#fic: seduction

[huihuiheart]

Seduction - EXO - Sehun Drabble

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EXO Masterlist

Pairing: Sehun x FemReader

Warnings: Cursing, dom Sehun, lingerie, use of fucking machine, bondage, implied oral (male rec)

Word Count: 551

“Why not tonight?” You pout at your boyfriend from where you’re settled on your knees on the bed, “I’m even wearing something pretty.”

Your words get your boyfriend to fully take you in, Sehun is quick to look away sucking in a breath after seeing you in a blush teddy, little frills dancing around your hips. He feels his cock twitching in interest despite his earlier words.

“Babe I’m serious… we have to be up too early to be playing games like this.” His pointed glare doesn’t make you back down though, squirming as you only pout further gaze flicking between him and the machine he recently purchased for you both. “No. You know that we always get carried away especially when trying something new.” 

“Does it look like I fucking care?” You huff, arms crossing. You knew he was right and that if you went down this path you’d both be walking zombies the next morning, but you didn’t care in the slightest not with how tempting the thought of being fucked by that machine under his control was.

Sehun’s eye twitches at both your tone of voice and use of expletives before snapping and then pointing at the ground in front of him. That was all it took for you to scramble into the spot he pointed at nearly skinning your knees with how fast you slid into position. Practically vibrating as his hand grips your jaw, squishing your cheeks, his anger only exciting you even more. 

“I’m disappointed in you baby. You know better.” He tsks, and shakes his head, “So, so much better. Guess I’ll just have to snap you out of it.” 

When he walks away you want to watch after him, but you know better than to do so. After all, you only wanted to get him worked up enough to get what you wanted, not to have everything taken away. When Sehun returns you feel him instead of seeing him. The man kneels behind you and pulls your arms together before you feel rope securing them like that. Sehun then helped you shift so that he could tie your legs bent as he often did when he didn’t want you able to run anywhere.

“It’s not too tight is it?” He softens up a little as he always does when he first ties you up, wanting to confirm he hadn’t done anything wrong. When you confirm it’s fine though he goes back to how he had been only seconds before. Moving you face down, cheek pressed against the rug as he doesn’t even bother to get you somewhere comfortable. Moving to pull the machine behind you making your heart shutter in anticipation he gets everything ready only to be a menace not only with the slow pace he sets but also you realize in how he positioned you, setting you up to barely get any of the fake cock on the machine. Your whining makes him smirk, watching how you try and fail to push yourself back for a few minutes before settling in front of you. Sehun helps you lean up as he undoes his pants, pulling his cock out and tapping your lips painting them with his leaking precum.

“Be good to me and I’ll untie you so you can fuck yourself.”

[pjs-everyday]

*immediately loses their cool* lmao 🤓 // linework >> grayscale // ko-fi

[cruel-seduction]

Night Changes

(Based on a request sent by @moonymeloncholymoney, I accidentally deleted your request but hopefully I remembered your username so here it is. I have tried to come up with something. I hope it's worthy. Feel free to request next time if you have any other scenario. Love you <3)

CONTENT WARNING - Proceed with caution: this story contains excessive fluff, nostalgia, Sirius being his usual dramatic self, James developing a questionable man-crush on Hrithik Roshan, and Peter quietly wondering if everyone’s lost their minds. Oh, and Remus Lupin? He’s here to single-handedly raise your standards for boyfriends. ,and possibly a bit too much snark—don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Summary - Remus Lupin has his own ways of making you feel why exactly you choose him. When You started missing your childhood, he knew exactly what to do.

────୨ৎ────

The library was quiet, the air thick with the familiar scent of old parchment and ink. The glow of candlelight flickered gently across the room, casting soft shadows that danced on the wooden tables. Remus sat across from you, his chair slightly angled as though he couldn’t quite bring himself to fully focus on his book.

His gaze kept flickering up, catching the way your brows furrowed slightly as you stared at the pages before you. You hadn’t turned a single page in nearly ten minutes, and the way you were gripping your quill—so tightly it looked like it might snap—was enough to make him sigh softly.

“Alright, that’s it,” he said, closing his book with a decisive thud. The sound made you jump slightly, your eyes darting up to meet his. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, tilting your head just enough to seem casual. But the way your eyes shifted away from his gave you away entirely.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said gently, leaning forward so that his forearms rested on the table. His voice was soft, his concern evident in every syllable. “Sad, even. And before you say you’re fine—”

“I am fine,” you interrupted quickly, plastering a smile on your face that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Remus stared at you for a moment, his honey-brown eyes scanning your face as though searching for the crack in your facade. He let out a soft hum, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“Alright,” he said simply, though his tone was far from convinced. “If you’re fine, then I suppose that’s the end of it.”

You nodded, relieved that he wasn’t pushing further. But the way his gaze lingered on you, thoughtful and almost calculating, sent a small pang of guilt through your chest.

────୨ৎ────

Two days later, the guilt had turned into something heavier. Remus wasn’t one to pry unnecessarily, but his worry for you was becoming more evident. The way he’d gently squeeze your hand when passing in the halls, the soft but concerned “Are you alright, love?” he’d murmur when you seemed particularly distant.

You wanted to tell him you were fine. You wanted to be fine.

But that evening, as the two of you sat together in his dorm, the familiar warmth of the fire casting a golden glow across his features, Remus finally pressed again.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you. “We’re not doing this anymore.”

You blinked, glancing up from where you’d been idly fiddling with the hem of your jumper. “Doing what?”

“This,” he said softly, gesturing toward you. “You pretend you’re alright when you’re not. I know you, baby. And I know something’s been eating at you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could speak, Remus leaned forward, cupping your face gently with one hand. His thumb brushed against your cheek as his lips pressed softly to your forehead.

“I know you’re not, baby,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “So please, tell me what’s wrong.”

The tenderness in his voice unraveled you. The walls you’d been so carefully holding up crumbled, and before you knew it, the words were spilling out.

“I miss my family,” you admitted, your voice shaky. You hesitated, glancing away as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. But Remus’s hand on your cheek kept you grounded, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin.

“I miss… my cousins, my siblings. We used to live together—a big, noisy, chaotic house. We’d stay up all night watching movies, all four of us crammed into the smallest room because it felt cozier that way. There’d be snacks everywhere, arguments over who got the biggest share, and ridiculous fights about which movie to watch next.”

You let out a soft, tearful laugh, the memories vivid in your mind. “It was always so silly, but it was ours. And now… one of them is getting married. It feels like everything’s changing so fast. We grew up too quickly, you know? I just… I just want to go back. Back to when I was that little six-year-old with pigtails, running around the house with my cousins, no worries, no responsibilities. Just… us.”

Your voice broke slightly, and you felt a tear escape, sliding down your cheek. You quickly swiped at it, forcing a smile even as more tears threatened to fall.

“I’m sorry for being like this,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “For… I don’t know. Being stuck in the past, I guess.”

Remus’s hand shifted, both of them now holding your face as he leaned forward, his gaze steady and filled with so much love it made your chest ache.

“Stop that,” he said firmly, though his tone was still impossibly gentle. “You have nothing to apologize for. Missing the people you love? Wishing you could hold onto those moments a little longer? That’s not silly—it’s beautiful. It just shows how much you care.”

He leaned in, pressing another kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before pulling back slightly.

“And for the record,” he said, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips, “if you ever want to relive the chaos of fighting over snacks and watching movies, I am more than willing to argue with you over popcorn. And more than willing to make everything go away from your mind. You know what I mean” He smirks and raises his eyebrows. 

You let out a watery laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he shot back with a wink, earning another laugh from you.

The warmth of his words, his presence, and the sheer sincerity in his eyes melted away the ache that had been weighing on you for days. You felt lighter, like a piece of your heart had finally found its way home.

As you rested your head against his chest, his arms wrapping securely around you, you couldn’t help but smile.

And in that moment, Remus knew exactly what to do.

────୨ৎ────

The week that followed felt like a blur of passing days and stolen glances. You and Remus barely crossed paths, caught in the whirlpool of schoolwork, house duties, and, in his case, whatever the Marauders were plotting. You’d see him occasionally in the Great Hall, his head bent low as James leaned in to whisper something conspiratorial, both of them bursting into laughter moments later. You two used to sit together but you thought maybe he needs some time so you sit with your group. 

At first, it didn’t bother you. Remus could be consumed by his friends and their antics now and then—that was just part of who he was, and you adored that about him. But as the days stretched into a week, a small pit of unease settled in your stomach. He hadn’t even paused to sit with you under the usual tree in the courtyard, where the two of you would talk about everything and nothing while the hours melted away.

Still, you shrugged it off, convincing yourself that the Marauders were probably up to their usual mischief. Maybe planning an elaborate prank that required all hands on deck. You tried not to take it personally, even though a part of you missed the quiet comfort of his company.

The afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of leaves above you, casting soft dappled light over the page of the book in your lap. You were perched against your favorite tree on the edge of the courtyard, the rough bark pressing lightly against your back. The air was warm, carrying the faint scent of freshly cut grass, and a gentle breeze ruffled the hem of your robes.

You had just turned a page in your book when you heard the unmistakable sound of hurried footsteps on the stone pathway. You looked up, your brow furrowing as Peter Pettigrew skidded to a stop a few feet in front of you, his round face flushed and slightly out of breath.

“Hey!” he panted, doubling over with his hands on his knees for a moment before straightening up.

“Peter?” you said, blinking at him. “What’s going on?”

Peter fumbled with something in his hands, and you realized it was an invisibility cloak. He thrust it toward you without preamble, the fabric spilling over his arms like liquid silver.

“Remus wants to see you,” he said quickly, glancing around as if checking for eavesdroppers.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a mixture of relief and curiosity flooding through you. “Oh, okay. When?”

“Tonight,” Peter replied, his tone clipped and hurried. “In his dorm.”

“Wait, what—” you started, standing up and brushing bits of grass off your robes. “Why couldn’t he just tell me himself? And why the cloak?”

But before you could get another word out, Peter had already turned on his heel. “Just—just go, alright?” he called over his shoulder, already jogging away toward the castle.

“Peter, wait!” you called after him, but he didn’t stop.

You stood there for a moment, the invisibility cloak draped over your arms and a puzzled frown on your face. The whole interaction felt... odd. Remus wasn’t the type to send messages through someone else. If he wanted to see you, he usually found you himself, his calm and steady presence impossible to ignore.

Still, the thought of seeing him after a week apart made your chest flutter with anticipation. Shaking your head to clear your doubts, you sat back down, folding the cloak neatly and placing it beside you.

You glanced down at your book, the words blurring together as your thoughts drifted to the evening ahead. What could he want to talk about? Was something wrong? Or maybe this was just his way of making up for the week of silence.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you closed the book, tucking it under your arm. Focus, you told yourself. If Remus wanted to make a big deal of this, then the least you could do was meet the occasion.

Your mind wandered to your wardrobe, mentally sifting through options. Something casual, but not too casual—after all, this was Remus. Maybe the soft sweater he always said looked nice on you, paired with—

You shook your head again, laughing softly at yourself. “It’s just Remus,” you murmured under your breath, though the way your heart raced at the thought of him made you think otherwise.

The biting chill of the winter night crept into the castle, its icy fingers weaving through the drafty corridors and sneaking under doors. It was the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, no matter how many layers you wore. You’d bundled up as best you could—an oversized hoodie that practically swallowed you whole, paired with your fluffiest pajama bottoms, patterned with tiny stars that shimmered faintly in the low light of your dorm.

A woolen cap covered your head, its edges tugged down snugly over your ears to stave off the cold. You wrapped your favorite muffler around your neck, the soft fabric brushing against your nose, which, predictably, had started running again. Winters always did this to you—your nose would run, your cheeks would flush, and the occasional sneeze would sneak up on you at the worst times.

You sniffled, frowning slightly as you pulled the invisibility cloak over your head. The fabric settled around you like water, rendering you invisible to the world. It felt strange, sneaking out of your room like this, but the note of urgency in Peter’s earlier message had left you little choice.

You crept through the dormitory with practiced ease, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards that always threatened to give you away. The common room was empty, save for the dying embers in the fireplace casting a faint, flickering glow across the room. The cloak swirled around you as you moved, the silence of the castle amplifying the soft sound of your footsteps against the cold stone floor.

The chill grew sharper as you climbed the stairs to the Marauders’ shared room, your muffler pulled up to cover your nose. You paused outside their door, hesitating for a moment as your breath fogged the air in front of you.

Knocking softly, you waited, half expecting to hear Sirius’s teasing voice or James’s overly enthusiastic greeting. But the door remained stubbornly closed, the silence on the other side thick and unyielding.

You knocked again, a little louder this time, but still nothing. Your brows furrowed as you shifted on your feet, the weight of the cloak suddenly feeling heavier.

“Okay, then,” you muttered under your breath, your fingers curling around the cold metal handle. With a quiet click, you pushed the door open.

The sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks.

The usually chaotic room had been transformed into something entirely unexpected. A bed near the far corner of the room was covered in a soft blanket of fairy lights, their warm glow casting an ethereal shimmer over the dark wood. The lights weren’t just draped haphazardly—they were carefully arranged, framing the bed like a halo and weaving through the posts in delicate loops.

Scattered across the blanket were a few small cushions in mismatched colors, as though someone had raided the common room for every cozy pillow they could find. A small tray sat at the foot of the bed, holding what looked like steaming mugs of hot cocoa, the faint scent of chocolate wafting through the air and mingling with the faint hint of pine that lingered in the room.

But what struck you most was the sight of the Marauders themselves. All four of them stood near the bed, their expressions a mix of nervous anticipation and barely contained excitement. Sirius was the first to notice you, his face lighting up with that unmistakable mischievous grin as he elbowed James in the ribs.

“Look who’s here,” Sirius drawled, his voice dripping with exaggerated nonchalance.

James turned toward you with a wide smile, his arms crossed as though he were trying to play it cool. “Took you long enough,” he teased, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

Peter waved awkwardly, his round face flushed with what looked like a mixture of pride and embarrassment. And then there was Remus, standing slightly off to the side, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jumper. His gaze was steady, his warm eyes locking onto yours the moment you stepped inside.

You tore your gaze away from them for a moment, your eyes landing on the centerpiece of the room—a muggle laptop perched precariously on a makeshift stand made of stacked textbooks. The screen was frozen on a scene from a movie you’d recognize anywhere, no matter how many years passed.

Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham.

Your stomach flipped at the sight, your heart caught somewhere between nostalgia and confusion. It was a movie you’d seen more times than you could count, a staple of your childhood that you’d practically memorized. But seeing it here, in the middle of the Marauders’ dorm room, surrounded by fairy lights and cocoa and the faces of your friends, felt... surreal.

You looked back at Remus, your brows furrowing slightly as you tilted your head in question. “What...?” you began, your voice trailing off as a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

But he didn’t answer, not yet. Instead, he took a step closer, his expression calm and steady as the others watched silently, a knowing spark in their eyes.

And though the question lingered on your lips, you felt the flicker of something warm settle in your chest.

────୨ৎ────

Remus stepped forward, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting golden highlights across his sharp cheekbones and kind eyes. His gaze never wavered as he closed the small distance between you, the familiar warmth of his presence enveloping you like a favorite blanket

Slowly, his hand came up to cup your cheek, his fingers warm against your slightly chilled skin. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone in a tender, absentminded motion, and you saw the faintest flicker of nerves in his expression—like he wasn’t sure if this was enough, if this would ever be enough to convey how much he cared.

“You missed these moments,” he began softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. The sincerity in his tone made your heart clench. “So I tried to bring those moments to you. I know it’s not perfect. It’s probably not even close to what you wanted, but...” He paused, the corners of his mouth twitching in a faint, almost shy smile. “Even if it makes you feel nice for just a second, I’ll feel blessed.”

You felt the familiar sting of tears welling up in your eyes, but this time, they weren’t born of sadness. Happiness and love bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over as you stared at the boy who always seemed to know exactly what you needed, even when you couldn’t say it yourself.

Without thinking, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was equal parts gratitude and affection. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, holding you gently as though he was afraid you’d slip away.

The sound of exaggerated gagging shattered the moment, and you broke apart just in time to see Sirius dramatically clutching his chest. “Oh, Merlin, they’re doing that again,” he groaned, his voice dripping with mock horror. He pointed a finger at you, And naked his head “One night. One night I want without seeing you two snog. One night. Give me a break.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up as you glanced back at Remus. His lips were quirked into a wry smile, his hand still resting lightly on your arm.

“Should we stop?” you asked, your voice teasing.

“Definitely not,” Remus replied without hesitation, earning another groan from Sirius.

Eventually, the two of you pulled away and joined the others on the bed, settling into the cozy pile of blankets and cushions. The muggle laptop still displayed the paused frame of Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham, and you felt a warm pang of nostalgia as you looked at it.

“We charmed it,” James explained, patting the laptop proudly. “It’ll play in Hindi for you and in English for us. You know, so we can all follow along.”

“That’s... actually brilliant,” you admitted, a little surprised.

“Thank you,” James said, puffing out his chest. “I am a genius.”

Remus snorted. “You didn’t do the charm, James. I did.”

“Well, I supervised,” James shot back, grinning.

As the movie began to play, you quickly found yourself lost in its familiar rhythms. The opening scenes felt like slipping into a favorite memory, and despite the occasional interruptions from the boys, you couldn’t stop smiling.

“Wait, wait,” James interrupted during one scene, leaning forward with wide eyes. “Who’s this guy? The one with the... the abs?”

You stifled a laugh. “That’s Hrithik Roshan,” you said, the name rolling off your tongue like second nature.

James whistled low, nudging Sirius. “Look at that guy! I mean, come on. Those arms are unreal.”

“Oh, please,” Sirius scoffed, tossing a pillow in James’s direction. “I could pull that off if I wanted to.”

“Sure you could,” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “But Hrithik Roshan isn’t just about the abs, you know. He’s got moves.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you unbidden. “He is ridiculously handsome,” you admitted, and immediately regretted it when three heads turned to look at you in mock scandal.

“Wait, wait,” Sirius said, holding up a hand. “You’re saying you had a crush on him? And you never told us?”

“Not just Hrithik,” you added, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Shah Rukh Khan too. I mean he is just too much, His dimples are also very cute. I had a crush on him since I was 10 or 11 years old.”

Remus’s jaw dropped in exaggerated offense, and he clutched his chest as though you’d physically wounded him. “You mean to tell me I have competition?”

“Oh, loads of it,” you teased, grinning at him. “Better step up your game, Lupin.”

The others roared with laughter, Sirius wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Don’t worry, Moony,” he said, slapping Remus on the back. “You’ve got something those blokes never will—an unhealthy obsession with books and chocolate.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching as he fought back a smile.

The rest of the movie was filled with moments like that—Sirius and James bombarding you with dumb questions about the plot, Peter’s wide-eyed fascination with the lavish sets, and Remus quietly pointing out every little detail he noticed, his whispered observations making you smile even more.

When the emotional scenes played, you caught Remus sneaking glances at you, his hand brushing against yours under the blanket. And when the iconic songs began, Sirius couldn’t resist attempting to mimic the choreography, earning loud protests from James about blocking the screen.

By the time the credits rolled, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, and the room was filled with the warm hum of shared laughter.

And as you leaned back against Remus’s chest, his arms wrapping snugly around you, you couldn’t help but think that this—this messy, chaotic, and utterly perfect night—was exactly what you needed.

[rapsbohemia]

Marta and Fina flirting

[midnightinjapan]

The only thing I want more than Rockstar Lestat is Louis's reaction to Rockstar Lestat.

[ingravinoveritas]

Bonus clip of Michael on the WTAWTAW podcast talking about his experiences with gender expression as a teenager in Port Talbot and mentioning his crush on John Taylor again. Transcript of notable highlights below:

Michael: "So when I was 12, 13--early '80s, the time that Allie is talking about--and I saw girls with lip gloss and wearing rah-rah skirts and leg warmers and stuff, [whispers] and I was a little bit jealous. Course, never said that, never said that. In Port Talbot if I'd mentioned that, my life would've been hell. But I do remember being quite...attracted by the trappings. A lot of trappings for girls. We didn't have stuff like that for boys. There were rituals for girls, doing your makeup, doing your hair." Michael: "I mean, my first crush--I said this on a thing I did called The Assembly recently--my first crush was a man called--ah, John Taylor from Duran Duran. Ohh, he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. The way I processed it was, like, I'm gonna try and look like John Taylor, try and make my hair like John Taylor." Michael: "And they always used to have a bit of lip gloss going on, didn't they? Those New Romantics. But like I say, I couldn't really try that out in Port Talbot."

This goes directly back to things I have written about on my blog previously, about Michael having these feelings and not being able to express them because of where he grew up and the hateful climate that Section 28 fostered. This is why it is so difficult for someone of Michael's generation to label themselves, because none of that is lightly shaken off.

Even hearing the way Michael talks about it in the podcast, you can tell that this is not a joke, but a longing for something that he still remembers so vividly, because it meant so much to him at the time, and still does. Also, Michael has now mentioned his crush on John Taylor twice in the span of two months after not saying anything about it for years, and if that doesn't tell you where his heart and mind are right now, I'm not sure what does. Neither he nor David need a formal announcement to make it clear who they are, because they've already been telling us...

[allastoredeer]

Me : well maybe it's not that bad?

Me : looking for radioapple art and immediately get hit with big buff Alastor and tiny shorter than in canon Lucifer, Lucifer in a dress getting fucked by Alastor, Lucifer in a dress getting fucked by big buff Alastor, Lucifer who look like 5 yo and 'suave sugar daddy' Alastor who holds him and each with thousands of likes and absolutely zero of anything else than that

Me : nope 🙃😔

Save me Vox/Al artists, save me

Man, I love Vox/Alastor art so much.

I just love the Vox/Alastor ship as a whole, be it one-sided, mutual, or anything in between, and a lot of it stems from Alastor still feeling like he's Alastor.

I mean, I think people make Alastor a little more cruel and heartless towards Vox sometimes, but overall he still feels like himself. He gets to be dangerous and manipulative and he gets to be silly and whimsical. It's perfect.

Adding a cut right here because this post got WAY longer than I anticipated ⬇️

I think with RadioApple, when it comes to Alastor, people lean too much into this:

And not enough into this:

It feels like his fun, sassy, and whimsical side gets stripped away and he's turned into a stereotypically tall, dark and menacing love interest.

Where's his flamboyancy? His razzamatazz! As Susan would say, "Where's the showmanship? Where's the pizzaz? Fucking mediocre."

If I'm reading a fic or looking at art and I can't imagine their Alastor doing one of his girly-pop wrist flicks -

- then I can't keep going. His girly-pop vibes are too important to me.

Of course, when it comes to tone in both fics and art, sometimes fun and whimsical aren't what the artist is going for. But even outside of NSFW art and stories, so often Alastor just feels...bland. He feels too stiff. Too much like a suave, old fashioned, smooth talking gentleman, and not enough like a fun, silly, and sassy little freak who loves trolling people.

And with Lucifer if feels like they lean too much into this:

And not enough of this:

I feel like any, if not all, of Lucifer's flaws are brushed aside so often and so easily.

He feels softened and watered down. Like he's either a sad & awkward UwU boi all the time, or he's the most flamboyant, seductive little minx there is. And to be fair, he is both a very sad boi and a seductive little minx.

But rarely does he ever come across as powerful to me. A lot of the time he feels too normal. Or too sad and naive. Literally, like he could be any other sinner if I didn't already know he was the kind of Hell. And that's so funny to me because we've seen him openly and extravagantly display his powers multiple times in the show--not to the extent that he did in the finale--but he was definitely flaunting all the things he could do, make, or summon for Charlie during his musical-battle with Alastor. He was 100% showing off how powerful he is.

Not only that, but, honestly, Lucifer feels too open and sincere because that man is judgmental as fuck.

Going back to the "Dad Beat Dad" episode, there are multiple examples of him being a self-righteous little shit: 1) he was incredibly critical of Charlie's hotel the moment he stepped inside, even if he tried, and failed, to cover it, 2) he didn't even try to hide his disgust for Alastor's bar, which he didn't even know was incorporated by Alastor (who he hadn't even met him yet) and could've been incorporated by Charlie or Vaggie, for all he knew, 3) he wasn't taking Charlie's hotel or her plan for redemption seriously from the start, he didn't even have his mind open to the possibility, he wasn't there to hear about her plans he was only there to see her, and 3) when the hotel was attacked by the loan sharks, instead of making them go away or preventing the hotel from being damaged - which he could have very easily done with no amount of effort - he hung back and smugly reiterated that he was right and sinners can't be redeemed and Charlie should just give up on her goals/dreams because it's just not possible so there's no point in trying.

Like, Charlie was very clearly in distress over her hotel being attacked and destroyed, but he was too busy boasting about how he'd been "proven" right to see that.

He's very easy to anger and his ego is so easily bruised. Alastor got under his skin immediately and effortlessly - though I also believe that's on part that Lucifer doesn't have a high opinions of sinners anyway - and Lucifer 100% escalated the conversation/argument he had with Alastor during their first meeting.

See the whole scene of him referring to Alastor as a "has-been" and insulting the name he'd given the hotel, especially when you take into consideration that until Alastor said that he named the hotel, Lucifer thought it was Charlie who came up with it.

And I'm not going to say that Alastor was an innocent, picked on little baby in that scene, he was 100% riling up Lucifer from the start, but also, like...Alastor's lines weren't outright antagonist like Lucifer's were. They were more subtle, slightly needling and passive aggressive, but nothing that could really be taken as a insult.

This is literally the dialogue, word for word, of their very first interaction:

Lucifer: What in the unholy Hell is that?!

Alastor: Just some of the renovations we had done. Adds a bit if color, don't you think?

Lucifer: And you are?

Alastor: Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, Sir, quite a pleasure. It's nice to finally put a face to the name. You are much shorter in real life.

Lucifer: Who is this? Who is this now - are you the bellhop?

Alastor: Ah-ha, no! I am the host of the hotel. You might've heard of me from my radio broadcast.

Lucifer: Hmm, nope! I guess that's why Charlie called it the "has-been" hotel, hahaha!"

Alastor: Ha ha ha, it was actually my idea.

Lucifer: Ha ha, well it's not very clever.

Alastor: Ha ha, fuck you.

Like. That's their first interaction. And if you go back and actually pay attention to facial expressions and body languages, this was the first time he's seen Alastor, and Lucifer was immediately disdainful.

I went back and screenshotted Lucifer's face, right after Alastor's first line (which was a relatively innocent in and of itself and didn't even sound that antagonist), and:

That's a lot of disesteem for someone he literally just met. At most, you could argue that it was Alastor's smirk or tone that set him off ⬇️:

But even that is such a small thing to get upset over.

I'd say the only time Alastor really started getting openly hostile towards Lucifer was when he wiped his hand after shaking Lucifer's cane (which Lucifer didn't even see as he was too busy fixing his hat) and commenting on Lucifer's height (as a shortie myself, can confirm, that'll get on the nerves very fast).

My point is, Lucifer was immediately unfriendly towards Alastor and escalated the situation just as quickly, if not quicker, than Alastor did. Alastor implied that Lucifer might know of his radio broadcast, and Lucifer jumped right to calling him a "has-been." He doesn't even know him. This is their very first meeting. He was judgy and dismissive of Alastor at first sight, and, let's be honest, he kind of threw the first punch with that "has-been" line. Alastor said Lucifer was shorter than expected, but it's not like he laughed, pointed at him and called him a undercooked little chicken nugget. I'm sure a lot of demons/sinners who've never seen Lucifer would also assume he would be taller and more menacing at first glance, and I doubt this is the first time someone was surprised with his height (still not cool, Alastor. We vertically challenged folk have feelings too).

But Lucifer was prejudice from the start and antagonized Alastor just as quickly, and way more openly, than Alastor did to him. And don't get me wrong, this isn't me saying that's a bad thing on Lucifer's part! This isn't me criticizing or scorning him for it. I think it speaks so much of him as a character!

Cause we've seen the soft and tender moments he has with Charlie. We know how much he loves and cares for her. But he's also egotistical, antagonistic, and judgmental as hell, and that's what makes him such a fun character to write about. He's awkward yet showy, smug yet caring, depressed yet prideful. And by god, this man will show off his power without hesitation. He knows he's hot shit. He knows he's the strongest person in all of Hell. He knows he's the top dog and he can do whatever he wants - even if he has no love or interest in interacting within the Pride Ring (as far as we've been shown).

He's got a lot of multi-facets to him and I adore it, and that's why I get so annoyed when all of that is stripped away and he's turned into this soft little sunshine UwU boi who's just a sad, sweet lil lamb who's done no wrong.

No! He has done many wrongs! There's a reason he and Charlie were estranged and I don't think it was Lilith's fault - or, at least, I don't think it was all her fault (I have many thoughts about Lucifer and Lilith's divorce, okay)

I didn't mean for this to turn into a full-blown character analysist post LOL but alas I tend to get carried away. This was all to say, I really enjoy RadioStatic because Alastor typically gets to keep his sadistic and whimsical side, and I appreciate that. His silliness means a lot a to me, and if he comes off as too stiff or formal, it takes me out of a story.

Lucifer's flaws and sheer power also mean a lot to me, and I wish there were more fics and fan-art that showed that. If Lucifer reads too much like a normal, every-day person, I lose interest. I like the idea of people getting used to him, and getting comfortable around his presence, only to get a sudden and overwhelming reminder that he is, in fact, an ancient and immortal being with immense power that their brains wouldn't even be able to comprehend.

I have so many headcanons about Lucifer as a fallen angel and how his habits and lifestyle developed over the thousands upon thousands of years he's been in Hell. Habits he's adopted that unconsciously help him duplicate the mannerisms and behavior of sinners and demons, but also those small, indistinct tells that are quick and subtle reminder that he could destroy everyone in Pentagram City with ease if he decided to; and also, those times if you were to look closely and really pay attention, you get the faint, unsettling feeling that there is something very un-human about him. A subtle, unnerving shiver down your spine as your instincts yell at you that this person is not a person at all, he's just passing off as one.

That shit gets me. Give me ancient, eldritch Lucifer and I'll love you forever.

I am sorry Anon, I did not mean for this response to get so big 😅 You gave me a paragraph and I gave you a novel. But yeah, save me RadioStatic artists, save me 🙏 I rarely have to worry about Alastor turning into a big, buff alpha man or a soft little UwU when he's with Vox, and I appreciate that.

Edit: Adding a screenshot of my tags here because apparently I wrote down too many and it cut off the character tags.

[hookhausenschips]

Ghosts From The Past

Chapter 4 to The Game of Seduction

Navigation

Summary: Y/N’s carefully constructed new life is shattered when a ruthless figure from her past tracks her down, forcing her to confront the chaos she thought she’d left behind. As violence erupts and secrets threaten to unravel, she must fight to protect herself while navigating the tangled loyalties of her undercover mission.

WC: 2.6k

Warnings: Violence, Physical Abuse (not from Lando), Stalking, Threatening Behavior, Themes of Trauma, Unresolved Past Conflicts, Power Imbalance, Control, Emotional Vulnerability, Physical Vulnerability, General Mature Themes

Taglist

17+

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

My heart stopped when I saw who it was. 

No. It can’t be him. 

For a moment, I stood frozen behind the door, my mind racing. The face on the other side of the peephole was one I’d worked hard to bury in the recesses of my past, someone who wasn’t supposed to be here—who wasn’t supposed to know where I was. 

What are you doing here? 

The knock came again, sharper this time. 

“Y/N,” the voice called, muffled by the door but unmistakable. “I know you’re in there. Open up.” 

The pounding on my door grew louder, each knock echoing through my apartment and settling in my chest like the ticking of a bomb. 

“Y/N,” his voice called, that unmistakable drawl slithering under the door. It wasn’t loud, but it carried menace, cutting through the walls and settling into my bones. “You’ve got five seconds, or I’m coming in.” 

No, I thought, my breathing ragged as I pressed my back against the wall. Not him. Not now. 

He was a ghost I thought I’d left behind, buried in the Caribbean along with all the other pieces of my past. He wasn’t someone you just ignored. He was ruthless, cunning, and he never played fair. 

He didn’t need to shout or threaten with bravado. He didn’t make empty promises. 

The knocks grew into a fist pounding against the wood, the door rattling under his strength. “You know I’ll find you, girl. You really think a flimsy lock is going to stop me?” 

I moved quickly, silently, grabbing my phone and shoving it into my back pocket. I didn’t have time to call anyone, and honestly, who could I call? Lando? He’d have too many questions, and this new presence would blow my cover sky-high. 

No, I was on my own. 

The door wasn’t going to hold. 

I could hear him on the other side, his fists hammering against the wood with relentless force. Each blow sent tremors through the frame, the sound vibrating in my chest. 

“Y/N!” His voice cut through the door like a knife. “You think you can ignore me? Open the damn door before I break it down!” 

I didn’t move. My back pressed against the wall, my hand gripping the knife I’d taken from the kitchen. My mind raced through options, every escape route feeling too slow, too risky. 

Another crash. The doorframe splintered. 

“Last chance, girl!” His voice bellowed. 

Then came the final blow. The door slammed open, the lock and hinges giving way under his strength. He stepped into the apartment, his towering frame filling the doorway like a storm cloud. His eyes locked on me instantly, dark and gleaming with cruel amusement. 

“There you are,” he said, his lips curling into a smirk. 

My stomach twisted as I took him in. Malik. 

I hadn’t seen him in years, not since I left the Caribbean. He was a ghost from a life I’d buried, someone who thrived on chaos and control. And now, he was here, his towering frame and predatory smirk filling the narrow alley. 

“What do you want, Malik?” I hissed, my voice low and sharp. 

He chuckled, the sound grating against my nerves. “What do I always want? You owe me, and I’ve come to collect.” 

“I don’t owe you anything.” 

His smirk faded, replaced by a cold, menacing glare. “Oh, you owe me plenty. You think you can walk away from what you did? From me?” 

I didn’t wait for him to finish. With a sharp motion, I drew the knife from my waistband, lunging at him before he could react. 

--- 

Y/N didn’t wait for him to move. She lunged first, her knife flashing in the dim light. Malik anticipated the attack, sidestepping her with ease and grabbing her wrist. 

“Still so predictable,” he sneered, twisting her arm until she cried out in pain. The knife clattered to the floor, but Y/N didn’t hesitate. She spun, her free hand slamming into his jaw with enough force to snap his head to the side. 

Malik stumbled but recovered quickly, his grin widening. “Feisty as ever.” 

He lunged, his hands grabbing her shoulders and slamming her into the nearest wall. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, but she didn’t stop. She drove her knee into his stomach, the blow forcing him to loosen his grip. 

Y/N scrambled away, grabbing a lamp from the side table and swinging it with all her strength. The base caught Malik across the head, shattering on impact and sending him staggering. 

“You’ve gotten better,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “But not good enough.” 

He advanced again, and this time, his hand struck her across the face. The force sent her sprawling to the floor, her vision swimming. Pain radiated from her cheek, but she bit back a groan, crawling toward the open window. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Malik taunted, grabbing at her ankle. 

With a desperate kick, Y/N broke free, scrambling onto the fire escape. 

Y/N descended the fire escape as fast as her body would allow, her breaths ragged and uneven. Her left arm throbbed from where Malik had grabbed her, the pain sharp and persistent. 

But she didn’t have time to focus on it. 

The sound of metal creaking above her told her Malik wasn’t far behind. She glanced up, her heart pounding as she saw him climbing down after her, his expression twisted with fury. Every creak and scrape made her flinch, her mind racing with the possibilities of what Malik would do if he caught her. 

“You’re not getting away that easily!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the narrow alley. 

Y/N hit the ground running, but her body wasn’t cooperating. The pain in her arm had spread to her shoulder, each movement sending shocks through her system. Her lip was split, the metallic taste of blood coating her tongue. 

“You can’t run, Y/N!” Malik’s voice rang out, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots hitting the pavement. 

She spun, gripping the knife tightly in her hand, her eyes locking on the figure emerging from the darkness. Malik was taller than she remembered, his broad shoulders and predatory smirk unchanged. His caramel skin glistened under the streetlights, and his dark eyes gleamed with amusement. 

“There you are,” he said, his voice low and mocking. “Missed me?” 

--- 

“I didn’t miss you then,” I spat, holding the knife steady, “and I sure as hell don’t miss you now.” 

Malik’s smirk widened. “Come on, Y/N. You don’t mean that. We were good together, you and me. Remember?” 

The memory of what he meant by “good” sent a shiver of disgust down my spine. Malik was everything I’d fought to leave behind—manipulative, violent, and always convinced he owned me. 

“I don’t have time for your games, Malik,” I said, my voice sharp. “Get out of my way.” 

He took a step closer, his hands raised as if to placate me, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise. “You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that. But you know how this ends. Drop the knife, and we can talk.” 

I scoffed, keeping the blade steady. “I don’t talk to snakes.” 

His smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of anger. “Fine. Have it your way.” 

Malik lunged, faster than I anticipated. I sidestepped, swinging the knife in a wide arc. The blade grazed his arm, cutting through his sleeve, but it wasn’t enough to stop him. He grabbed my wrist, twisting it with brutal force until the knife clattered to the ground. 

I retaliated immediately, driving my knee into his stomach. He grunted, stumbling back, but recovered quickly, his hand shooting out to grab me by the hair. 

“You always were a fighter,” he snarled, his grip tightening. 

“And you always were an asshole,” I snapped, twisting out of his grasp and landing an elbow to his jaw. 

The impact sent him reeling, but not for long. He recovered with a growl, his fists swinging toward me. I ducked, my instincts sharp, but he was relentless. 

We grappled, the fight messy and vicious, neither of us willing to back down. Malik’s strength was formidable, but I wasn’t just fighting to win. I was fighting to survive. 

I didn’t have the knife anymore, but I didn’t need it. 

When Malik lunged, I dodged, my instincts kicking in. My injured arm screamed in protest as I swung my good hand, catching him across the face. He staggered but didn’t fall. 

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he growled, wiping blood from his mouth. “But guts won’t save you.” 

He came at me again, his fist slamming into my ribs. Pain exploded through my side, but I didn’t let him see me falter. I aimed for his knee, kicking with all the force I could muster. He grunted, stumbling back, but his strength was relentless. 

Just as he grabbed for me again, a voice cut through the chaos. 

“Hey! Get off her!” 

--- 

I had been following Y/N since she left the McLaren estate, just as Lando instructed. Y/N was sharp—too sharp for her own good—and I knew she’d catch me if I got too close. But tonight, something felt different. 

When she slipped out of her apartment onto the fire escape, my gut told me to keep my distance and stay quiet. But when I saw her sprint down the alley, her movements frantic, I knew something was wrong. 

I kept to the shadows, my hand resting on the gun tucked beneath my jacket as I tracked her. 

When I heard the sounds of a fight—her voice sharp with anger, a man’s growl of frustration—I didn’t hesitate. 

“Hey!” I shouted, stepping out from the shadows, my gun drawn. 

--- 

Malik froze, his fist mid-swing as he turned toward the sound of Oscar’s voice. 

“Let her go,” Oscar commanded, his voice calm but firm, the barrel of his gun aimed directly at Malik. 

Malik sneered, his grip on Y/N loosening just enough for her to shove him back. She stumbled slightly, catching her breath as she backed away. 

“Who the hell are you?” Malik demanded, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the new threat. 

“I’m the guy who’s going to put a bullet in you if you don’t walk away,” Oscar replied, his tone as cold as steel. 

He hesitated, his fists clenching at his sides. I could see the calculation in his eyes, the way he was weighing his chances. 

“Don’t be stupid,” I warned, my voice steady. 

After a tense moment, he raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping back from Y/N. “Fine,” he said, smirking. “I’ll let you have her—for now.” 

He turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me alone with her. 

--- 

Y/N leaned against the wall, her breaths shallow and uneven. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, and her arm hung limply at her side. 

Oscar holstered his gun and moved toward her, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. “What the hell happened?” 

She glared at him, her voice sharp despite her exhaustion. “I had it under control.” 

“Yeah, sure you did,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That’s why you’re bleeding.” 

She didn’t respond, too focused on keeping herself upright. 

Oscar sighed, pulling out his phone. “I’m calling Lando.” 

Her eyes widened. “Don’t.” 

“Too late,” he said, dialing the number and holding the phone to his ear. 

--- 

My chest heaved as I watched Malik retreat, the tension in my body refusing to dissipate. I turned to Oscar, my voice sharp and unsteady. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

He didn’t lower the gun, his eyes still scanning the shadows. “Following orders.” 

“Orders?” I snapped, the adrenaline fueling my anger. “Since when does Lando send you to babysit me?” 

“Since he decided you might need it,” Oscar shot back, finally holstering the gun. “And judging by what just happened, he was right.” 

I glared at him, frustration bubbling over. “I didn’t need your help.” 

He raised a brow, his expression flat. “You’re welcome.” 

For a moment, we stood in tense silence, the weight of what had just happened settling over us. Finally, Oscar spoke again, his tone softer but still probing. “Who was that guy?” 

“No one you need to worry about,” I said quickly, brushing past him. 

He caught my arm, his grip firm but not unkind. “Y/N. Who was he?” 

I pulled away, my voice icy. “Just a piece of my past. And that’s where he’ll stay.” 

Without waiting for his response, I walked away, ignoring the throbbing pain in my arm and ribs. 

--- 

The buzz of my phone pulled me from my thoughts. Seeing Oscar’s name on the screen, I picked up immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked, my tone sharp. 

“You’re not going to like this,” Oscar said, his voice tight. 

My chest tightened. “Spit it out.” 

“I followed Y/N home, like you told me,” he said. “Some guy broke into her apartment. They fought. She’s hurt.” 

“Where are you now?” I demanded, already grabbing my keys. 

“In an alley. The guy ran off, but—” 

“I’m on my way,” I cut him off, ending the call. 

As I headed for the car, one thought burned in my mind. 

Whoever hurt her was going to pay. 

--- 

Minutes later, Lando arrived at her apartment. 

The apartment was worse than Oscar had described. 

The front door hung awkwardly on its hinges, the lock completely shattered. Furniture was overturned, the walls scuffed and dented, and broken glass littered the floor. 

Lando stepped inside, his expression unreadable as he took in the destruction. Oscar stayed at the door, his hand resting on the gun tucked into his jacket. 

“Where is she?” Lando asked, his voice low. 

“In the kitchen,” Oscar replied. 

Lando made his way through the wreckage, the tension in his shoulders growing with every step. When he reached the kitchen, he found Y/N sitting at the table, her head bowed as she cradled her injured arm. 

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice softer than she expected. 

She looked up, her expression guarded. “I’ve had worse.” 

Lando’s jaw tightened as he stepped closer. “Who did this?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her tone clipped. 

“It does if they come back,” he said, his eyes locking onto hers. “Tell me who it was.” 

Y/N shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I can handle it.” 

Lando’s eyes darkened, his frustration evident. “You don’t get to make that call. Not when you’re bleeding and your apartment looks like a war zone.” 

“I don’t need your help, Lando,” she said, her voice rising. 

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. “You might not need it, but you’re getting it. This isn’t a request, Y/N. You’re coming with me.” 

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air between them heavy with tension. Finally, Y/N stood, her movements slow and pained. 

Finally, Lando turned to Oscar. “Find out who he is. I don’t care what it takes.” 

Oscar nodded, his expression grim. 

As Lando turned back to Y/N, his voice softened, though the intensity in his eyes remained. “You’re coming with me.” 

She frowned. “I don’t need—” 

“That wasn’t a request,” he said firmly. 

“Fine,” she said, her voice quiet but defiant. “But don’t think this changes anything.” 

Lando didn’t respond. As he led her out of the apartment, his mind was already racing with plans. 

Whoever had done this was going to pay. 

For once, Y/N didn’t argue. As she followed him to the car, one thought lingered in her mind. 

This changes everything. 

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Series Taglist: @laptime-deleted, @planet-faerie

LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @cheyennep3107, @d3kstar, @fadingcloudballoon-blog, @same1995, @hinamesgigantica, @laptime-deleted, @planet-faerie

[hotgirlbedtimescenarios]

Winner Takes All

Pairing: Javier Peña x seductress!reader

Words: 3.7k

Summary –  As a con artist, you’re always looking for your next victim; tonight, it's Javier Peña. He falls for your game, but somewhere along the way, you fall for his good looks and charm. Although he's been seduced, he has a few tricks up his sleeve as well and leaves you more than satisfied for the night.

Warnings: 18+, adult content, smut, lying, stealing, gold-digging, alcohol

Main Masterlist

Having just finished scoping out the lounge, you sit at the bar occupying the entire back wall of this particular casino. Like every other casino on the Las Vegas strip, this one has a similar dark and smoke-hazed ambiance.

The opulent, golden chandeliers above only emit the dimmest amount of light, and the rest comes from the flash of machines and table lamps at blackjack tables and the occasional flickering neon sign hung around the room.

"Pomegranate martini," you order when the bartender acknowledges your presence. He nods and turns to the ceiling-high shelf of alcohol and glasses to begin concocting your drink.

As you wait, you sigh and turn back to look over the room. Like most Saturday nights, you've done well for yourself. Each unsuspecting victim has played right into your hands, per usual. You see similar easy pickings in this room, scattered among the card tables and slot machines.

Drunk older men, the ones slurring their words and pawing at every beautiful woman they see. Obsessed with spending money they shouldn't and flaunting the gambling prowess they think they have in hopes of seducing a younger, much sexier woman to be their arm candy for the night.

You play along, assuming your persona as a doting, sexy, air-headed seductress. It's a fine line you walk, carrying yourself with enough dignity and elegance to attract the most wealthy targets while not appearing too keen and clever to hurt their tiny little egos or have them suspect you of being a swindler.

Although that's exactly what you are.

A seductress, a vixen, a succubus, or whatever term is preferred. You don't feel guilty; you actually think you're doing them a favor and saving these pompous assholes from some other girl who goes for the long con, marrying them and divorcing them only to steal half their life, pretending actually to care for them.

Instead, you keep them company for the night, laughing along to all their stupid jokes, pretending you might sleep with them even though you know you won't. They often are too wasted to get it up in the event of hooking up anyway, but you don't care; you never sleep with them. Suckers.

The bartender places your martini glass in front of you, and you thank him, flashing a smile and handing over a generous amount of cash. "Keep the change," you say, sultry and low, the same voice you've used on all the other men tonight. He winks and walks away, but not before his eyes drag across your body, a flash of desire sparking in their depths.

You're used to it, especially tonight in your favorite black silk gown with a high slit that falls to your mid-thigh—the fabric clings to your frame, showing off your figure. The top's deep v exposes the perfect amount of cleavage and the smooth expanse of your chest adorned with your favorite thin, silver, diamond pendant necklace. Paired with your dangling silver earrings and jet-black stilettos, you must admit, you look stunning.

By now, it's nearly 1:30 am, and you're bored of drunk old men staring at your tits and bragging about who knows what, words slurring, and hands wandering.

Tonight, you want a challenge, some entertainment, and maybe even some real flirting. You've already snagged a few nice watches, been treated to a Michelin star meal, and have an enormous wad of cash in the purse slung around your shoulder. You look too good not to let yourself indulge a little tonight.

You look around the bar, searching for your next plaything. Your eyes drift past countless clusters of drunk men on bachelor trips, sugar babies hanging off the arms of a few wealthy-looking older men, and numerous unremarkable strangers.

Then, you spot a dark, tanned, gorgeous man. You watch him excuse himself from a blackjack table and strut to the opposite end of the bar. He walks with smooth confidence, obviously not plastered like most other patrons by this time of night. His tall frame leans against the bar, elbows bent, causing his muscles to bulge against the buttoned shirt he wears.

He motions to the bartender, who takes his order and reappears shortly after with a cigar. You watch the man take the cigar between his plush, pouty lips and hold it there as he lights the other end. He inhales, then tips his head back and exhales the smoke slowly, exposing his tan, muscled neck and chiseled jaw.

Him. That's the man you choose to take from tonight: his money, his attention, maybe even some pleasure.

The trick is to let them come to you. Make them feel like it's their idea, like you're the prey, and they are the ones who picked you and not the other way around—a little game of cat and mouse.

You sit up a little taller and cross your legs, your body facing forward toward the bar, but you turn your head ever so slightly. Gazing curiously at the cigar between his fingers, you tilt your head and throw on the best set of doe eyes you can muster. Then you wait.

Hook.

You wait a few moments as the man takes another drag of the cigar and exhales. He finally notices your eyes on him. His eyes glance in your direction, and before you can tear your eyes away fast enough, you make eye contact briefly. You'd been "caught" staring.

You offer up a shy, barely there smile and lower your eyes to your drink as you allow a feint blush to spread across your cheeks.

Although you are now staring at the contents of your martini glass, pretending to be embarrassed, you can see the man analyzing you out of your peripheral.

He does a slow, steady sweep of your body from head to toe. Dragging his dark brown eyes across your skin, drinking you in, and apparently liking what he sees, he quirks a brow and smirks a little to himself.

Line.

You pick up the martini glass before you, long, delicate fingers wrapped around the stem, and bring it to your lips. Slowly, you tilt your head back to finish the last bit of your drink, exposing the long swath of your neck, and swallow.

Oh no. A beautiful woman, alone at the bar, with nothing left to drink. How terrible. It sure would be nice if a handsome stranger across the bar came to your rescue.

As you set your empty glass back on the bar, out of the corner of your eye, you see that man has the same idea, and he walks your way.

Sinker.

What a sucker, you think to yourself. It takes everything in you to clamp down on the chuckle that wants to slip out. He struts up to you and sits on the barstool next to you, cigar still smoking between his fingers.

"Hope you don't mind," he says, velvety and smooth. Up close, you have a better view of his sultry eyes and the full mustache perched above full lips.

Oh. That's nice, you think to yourself.

"Not at all," you respond, then tease, "Actually, I'm curious. Do you smoke those to look pretentious, or do they taste better than they smell?"

A glint of something sparks deep within his dark eyes, a challenge, and he lets out a small, breathy laugh. "Both."

"Finally, an honest answer," you smile playfully.

"Let me get you another drink, and I'll tell you anything else you want to know, sweetheart."

"Deal," you agree, "thanks..." you pause, waiting for him to introduce himself.

"Javier or Javi if you want. And you are?"

"Alessandra," you answer, one of your go-to fake names. You can never be too careful playing games like this.

Javier buys you both a round, then another. Both of you flirt and tease as the night goes on, and you find the distance between you much smaller before long.

"So, can I have a taste or what?" you ask, staring suggestively at his lips.

His eyebrow quirks up immediately, and his mouth begins to open, but before he can respond to what sounds like a filthy proposition, you motion to the last bits of his cigar. He pauses, eyes darkening, and he clears his throat.

With a voice more strained than before, he answers, "I'll give you anything you want, Hermosa.

He extends the cigar between the two of you to hand it off, but instead of taking it into your fingers, you wrap your lips around the unlit end. Inhaling, you raise your eyes to make contact with his; as you hollow out your cheeks and inhale, you swear you hear a growl rumble in his chest.

----

You don't remember exactly how it happened after that, but here you are, back pressed against his hotel room door. One of Javier's hands kneads your hip while the other fumbles with the key card, trying to unlock the door and usher you inside. His body presses against yours, smothering you in his warmth, and his lips travel down your neck hungrily. Finally, the door unlocks, and he pulls you inside.

The door slams shut, and in a frenzy, you begin tearing each other's clothes off amidst kissing, moaning, and groping. Your hands have fistfuls of his dark, gorgeous hair as he slips one strap off your shoulder and then the other. Your silky black dress falls to the floor, and you peel off your delicate lace thong.

"Fuck," he breathes as his eyes sweep down your naked body. Javier's hands travel up your waist, across your stomach, and palm at your breasts.

He squeezes one gently as he takes the opposite nipple into his mouth and flicks his tongue over it, drawing out a whimper from you. You relish the feeling before he releases it with a pop and sucks the other one into his mouth, running his tongue over it as well.

When he's done, he drags his tongue from your nipple, up your chest, along your neck, and ends at your ear, his nose and mustache tickling you along the way. Your legs tense, and your insides pulse at the sensation.

Hungrily, you unbutton the rest of his shirt, finally exposing his toned, golden chest, and toss it onto the floor. Javier wraps his arms around you, leading you backward toward the bed. When the back of your knees contacts the mattress, he gently lowers you onto your back onto the plush surface.

You move to flick off your black stilettos, but Javier kneels between your legs, and with a hand on your ankle, he stops the motion. "Keep those on for me, baby."

Your stomach flips at the sultry command, and you obey, relaxing against the mattress. Still knelt between your legs, Javier's hands rub up the back of your calves, over the top of your thighs, and stop in between them, just below the apex.

He spreads your legs apart, revealing your soaked, glistening cunt. "Goddamn," he moans, so needy it sounds almost painful," let me taste you," he begs. "Please."

"Yes, Javi. Please," you pant, body writhing with desire at his hot breath tickling against your core as he begs you.

His grip on your thighs tightens as he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed so he can lean forward and bury his face in your cunt. He begins with a slow, broad swipe of his tongue up your center, gathering the slickness and moaning into you.

Your head throws back, and a groan escapes from somewhere deep in your chest. His tongue swipes back and forth between your folds, and above, his pronounced nose presses against your clit, sending a wave of pleasure rolling through your body. He eats you, slow and steady, almost agonizingly, as he takes his time, tasting you and feeling you.

You squirm beneath his hands. "Please," you pant, "more. I need more."

"Is this what you need, baby?" he asks, taunting, as he pulls his face away to replace his tongue with his middle finger. When you look up between your legs, you meet his gaze, wild-eyed and heavy with blown pupils that stare down at you. He traces his finger down your center, then finally plunges it inside you, eliciting a high-pitched whimper.

"Yeah, that's right," he purrs, " feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yes" is all you manage to breathe out.

He continues, extracting more and more of your slick until it drips messily down his finger and across his palm. His pace quickens when he adds his ring finger, adding new pressure and sensation.

By now, you are begging for release; a light sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your muscles feel liquid. As if he can sense it, Javi crooks his fingers, finally hitting a spot inside you that has you barreling towards release.

"There it is," he purrs, soft and tender. "Come on, baby, give it to me."

Your heart pounds like it wants to escape, and your breath comes out jagged and labored. The only response you have for him is the squirming of your hips and the clenching of sheets in your fists.

Then, to push you careening off the edge of release, he pumps faster, harder, and brings his mouth to your clit, coating it in the warmth of his mouth, and sucks.

The band snaps. Your back arches off the bed, and your head rolls back. Unrelenting, he massages you through it, extracting a trickle of warmth that coats his fingers, lips, and mustache. Your insides pulse and a tingle reaches every fiber of muscle within you.

Finally, your muscles relax, and you lay flat against the bed, panting. Javi stands and leans over you, observing. His pupils are blown wide with lust, and his chin glistens with your spend.

He leans closer and whispers, "I could watch you do that all night."

"I'd let you," you answer before closing the distance between you with a kiss. You can taste yourself on him, mixed with the hearty tang of a cigar. It causes something to begin stirring inside of you all over again.

"Is that right?" He smirks.

You're hungry for him, eager to taste him like he tasted you. Dragging your hands down across his chest and down his abdomen, you finally reach the button of his jeans.

"My turn," you say as you undo the button and begin to slide down his jeans and briefs all at once. His hard cock springs free, dripping with his own juices. The sheer size of it has your mouth watering. His member is thick and long, with a prominent vein running along the bottom to this dense, heady tip.

Javi kicks his jeans and briefs onto the floor while you trade places with him. Now, he sits perched on the edge of the mattress, fully naked, thick thighs spread so you can slot yourself between them on the floor. You kneel between them, ready to worship.

Knelt before him, you look up to meet his lust-filled stare, his eyes dark and needy. You reach up toward his rock-hard member erect before you and graze a finger across his tip, featherlight.

He whimpers, a filthy desperate sound as you caress his tip, making his cock twitch as you gather his precum on your fingertip and swipe down to the base of his cock.

You smile, a smug, filthy grin pulling up the corner of your lips, "Sounding desperate up there, Javi," you tease him.

A growl emanates from his chest, surely about to put you in your place, but before he can, you lean forward and flatten your tongue against the base of his cock before licking a slow strip up to his tip.

He releases a hiss from between clenched teeth when you circle his leaking tip with the pad of your tongue. Then, without warning, you open your throat and take him all the way down to his base. You gag around his massive length, saliva dripping inside your mouth and coating him in slick.

"Jesus,” he moans somewhere above you, “fuck."

After a moment, you release him, taking in a big gulp of air. "So big," you praise him as you finally wrap a hand around him and start to pump his shaft, already slick with the mixture of your saliva and his precum. It squelches in your grip, a perverted sound that only eggs you on.

With one hand pumping and applying pressure, you take his tip back into your mouth again, sucking and swirling your tongue around him.

Javi leans forward and places his hand on the back of your skull, gently praising you, "Goddamn baby, love your perfect little mouth wrapped around my cock."

You work him with the combination of your hand and mouth for a while, drawing out groans and watching him squirm beneath you while you bob up and down.

Using your free hand, you reach up to cup his balls and give them a gentle squeeze, caressing them in your hand. A guttural sound leaves Javis's open mouth as he gathers your hair in his hand and yanks your mouth from his painfully hard member.

You grin at him, sinful, and eyes heavy-lidded with lust as a mixture of his juices and your saliva dribble down your chin.

"I'm going to fuck that grin right off your face," he threatens.

And he does.

He positions you on all fours on the bed, heels still on, poking outwards as he climbs onto the bed behind you. He rises to his knees, slots in between your legs, and enters you in one fluid motion, thrusting so hard that your heels fly off and clatter to the floor.

His large, rough hands gripping your waist and pounding into you, the smack of his pelvis against your ass, along with the squelching of your wet pussy filling the room.

You whine out in ecstasy, only spurring him on further. The length of him reaches the further depths of you, blurring between pain and pleasure but never crossing the line; it hurts so good.

Between huffs of breath and a clenched jaw, he taunts you, "Your tight little pussy was begging for a good fuck wasn't it?"

His filthy words only send you careening further into pleasure. Your legs begin to shake, alerting him that it won't last much longer.

"Fuck yes," he reaches around, and his fingers circle your clit until you cry out and a second orgasm rips through you.

Ravenously fucks you through it. His thrusts speed up unrelentingly as he finally chases his own high, grabbing your neck from behind and pressing your face into the pillows.

At the last second, he pulls out, leaving your hole gaping and throbbing but already missing the way he filled you. He releases his spend on your back, gripping his cock and pumping out every last drop.

Then he does the unexpected.

You hear Javier shuffle to the bathroom as you lay face down on the sheets, still recovering from the exertion. Moments later, he returns to you with a fresh washcloth, first wiping the tears from the corner of your eyes and the slick gathered around your mouth; then he cleans the inside of your thighs and your back so gently compared to moments ago.

"You all right," he asks, voice softer and kinder than it was in the throes of passion.

"Great, actually," you smile up at him mischievously.

He leans in and kisses you on the shoulder, then tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ears, "Stay as long as you'd like."

You go to the bathroom and freshen up; when you come out, he's sprawled underneath the sheets and shoots you a lazy smile, waving you forward to join him.

You slide into bed with him, and Javier holds you against his body underneath the sheets, rubbing his hand up and down the smooth contours of your body until, before long, he falls asleep.

You lie with him for a while, oddly finding comfort in the sleepy breaths that escape his lips and tickle the hair on the back of your neck. However, once you're sure Javi is asleep, you carefully extract yourself from his arms and tip-toe around the room to gather your clothing and redress.

If you're honest with yourself, you almost feel guilty about what you must do next. But it's back to your usual business now.

Quickly and quietly, you find Javier's wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, which you'd stripped off him earlier and discarded on the floor.

Typically, you'd take the entire thing, leaving nothing behind, not even its empty carcass, but you decide to play nice this time. After all, Javier may have just given you the best two orgasms of your life and was a gentleman after the fact, cleaning you up and cuddling you in bed. You must admit, he fucks hard and aftercares like an angel; what a man.

With your heels in your hands, you sneak out of his hotel room. In the purse slung over your shoulder, you have an extra couple hundred dollars from Javis' wallet.

It was an excellent payday, especially considering you'd left him $20, his leather wallet, and even the nice watch he had resting on the dresser. After all, you'd genuinely enjoyed your night together, so you decided to be kind. Plus, you'd seen some police bade in his wallet, so you decided not to piss him off too bad.

The hotel room door clicks closed behind you, and you walk down the hallway. When the elevator dings, you enter the carriage and press the button to carry you to the lobby.

Just before the doors slide shut, you hear a voice, the same one that has been purring in your ear all night, yell, "fuck!" as he realizes he fell for your game.

Javier Peña just got swindled. But hey, at least you’d given him a good time, and something tells you he’s probably paid even more for a night with a woman before. It’s only fair that you get the same, right?

You're still smirking when you leave the casino lobby and disappear into the crowded street.

[rizlowwritessortof]

@jacklesversebingo Square #3!

Written for Jacklesversebingo2024. The prompt for this one is 'Come on. I'll show you how to dance.' This went a little bit of a different direction than I expected, but I think I like it - hope you do, too!

The big Founder's Day party for Vought International is a 70's disco theme, and your friend Camille has talked you into going, even though you'd rather stay home with a book and glass of wine. You never imagined you'd be dancing the night away with your superhero crush.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Word Count: 2992

Warnings: Nothing but smut (and maybe a little glimpse through the cracks in Soldier Boy's armor)

Dividers thanks to @firefly-graphics

You walk up to the entrance, shivering a little as a brisk late-October breeze dances around your bare legs and ruffles your skirt. You hand the expressionless suited man at the door your Vought ID, and he nods, waving you by.

You’re not sure why you came. You are a low-level executive assistant at Vought, and you’re honestly surprised that they have bothered to invite people at your pay grade to this Founder’s Day party. You know very few people that you work with, and you would much rather be at home in front of your fireplace in your fuzzy socks with a glass of wine. But you had promised your coworker, Camille, that you would come.

“It’ll be fun! We get to dress up retro and cut loose on the company’s dime! And who knows? You might get a chance to dance with a supe!”

The whole night was planned around a 70’s disco theme. You had raided a vintage clothing store and found the perfect dress, a jewel-toned blue that shimmers in the light, the fabric soft and clingy, with a skirt that will whirl when you dance. If you dance. And if you don’t break your neck in the platform heels you’re wearing. You even tried to curl your hair in the Farrah Fawcett style, but you’re not sure if you really succeeded. Oh, well, not like anybody will really notice anyway, right?

Vought has rented the entire night club for the event, and you’re a little intimidated at the number of people attending. Once again, visions of sitting by your fireplace where you’re safe and alone flash through your mind, and you’re tempted to turn around and leave. But you hear your name, and turn to see Camille rushing towards you, her mouth open in amazement. “Oh my God, girl, you look fantastic! Where did you find that dress?”

She proceeds to pull you into the main room, over to a table she has already claimed, and you hang your jacket on the back of your chair and let her lead you to the bar. “Tequila sunrise, please,” you order, glancing around the room. They have gone all out for this – two huge mirrored disco balls hang above a lighted dance floor, both inactive at the moment. There is music playing in the background, but the DJ hasn’t started the show yet, giving more people a chance to arrive. The bartender slides your drink over with a wink and flirty smile, and you smile back. He’s dressed for the theme, right down to his puka shell choker.

By the time the DJ is in full swing, you are actually enjoying yourself. Of course, the tequila is probably helping, but you had expected to be heading back home by this time. A few people are on the dance floor, but you haven’t ventured out there yet. More tequila is probably needed for that.

It’s fun seeing all the 70’s costumes, but most of the supes in attendance are just wearing their normal suits, and it’s kind of a disappointment. Of course, they’re all in their own orbit – most of them wouldn’t be caught dead fraternizing with Vought peons.

Flirty bartender has just handed you your third (you think?) drink when a smooth, deep baritone interrupts your conversation. “Well, well, well - where has Vought been hiding you?”

You turn to face a broad chest, leading up to even broader shoulders, and from there… “S-Soldier Boy?” you stammer, instantly star-struck. You have never actually seen him in person, and he’s more than impressive. He has actually embraced the theme, dressed in a silky shirt swirled with iridescent blues and purples, open far enough to expose a pair of gold chains gleaming against his tanned chest. His light-colored bell bottoms are clinging to his powerful thighs, and they are doing nothing to hide his other – assets.

“Oh, kitten, you can call me Ben.” The tone of his voice is like a caress, and you nod, unable to speak at the moment. You take a swallow of your drink, watching as he turns to lean an elbow on the bar. “Seriously, why have I never seen you before?”

You clear your throat, trying to keep your heart from pounding its way out of your chest. “I work in the accounting department. I don’t suppose you get in there very often.”

He scoffed. “Never. Numbers are not my job. But I might have to find a reason to check in once in a while, if they’re keeping gems like you hidden in there.” You’re blushing, or it’s the alcohol, but either way, your temperature is rising. “So – how about a dance?”

You duck your head, embarrassed. “I – I don’t really know how. Especially this kind of dancing, I’ve never…”

He reaches over to take your hand in his, caressing it with his thumb, and your mind immediately begins to imagine his touch on other more intimate parts of your body. “Come on. I’ll show you how to dance. After all, I was here in the 70’s, you know. I practically invented The Hustle.”

You’re a little panicked as he leads you towards the dance floor, and you glance back at your table. Camille is staring at you with her mouth hanging open. The flashing lights make you a little dizzy as he pulls you close, his hand large and firm on the small of your back, holding you close to his body. He’s warm, and solid, and when he starts to move, he just guides you along with him. “It’s just like making love, baby doll – feel the rhythm and go with it.”

By the time you’re almost through the second song, you’re getting the hang of it. “You’re doing great. All you have to do is let your body do what it feels.” He leans closer, his lips next to your ear. “Your body’s got my body feeling all kinds of things I can’t do out here on the dance floor.” His hand moves down a little farther, and the movement of his hips is causing sparks to run up your spine. “Hold on, kitten,” he says, then spins you out away from him, twirling you and then bringing you back close, grinning down at you as he dips you back before bringing you upright again. You look up at him, your eyes sparkling as you laugh. “See, you just have to let go. Having fun?”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you answer a little breathlessly, letting him have the lead and following as best you can. You’re not perfect, but he’s strong enough and accomplished enough to keep you where you need to be, and you are not hating the feeling of being held tight in his arms. The two of you are drawing some attention, and he obviously loves it, shamelessly showing off and bringing you along for the ride. You dance your way through Stayin’ Alive, Car Wash, Boogie Fever, Funky Town and yes, even The Hustle. When the DJ announces that he’s taking a break, you are a little relieved. You need a cold drink and to get off your feet for a while.

You move to head towards the bar, but Ben stops you, grabbing hold of your hand. “Come with me – I’ve got a nice, quiet spot where we can cool off.”

As soon as the two of you leave the main room, Ben backs you against the wall, his eyes fixed on yours. He bends to kiss you, slow and sensual, and when he finally raises his head, you stand there stunned for a moment. Of course, like many women, you’ve dreamed of this – but it’s so much more than you could have imagined. Then he takes you by the hand, and you follow him around the corner and down the hall. He opens a door and leads you into a lavish office, complete with a living room area and a full bar. “Want a drink?”

“I just need some water,” you say, your eyes scanning the room. “So – do you own this place or something?”

Ben laughs. “No, just a frequent flyer. Owner lets me use this room if I need, you know, a little privacy.” He hands you a bottle of water, opening one for himself and downing almost the whole bottle.

You stare at his lips and his throat as he swallows, feeling your body flush hot, finally pulling your eyes away and drinking a good portion of your water as well. You wander around the room, examining things here and there, the whole night feeling a little surreal. “So – can I ask you a question?”

“I’m an open book, baby doll.”

You pause your exploring, leaning your back against the front of the bar, looking up at him as he moves to stand in front of you. “Why am I here? I mean, why are you spending time with me? You go out with supermodels and movie stars. I’m just an executive assistant in the accounting department, just an ordinary girl, nowhere close to the glamorous people you’re usually with.”

He looks down at you, the back of his fingers brushing over your cheek. “The thing is – the people around me, they are always putting on an act. Trying to do or be or look like what they think I want. Not an authentic one in the bunch. It gets old. Sometimes – well, sometimes I just want to be with somebody real. Someone sweet and genuine,” he says as he gazes into your eyes. “Somebody who doesn’t put on an act. Somebody who just is who they are. So maybe I can fucking let down my guard for a little while.” There’s a fleeting flash of vulnerability in his eyes, gone so quickly you’re not sure you actually saw it.

His response to your question is unexpected, and you look up at him, debating with yourself for a moment. Then you step up close to him and reach to put your hands behind his neck, standing on tiptoe to press your lips to his. He sets his water behind you on the bar and slips a hand around to your back, urging you closer, the fingers of his other hand tangling in your hair as he angles his mouth over yours and deepens the kiss.

You cling tighter to him, your heart pounding, as he scoops you up and carries you over to the large sofa, lowering you down and hovering over you, your lips still sealed with his. Your eyes flutter open as he lifts his head, and he stares down at you with a warmth in his eyes that sets your pulse racing. “If you don’t want this, now’s the time to tell me,” he says, watching you closely for a reaction, but you pull him back down and kiss him again, no question at all in your mind. You want him, and you’re pretty sure your stars won’t align this way again.

Somehow he manages to slip his hands underneath you and unzip your dress, and he soon has it down around your waist. He stops, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he looks his fill. “You’re a beautiful girl,” he says, his voice rough with arousal as he palms your breast with one large hand, bending to flick his tongue over the nipple of the other. You let out a breathless moan, and he chuckles quietly as he sucks a mark into your soft flesh, one hand slipping up beneath your dress to explore the heat between your thighs. “So wet for me,” he murmurs, his mouth still teasing at your nipples, making you arch up underneath him. You are aching with the desire for more, and you let out a desperate whine.

He tugs at your nipple with his teeth before raising his head to look down at you, then standing up and taking your hand to help you to your feet. “Let’s get rid of this dress, shall we?” He slips the silky garment over your head and tosses it over a nearby chair. “Much better. And you won’t be needing these.” He tears your panties apart with one tug, dropping them to the floor, then pushes you gently back down on the couch. “Now, where were we?”

His lips are hungry as he bends to kiss you, his hands roaming over your skin. He finally slips a finger inside you, and your hips lift up to meet his touch. “Oh, you want more,” he teases as he lifts his head to watch your face, adding another finger and stroking inside you until he gets the reaction he’s waiting for. “Feel good, baby doll?” You nod, soft little noises escaping your lips, and you buck up hard as he begins to rub at your clit with his thumb. He ramps up the speed, and you are almost in tears, so desperate to relieve the tension in your body. When he moves his other hand to pull and twist at your nipple, that tension snaps and you cry out as you come, faintly hearing his soft, victorious laugh.

When he pulls his fingers free, you slowly let your eyes drift open, watching him suck his fingers clean. “You think that was good, just wait,” he says, raising up to one knee, his other foot planted on the floor as he unfastens his pants and pulls them down to free himself. Your eyes grow wide as you take in the sight – he is bigger than anyone you’ve ever been with, and you’re a little uneasy.

“Don’t worry, kitten, I’ll take it slow,” he says, and you swallow hard, nodding as he watches you. He lowers himself down, scooping one arm beneath your knee as he slots himself between your thighs and begins to push inside you. He nuzzles at your neck, whispering, “Relax,” and you take a deep breath and try. He’s not hurting you, but the stretch is intense, and you grasp at his biceps, your nails digging in. He continues slowly, a low groan in his throat when he is finally flush with your body. “Good girl.”

You shudder hard, and he crushes his lips to yours again as he moves, just slightly at first, allowing you to adjust to him. Then he raises his head, looking into your eyes as he begins to thrust, slowly building up to a steady rhythm, each stroke becoming harder, deeper. Your quiet little whimpers and moans are getting louder as he ramps up, fucking into you at a furious pace, so deep it almost aches, but it feels so damn good that you never want it to stop. “Such a sweet, tight pussy,” he growls out, and you begin to wail and shout his name as he pounds into you. “Come on, baby doll, I wanna feel you come on my cock.”

And you do, so hard it feels as if every cell in your body explodes, your cunt gripping him so tight he swears. “Fuck!” He keeps driving into you as you clutch mindlessly at him, hoarsely crying out his name. You are finally starting to come down when he lets out a long, low moan and unloads, flooding you with heat and sending aftershocks through you that make you clench your teeth, whimpering as you finally go limp underneath him.

When you walk out of the bathroom a while later, after getting dressed and doing damage control to your hair and makeup, Ben is standing at the bar. He finishes snorting something white off the bar top before tossing back the remainder of his whiskey. “So, time for the real party to start?” you ask quietly, going to retrieve your shoes from beside the door.

He clears his throat. “Gotta go mingle with the elite, part of the job,” he says, watching you slip your shoes back on. “And doing that sober? No thanks.”

“Then why do you do it?”

His voice is different when he answers – cocky, arrogant. “Hey, I’m America’s first superhero. That’s my fucking life, baby doll.” He turns to look at you. “Looks like maybe you’re done for the night.” He smirks. “Did I wear you out?”

You stare back at him. “I liked you better before. When you were just being Ben. Soldier Boy might be a superhero, but I think he’s kind of a dick.” You reach for the door handle, but he stops you with a hand on your shoulder.

“How about I walk you out. My driver can take you home, if you want.” He sounds softer again, and you hesitate for a moment before nodding.

“That would be nice, thank you.”

He escorts you back through the club, stopping to grab your jacket. Camille is on the dance floor, so you’re spared explaining where you’ve been. He keeps a hand on the small of your back as he guides you through the crowd, and you take a deep breath of the cool, crisp air when you finally make it outside. The quiet compared to the deafening noise inside the club is a relief, and you turn to face him with a smile as his driver pulls up to the curb. “Thank you, Ben. I really did have a great time tonight.”

He responds with a crooked smile, raising a hand to touch your face. “Yeah. Me, too.” He bends to place an almost chaste kiss on your lips, then another not so chaste, leaving you with face upturned and eyes slowly fluttering open. “Do me a favor, kitten. Stay just the way you are.”

You smile up at him a little shyly, then get into the back of the car when he opens the door for you. “Good night, Ben.” You watch him standing there, lighting a cigarette (or a blunt, you’re not sure) as you pull away. “Good night, Soldier Boy,” you whisper to yourself.

Tags for my lovelies: 

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@suckitands33    @ej13928    @lmhf1

[omgtheywereawooomates]

teen wolf au idk what season, time is an illusion in teen wolf :

in which stiles.......really, really needs to get into the habit of double-checking who he's texting, or just change up his contact names (both? both. both would be good) because he can't keep sending his thirst-texts about peter tO PETER. that's just too sad, even for him.

[sforzesco]

ngl he was extremely fucking funny for this

Mark Antony: A Biography, Eleanor Goltz Huzar

bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost

[ayoooo3]

Another take it and run idea- once upon a time someone posted something with hint of this idea and I haven’t been able to forget it. So here’s a snippet- if you want to grab it make into something bigger I’d love to read it!

Before doing anything with Steve Eddie always takes off his rings, sets them on his side table. They make a little noise, each time the same, as they tumble into each other. And then Eddie slowly takes Steve apart, Steve slipping into sub space so nicely under Eddie’s hands.

One day in the kitchen Steve is working at the table and Eddie is about to start dinner, so he takes off his rings and sets them near Steve. He starts cooking, chattering away about his day. It takes a minute for him to realize Steve hasn’t responded. When he turns around, there’s Steve, sitting so pretty at the table, his hands resting gently on his thighs, his eyes glossed over as they track Eddie’s movements slowly. He’s so far gone that he barely moves when Eddie steps into his space.

“What happened baby, where’d you go?” Eddie tips Steve face up to meet his eyes, Steve swallows heavily and let’s his eyes drag to the rings sitting a foot away on the edge of the table.

And that’s how Eddie learns he accidentally Pavlov dogged Steve into sub-space at the sound of his rings being set down on a wooden surface.

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Cody created the group chat as a way to deal with the sudden influx of flimsiwork and to provide his fellow commanders with support. It quickly devolved into chaos.

Author: Revna14

[rwac96]

Prompt

Original Crossover

AVALANCHE needs to enter the Shinra building, but the only way in is by pressing a button in the guard's room. Thankfully, Tifa notices the guard is someone that she knows in Jaune, and she is very confident that she can get close enough to press the button.

2-Koma, Seduction, Sex

The guard exhaled, scratching his chin as he laid back in his chair. Being a Shinra Guard wasn't his first choice, but Jaune Arc didn't exactly make the SOLDIER Program, hell, he didn't even become a foot soldier. But, being a guard was something that put his mother at ease, despite the recent terrorist attacks. Jaune lets out a small yawn, his ocean-blue eyes noticing a certain figure on one of the security cams. Jaune sat up, squinting as he was about to zoom the camera in for identification until his concentration was broken.

"Hey, Jauney," spoke a certain, flirty tone, which made him jolt in alarm.

The Sole Arc Son turns his chair around, seeing a certain buxom beauty; long, dark brunette hair, red eyes, and a curvaceous, muscular figure. She smiled at him, despite his initial embarrassment. He adjusted his helmet and straightened out his uniform. Jaune stands up, moving his hand away from his holster, as he reaches for his gun on impulse before he realizes it is Tifa Lockhart.

"Don't scare me like that," Jaune said as the Seventh Heaven bartender approached him, "hold on, what are you doing here?"

"I can't visit a friend during work?" Tifa tilts her head, which made Jaune grimace a bit, despite the visor covering his eyes. "Besides, you look rather bored. Need some company~?"

---

Platt!-Platt!-Platt!-Platt!-Platt!-Platt!-Platt!-Platt!-Platt!-Platt!--!!

"Ooh, Jaune!!" Tifa shouts as she bounces up and down upon Jaune's manhood, "Aaaah, don't stooop!!" The Buxom Brawler moaned at the top of her lungs.

The pair were pantsless, Jaune holding Tifa up as she impaled herself upon his cock. She rolled up her white top, revealing her bare, jiggling breasts. The guard has his hands holding her clapping ass cheeks, while she has her arms wrapped around his neck. Unknown to Jaune, Tifa was a part of the terrorist group responsible for the attacks on Shrina factories; AVALANCHE. During the lovemaking, Tifa pressed a certain button to let her comrades in. While Jaune was busy bucking his hips against Tifa, his own squadmates and superiors were being decimated by the terrorists, that he unknowingly let in.

Schlap!-Schlap!-Schlap!-Shclap!-Schlap!-Schlap!-Shclap!-Schlap!-Schlap!-Schlap!

"W-What's that noise?" Jaune inquired to Tifa as he bucked his hips up and down against her ass.

"Ooh, don't focus on that--Aaaah!!" Tifa spoke, grabbing the guard's cheeks and removing his helmet, revealing his shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes. "Aaah, focus on me, Jauney~!!"

[ingravinoveritas]

So, it looks like the SAG-AFTRA strike is finally over which means Michael and David can re-enact this moment and actually just snog for several very long minutes on camera before pulling back and straightening* themselves out and nonchalantly continuing to talk about the kiss in GO 2...

*As much as it is possible for either one of them to be straight, at least...