cum leaking out of me but I can’t help but to bite my lip to suppress a moan because it feels good, weird but good. This complicates things.

Taglist:

@sublimepenguinpeach-blog

@cynthiadelrey4ever

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

[allemantheias]

Repaying them for saving you. Part 3.

Status: finished. 03-12-2023. Part 1. Part 2. [Part 3.] Part 4.

Read this on AO3. ~ ~ Masterlist. ~ ~ Word count: 2175

"Here's some towels, shampoo and shower gel." Rudy just led you to the room you'll be staying in, after showing you where the showers and toilets are located. "Our bedrooms are on the top floor across the staircase. Wake one of us if something's up or if you need anything."

"Is it okay if I take a long shower? I feel really dirty after being covered in blood." The blood may be gone, but you still feel where it used to be. Like honey or oil that's only wiped off with a dry paper towel.

"Of course, take as long as you want." Rudy assures you with a smile that makes you blush.

"Thank you. I'm off to shower then." You grab two towels, both bottles of soap and swiftly make your way to the shower area. After a deep cleanse of your skin, you turn off the water and dry yourself with the towels. When you want to get dressed you see that the clothes fell on the wet floor, which must've happened by accident when you grabbed the towels. You decide to go back to your room covered in a towel, everyone is probably sleeping already so no one will see you like this. Except you get lost in the hallways and also can't recall the path you took when Rudy showed you your room. Shit! You walk around the hallways for some time, freezing your limbs off from the cold air flowing through the windows. What floor was the room on again? You need help, fuck. Nervous you knock on the door of the room opposite of the top of the staircase. Coronel A. Vargas you read on the nameplate next to the door. Alejandro? You look over to the other door's nameplate. Sergeant Major R. Parra. Yeah, that's Rudy's room. Just when you want to knock on that other door, Alejandro's door opens. His cheeks turn red when he notices you in only a towel. Your eyes get pulled down his body, from his chiselled abs to his boxer shorts, the only thing he's wearing, which reveal everything inside it, leaving nothing to the imagination. God, he looks so hot!

"What can I do for you, pretty?" He makes you look up to him with a blushing face.

"I- eh-" You instantly forget what you came here for, with the soldier in front of you like this. Sleepy, ripped as hell, almost naked.

"Caught you off guard, eh?" Alejandro smiles friendly, which doesn't help with lowering your body temperature. "I can say the same."

"My- I dropped the clothes on the wet floor." You confess when you remember why you came to him.

"That's unfortunate, these were the only clothes warm enough and your own are being washed." His eyes flow over your bare skin. "You're getting cold." He says when he notices the goosebumps that cover you. "Come in, I'll get you something warm to wear." He closes the door after you're inside. His room is nice and cosy, decorated with warm colours. There's a warm wooden desk, a comfortable chair behind it, both sides of the bed have a small rug below them to prevent cold feet. His bed seems super soft, with the fluffy duvet and many decorative pillows, and you wish he'd bend you over and fuck you right here and now. A dim light shines from the lamp on his nightstand. "Sit on my bed if you want." Alejandro grabs the blanket from his bed and waits for you to sit down to put it around you. His bed is so comfortable! You wish you could stay here the night. "This will keep you warm for now." You watch how he goes through the few clothes in the closet and can't resist lowering your eyes to his buttcheeks. You squeeze your legs together against the heat that arises between them, but it's not helping. You want nothing more than to feel this man's hands all over your body. With a hoodie, shirt and sweatpants he walks to his bed and drops the items next to you.

"Thank you." You get up from the bed and grab the stack of clothes, hold them against your chest. Should you leave his room now you have dry clothes, or is it weird to immediately walk away?

"What's on your mind?"

"No- nothing. I-"

"You're an open book, pretty. Spill it." Alejandro sits down on his bed.

"I'm scared." You confess with a voice quieter than your usual.

"You're safe here. No one enters my base without getting verified."

"I know, but- I- I'm just agitated and uneasy from being taken by the cartel. I keep imagining what would have happened to me if you weren't there." Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes. No, don't even dare to cry!

"Don't worry about that."

"What if it was a targeted abduction and a new group comes for me?"

"I'll call around for some intel on that in the morning." He sees you hesitate and makes you look up at him. "You can stay here with me if you want."

"Only if that's no issue?"

"You worry too much. Get in." With a smile on his face he gets under the covers on the other side of the bed as he sat on and waits for you to do the same. You put on the shirt he picked for you, before you take off the towel and with a racing heart you crawl next to him in bed, in only your underwear and his shirt.

"Hey, easy, it's all good." His fingers sweep away a strand of hair that's in front of your eyes, stares into them at the same time, drowns you in the darkest brown eyes you've ever seen. His fingers glide along the skin of your temple to your cheek, where he has the palm of his strong hand touch your skin. "Relax." Alejandro's face comes closer. Your eyes widen. What is he doing? His arms grab you around your waist and in a smooth movement he pulls you over to his side of the bed, against his chest. Your body overheats and you are too shy to move your lower arms away from his abs. Still captivated by his hypnotising eyes. "I said relax, pretty." His voice deepens and he closes the distance between your lips. His beard tickles your skin. Waves of longing crash through your body, make you moan his name. "I like how my name sounds from your lips." He doesn't give you time to respond, kisses you more intensely with his hand on the back of your head. You open your mouth when he softly bites your bottom lip, let his tongue get dominant against yours. His tongue tastes sweet and minty. You get the courage to turn your hands around and run them across his chest, through the little hairs. "Please tell me if you want to stop."

"I don't want to stop. At least this gives me a chance to thank you." You get on top of him, give him time to enjoy the view of your body.

"You don't have to thank us, pretty. We just did our job." He runs his hands along your sides. "I would love to enjoy you all on my own, but Rudy would appreciate to be thanked like this too. If that's okay with you." Alejandro grabs his phone and types something, to Rudy you guess.

"Yes, I'd love to thank him too for today." You melt your lips together with his lips again, move your fingers through his curls, pulling them slightly until he moans with a smile. What a beautiful sound. You feel his erection when you adjust your position. Oh god, he's so hard! Only from kissing and stroking? A third hand grabs your hair and pulls your body back up. Rudy! His other hand closes around your throat and he lustfully kisses you. Alejandro sits up and caresses your buttcheeks, presses you down harder on his solid cock. His hand moves to your heat to stroke it through the fabric of your underwear. You moan into Rudy's mouth and he tightens his grip on your throat, makes you feel dizzy.

He takes his hand off your throat and stops kissing you. "Let's get these clothes off." He helps you out of Alejandro's shirt and dumps it on the floor. They work together to lift you up and get rid of your underwear. They remove their own and switch places, Rudy on the bed and Alejandro behind you, both of them rock solid. You are visibly excited as well. Alejandro kisses and sucks the skin of your neck and shoulder, while Rudy stimulates your nipples. One of your hands caresses Alejandro's cheek, hair and neck, and the other does the same on Rudy. "I think that's enough preparation on you." Alejandro waits for you to nod, since you're busy pleasuring his second in command with your mouth, before sliding himself inside of you. A loud moan escapes your occupied lips, sending vibrations into his cock.

"Yes, pretty, you're so good for us." Rudy exclaims. "Look at you, taking us both like a champ." His fingers run through your hair. In your mind you beg him to push your head down on his cock. He probably wants to do that, but keeps himself barely in check. Just like the guy behind you, he tries his hardest to not pull you back by your hips. Your walls and mouth get stretched out more than ever before by their sizes. You taste the slightly bitter, salty precum and take his cock a little deeper in your mouth, almost letting it go in your throat, getting yourself ready to push even further. You take him down a little too far and gag, pull yourself off of him to take a second to breathe. While you wait, you apply more spit to his length with your hand. You get your mouth on him again and alternate between sucking and licking your spit back up from the bottom to the tip. Alejandro pulls himself almost all the way out before slamming back into you. You moan loudly. "Yes, pretty, that feels amazing." Rudy runs his fingers through your hair again, softly pushes you deeper on his erection. It makes you gag, but you keep going through the reflex, even when tears roll down your cheeks from barely fitting his size.

"I won't last long anymore." Alejandro moves his hands up from the sides of your thighs to your lower back, digs his fingers into your waist to pound you even harder. He brings himself over the edge and fills you up deep with his warm seed, while moaning in pleasure. His hand finds its way to your front and stimulates you with his palm and fingers. You feel your orgasm closing in and your moans get more frequent.

"I want to come inside that tight hole of yours too." Rudy pulls you from his dick by your hair and slaps your face, appreciates the view of your cheeks and chin covered in your own spit. Alejandro removes himself from you and sits down next to you, keeps his hand on your heat and pulls you into a sloppy kiss, his tongue dominating yours. The other man moves behind you and doesn't give you a chance to prepare, enters you smoothly and immediately thrusts at a relentless pace. Your moans get muffled by Alejandro's mouth.

"Does Rudy make you feel good, pretty?" He grimaces, likes that his best friend makes you feel good. The stimulation from both guys together is too much for you to handle and you are only able to whimper. You have to let go of Alejandro's lips when your high rushes through your body in waves. You push his hand away when you get overstimulated. Your arms give in and your face and chest drop into the bedcovers. The contractions of your walls push Rodolfo over the edge, make him spill his cum inside of you.

"Fuck, that was amazing." After pulling out he watches his and his coronel's mixed liquids seep from your hole, puts some back in with his fingers. He helps you sit back up and holds you in his arms. You feel exhausted from being handled like this by them. "Look at that big mess you made, pretty." There's a wet spot on the covers from your fluids. Alejandro already comes back from the bathroom with a few warm cloths and begins to clean you up after they got you this dirty."You need a rest, pretty. We tired you out." He quickly changes the sheet around the bedcover with the help of his sergeant major and both of them join you in bed, sandwich you tightly. Feeling protected and with their arms around you, you fall asleep. A serene moment, before you have to go back home again. How you wish you could stay here forever.

[waitmyturtles]

As this film will be getting much more coverage during awards season, I thought that this analysis and reflection of Leonard Bernstein's queer sexuality, and how it was rendered in the film, was worth reading.

Certain emphases in the article below are mine. As an East-Coast American, in many ways, I feel like Leonard Bernstein is musical family; that a Hollywood-driven film about him would leave out important details of the context of his sexual and emotional life is... to be expected in the Hollywood West.

****

The film celebrates Leonard Bernstein’s musical duality, but fails to seriously engage with his bisexuality.

By Jennie Livingston

There’s a heartbreaking scene in Bradley Cooper’s “Maestro,” about the marriage of the composer and conductor Leonard Bernstein (Cooper) to the actress Felicia Montealegre (Carey Mulligan), in which, as the couple argue in the bedroom of their Upper West Side apartment, Macy’s parade inflatables glide past the windows. A giant Snoopy echoes a Snoopy we saw in a family scene; it also gestures at the awkward gulf between Bernstein’s private and public lives, as if the musician himself were yet another helium-propelled icon from the Thanksgiving pantheon. Montealegre’s accusation, “Your truth is a [expletive] lie!” nails Bernstein’s privilege, condemning the habits and appetites he expects his family to tolerate and support.

The film gets right so much of who Bernstein was, allowing us to take in how he was, all at once, ahead of his time, a victim of his time, a gay man, a bisexual, a father, a nonconformist, a narcissist. “Maestro” is full of heart and craft, with riveting lead performances. It’s a film about a musician that doesn’t exaggerate or glorify the creative process, or suggest artists are either superhuman or subhuman.

The film drops you into the heart of creation so that you feel the excitement of the new, particularly in eras (the 1940s through the ’70s) in which Leonard Bernstein revolutionized how the public experienced classical music. As the decades shift, so does what we see: Early scenes use an aspect ratio (4:3) and color world (black and white) from the ’40s; then the film almost imperceptibly brings in color, before finally stretching the frame out to widescreen — all without banging you over the head with its cinematic cleverness. The cinematographer, Matthew Libatique, deserves special applause for his command of light, space and movement. An opening scene in which the young Bernstein leaps onto a bed, slaps his partner’s butt like a timpani, then runs right into Carnegie Hall in his bathrobe and boxers, is as thrilling as any time-compression or dream sequence I can name.

Although it’s clear that Cooper’s directorial hand is nothing less than breathtaking, the film becomes increasingly disquieting. In the first third of the film, the script sets up an intoxicating premise: a queer Jewish man inhabiting the already-antisemitic world of classical music falls in love with a woman. It can happen. It particularly could happen in a world in which gay artists were always in danger of being exposed and ejected from the institutions they depended on. In the ’40s and ’50s, when Bernstein and Montealegre met and married, psychiatry still considered homosexuality a disorder to be treated or cured. (A note on my language describing Bernstein’s sexuality: In an early letter, Montealegre tells Bernstein “you are a homosexual and may never change.” More recently, his daughter Jamie has referred to him alternately as gay and bisexual.)

Early on, the script follows Bernstein from dating the clarinetist David Oppenheim (the man in bed in that opening scene, played by Matt Bomer) to his courtship with Montealegre, an actress with high cheekbones and an intelligence and warmth that are just as sharply defined. One day Lenny’s walking alone in Central Park and runs into Oppenheim, who’s strolling with his wife, Ellen Adler (Kate Eastman), and baby in tow. By now Bernstein’s also married. Addressing the child, Bernstein jokes that he has slept with both of her parents! And adds with a kind of wild glee, “but I’m reining it in.” The mother and child go one way; Bernstein and Oppenheim head downtown. Soon Oppenheim is clasping Bernstein’s face, and they are both feeling, regretting, reliving what couldn’t have been.

If only the film itself weren’t an exercise in “reining in” Bernstein’s sexuality. Granted, the movie primarily concerns the relationship between Montealegre and Bernstein. It’s about two people creating a family, a family that has issues, partly because the wife spends years tolerating, resisting, commenting on, accepting and suffering from her husband’s dualities. But about a third of the way in, the queer characters all but fade out. They’re there as a light visual presence, but not as people with stories and interior lives.

After Oppenheim and Bernstein’s intimate stroll, Lenny and his lovers are reduced (in Montealegre’s eyes) to a series of obstacles to respectability, and (in the audience’s eyes) to a series of outfits, mannerisms and even clichés, like a coke-fueled party during which Bernstein talks on the phone to his daughter Jamie. Did some gay men in the ’70s skate on the surface of drugs and anonymous sex? Yes, and if the film tells me Bernstein was there to witness and experience it, I believe it. What I don’t believe is that he never experienced relationships with men built on conversation, intellectual intimacies and sustained physical contact. It wouldn’t have taken much — one or two scenes — to suggest that the gay relationships that Bernstein cultivated were in fact love affairs. That may have been worth noting, including in the service of telling the story of the marriage.

“Heterosexuals have never known what to do with queer people, if they think of their existence at all,” Carmen Maria Machado writes, in a memoir tracing the invisibility of certain narratives. I don’t want to believe that the director and his co-writer are incapable of writing well-rounded gay characters, but paradoxically, the failure to render Bernstein’s male lovers as three-dimensional people distracts from the central couple’s romance. I longed for more insight into the nuances of Bernstein and Montealegre’s conundrum, and details of his queer life could have provided it. Flattening Bernstein’s gay relationships to a series of knowing glances and brief encounters seemed to underline the main couple’s essential heterosexuality, rather than emphasizing their relationship’s complexity.

Because, in life, Bernstein kept seeing men — and not only at the events the film allows us to briefly glimpse. Ultimately, he left Montealegre for a younger man, Tom Cothran (Gideon Glick), who worked in classical radio. If included, this risky decision could have been a great turning point in the film. Scenes of Bernstein attending the dying Montealegre are moving; they could have been more meaningful if we had understood the drama and sacrifice behind his loving presence at her bedside. He didn’t just drop out of one or two coke-fueled soirees; he left a relationship.

The film ends with Montealegre’s death and suggests Bernstein never recovered from the loss. In life, after his wife’s death, Bernstein reconnected with Cothran, as a friend. Soon after, Cothran himself died, of AIDS, the plague that claimed the lives of so many men of his and Bernstein’s generations. It must have been a cavalcade of griefs for Bernstein; it must have been so complex for this artist to have struggled — with his desire to honor his desires, with his realization that the world was becoming increasingly open to “out” queer artists as viable public figures — and with the divisions between his queer worlds and his family. I wonder if Bernstein longed for Montealegre more acutely in the 1980s. Perhaps, together, they could have absorbed the horror of the AIDS pandemic.

The decision to leave out AIDS feels as if the filmmakers simply don’t know, or mark as significant, what happened in the world during the years between Montealegre’s death in 1978 and Bernstein’s own death in 1990. What viewers get instead is a near-final sequence of Bernstein grinding with his young conducting student to Tears for Fears’s “Shout,” then wildly dancing on his own. That these flashes of ecstasy occur in a room full of other young men, many of whom will die soon, is an odd understatement from a film obsessed with the passage of time.

Jennie Livingston directed and produced the award-winning documentary “Paris Is Burning,” and the shorts “Who’s the Top?” “Through the Ice” and “Hotheads.” Other work includes directing for the TV series “Pose” and creating an original projection for Elton John’s show. Livingston is currently at work on a nonfiction feature film, “Earth Camp One.”

[prince-of-elsinore]

One line any fic! Rules: pick ten of your fics, scroll to somewhere midpoint, pick a line chunk and share it, and then tag ten (-ish) people.

@lynne-monstr tagged me for this fic challenge--thanks old friend! This was a fun one :) It just so happens I now have enough spn fic under my belt to complete this with all spn fic, so here goes, in reverse chronological order:

1. Plano: Some Town Halfway In Between (7.5k, unrated, John/Dean, 2022)

That was a relatively new feeling. Wanting to keep things from Dean and just to myself. Like how I planned to try out for the soccer team at whatever school we’d be in next spring, or how I thought the whole Kurt Cobain thing was sad and all but I really didn’t get what the big deal was about his music, or that my favorite color had changed from purple to green. That I’d seen the nudie mag he kept at the bottom of his duffel. The secrets made me feel—in control, or something, but a little sad at the same time. There was a gap between me and my brother where there didn’t used to be one, and day to day I couldn’t make up my mind whether I wanted to reach across and close it or dig it wider.

2. Road Risk (1.5k, E, Sam/Dean, 2022)

That was nearly seven years ago. Nothing more happened between them after that, not for a long time, not till six months ago on Mom's birthday when Dean had his—crisis, he calls it. Psychotic break, the family says behind his back.

Dean gnaws the inside of his cheek. Sam isn't hitting the good spot. Dean wonders if that's on purpose.

3. Closing Night (1.9k, E, Sam/Dean, 2022)

Sam's heart races. That's more like it. He holds Dean's gaze like it's a lifeline. Dad's always warning him about the evil around every corner, and Sam's seen enough of his father's and brother's fresh spilled blood to believe him. But it's not what's out there that scares him. It's the darkness right here with him that he feels a breath away from drowning in. The huge empty of his dead-end life. Most days it feels like Dean's the only thing stopping him from slipping under.

4. With A Bit Of Spit And Luck (7.4k, E, Sam/Dean, 2022)

He swallows again. "She… liked it?" He doesn't know why he asks. He just wants Dean to keep talking.

Suddenly Dean's mouth is at his ear, breath rolling over Sam's skin hot as steam off an engine. "She fucking loved it, Sammy."

5. Understand the Undernetting (17k, M, Gen, 2022)

"Is it—is it always a guy and a girl?" Sam says in a rush, as if he had to psych himself up for it.

Dean frowns in confusion. "Yeah, of course."

Then his brain scratches like a record. His whole body flushes with heat from his ears to his toes. "Uh, unless—" But no. Sam doesn't mean that. No way. Why would Sam ask about that?

6. December, Sutter County (4k, M, Gen, 2022)

What the hell would he do if he did get to the buttes anyway? What does it matter what he and Baby see of the world if no one ever knows they were there? If there's no one to say, See those mounds there? Those are the lava domes, or, That's the debris apron created by the pyroclastic flow, or just, Look, Dean, and point to the patchwork below where a flooded field blazes bronze in the evening sun. Maybe some people can appreciate that sort of thing solo but Dean isn't gonna go out of his way for it.

7. Baton Rouge (7.5k, E, Sam/Dean, 2021)

It’s dim inside, little light offered by the window. At least the room is set back from the lot, somewhat protected by the overhang of the walkway. Sam’s already getting out of his wet things, back turned to Dean. His skin glows ghostly pale, like he’s his own source of light. Dean watches the confident movement of muscle under his skin, then tears his eyes away.

He grabs a pair of boxers from his duffle. He’s unsettled. Maybe the jerky he ate in the car isn’t sitting right. Or maybe it’s just the bruising getting to him. “Gonna get cleaned up,” he says by way of excuse to escape to the bathroom. He doesn’t want Sam to see when he examines the damage to his side.

8. Some Starless Night (Love May Come an’ Tap You on the Shoulder) (9.1k, M, Sam/Dean, 2021)

Dean's insides twist. "Why didn't you tell me? Did you think I'd be—I dunno…"

What? Against it? Disgusted?

Dean's not sure what he's feeling, but it's not disgust. There's a flush rising up his chest. He feels too hot in his flannel. Maybe it's anger. Because something here feels wrong. And it's not that Sam apparently slept with a dude. It's that it happened—what, fifteen years ago? And Dean never knew.

9. Is It Tomorrow (Or Just the End of Time) (8k, E, Sam/Dean, 2021)

He bites his lip at the sucking heat of it, keeps silent as the grave. Sam is quiet too, the way he is when Dean sews him up after a nasty hunt, twitching with the effort of it. Images of gaping flesh, all the wounds Dean has closed on Sam's body, flash through his mind. And here he is prying him back open.

10. Time to Look at One Another (2k, G, Gen, 2021)

Dean scuffs his shoe on the sidewalk, sends a piece of gravel skidding into the road. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets.

"That what George is supposed to do? Just, move on? I mean, what's the point? He gives up everything for her, and then she just—dies."

Sam pushes back the familiar horror show in his head. Locks it away. He shrugs. "She's dead, Dean. There's nothing he can do."

They walk in silence, and Sam thinks the conversation is over. They round a corner and the house comes into sight.

Then Dean says, in a quiet mumble Sam's not sure he's meant to hear, "But he loved her so much."

...

I’m tagging @nigeltde-fic, @zmediaoutlet, @damnable-bell, @flownwrong, @phynali, and @cowboyified, if you want to, and anyone else who feels like it--you can say I tagged you :)

[scuttling]

Head Over Feet - Chapter 3

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Spencer Reid/Female Reader (Unrequited) Word Count: 4,597 Chapters: 3/? WIP (I think 4 but you know me!) Tags: 18+, NSFW, Unrequited love, Protected sex, Oral sex, Vaginal fingering, Rough sex, Friends with benefits, Praise kink, Daddy kink Summary: Falling in love with one of your two closest friends was never something you planned; it only makes sense that falling in love with the other would also come as a complete surprise. *Inspired by/in collaboration with @ssamorganhotchner. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Link to AO3 or read chapter 3 below! You make it to Aaron’s just a couple minutes after he does; he’s removed his jacket, shoes, and gun, and his collar is unbuttoned, tie loosened but not untied. You wrap your fingers in it the moment you see him, work open the knot, and he leans in to kiss you, guides you fully inside so he can close the door behind you.

You pull his tie off, unbutton his shirt, unclasp his belt, kissing all the while—deep, eager, breathless kisses; when you have no choice but to pull back for air, you’re both panting, fingers still working to get you out of your clothes.

“How was your day? Good?” he asks, chest heaving as he pulls your sweater over your head, and you nod, wet your lips.

“Good, yeah. Yours?” He nods too.

“Good.”

“That’s good.” You surge up for a kiss, unbutton his pants and untuck his shirt, pull it off and drop it onto the floor. His hands find your waist and he maneuvers you through the living room, toward the sofa; you pause, press a hand against it, lift your leg to unzip one boot, then the other, and kick them off and under the coffee table.

He guides you to his bedroom—you’re walking backward, and it’s almost as if he drags you, his hands holding you tightly, long legs leading the way. You trip, tip-toe your way there, know he’d never let you stumble or fall, and when you stop at the foot of the bed you reach down, pull down his zipper, push his pants to the floor. He takes your face in his hands, meets you for a hot, messy kiss, and then you pull his undershirt over his head, quickly wiggle out of your jeans.

“You are so gorgeous,” he breathes, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and pulling you in for another deep, wet kiss. He tilts his head the other way, nose against your cheek, tongue in your mouth, gripping you hard, and you moan into the kiss; you’re a little surprised at how that simple gesture, the hand on the nape of your neck, makes you feel wild and out of control. “Hmm. Do you like that?” he asks softly in your ear, squeezing his fingers, and you lick your lips, nod.

“Yeah. You can be a little rough; I like rough.” He pulls back to make eye contact, holds your gaze for a moment, and then unhooks your bra with the hand not on your neck, guides it off. Still looking into your eyes—your breath comes quick from arousal, not exertion—he slides your panties down, and then he moves both hands to your ass, lifts you up, and deposits you on the bed; you’re sitting up, but he pushes your arms so you’ll lay flat, holds you there a moment, and you moan again. Jesus.

“Can I eat your pussy?” he asks, low, leaning in to mouth at your throat, and you grip his shoulders, gasping softly when he nips at your neck.

“Fuck. Yes.” He pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, kneels on the ground, and opens your thighs with strong hands, licks over you slowly with a flat tongue. “Mmm. Oh my god.”

Broad swipes turn to targeted slips of tongue between your lips, quick flicks over your clit, and when he presses closer you run your hand fondly over his head, grip his hair roughly at the roots. He groans against your skin, sucks hard at your clit, and brings his hands up to squeeze your breasts, and you can’t help rocking up against his face, whining and moaning and begging for release.

“Please, Aaron. I want to come for you.” He looks up at you, gliding his mouth over your soaked folds, and takes back a hand, slides one finger inside you and then curls his tongue around it. “Oh, yes, please. Yes.” Another thick finger pushes in, presses up, pumps quickly, and you tense, arch off the bed, a string of whimpers falling from your lips as you come.

“So good, sweetheart,” he breathes, and he lifts you and guides you up the bed, so your head rests against the pillows. Your chest is heaving, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, and he lays on top of you, moves his mouth to yours, gets you to open it for a soft, wet kiss. “Suck my fingers, baby.” He presses them into your mouth, and you hold his hand, suck them hard and messy until he pulls them out, kisses you again. “I’m going to get a condom, I’ll be right back. Just a second.” You nod, let your head fall lazily back against the pillows, and he comes back, pushes his boxers down, and climbs over you.

“Let me?” He hands you the packet, watches you carefully tear it open, slip it over him, and you run your hands along his body, lean up for kisses until he guides you back and opens your legs wider with his knees.

The second he’s inside you, you both grab at each other, your hands on his back and one of his on your face while the other presses against the bed for support. He fucks harder, faster than the first time, and you eagerly match his pace, slide your hands down to dig your fingertips into his ass.

“Oh, fuck. Aaron,” you pant, and he brushes his fingers over your lips, then moves that hand to the bed as well, so he can press deeper. You hitch your legs up high, squeeze them against his hips, hold on to his ass as he fills you so completely it’s almost too much. “Yeah, fuck me. Oh, god.”

“Yeah, just like that. There’s my good girl.” You whimper, and he pounds his hips against yours, lowers himself down to his elbows and slips an arm behind your shoulders, holds you close like an embrace, kisses you breathless.

It doesn’t take long for you to come, not with his body pressed to yours, his mouth on yours, his cock so thick and so deep inside you; you mumble his name, Aaron and Hotch like your brain can’t keep up, and then he comes too, brings a hand to your cheek and just stares into your eyes while he frantically thrusts, then slows, then stops.

You sigh, bring your hands up, one on his wrist where he cradles your face, the other brushing through his hair; he shifts off of you, to the side, but you just hold each other for a moment, catching your breath, kissing softly.

Eventually he leaves to dispose of the condom, comes back and pulls you against his chest; you slip your legs between his, run your hand up and down his arm.

“So what did he do?” he asks after a couple of minutes, his voice a little rough, and you tilt your head to look up at him.

“What?” He doesn’t make eye contact.

“What did Reid do? To get you so worked up?” You feel a hot rush of shame, press your cheek against his chest because you can’t bear to look at him.

“He said he loves her. That he’s waiting for the right moment to tell her.” He hums, just a thoughtful sound, no judgement, and you shift up, rest a hand on his cheek so he’ll look at you. Your own idiocy aside, he needs to see you say this. “But I thought about you all day. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, and that had nothing to do with him—nothing.” He looks you over like he can’t decide if you’re just saying it, or if it’s true, and you brush your lips softly over his, put as much feeling as you can into the gentle touch.

He closes his eyes, exhales, brings you close for another series of tender kisses, then punctuates them with a press of lips to your forehead.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asks, and then he smiles softly, and you kiss him again and dangle over the edge of the bed, grab your phone out of your pocket, and cuddle close to look over some menus.

You opt for Lebanese, eat way too much baba ganoush, and lay your head on his lap and read while he watches the news. About a month later, you wake up at Aaron’s after yet another night spent in his bed—your twelfth consecutive night together at one of your apartments. You leave early, head home to shower and change, only grumbling a little about how you won’t have time to stop for coffee; when you get to the office, there’s a coffee cup with a stopper in it sitting on your desk, and you smile, pluck the stopper out and take a sip. It’s a perfect latte, still piping hot, and it makes your chest warm in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature.

“Secret admirer?” JJ asks, walking down from her office. “I saw it there when I came in but didn’t see who left it.”

“It was just Hotch,” you say, but just Hotch doesn’t really mean what it used to. He’s been your friend for a while, that’s not a secret, even though your friends with benefits thing kind of is—you don’t actively hide anything from anyone, but neither of you have felt the need to clue anyone in—but you can feel yourself becoming a little more… possessive, of him. It’s ridiculous: just because you’re sleeping with him doesn’t mean he’s yours, or that he owes you anything, you know that, but you’re more aware than ever of when someone pays a little too much attention to him.

It’s painfully obvious when you are in Charlotte later that week, working out of the FBI field office there; it’s your second day on the case, and one of the agents assisting you flirts with him in the breakroom. Openly.

“The coffee here is horrible,” she begins, standing next to him at the coffee maker as he waits for a fresh pot. You came in for a refill too, but he beat you to it, and then she showed up and squirmed her way in between you as if you weren’t literally in the middle of a conversation. “If you want, I can take you to my favorite cafe across the street. They grind the beans every half hour, so it’s always very fresh.” She’s turned toward Aaron, can’t see you, so you roll your eyes; he catches it, tries to hide a smile, but the agent thinks it’s for her. “Is that a yes, Agent Hotchner?” She lays a hand on his arm, but he clears his throat and he takes a half step back, politely and effectively removing it.

“No, I’m sorry. I’m spoken for.” The woman turns to look at you—she’s clearly unhappy about being turned down, more so since you’re standing just inches away—and you smile your polite, fake, public servant smile until she takes the hint and leaves the break room. You move closer to Aaron like you were before she arrived, your arms crossed in irritation, and he pours you a cup of coffee, hands it to you, leans in to whisper in your ear. “Play nice, kitty.”

His words send heat throughout your body, and when he pulls back you just stare at him for a second. If you weren’t so exposed, you’d put down the coffee, grab him by his tie, and kiss him until you’re both stupid, but there are agents walking back and forth past the windows, the open door, so all you can do is look at him. You make it count, make sure to tell him with your eyes that you cannot wait to get him to get him naked; it must be effective, because he wets his lips, flicks his gaze over your body. It’s only when someone clears their throat in the doorway that you look away from each other, and even then it takes a moment.

“Hey you two,” Emily says, hands on the doorframe. “We’ve got a witness that just came forward, Morgan’s going to take him into interrogation now. You probably want to come see this.” Naturally, the witness only further complicates your investigation; you’re all glad your killer takes his time choosing a new victim, because it buys you a little more time, and you have a solid profile by the next morning. You split up to canvass the neighborhoods, to go door to door asking if anyone knows a man who fits your profile—you’re partnered with Spencer, who seems more anxious than usual, and that’s kind of saying something.

“Are you doing alright?” you ask him as you walk up to a red brick house, knock on the front door. He presses his lips together, nods, hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you?” You look over at him, raise an eyebrow, and he rocks a little on his heels. “You’ve cancelled the last couple of movie nights; we haven’t spoken much.” You knock on the door again, but there’s still no answer.

“I’ve been busy; you’ve been busy too, you know how it is.” You gesture to the next house, pull out your phone to jot down this house number so you don’t forget it and head down the sidewalk. “How are things with Chelsea?” He hums noncommittally, and you shove him lightly with your shoulder. “Come on, it’s okay. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.” It hasn’t been exactly easy, the last month—hearing how close the two of them have grown, how he told her he loves her and she said it back, how he has a drawer at her apartment—but it’s been easier. (Aaron doesn’t have a drawer at yours, you think absently, hasn’t asked for one, but you figure that’s by design; it’s a good reminder of what your relationship is, and isn’t.)

“They’re good. She gets a little frustrated when I’m gone for a while, when I have to cancel plans.”

“Most people are like that; they don’t live the life, so they don’t really get it. That’s normal,” you assure him. You’re a little surprised that it comes so easily, just like it would have before your big confession. He takes the lead this time, opens the screen door of a light blue bungalow and knocks three times.

“Is that how your… boyfriend is?” You bring your hand up to your face like a visor, peer in through the small windows on either side of the door, avoid eye contact.

“He understands,” is all you say. It’s too complicated to try to explain your relationship with Aaron, and you’re both comfortable with how it is now, not exactly secret but not exactly public; you don’t want to jeopardize it any way. “And she might, too, eventually. Just give it time.” You pull back, smile softly. “Looks like no one’s home. Why did we decide to canvass at one o’clock on a Wednesday?” Spencer shrugs.

“Because Hotch said.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’m going to text that dummy; you drive.” You hand him the keys, slide into your seat and buckle up, then tug your phone out of your pocket.

Canvassing was a bust—no one’s home. Whose bright idea was that again?

Excuse me? You grin, look out the window so Spencer won’t see it.

I think you may be getting past your prime. Time for a younger man to take your place?

You better watch your mouth, baby.

Or what, daddy?

You send it before you even realize what you said; it just sort of came out. The next several minutes pass by agonizingly slowly, and you’re about to send a panicked text, either backtracking or trying to play it off as a joke, when he replies.

You’ll just have to wait and see. Come back to the office. I’ll give you new instructions.

On the way.

Good girl. You almost whimper. He knows how those words affect you—torrential downpour in your panties—and he knows you’re in the car with Spencer. He’s playing a very naughty game, one you desperately want to participate in. You start to type...

“What did he say?” ...and then you drop your phone on your foot, turn to Spencer with a questioning frown.

“Hmm?”

“What did Hotch say? When you told him we didn’t have any luck.” You reach down to pick up your phone, and your seat belt tightens, restricting your movement. You huff, sit back in your seat.

“Uh. He said to head back to the office and he’d figure out something for us to do.” Spencer nods, and you blow out a breath, lean your head against the headrest and close your eyes.

Thankfully, the ride back to the office is short, and the two of you head for the room the team is set up in. Aaron stands when you enter, gives you a brief once over, and then rattles off new details the other groups have learned, gives you new assignments. Spencer leaves to meet up with JJ and Derek, but you hang back when Aaron softly says your name.

“Your text,” he begins carefully, and you take a deep breath. “What you called me. Is it okay if we continue that?”

“Yeah, it’s okay with me; more than. Is it okay with you?” He nods, moves a little closer; he glances up, like he’s looking toward the door behind you, then slides his hand to cover the back of your neck, squeezes it.

“It’s okay with me; more than. Be careful,” he murmurs, and then he releases you and you swallow hard, get back to your assignments.

The unsub is tracked, cornered, captured by nightfall, and you fly home despite the late hour. Everyone grumbles on the flight, about wanting to sleep in their own beds, or take a hot shower with better water pressure, but all you can think of is taking off Aaron’s clothes, maybe getting on your knees for him.

When you get back to the parking garage, you head for your car, but Aaron stops you with a hand on your arm. “Just come with me,” he says—he’s not asking, and you’re not about to argue. If anyone finds it strange that you leave with him, they don’t mention it, don’t even throw you a second glance.

You try to behave on the drive back to your place, but it’s so difficult. You squeeze his thighs when he comes to a stop at traffic lights, loosen his tie, run your fingers through his hair; he is just as turned on as you are, which is saying something, considering you’ve been nearly constantly horny since he called you kitty yesterday. He parks in your designated spot, turns off the car, and you release your seat belt, all but pounce on him. You push your hand past the open collar of his shirt, kiss his throat, curl your tongue around his ear, and he puts his hands on your face, kisses your mouth hard, then pulls you back.

“Inside; I need to fuck you.”

Yeah, you’re not going to argue with that either.

You get out of the car, try to help him with your bags, though he won’t let you; you fumble with the keys in the locks, you’re that turned on, but once you get upstairs, get the door to your apartment open, you’re both desperate again, pulling each other’s clothing off, kissing rough and deep. Shoes, socks, pants, and underwear are the first things to go, quickly removed, leaving you in a t-shirt and bra; you take Aaron’s dress shirt off, get him down to just the undershirt, but when you work your hands up his body he kisses you breathless, takes a step back.

“Stay there, right there; just like that,” he rasps, and you don’t move, just wait for him to walk to your bedroom, grab a condom, stand in front of you again. He says nothing, just looks you over, your heaving chest, wide eyes, spit slicked lips, and he rolls the condom on, walks you back against the wall; you gasp when you’re pressed against it, and he leans in, kisses your neck, nips at your jaw.

You moan softly, tip your head so he can reach more of your throat; one of his big hands comes down to rest on your pussy, rubbing easily, and then he pushes two fingers inside like it’s nothing. You’re already ready, so ready, and you wrap a hand around the back of his head, scratch over his scalp, whimper while he pumps his fingers a few more times before withdrawing them.

He wipes his fingers on his shirt, gets his hands under your thighs, and boosts you up, back against the wall, legs on either side of his waist. “Aaron, fuck,” you gasp, pushing up his shirt and wrapping your arms around his back, and he presses inside you, leans in for a messy, eager kiss and groans against your mouth.

“Hold on tight, kitten; I’m going to be rough,” he pants, lips hovering over yours, and you grip him, digging in with your nails. They aren’t long, or very sharp, but he loves when they scrape down his back as he fucks you into the mattress; you can’t imagine this will be any different. “That’s it; just let me use you, okay?”

“Okay, daddy,” you breathe, and he starts thrusting, pinning you up against the wall. You can feel his muscles flex beneath your hands, and he kisses and bites at your throat as his hips pump against yours; it’s almost overwhelming, and you’d close your eyes if he didn’t look so incredibly sexy, determined, slamming his cock into you, banging your body against the wall. “Oh, fuck.”

“Take it all like a good girl, like daddy’s good girl,” he says, eyes on yours, and he lifts one of your legs, swings it over his forearm so you’re spread further, so he can pound deeper inside you. All you can do is clutch him, try your best to bounce into his thrusts, and moan, and when he comes you move a hand to his hair, grab it roughly, grind down against him. “Oh, that’s it. God.” He tips his head back, exhales long and slow, and you lick your lips, keep moving until he tells you to stop.

He sets you on your feet, pulls out carefully and throws the condom in the trash, then crowds you up against the wall, wraps his hand around the back of your neck, kisses you deep and dirty and messy, lots of tongue and the occasional rough press of his teeth against your bottom lip. He pulls back, looks down at you, squeezes your neck, and you whimper.

“Daddy?”

“What is it?” You squirm a little; there’s no way he forgot, didn’t realize you didn’t get off. He’s always been very attentive, very good at making sure you’re satisfied. You wet your lips.

“I want to come.” He hums, takes his other hand and rubs it over your pussy, and you buck forward, whimper again.

“Can you think of a better way to ask for that, baby?” You move your hands over his back again, beneath his shirt, look up at him with soft, sensitive eyes.

“Can I please come, please?” It takes a moment, but he nods, moves his fingers to your clit and rubs them quickly, so quickly it’s dizzying. You moan, cling to him, and he leans close, presses his forehead to yours, looks down at you while he takes you apart with just his fingertips. “Oh, yes. Oh, fuck.”

“You like that, kitten? Then come for me.” You want to, so badly, you murmur it into the space between your mouths; when you finally climax, you whine, hold on to him, nearly go weak in the knees, and he lifts you up again and carries you to the bedroom, lays you gently back on the bed.

He moves toward you, and you curl yourself around him, hold him close; you wind up on your sides, one of your legs between his and the other slung over his waist, and he murmurs praise into your ear, pretty and perfect and so sweet and good. You pull his shirt over his head, and he removes yours, your bra, and you just lay there and hold each other, kiss, content.

Kissing turns to nibbling your throat again, and you wrap an arm around his shoulders, press a hand against his chest, moan softly while he mouths at your sensitive skin. Your hips move, you can’t help it, and then he’s hard against you, and you all but beg him to push inside.

“We’re good, I’m good,” you breathe, because you didn’t think to grab a condom and you don’t want to separate now, not when the moment is so thick and heavy and sultry, when you are well and truly wrapped up in each other. “I’m haven’t had sex with anyone else; have you?”

“No, it's just you. It’s just you.” He weaves a hand into your hair, pulls you closer for deep, slow kisses, and presses into you; his free hand resets on your hip, splays across it, broad and warm, and you rock together, kissing and panting, your hands moving over skin, clinging desperately to each other in a way that is so different but just as passionate as before.

“Aaron.” He pulls back, looks at you, squeezes your thigh, and says your name; he repeats it while you come, and you repeat his as he kisses your throat, hugs you close, and eventually spills inside you.

“You’re so incredible,” he says with a soft kiss, and you pull him closer, hug him tightly with your whole body, kiss his hair.

“You’re perfect. Addicting,” you say with a soft laugh, and he smiles, catches your mouth in a kiss.

You don’t want to separate any more than you did before, but you have to use the bathroom, and you could both use some water, so you get cleaned up together and then you stay in the bathroom while he heads for the kitchen. You throw on your robe, meet him out there, drink the better part of his glass of water; a knock on the door startles you both, and he walks over to where his clothes lay on the floor, pulls on his boxers.

“Who could that be this late?” he asks, and you shrug; you certainly weren’t expecting anyone at this hour, and definitely not with Aaron here. You walk toward the door, look out the peephole, take a deep breath and turn back to face him.

“It’s Spencer.”

“I’ll go in the bedroom,” he says, and you frown, but nod, give him one more kiss before he goes. You unlock the door and swing it open slightly, take in Spencer’s disheveled appearance, his teary eyes.

“Hey, what’s going on? It’s late.” He sighs, runs a hand through his hair.

“Chelsea broke up with me. We were supposed to go to a gallery opening for her friend tonight, and I missed it because we got back so late. She was upset, and we both said things, and she broke it off.” He moves forward, and you take a step back, which brings you both inside the apartment. He swallows, leans in and wraps his arms around you. “I didn’t know where else to go.” Taglist 🤍: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream @unicornprancing

[shorkbrian]

Taking the risk of scaring you I must go on w my Tama thirst. I just can find a blog to I welcome my twisted self 😭 so Tama... I just want to kiss every part of him, kiss him through his pants, give hickeys to his thighs and after I use him throatfuck myself (I'm sure he'd go limp), I'd just overstimulate him to the point he isn't shy to be vocal, I'd give his balls, inflated or not, much love!! then I'd beg him to go balls deep in a mating press but I'msureIdwastehisseedasIcanthelpbutrub

Bro I am incapable of being scared, there is no kink shaming here ever!

(What to expect - NSFW, safe, sane, and consensual.  You’re hot for Tamaki and he’s BURNING for you babe. Body worship, hickies, throatfucking, overstim. Everything the ask contained basically lol.)

The thing about Tamaki, is that no matter how much he wants, anxiety takes over and stops him in his tracks.

His day is spent thinking of you, your sweet voice, pretty eyes, soft hands.... He’s always so distracted by his thoughts of you, it’s hard to get his job done.

But when he bumps into you, he’s a blushing mess, can barely talk, and usually ends up turning tail and heading somewhere else, just because he doesn’t know what to do. He’s afraid that you think he’s weird, or that he’s weak and limp and can’t compare to the brick houses that are Mirio and Kirishima. That he’s not a real man, can’t even build up the courage to talk to people for more than five minutes without freaking out.

God, you love him though.

So you’ll have to make the first move, have to invite him out for dinner or drinks. At first, he freaks out and shoots you down, stuttering out some excuse that doesn’t make any sense. But it’s obvious that he’s interested in you, so you ask Mirio how to get through to his friend.

Next time, you ask Tamaki to come watch a movie at your house, and Mirio is right there by his side, answering before Tamaki can blush and stumble his way through an apology.

“He’d love to! Friday night?”

Secretly, Tamaki would be thanking the lord for Mirio, but also cursing his existence at the same time. How was he supposed to survive being alone with his crush?

He was going to die.

The movie happened, then another, and then you argued that it was too late for Tamaki to go home, that he should just stay over.

And damn it, Tamaki didn’t know what came over him, maybe he was swayed by your eagerness, maybe it was because he himself was eager and wanting, but he said yes.

You offered to let him borrow a shirt, but it was obvious they wouldn’t fit, so Tamaki walked himself through the five second rule. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 - and then he was stripping off his shirt, even though he felt anxious.

Would you laugh at his body? Mock him for being smaller than other heros? He had some muscle, but he was definitely on the leaner side.

To his relief, you breathed out a little sigh, an “oh-” that had the tips of his ears turning red at your tone of voice.

“Tama... can I-can I touch?”

He felt himself bobbing his head, gulping as you stepped closer, greedy hands rising to his chest.

At first contact, he felt goosebumps erupt down his arms, your fingers slightly cold upon his skin. You flashed him an apologetic smile, before suddenly leaning down, placing a small kiss right below his left clavicle.

Tamaki stuttered out an awkward laugh - he felt like he was short circuiting.

Somehow, the two of you ended up in your bed, in nothing but underwear.

The man was beet red, trying to be respectful and not ogle your chest, drool over your tummy, stare and lick his lips with his eyes fixed on the jewel between your legs, the beautiful flesh covered by thin panties.

But you directed his gaze with a soft hand under his chin, a gentle “Don’t you like how I look?”

And immediately he was bobbing his head yes, staring into your eyes when you smiled down at him, directing his gaze to your body with a wave of your hand, giving him permission to shamelessly gaze at your body.

You were so beautiful, he could look at you forever. Tamaki didn’t even know how he got this lucky, being able to share this moment with you, where you both appraised each other’s bodies with awe.

But you were impatient, crawling forward to gently push Tamaki onto his back. Your eyes flickered up to his as your hands ghosted over his chest, as you leaned down until your lips were mere inches from his skin. 

“Is this fine? Tell me what you’re comfortable with.”

And oh god, oh god, this was more than okay. This was everything he could ever want, everything he could ever dream of. 

At his enthusiastic nod, his “I’m-I’m good.... please.” You gave him a soft, loving smile, before touching your lips to his chest.

Kisses were placed everywhere, his chest, the quivering flesh of his soft tummy, his delicate shoulders. You peppered his slender throat with soft pecks, grinning when Tamaki unsuccessfully tried to hold back an embarrassing, keening whine when you closed your lips around his adam’s apple.

“Feels good? Tell me.” But he was too shy, shaking his head as his hands found purchase in your hair. He didn’t have the words to explain how you were making him feel.

You huffed at his forced silence, drawing away from giving little smooches, just so you could look at his face. He was sure his cheeks were red, eyes blown out and huge.

“Tamaki, I want you to enjoy this. If you aren’t feeling good, or wanna slow down, tell me. I don’t want to do anything you aren’t okay with, alright?”

Tamaki felt his heart clench a little - you were so careful with him, so tender. He nodded again, trying to find his voice.

“Yes, yes (Y/N)-this is good. I want.....” He held himself back. What if you weren’t comfortable with this? What if you wanted an out? He didn’t want to force you either, he wanted you to enjoy yourself. Right now though, his thoughts felt jumbled, like his brain was rolling around in a hamster wheel.

“What do you want Tama?” Your voice was breathy as you leaned down to whisper in his ear, and Tamaki almost came in his fucking pants when you nibbled at the lobe. His ears were so sensitive, and he was so embarrassed by the way his hips involuntarily shifted when you continued to give his ear attention.

“I want-I want.... um, more? P-Please?” God, his voice kept cracking, he felt like a teenager again, nervous and awkward and scared of rejection.

But you were there to alleviate his fears with a soft laugh, a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

And then you were kissing down his body, brushing past his boxer-clad erection-oh god.

Down to his thighs, which you parted easily, helped by Tamaki’s eager movements. He wanted to let you have all of him - just as you wanted to give him anything, he wanted to give you everything.

You latched onto a thigh, a few inches above the knee, sucking at the flesh with a smile, tongue circling and patting and it felt good-

Then you moved to a different area, higher up, intent on sucking a beautiful bruise into his pale skin.

Tamaki had to grab the sheets, already close to cumming from the sensation of your lips against his skin. He wanted you so much, you were so perfect. He tried to hold back his voice, keep his moans and gasps and sighs in check, but it was difficult. Still, he didn’t want to weird you out or anything, so he tried his best.

The man really wanted to hear your own voice, hear you talk to him, walking him through what you were going to do to him, what you wanted to do. Wanted to hear you moan and laugh and say his name over and over again until you couldn’t speak.

For now, he was content with watching you suck at his thighs, leaving messy trails of saliva as you got closer and closer to his dick.

You stopped at the hem of his boxers, teasingly licking over the fabric, before scrunching it up with your fingers, letting your nails scratch lightly against his sensitive skin.

“Oh-” Tamaki breathed, before shooting his hand up to cover his mouth, eyes trained on your mouth. You smiled, lifting your eyes to meet his own, and he-

You were so pretty, so beautiful. Tamaki felt so insignificant in your presence, so lucky. How did someone like you find someone like him attractive?

Those thoughts were quickly purged from his mind as you quickly closed your teeth around the skin of his inner thigh, close enough to his cock that when it twitched, it skimmed against your nose briefly. Tamaki had to tear his eyes away from yours, falling back on the bed to grasp at the sheets, breathing hard as he willed himself not to cum.

Working at the skin between your teeth, you sucked at the flesh, swirling your tongue around it, making sloppy little sounds. Tamaki was going to melt, he couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth around his cock, how your pink tongue would feel digging into his slit, drenching the crown, laving over the veins on the underside.

He was gasping now, a hand clutching his naked chest, eyes squeezed tightly shut, legs twitching.

You pulled away with a sultry chuckle, and this was it - Tamaki was going to get his dick sucked, Mirio would be so proud-

But you moved to his other thigh, starting at the knee again, licking and biting at the skin.

Tamaki didn’t know whether to feel frustrated or relieved.

The process was the same, teasing little bites, hard suction to purple the skin. It all felt good to Tamaki, but as you got close to his crotch, he found himself tensing up, wanting to clench his thighs together and rub his cock.

But you were leading now, and he wanted to follow.

Holy fuck, he wanted to touch his cock though. He was aching, boxers getting a little damp where his tip rested against them. Tamaki felt himself twitching, tender and wanting. 

He couldn’t stop himself from reaching down, quickly palming over his cock as you got closer with you mouth, using your nails again to roll up the hem of his boxers, to right underneath his balls. They scraped over the globes slightly, and Tamaki’s thighs tried to snap shut, stopped by your body between them.

“Sorry, here, let me?” Your hand covered his own, and he let you move it to the side, unable to stop his chest from heaving. He was so worked up already, he felt like he had just finished running a marathon.

Instead of palming over him with your pretty, soft hands, you brought your lips to the bulge, kissing it quickly, drawing back and giggling when it twitched.

“Oh, please-please touch me.” Tamaki didn’t feel bad about begging at the moment, too caught up in the physical sensations, and you seemed to like his voice. 

Without another word, you met his eyes, simultaneously opening your mouth and letting your tongue loll out flat. Still maintaining eye contact, you lowered yourself closer and closer, and Tamaki couldn’t catch a goddamn breath, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight before him.

You were so enthusiastic, licking at his cock through the material of his boxers, grabbing at the fabric with your teeth, pulling it back only to let it go, let it snap against his cock and make him keen. You went from soft, loving kisses to fast licks, closing your lips around part of it and sucking quickly, and Tamaki was losing it.

He was struggling to keep his hips down, to stop himself from thrusting into your face, chasing the heavenly feel of you. It felt so good, he didn’t have words, couldn’t even begin to quantify how he was feeling, other than good good good, and he wanted more.

“Don’t tease, please don’t tease. ‘M so close-” He gasped out, slim hands patting your head quickly, trying to catch your attention as he wiggled underneath your ministrations.

With a laugh, you pulled away, meeting his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” Thumbs hooking into the waist band oh his boxers, you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling the band, letting it slap down against his skin and make Tamaki jerk and his lungs punch out a gasp.

“Can I take these off?”

“Yes, yes, anything. Just-just touch me please.” He stumbled over his words, face aflame. “But only-only if you w-want.”

“Oh-” you smirked, beginning to shimmy his boxers down his hips, licking your lips when you managed to free his cock. “-I want to touch so bad.”

And then his boxers were off, and you were gripping his cock with your fucking perfect hands, giving him a cursory stroke that was dry and rough but so fucking good.

“You’re so lovely, everything about you is so handsome.” You spit over his cock, and Tamaki fisted his fingers into the sheets as the saliva hit the head before dripping down his length.

You used your spit to slick him up, running your hands gently over his flushed cock, enjoying the squelching sounds.

Tamaki almost died when you put him in your mouth.

Lips pursing around the head, you twirled your tongue over his skin, lapping at the slit, digging underneath the rosy crown. Tamaki barely had time to process the sensation though, because you were sheathing his entire length down your throat.

“Oh-h god!” he yelped, hips bucking upwards before he could stop them. He felt so bad, you gagged a bit and drew off his cock, coughing. “I’m-I’m so sorry! I d-didn’t mean-”

“Do that again, fuck my throat Tamaki.” You rasped, immediately swallowing him down again.

What if he hurt you? What if-

He didn’t get the chance to be anxious. 

You didn’t like how he wasn’t moving, his muscles tensed as he kept his hips still. Taking it upon yourself, you began bobbing your head, up and down, and Tamaki wanted to cry because it felt so good.

“I don’t w-want to hurt you, oh god, please wait!” He yelped, and you immediately pulled off, spit dripping down your chin.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry.” You breathed, patting his hip comfortingly. “I want you to do this Tama, I’ve practiced. No gag reflex, see?” You grabbed his hand, curling his fingers until only two were held straight, and promptly stuffed them into your mouth, pushing at his wrist so his fingers went as far down as possible.

Tamaki’s throat had never been dryer. It’s like he couldn’t speak, only dumbly nod his head as he felt your throat convulse around his fingers, all wet and velvety smooth. 

You pulled his hand away, licking seductively at his fingers before letting go. “I want you to fuck my throat, please.” You were looking at him with such honesty, such desperation. “I want to suck you off and have you cum down my throat, want it to fill up my stomach Tama.”

The ravenette could barely nod, eyes glassy, chest heaving. He wanted that so bad, you sounded like a vixen, looked like one two, batting your eyelashes at him like that.

You settled between his thighs again, giving his cock a nice, lengthy lick on the underside before fixing Tamaki with a confident stare. “Don’t hold back, I want you to feel good.” 

He was already feeling good, but if you insisted.

Cautious at first, hesitant, Tamaki was afraid of pushing too deep, moving too fast. But you grew impatient again, moving your own head while tapping his hip, encouraging him to speed up.

And he did, a bit, but he was still measuring his thrusts, trying to keep his head steady despite the tight suction of your throat.

You grabbed his hands, guiding them to your head, pressing them flat so he could hold your head. You looked up at him, completely stilling your movements, forcing your mouth as wide as it could go, fixing him with the most intense gaze.

Tamaki got the message.

He gripped your head tight, kept you in place before snapping his hips up, and you closed your eyes, as if you’d finally got what you had wanted. 

It’s like his restraint flew out the window, now that he was confident that you wanted this, sure that it wasn’t hurting you. His balls slapped against your chin, a lewd rhythm of smacks and gurgles and wet sucking coming from your mouth.

Drool was dripping off your chin, onto his balls, over his taint. When the liquid touched his hole, Tamaki shouted, eyes suiting shut as his stomach flexed. He felt so good, this was more than he had ever dreamed of, more than he could've ever imagined.

And then he was cumming, probably far too soon, but you wouldn’t make fun of him, he knew that. ��He cursed, holding you flush against his hips, cock twitching against your tight throat as he shot his seed down your throat.

A few last desperate rocks of his hips, and then he was pulling you off, tiredly patting you face as you coughed.

“Are y-you okay?” And you, the angel you were, smiled, giving him a cheesy thumbs up.

“Couldn’t breathe for a second there, but that comes with the territory. Did that feel good though?”

Tamaki nodded, eyes closing blissfully. You were too good to him, too good for him.

Where did he go from here? Should he offer to finger you? He didn’t know how, he never thought he’d be in a situation where he’d be naked in bed with anyone, let alone you, a literal walking wet dream.

“You’re so quiet Tama-” You noticed, a hand stroking over his quivering tummy as he calmed down from his orgasm. “-I kinda want to hear you.”

With that confession, your mouth was on his cock again, slurping and suckling at the sensitive length.

“A-h-h! W-wait! God that’s too-fuck, no, wait!”

You pulled off quickly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “I’ll stop if you want me to, I’m not gonna force you to do anything, ever, okay?”

Tamaki nodded, cheeks flushing. “I just need... a moment. You’re-you’re good with your mouth.”

A smile graced your lips, and you tilted your head. “I still wanna hear you though, you’ve been holding back your voice this entire time. I like it when you lose yourself.”

Another nod, the man biting his lip. ‘I just don’t want to-to scare you off or anything. I’m loud, and I sound-I mean....” He averted his eyes bashfully “-My voice can get kind of-of h-high.”

That was embarrassing to admit.

You didn’t miss a beat, clambering forward until you were laying beside him, face even with his own. “But I like that Tama, I think it’s sexy when you lose control like that.”

The admission made Tamaki gasp, blushing even further, and you leaned in for a kiss, which the man eagerly returned. 

“I-I think you’re sexy too.” Was his lame reply. He wished he was better with his words, could describe how amazing and beautiful and stunning you were.

Your hand fell to his cock, drawing him out of his self-doubt. You were pumping him gently, focusing more attention on his balls, lightly pinching the skin, massaging the flesh, before giving him another stroke.

“I wanna see you cum again, and this time, you’re gonna moan nice and loud for me, yeah?”

Again, you were whispering in his ear, biting at the shell, liking over the cartilage with your warm, slippery tongue.

Tamaki drew in a breath.

“And I don’t want you holding back any of your cute sounds. If you do, I’ll have to make you cum again and again until you’re too fucked out to feel self conscious.” The promise made Tamaki’s stomach burn hot with arousal, and his cock was starting to throb again, hastened along by your helping, smooth hand.

“I’ll-I’ll try.” He whispered, voice catching in his throat. He could imagine it now, him writhing in overstimulation as you sucked at his cock, holding his hips down as he cried and shivered and moaned about how good it felt.

“Then, I’m gonna finger myself while you watch, and when I’m nice and ready, you’re gonna fuck me.”

Tamaki felt like passing out, blood rushing down to his cock so fast that he felt all fuzzy and weak.

“I’m gonna lay back, and hold myself open, and you’re going to stick your pretty little cock deep, and you’re not gonna stop until you cum inside.”

The ravenette had never been felt more turned on in his entire life.

“Sound good?” Your voice was soft, sweet. he knew that you were giving him an opportunity to say no, to express any discomfort or unease he felt.

But Tamaki only felt lust.

With a sudden surge of confidence, he turned to his side, lips seeking out your own. He kissed you desperately, eagerly, probably clumsy but he didn’t care.

When he separated, he paused for a moment, breathing against you while he tried to find words to convey his excitement.

“Ruin me, (Y/N). Make-make me cry.”

[thatweirdoleigh]

Socks (but i finish the fic)

Elijah Mikaelson x reader

Warnings; Eli’s a good husband, and the reader cries oh yeah and reader’s pregnant

a/n ; Here is the full thing!! Cause its cute and for once i actually like the thing that i made. 

Imma tag the people i think will enjoy this.

My moms  @elijahs-wife​ @hellotvshowtrash

The Murder aunts; @mikaelson-emma​ @dumble-daddy​

Other Family Members that i don’t really talk to but love and appreciate anyway!;  @xxwritemeastoryxx​  @ronniemikaelson​ @lady-salvatore @thatfanficstuff @zodiyack @auroracalisto​ @dizzydancingdreamer​ @imaginearyparties​ @alwaysfangirlingish​ 

The giggles of his sisters echoed through the halls and into the entry way as Elijah opened the front door and stepped into his family home. Hope’s laughter and the laughter of his brothers and their wives joining shortly after. Rebekah was telling stories again, of all the mishaps, mistakes and schemes from over the centuries. It made him smile. Today was a good day.

After everything that had happened over the centuries, particularly the past several decades, it seemed like a dream come true to finally feel like a family again. To feel the same humble happiness that they felt when they were all still human. Like touching the stars with their bare hands. So he savored the memories and the joy and the rest that it brought to himself and those he cared so dearly for.

Walking into the parlor he was greeted by the warm welcomes of his family.

“Brother!” Klaus, all but beamed, “Welcome home!” A chorus of welcome home and welcome back echoed behind him.

Elijah grinned, wholeheartedly approving of the laid back posture of his younger brother, his arm slung over the back of the couch behind the witch that Klaus had fallen in love with. It was a stark contrast to the rage and paranoia that plagued him for so many years. “Its good to be home!”

“How was your meeting with the contractor brother?” Finn queried, far more subdued than the others. Even though they had all forgiven him, and profusely apologized for 1000 years of pain, Finn still didn’t feel like he quite belonged with the rest of his family. A fact Elijah had been eager to fix once the realization had set in of exactly how shitty their treatment of him was. Courtesy of Camille, of course. However 900 years in a coffin is not forgotten overnight, so it was still a work in progress. So it further proved to warm Elijah’s heart when his eyes laid upon Finn and found him squished between Freya and Kol’s firecracker of a fiancé, instead of locked in his room.

Elijah smiled at Finn and placed his suit jacket over the back of an unoccupied chair, “It was good. We got all of the final details and planning done and now its we are just waiting for the town to give us a building permit”

“that’s good” Finn replied with a nod.

For context, Y/n was pregnant with Elijah’s child, a miracle given in the form of a spell cast as a wedding gift and created by Kol and Klaus’ wife. Y/n had all but declared that she wanted their children to have as normal lives as physically possible and while the Mikaelsons were hesitant to go along with this plan, it was agreed that perhaps living in a mansion with 4 witches, 6 vampires, and 3 hybrids was not a normal childhood. So it was agreed that they would own a separate family home to raise their children in while still visiting as often as physically possible.

As Elijah looked around and took in the the scene around him he noticed that y/n was not among his siblings and so begged the question as to where was his darling wife?

“If I may ask, where is y/n?”

It was Kol’s fiancé that pipped up. “She came rushing in with a bag, declared that she was going to enjoy her new socks and then she was taking a nap, You know how my twin is Elijah, she gets excited over the simplest things, and then she ran upstairs without another word. Imagine she is asleep by now. Probably has been for a while. ”

Elijah smiled and Keelin looked at her curiously, ”Socks?”

Elijah cleared her confusion “Yes Keelin. Socks. Its seems that my darling wife has developed an affinity for collecting and wearing the most colorful knee-high socks she can find”

“It is rather amusing to watch auntie y/ns excitement.” Hope testified from where she had tucked herself under her father’s other arm. “She rambled on about a pair she had found with neon green strips, all while eating a plate of bacon in the kitchen the other day”

Everyone laughed at the image, and Elijah just shook his head with mirth in his eyes, ”yes well, if you don’t mind I am going to join my wife and unborn child in bed. Goodnight to you all” and a chorus of goodnights followed him down the hall.

As Elijah climbed the stairs he couldn’t help but be reminded of how grateful of all of the things that life has granted him over the years. He had a beautiful wife that loved him and siblings that adored him and soon he would have children of his own.

As Elijah approached the door to his bedroom he couldn’t help but notice something was wrong. Stopping to listen he could hear sniffling and shaky breathes just beyond the door way.

“y/n?” he took the handle and pushed the door open.

There sitting in an armchair in the corner of their room was y/n. She was wearing one of Elijah’s Cambridge sweatshirts and a pair of his boxers. The sweatshirt was cream in color and it matched cream colored socks she held in her hand. While Elijah would normally fawn over how adorable she looked round with his child and dressed in his clothes he was more focused on the tears stains that and puffy red eyes that decorated the face of the love of his life.

Elijah was quick to kneel in front of her and cup her face in his hand “Y/n? Baby what’s wrong? Are you alright?” He placed his other hand on her belly and searched for some kind of injury to suggest that she was hurt.  

She looked at him with a watery smile, kissed his hand and said “I found a pair of socks that would match my favorite one of your sweatshirts and I got so excited to wear them.”

She held up the socks and gestured to her feet. “But I cant reach, so I cant put them on. And it made me so sad that I cried.”

Elijah’s face relaxed and he gave a sigh of relief, realizing it was something simple that he could easily fix. So he gently took the socks from her hands and unfolded them so he could put them on her. He rolled them up and then pulled them all the way up her legs to just below her knees and then gave a kiss to her nose. “there “ he whispered. “all better.”

“thank you ‘lijah.” She mumbled and then yawned.

“Oh. I think its bedtime.” He stated playfully.

“Im pregnant not two.” She grumbled with another yawn.

Elijah looked at her with nothing but adoration and said “baby you just cried over a pair of socks.” In response she pouted and Elijah couldn’t help but smile. 

“Alrighty. Bedtime!” He said scooping her up bridal-style. 

“you can’t be serious!” y/n scoffed. 

“Dead serious!” 

“Eli!” she whined, “don’t make puns when im annoyed at you! Then I can’t enjoy them!” 

Elijah only laughed, and then slowly spun her around in a circle. “wheeeeeee!” he said before gently tossing her on the bed. 

y/n looked up at her husband in exasperation as she watched him use vampire speed to strip to his underwear and climb onto the bed like a leopard on the prowl.  

“I love you.” he purred pressing a kiss to her swollen belly, eyes playfully looking up at her. 

She raised an eyebrow, “Me? Or your children?”. 

“Both” he replied, gently coercing her backwards onto the bed as he crawled farther up her body his hands rubbing circles into the sides of her stomach. y/n rolled her eyes and chuckled her amusement as he enveloped her in another kiss. 

Sighing happily y/n ran her hands through Elijah’s hair, as he eagerly deepened the kiss. However Elijah had to stop this blissful moment rather short. 

He furrowed his brow and pulled back slightly so he could see his wife’s eyes, “Children?” he questioned. “plural?” 

Now it was y/n’s turn to grin playfully. 

“I went to the doctors today.” She said eyes twinkling with mischief. “And i learned something rather interesting.”  

Elijah narrowed his eyes, recognizing that she was toying with him. “did you now?” 

“I did” she purred rubbing her hands down his neck and shoulders. “Apparently twins are not always magical miracle coincidences. More often than not they are genetic.” and as her smile grew bigger so did Elijah’s. “And considering that I am half of a set, I’d say the trait has passed on.” 

Elijah’s grinn was getting bigger by the second. “you mean to tell me. That not only am I getting one daughter.” he leaned in closer until their noses were touching. “I’m getting two?” 

“yes” she whispered seductively and elijah expressed his joy by kissing her again. 

“And do you wanna know what else I learned?” y/n said slyly as he trailed his kisses down her throat. He grunted quietly for her to continue and y/n leaned up and murmured in his ear, “Both of your ‘daughters’ are sons” 

Elijah groaned and pulled back up to her face, “damn. I was really hoping was really hoping for a mini you.” he admitted swallowing y/ns laughter in another kiss. 

Y/n pulled him to lay beside her as they both got under the duvet and settled comfortably for bed. y/n lay on her side facing Elijah and he buried his face in her hair his hands finding their way to her rounded abdomen, joyful and excited to meet his children in the nearby future. 

“Eli?” she said softly. “will you sing to me?” she asked looking up at him. 

“Of course, My love” and so Elijah sang the same nordic lullaby his mother taught him all those years ago and they both drifted off to sleep. 

[all-that-glitters-is-goldfish]

Can I get a short fluffy Drabble with bucky with this prompt?

I just woke up in a stranger’s bed and I’m half naked, I cant remember anything about yesterday besides that the party was great and that I got absolutely wasted AND OH MY GOD THERE IS A HOT PERSON NEXT TO ME IN BED AND THEY ARE NOT WEARING MUCH WHAT DID WE DO YESTERDAY AU

Thank you!! 💗

Okay so this is kind of long for a Drabble because I just loved the plot and couldn't stop writing!!

Anyways, I hope you enjoy, nonnie!!

Morgan's Graduation Sleepover!!

You blink hard against the bright stream of sun poking through the gap in the curtains, groaning as your head throbs in the light.

You let out an audible moan as you attempt to pull the covers over your face. The soft, silky comforter was cool against your skin, and you snuggled tighter against the sheets as you became aware that you were shivering despite the summer heat.

You extend your arm searching for your phone that you kept on the nightstand and frowned when your hand felt nothing. You turn your head slightly, trying to see the floor below where your phone may have fell, catching a glimpse of the bed in the sun for the first time since you opened your eyes. The large queen-sized bed draped with dark grey blankets.

Wait… Grey?

Last time you checked your comforter was a deep purple colour.

You sit up slowly, becoming fully aware of your environment and looking around the dimly lit room. A room that you definitely hadn’t been in before because you would never have a poster of dogs playing poker hanging above your bedroom door.

You groan again as a feeling of nausea overcomes you, the dizziness being caused from your eyes darting around the unfamiliar room. You clasp the palm of your hand against your mouth, attempting to stifle a gag and you taste the acidic bile bubbling in your throat.

“Oh god.” You belch into your hand as it balls into a fist.

“Mmmph-“

You nearly jump out of your skin as a low moan fills the silence of the room and your head whips fast enough to cause another wave of dizziness.

Your eyes widen as you realize… whoever owned this bed was sleeping right next to you, curled up on his side, face buried deep in the pillow.

You startle, getting tangled in the blankets as you jump out of the bed, thanking internally that you still have your underwear on and are not waking up butt-naked next to a stranger during the worst hangover of your life.

Unfortunately, your actions aren’t grateful as your feet become tangled in the sheets and you land with a thump loud enough to vibrate the furniture. You wince as the pain radiates up your ass and into your spine.

Suddenly, a pair of ocean blue eyes are peering over the side of the bed, a concerned look across the man’s face.

“Are you okay?” He asks, jumping out of bed with much more grace than you had shown, and dropping down to his knees by your side.

“I- Yeah.” You stutter, embarrassed and still confused about how exactly you had ended up in this position, not on the floor, but in this situation.

He grips your arm with a strong hand, pulling you up and steadying you as you stagger, the dizziness still not disappearing due to the excessive amount of alcohol you had consumed the night before.

As he helps you stand you notice the sunlight reflecting off the arm of the stranger, the metal left arm that causes your heart to skip a beat and the feeling of a golf-ball sized lump in your throat. You hadn’t recalled any of your past Tinder dates having a prosthetic arm and you panic, realizing that you really had no idea who this man was.

“I-“ You pull away, your eyes darting from his arm to the folded up clothes on the chair in the corner of the room.

The clothes you had worn to the party!

Fragments of the night come flooding back, but still with no memory of this mysterious, handsome man.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” He asks, his eyebrows still furrowed in concern.

Wait… Y/N?

“You know me?”

“Yeah! You’re Nat’s roommate! She introduced us at the party last night.”

“Introduced us?” You search your mind for any recollection, finding it surprising that you couldn’t remember this muscular man, with the dark hair and stubble surrounding the most gorgeous lips.

Damn, I bet they taste soft.

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember. You were already 4 drinks in, and you were trying to go shot to shot with me. I tried explaining to you that I have a very high tolerance for alcohol, but you kept going. Basically had to carry you back here.”

“Back… here?” You ask, squinting as your head begins to throb again.

“Yeah. My place.” He turns around, heading into the ensuite bathroom that you hadn’t noticed before. “I was going to bring you back to your house but you lost your keys and I was unable to get a hold of Natasha since she took off for shawarma with my friend Sam.” He shouts from the other room, before returning with a glass of water and a couple of Tylenol.

You accept it gratefully, not caring that you willingly took drugs from a man you still weren’t sure you trusted.

“I’m Bucky, by the way. In case you don’t remember. Bucky Barnes.”

You nod, unsure of what to say next as your mind was still breaking free from the alcohol induced haze. Your eyes trail down towards the pair of plain white boxers Bucky is wearing, and you gasp as you remember that you are also standing there in your underwear.

You dash towards the chair, pulling the tight black dress over your head.

“I- Did we-“ You don’t know how to ask, and you hope he understands your gesture as you motion towards his near-naked body. Seeing him blush 3 different shades of red comforts you slightly, and you smile slightly through the panic.

“No! I would never- You were completely wasted!” He fumbles with his fingers, avoiding eye contact.

Your heart sinks as you realize you offended him, and you try to crack a joke. “There’s not too many other scenarios I can think of that offer a valid reason for waking up in a man’s bed in only my underwear.”

He chuckles, smirking and you almost swoon as you notice his handsome smile for the first time. “Clearly you’ve never met yourself drunk.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, the pain in your head finally dissipating.

“Well, first of all I insisted you sleep in your clothes, but when I went to grab a trash can in case you vomited again-“ You wince as he stresses the word. “And by the time I came back you had already stripped down. And then when I tried to sleep on the floor, you started crying telling me you were afraid you were going to float away like a balloon and you wanted me to, and I quote, keep your string grounded.”

You curse, not bothering to keep it in your head this time, as embarrassment flushed your face. You grab your purse from the chair, sighing in relief as you notice your phone safely inside the front pocket of the bag.

“I mean, I’m not complaining. I just wish the next time I’m in bed with a beautiful women-“ He pauses. “No, God sorry. I’m going to stop talking now, I’m horrible at flirting. This is awkward”

“Flirting?” You’re taken aback.

He’s beaming now, his smile stretching from a smirk and into a full-blown smile. “I don’t save all pretty drunk girls I meet from choking on their own vomit, you know.”

It’s your turn to blush now as you swing your purse over your shoulder. “Well, thank you for being my hero.”

A loud buzz breaks the tension and you pull out your phone to silence it, seeing several missed calls from Natasha.

“Oh wow.” Your eyes widen as you read the new text that pops up on the tiny screen.

Did you fuck him yet?

“What is it?” He asks.

You quickly shove your phone back into your purse as you turn to look at Bucky. “It’s Nat- she’s just worried about me… I should probably go.” You lied.

“Do you need a ride?” He asks, grabbing a pair of jeans slung over the end of the bed.

“Oh- Maybe? I’m not exactly sure where I am.”

“Ah. I don’t live too far from Nat, but it’s too hot out. And heatstroke can make hangovers so much worse.” He holds the bedroom door open for you and you head into the hallway, not noticing as he grabs something from the dresser before he follows you out.

He tosses you a heavy helmet and you almost drop it, not expecting the object to be thrust into your arms.

“What’s this for?” You question.

“For your ride. Just one rule, though. Don’t throw up on my bike, dollface.”

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 5

18 + MINORS DNI

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: smut, blow jobs, vaginal sex, degradation, anal fingering, nipple play, face fucking, deep throating, nonconsensual photos, Shigaraki's big dick, rough sex, vaginal fingering, reference to exhibitionism, dirty talk, possessive Shigaraki, kinda unhealthy relationships, sort of loss of virginity for Shigs, creampie, brief reference to drug use, light cockwarming, praise and feels

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: In which Tomura bears all of his nasty soul and you get off on it. 

AO3 Mirror

Taglist: @dillybuggg​ @husband-to-tomura-shigaraki​ @narcolepticroses​ (ask if you want to be tagged)

“I don’t—”

He couldn't finish the sentence, not when you were grinding down on him like that. How the hell did you even know how to move your hips in those little circles? Was there some "Being a Massive Slut for Dummies" book he was missing out on or?

“C’mon, Tomura, we’ve been through this,” you sighed and leaned down to suck a trail of sloppy kisses from his jaw to his ear, biting down on the soft flesh, “I know you’ve been thinking so much nasty shit about me, the least you can do is let me hear it.”

Those hands on his chest were moving again, curling into the hem of his t-shirt and tugging until it was over his head and tossed aside to the floor. On an embarrassing instinct, Tomura’s hands shot up to cover himself, only stopping when you leaned onto your haunches and tugged off your own.

“Shit,” Tomura whispered.

You weren’t wearing anything underneath.

He drank in the sight of those cute fucking tits he’d only ever caught glimpses of through those low cut tops you always wore. You grinned down at him, both hands coming up to play with your chest, fingers pinching and rolling the pretty buds. Tomura felt drool slip from the corner of his mouth.

“Is that all you got?” you challenged.

He wasn’t completely in control of his body as it catapulted off the bed to smash his face between your squished up tits, but neither of you were complaining judging by the sounds that followed.

You hummed happily as he pressed his cheeks to the warm, soft flesh and his lips closed around your nipple, sucking and laving his tongue over the pebbled skin.

“You really wanted everyone to see these, huh?” he meant the words to have more bite but it was hard to get the right edge with your fucking boob in his mouth.

And he wasn’t looking to stop suckling at you anytime soon so….

“They’re nice tits, what can I say,” you shot back and he couldn't wait to have you fucked so stupid all those witty one-liners would die on your tongue.

You fucking tasted so good. He hadn’t ever thought that tits would have a taste at all but the odd combination of skin and spit was addictive.

“Got a whole fucking eye full that first time you talked to me in class,” he growled, sinking his teeth in hard enough to leave a mark around your nipple. “Fucking parading them around every time you leaned over. Thought you were so fucking desperate for attention.”

If you really wanted to know all the vile, gross shit he thought on the daily then who was he to deny you that pleasure.

Cause you were definitely feeling some type of way about it based on the way your fingers threaded through his hair and held him to your chest as he tongued and bit at the skin.

“Think I’m just a stupid attention whore, is that it?” you moaned when he switched breasts, palm kneading at the one he’d abandoned.

“I think you’re a useless slut who’ll do anything to get a guy to fucking look your way,” Tomura gasped and sunk his teeth in again.

A shiver ran through him at the whine leaving your lips.

He did that.

He needed to do more of that immediately.

“You like it when I call you a fucking slut?”

Tomura didn’t know what came over him in that moment—what weird spirit of horny confidence possessed his body—but suddenly, with a surge of motion, his hand left your chest and latched onto the smooth column of your throat. The move had actually been quite graceful until he tried to flip your positions and got his legs tangled with yours, resulting in more of a...sexy pile than the smooth transition of power he was going for.

You didn’t seem to mind though.

You never did.

Tomura guessed if he was going to admit something nice about you, then it would be that at least you were consistent.

“I do like it when you call me that,” you breathed into his ear, hands under his arms to haul him back over top of you and replace the hand at your throat with a smirk, “and you love that it’s true.”

Fuck.

He really did, now that he thought about it. All those message boards always talked about finding virgins who you could mold to your dick just like they were meant to be, but…he was so fucking anxious at the best of times, having your eyes that pissed him off and knew it made this so much more fun.

There was probably a more eloquent wording than that, and you would probably more than willing to supply it, but the goal was to shut you up and he wasn’t gonna be okay with just coasting this time.

“God, you need to learn how to shut the fuck up,” he spat and subsequently yelped as you leaned forward, licking a wet trail up his chest before latching onto one of his nipples.

The flushed, pink skin disappeared into the heat of your mouth, leaving his dick twitching violently in his pants that had grown too tight and damp for comfort. The languid motion of your tongue over the rapidly pebbling flesh and the goldilocks perfect way in which you nipped at him was enough to corroborate all your claims of experience.

With the constant, electric spark pleasure running from his chest to his pants, Tomura found formulating sentences a little challenging, so he just said the first thing that came to mind.

“Why don’t we give you something even better to with that fucking whore mouth, hm?”

It was cliche as hell, stolen straight from one of the admittedly plentiful pornos he’d watched in his day, but you just grinned and popped off his nipple, nodded frantically at the innuendo.

Those clever little fingers that seemed to type without ever stopping dropped to the waistband of his sweats and tugged them down his thighs. He kicked a bit awkwardly to get them off his ankles but you were already yanking the elastic of his boxers. You smiled up at him through your lashes as you tucked the fabric just under his balls and let your eyes wander slowly from his splotchy red chest to the patch of hair just at the base of his dick.

If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought you were drooling.

Tomura felt a bit more in his element here, having had some actual frame of reference—as his asshole roommate was so generous to provide—so he didn’t waste any time. Falling onto his back, he squirmed up the sheets until his head was resting on a pillow and you were crawling between his thighs. God and you had your ass up too, wiggling it back and forth like you were wagging your tail at just the thought of getting his cock in your mouth.

Well, since you were so eager, Tomura decided to jump right in. You seemed to like things a bit rough anyway, so he reached out, burying a hand harshly in your hair and plunging past your lips.

The cute and kinda disgusting, choking gasp you let out was delectable.

And now he fucking knew Dabi was lying about his dick being small, cause you had a big fucking mouth to talk all that shit and it was absolutely stuffed full.

Your lips were stretched obscenely not even halfway down his shaft and your eyes were already pricked with tears at the edges. The fucking feel of your mouth was like how he imagined silk might feel, if it was soaked and scorching. Your throat constricted around him as you gagged and oh it was fucking cock sucking heaven he was in.

Tomura was almost tempted to grab his phone and snap a—

Actually, that was a fucking great idea.

His free hand fumbled for his pants, closing around his phone and unlocking it while you hummed and pulled back, bobbing your head twice before sinking back down, Your eyes flew open when the camera flash lit up the dark corner of his room. He could feel you trying to move away, to snap at him for taking his little keepsake, but he quickly fisted your hair and bucked his hips up to keep you firmly on his dick.

“Oh no, you were so excited to suck me off, you’re gonna finish the fucking job before you breathe again,” he panted, holding the sides of your face and fucking your mouth in earnest.

He’d found it easy to simply follow the instinctive rhythm of his hips, constantly seeking out the wet heat source. Your eyes rolled back in your goddamn head as his length slid past your lips over and over again

Holy shit it felt so good.

And it felt even better when he could see how much you loved it.

How much you loved his filthy fucking mostly virgin cock shoved down your throat and he finally felt the vulgar dam in his mind break once again.

“I think about you all the time,” he gasped, keening high when you ran your tongue over his slit on ever upstroke, just how he liked it. “I lay here at night and fuck my hand and think about sinking into your tight fucking cunt. I wanna fill you up so bad, it’s the only thing on my mind whenever I talk to you.”

The only thing stopping him from cumming straight down your throat in that moment was sheer horny force of will.

“When you mouth off in class, all I hear is you just begging for someone to bend you over and fuck that cocky fucking attitude right out of you,” below him, you reached a hand up, pinching hard at his nipple and humming at the squeal that slipped from him. “Fuck, and I want eat your pussy while you’re up there presenting this shit, so I can watch you try and keep it together. Such a fucking slut just for me.”

Something was washing over him. 

Some weird, intense revelation of something that perhaps he’d always known but just needed the motivation of a fucking earth shattering blowjob to work out of him—that he wanted you. Really wanted you. Felt entitled to you. He’d spent so much mental energy obsessing over it: that really, no one else fucking deserved to touch you but him.

No one else would want you this much.

No one else would want him this much.

Your hands had found their way to his thighs and they were rubbing sweet little circles into the soft skin.

“You’d love that wouldn’t you?” his voice was wrecked, even more than usual from the near constant string of high pitched whining. “You’d love to have me fucking ruin you, make you cum all over my tongue in front of everyone. Let them fucking know who does this shit to you.”

You managed a nod, even with his cock buried deepdeepdeep in your throat. And Tomura was fucking twitching at the thought. The muscles in his legs jumped under your touch. A slimy mix of spit and precum was gushing down his length, slipping over his balls and slicking his ass. It was sloppy and the room was so full of the wet slap of his hips against your mouth.

It was so much, too much, oh shit, shit he didn’t want to finish like this—

“Wait, wait!” he cried, back arching with the agony of leaving the plush paradise between your lips. “Please—I wanna cum in you.”

You looked up at him, head hanging from his grip in your hair, with your jaw slack, dripping and nodded. He felt as though his ribs were filled with magnets instead of marrow that pulled him into your outstretched arms, kneeling as he pressed his mouth frantically to yours, uncaring of the mess or the faint taste of bitter precum.

There was something frantic in the air, like a switch had been flipped. The need to feel you, to be connected at every point—to get just a little bit more of what he’d earned—grew stronger with every passing second.

His lips were rough and raw and stung when you licked them but that only made it sweeter. You tongued at his teeth and sucked him into your mouth like he was warm food after months without. It was needy. Needy and ragged because you needed him.

You needed him.

What a fucking thought that was.

Your pants were quickly discarded along with his boxers, and for the first time in his life, Tomura didn’t care about all the exposed skin. He didn’t think about all the unsightly patches of irritation or scaring, because you never had. Not once had you ever stared or commented and you weren’t starting now. Your hands smoothed over every inch of him, just as desperate as he always knew you would be.

Because you were so—

Perfect.

Fucking disgusting.

Tomura let you fall back onto the mattress and whimpered at the feeling of your thighs hitched around his waist. He made the mistake of letting his eyes leave your mouth to glance down and oh, oh he was enraptured.

Dabi was right, he’d never actually seen a pussy in real life and holy shit.

His fingers gravitated immediately to your lips, fucking soaked, soaked in arousal that had smeared on your thighs.

“You get this fucking hot just from my cock in your mouth?” he asked, grinning as he collected some of the slick on his fingers and brought them curiously to his mouth.

Delicious.

“Yes—fuck—yes!” you whined and pulled him closer with your thighs.

“You want me to fuck you that bad?” his fingers ghosted over where he thought your clit might be and was rewarded when you moaned low as he brushed over a raised bud. “Does this nasty little slut want me that fucking bad?”

“Please Tomura…” his name on your tongue was better than any crazy ass party drug Dabi ever brought home, “you have no fucking idea how long I’ve been wanting you so fucking deep in me—”

Your words cut off with a sob as he ran his fingers down, searching for your entrance and sinking in hard when he found it. And it was so nice in there.

So fucking hot.

“What are you?” he asked, thrusting his fingers in and out, trying to remember how Dabi did it to him and what felt good, couldn’t be that much different.

He plunged them deep and curled up towards your belly and you sobbed, “A fucking slut!”

God he was so glad no one else was around to hear that.

This was just for him.

“And who’s fucking slut are you?”

He really could help himself, he just wanted you to say it so fucking bad.

“Yours,” you whined and rolled your hips down so his thumb caught on your clit. “I’m your fucking slut!”

“Shit,” he rasped and ripped his fingers from you.

He wasn’t entirely conscious of his movements. There was just one, very loud voice, screaming in his head to bury his cock in that perfect fucking heat and suddenly his was gripping himself and pushing in and—

“Ahh, fucking god,” Tomura whimpered, body going limp as his tip was sheathed fully inside you.

His forehead dropped down to rest against yours, arms like half cooked pasta on either side of your head, failing to hold him up. You moved your hands, sliding fingers through his hair and down his back as your ankles locked right above his ass to urge him forward.

Tomura’s cock sunk in inch by inch until he bottomed out with a groan. His mouth moved even when the rest of him couldn’t

“So tight…” he mumbled, head slipping into the crook of your neck and sucking lightly at the skin, feeling the comfort of it in his mouth. “Ngh...didn’t think it’d be this tight.”

“Are you trying to insult me or were you just a virgin?” you huffed out, but there was a laugh bubbling just behind the words.

He weakly held up two fingers to indicate the second, dropping them immediately to clutch at the sheets when you clamped down on his cock, nestled sweetly against your cervix.

“Wait really?” you asked, hands skimming up his back to grip his cheeks.

Tomura tried to hide himself in your shoulder, because the fucking dopey ass smile on his face would surely feed your ego and he didn’t need you knowing that your pussy had him fucking higher than a goddamn kite.

If only his bones hadn’t suddenly taken on all the physical properties of jello.

“I’ve fucked around before,” he said, which was technically true, “just never in a...uh, like this.”

He didn’t even need to move—which was really a lie cause he was burning with the urge to drive himself frantically into your dripping cunt—but he was so blissed out from just the soft, warm, tight hug of your walls around his cock which pulsed precum with every clench, that simply being inside you at all was enough.

What he wouldn’t give to have this all the time. Have you constantly sitting on his dick, keeping him warm and hard and cumming inside you.

Cumming. 

Right. 

At the reminder of why exactly he’d set out to do this, his body regained a bit of it’s former solidity.

“Oh,” you began, voice strained and hips shaking with the effort of not rocking back on his dick and making him blow his load too soon. “Well, you feel fucking amazing—”

Tomura cut you off with an experimental thrust. He pulled all the way back, watching as his tip just nearly popped out of your cute fucking hole and then snapped in again. You were a mess above him instantly, gripping at the pillows and then at his arms, dragging red scratches down the pale, fragile skin there.

It only spurred him on.

“You like that? Like my huge fucking cock in you?” he growled, flopping down fully so he could feel your nipples brush against his while he railed into you.

As much as you apparently enjoyed hearing all the filth that spewed from him, he really liked having a receptacle for it all to an even greater degree. It had been hidden inside him for so long, the release was only made sweeter with the addition of your slutty fucking pussy clamping on his length at every word.

“So fucking big, Tomura—”

You rocked up to slip your tongue into his mouth again, sucking softly at his rough lower lip and drinking down all the less than dominant cries that poured from him as his release grew again. He wasn’t really sure how to get you off, but you seemed to understand the intentions behind his hand wandering to nudge at the space he was driving his cock into.

Those soft fingers held his and guided them up to that nub he’d found before and moved his hand in little, rhythmic circles that had you fucking sobbing into his mouth.

Real tears streaked down your face as you moaned into him, “Oh fuck, yes Tomura, baby, just like that…!”

And for once, he had absolutely no qualms with doing exactly what you said. He wanted—needed—to know what it would feel like for you to cream all over his dick. Wanted to see the stupid fucking face you would make as he ripped you apart on his definitively massive length.

You were pushing back into each thrust, drinking in the sound of slapping skin, mouth permanently attached to his—tongues locked together.

The taste of fruit gum mixed with salty cum and the smell of sweat and sex and cleanlaundryshampoo was fucking everywhere. It was intoxicating and heady and all he had ever needed.

Really, you weren’t so bad when you were crying on his cock.

And you were fucking crying, screaming for him—his name, calling him ‘baby’ in a way that had his heart stuttering uncomfortably in his throat and babbling about how good, how fucking perfect he felt inside.

“C’mon,” he grunted, “c’mon, I wanna see my fucking slut cum for me, all over my cock.”

And for once, you actually followed an order.

His fingers on your clit never let up and he could fucking feel the orgasm wash over you. Your cunt spasmed and clenched hard like a vice, tighter than anything he ever could have imagined. And you choked out his name, so desperate:

“Tomura, fuck yes baby!”

God your face was so good, all scrunched up and then relaxing into a blissful, panting, open-mouth grin.

It was sort of beautiful.

But he wasn’t gonna fucking say that.

“Good fucking slut,” he whispered instead, arching his chest into yours so he could feel the swell of your pretty tits against his nipples.

And he almost fucking lost it right there but he needed more, needed to feel full too. The tightness of your pussy was so unmatched by any sensation, but he guessed Dabi always called him a greedy whore for a reason.

His hand grabbed at yours—hips only letting up when he couldn’t actively get his dick out of you as you came—and brought it roughly to his lips. Tomura was still slick, covered in spit and sweat but he sucked two of your fingers into his mouth anyway. His tongue delved between them as you watched with wide eyes as he spat onto your palm and whined.

“I need—oh shit—inside, inside...fuck…”

He could fucking get his tongue to make the words but he dragged your hand to his ass and prayed you’d get the hint. Prayed you’d fill him up too.

And you certainly delivered.

His hips started up their unforgiving rhythm again now that you’d rode out your release, slipping even more easily into your pussy with all the slick spilling out of you. God that would be his cum soon—his cum dripping out onto your thighs. Your feet dropped to the bed and Tomura grabbed your waist for leverage.

Your clever little finger circled his hole, wrist bent from the awkward angle below him but working nonetheless. His spit and precum made less than ideal lube but he welcomed the burn of you entering him. A second one joined behind the first and it was rough going for a moment until he was able to rock back fully, finding a certain bend of the knee and half thrust that had him simultaneously grinding into you and fucking himself on your fingers.

And then you managed to get deep enough to brush against that fucking spot, that magic fucking spot that had him seeing stars and screaming your name—not slut, not bitch, not some other fucking cruelty—your name and spilling rope after rope of hot cum against those searing hot walls.

Your eyes did that thing where they rolled halfway up and crossed like this was some fucking hentai and you weren’t knuckles deep in your creepy group project partner's ass while he came inside you.

Tomura went completely limp then, boneless like a cheap chicken wing and collapsed onto your chest, whimpering when your fingers left him empty but comforted by the rhythmic clenching of your cunt, warming his cock and keeping his cum safe inside.

“So good,” you whispered into his hair, soft palms smoothing over his back in slow circles. “Felt so good, Tomura. You were so good.”

He shivered in your arms, lulled by the feeling of your breasts under him and breathing in the mixture of soap and sex that radiated from your skin. Everything about it was strange, but in that wonderful kind of way that new games sometimes were. A tingling at the prospect of a new adventure, a new world, and a new journey to embark on.

You pressed your lips to his sweat slicked forehead and didn’t turn away in disgust.

No, instead you just held him on his cum soaked sheets and slept.

[vicious-vixxxen]

Ugh. I’ll I’ve been able to think about for days is Kirishima.

Pro Hero Red Riot is always on the move. Always busy. Saving people, doing interviews, kissing babies, the whole nine yards.

When you and Kiri started dating fresh out of UA you knew what you were signing up for. Being part of the hero support course yourself, never afforded you much grandeur or fame, but that was okay. You were trusted with one of, if not the most important part of a hero’s identity- their suit. You were more than happy to tinker away at revisions, or sketching new styles for up and comers, than being out on the field.

You were the only one in the support class, even above Power Loader himself, who Kirishima took his costume and ideas to. You’d made the very first alterations to his hero costume when he first arrived at UA, after the USJ attack. From then on it was sort of a wonderfully professional relationship. As professional as someone like Kiri could be- all large toothy grins, bad jokes, and hands on communications. /Very/ hands on. Kirishima never thought twice about leaning over your shoulder to watch you sketch up the inner workings of other suits, breath ghosting the shell of your ear, always warm and sweet, like all he consumed was candy.

Or sitting next to you, thighs and sides flush as you grew frustrated over his helmet design. He’d snicker and lay one large hand over your own- because by his third year he was already towering over half the staff, let alone the students- to drag your pencil in a different direction, voice soft and secret, just for you.

You never spoke outside of the support class really, especially as the years progressed. Kiri was class 1A after all, and as your own talents started to blossom, the busier you were kept as well. Being consulted to help pros with their designs in just your second year.

But you treasured the hours after school you got to spend with Kirishima. He’d never struck you as particularly male leaning, so while you’d entertain the idea sometimes, in the privacy of your dorm room, of being Kirishima’s boyfriend, you didn’t allow it to mess up the relationship you’d built with the other boy. You chalked it up to your first real crush, and, having always been an overtly rational individual, knew you’d work through it sooner or later. Unwilling to entertain the idea of not even being friends with Kiri. Cuz being his friend would always be better than nothing at all.

But imagine your surprise, the day after graduation, when he arrived at your doorstep. Flowers and chocolates in hand, and a thick envelope nearly bursting at the seams, filled with letters he’d been writing to you over the course of your high school careers.

Apparently, Kirishima hadn’t wanted to trouble you with his feelings when you two were so focused on school, and absorbing as much as you could, and for good reason. But now, he’d stated so clearly- the hesitance behind his wavering grin made your chest tight- you were both adults, out in the world, and if you’d have him, he’d love to take you out.

The rest was sort of history.

Three years later, still going strong.

Though Red Riots newest ranking- from his wavering 7-8, all the way up to 4, had meant an influx in work the last 3 weeks. Kirishima been all over Japan, helping out on various reconnaissance missions, interviews of the rising hero variety, and just generally being kept busy by his agency.

Kiri popped in ever few days, when he could. A quick dinner and cuddle till he had to leave again. A nice long Skype session as he was flown to a new mission, if you were lucky. But the two of you always made things work. You loved each other too much to even entertain the idea of your professional loved interfering to the point of no return, in your personal lives.

It didn’t mean it wasn’t hard, but it did mean it was a manageable. Especially when the two of you tried so hard.

And your combined hard work paid off. Kirishima had been praised internationally, after a mission he was brought in for in Europe went fantastically. The Japanese Hero Commission splashing Red Riot on the front page of anything that consisted of pages, honestly. And awarding him privately with paid time off.

Paid. Time. Off.

That had been yesterday, Friday evening. You’d both returned home late, and despite how tired you both were, it didn’t stop you from fully christening some new sheets you’d bought, before passing out together.

The christening of which you recalled as you sat, sprawled out on the sofa in the living room- one leg thrown back over the back of the sofa, the other extended out towards the opposite end. A book in hand in front of you, free arm cradled behind your head. Trying to focus on the pages, as the bright, early morning sun splashed across them.

Which was hard, when all you could focus on was the blossoming bruises on your inner thighs, and pleasant ache in your ass, and the sting of the bite on your neck whenever you turned your neck even a fraction.

The night previous had been rushed, all teeth, and gnawing, and clawing, and racing towards the end together. It was wonderful, and you’d always loved the aftermath Kirishima would leave on your body. Ever the closet possessor he was.

He’d never been much of an early riser, so it was another two or so hours of trying and failing to read for you, before the familiar sounds of large, lumbering footsteps could be heard slowly making their way downstairs. You smiled, cheeks flushing, despite the many years you’d known the man, as you caught a glimpse of his wild, shoulder length red hair first. Soft at the tips, wild at the root. Kirishima yawned, ducking below the entryway into the living room, and just barely catching you staring, before you lifted your book higher to block his view of your face.

You could practically hear the grin behind his chuckling, as he stalked towards you with more purpose now. His legs in view under your book, and his hair a plum of red above the top as he crouched at the edge of the sofa. Two large hands cupping each of your feet- teasing your toes briefly, snickering at how you giggled behind your book.

Kirishima’s eyes raked over you slowly- noting what seemed to him, as miles of gorgeous, unblemished skin, ready to be marked up. Clad in just a pair of briefs you’d thrown on before coming downstairs, almost every inch of you was bare to your husband. Kirishima drinking it in slowly, as he crawled above you on the sofa. Hardening just one fingertip, and tracing it from your ankle, all the way up to your inner thigh, as he towered over you on the sofa finally. The prick of sharpness on the soft flesh of your thigh causing a hitch in your breath. Which you held, until Kiri’s finger turned smooth once more, and he took a handful of the meatiest part of your thigh into his hand, and /squeezed/.

((NSFW warning ahead, I can’t help myself so continue reading at your own risk ;3))

“Ei-Chan,” you breathed out finally, setting your book down on the floor beside you. Bright red eyes meeting yours, as one of your hands found it’s way into Kirishima’s thick locks, the other wrapping around his broad back, palm settled just between the mans shoulder blades.

“Marked you up good last night, huh pebble?” Kirishima snickered, and you huffed. Faux annoyed as you smacked the mans back, tensing once more as Kiri’s fingers danced along the bruises and bite marks littering your thigh. Tapping each one gently, causing you to flinch with pleasure each time, before he moved to your other thigh. Doing the same, as he dipped his face down into the crook of your neck, and just breathed.

The shaky sigh he let out afterwards was victory enough for you, you reasoned, as even the mans strong shoulders shook as he breathed you in.

“Missed me that much, huh?” Kirishima nodded quickly, nosing along your neck, huffing like a puppy as he went.

“I missed you too,” you reminded him, biting into the mans shoulder gently, as the hand on his back drifted down to Kirishima’s ass, and you shook it jokingly. Feeling the weight of the mans cheek jiggle in your palm, laughing despite yourself as Kiri growled at you.

“Don’t tease me, dude,” Kiri mock cried, pulling back to give you a pout, as the hand on your inner thigh drifted center again, where, unprompted, Kirishima cupped your cock through your underwear. Smirk tugging at his bitten lips- bad habit he’d always had, you’d long since stopped trying to get him to fix it- as he ground his palm against you, almost too rough, and you groaned. Eyes fluttering shit, lip between your own teeth as he bucked up, shifting your hips just right to grind your quickly stiffening cock against Kirishima’s hand.

“So eager,” Kirishima mused, balking suddenly as you moved your hand cupping his ass, into his boxers- palming at his cheek briefly, before two fingers delved into the hot cleft of his bubble butt, brushing just briefly against the tight pucker of his hole, causing the larger man to twitch, and fall flat against you. Tense for all of two seconds, before he propped his ass back up, and wiggled against your fingers.

“You’re one to talk,” you laughed, head tilted back, long enough for Kirishima to latch onto your Adam’s apple, and suck hungrily as he continued to stroke you through your underwear. Lasting all of two seconds, before shredding through them with a finger, and taking your cock in his hand.

“Those were my best Calvins, jackass,” you huffed, brushing Kiri’s hair back out of his eyes as he leaned up- holding your gaze as he let a long string of spit fall from his Mouth- letting it drip down the side of your cock, before he slicked you up, and began stroking you in earnest. Hot, and wet, calloused palm perfectly rough, and you were putty.

Mewling and fucking into Kiri’s fist with quiet, breathy ‘Ei-Chan’s’ rolling off your tongue. Clinging to enough sense, barely, to bring two fingers up to your mouth to wet, before shoving them back down and into Kiri’s ass, teasing his hole briefly, before sinking your middle finger to the hilt in his hole- both of you moaning out, Kiri at the intrusion, and you at the spasming heat of his tight hole, like a vice on your finger as you fucked the man on it slowly.

You both shifted, Kirishima up on his knees, bringing you into his lap to stroke the two of you together, constantly spitting down on your lengths, hot and filthy, to keep you wet, as the larger man began to pant into your face. Morning breath be damned, you finally, /finally/, kissed him. Reaching between the two of you to cup Kirishima’s heavy ball sac as you did, kneading them gently, and tugging on them whenever Kirishima began to breath a little too heavily.

“Fuck, I love you. I love you so much, so so much, love- love- ah, fuck- love,” Kirishima whined, vulnerable in a way no one else would ever get to see him as you took over for him- needing both hands to stroke both he and yours impressive lengths, Kiri’s hands at your back holding you up in his lap- his arms shook with the force it took, especially as he neared his orgasm.

“Cum for me, Ei,” you whispered against a Kirishima’s lips, eating up his whimpered pleas as they ghosted your lips. “Come on, big guy, cum. Cum all over me, Ei, Mark me up. I wanna feel it, on my cock. Come on.” And that was all it took. With a loud shout, Kirishima’s grip on you tightened, and he hun he’d over your shoulder, quiet all of the sudden, before making a sound like he’d been punched in the gut as he began to cum. Cock thickening up, before pump after pump of thick, hot cum burst from the top of it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight long ropes of cum shooting out all over your chest, and combined cocks, before slowing to a dribble every time Kirishima’s cock throbbed.

You overworked him though, his softening cock, and your own hard length making the filthiest squelching noises as you continued to overstimulate your husband- his cries into your shoulder sending you over the edge, as you leaned against his shoulder, and came undone yourself. Adding to the sticky, hot mess in your laps, before the both of you went quiet. Just the deep, heavy sighs as you caught your breath together filling your the surrounding space.

“My dick feels like it’s gonna fall off,” Kiri muttered finally, leaning you both back into the sofa- making a mental note to get it deep cleaned, as he snuggled you deep into the cushions- his spit wet hands skimming your sides, before they slid beneath you , and he settled comfortably on top. Careful of his weight, always too conscious of crushing you- unless you asked for it, that was, he thiight idly. Fondly.

“We’ve got the next eight days all to ourselves, so I’d maybe see if he can hold out till at least then. Though I’d accept an early leave- no earlier than Thursday, I suppose, if he can’t keep up,” you drawled, wiping your cum covered hands on your stomach as best you could, before wrapping your arms around Kirishima’s waist, and closing your eyes.

“Eight days,” Kirishima echoed, kissing your closed eyes, closing his own as he did so, and shifting to lay more comfortably, face in your neck as he felt sleep threatening to take him once again.

“Eight days,” you parroted back again, snickering, and yawning. Ignoring the tacky cum that was going to dry all crusty and gross between the two of you, in favor of hooking a leg around Kiri’s, and allowing sleep to take you.

But not before whispering one last “I love you” between the two of you, Kirishima mumbling contentedly back at you before falling back asleep as well.

[whenimaunicorn]

Playing House - Part 12

“I got the high score on your game, and now, I’m going to get the high score on your girl.”

Hvitserk x f!Reader, Ubbe x f!Reader Words: 6336

It’s here, the frat bro pornfest! No new warnings for this installment, we’ve got the standard rough sex, D/s dynamics, and gratuitous use of “dude” and “bro.” Also the disaster above the text is what you get when I make my own covers.

Catch up:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

“Like,” you furrow your brow, trying to catch up, “with a stopwatch?”

“Yeah,” Ubbe answers. “You squeeze me when you’re starting to come, and I’ll hit the button. Then I turn it off when you can breathe again.”

You lick your lips. “And whoever can give me the longest orgasm is the winner?”

“Oh yeah.” Hvitserk squeezes your thighs, making you jump just a little as his fingers press into the bottom of your bruising ass.

“That’s ridiculous,” you say, but you don’t sound like you mean it.

His fingertips slide deeper under the edge of your shorts, playing with the flesh left tender by Ubbe’s spanking. “Hey, if you don’t want to play my nice game, I can try one of your mean ones . . .”

“I didn’t say that,” you rush to correct, although it certainly turns you on even more when Hvitserk digs his fingers right into your sore cheeks, until you writhe and hiss above him. “Who starts?”

Hvitserk switches back to nice touches, palming your ass in hearty handfuls. His brow cocks, and he turns to Ubbe. “Home field advantage, bro. You go first.”

Ubbe reaches around your shoulders and, with a playful growl, pulls you bodily off his brother. He tucks your back in against his front, so you’re still facing Hvitserk, now seated on the center cushion of the couch between them. Ubbe’s hands come up around your body, curling possessively over your breasts as he mouths at your neck just below your ear. Home field advantage, indeed. He already knows exactly what you like, and you feel like you’re already halfway there just from all the lust pervading the room.

Ubbe pops the clasp of your bra, freeing your tits for Hvitserk’s eyes. And his own hands. After he tosses your bra he’s scooping them up from underneath, presenting them toward his brother, squeezing and teasing your nipples rather than covering them up until Hvitserk looks like he might start drooling from the show.

“I thought we decided I’d get top half first,” he finally says, leaning in toward you.

“Just warming her up,” Ubbe purrs against your neck, then releases your breasts and pushes you softly forward. “Here you go.”

Hvitserk catches you in a kiss as you lean into him, deceptively sweet before he palms both your breasts. Ubbe’s fingers tickle at the backs of your thighs, and then he’s stripping you, pushing shorts and panties together down your hips. So much for showing off that matching set. You get up on your hands and knees to help it happen.

Naked between both of them now. You have to stop kissing Hvitserk to let Ubbe get you into the position he wants from you. Hvitserk keeps helping himself to your tits as you end up with your back propped up against him, the rest of your body laying along the couch so Ubbe can get his face in between your legs.

You’ve said it before; Ubbe loves eating pussy. You’ve never had it so good from anyone. Unless Hvitserk has acquired some sort of unfathomable, god-like secrets of the female body, you don’t know how he’s going to possibly outdo his older brother. Ubbe already knows exactly what you like. He kisses along your body before nestling between your thighs, then opens you up boldly with his tongue. He closes in on your favorite spot with the steady confidence of a master, his hot tongue starting broad but never failing to hit you squarely at just the right angle with every pass.

This may be a competition, but Hvitserk is not being stingy with his assistance. His hands continue to play with your nipples, almost idly, like he absolutely can’t help himself. And the raspy way he’s breathing in your ear while he toys with your body – he’s making Ubbe’s job too easy. Caught between the two of them like this, your breath starts hitching almost before you’ve really had a chance to settle in and enjoy this crazy scenario.

“You’re close,” Hvitserk says.

“Uh huh,” you reply. It comes out throaty little sexpot voice.

Ubbe growls with pride, the vibration of it against your clit ratcheting you up yet another notch closer to release.

Hvitserk’s hands leave your breasts. One digs in his pocket, producing his phone so, just as they had said, he can open a stopwatch app. That alone should be killing the mood, but then Ubbe presses his fingers inside you and you realize there really is no going back for you. Nothing is too juvenile, or ridiculous, when the Lothbrok boys are the ones asking you for it.

Long, cool fingers wrap around your own. Hvitserk is holding your hand. “Squeeze me when you start coming,” he rasps in your ear. You can hear the excitement behind his instructional tone. This is so fucked-up, and they both love it.

Ubbe goes in for his grand finale. He finds that perfect angle, from both inside and out now, and works you relentlessly.

“Ooooh…” your moaning starts, and just as that wave of pleasure crests you clench your fingers around Hvitserk’s hand.

You hold your breath. The orgasm rocks you hard, your naked body writhing against Hvitserk’s chest, your cheek rubbing into his t-shirt and you hope you’re not going to drool on him. You had been a little worried that knowing your orgasm would be timed might be too much pressure, might make it slip away as soon as it’s crested like you’ve experienced in less-than-ideal situations before, but Ubbe is too good for that, this situation is apparently too hot for that, and you’re sure that clock is running even longer than you ever expected as the pleasure spirals in wave after wave through your core underneath Ubbe’s relentless tongue.

You suck in one gasping breath and then hold it again, somewhere in the middle there. You keep it in even after the ecstasy begins to fade, and maintain your death grip on Hvitserk’s hand. Hvitty’s a cool guy, but Ubbe’s your guy, right? One of them, at least. It’s easy to follow the urge to cheat the clock a little on his behalf. Exaggerate the results by a few more heartbeats. He deserves it. And it feels good to pick him over someone else for once.

Finally you slump, going limp in Hvitserk’s arms except for a few twitches as Ubbe finishes up with one last swipe of his tongue. He embraces your thighs, nestling in against one leg and gasping a little himself.

“Twenty-two seconds,” Hvitserk reads, “very nice, bro.”

Ubbe nips at your thigh, with affection. “She’s amazing.”

Four hands move across your body, enhancing your afterglow. Ubbe makes his way down your legs as Hvitserk sets his phone to the side and runs his palms up your flanks.

Coming as hard as that might make a girl sleepy, but under the movement of those hands you feel electrified, like every one of your nerve endings has been turned on now, and the possibilities for pleasure are only just beginning.

Ubbe comes up to his knees between your legs, leaning forward and scooping you up with a hand in your hair to meet his insistent kiss. You sit up between them, enjoying the slight soreness of your spanked ass rubbing bare against the couch cushion, and savor Hvitserk’s hands as they caress down your back to your hips. “Time to switch,” you ask between Ubbe’s kisses, “or will there be an interlude?”

Ubbe makes an interested sound as your hands run down to his crotch. As you expected, he’s rock hard and swelling into your touch.

“When we’re alone,” you croon, “you’re usually making me return a favor like that almost immediately.”

Ubbe responds by pushing your head firmly downwards.

One of the best parts about being a sub is that you’re not responsible for managing anything about a scene. Nothing but your own hard limits, of course. But something simple like this, deciding whether this is okay, or if Hvitserk will find this too rude or feel left out . . . that’s not your job to consider. Ubbe’s forcing your face down to his crotch and that’s the only thing that has to be in your world right now.

He sighs as you open up his jeans, releasing the pressure that had to be quite restrictive for him all this time. Neither of the boys have taken off a stitch of clothing, you realize, and here you are fully naked on your hands and knees between them.

Ubbe reaches in and pulls his erection out through the fly of his boxer briefs. Does It count as him getting a little more naked, if he’s immediately pulling your mouth over to swallow it up?

You always kind of think about channeling your inner snake when sucking Ubbe off, as you just about unhinge your jaw to fit that slab of meat he’s packing into your mouth. It’s worth it for the sounds he makes, though. This time he’s holding himself back, probably trying to look tough with his brother present, but his guttural grunts and muttered curses when you swirl your tongue just right are close enough to the full show. He keeps his hand on the back of your neck, too, not exactly controlling your movements but certainly keeping you on-task down there.

As your head came down to meet Ubbe’s cock, your hindquarters rose. Hvitserk is certainly getting an eyeful of your ass and whatever he can glimpse of your pussy between your bare thighs, with your knees only slightly spread for balance up on the couch cushion. It takes him longer than you expect to reach out and start exploring what’s on offer with his fingertips.

He starts low on your thighs, tracing up toward your naughty bits lightly. You arch your back a little more, encouraging him. His fingernails graze over the widest part of your ass.

The longer it takes him to come close to your pussy, the more you’re silently begging him to. You’re working your mouth up and down over Ubbe’s cock, relishing your lover’s taste and scent, sure, but you’re also quite distracted by thoughts of what Hvitserk’s looking at and what he’s going to do next.

When his thumb finally slides down to the edge of your pussy lips you moan, loudly, the sound made even more pornographic by the way Ubbe’s choking cock distorts it. Perhaps Hvitserk understands it as encouragement, because his thumb keeps sliding, up and down, in a confident delineation of the edges of your sex. You moan some more. It’s actually quite fun to hear the ways the sounds come out in garbled and staccato bursts as Ubbe’s hand urges your mouth faster and deeper.

“Fuck, keep making those sounds,” Ubbe says.

Hvitserk does his part, continuing to tease your cunt, not doing anything very specific or intense, just exploring and tantalizing and waking everything up all over again. He finds your clit and bats at it just a little, then spirals away again to swirl his fingertip at your very entrance.

“Fuck, this pussy,” Hvitserk groans through his teeth. “I want to fuck it so bad.”

You arch your back even more, almost trying to force yourself over his fingers as you continue on fastidiously with the job in front of you.

Ubbe speaks for you. “Go ahead, dude. I think there’s still condoms in the drawer.”

Hvitserk’s pressure increases, just a little bit. “Not yet.” He traps your clit between his fingers and pinches. “Still gotta win that contest. I need to keep my head in the game. I get off now, I lose my edge.”

You can’t fucking take it. You slide up off Ubbe’s cock with a popping sound so you can plead with Hvitserk. “Just a little, then? Just fuck it a little.” He’s making you too fucking crazy to keep quiet. “I want you, Hvitserk.”

“Honey, you think I can get in this cute little pussy of yours and stop myself before I blow? No one’s that strong.”

“Speaking of blowing . . .” Ubbe’s coaxing your mouth back over his dick before you can answer, using your scalp to hold you steady as he starts to fuck up into your face. Your aroused little moans turn helpless around the rough thrusting of his cock, while Hvitserk gifts you with a fraction of what you want by pressing one blessed finger inside.

“Swallow it all,” Ubbe tells you, his voice gone breathy and thin. “Don’t spill a drop.”

You fuck yourself back over Hvitserk’s long finger as Ubbe’s pace increases, spurring himself on to blast his seed into the back of your throat. Swallowing is certainly the easiest way to make sure you don’t choke.

He shudders inside your mouth, holding you close while he pants and decides he’s really done. You savor the last moments of Ubbe’s cock in your mouth. Hvitserk slowed down when your body stopped rocking, but never really stopped: in, out. In, out. That finger keeps sliding, to remind you. Ubbe’s done, but you’re not. Not. Even. Close.

When Ubbe finally releases your face, you suck him clean as you pull back and then lift your head. You hold the rest of your body still, unwilling to interrupt Hvitserk’s steady rhythm inside you. Ubbe wraps his hand under your chin, guiding you to look up at him.

His eyes are sleepy around the edges, but still sparkling. You watch them track quickly over your face. “You’re up, Hvitserk,” he says, amused. “She looks ready.”

Unfortunately, this makes Hvitserk stop fingering you. You turn towards him with a whine.

He meets your eyes and smirks. “Definitely ready. Lay down.”

You spread yourself along the couch as Hvitserk slides down off it, guiding your legs to open where he can easily reach you from his knees on the floor. Your head doesn’t fit in Ubbe’s lap from this position; you’re lying flat on your back across the middle of the couch, with your face next to his hip. He reaches down and cups your cheek, dragging his thumb idly over your skin.

It feels a little more vulnerable, to be laid out like this. Which enhances the thrill of knowing that a man you barely know is between your spread legs, staring at your most intimate places. Hvitserk lets his hot breath steam over your wet and needy entrance, building the anticipation. Hands caress the insides of your thighs, then his thumb starts sliding in to open you up.

You can feel how wet you’ve become from the ease with which he parts your inner lips. You moan and arch as Hvitserk drags that moisture up to lubricate your clit, letting him draw easy circles around the sensitive button.

When he leans in to replace his thumb with his mouth, it’s gentle, almost a kiss. Then he sucks on your clit and your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” Ubbe mutters. He leans forward and scoops up both your breasts with his hands. “I’m going to get hard again already.”

A nervous giggle slips out as you ponder how you might get caught in an endless cycle of cocks after this. If watching you with one is only going to keep turning the other one on again. Perhaps you’re fortunate that Ubbe and Ivar never try to have you at the same time like this. A girl can only take so much.

Hvitserk, it turns out, is not an idle boaster. His competence at eating pussy is instantly apparent. His tongue glides hungrily to all the right places, and when you look down, the dark satisfaction in his hooded eyes makes you feel like you’re caught in a filthy monster’s jaws.

You can’t even track what exactly he’s doing down there. All you know is that the pleasure is surging, from every square millimeter that his lips and tongue touch. He slips two fingers inside you, and rocks them in such a way that you swear he’s found something inside there that no one else has ever noticed before. Your whole body is singing.

An obnoxious noise brings you just a little bit back down to earth. One of Ubbe’s hands leaves your chest, the other left gently cupping one tit.

“It’s Ivar,” Ubbe says, scooping Hvitserk’s vibrating phone off the table.

Hvitserk sucks you hard before lifting his mouth, drawing a strangled cry from you. You realize you’ve been making all kinds of crazy noises for the past few minutes. “Let him listen,” the arrogant boy responds.

Ivar’s voice is faint, but you can hear it, issuing forth from the phone hovering above you in Ubbe’s hand. His tone is impatient, as usual: “Hvitserk, you there?”

His brother has dropped his mouth back between your legs, sucking at you in time to the curl of his fingertips deep inside. There’s no way to keep yourself from moaning, and making ragged little sounds whenever you try to breathe.

“Interesting.” Ivar drags out the first syllable. You don’t hear anything from him for a while, and then, he says your name. “Can you hear me?”

You turn your next moan upward, into a whiny little “uh huh!”

Hvitserk is not letting you get any more lucid than that.

“Are you showing Hvitserk your best hospitality?” Ivar asks, his Dom voice apparent even from this distance. Ubbe’s thumb moves and his voice gets louder. “Doesn’t sound like it,” Ivar continues, chastising you on speaker. “It sounds like you’re being quite selfish.”

Is Hvitserk getting you in trouble right now? The movement of his tongue only intensifies, threatening to turn your steady moans into squeals. Your legs are starting to shake as heat floods your core.

“What are they doing to you over there?” Ivar continues. “I don’t hear Ubbe, but I’m sure he’s lurking about.”

If he’s expecting you to answer, he’s going to be disappointed. No way you’re capable of speech.

“I hope you are enjoying yourself,” Ivar says, continuing on as a monologue. “And I hope that you’re looking forward to being punished later, for being such a bad girl. Making our guest work so hard for your own selfish, wicked pleasure.” Every word goes straight to your cunt, helping Hvitserk build you toward an orgasm that promises to be a screamer. “You’re the one that should have your mouth full right now, greedy girl. I see that you can’t be trusted to be left alone. We will begin… some much stricter training when I get home.” Fuck. “I’m sure Hvitserk won’t mind helping me teach you better manners. Are you close, greedy girl? I hear your voice changing. Enjoy it, because it might be the last one that you get for a long, long time.”

Between Ivar’s words and Hvitserk’s skills, you don’t stand a fucking chance. You clutch behind you to find Ubbe’s hand, barely remembering the rules of the contest in time as this pleasure starts to climax.

“Wait,” Ubbe huffs, “gotta get the stopwatch.”

Ivar’s chuckle drips out of the phone while Ubbe fumbles with it. He may have had some choice words for what these two gorgeous, sexy idiots are up to, but you only hear him get as far as “Are you two—” before a rushing in your ears takes over and you lose consciousness of anything else but the tidal wave of pleasure crashing through your body.

Hvitserk is relentless. He doesn’t slow the intensity a bit, pushes you through your screaming, writhing orgasm with the dedication of a pit bull as he just hits that magic spot over and over and over. You’re shaking and gasping before it’s done, and when the peak turns to oversensitivity he’s still determined to wring a few more seconds out of you, doesn’t stop until your thighs try to clench shut around his head in a helpless attempt to push him away.

You’re left panting as Ubbe announces the time above your head. “Thirty-four seconds.”

“And you started late,” Hvitserk points out. He’s panting too.

“And I started late,” Ubbe admits.

So much for your attempt at cheating on Ubbe’s behalf. Hvitserk sure as hell won fair and square. If Ivar’s little participation doesn’t count.

Wait. Is Ivar still on the phone?

“I take it Hvitserk is the winner.”

Yep. He’s there.

Hvitserk wipes his mouth as he rises from the ground, lifting one of your legs to roll you out of his way so he can resume his seat on the end of the couch. He nestles himself against your naked hip and reaches out his upturned hand to Ubbe, silently asking for his phone back.

You expect him to speak, but all you hear is the descending tone indicating an ended call. Hvitserk tosses his phone back on the table with a dismissive sound. You think you might even see a trace of a snarl on his lip as you look up at him through your post-orgasmic haze.

Then all his attention is back on you. You watch his greedy eyes run all over your body, from your upturned hip to the curve of your tilted waist, your bare breasts and your parted, panting mouth. “What were you saying earlier?” he asks, leaning in with a conspiratorial smile. “Something about want me to ‘fuck it just a little?’”

You nod breathlessly as he climbs further over your body. His hooded eyes look predatory now, and if somehow Ivar made him mad then he definitely seems ready to take it out on you. He gives your hip a little smack, watching how the impact makes you jiggle, then inspects your face while he gives you another one.

“You like it rough, huh?”

You nod, and twist your body to present your ass to him even better. Honestly you feel like your pussy is about to start dripping on the couch, so it also doesn’t hurt to get it further away from the cushions.

He nods too, thoughtfully. “There’s this position I like. Not every girl can handle it.”

Ubbe makes an interested noise above you. “She can handle a lot.”

“So I keep hearing.” Hvitserk taps at your ass. “Up.”

He stands at the same time as you do, and you don’t miss the way he readjusts himself inside his pants. He pulls you in close for a kiss, pressing your naked body fully against his clothes.

He whips his shirt off. Finally. “There are condoms around here?”

“Yes,” you say, dropping to your knees to open one of the little drawers at the base of the coffee table. You and Ubbe had scattered them all over the house before he made his monogamy pledge and the tests had come back clean. You turn back to Hvitserk, presenting him the little package in your palms.

He makes a happy little noise in the back of his throat. “I like the way you look down there.” He loosens his belt. “Now I’m thinking you need to stay on your knees and show me what that sweet mouth can do.”

You nod, eagerly, as you watch him get his dick out and step closer to your face. You meet it with your tongue, wrapping a hand around his shaft to keep him pointed down where you can reach.

There’s something extra fun about a blowjob that you don’t intend to finish. You lick around the head of his cock like it’s a lollypop, pausing to give him playful eye contact and then watching him watch you swallow it up.

Ubbe’s the one that groans. When you flick your eyes over to him he’s got one hand thrust into his own pants like he’s gearing up for round two. “You look so good. Teasing it like that.”

You can’t help yourself. You keep your eyes locked onto Ubbe while pulling Hvitserk a little closer, giving his shaft little kitten licks.

“You are fucking hot as hell, darlin’,” Hvitserk says, looking straight down the line of his body at you. “But I’ve had enough teasing tonight. Come up over here.”

He leads you to the side of the couch and bends you over the armrest.

“Saw this in a porno once.” He kicks at your legs until you spread them a little further apart. “Stop me if it’s not working for you. But I think you’re flexible enough.”

He pushes down between your shoulders until your chest hits the couch. You relax the side of your face into the cushion and just go with it. Now your hips are higher than the rest of your body, and quite decently supported by the plush armrest. Not hard so far. There must be something more coming.

You hear the sound of the condom wrapper opening. Ubbe shifts above your head, but you resist the temptation to check and see what he’s doing on his end of the couch. Ivar’s right; you’ve been selfish. You must give your full submission to Hvitserk now, and show him that you are doing exactly as he instructs. No more, no less, and no looking at his brother.

You know you’re wet but he spits on his fingers and works a little added lubrication into you anyway.

“I liked the way you were begging,” he comments, voice husky as you feel him moving in closer. “Think I can make you beg a little more?”

“Oh, Hvitserk, please.” You angle your hips up even higher, offering yourself to him. You’re positively aching to be filled up, after all this.

“Please what?” You feel the brush of something thicker than fingers against your slick entrance.

You take a breath. “Please fuck me until I can’t walk straight.”

“That is definitely the plan.” He pushes into you slow, the second Lothbrok you’ve let go balls-deep into you now. He’s not as thick as Ubbe but that hardly matters, not when you’re swollen with need and reveling in the fact that this one wants you too, bad enough to throw shame out the window and fuck you right in front of his brother. “Fuuuuck.” He presses in deep and just stays there a minute, hands gripping your ass tight.

You buck your hips up against him, although you don’t have much leverage with your belly in the couch and your legs spread so wide.

He grunts and answers your enthusiasm with his own, starting to bounce against you in measured thrusts. “Ungh, I knew you had a sweet little pussy. Are you happy to share it with me?”

“Yes,” you wail, as he pounds you harder, the friction electrifying every nerve ending they hadn’t already fried out with that pussy-eating competition.

“You gonna share it with me all week?”

“Uh huh!”

“And you can you really handle that? Three guys telling you what to do around here? Keeping this pussy full?”

“M-mhmm.”

“What was that?”

“Yes! I’ll find a way.”

“Good.” His thrusts have settled into a quick, steady rhythm. “Arch your back more.”

You really have to press your chest into the couch, and come up to your tiptoes when it feels like you can barely reach the floor as it is, but you manage it. It makes his thrusts feel deeper, threatening to bottom out against your cervix.

“Now give me your arms.”

This must be it. The thing that other girls won’t do. You give up supporting your body with your forearms, twisting them both behind your back instead. It puts a lot of your weight on your face and upper chest, the only things left to support the bouncing impacts of his thrusting, but it’s manageable. Fingers wrap around your wrists, straightening your arms back behind you. He’s using them like handles now, to pull your arched body over his cock. It’s rough, but you can take it. You’re just flexible enough.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” Hvitserk croons.

“You’re telling me,” Ubbe says. His voice is coming from the side now. You open your eyes to see that he’s left the couch for the coffee table, sitting right across from your face where he can get the best view of your contorted figure. “Think you can lift your feet off the ground, wrap them behind him?”

You try. Lifting your legs like that clenches your pelvic floor, which makes Hvitserk yelp and then fuck you harder. Now you’ve got absolutely no control at all, laying on your face and getting fucked down into the cushions. You might be drooling. There’s nothing to be done for it if you are.

You wouldn’t be able to stay like this for long, but it doesn’t seem like you’re going to have to. Hvitserk’s making this drawn-out humming sort of noise, he’s so into it, pistoning into you at an accelerating rate that suggests he’s barreling toward climax.

“This is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Ubbe says. You want him to shut up so he doesn’t make Hvitserk uncomfortable, but these two do seem to have some kind of established groove for this already. And hearing him tell you how sexy this outrageously acrobatic pose is does make it easier for you to hang on in it for a little longer. It’s not an angle that’s going to get you off, but ferocious pleasure rings through your body anyway.

“Ahh—” Hvitserk’s rising wail almost sounds desperate, and then he forces air between his teeth as he grinds himself even deeper into you.

You don’t complain as he crushes you just a little more. It’s obvious that he’s reveling in a prolonged, ecstatic climax, and you’re certainly not going to begrudge him anything less than the thirty-four seconds of bliss he so recently finished giving you.

But when he gasps the end of his release, and his body stops clenching, you’re tugging your arms out of his grip, grateful to untwist your shoulders and get the pressure off your neck.

“Fuck—thanks. Fuck,” he pants. “That was incredible.” He stays inside you. You feel his forehead drop to the middle of your back as you both start letting your muscles relax one by one. You like the way his hair feels on your skin.

An insistent, gorilla-like grunt emanates from somewhere above your head. “My turn,” Ubbe says, and his hands wrap around your forearms.

“Dude,” Hvitserk exhales. “Give me a fucking minute!” His hips writhe against you. “She feels so fucking good . . .”

You feel Ubbe take a seat on the couch next to your head, but he does not release your arms. His grip flexes impatiently, but at least he’s not pulling you bodily out from underneath his brother.

“She probably needs a rest too, dude,” Hvitserk continues, his breath warming your skin. “A little recovery time from all that.” As if realizing he was barely following his own advice, he withdraws himself carefully from your body and lets you move your legs more comfortably back together.

“Nah, she’s better than that,” Ubbe rumbles, voice thick and rich and proud. “She takes dick like a champ.” His fingers tickle under your chin until you look up at him. “You want two in a row, don’t you babe.” The gleam in his eye tells you he’s fully recovered from his last orgasm, and absolutely ready to go.

Hvitserk is being very nice. But is nice really what you want? You probably wouldn’t be in this position if that was the case. “Yeah,” you say, answering Ubbe’s growling with your own throaty sex kitten moan.

Ubbe’s blue eyes blaze and he tugs you towards him. Your legs wobble a little as you climb around the arm of the couch. Hvitserk’s promise kept. Ubbe sees your weakness and scoops you up, like any good predator would.

He whirls you around, getting you underneath his body as your back presses into the armrest of his side of the couch. He can only kiss you once, as sloppy as he is passionate, before he’s struggling with his pants.

That glorious erection is rock-hard as you help him free it from his clothing. He wastes no time pushing himself into you, as if he took Hvitserk’s dirty talk about “keeping this pussy full” quite seriously.

You might be just a little bit sore. That hardly matters when Ubbe gets his rhythm going, the aching only adding to the decadent pleasure of back-to-back fuckings.

He’s got one foot on the floor, giving him ridiculous leverage to split you open against the corner of the couch. You throw your arms around his neck and brace yourself, looking over his shoulder at Hvitserk’s sleepy-cat smile as the boy catches his breath while watching you get impaled.

“Touch yourself,” says Ubbe, shifting to pull your hand down between your bodies, flexing his fucking abs to curl his body and give you room as he continues to pound.

“Ivar said—”

“Don’t you want one more, before he makes that threat official?”

Fuck. Good point. See, Ubbe can be nice too. You let your fingers fly.

“I want to feel you cum all over my dick,” he grunts out, his pace increasing as he seems to turn himself on even more with just the thought. “And I want to hear it, too.”

It doesn’t take long. Your poor pussy shivers under Ubbe’s onslaught, the clenching of your muscles as you hold yourself up against it magnifying the oncoming orgasm into something that makes you want to scream like some kind of wild shieldmaiden between your teeth.

And Ubbe wanted to hear you. So you do. That sizzling pleasure radiates out of your core until your lower half locks up, clamping around him so hard that even his punishing pace has to slow.

When you suck in your next breath and the sound of your own voice fades, you hear Ubbe gasping. He’s coming too, locked down in your throbbing pussy. You stay like that, clenched tight and pressing up against him, for a few more breaths while your climax fades only slowly. You actually felt your inner walls milking him. Drawing that seed deep up inside you.

You release a throaty sigh and finally let your body unwind.

Ubbe presses his forehead against yours. “Fuck, princess,” he breathes. “How do you keep getting more amazing?”

You end up sprawled along the couch between them, your head in Hvitserk’s lap while Ubbe massages every kink out of the big muscles of your legs. You don’t feel self-conscious to still be naked. You feel like nothing less than a classical goddess. Something the masters would line up to paint, and even more; the utterly feminine deity that men have immortalized in clay and enshrined on cave walls since the dawn of the human capacity to think. Nothing more natural in the world than your naked, beloved body.

Which doesn’t mean that you’re not grateful when Ubbe spreads a warm blanket over you, when his massaging hands have mostly finished. Sure, you were going to spend the afternoon cleaning this room, but your eyes are drifting closed in the post-sex haze now. They’ll turn the game back on, won’t they, and let you take a little nap across their laps first.

But you don’t hear the TV turn back on. Not yet. Instead, a conversation begins above your dozing head.

“You do this with Ivar, dude?”

Ubbe shifts underneath your leg before he responds. “Not like this.”

Hvitserk makes a soft sound. “Didn’t think so.” There’s a pause, long enough to tempt you back into sleep, but you really want to hear if they’re going to say anything more about this. Hvitserk has known them his whole life. He probably has some insight that would be valuable for you to know. You shift a little in his lap though, making sure he knows you’re still awake. Wouldn’t be right to actually eavesdrop.

His hand comes to your head, stroking gently across your hair. “Can't believe Ivar's really sharing with you, dude.”

“Maybe I'm sharing with him.”

Hvitserk just laughs.

You open your eyes to see Ubbe shrugging. “It’s working out so far. I let him lead.”

“I didn’t think you could do that.”

Ubbe leans forward over your feet, grabbing his forgotten bottle off the coffee table. “He’s grown a lot, since we were all at home.” He takes a thoughtful swig. “I probably have, too.” He makes eye contact with you for a second, possibly acknowledging the awkwardness of talking about these things over your head, but doesn’t say anything that might draw you into the conversation.

Not that you have anything to say. You’re just soaking up every little piece of information you can get.

Your face is pointed away from Hvitserk; although you’re in his lap, you can’t really see anything of him but his knee.

“Well, it’s the only thing I’ve ever found that works with him. Ivar has to be the one in control, or it doesn’t go well.”

“You say that like I haven’t been living with him for years, too, dude.”

“I’m saying it because it’s hard to believe you can really pull that off. You’ve always had to kind of be the top dog yourself, dude.”

Ubbe’s fingers stroke you underneath the blanket. “Some things are worth a little compromise.”

Hvitserk bounces your head just a little. “What do you think? Is Ubbe ever really not the boss?” You rouse yourself, twisting your body until your face is pointed up at Hvitserk’s. “Pretty much ran the show today, didn’t he?”

You consider your answer, glancing between their waiting faces. At least they’re both smiling. This is not an answer you need to feel worried about crafting too carefully. “I think it was pretty natural for him to guide things today,” you say, looking up into Hvitserk’s eyes, “since you and I had never—” you trail off self-consciously as you stare up into that gorgeous face.

Hvitserk squeezes you up in his arms, and his smile turns mischievous. “But now we are very familiar with each other. Aren’t we.”

You nod, suddenly breathless again.

“You want to keep playing with me, while I’m in town?”

You smile and nod harder.

“Good,” Ubbe says, his hand running up your leg. “Cuz by my count, we’re not exactly done here. You got me off twice. Hvitserk only nutted once. That’s not right,” he says, shaking his head. “He’s our guest. You should spend tonight in bed with him, at the very least.”

And why do you get the feeling Ubbe’s going to find an excuse to be involved in that, too?

“No offense,” Hvitserk says, “but that’s the kind of shit I’m talking about, dude. Telling us what to do. You let anything not be Ivar’s idea, man, and you’re done.” Hvitserk’s gaze swivels back down to meet yours. “If he can’t hold some of that shit back,” he tells you, a smirk twisting up his cheek, “you’re never going to be able to have the both of them at the same time.”

Taglist is open:  @hanhanxx @xxdearlybeloved​@littledeadrottinghood @persephone-is-here-omg​ @rekdreams247​ @inforapound​​ @creepshowzombae @tomarisela​​ @youbloodymadgenius​​ @walkxthexmoon​​@funmadnessandbadassvikings @trashqueenbitch @justlovelifeblog​​ @earl-aive​​ @supernaturalvikingwhore​​ @equalstrashflavoredtrash​​ @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen​​ @ceridwenofwales​​ @grungyblonde​​ @pokeasleepingsmaug​​ @hvittysmutanon​​ @honestsycrets​​ @wuxiesalt @thorins-queen-of-erebor​​ @writingfromasgard​​ @tootie-fruity​​ @lordsexmachine​​ @uncomfortable-writers​​ @sadbutatleastsassy​​ @sweatstreatz01 @ritual-unions-gotme​​ @likealostkiss​​ @thehangedmanandthehoneybee @xxlilqueeniexx @thefightingdragon​​ @xbergiex​​ @artemiseamoon​​ @ivarinleatherpants​​ @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @michael-guerin​​ @chibisgotovalhalla​​  @heavenly1927​​ @writingsnmusings​​

[pallasperilous]

Boneless Wings

 {AO3 version}

So, blah blah blah, it’s their standard-issue disaster: pack of dumbass witches (always with the dumbass witches. Where do they find the time for this shit? Somebody get these women signed up for a Peloton subscription or a macramé class or a vibrator of the month club, seriously, whatever it takes—), ancient curse, Castiel being the actual angel of stepping in it, nobody cares. 

The point is, two hundred and forty-one hours of binge-worthy drama later, Dean and Cas are living in a semi-detached just a short thirty-minute commute to somewhere equally lame, Castiel has two literal-ass wings, and yes, Susan, they kiss now. 

The neighbors are weirdly cool with it. 

For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend* with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome.

This is not that list.

(*you can just shut right the fuck up , Sam, because it’s either this or Dean will start saying lover. And nobody needs that. Nobody wants that.)

1.  Bird mites. Holy shit. 

 2.  Sharing a bathroom. The shower curtain rod, and consequently the security deposit, are early casualties. The medicine cabinet follows swiftly behind. Shower hijinks are not even an option.

 3.  Dean comes home one day from a gig and there is a giant plastic green turtle in the backyard. A closer inspection reveals that the turtle is actually a mule for about half a truck bed of industrial dust ‘n grit. It is, in fact, a kiddie sandbox. Dean points out that they do not, in fact, have a small child (FINGERS CROSSED), so...?

Cas then earnestly shows him an entire playlist of exotic birdy dust bath videos on Youtube. 

Dean then earnestly shows him the garden hose. 

4.  The down just gets, like...everywhere. EVERYWHERE. How many times have Sam and Dean practically sold their kidneys for a single angel feather for some dumb spell to solve some pointless Occult McProblem? And now Dean is picking them out of his damn teeth every morning. (No, gross, not because of... Jesus, no, that is not a thing.)

On the upside of this one, Dean finally has an excuse to buy a Dyson, which he’s secretly always thought looked awesome. It is. 

 5.  When Dean is scraping out the umpteenth canister of fluff he jokingly suggests they use some of it to supplement the tragically flaccid down comforter currently shaming their bed, and Castiel pitches an existential fucking sulk. Dean wants to experience happiness again, so he does not point out that it get ass-bitingly cold here this time of year, and decent bedding is not exactly inexpensive, and the Dyson kind of maxed them out on household purchases.

But whatever.

 6.  Castiel is indulging in what Dean thinks of as a sky pout when he flies right into a head-on with li’l Timmy NextDoor’s new Christmas surveillance drone. It dings the shit out of one of Cas’s left primary feathers (the scientific term is “those big motherfuckers”), which apparently hurts like a bitch. Cas is grounded for a few weeks after that and is cutely pathetic about it and at first Dean is absolutely down to kiss it better. By the end, Dean is almost ready to strangle Cas with his own necktie, but he has learned a lot of surprisingly interesting stuff about ancient Mesopotamia, like that it was super horny.

 7.  After the snow melts, Dean starts finding shit on the front step with the morning paper. It’s not even a good newspaper; Cas signed them up for the local fish-wrapper (or maybe it was Sam, before he fled for the hills— he occasionally breaks out in a  “support local journalism” rash). The crossword puzzle is insulting, but the paper does at least syndicate Carolyn Hax, whom Dean secretly suspects of being an absolute wildcat in the sack, so he grudgingly expends the calories to bring it in every morning. 

Anyway, at first the stuff he discovers crapping up the welcome mat is just shiny bits of trash — couple granola wrappers, some MGD pull-tabs, a few field-stripped twisty-ties. Probably just windblown, and he tosses it in the garbage can. 

Then a couple weeks in, things start getting...grisly? It escalates real slowly, from a variety platter of mouse bits to squirrel à la power line and then half of a dry-aged raccoon and an opossum that has recently graduated from playing dead to professional dead-being. The neighborhood crows obviously love that their front step is now a roadkill café; Dean has to bat increasing numbers of them away with the kitchen broom in order to relocate their horrible snack to the edge of the nearest storm drain.

Then one morning there are like twenty crows and they’re in just the cutest little football huddle-up around what turns out to be a human fucking finger with a retro-fun mood ring still on the knuckle (it’s feeling: Sad) and Dean fully loses his shit. 

Cas hears him freaking out and comes whomping out of the garage ready to, whatever, flap somebody to death maybe, but as soon as he establishes that Dean doesn’t need anything more than a fresh pair of boxers, he de-poofs a bit and assesses the whole human finger/crows situation in his usual infuriatingly unrushed way. The crows had mostly bounced up to the cable line over the house, safely out of brooming range, but one by one they start to drop down and hippity-hop back towards the world’s tiniest crime scene.

If Dean were five percent less freaked he’d be tempted to go inside and find out how much of a dent he can make in a six-pack before Castiel finally dings and spits out his results, but he isn’t, so he just stands there in silence clutching the broom like it’s a shotgun.

Eventually Cas says “hm,” and then he looks at the crows and makes some noises that sound like a spoon caught in a garbage disposal, and the crows make some scrawps and chuks back, and then one of them delicately noodges the tip of dead finger with its beak and then hippity hops back a foot or two, bows, and then they all fly away over the shitty little beige duplex across the street like they’re running ten minutes late to an important bird appointment.

Castiel stands up (Dean reflexively backs up into the doorway, as this involves Cas bomfing out his wings a bit for ballast and Dean has caught a blow to the nuts on more than one occasion), dusts off his goddamn slacks, pulls a plastic evidence baggie out of thin goddamn air or maybe his socks, and casually bags the finger like they’re doing a standard FBI wheeze. “So what,” Dean says, as Cas diligently zips the baggie, “the fuck?”

“Oh,” Cas says, blinking in surprise that Dean is still there and interested, “they think I’m their god.”

Dean kind of stares back at him, the six feet of dude and like sixteen feet of bird, and thinks sure, okay, but his face must still be stuck on “Tippi Hedren attic scene” because Cas puts a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder and adds “Don’t worry. I’ve told them I don’t require further offerings, and I reassured them that you’re my consort and were simply jealous of other potential mates.”

It takes Dean two weeks to come up with a response to that, but by then it’s become evident that no bird is ever going to shit on the Impala again, so he decides to just chalk it up in the win column and move on.

You know. The family business.

8.  No matter how tightly he folds them, Cas can’t fit his wings through the definitely-not-up-to-code doorway of the wood-paneled family rec room in the basement, so Dean claims it as his man cave and dubs it the “No Fly Zone.” 

Castiel doesn’t find this funny, but Dean really only uses it to fold laundry. 

 9.  Transpo is an obvious issue. Cas can almost stuff himself into the Impala if he sort of reverse-cowgirls the back seat, but then the wingtips smoosh up against the windshield and Dean’s visibility is approximately zip. And, sure, Cas could fly himself anywhere they really needed to go, he’s basically a Chevy Of The Air, but sometimes it’s raining, and the seraph Castiel — Shield of God, Heavenly Soldier of the Lord, multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, will smell like a wet fucking chicken for days afterward. Febreze does not help.

Dean spends a few nauseating weeks contemplating the purchase of — and here he learns that the human gag reflex can be conditioned, but never truly eradicated — a convertible. Once Cas brings up the possibility of a minivan or perhaps a station wagon (he’s taken to studying family motor vehicles with all the intensity of a birder with a life list) and Dean makes him sleep on the couch.

Dean gets his own living room rotation after he shows Cas a Craigslist posting for a very reasonably priced horse trailer. Castiel points out that it’s used and Dean notes that neither of them is exactly mint in original packaging either. Castiel points out that he’s not a horse, and after a few necessary but admittedly unoriginal jokes, Dean pulls up a website with an exhaustive photographic tutorial on how to convert a horse trailer “for the safe and sanitary transport of ostriches, emus, and/or cassowaries.” Cas points out that he’s not an ostrich, emu, and/or cassowary, and Dean counters that he clearly isn’t, because an emu would probably show a little more gratitude, and that’s how Dean learns that the couch has a broken spring under the left cushion. The transpo issue remains unresolved.

 10.  Dean keeps a pair of shop-grade safety goggles by his side of the bed. It’s not the sexiest look, but it turns out feathers are stabby as hell when encountered at a particular angle. Cas can do the healy thing, of course, but they learn the hard way that cornea perforation is not really a mood enhancer. On the bright side, Castiel accidentally corrects Dean’s incipient presbyopia, which means Dean doesn’t have to hold the newspaper at arm’s length anymore when he’s idly speculating what Carolyn Hax looks like below the neck. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.

 11.  You’d think that, when you’re coming down from a time-limited but incurable curse that makes you feel like every cell of your body has its own cute little individual headcold — because you missed a hex bag due to the fact that you were preparing your legal response to Sam turning up to the hunt wearing a goddamn hair scrunchy, as if he were fresh off the set of a very special episode of Clarissa Explains It All — anyway, you’d think that being wrapped in the warm embrace of an angel’s wings would be nice. 

But you would be wrong, because apparently your boyfriend has been out communing with the bees again, and those feathers pick up ragweed pollen like it’s their goddamn job, and guess what else angels can’t cure? Dean will take Motherfucking Seasonal Allergies for 600, Alex. 

12a.  One of the neighbors has that homesteading hippie brain disease that drives an otherwise normal-seeming person to brew their own beer and raise a bunch of chickens despite living within five hundred yards of a fully functioning Hy-Vee. There’s a week where one of the wee little velociraptors seems to be processing some kind of trauma because it starts yelling at dawn and keeps going until well past the hour that swearing is allowed on network TV. 

When Dean finally hammers on the front door the next afternoon the neighbor apologizes with some extremely nasty home-brew (HIPPIES) and some absolutely devastating weed (HIPPIES!) and explains that “Ginger is going through a rough molt” and then he kind of nods his head towards Dean’s side of the fence where Cas is futzing around in the squash plants and stage whispers (this is a direct quote) “You know how they get.”

Dean is about to rip the dude a new one for comparing his immortal space-kaiju lover to a fucking Australorp yard pullet when Castiel pops his head up over the white pickets and breezily contributes “Bad molt, yes, those are terrible, Dean can tell you all about how insufferable I am those weeks,” and sometimes Dean just doesn’t know why he even tries.

 12b.  The less said about angel molt, the better. 

Seriously, the freakin’ eyes-on-his-hands naked mole rat dude from, whatsit, Pan’s Labyrinth of Subtitles, would run screaming from this shit. 

 13.  There’s a 4th of July BBQ Potluck Block Party and Dean’s inability to stand idly by while good meat is abused ( shut up Sam ) means he winds up manning the grill and dismissing the pretenders to set some strictly inedible things on fire. Cas hangs out next to him and uses his flappers to kinda whupf the smoke away from Dean’s eyes now and then, which rules. It’s actually a pretty chill event until Sharon and Don From Number 4267, The Green House With The White Trim, turn up with a giant Pyrex full of naked, still-marinating teriyaki wings. 

Sharon And Don look down at their wings and then up at Castiel and then down at the wings and then up at Castiel and they are clearly teetering on the edge of a Midwestern politeness failure-based nervous breakdown. But then Cas, smooth as a margarine commercial, gently takes the dish from Sharon’s frozen hands, examines the contents for a silent moment, and says “it’s alright. They weren’t personal friends.”

He gets an extra burger for that one.

 14.  Cas keeps absent-mindedly trying to groom Dean — who, in case it still needs to be said at this point, possesses zero-point-zero feathers of his own — so he goes after Dean’s hair, instead. Dean has to stop him after his second hour of trying to straighten out a cowlick. “I don’t understand how you can steer properly with this deformity,” Cas says, as if it’s a genuine miracle that Dean isn’t constantly careening over ottomans like Dick Van Dyke. He’s even more horrified by Dean’s (frankly minimal) use of hair gel. “Jesus, Cas, it’s not like I’m drinking it,” he says, but then one time they have an epic make-out session shortly after Dean performs his masculine beauty rituals and there’s some smearage of various types of Product (tm) on the flappy areas. 

And, sonuvabitch, for the next six hours Cas is spirographing around the house like he has a heavenly inner ear infection, and he only stops veering into the doorframes after Dean wipes down every. Single. Feather. With mineral oil and about eighteen clean shop cloths. Dean switches to something called hair wax, which costs thirty zillion times more per ounce and makes him smell vaguely like church, but is a lot less gloppy. The things we do for love.

 15.  Seating inside the house is a bit of a conundrum, too. Cas can kind of flop his wings out to the sides if he sits in the middle of the couch, but then Dean’s stuck on the recliner, which is basically in the next county. Bar stools are disastrously tippy, Dean’s lower back and hips have not endured mumble-mumble years of hunting just to be subjected to a damn beanbag chair, and, after a brief flurry of optimistic excitement, Dean determines that they’d have to take the front door off to get a massage chair in. He finds a swing online that if, he can get the hardware properly installed in the crossbeam, is rated for up to 500 pounds, so he texts Cas the URL so he can check out the specs. After half an hour he writes back —

CASTIEL: Dean

CASTIEL: I believe this swing is intended for sexual congress.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: I can infer from the ellipsis that you have spent several minutes attempting to draft a response.

DEAN: ...

CASTIEL: Dean

DEAN: it’s multipurpose

  16 . On the plus side, though, big-ass wings make for a pretty good drying rack. He can get every sock in the house laid out on those suckers in a single round and, one episode of Dr. Sexy later, they’re perfectly dry and toasty warm, without any of the pair-busting casualties Dean has learned to expect from the apparently socknivorous dryer in the basement. 

Dean assumes it’s just the product of good air circulation and body heat until he realizes that he hasn’t had to toss a pair for being too worn out in...maybe six months? So he asks Cas “Are your wings... healing the socks” and after an entire Abbott and Costello routine centering around heal versus heel, Dean determines that the answer is: yes, his boyfriend’s wings are channeling the almighty power of Heaven to magically repair the socks Dean buys at Target in twelve-pack bags. On sale.

This is actually kind of sexy, if Dean is being perfectly honest, so, you know what? It doesn’t belong on this list.

 16.  So nobody really freaks out or bursts into tears or calls the news or the FBI or anything when Cas goes out in public with him, which Dean is secretly a little disappointed about, because come on. (Maybe giant wings just reads as a gay thing? Was there an episode of Will and Grace about this that Dean missed back when he was ass deep in wendigos or something?)

But no. Dudes tend to just glance at them across the Home Depot parking lot, throw them the Mutual Dude Acknowledgement Nod, and say some shit like “Comic-con,” or “nice anime” in a knowing tone. Then they go back to rolling their carts full of gaskets or hammers or whatever back to their mom’s station wagon. 

Little girls tend to go googly-eyed — Castiel seems to fall into the same category as a Disney princess, despite the stubble and the drabcore wardrobe, and Dean can’t count the number of times some mom has approached Dean at the grocery store (like he’s Castiel’s manager?? Which, okay...yeah, actually) and asked if they do birthday parties. The money would actually be pretty tempting if Dean weren’t five thousand percent sure that Cas would get them both arrested by launching into an anatomy lesson about duck sex or how God is a loser who favors relaxed fit jeans and Wild Turkey.

The worst is white ladies of a Certain Age, and it always seems to happen in the pudding aisle, for some reason. They either go cross-eyed with horniness and become indiscriminately handsy (Dean can’t blame them for the impulse, but also back off, Karen), or ask Cas for prayers for their cat’s chronic asshole problems (which Castiel WILL take seriously). 

Worst of all is when some hippie spinster clocks them. This woman inevitably reaches right for the feathers and asks in a willowy voice if they’d ever consider turning some of them into dreamcatchers to sell at her studio, which is literally always named The Faerie’s Glen. Then Cas gets confused about why, exactly, a sixty year-old WASP in a peasant skirt would need to call on the infant-protection powers of an Ojibwe spider goddess, while Dean just wants to bite the lady’s fingers off. 

Either way, it’s always a bad scene, and many fully loaded grocery carts have been lost to the fallout.

17.  For some metaphysical reason Dean is too dumb to suss out but also too smart to question, lugging a pair of Cessna-sized flappers around this mortal dimension actually seems to tucker Cas out. He doesn’t need to zonk out every night, but he semi-regularly throws in the towel and actually crawls in with Dean for the duration. 

This would be swell in theory, but the guy absolutely cannot settle the fuck down in less than three (3) human hours, which is the exact amount of sleep Dean requires to maintain his famously sunny demeanor. It’s not just ye olde tossing and turning — Dean can handle that, sharing a bed with Sam is like sleeping next to a kangaroo with restless leg syndrome — no, it’s a nonstop parade of little flippy-flappies and shiffle-shuffles and spontaneous outbursts of preening. 

So Dean makes him a Baby Sleep Sack. 

This is something Dean knows about due solely to one super dumb hunt involving a banishing sigil that had to be drawn in — he still feels like this had to be a misprint — human breastmilk, and that was obviously not happening. But the monster of the week wasn’t going to banish itself, so they wound up at the nearest Walmart, at 4am, picking up what turned about to be an unnecessarily generous supply of baby formula, along with a fresh box of shotgun shells because God bless America*. It doesn’t work, although “lots of stabbing” turns out to be a solid fallback plan, but the point is that while Sam was debating between Digestion Support or Neurological Development, Dean acquired an unprecedented familiarity with some of the products currently available to the sleep-deprived parent. So Dean finds some DIY Baby Sleep Sack knockoff patterns online and determines he can replicate and scale up the concept with some beach towels and duct tape, and the next morning he presents the lumpy but totally functional prototype to Castiel. 

Initially Cas thinks it’s a sex thing (reasonable, it probably is), but once they clear up that misunderstanding, he’s obviously a little peeved by the concept of being swaddled as if he were a gassy baby instead of a deathless sky monster in a sexy dude-shaped can. But Dean must be giving off some serious man on the edge vibes because Cas grudgingly agrees to let Dean tape him up the next time he’s feeling dozy. 

It’s real awkward and takes forever to get Cas bundled up right, and then he’s just kind of lying there on top of the sheets, like an enormous, grumpy baked potato. 

“I could easily break out of these restraints,” he says in a pissy tone after Dean has crawled in and turned off the light, and Dean rolls over to tell him “no shit”, but then he has to stop himself because the guy is already asleep.

Eventually they upgrade to a version made out of some of those trendy weighted blanket things, a few yards of parachute silk, and a whole lot of velcro. The dude looks so damn peaceful that Dean is honestly a little jealous.

*he doesn’t, actually. 

 18.  There’s a sunny afternoon that isn’t the usual Kansas is trying to murder you level of humid so Dean rolls the Impala out into the street for a wash. Cas helps him out a bit initially, although tragically not in a way that involves removing any unnecessary articles of clothing, but Deans sends him to grab a new tub of wax from the shed and he never comes back. After half an hour Dean needs a beer break and goes looking for him, expecting to find Cas lost in thought over whether Turtle Wax is made of actual turtles, or is made to put on actual turtles. Instead he finds Cas crouched on the shimmering pavement at the back of the driveway, sun beating down on him like it has a personal vendetta, and he’s got both wings stretched out real low above the ground. Dean kind of flips out because it’s the type of pose that just screams “stabbed in gut by angel blade” or “migraine from Hell, literally.”

Then Cas looks up, which pulls his wings up a smidge too, which in turn reveals that fully half a dozen neighborhood cats are lounging in the shady patch beneath his wings, spread out on the concrete like blobs of furry peanut butter. No, it’s actually eight cats. There are eight cats.

“Ling-Ling was feeling a little overheated,” Cas says, as if this explains everything. 

And, you know what, at this point, it does.

 19.  Dean has faith that eventually Sam or Cas or the third demon from the left in the second row will turn up a solution for the whole business. Castiel will get to tuck those bad boys back into the secret wing-closet dimension and he won’t have to worry about getting stuck in stairwells anymore, or being reported to the FAA (again). Then they can finally pack up the house, plaster over the more egregious spots of drywall damage, and go back to killing things outside of the tri-county area. The whole thing has been a pretty embarrassing interlude for a couple of dudes who’ve kicked Satan’s ass multiple times — Sam is probably telling other hunters that they’ve been deep undercover to take out a nest of suburban vampires, or a pack of ghouls with mortgages, instead of vacuuming angel down out of the AC unit and considering a Costco membership. 

And sure, there have been some...serious pluses to the situation (see: the other list), but, in his weaker moments, Dean has to admit that he’s kind of going to miss some of the goofy, irritating shit, too — like finding a six-inch feather in the veggie crisper (how? why?), or watching Cas fwap his wings out just in time to accidentally clothesline a jogger, or even the strangely compelling, sorta cheesy smell that starts to float around the house if Cas goes a little too long between hosedowns. 

He has actually grown fond of this shit. Which is 100% the least sexy thing on earth, it’s some genuinely, seriously pathetic goo goo crap, and that’s why nobody will ever hear a fucking word about it. People will ask “so what’s it like, with the wings” and Dean will waggle his eyebrows suggestively and review the highlight reel over an inadvisable amount of rail whiskey. His secret’s safe with, well. Him.

 20.  Seriously though, the bird mites. 

Gross.