#have i been ignoring how my hands are scrabbling how tight my muscles are (my shoulders ache)

[the-iceni-bitch]

Cans I request a very soft but also very dom and kinda soft mean Steve 🥺🥺 who calls you his pretty slut🥴🥴

Pretty Little Slut

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Steve x fem!reader

Summary: Steve doesn’t like the dress you picked out, at all.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of female masturbation, semi-public sex) daddy-dom Steve, SMUT!!!, 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: Ooh, this really activated my switch tendencies, I’ve haven’t gotten this subby in a while and after my last fic I’m giving myself whiplash. For some reason, this ask made me think of Winter Soldier Steve. (Also, surprise!!! Maybe I do have a daddy kink?) Thank you so much for the ask @donutloverxo!!!!!

Steve let out a low growl once his eyes found you on the dance floor. You were writhing in between Nat and Maria as you lost yourself in the music. He loved how carefree you looked when you were dancing.

But that fucking dress...

He tried so hard to be more open minded about what women wore these days, but that tiny black satin thing you had on could barely be considered an undergarment back in the 40s.

He stalked towards you, ignoring the conversation that Tony and Sam were trying to involve him in. You didn’t notice as he came to stand behind you, shoving aside some asshole who was trying to make a move on you.

“Fuck, hey baby!” You said as he wrapped his hand around your throat and drew you back against his chest with a yank. “You gonna dance with me?”

“No.” He murmured against the shell of your ear, bringing his other hand to dig into your arm. “We’re leaving.”

You moaned as he pressed you against him, the curve of your ass right up against his growing erection as he pulled you away from the other girls.

“Bye ladies.” You said hoarsely as you let Steve drag you away. They just shook their heads at you and kept dancing.

Steve released your throat but kept his hand wrapped around your arm as he steered you towards the car, his jaw clenched tightly. You watched the tic in his jaw as you followed him, chewing your lip as you considered what might have set him off.

He wrenched the passenger door open and shoved you inside, slamming it closed as you buckled yourself in. Your breath was coming in shallow pants as you watched him circle around the car to the driver’s side, his posture indicating how upset he was.

“Steve...” you said when he finally sat down and started the car.

“Don’t say anything.” He seethed at you, throwing the car into reverse and pulling out. “I can’t believe you went out dressed like this.”

“It’s a dress, Steve.” You said, rubbing your thighs together as you felt yourself getting wet at his tone.

“Barely.” He snorted as he continued driving, refusing to look at you. “Are you even wearing anything under there?”

“I though you liked it when I didn’t wear panties.” You whined, aching to touch yourself as he scolded you.

“When I’m out with you, you stupid slut.” He growled, his grip on the steering wheel tightening painfully. “Not so you can show off my pussy to every asshole in the city.”

“I’m so sorry, daddy.” You moaned in a low voice, your nipples growing hard under the thin silk of your dress. “I’m such a dumb slut, you should never let me go out by myself.”

He threw the car in park when you arrived back at the tower, turning to look at you finally.

“Fuck, look at you.” He said, his eyes softening as he watched you writhe under his gaze, your chest heaving as your fingers clutched the hem of your skirt, aching to touch yourself as your pussy throbbed against the leather seat. “My pretty little slut. Why do you do this to me baby?”

“I’m sorry, daddy, I just want to look pretty for you.” You gasped as he cupped your jaw, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip. “Please daddy, I’m so wet.”

“Yeah baby? You wanna touch that pretty pussy while I watch?” He grinned as you whined at him, nodding your head vigorously. “I shouldn’t let you, you’ve been so bad.”

“No, daddy!” You whimpered pathetically, grabbing his wrist as you nipped at the pad of his thumb.

He ripped his hand out of your grip and gave you a light slap across your cheek, making you gasp as your cunt clenched around nothing before he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“Don’t be a brat now, sweetheart.” He tutted before unbuckling his seat belt and leaning over the console to run his tongue over your cheek in a heavy stripe, making you mewl. “You’re just lucky I’m so soft on you, or I’d edge you all night. Now try not to act like a needy little whore when we’re in the lobby, or I’ll spank you.”

He opened your door for you before moving back to his seat and stepping out of the vehicle. You had to take a few deep breaths to school yourself before you moved to join him, pressing your thighs together to keep your arousal from running down the inside of your legs.

Steve pressed his hand to the small of your back as he guided you to the elevator, his cheek twitching as he did his best to keep himself from fucking you right there in the lobby. He ran his hand over your spine as the two of you waited, making you shiver with anticipation.

The lift finally arrived and he shoved you inside, striding after you with a look of determination that made your knees shake.

“I’m not gonna make it back to the room, baby.” He growled at you as he stepped forward, backing you into the wall as his eyes raked over your body.

You jumped when he punched the emergency brake, bringing the elevator to an abrupt halt. He turned back to you and gripped the straps of your dress and ripped it off you, grinning as you gasped and arched your back towards him.

“Fuck, you’re always so ready for me baby.” He growled into your neck as he slid his hand between your legs. “You gonna be a good girl and take daddy’s cock?”

“Yes daddy, please. I need your cock so bad. Wanna feel every inch of you in my tight little pussy.” You panted as he ran his teeth over your throat while he undid his fly.

“It’s my pussy, pretty girl.” He murmured as he slapped his tip against your clit, making you cry out and grip his shoulders painfully. “And I’m gonna fill her up so good.”

You swallowed a shriek as he shoved his hips forward, impaling you on his hard cock. He lifted you up and wrapped your legs around him as he started thrusting into you.

“You’re gonna be so good and quiet for me aren’t you pretty girl?” He muttered into your collarbone as his fingers dug into your waist painfully. “Don’t want anyone else knowing what a little slut you are.”

“Yes daddy. Just wanna be your good girl.” You panted as he fucked you harder, his cock hitting those spots inside you that no one had ever been able to reach before.

He bent to take your nipple in his mouth and you let out a whine, your fingers scrabbling in his hair as you arched into his face.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezing me so good. This pussy’s so tight and warm. Look at what you do to me.” He said with a grunt as his hips started to stutter, your cunt clenching and fluttering around him as he brought you closer to the edge. “Making me fuck you in an elevator where anyone could catch us.”

The only answer you gave him was a series of soft whimpers as a warm coil started to tighten in your abdomen, making your back arch violently as you neared your release.

“Mmm, daddy I’m gonna cum. Please let me cum daddy.” You panted breathlessly.

“Daddy’s pretty slut wants to cum?” He purred, nipping at the column of your throat. “Go ahead baby, I wanna see that cream all over my cock.”

He pressed his mouth to yours and swallowed your shriek as your body went rigid, your fingers pulling his hair painfully. You sobbed as your muscles spasmed, your cunt strangling Steve’s cock as your release leaked out of you and soaked the front of his pants. Steve growled against your lips as his hips faltered, his cum shooting into you violently and mixing with your own release in a thick creamy mess that coated his cock.

“Fuck me.” He groaned, setting you down gently as he pulled out of you. “You fucking planned this didn’t you?”

You just but your lip and grinned at him, punching the emergency button to restart the lift.

“Dunno what you mean, daddy. I’m just a dumb little slut. Now give me your jacket, I’m not walking back to our apartment naked.”

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[shorkbrian]

Mommy please

My and @seijoh and @confessions-of-a-yandere-freak and @implexedactions were thirsting and I have so many thots to think about KIRISHIMA always and forever I 🥵

This was supposed to be a short thirst but it’s half thirst half drabble im sorry I couldn’t help myself Kirishima’s just too hot to contain.

(NSFW/mommy kink/noncon)

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Big beefy Kiri is so sweet, so kind and polite and the perfect gentleman. Always offers to take you on dates, showers you with flowers and gifts, tries to hold your hand and kiss your knuckles every chance he gets.

Even if you don’t want him to.

He never gives you a chance to tell him no, to ask him to stop, to push him away. Kirishima shows up at your apartment with roses clutched in his hands, a bright smile on his face as soon as you open the door.

You can’t get the words out to ask him to leave, cause he’s crashing into you, shoving the roses into your hands as he kisses you, mouth hot and wet.

Pushes you around, manhandles you like you’re nothing. By the time he lets you break away from the kiss, his hand is down your shorts, knuckles brushing softly over your panties, pressed up against your clit.

You wanna tell him no, tell him to stop and go home and leave you alone, but then he’s kissing you again, sharp teeth nipping at your lip until you open your mouth to let him explore inside, his technique messy but enthusiastic. 

Kirishima is so strong, it’s easy for him to lift you into his arms, asking you sweetly to wrap your legs around his waist while he slowly grinds his clothed bulge in-between your legs, making you gasp at the pang of pleasure that shoots through your stomach on each grind.

And then his mouth is on yours again, and he's stumbling towards your bedroom. The man pauses occasionally to shove your back against a wall to steady you so he can hump against your pussy, both of your clothes beginning to spot with precum and wetness.

There isn’t time to tell him no, his presence is so overwhelming and it’s so hard to catch a breath with him attacking you so lustfully with his lips and hands.

By the time you reach the bedroom, your scrabbling at his arms, half wanting to be let go, half wanting for him to pull you closer.

You know this isn’t right, what he’s doing isn’t right - it never is, hasn’t been from the beginning. There’s no consent on your part, and Kirishima doesn’t care to ask.

His polite and gentlemanly exterior crumbles around you, burned to ashes by lust and desperation. Instead he turns into a demon, grabbing and humping and taking whatever he wants. Problem is, he doesn’t ask if you want it too.

Never gives into your timid requests for him to leave, always brushes it off as you being shy or embarrassed. At least, that’s what you hope. You can’t bear the thought of Kirishima purposefully fucking you knowing that you don’t want him too.

(He knows, and it hurts his heart. But why would he ever stop fucking you when it makes the both of you almost pass out from the pleasure?)

----

“Let me eat you out mommy, please?”

“Kiri I don’t-”

“Don’t be shy, I love you so much. It’ll feel so good, I’ll be so good for you. Please, please let me lick your perfect little pussy.”

He’s already stripping off your shorts, your hands doing nothing to stop him. Kirishima loves sitting you on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees and throwing your legs over his shoulders before going down on you. 

The man goes on and on about how pretty you are, how sweet you taste, ignoring whispering “stop, please don’t”.

Kirishima does what he wants, and he only wants you.

When he starts licking broad stripes up your cunt, you can’t do anything but shudder and clutch at his hair, try to pull him away, push him back. It feels good, but you don’t want it to.

Kiri always stops when you pull his hair, looking up at you with glittering red eyes as he lips his lips, savoring your taste.  “Oh, sorry mommy, I forgot to put up my hair. Know you like to pull on it when you get too sensitive.”

And it’s tantalizing, watching his muscles flex underneath his shirt while he pulls his long hair into a ponytail before diving back between your legs. You try to clamp them shut, but he just laughs and easily wrenches them open, tells you not to hide from him, let him see your beautiful little body and make you cum until you’re shaking.

He does exactly that, holding onto one of your legs over his shoulder with one hand, the other kneading his cock through his sweats as he excitedly eats you out, licking and slurping and spitting onto your cunt. You’re usually crying at this point, begging him to stop and go home, leave you alone, you don’t want this, but Kiri never listens.

He does like the sound of your begging.

Kirishima makes sure you cum more than once, messily dragging his tongue over your thighs, lapping at your cum like he’s had nothing to drink for a week, a man with an unquenchable thirst. There’s all sorts of sounds, from his feral, unconscious groaning and growling to the slick, squelchy sound of him mouthing feverishly at your clit.

When he finally pulls back, panting and groaning with need, he blinks up at you, a wide smile dancing across his face.

“Thank you mommy, what a treat. You always taste so nice, wish you would let me spend all day in between your thighs. Thank you so much for letting me eat you out, you’re so good to me.”

The way he says it makes you blush - almost as if you had made him beg to eat you out, as if you had wanted him to do so.

You had begged for him to stop.

It’s not like he ever listens.

And then he’s standing up, shucking off his sweats and shirt before grabbing at your own shirt, pulling it off you before you can resist his big hands. You push yourself towards the other side of the bed, legs feeling like jelly from your previous orgasms, and you don’t get far before Kirishima’s dragging you back towards him.

“Don’t worry, I always make you feel good. I would never hurt my sweet girl. I just wanna feel you mommy, see how hard you made me?”

His cock is bobbing against his belly as he moves, precum slicking the length, smearing against his dark happy trail. He’s got a big dick. You always hate this next part.

Kiri likes to manhandle you while he fucks you, likes to feel how little you are compared to how giant he is. Sometimes he’ll pick you up, hold you in the air and bounce you on his cock while he watches your face, occasionally leaning to kiss and mouth at your neck.

Other times he’ll turn you away from him, push you into the bathroom before picking you up into a full-nelson, right in front of the mirror. In that position, both of you can see how his thick cock enters you, how blotchy your face gets with tears, how you’re almost hyperventilating from the stress and trauma of being violated. Kirishima always looks flushed behind you, knitting his brows together while he chases his pleasure, cooing at his “mommy” and how amazing you are.

When he’s feeling particularly playful, he’ll throw you on the bed, lift you into positions where he has full access to your body, play between sticking his cock in your pussy or tracing it around your mouth. He’ll flick his finger over your clit, mush down the little nub with his thick, calloused thumb and torture it until you’re a sobbing mess, crying and begging and pleading for him to stop, or let you cum - you’d take either at this point.

Today he’s feeling gentle, loving; he wants to spoil his mommy and make you feel amazing, 

So Kiri lays down on his back, pulls you over him and spends a few minutes just grinding his cock against you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, pausing to whine and whimper at the delicious friction of your skin against his cock. He wants to cum, but he wants to make his mommy feel good first.

When the big man does lift you onto his cock, it’s hard for him to start out slow. He always tries to give one hundred percent, can’t hold himself back when he sinks into your tight heat.

You’re laying against him, head buried into the juncture between his neck and shoulder as you cry. But Kiri wants to see. So he pushes you up, holds you upright with his big meaty palms before he plants his feet on the bed and fucks into you so fast you almost scream.

Kirishima pounds into you so quickly on his lap that your tits are bouncing, and he’s addicted to the way the flesh moves before his eyes. He loves you, body, mind, soul - everything about you is perfect to him. He wants to be with you, wants to watch you and feel you and fuck you until he dies.

He makes you come again, slamming into your g-spot again and again until you’re clenching around him, bawling your eyes out as pleasure overtakes you. You don’t want this, it isn’t right, he’s a bad man.

Your clenched pussy drives him too close to the edge, and Kirishima is crying out, chanting, begging you to let him cum. 

As if you were in control.

The man isn’t necessarily expecting a response, lost in the fantasy of his beautiful little mommy ordering him to come in her little pink pussy, to clean her up afterwards while she grinds her foot against his softening cock while he licks his cum out of her.

It’s that thought that has him spilling inside you, choking up at the sensation of your warm walls milking out his cum.

You feel so good, he loves you so much.

He knows you don’t love him back, knows you hate what he’s doing to you, hate the pleasure he forces from your body.

But Kirishima can pretend you don’t.

He’ll teach you to love him.

[kiki-shortsnout]

For intimacy prompts: #36 being pushed against a wall for Frostironstrange! 💚❤️💙

I might have cheated a little and made it a door....

***

Jealousy wasn’t an emotion Stephen had much experience with. He’d been top of his field when he’d been a doctor, a pioneer, a trailblazer, he was the one people regarded with envy. Even in his romantic life, jealousy wasn’t an emotion he’d fallen victim to, never having formed a lasting attachment to another person.

He knew the root of the emotion stemmed from a feeling of insecurity, that the best thing he could do was turn his gaze inward and think about his own personal growth, to address his feelings of low self-esteem.

This…didn’t feel like feelings of low self-esteem. It felt like a coiled ball of barbed wire and razor blades sitting in his stomach, strangling the life out of him every time he saw them together.

The words on the page wavered as his eyes went unfocused, his ears straining to hear sounds of them whispering, torturing himself further by hearing fragments of their conversation, his mind filling in the blanks.

Why couldn’t it have been me?

Stephen had fallen in love with Tony first. He’d agonized over that, spent countless nights thinking about the reason why, if the rationale behind his jealousy was born from some adolescent feeling such as, I saw him first so therefore he’s mine, but that wasn’t it.

A bond had formed between them when fighting Thanos, a trust that Stephen seldom found in others. He knew Tony, probably better than anyone else in the world after his little exploration of millions of possible outcomes, but that wasn’t what made him fall in love.

It was the man’s determination, his courage, his sarcasm, all wrapped up in an appealing aesthetic package that was Tony Stark. He had been willing to sacrifice himself for the world, just as Stephen had sacrificed countless lives in the Dark Dimension, and at that moment against Thanos, Stephen knew he’d found someone in this huge, boundless universe who could understand him.

He looked up at that moment, staring at Tony across the gloomy Sanctum library. His legs were folded beneath him on the armchair, his elbow on the desk as he rested his head on it, idly swiping through his Starkpad as he worked.

Stephen hadn’t been able to let him die, had used every possible resource he possessed and those around him to save his life. He hadn’t even known Tony that long, but he had still sobbed alongside Rhodey and Pepper as Tony finally inhaled a lungful of battle charred air after excruciating seconds of being dead.

Sensing Stephen’s stare, Tony glanced up, giving him a gorgeous smile, the type that sent euphoric sensations squirming through his stomach. Ignoring Tony’s mouthed question asking him if he was okay, Stephen turned back to his book.

He’d never understood what it meant to love someone until the moment he’d lost Tony. Despite already witnessing millions of potential lifetimes, ignoring millions more, Stephen still wanted to remain by Tony’s side, as a friend, a lover, whatever capacity he was allowed as long as he could be part of the man’s life.

‘What’s got your attention, Anthony? I’m over here.’

Then Loki had happened.

The trickster had faked his death at Thanos’s hand. Not for his own personal gain this time, it was the only way he could save Thor and Bruce, ensure that Thanos would leave whatever Asgardians he hadn’t slaughtered alone. Stephen had doubted Loki’s intentions were as honorable as that, believe a large part of his actions were to save his own hide, but he wasn’t made of stone, despite how he was perceived, and Thor begging him to help find his brother hadn’t fallen on deaf ears.

It was Tony asking him to help bring Loki home, to give him the second chance they’d all had at some point in their lives, that swayed Stephen into action. The man didn’t even know about his repressed feelings, and even then, he was powerless to Tony’s wishes.

‘Lokes, I can barely concentrate as it is when you’re near me,’ Tony flirted.

He ripped the corner of the page from the tightness of his grip.

Stephen couldn’t actually put a finger on the exact moment where his feelings for the God of Mischief had changed from irritation to begrudging respect.

And then into complex complicated feelings of their own.

But he’d known when Loki’s and Tony’s relationship had changed, had seen the way both of them looked at the other, the swollen lips after they returned from meetings.

‘Stephen? Everything alright?’ Tony asked, destroying the painful recollections, making him look up at them both. They were trying to hide their relationship from him, and he wasn’t sure why.

I’m not important enough to know.

‘Yup,’ Stephen snapped, slamming his book shut and throwing it onto the desk between them.

‘Usually, you only look like that after I have spoken to you,’ Loki teased, placing both hands flat on the desk and leaning forward, goading him. That was their relationship, provoking each other, encouraging character growth through spite and teasing.

Today it felt like salt was scouring the wounds on Stephen’s soul.

He needed to control these feelings, these emotions. He’d already convinced himself that he was content with being Tony’s friend, that whatever stirrings of interest he had towards Loki had to be his libido talking. Tony Stark deserved whatever happiness he could find, and Stephen was the biggest advocate for it.

‘No, you’re not, honey.’

Stephen flinched in his chair as he looked up, Tony directly in front of him, his hand reaching out. The way his eyes had become soft and tender with worry for him made Stephen want to weep, to launch himself forward into his arms and speak his deepest desires.

They already have each other. There isn’t room for you.

He batted Tony’s hand away, ignoring the way the man flinched even as a wash of shamed nausea crept over him.

What are you expecting, Strange? That they’ll include you? That Tony will leave Loki for you? Normal people don’t have two partners.

‘Hey, it’s okay…I didn’t mean to scare you, we can leave if you’ve got things on your mind,’ Tony reassured, taking a step back.

‘Nothing’s on my mind,’ Stephen answered straight away, his voice coming out too loud and panicked. He saw Loki’s eyebrow raise in question, the Asgardian looking between them both, analyzing.

Shit.

‘Stephen, something’s obviously wrong, and I don’t think it’s because you don’t understand…’ Tony paused, tilting his head so he could try and read the title of Stephen’s book. ‘Yeah…I don’t know what you’re reading. Look, if it’s something I did don’t be shy,’ Tony told him with a playful grin, but Stephen knew what was behind it, the insecurity he hid behind those smiles.

‘No! It’s nothing you’ve done,’ Stephen lurched forward to grasp Tony’s elbows before remembering who else was with them. Immediately he let go, shoving his chair back with the force he used to escape. Cursing his treacherous body, his gaze went to Loki who was watching the whole thing unfold with shrewd eyes.

‘Come on, asshole, what is it? I’m not a mind reader you know.’

‘No, but I am. I have a glorious feeling this is going to be fascinating,’ Loki’s silky voice wrapped around them both, his fingers lit up with his magic.

He can’t find out.

‘Leave me alone…’ he spat, his hands readying themselves to create a portal as he leapt to his feet. ‘You can’t be serious?’

‘Deadly,’ Loki growled, extending his fingers with a snap, his emerald magic twisting forward and nullifying the portal Stephen had been trying to create.

I need to get out of here.

‘What? What’s going on? Loki, stop it don’t-’ Tony yelped as Stephen launched himself into a run, barreling him over in his haste to escape. Loki gave chase, both of them scrabbling against the wooden floor as they sprinted to the door.

Tony can’t know. Neither of them can know.

Stephen ignored Tony’s frantic shouts for them to stop, the burn in his lungs as he ran, the pain in his shoulders as he collided with the bookcases. Books rained down on him, the library around him fading to one, singular point.

Get to the door!

He could hear Loki hot on his heels, felt the tendrils of his magic trying to ensnare him, his snarls of frustration as Stephen ducked and weaved around the bookcases, no finesse to his movements, just a dogged determination to escape the situation.

Crying out in relief when he made it to the door first, he skidded to a halt when the Cloak billowed up, blocking the way, trapping Stephen inside.

‘They can’t find out! Move!’ Stephen hissed at the Cloak.

The Cloak shook its collar, spreading itself out so it appeared huge.

‘Please!’ Stephen pleaded, his voice cracking. ‘I’ll lose them both otherwise!’

‘What the hell is going on? Are we under attack?’ Feet pounded on the floor behind him, the sounds of his suit forming was audible even over Stephen’s pounding heart.

Think. Think!

Reaching forward to rip aside the Cloak, Stephen found himself slammed against the back of the door, a lithe muscled body pressed against him, and a hot mouth sealed over his. Despite wanting to moan into it, the electric current of unbridled lust surging inside of him, he didn’t stop fighting to escape.

He didn’t want to hurt Tony with his lustful feelings and burgeoning affection for his lover, didn’t want to damage their friendship. Then there was Loki, whose tales of cruelty had reached them all. Who knew what he would do to Stephen for coveting his lover? He would desecrate the feelings he held dear, spinning this into a story that they shared with other while in bed, their mocking laughter surrounding them.

‘Desist your struggles, Strange,’ Loki whispered when he stopped, leaving another scorching kiss on his lips as he held him still. ‘Your feelings are making you foolish. You know I cannot read minds, yet you crumbled under your fear and left your true self bare.’

Stephen strained against the hold, his head banging back against the heavy door, nails gripping the wood. Loki didn’t budge, his strength far exceeding Stephen’s, but he moved his hands to his forearms, allowing the blood to flow back into his damaged hands with a pained hiss.

‘Sorry,’ Loki murmured. ‘It is not my intent to-’

‘You already knew I had feelings for him,’ Stephen hissed, looking over Loki’s shoulder, trying to understand what the expression on Tony’s face was, memorizing the detail of him before he’d be no longer allowed to look.

I never wanted this to happen.

‘Yes, but I did not know of your attraction to me. Which makes this conversation so much simpler,’ Loki answered.

‘What conversation?’

‘You are not alone in your feelings, darling,’ Loki called over his shoulder, his sharp green gaze never leaving Stephen’s.

He slumped in Loki’s hold, hanging his head as shame burned his cheeks.

‘You’re not listening to my words, Stephen.’ Loki brought his head down to whisper in his ear, adjusting his grip so Stephen could rest against him, holding him instead of restraining him. Even with all of the panic making him light-headed, his chest flayed open for all to see, Stephen still took the time to breathe in Loki’s scent, the unique alienness of it.

‘Stephen? Is Loki right? Do you…have feelings for me?’ Tony asked, his voice wavering in bewilderment.

Rubbing his head against Loki’s shoulder for a moment, Stephen took a huge, quivering breath before he drew back, trying to find his courage.

‘No, Loki’s voice rumbled through his chest, oscillating through to Stephen’s skin. ‘It isn’t just lust you have for me. You hold feelings for us both.’

‘Stephen?’

‘Yes. God, I’m sorry, I fell for you, months ago, Tony,’ Stephen sighed, not looking at him, staring at the glossy black hair brushing against Loki’s collarbone. ‘I knew you were together, thought I could be happy…No, I wanted to be happy for you-’

Stephen stumbled as Loki vanished from before him, flailing until he was caught by Tony’s smaller frame. He only had a second to figure out what had happened before he was being kissed again, a sharp whipcrack of shock drowning out any thoughts.

He retained enough sense to break apart, his gaze seeking out Loki, fearful of retribution. Loki’s façade cracked at his stare, relaxing into an expression he’d often seen him look at Tony with.

‘You were blinded by what you did not have, saw only what you wanted to see. You never realized that Anthony was watching you too, snatching gazes of you when you were preoccupied with your melancholy.’

Stephen looked down at Tony in his arms, his brown eyes blazing in that look of determination he’d fallen for.

‘Stephen, I…you too? I never thought…you never gave any indication of-’

Stephen silenced the words with a kiss, reaching up to cup Tony’s face with his hand, expressing everything he could through his actions, his longing, his repressed desire, his love. Their tears mingled together, seeping down to their lips, binding their kiss with suffering sweetness.

‘Idiots, the both of you,’ Loki said, wrapping his arms around them. ‘I know this type of relationship might not be considered… acceptable on Midgard, but I believe now that I know of your feelings, it would be wise to explore the possibilities.’

‘This, this isn’t normal though,’ Stephen mumbled against Tony’s lips, lifting his free hand so he could grip hold of Loki.

‘Who cares about normal? I’m Tony Stark, I do what I want,’ Tony asserted, kissing him soundly on the lips, before turning and kissing Loki’s jaw.

‘Ineloquent as always, but I believe this time the sentiment comes across nicely,’ Loki said, eyes closing as he accepted Tony’s bestowed kiss.

‘You both? How long?’

‘Since Thanos-’

‘Since you found me-’

They answered together. It was Loki who blushed though, uncertain how his own declaration would be taken.

‘I’ve known Tony longer, understood and accepted my feelings for him before I found you, but that doesn’t mean what I’m feeling towards you isn’t real, Loki,’ Stephen assured, his confidence growing, the earlier panic and fear dispelled by their touch.

Loki swallowed and nodded once, his grip tightening before he took a step back, gesturing at the Cloak to move aside.

‘I realize we’ve forced this confession from you, and if you would rather take some time to-’

‘Do you want to go on a date?’ Tony interrupted.

‘A date?’ Loki deadpanned.

‘A date? Like drinks? Food? Music? Somewhere we can get to…well not know each other better, but talk. About what this means for us?’ Tony encouraged, his gaze darting between them both.

‘Anthony. I do not think-’

‘A date sounds great,’ Stephen interrupted him this time, pressing his lips together to hide his amusement at Loki’s confusion, reaching down to take both their hands in his.

[mandadoration]

before the winter

summary: anon asked: I am LITERALLY BEGGING on my KNEES for a sliver of Din (from that black and white drawing) with a breeding kink. He looks like he fucks wild, like supet dominant, almost primal, but extremely caring. Mando is definitely territorial over his girl. Bitch looks like he invented the breeding kink... I unfortunately cannot help that I am a whore for that man - Fool + anon asked: Could we maybe get some breeding kink din? Claiming his girl in the ultimate way, making her take his seed and punishing her if any falls out. He wants to breed her, wants to fuck himself and his seed so deep she will always be his, telling her dirty things while he does it, how she'll always be his, how she is going to take his cum like a good girl and not waste a single drop

word count: 1, 6222

pairing: clan leader!mandalorian x reader

warnings: smut, breeding kink, mild bondage

a/n: so the context behind the drawing by @magichandthing​ is “what if clan leaders dressed like this” and so uh

I’ve taken some liberties with thinking about if this were the case (i.e. clan leaders =/= covert leaders, but still in high standing? maybe some sort of council?) I’ve also amended the Ways of the Mandalore and Mandalorian culture to try and explain his dress. 

Also kind of expanded on this post?

Read this on AO3

In the turbulent times of today, trying to make sure the Ways of the Mandalore didn’t die out were crucial. Mandalorians were an endangered way of life already, and the current political climate wasn’t the best environment for expanding. Secrecy and discipline were enforced. Mandalorian coverts were hidden with high security and discretion. All members of the covert had to be on the same page at all times to reduce risk. After all, the best way to stop something was to stop it from happening in the first place. All of these preventative measures, but time marches on without a care. A new generation had to be brought up. 

Foundlings were to be revered, but there always seemed to be an undercurrent of tragedy underneath all that. A foundling wasn’t taken in by a clan unless they were all alone, and as death tolls rose, more and more were orphans. There seemed to be an increase of that, it seems. Young children left alone in the cruel world forever torn apart by war. As Imperials do anything and everything to scrabble for power, numbers were growing seemingly by the day as more and more children were taken under wing. They were cared for, and even loved, for a found family was just as important as beskar.

But a child born into a clan was something to be celebrated. 

“Mando--”

Which is why your whimpering voice and the wet sounds of your bodies meeting were echoing around the empty chamber as Mando takes you from behind. 

As a result of circumstance, the Way has amended itself a little, and life became different compared to what it was in the past. It still retained the heart and soul of Mandalore, staying true to the real meaning of what it means to be a Mandalorian, but times have forced change, especially concerning clans. For example, within their home turf, clan leaders forwent the usual pomp of beskar. Of course, anywhere else, and they would proudly show off shining armor and the best gear. The show of bare skin was a testament that they have earned their title through blood and body, a way of showing their status. To have the grace to bare their skin, especially in these dangerous times, was an immense show of power. 

For you, it just means less layers. Less layers meant Mando could sheathe himself into your warm heat faster. Less layers meant it’d be easier and more convienent to fuck a child into you. 

You weren’t a Mandalorian. You weren’t a foundling and you didn’t swear the Creed, but you were unequivocally Mando’s, and you were his to take whenever he felt like it. It’s a high honor to catch the eye of a clan leader, especially one as selective as Mando, and you became a person of intrigue when it was revealed you weren’t bound by the Way. Despite the eyes that follow you and the ever-so fleeting touches from others in the covert, the marks that never failed to show on your throat far above what any collar could hide spoke more than words. 

The last time someone put their hand on you, Mando had no hesitation on showing what happens when someone fucks with something that belonged to him. 

Paz Vizla’s broken arm was a testament to that. 

Mando puts a firm hand on your back and pushes you down, keeping you face down, ass up as his hips snap forward against yours. Each thrust makes you scoot forward the slightest, and punched out moans seem to be the only sound you can make beyond the occasional garbled sound of his name. His grip is bruising on your hips, and he pulls you back to meet him halfway in an effort to increase his pace. Mando’s breathing is labored, a soft groan going through his vocoder every now and then, but he’s rather impassive considered how brutally he was fucking you. 

Mando’s beads and necklaces have long since been discarded, and his pants are only shoved down far enough to reveal his cock. You wish he could pull you flush against his chest, but the horns soldered onto his helmet prevents you from getting too close. You don’t mind, and you mind even less in those rare moments you’re on top, holding on to those horns for stability as you fuck yourself on him. But Mando had descended upon you far too quickly and without any preamble that you had no time to even ask him what was going on. Clothes were taken off, and if too much of a hassle, ripped off, his belt secured around your wrists and shoved to the cold floor of his room. Your hands are bound in front of you with it, the Mudhorn buckle, the symbol of his clan, glinting in the low light of the room. He at least had the sense to lay his cloak underneath you, and the fur trim gave your hands something to grasp at. 

You only feel the slightest bit of guilt when your tears soak the fine fabric. 

Mando moves his hold on your waist to your arms, yanking you back as your back arches and lets Mando somehow sink deeper into you. The moan you let out is filthy, and you think through the haze that you’re being a little too loud, and others were sure to hear. So you bite your lip, teeth tugging on the soft skin as you try to stifle the sounds, only for you to yelp when Mando slaps your ass before he goes back to hold onto your arms.

“Let me hear you, sweet girl,” he breathes. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

Your shoulders are straining at the joints from the angle you’re held up in, but you’re so close that you ignore it in favor of increasing your moans tenfold as per his request. In turn, a deep, guttural growl emanates from Mando, making you clench around him. 

“Fuck,” he snarls. “My sweet girl, so- so tight, so willing, and all mine.” He punctuates each word with a sharp thrust that makes you shake. Mando slips out of you, chuckling under his breath at the needy whine you give, and flips you over so that you’re on your back. One grabs your bound wrists and pins them above your head, and the other comes down to lead himself back into your blushed hole, the sweet drag of his cock curling your toes and making you see stars. As you stare up at his helmet with glazed-over eyes, you can see how truly debauched you look in the reflection. Hair mussed, face flushed, eyes shining with unshed tears, seemingly frozen in a permanent state of euphoria. That’s what Mando saw when he looked at you.

You wish you could kiss him. 

And that’s another thought that’s fucked out of you as Mando resumes his previous pace. Harsh, unforgiving, and with a clear purpose in mind.

He leans in as close as he can. “Are you going to cum with me?” Mando croons. You nod frantically, half delirious from the rising rush of your orgasm, and give a moan of appreciation when Mando dips his hand down to rub at your clit, matching it in time with each thrust. “Where do you want me cum?” he asks, and it’s a misleading question because you know all he wants to hear is you beg for it. “In your mouth? On your face? Wherever you want, sweet girl, I will do it.” Mando’s voice is so tender and soft, borderline condescending compared to how ruined you feel. He’s close, you can tell, the strong, corded muscles under his skin jumping and straining to maintain an even pace, and he gets awfully wordy when he’s about to cum. 

“In me!” you gasp out, clenching and unclenching your hands, nails digging into your soft palms. You strain against your bonds, wanting so badly to bring him close, to touch him. “Please, fuck, Mando, cum in me!”

“Anything for you,” he grunts, “Anything for my sweet girl,” and with one final swipe at your clit with the rough pad of his gloved thumb, you’re cumming, mouth open in a soundless scream as your eyes roll back into your skull. Mando buries himself to the hilt, moaning through the voice modulator as he releases inside of you, and from how much he absolutely fills you, his hot cum has nowhere to go but out, leaking over his cock and smearing over your thighs. His cloak is definitely stained from that. 

As you start to come out of your haze, whimpering one last time with a hoarse voice as he slips out, the ridge of your entrance catching on his head, you’re glad that your hands are bound because you’re sure you would’ve torn up Mando’s back with your nails. You run your fingers over the crescent marks dug into your palm. 

Maybe he’s into that. You’ll have to ask some other time. 

Your heart rate picks up again when Mando makes a displeased sound, almost disappointed, running a finger over your abused entrance. “That won’t do,” he sighs, and he scoops some of his leaking cum to shove it back inside your hole, not caring when you jolt and sigh with each insistent press of his fingers. 

You give him a breathless, “What?” and Mando just hooks his arms under your legs to bring him flush against his hips again. 

“I said, ‘That won’t do’,” he repeats, slower this time, and your face reddens again when you feel his softened cock twitch against the cleft of your ass. “Because you’re a messy girl, and I’m aiming for a child before winter comes.”

---

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail @adikaofmandalore @lavenderl3mons @jokersdoll​​ @creamysacrilege @blondecity​

Pedro Tag: @mrsparknuts

[shadowywerewolfqueen]

Alpha Fight

This was inspired by @verobatto-angelxhunter most recent artwork. They wanted two Alpha’s fighting so I did my best! Hope you enjoy it darling and thank you for the gorgeous artwork and wonderful inspiration!

The two Alphas stood in the moonlit clearing, staring at one another. They stood motionless, their bodies tight with tension. A large orange-eyed wolf stood to the side, a triumphant smile showing sharp teeth. He tipped his head back and howled, and the sound echoed through the trees.

One of the Alphas, tall with bright green eyes, glanced at the wolf before focusing back on the man in front of him. “Cas, please, don’t do this! Fight Lucifer’s control! I know you can do it!”

Dean winced when a laugh pierced his skull. “Oh, Dean, you really think your pleading words will break the hold I have on Castiel? Your precious mate is mine, and I will watch with glee as he rips your throat out, finally making me the Pack Alpha!”

A growl rumbled from Dean’s chest, and he swung his head to glare at Lucifer, making sure to keep Cas in his peripheral. “I don’t know what spell you have on him, but I will break it! Cas is mine, my mate!” 

A dark chuckle escaped Lucifer. “You think you can break my spell? You, a mere human Alpha with not an ounce of magic running in your veins? Castiel challenged me and lost; what hope do you have of defeating me?”

Dean’s mouth was set in a firm line, refusing to rise to Lucifer’s bait. He focused back on Cas, a whine forming in the back of his throat. Cas was looking at him, and there wasn’t an ounce of recognition in the blue eyes he loved so much. “Cas, please, fight this. Beat him. I know you’re stronger than Lucifer!”

“I grow tired of this.” Lucifer looked at Cas and ordered, “Brother, kill your mate!”

Without hesitation, Cas shifted into a large black wolf and lunged at Dean. Dean threw his body to the side, barely escaping Cas’ vicious teeth. He rolled onto his hands and knees, panting heavily. He looked up and saw Cas charging at him. 

“Dammit,” Dean cursed, shifting into his tan and red wolf. 

In the next instant, Cas was slamming into Dean, his jaws clamping down on whatever he could reach. Dean whimpered when Cas’ teeth ripped into his shoulder, slicing through fur and muscle quickly. Dean grabbed at the back of Cas’ neck, attempting to pull his mate away without hurting him. Cas shook his head, deepening the wound and causing more blood to gush from it. Dean snarled and lurched forward, gasping in pain as more muscle tore.

Dean spun around, afraid to have Cas at his back. He stared at his mate, whose muzzle was covered in blood. “Cas, please, stop this. It’s me; it’s Dean. It’s your mate! Please, Cas, remember me,” Dean begged.

Cas snarled and rushed forward. Dean tried to sidestep him but his leg crumpled beneath him. Cas was on top of him, snapping and growling. Dean, having no choice but to fight back, growled and bit into Cas’ leg. 

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean said before closing his jaws. He heard a snapping sound, and Cas scurried backward, howling in pain.

Cas stood on three legs, his front right leg hanging uselessly. He was panting heavily, his sides heaving as he struggled to bring oxygen into his lungs. He eyed Dean warily, trying to determine his next move.

“What are you doing? Kill him,” Lucifer shouted.

Immediately, Cas lunged at Dean. He was slower, and Dean was able to avoid his attack. Dean spun around to face his mate but had underestimated how fast Cas could move with his injury. Cas slammed into Dean, sending him sprawling. Before Dean could regain his feet, Cas was on him, his jaws going straight for Dean’s neck.

Dean tried to buck his mate off, but he couldn’t with his injured shoulder. He scrabbled, but his paws did nothing but rake the dirt and grass. Pain raced through his body as Cas chewed into the thick fur of his neck. Dean turned his head and saw Cas’ broken leg. He lashed out with his paw, hitting the broken limb hard.

Cas howled in pain, giving Dean the opening he needed. He lurched forward, ignoring the blood pouring down his back and neck. He got to his feet shakily but was too slow. Cas rammed him, sending him back to the ground. This time, Cas’ jaws locked around the vulnerable underside of Dean’s neck.

Dean stared into the blue eyes he loved so much. “Please, Cas, shake Lucifer off. You’re stronger than him!”

“My brother wishes he was stronger than me,” Lucifer cried. “Now, finish him, brother!”

Dean could feel Cas’ jaws tightening, slowly cutting off his air supply. He tried to break out of Cas’ grasp, but it was futile; he was too weak and Cas’ grip too strong. Black spots appeared at the edge of Dean’s vision, and he knew he only had moments left. His gaze locked with Cas, the blue eyes the last thing he wanted to see. “It’s ok, Cas. I don’t blame you. I love you. Goodbye, honeybee.” Dean’s world went dark.

____________________________________________________________________________

Dean blinked his eyes open, and the first thing he saw was blue. “Hey, honeybee.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas cried, throwing himself into Dean’s arms. “I was so scared I wouldn’t be able to save you in time!”

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’ sobbing shoulders. “I knew you would beat him. I had all the faith in the world.”

“You shouldn’t have,” Cas mumbled against Dean’s chest. “He was strong, Dean. Far stronger than I realized.”

“Hey, it’s ok; you beat him,” Dean said, running his fingers soothingly through Cas’ black locks. He glanced to the side and noticed a prone body lying in the grass. Dean felt no remorse at seeing Lucifer dead, only wishing he had been the one to kill the bastard. He squeezed Cas, overjoyed to have his mate back in his arms and free of Lucifer’s mind control. “Thank you for healing me.”

Cas pulled back to look at him. “Of course! You were losing so much blood, I was afraid-”

“Cas, stop,” Dean said, cutting his mate off. “You saved me, we’re safe, and we’re free of your crazy brother. That’s all that matters.”

Cas nodded his head, smiling weakly. “You’re right; that is all that matters.”

“Now, let’s go home. You’ve been missing for days, and I’m desperate to have your knot filling my ass.” Dean leaned forward and covered Cas’ mouth with his own. 

As they kissed, their cocks thickened and rubbed against each other. They broke apart, gasping for breath. Cas cupped Dean’s jaw in his hand, his thumb rubbing against the smooth skin. “I love you, Dean.”

“Love you, too, honeybee,” Dean murmured, pecking Cas on the lips again. 

The two men separated and shifted into their wolves. Cas started walking when he was suddenly being shoved to the ground by a tan body. “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be. I already kicked your ass once; you really wanna get beat twice in one day?”

“You just got lucky! I was going easy on you,” Dean said, his voice full of laughter.

“It’s gonna be really embarrassing for you when I tell Sam I beat you twice,” Cas shot back.

Cas shot forward, tackling Dean to the ground. He bared his teeth and growled, but there was no malice behind the sounds. He grabbed the scruff of Dean’s neck and shook his head, playing rather than fighting. Dean bucked him off and shot forward. Cas followed him, not giving Dean a chance to catch his breath. 

Their bodies slammed into each other, and they both went rolling. Cas scrambled to throw his body on top of Dean’s, pinning the larger wolf beneath him. He grabbed the underside of Dean’s neck in his teeth, hard enough to keep Dean from moving but light enough not to break the skin. Dean tried to scratch at Cas’ belly, but the fur was too thick for the nails to do much damage.

“Alright, I surrender,” Dean cried, baring his neck even more to his Alpha mate.

Cas gave a gentle shake of his head before letting Dean’s fur drop from his mouth. He smiled a toothy grin and said, “Told you I was gonna beat you twice. Now, let’s go home so I can enjoy my victory. I’m gonna pound your ass so hard, my love, you will feel it for days.”

Dean licked at Cas’ muzzle. “You promise?”

Cas’ laughter floated through Dean’s head as he backed off his mate. Dean got to his feet and slid his body along Cas’, marking him so all others would know Cas was his. He was a very possessive wolf when he wanted to be.

Cas snapped his jaws. “Quit marking me, you possessive bastard. I thought you wanted sex.”

“Oh, I do!” Dean nuzzled his muzzle against Cas’. “Let’s go home, honeybee.”

Cas nudged Dean’s head with his. “Love you, Alpha.”

“Love you too, Alpha,” Dean said, chuckling softly. He took off into the forest, Cas, close on his heels, the past hour already fading to the back of their minds.

[bowieandqueen11]

I’m An Idiot / Richie Tozier Fluff

Request: Hi! I was wondering if I could have a Richie x reader (18 years old) where he has had a crush on the reader since the whole IT situation but never acted on it until he hears they are moving to go and attend college and it’s a whole sweet thing where he is outside her house practicing what to say and she hears it through her window or something? Idk if that’s clear or not. Thank you! Also I LOVE your writings! Hope you have a wonderful day/night! 💕 

It’s been so long since I’ve written for Richie holy moly but this is so cute!!

Warning, some strong language!

Reblogs and comments much appreciated!

Richie Tozier couldn’t stop hopping.

When he woke up, shoving his duvet on the floor and grabbing the first Hawaiian shirt laying askew on his desk chair, he was shaking. When he shoved Eddie’s face out of the way as he tripped over him on the way to his door, he was trembling, although Eddie only snorted and rolled over in his sleeping bag to go back to snoring. If he knew that he was actually doing this, if Bill knew, although he was still sprawled out and half falling off the beanbag, that he was finally going to muster up the courage to confess to you before you left the Losers, he would never hear the end of it. When he shut the front door, squeezing his lips together so as not to wake his parents, he was beginning to jump from foot to foot.

‘Come on, Tozier, you fought a child eating clown. You’ve got the high score on every game in the Arcade. Heck, you’ve even made Eddie Spaghetti laugh out loud and spit his milkshake all over Ben’s face. You’re hilarious, you’re a fantastic catch-’

Kicking a can off of the road, he sighed to himself as he passed Derry library, his breath fogging up his glasses in the early modern light.

‘Who are you kidding, you’re just a Loser. She’s totally going to reject you. Shit!’

Crunching over the grass by the school, he finally hopes on his breaking down, creaking bike, and fills the empty streets with the sound of his wheels spinning and his heart thumping with each cycle. The dew shines in the first rays of the rising sun, brightening his sneakers with a glint as his tracks leave their own footprints on the grass - the only path to show that had been there.

He didn’t mean to reach you at sunrise, but he had found himself sleepless last night. He had expected you round at the Losers’ sleepover last night, but you had to phone up late and inform him that you had to start packing. Mike had been the one to find him, just leaning his head against the wall with the phone still hanging limply in his hand. He had to place his hands firmly around his shoulders to pull Richie away, leading him back into the others with a tight grip, but Richie was gone, far away, as if he was disappearing in his grip like a ghost. Eddie was about to say something later that night, but the look of fear, and dejection on Richie’s face when he slipped under his covers and just turned his back to the others, made him stop and just settle down in his freshly pressed sleeping bag.

The morning, thankfully, wasn’t as grey, but soothing lavender and brilliant lander started to break out from behind the clouds, merging behind his raven hair into neon pinks and peaches.

Finally arriving at your house, he dumped his bike on your lawn and ran around to face your bedroom. Little did he know, that you were also awake, still thinking about your phone call last night. Placing your hand on your windowsill, you sigh as you just stop for a moment, ignoring the boxes in the corner of your eye and instead just leaning by your net curtains. 

Behind the glass, and the fabric, was the ever changing art of the sky, and the boy you couldn’t see yet below it, who was desperately trying to put into words the ever exploding feelings in his heart. There was such a feeling of nervousness, of joy, of electricity in the air, a sense that secrets were about to be whispered into the transitory and eternal air, changing and constant and not able to be swallowed in again.

Stopping suddenly, you start to hear a squeaking voice warble out from down below.

‘Y/n, these feelings I have for you are embedded in my - come on, are you five, that sounds so dirty. Even when a clown was trying to turn into a werewolf and eat my fear or whatever, or when we went into that crack house, I was never afraid, because you were with me. I’m scared, that if you go, I’ll vanish as well.’

You reach out towards your curtains and draw them aside softly. You have to blink away the sun for a moment as it comes in and bathes through the square of light in bright gold, warming the wood by your toes and bathing your face. You nearly choke with laughter at the sight of Richie Tozier pacing your garden, gesticulating wildly to himself as he swings about. He stops, nearly skidding as he throws his hands down in defeat.

‘We are two halves, but we make a whole- that’s so cheesy, you sound like Benny boy now.’

‘You’re my real family. You’re the only person who really actually gets me and I-I, shit man, you can’t do a Bill now. I love you. It’s just as simple as that. I love you, and I’m terrified. Damn, Trashmouth, that's not half bad.’

He nearly jumps out of his skin when you slide your window open and shout down at him.

‘Trashmouth, are you trying to wake the whole neighbourhood up?’

‘Why the hell are you up? I thought only creeps and nerds were up this early!’

‘Is that why you’re here?’

‘I thought I’d try out my new material on the best clown I know!’

A muscle twitches involuntarily at the corner of his right eye, his mouth forming a rigid grimace as he looks up at your raised eyebrows and slight smirk.

‘How much, exactly, did you hear of my musing?’

He folds his arms over his Freese’s shirt and flowing Hawaiian as he begins to hop from foot to foot again. Never one to keep still, he tries to keep his mind off your answer as you think above him. He tears his head away from your head, as it pops out the side of the window and dangles down at him like an angel floating in a halo of silver above his head, trying not to focus on the way your words would either see the dawn of his hope, or snap his dreams right in two. 

Instead he nudges his glasses a little higher on his nose, as if the thought the midnight rims should pay attention too - silently focusing together. 

‘If it makes you feel any better, I feel the same way too.’

‘W-what?’

‘Would you just get up here before my parents wake up?’

Richie doesn’t waste any time to grab a hold of the ivy climbing on the crumbling bricks, his feet slipping and sliding to try and keep up with his scrabbling as he tears up the side of your house. He’s so quick, you don’t know where he is until his nose bumps against yours, and he nearly collides straight against your mouth, the only thing barring the two of you being his glasses.

‘What did you just say?’

His expression is uncharacteristically serious, and yours is so bright in response. He wonders if you know how much that drives him crazy, how it makes him want to reach out and feel every curve of your skin, but instead he stays hovering a few inches away from your face, waiting for some miracle that his hearing quite hadn’t caught up with.

‘I said, I love you too, you idiot. What a time to tell me.’

‘Y-you love me?’

‘Would you hurry up and kiss me before you fall? Gosh knows you’ve waited about ten years too long.’

He rolls his eyes in that way he does when he's really happy but feeling too macho to show it, before he slightly wets his lips and lets himself fall forwards into your grasp. He melts into you, clumsily, and a little messily, but he manages to steady himself and reach up to cup your cheeks, lips desperate as they capture yours again and again, warm and tasting slightly like cherry, but so needy for you.

‘You’re right, I am an idiot.’ 

[nevervalentines]

(From the fluff/general list)

“Any RWBY ship! 12 or 13 :)” 

#12 “how did you get in here?”

#13 “for starters, that’s impossible.”

hi!!! thank u!!! I wrote u a lil baby bumbleby high school au, I hope that’s ok!! they’re girlfriends and they are SO annoying

*******

Taiyang has never been very good at dolling out punishments, but when Yang comes home from school dragging her feet for the second week in a row, he really doesn’t have a choice.

She looks miserable, flannel tied loosely around her waist, ponytail messy, sporting a shiner that’s reddened the skin around her right eye, along her cheekbone. Already inflamed, it promises to bruise, and he thinks that should be punishment enough. But.

“They already called, huh?” Yang slumps up the front porch steps. “Would it help if I told you he started it?”

Taiyang rubs at the back of his neck. “Your principal said otherwise.” He cringes, trying to soften the delivery. “Apparently there were witnesses. Something like – your entire gym class?”

“Mercury had it coming.” Yang stops on the top step. Her backpack dangles from one arm, dragging the ground. “Can’t the fact that he clocked me back be enough?” She waves a hand. “I learned my lesson, and all that.”

“Afraid not, baby girl. This is the second time in as many weeks.” He corrals her gently into the house and roots through the freezer, tossing her an icepack while he deliberates. “A grounding is fair, right?” More to himself than anybody. “A week, maybe?”

“Can I still see –”

“No visitors. That means no Blake, too.”

“An entire week!” Yang slams the icepack onto the kitchen counter. The blue liquid sloshes, the plastic pouch threatening to pop. “That’s bullshit.”

“Okay,” he says, exasperated, now. “Room. Now. Don’t let Ruby hear you talking like that.”

The muscles in Yang’s jaw tick, heat rolling off her in waves, but she pinches her mouth tight. If her eyes flash, he doesn’t mention it, just watches her stomp toward the staircase. Hears fading footsteps, the slam of her bedroom door.

When music starts blaring, he allows it, riot grrrl punk pop spitting from around the door frame. He can picture her pouting, touting loud music and bruised knuckles like armor. Figures he’ll let it slide, just until after dinner. A week without Blake might be consequence enough.

**

Yang reclines on rumpled sheets, too pissed to change out of her day clothes, shoes kicked up on her bed, arms behind her head.

A five-day suspension, a week without seeing Blake. It’s a promise of purgatory and, worse, boredom. Her eye throbs, the skin around the socket already softening into a bone deep hum of pain.

Time passes in blurry pigments; she swims in and out of a doze while the day fades into a sticky-blue dusk. She ignores her dad’s calls for dinner, ignores Ruby’s hesitant knock on the door, lets the room darken around her – watches the sky outside ripen and split.

It’s almost summer now, and the box fan churns uselessly at her bedside, the skin of her back is sticky with sweat, the sheets below her cloying and damp. Outside, the streetlights wink on, one by one, and the blurry white noise of the fan is almost enough to mask the scrabbling outside her window. Almost.

When Blake’s head pops over the windowsill, Yang about pisses her pants. Blake grins, her teeth a flash of white in the darkness, ears on a swivel, pressing her face close to the wire mesh of the window screen.

Bleary and half-asleep, with Blake only a silhouette against a rapidly darkening sky, it’s like Yang has conjured her directly out of a dream.  

Blake’s voice is strained, leveraging herself up on her forearms. “Why are you sitting in the dark?” Then. “Let me in, edgelord.”

Yang scrambles out of bed, heart in her throat, fumbles the screen’s latch open, helps Blake haul herself over the sill. Two hands under her arms, she pulls, Blake’s sneakers scraping against the paneled siding of the house.

Blake tumbles inside the bedroom, landing on top of Yang with an oof. She ushers in the sharp smell of fresh cut grass, cool nighttime air, summer-sweet.

“How did you get in here?” Yang sounds a little breathless, even to her own ears, and Blake settles more comfortably on top of her, so pleased with herself that Yang has to actively stop herself from kissing her smug smile away.

“Your window is right above the garage,” Blake says. She shifts her weight, forcing Yang to bow into the close weave of her room’s carpet. “I just had to get up there and,” a vertical shrug, a grin, “it was easy.”

“I’m grounded for a week,” Yang says, a little despairing, mouth tilting into a pout. “My dad says I can’t see you.”

“It’s dark, you can, like, hardly see me anyway,” Blake says. She wriggles on top of her, curls her fingers into the fabric of Yang’s tank top. “You’re kind of sweaty.”

“Did you climb up the side of my house just to insult me?” Yang asks. She feels a surge of affection so strong, she wonders if it might break something inside her, like there’s no more room left in her chest for anything but this: Blake smiling, nuzzling close. Blake’s slight frame settled in the sling of her hips, the too-warm press of the bare skin of her legs against Yang’s, one ankle hooked around her own.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Blake says. She ducks her head, rests her chin on Yang’s chest, looking up at her through her lashes. “And seeing as I found you crying in the dark, I made the right call.”

Yang struggles up onto her arms, dislodging Blake who sits back on her calves, amused.

“I wasn’t crying.” This, almost a yell, before she remembers herself and lowers her voice to a harsh whisper. “I was just upset.”

Sobering, Blake rocks to her feet, reaching down to tangle her hand with Yang’s and pull her to a stand. She pushes her onto the edge of her mattress, touches her cheek, gentle, careful to avoid the bruise.

Yang’s eyes are adjusting now, and she can just make out the soft-round of Blake’s face, the flat glint of her eyes in the dark.

“I know, baby.” Blake’s voice is throaty, a little sweet.

She kneels, unlacing Yang’s converse one by one, tugging them off before kissing her knees, her ankles. Yang says nothing, just watches Blake in a daze, breath hitched high in her throat, a rosy blush mottling the long line of her throat.

“I’m sorry you’re grounded,” Blake says. She pushes Yang to her back and follows, climbing back on top of her. This time, Yang has enough sense to wrap her arms around Blake’s back, tugging her securely against her until they press close, chest to chest.

“I don’t even get why,” Yang says. A pout. “He was talking shit about you, everybody heard it.”

She tilts her face up, hoping for a kiss. Blake retreats, just barely, nudging her nose with her own, instead. When she talks, Yang can feel her breath against her mouth.

“You did punch Mercury in the face, Yang.”

“It was gym class, it was an accident.”

“You guys were – you guys were playing badminton.”

“Mistakes happen.”

“You were opposite sides of the net.”

Yang looks at her sideways, sly. “Like I said.”

“For starters, that’s impossible.” Blake tucks her lips into her mouth, suddenly shy. “But also – thank you.” She leans in, brushes a kiss against Yang’s jaw. “You know I don’t need you to fight my battles –”

She quiets Yang’s immediate noise of agreement with another kiss, this time at the corner of her mouth.

“— but it was really sweet.”

“I missed you,” Yang says, a hint of a whine. She traces a hand down Blake’s back, slips it under the edge of her shirt, strokes a finger along her hip.

“It’s only been five hours, Yang.” Blake’s voice is soft with laughter, almost adoring, and she leans down, offers another kiss, this time to the apple of her cheek. “But maybe the week apart can start tomorrow.”

“Or maybe the day after that,” Yang says. She tilts her head up, splays the flat of her hand against Blake’s back, urging her closer. “He didn’t really specify when.”

“You’re so smart,” Blake whispers.

She eases against her, t-shirts rucking up, pressed breasts-to-belly-to-hip, the oscillation of the fan drowning Blake’s whimper as Yang slips a thigh between her legs and grins, all teeth and flush.

Blake kisses her, full, nudges carefully, lip to lip, until Yang opens her mouth, hands tightening at her back.

“Stay a while,” she says, rolls her tongue into Blake’s mouth, feels Blake’s hand come up to pet, soft, at the skin underneath her eye.

“Just for a minute,” Blake says, then presses back in, a breeze stirring warm air through the open window.

**

It’s mid-morning when Ruby shoves open the bedroom door, Yang and Blake curled close under the sheets, asleep. They jar awake at the noise, Yang’s arm tightening around Blake’s back.

Ruby sticks her face inside, hair tousled with sleep, rubbing her eyes with a fist. Her words crack with a yawn, and she blinks at them slowly.

“Hi, Blake. By the way, Yang, dad says you’re double grounded, but also to let you both know breakfast is ready.”

She closes the door behind her and Blake’s laugh follows her all the way down the stairs.

[starkeristheendgame]

Could you do a fic where Peter ends up using his safeword?🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Of course! Thank you sm for the prompt you sweet little bean ❤️ I’m gonna set this in a sort of grey-area between Homecoming and Infinity War, as a set-up for the use of the safeword. I hope you like it! 

TW: Reference to bodily harm (the building collapse) | PTSD mentions/depictions | Use of a safeword | Brief rough sex description | Panic/Panicking | Mild humiliating/degrading dirty talk.

Stay safe, my lovelies! 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Real good for me - Fuck, yes - Take it, baby”. Tony’s words are growled into his ear, backed by the warmth of his panting skimming the hinge of his jaw as fingers twist in his hair, tugging his head back. The sting is just the right side of painful, forcing him to arch his spine, to push his ass back onto Tony’s thick cock. 

Post-mission fucking has become kind of A Thing these days, ever since Peter nearly got taken out during a mission and Tony had lost his shit, freaking out before pressing Peter down into their bedsheets, driving his cock so deep Peter could almost taste it. 

They haven’t even made it to the bedsheets, this time. They’re not even home. The concrete of the floor scrapes his palms where he scrabbles for purchase, desperate for leverage against the brutal way that Tony fucks into him, like he’s nothing but a tight, hot sleeve for his cock. 

“Still so loose and sloppy, baby. My cock really ruins you, huh? Leaves you open and gaping like you’ll never be tight again” and Peter cries out, because its so fucking good. Good enough that the dust and rubble around them almost doesn’t bother him. He’ll feel gross later, and demand a shower, but right now the thick, hard tip of Tony’s cock is abusing his sweetspot, and his mind is a mantra of fuckyespleaseharderohgod. 

The hand in his hair stops pulling, and presses his face down into the dirt, hard enough that the floor is like sandpaper on his cheek. There’s a chunk of beam keeping his hips up enough for Tony to shift, forcing his legs together so his thighs are squeezed shut, and he’s trapped. 

Peter’s heart ticks up a notch. 

“Bet if I held off even for a day you’d come crawling on your knees, begging for it” Tony rumbled against his neck, teeth skimming the vulnerable skin there as he draped himself over Peter, pinning him down with all of his weight. Still wearing the suit - Its a considerable poundage to bear, Peter’s back and thighs instantly tensing with the strain. 

It would be hot, any other time. In the safety of their own bed, with soft sheets and luxury pillows. Now, its dirt and dust in his nose and the darkness of the crumbled building around them, Tony’s weight squeezing his ribs down around his lugs, trapping his limbs so there’s nothing he can do except lay there. 

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, breaking off into a sobbed gasp as Tony pressed him down harder, trapping his arms underneath his chest as he sank his cock deep into his plaint little body, forcing it to part around him, as deep as it seemed he could go and then even deeper. 

“T-Tony” Peter rasped, whimpering and writhing under the larger man, sucking in heaving breaths as the trembled. Tony cooed at him, pressing his cheek down into the dirt, braced on his forearm as he squeezed Peter down. 

“Fuck, darling. So tight. Like I’ll never get my fucking cock back” Tony snarled at him, words thick-sweet and breaking through the sudden roaring in his ears. Peter twisted and mewled, trying to get his arms out from underneath him, but Tony clicked his tongue chidingly and ground his hips down, shoving Peter back into the dusty concrete. 

“P-Please. I can’t - Its too much, Tony” he rasped, trying to get the right words out between hitching sobs. 

“Aw, poor baby. Still not used to taking it big, huh?” Tony cooed, patronising and full of faux-concern as he rolled his hips, grinding Peter into the dust like he was typing to leave an imprint of him there. Peter wailed and shook his head as much as he was able, ignoring the way that the rubble dug into his soft cheeks and rubbed the skin there raw. 

“N-No. Tony I can’t...I...Ple- Huntsman” he manages on a broken cry, and in a movement too quick for him to even register, the weight lifted off him, gone in a gut-wrenching moment of relief. He was distantly aware of the slow, dragged slide of Tony’s cock pulling out of him, leaving him open and gaping and exposed. 

“Hey, Pete, Peter. Hey, baby. I’m here. Stay with me” Tony breathed, kneeling down in the dirt besides him with his still-hard cock slapping against the pelvis plate of the suit smearing the gold there with cum and lube. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and shifted, squirming in the dust to curl into a ball as he sucked in billowing breaths, trying to calm himself down. 

“I’m sorry” he whimpered, tucking his arms around himself for protection. “I didn’t mean - It was...”. He can’t finish the words, can’t admit that even in the middle of getting dicked down by Tony, the Vulture haunted him. The feeling of his own crushed bones was a ghost he couldn’t shake. 

“Oh, sweetheart. My precious boy. Its okay, you’re okay. You can breathe, in and out, nice and slow. In...Out. Good” Tony’s gentle, low murmuring was easy to latch onto, a strong contender against the hammering of his heart and the roaring of his rushing blood. He felt sick, dizzy, and before he even realised what he was doing, he was reaching out for Tony. 

Warm, flesh fingers curled around his own, holding with careful tenderness. Peter forced his eyes to open a little and noted that the suit had bled away, leaving Tony on his knees in the dirt in the slacks and shirt he’d been wearing before Director Fury had come storming into the Tower. 

“Am I okay to come a little closer?” Tony asked softly, and Peter gave a hitching nod, closing his eyes again as he shook on the floor, trying desperately to shake the feeling of being trapped, crushed. It felt like the slabs of concrete were still there, digging into his fragile skin, grinding his bones together. 

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here” Tony shushed his increasing sobs, thumb gently rubbing the side of Peter’s hand, giving him plenty of space but sitting close enough that Peter could scent his cologne, his sweat from the mission and their fucking. 

There was a scuffle, the sound of a belt, and then Tony was talking again, gently. “Hey, baby. Do you think you can put your head on my leg? The floor is all dusty” Tony soothed, and Peter sniffled but shifted, obligingly lifting his head enough that a thick, strong thigh could take up the space between his scraped cheeks and the dirt. 

“There’s my good sweetheart” Tony praised, still gently rubbing circles along the side of his hand. Peter’s breaths were less laboured now, but he still felt hot and humiliated, embarrassment leaking into the space that the panic left behind. 

“You did so well, darling. I’m so proud of you. You know that, right? My precious little darling. So good for me” Tony hummed, one hand hesitantly settling on his shoulder, featherlight and giving him plenty of time to express that he didn’t want it. He kept his touch light, thumb sweeping gentle arcs across the muscle. 

“I’m okay” he sniffled, opening his eyes. Tony had tucked away his cock and was sat on his ass, body leaned slightly away so he wasn’t looming over Peter, gaze soft and concerned. “I’m sorry. I just - It was the dirt, and I couldn’t move, and it-”

“Hey, baby. You don’t have to tell me, okay? You don’t have to explain it. You did so well, you used your safeword and I’m so proud of you. Take deep breaths, baby. Nice and slow. We can stay here for a while”. Tony’s hand swept a little lower, brushing his hip, and Peter could feel the tickling coolness of nanotech blanketing his bare ass, covering his exposed hole, as light as his touch. 

“How about when we get home, we have a nice, hot bath, hm? Bubbles, that smelly shit you keep bullying me into buying...”

“That you secretly like because you use it when I’m not there and think I don’t notice” Peter responded in a wet mumble, shoulders hitching slightly on a soft giggle. Tony had made a big show of fussing and sneezing and sniffing himself the first time Peter insisted on having a ‘proper’ bath, but the younger boy knew his mentor had secretly grown to adore them. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I still say if I wanted to smell like that, I’d go sit in a florists’ shop for a few hours” Tony shot back, but his voice was light and amused as he continued to pet at Peter, feeling the way the boy’s rabbiting heartbeat began to slow as he calmed. 

“As opposed to smelling like grease and rust?” Peter asked, voice a little rough from his crying. It felt like they’d only been sat here for a few minutes, but when he caught sight of Tony’s watch, he knew it must have been at least half an hour since his freak out. When he shifted, he felt cold and sore, arousal gone and leaving discomfort in its place. 

“You wound me” Tony huffed at him dryly, hand sliding slowly and carefully up into his hair, scrubbing through it gently and using his thumb to sweep aside clumps of dust and rubble. “You feel okay to get up, sweetheart?” He asked after a pause, and Peter nodded, groaning softly as he uncurled, he and Tony using each other to wobble to their feet. 

“I’m -”

“If you say you’re sorry again, I will be forced to do something soppy and over emotive” Tony warned him, and Peter closed his mouth, flushing, before opening it again. 

“Thank you” he said instead, and Tony gave him the most achingly sweet smile. 

“Anything for you, darling” the older man murmured, ducking down to press a sweet, loving, gentle kiss to Peter’s mouth as his fingertips skimmed his hips, dragging the nanotech up and over his body, ready to take them both home. 

[vesperstalksclones]

Cody x Reader

(18+)

Some smutty angsty sexyness that is Cody. My FIRST EVER fic written down properly and posted for the world to see. A story of a gal who was hurt by one man, but will be healed by another.

○○○

"Umf!"

My breath rushed out of my chest as he pushed me down on to the bed. 

He loomed over me, predatory, menacing,... eyes of hard amber perusing my naked flesh, like a great beast considering the first bite of of his meal.

How I wanted him.

Cody.

He prowled up my form, muscles rolling under the bronzed skin. Spreading a scarred paw across my abdomen, he skidded it firmly upwards, the drag of the calloused fingers trailing tingles of delight in their wake. Upon my sternum. Between my breasts. He pressed his weight there upon my collarbone, while the his other hand dragged my knee to the wayside. Spreading my intimacy wide open before him he squirmed his thighs under mine, and flexed his hips outward. The result sent my insides fluttering like a caged bird, as his pelvis pressed forcefully against mine, crushing his solid member against my already eager sex.

My shuddering breath caught in my throat, and instead escaped as a groan so wanton in its tones it could've made his chaste monk of a general go scrambling for a clean pair of trousers.

He grinned, obviously pleased with my reaction.

"Is that so, Ad'ika?" The oppressive hand left my chest and slunk up across my neck. "You want me rough and angry?" 

His lilting baritone voice caressed my ears. Tantalizing is its veiled meaning. 

His hand darted under the nape of my neck, filled itself with my loose tresses, twisted and hauled at me firmly. I couldn't help but obey his touch, my body arching under his.

"I am not a gentle man…"

My hands groped at his skin, searching the sinews of his neck and then the muscles of his shoulders and back, seeking a sturdy hold I could use to pull him closer to me, whimpering all the while with my eagerness. 

Cody took the opportunity to thrust an arm underneath me to maintain the curving slope I had offered him. Dipping his head he tasted my lips, and neck, licking and biting his way southward. 

As I wriggled against him, my heart raced, hammering against my ribs. He was fierce and dangerous and I was utterly at his mercy.

Cody was soldier born and bred. Diplomacy was not his strong suit, and thusly force and violence had been taught to him as the appropriate solution for every situation. It showed through in his attentions.

He was an alpha male. 

Proud. Regal. Dominant. 

He had watched me for so long, perfectly posed during briefings and meetings, so serene and dignified. But his eyes. They would occasionally meet mine across a holo display, and my insides would clench violently. Those golden gems positively dripped with a primal desire, whether to mate or to feed I wasnt ever sure, but he distinctly reminded me of a monstrous lion-cat I had seen caged at the grand zoo on Couresant. The great male had regarded me as a snack, protected by the durasteel bars. Knowing I was beyond his reach, he had silently paced and imagined the taste of my flesh. And thus was the Commander of the 212th. Pacing safely behind his bars of self discipline. 

Wanting.

Hungering. 

It had haunted me until I couldn't function at my duties knowing he was nearby. And then couldn't sleep when the honey eyed fantasies besieged me. And THEN further struggled at work for the exhausted hangover that resulted. Damn him and his fucking beautiful eyes and the fucking cycle of self torment they set in motion.

His mouth had reached my breasts. He paused and buried his face there, rubbing his cheeks in to their fullness and drawing in deeply of my scent, his exhale fanning a hot breeze across the soft skin and tickling at the dusky pebbles waiting there. He  nibbled his way to the treat, groaning with approval. He captured the firmness of my nipple with his teeth, giving a few experimental tugs before pinching hard. I jumped against him and yelped. Cody answered my bucking by grinding himself against me, his rigid cock finding its way between my slick folds and nudging the most delicious friction against the bundle of nerves hidden there.

"Codeeee..." I pleaded for nothing in particular. I watched as he mouthed at my breast, then took as much as he could in to his maw, sucking hard and lathing his tongue against the firm bud as if he sought to erase it from existence.  I gasped out praises as I raked my nails over his scalp and gripped at his thick dark hair. 

His hand crept between us, and he lifted away from my belly, fisting his member. A few eager strokes smeared my wetness along his length and, satisfied with the preparation, he pressed its throbbing head against my entrance. I sucked in a shaky breath as he began to sink in to me, relishing the stretch of my muscles around his thickness. Without warning he slammed against me, burying his entire length inside as his hips met flush with my thighs. I twisted with a shriek of surprise at the sudden invasion, pulling free of his mouth, the cool air causing goosebumps to rise on my wet flesh. 

Without pause, the Commander withdrew and surged in to me again, and again, bracing his arms by my ribs, setting a grueling pace as rough and as angry as he had offered. My fingers kneeded at this forearms, scrabbling for purchase on the satin wrapped stone pillars, mewling and calling to him with every bone shaking thrust. 

"Fucking hell woman!" Cody snarled from his chest, his rasping breath giving his deep voice a gritty edge infused with sticky, heady lust. "I've to fight to get inside you, you're so tight!" The best answer I could manage was strangled croon as I reached for his face.

His big hands snatched my arms away, strong fingers shackeling around my wrists and pinning them beside my head. He dropped his sweat soaked forehead to my shoulder and rammed in to me with every ounce of his body behind it. My muscles clenched at him like a greedy fist and he pushed back against them, uttering a deep animalistic grunt in my ear.

That noise proved my undoing. It ricochetted around in my mind and knocked loose something long ignored. A memory tucked away in the darkest recesses, and for a moment the world warped. Another man was on top of me, pinning my arms, his body heaving against mine. He had pressed his face to my neck, unwilling to look me in the eyes. He made no noise except for his grunts of exertion. And I had silently cried.

Cold fear began to seep through my gut, electric tingles of anxiety spreading out from my navel. 

"Co…. Cody…"

Please, let me see your eyes. I need to know your here with me. His teeth scraped my neck in response.

"Cody…." I pleaded.

Look at me. Answer me. Please… anything! Just chase that fucking image away!

"CODY! CODY STOP!" 

Cody froze, every muscle taunt and straining. His head snapped up, eyes wide. 

"What?! What's… Ad'ika, why do you look at me that way?? Have I hurt you?"

His brow knit with worry. And then, after a moments thought, in to his eyes… those magnificent honey colored pools… seeped horror. He pushed up off of me, shame washing over his features. 

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry cyare! I thought that.. this is … is what… you.." he stammered. He was shaking from head to toe. 

"No Cody! Don't think that!" 

It was what I wanted. He was what I wanted. I had led him to my bed by my own hand. I knew Cody wasn't a cruel man. Tough and hard yes. Severe, sometimes. But abusive? Not for a hot second. I couldn't let him even entertain the thought that he had done wrong by mounting me. He slid further away and I lunged for him, catching his shoulders in a death grip. 

"I got inside my own head for a moment.. And I frightened myself. I just needed to see your face and put it back where it belongs. Please don't think like that..." I pressed my forehead to his, our eyes almost close enough that the lashes could have tangled.

"...ever!" I kissed him gently, very aware that I had frightened him far more than I had myself.

Cody settled on his knees, searching my face. His own was still etched with worry: his forehead wrinkled, contorting the scar that twisted around his left eye. His full lips curved in to frown.

"What are you afraid of, cyar'ika?" He whispered. I lowered my eyes, afraid that he might see the truth festering there. "What's been done to you? Tell me."

I shook my head and wrapped my arms around his neck. Pulling myself against his thick chest, I sighed. 

"I won't tell you, Cody, not right now. Especially not while you are trying to make love to me… and I've emotionally kicked you in the nuts." 

Maybe not ever. I don't want him to know. I dont want whatever he and I might have to be tainted by such a shadow. Especially one that I had thought had been put to bed.

He framed my face with his hands and tilted it to his. 

"What do you need from me?" He whispered softly against me. At least the fear had abated, and now he wore concern, and tenderness. Such a juxtaposition from the man who had raged on top of me only minutes ago. 

"Just talk to me, love. Let me see your face so I can watch you enjoy me." I was relieved that he accepted my silence about the matter.

He regarded me for a moment.

"You still want me to touch you?"

"Umh" I nodded.

"You're not frightened of me?"

"No."

He sighed with relief, pressing a kiss to my forehead, and pulling me in to a tight embrace. He tipped forward with me, supporting some of his weight, but laying most of it on top of me. 

We stayed like that for a while, kissing and whispering about nonsense. I marveled at his heft upon me. It could have been oppressive, but instead I felt safe. Protected. Anchored to something real.

It was when Cody began nuzzling at my neck that I noticed he was hardening against my thigh. Lifting his hips, he made room for his fingers to creep between my legs, praising my softness and promising to thoroughly wear me out. 

He pleaded for my readiness as he caressed my clit, demanding for me to be wet and eager so that his cock wouldn't bruise me.

When his thick fingers delved inside of me, his thick knuckles flexed against my opening, and the rough pads searched for the bit of flesh within me that bit like lightning when caressed properly. 

He watched my face, just like I had asked, admiring every blush and wince as I rolled my hips in time with the rhythm of his hand. 

I begged him to enter me, to thrust deeply and hard enough to split me in two. To mark me, and claim me for himself. 

 Scrambling to his knees, he hauled me up against his chest, palmed my ass with his hands and lifted me above his waist. Positioning me above his twitching member, he lowered me slowly, allowing my body weight to impale me upon his rod. I groaned as his hard flesh parted me, feeling the ridge around his head slip inside, followed by the shaft of his raging erection. He filled me to bursting, connecting us in the most primitive and visceral way. 

"Cyar'ika, that is my cock that sits inside you. You were made perfectly for me," Cody gasped against my mouth. "and I will fill every space within you so that there will never be room for anyone else!"

His arms wrapped around my waist with a steel grip. Arching his back and flexing his hips he raised me off of his lap, and hesitated only a breath before slamming me down, seating himself fully within me. I kissed him again and again until his thrusts became to vigorous to manage. All I could do was simply hang on, and loose myself in the feeling of his hard body. 

"Who fills you, woman?" he growled, "Who will you think about in the night?"

"Ah! Cody!" I sobbed, quickly loosing the ability to form proper thoughts. He growled deep in his chest, rapidly giving in to his hunger, staring in to my eyes as he bared his teeth, unwilling to hide his grunts and groans as he did before. 

My body was becoming frantic, begging for this male to push me over the edge and snap the tight knot that was building below my navel. I felt myself sinking under, drowning in the sensations he was driving between my thighs. 

"I'm close Cody!" 

He fought to keep his eyes focused on mine as he hammered his cock in to me. 

"Come for me, ad'ika!" He roared, half commanding half pleading. He rammed himself in viciously enough to make my head whip back. Liquid gold flooded through my veins as my climax spilled around his member. The edges of my vision darkened and stars exploded in front of my eyes. I had the feeling of falling, of the room spinning around me even as Cody's strong arms held me in place. 

Cody thrust within me again with equal strength. Another. And on the third he dug his fingers in to my hips painfully, an oath to some long forgotten god torn from his lips, snarling like a mating loth-wolf as he emptied himself in to me.

In the shadow of his release, Cody's strength waned. He slowly sunk forward, heaving ragged breaths so hard he almost seemed to be sobbing. I combed gentle fingers through his hair, enjoying the cool kiss of the night air on my skin as it swirled around us, lulling us two poor broken fools in to oblivion.

○○○

We had awoken in the early hours, Cody needing to return to his barracks to prepare for the coming day. He dressed and kissed me sweetly, apologizing for his duties that pulled him away. As the door closed I pressed my face in to the pillows where we had slept. They were spiced with the scent of the Marshall Commander, mingled with the salty aroma of sex. I wished for him to be there when I woke up. That he didn't have to be a soldier. That he didn't have to risk his life in another man's war.

○○○

I became aware of daylight on my eyelids.. My mind was foggy and slow, as if it was trying to swim through mud. There was something going on that was strangely out of place in my comfy bed, and disrupting my slumber. As I crossed the threshold in to wakefulness a moan escaped my throat and my jaw fell open. I tried to make sense of the smartly groomed head nosing between my legs as a tongue firmly scrubbed across my already alert clit. 

"Good morning love…." he emphasized the pet name I had used the night before,, grumbling in to my over eager besh & winking one of those gorgeous golden eyes. "Good news…. I've the day off…" 

~Fin~

[beerecordings]

Memory - Part 3

He shivers on the floor of his cell, curled in on himself, sobbing from the cold.

Frigid air burns down against him like a solstice curse, biting venomously at his bare flesh. He used to say he preferred winter to summer, preferred a nip of cold and deep breaths of clear air as you tug up your scarf and hurry off down the icy pavement to the melting, insufferable, inescapable heat of the summertime, but this?

Hellfire runs cold.

“You look a little frosty there, Oskar.”

Oh, joy. And someone to mock him, too, just to make his life a little more perfect.

“Fuck off,” he croaks, turning around to hide his face from Anti.

“You're having another one of your crybaby days, are you?”

He digs his nails into his shoulders. If he draws some blood out, maybe it will be warm. He can't feel his nose anymore.

“I'm having hypothermia,” Henrik corrects, tears washing down his frozen cheeks. “I will die if you leave me like this.”

“Wouldn't be the worst thing.”

Henrik gives a dry sob, huddling in so tight his head hits his knees, rocking his body against the floor. He needs something to think about, anything to keep his mind off this. Warm coffee the way Marvin makes it, Jameson resting his head between his shoulderblades when he's tired, Jackie's voice, zipping around town on Chase's bike in early August, a nephew and niece set on one thigh each, nice dinners with nice girls, Marvin's cats, his room, his bed, his house, his friends.

He wants to go home.

“How about a blanket?” offers Anti.

“Ha ha,” rasps Henrik, swallowing back a cough.

“I'm serious. Look. Here it is, a nice one!”

“Well, are you planning to give it to me? Huh?”

“Calm down, Franz, of course I am. It just comes at a cost, of course. I can't give you something for nothing.”

Henrik should know better than to look. But he does. And fuck, but it's a beautiful blanket.

Fleece. Storm blue. Big enough to keep a pair of Inuit warm in an icestorm.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” he chants, covering his eyes. “You're mocking me, you're mocking me!”

Anti laughs, throwing the blanket over his shoulder. “You really don't expect anything from me anymore!”

“What? What do you want? Should I beg for you again? Do you get off on that? My other ear, would you like that? My hair, just to make sure I don't have anything at all to keep warm? Blood, you fucking vampire?”

Anti's smile is different today. His tongue flickers out over a twisted grin, one of his canines poking out to gnaw on his lip. His eyes flicker from side to side, assessing, assessing, impatient.

“Nothing so worthless as your little body today, my puppet. Don't you know I'm cold too? Just because I'm immortal doesn't mean I want to be uncomfortable. I will trade you this warmth for some of yours. Something to keep the heart cozy on lonely winter days like this one.”

Henrik's heartbeat rockets and he shoves himself farther away, scraping his back against the wall, gritting his teeth hard in his mouth.

“No,” he snarls, trembling so hard his muscles ache from it. “No, I hated that, having you take something from my head. I still don't know what I’ve up.”

“Pet, it wasn't something important. Just a couple little scenes. You picked them out yourself! And I'll let you pick this one too. Just something small, for a big, gorgeous blanket. For your life, really. I won't give you anything otherwise. And you will freeze, if you don't have it.” He beams with mismatched eyes.

“No,” whispers Henrik, turning away. Block him out. Ignore him. Think of sunlight drifting down through the window in their kitchen, making sure Jackie has enough sunscreen on his neck, his favorite sweater, the dog that lives across the street, Chase's chocolate pumpkin bread fresh out of the oven, a kiss, a hug, mittens and scarves, sleeping wrapped up in blankets on a grand Queen mattress...

“Don't ignore me, you stupid little bitch!” screams Anti, a glitch spasming through his voice and making it ring in a high-pitched whine. Henrik sobs and covers his bleeding ear, curling impossibly tighter. “I'll be back in an hour! And by then you'll be begging to hand over whole meals worth of memories for some fleece on your skin, mark my fucking words!”

Anti is gone.

Henrik is left alone with the cold, gnawing away at him like a toddler given a pig's rib to eat.

-------------------

His hair was warm beneath his fingers.

Henrik pushed his glasses up on his nose and looked up at the picture of the model on the counter in front of him, combing through the downy curls, wetting them straight with a little spray bottle which, before that day, had only ever been used to train Marvin's cats to stop scratching at the curtains. Jameson, eyes closed, relaxed, sat straight and still on his little stool, waiting for him to finish. Henrik snipped, snipped, snipped away at his hair, shorter and shorter, neater and neater.

The door pushed open across the house and he heard Marvin and Chase hollering from the cold, bringing a draft of freezing wind with them as they scampered across the doorstep. Jackie shouted a greeting and Henrik rolled his eyes as the three of them began a yelled conversation from two different sides of the house. Jamie only tittered in reply and Henrik patted his head, trying not to smile.

The heater kicked on and poured warm air down on their heads, ruffling Jameson's new haircut as Henrik finished double-checking the last few strands. He clapped a hand on his little brother's shoulder, humming to himself, and began wiping up stray pieces of brown and teal hair from the sink, leaving Jameson to consider himself in the mirror for a moment.

When he looked back up, Henrik found him smiling.

Something warm as fresh coffee rose up in Henrik's chest. Jameson grinned at him and brushed his hands through his shortened hair, pleased.

“It is very you,” said Henrik, drawing another smile out of him. “A little old-fashioned, but you pull it off.”

“Thanks to you,” answered Jameson's hands.

Henrik grinned and set his chin on top of his head, running his fingers over the side of Jameson's hair. His little brother reached up to find his hands and squeezed the fingers fondly, and for a moment, Henrik let himself rest there with him, soaking in his warmth.

“Th-that,” stammers Henrik, his hands reaching desperately through the frigid bars of his cage, scrabbling for the blanket. “Please. Take that for the blanket. He would not mind. He would not want for me to be frozen to death. Surely. Surely.”

“Sure, yeah, he wouldn't care.” Shaking with anticipation, Anti drops the blanket and leans down to grab Henrik's chin, tilting his head up towards him. His eyes are colder than the concrete, and entering into them is like his head had been put through the ice of a frozen river, but then the moment is gone, and so too is the memory of cutting Jameson's hair, and he is alone with his blanket and his shame, wondering what it was that he surrendered.

----------------

Henrik is awoken two days later by cold iron slamming against the bars of his cage.

“What, what?” he cries, jolting awake and striking his head hard on the top bars. Whimpering, he sinks back in on himself, staring tearfully up at Anti as the pain rocks through his skull.

He expects him to be laughing.

He is not laughing.

Anti's eyes are those of a dog chained away from its meat for too long and his hands tremble minutely, clenching and unclenching around the carved handle of the iron knife. He swallows and glances around the cage, his eyes finally settling back on Henrik's again.

This is not the first time Anti has looked so wild Henrik does not call him human. Shrinking in on himself, Henrik closes his eyes and prays that whatever it is that Anti has devised to entertain himself tonight will not be so horrible.

No, wait – today, not tonight. There's a little light come in Henrik's window still.

“Why are you waking me up so early?” rasps Henrik, by now adjusted completely to his brother's nocturnality. “What's wrong?”

“Shut up,” snaps Anti, drawing away from the cage. “Shut up, just – just – I want more of that. That thing you gave me.”

“The... the memory? From the other day?”

“Yes, you brainless welp, what else could you possibly have to give me? I'm bored out of mind. I'm always – I'm always so bored, you don't understand, it's like nothing ever even – in my head, nothing hurts, nothing aches, nothing – I don't feel – ”

Anti trails off, snarling, tearing at his hair. He grips the knife too tight in his hand.

Henrik watches, picking at a scar on his wrist, trying to think. This is just another puzzle. He's good at puzzles. He can figure it out. Right now, his intuition is telling him the best solution is to keep quiet and let this unfold.

“Give me a memory, Klaus,” Anti entreats him, recovering himself a little, standing up with a coy smile meant to be warm, his voice dripping with sugar. “You'll be a good boy for master, won't you? You'll give your owner a memory like a good little creature.”

Henrik shivers and rubs at his shoulders, curling up in his blanket.

“C-can't give you something for nothing,” he croaks finally, pushing his shattered glasses up on his nose.

Anti lets out a sharp bark of laughter. His eyes are bright. He holds up a finger and then retreats into the hallway, his heavy footsteps stomping away, only to return moments later with his hands full.

Henrik straightens up so fast he nearly strikes his head again, his mouth falling slightly open. He stares between Anti and his reward, trying to figure out if this is a joke or not.

“Tasty, yes? Good for you! You must keep the scurvy away, pet. Yummy, sweet. Good to drink too. Mmh, lecker!”

Henrik's fingers reach out past the bars of his cage, barely skimming the scratchy string that binds together a bulk bag of blood oranges.

“Six whole pounds,” crows Anti, pressing them a little closer, letting Henrik smell the good sweet skin. “I knew you'd love it. When was the last time you had a treat like this? Or anything to eat but yams and canned corn, ha! Come on, so, darling, it's a deal?”

He licks at his lips. Henrik tries not to lick at his own.

“Throw in a couple jugs of water and some protein.” He holds his chin up. “And I'll give you what you want.”

A ripple of glitching runs through Anti's form and he drops the oranges to the ground, stalking off again and coming back with three whole liter-jugs of water and a can of – ugh, canned tuna. It'll have to do.

“Something like last time,” Anti demands, opening the cage door. “But – but – I don't know. Bitter. Everything you give me is so sweet.”

Henrik's mouth twitches grimly as he tugs the oranges towards himself, tearing into the skin with shaking hands and eyes blown wide with the strength of his hunger and craving. He wants to shove his hand inside the orange and lick the juice off like a wild thing, wants to tear the fruit out and fill his mouth until he fucking chokes, and if it kills him, then what a way to go!

No, no! Savor it, Henrik, savor it. Staring down at the little scrap of skin, he reaches slowly up, and places it into his mouth, chewing down on the almost empty, but ever-so-slightly sweet taste of the rind.

“Puppet,” growls Anti, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don't ignore me.”

“Sorry.” Henrik chews down faster on the rind, a cold smile sitting on his cracked lips. “You said something bitter?”

“Yes. Yes.”

He can give him that.

“Well, what did I give you last time?”

Anti shuffles, tilting his head side-to-side. “Well... the point is, I want something... personal. Personal. And I want – I want – ”

He shakes his head and hisses, drawing in close. His fingers curl around the bars of the cage.

“I want something with Jameson. Something personal with Jameson. Like that haircut... him smiling at you. Stroking his hair. Give that to me, but bitter.”

Henrik's blood seems to chill against his bones.

And then he is spitting out the orange rind, shoving the bag back at Anti, and his heart is pulsing to get out of his chest. Revulsion makes him choke and shame makes his vision blur, painful sobbing hiccups interrupting rapid breaths. Anti is shouting, pressing the oranges back towards him, grabbing at his hair and slamming him back against the wall of the cage, but Henrik isn't listening, not now, not anymore.

“You will never see anything of Jameson's friendship!” he shrieks, thrashing against the grip around his throat. “You will never see anything of what it is like to be loved by him! You are nothing! He abhors you! He despises you! He doesn't belong to you and you will never get your hands on him again! Not in reality, not in my head, not on your useless, horrible, god-awful pustule of an existence!”

Anti's anger is a hurricane, enough to lift cars, enough to lift houses, sweeping across whole cities, across whole lands, with a noise like the whipping of a thousand winds. “Don't you say that to me!” howls Anti, striking him, striking him, striking him until his face is one red and purple bruise, until bones poke out from his cheek and neither of his eyes can open. “Stupid fucking brat!”

“I never should have given you anything,” wheezes Henrik, clawing at his hands. “Own my body, huh? Call me your dog? Well, Antisepticeye. You can keep me in a cage all you want – ”

Anti strikes him across the head and makes him reel, but still he is speaking.

“You can beat me within an inch of my life – ”

Or perhaps farther, he almost believes, sucking in a desperate breath.

“But you will never own my mind.”

“Little monster.” The words drip from Anti's mouth like saliva from a lion's. His eyes are pools of pitch and his lips drawn back in a fang-toothed snarl. “Stupid little monster. You really think you can keep anything from me? I will suck every memory, every moment, every fucking feeling out of that little head of yours. I will take Chase, I will take Jameson, I will take Henrik himself. There is nothing – nothing – you can do to stop me. You will never be able to hold on. You will never be able to deny me. Weak, stupid, desperate, ugly little animal.”

“Go fuck yourself,” whispers Henrik, a smile on his relentless mouth. “I will never give you another memory again.”

For a second, Anti's fist draws back yet again, and Henrik braces for a hundredth blow, his mouth tightening in a grimace.

But it never falls.

Anti's voice, when he speaks, has lost most of its vitriol.

“You really are very stupid,” he says softly. “If you think that that is true.”

His weight disappears from Henrik's chest and legs and the door of the cage clicks locked again, leaving Henrik fuzzily clinging to consciousness and alone, without even an orange to comfort him.

“You'll shatter again soon enough,” Anti promises, drawing back. “Whatever happens, you always have days where I find you in so many pieces you would give anything to try and put yourself back together again. But it does not matter. I have other methods I can use, you know. Your brothers are getting sloppy hiding from me, puppet.”

Henrik drags himself back from the brink of darkness, awakened by the words.

“Wh-what?” his aching lips manage.

Anti's laugh titters through the burning light of the afternoon.

“One day, Albert. One day you will not be the only one down here in this basement.”

No. No. Anything but that. He wants to rage at Anti. To get up and swear to him that he will never lay a hand on a single one of his brothers and friends.

But he does not have the strength.

“My name,” he whispers, as the sound of footsteps drifts away. “Is Henrik.”

He faints clean away. When he dreams, it is of clocks and button-ups and soft, downy curls between his fingers.

[shiningstarofwinter]

Mica Whump Wip

Not a finished piece at all but more or less a doodle I’ve been writing for a kiddo of mine who started in a DnD group that went down in glorious flames. XD We tried to take down stuff above our level and mostly died. . . . As you do. Anyways, Mica is my lil healing/tank cleric lady with a small body, and a big heart. Who I like to be mean too . . . YEah. XD This is a bit of a mess as I’ve been writing scene chunks at oDark 30 when my brain wouldn’t be quiet. XD Winged Whumpee, Kobold Whumpee, Captivity, Lady Whumpee TW: Heavily implied drugging, TW: Non sexual noncon touching

Mica was. . . . confused and not at all sure what to think of this current situation. She had been pulled out to heal what if she was making bets had been a raiding party. That was getting to be all too normal, what had followed though had been completely new.   Mica had squirmed, hissing and whistling when after the healing session they had rolled up her tunic and started to unwrap her wings and chest. That her wings and been felt wrapped and mostly ignored both by herself and her captors had until now been one of Mica's biggest comforts.   "Hold still you stupid thing." Was punctuated by being shaken in the hand holding the back of her neck. Mica warbled and slapped at the legs of the woman holding her ineffectively with her tail.   "Don't know why the boss wants to do this anyways but the more you cooperate the sooner I can be finished."   This was not reassuring but Mica mostly settled with making low angry rumbles and panicky flashing of her bioluminesce as the wraps were removed. . . to Mica's astonishment her tunic was rolled back down and the guard put Mica on her feet once again. Mica's rumbling died and the flickering blue glow faded somewhat. Stumbling along with her guard Mica began a confused clicking in the back of her throat.  The guard ignored this subtle question and brought Mica to an open area of the encampment, where there seemed to be a pair of . . . Sandbags? Mica's hands were tethered to the sand bags without protest. "Can you get your wings out of that tunic yourself?" The guard asked and she sounded bored with this whole thing. Mica could normally tuck her wings through the wing holes at the back of the tunic with ease but shuffling the leathery appendages they didn't much want to move.   The guard stepped closer again and to Mica's growing confusion undid the buttons at the small of Mica's back to grab hold of a wing joint. Mica shifted uneasily, not liking the touch at all. It felt wrong at first and than it felt worse as the guard pulled the joint awkwardly up and out from under the cloth. Mica's wing joints were stiff and it hurt for the muscles and membranes to be stretched so. It could have been a lot worse. The flush of warmth and well being that flooded Mica whenever she earned her goddess's favor by casting healing spells had staved off some of the damage to be had from keeping her wings, and for that matter her hands, bound.     Blood rushed into passages kept tight and the tingling pins and needles pain of it was all Mica could think of for a few seconds. By the time she caught up to the sensations the Guardswoman was starting to pull out the wing on the other side. Mica jerked, her free wing twitching and the wing in the woman's hold pulling awkwardly. One of Mica's knees gave out and the pull of her own weight opened up the wing fully. A moment later Mica was dropped to fall forward onto the sand bags. Panting as heavily as she could through the muzzle Mica's wings stayed partially extended, drooping to either side of her heaving chest.   Time passed and Mica felt terribly exposed, flinching at every sound around her as feeling slowly came back into her wings. She kept expecting something horrible to happen. Images of torn membrane and broken bones flashed through her mind.Eventually she scrabbled back to her feet, wincing as her stiff wings protested the movement that ruffled them slightly. She was tethered by a short rope to the sandbags, which were large and heavy enough that Mica falling onto them had apparently not disturbed them at all. Mica could stand comfortably enough, but she doubted the rope was long enough to let her touch the ground, or the bottoms of the sandbags.   Mica glanced around hawkishly and found that there were several people around the open area, including the gal who had hauled her out here. None of them seemed to be paying her a whole lot of attention.The guardswoman was in the shade of a largeish building, she was running the blade of her sword down the surface of a whetstone. The soft hissing woosh of the blade’s passage rhythmic and steady. Mica eyed the guard for several seconds before tugging experimentally on the rope that tied her mitted hands to the sandbags. Nothing shifted, the bags were weighty and didn't budge at all. Mica tried grab the rope with her hands. Fine motor control with the canvas mitts on was impossible but after a few tries she managed a decent hold in the rope and tried to lift the sandbags. Straining she stopped as soon as she could feel the weight shift free of the ground lowering them back down. Not strictly too heavy to lift, but heavy enough to make it not worth the effort, at least not with escape in mind.  Mica was deep in thought when a gust of wind caused her wings to spread of their own accord. They were still stiff even if the tingling of the blood rushing back fully into veins had subsided and the movement hurt. Still it felt good to have them out again even if Mica was still twitchy and waiting for the other boot to drop.       The glowing patterns on her scales subsided as discomfort of her wings eased. The sun was bright out today and the glorious warmth of it across her spread wings dripped syrupy golden calm over Mica's thoughts anytime there was a long enough dip in the noise level around her.Each time the tromp of boots too close roused Mica it was harder to come alert. It had been a long while since she had felt this warm and content. Each time the sound of footsteps would fade and Mica was unable to spot any particular amount of movement in her area. Golden warmth would reclaim her when the area was calm once again. It was odd though, Mica had sun bathed before and this didn't quite seem like sun bathing had previously. The worry quickly sank into the golden tide in her mind and Mica soon found herself humming quietly as her wings ever so slowly stretched and flapped in the warm air like she had seen certain gliding seabirds do back home. A nameless time later Mica was drowsing when she heard the hiss of the whetstone stop. That probably meant something, but the golden warmth kept her from being too concerned about it. Boots headed her way coming closer and closer. There was something about boots, boots were. Not good?. Bad maybe? Mica's crest rose and fell, she folded her wings to her back, settling them, and resetting them again with a sound like ruffled canvas.She shuffled sideways and peered down at her hands in mild confusion when they pulled her to a halt.Mica tugged ineffectively at the ties staring at them in confusion as the bootsteps got louder and closer. Mica's frill wavered up and down, a shaky trill leaving her muzzle. Mica shot a look in the direction of the approaching steps and somewhat clumsily decided that tucking her wings into her tunic was a good idea. The leathery appendages tucked in without much trouble despite the unsteadiness Mica suddenly seemed plagued by.A tall one was coming too close, Mica skittered sideways, or tried to before coming up short when her hands wouldn't move any farther from where they were. Mica wobbled and flared her tail out for balance. Something heavy and warm landed on her shoulder  it helped keep her from tilting any further. Mica listed towards the warmth and found herself leaning against something solid while the weight on her shoulder had left, seemingly to pull at her hands.Being still the warmth enveloped Mica again and she listed until she was leaning against something that was also warm. The little kobold cooed a contented quiet sound.  Mica blinked blearily at the tall one she'd forgotten was there when they spoke, reminding her that the warmth was was leaning against probably wasn't a rock. "You sure are a lot more pleasant like this, no wonder the captain wanted to try it."   Mica's tunic was lifted, she shuffled her wings a little, even through the golden warmth that flowed over her she wasn't sure she liked this idea, and a flicker of panic flared briefly under the sunny syrup, Mica tucked her wings closer still to her back. The tall one didn't directly touch her wings though, just wrapped something around them and her chest. The tunic folded back down and that worry gone Mica drifted again.  Something tugged her forward and Mica followed it willingly enough. It wasn't as warm this way, but the golden warmth did not lift from her mind. Mica had no idea how long they walked but when she bumbled to a stop a hand grabbed the back of her neck and part of her collar bone. Lifting her up, Mica curled like a hatchling, tucking her legs, arms and tail close. A flash of something tried to rise above the golden syrup but whatever it had been it did not make it to the surface.   Another hand held her lower down supporting her hips, and there was a hesitation.   "This is new. . . Never knew you lot did this."  Mica felt that flare again, this time more strongly, this wasn't right, something was wrong. Mica squirmed, lifting her head and bending her neck towards her shoulder. It wasn't much of a wiggle as the flare of wrong sank back where it had come from quickly.  "You settle a lot faster now too." The voice commented.

[hattywatch]

T. Seguin - Back Road Part 3

A/N: Happy Holidays ya filthy animals. 

Part 1 Part 2 "No, it's different." 

You can hear Tyler getting frustrated with whomever he's on the phone, but you don't want to interrupt, staying in the foyer, quiet until he can finish his conversation. 

"Well, she's coming and you'll just have to deal with it. I don't know what to tell you," that's when you decide to make yourself known, not wanting to eavesdrop on things you shouldn't hear. 

You open the front door behind you and close it a bit louder this time, "Hiii. I'm here?" 

"In here!" He shouts from the kitchen and you follow his voice after dropping your bag on the sparkling floors in the entryway. He finishes his conversation in hushed tones you can't quite make out over the sound of your sandals on the hardwood. 

When you finally get sight of him in the kitchen he's drinking a water bottle, shirtless, and shoving his phone in his pocket. 

"Do you like, ever wear a shirt?" His distraction technique is honestly flawless. You'd be hard pressed to recall what he was saying only a few scant seconds ago as your eyes take him in. 

He's positively preening, and you're sure he's flexing his chest muscles. So you do the mature thing and push him away from your person before you can do anything stupid like run your tongue up his abs and make him think his macho posturing is sexy. 

Like it is, but he can't know that.

You've only been seeing each other for two-ish months, but he's been great. Really attentive and sweet, calling you nightly even when he's traveling for work. 

He has some free time coming up, a weekend to be exact, and he invited you to his family's cabin in Canada. You weren't sure you were there yet- as a couple, but as Bridget Jones says, "It can't be just a fling, a mini-break holiday means true love." Which is definitely pushing it, but you're not going to pretend it doesn't make your heart flutter that he's bringing you home to meet his family. 

You spend the night at his place to make the shuffle in the morning easier since he lives closer to the airport than you do. He promises no funny business since you're leaving before dawn the next morning. 

Tyler sticks to his promise and you both sleep soundly in the same bed, jolted awake by the ringing off your alarm, but excited nonetheless for your trip.

Boarding the plane at ass o'clock in the morning sucks, but is made better by being in first class- Tyler insisted on paying. It seemed like a bit much, but he persuaded you: 

"I'm making you go.” “You're losing out on tips. At least let me pay.”

“It's not even like we need a hotel… 

“You can make it up to me in other ways."

It took a few days for him to convince you, but you eventually gave in, insisting you'll do most of the cooking, and cleaning while you're there, ensuring you earn your keep.

You're happy he convinced you because it is infinitely easier to fall asleep in first class and you're pretty sure you're going to hate going back to economy class after this. 

He nudges you awake when you land, "Hey, sleepy, lets go." He already has both carry-ons, so you grumble at being woken up, but you trudge through the airport a step behind him as he texts his mom to let her know you've landed safely. 

"No one else is coming up until a little later, we'll have the place to ourselves for a few hours." He gives you what you assume is meant to be a meaningful look, but you can't be bothered to flirt when it's pre-9 am. 

"Good, maybe I can take a nap." 

_________

When you pull up it's actually really picturesque, lakeside and a far cry from his McMansion back in Dallas. He parks the car on the crunching gravel before getting out and grabbing the bags from the trunk. 

You try to pull yours away from him a few times, but he won’t let you carry anything. It’s ridiculous, since all you brought is a weekender sized luggage and you’re certainly capable of carrying it yourself, but it is nice that he’s a gentleman, so you don’t make too much of a fuss. 

He unlocks the door and it’s just as beautiful as his house back in Dallas, bright and big, gorgeous hardwood throughout the whole open floor plan with floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the lake, glistening in the early morning sun.

It’s really, really beautiful- serene and calm, but you really, really want to nap, so you're not a cranky mess when you meet his family. 

As he drags you through the house and to the stairs, you yawn and he gives in, “Okay, okay, point taken. We can sleep.” 

The door he chooses at the end of the upstairs hall opens to a big bedroom, probably the master, if the balcony overlooking the lake outside is indicative of anything. You wiggle out of your hoodie and pull back the blankets, “Should we be sharing a room? Is your family going to think I’m slutty.”

He doesn’t answer directly, but rolls his eyes so hard you get the point. “I’m just trying to make a good impression. I don’t know!” 

“They’re not going to think that,” he peels back the comforter on his side of the bed and tugs off his shirt before lying down next to you. “I don’t bring girls around here often…" he considers, "... ever?” He rolls toward you and lets his leg rest against yours. It’s too hot for any more body contact than that, so you don’t mind.

You're nervous for what's going to happen when you wake up. The excitement of being on vacation with Tyler giving way to a very real fear that his family will hate you; you already overheard whoever he was talking to last night not wanting you to tag along on family time. 

You can't help it as you mash your eyes together and whisper, “Tyler?" He hums, eyes closed, sleep already setting in, “Who were you on the phone with last night when I got to your house?”

His eyes open, “My sister, why?” his mouth is set in a straight line, jaw tight, and you’re not sure you should continue your questioning, but you’re so nervous and you need your questions answered. 

“I overheard a little of what you said to her when I walked in. I didn’t mean to, but I did,” he doesn’t say anything so you continue. “It didn’t really seem like she wanted me to crash your family weekend.” You choose your words carefully, not wanting to offend or point fingers at his sister before you’ve even met her. 

“I don’t really care what she wants,” Tyler pulls you towards him into his bubble of warmth. 

“That’s not nice, Tyler,” he leans in close and kisses you on the nose. 

“You’re right. Still don’t care though. We’re going to have a good weekend,” all you can do is sigh, hope he’s right, and close your eyes to slide into your nap. 

_________

When your alarm goes off, it’s time to face the music, so you stretch and roll out of bed, ignoring a grumbling Tyler behind you. 

You shower in the adjoining bathroom; even that has a stunning view of the lake. Tyler starts making noise from the bedroom as you're swiping on mascara in the mirror and letting your hair air dry. He pops his head in the bathroom after knocking, "Hey, they said they'll be here in 30 minutes. I'm going to order in so we can eat when they get here. I'm starving." Nodding your assent, you brush through your hair again and check your reflection for the thousandth time. 

Standing over the two outfits you’d laid out on the bed, you settle for the high-waisted shorts and a flowy blouse. Nothing too short, and nothing too tight, you don’t want to come across at all tawdry the first time you meet his family. As you slide on your sandals you can hear a ruckus downstairs, paired with a whole bunch of female voices.

Time to face the music. 

After a deep breath and one last look in the mirror to smooth down your outfit and triple check that your shorts aren’t showing any cheek, you make your way down the stairs. 

_________

You can tell immediately that Tyler’s mom is effervescently happy to meet you. She pulls you into a hug and takes the chair right next to you at the table as Tyler tips the delivery driver and plops down a few pizza boxes on the counter. Tyler eyes her warily and sits down on your other side. He rests his foot against yours under the table and catches your eye. The move is clear, we’re in this together. It’s comforting. 

After everyone has dragged a slice of pizza onto their plate and chewed a few bites, his mom can’t seem to hold out any longer. 

“I don’t know if he’ll be mad at me for saying this, y/n but this is the first time Tyler has brought a girl to the lake.” His foot nudges yours gently. 

“Yeah, he mentioned that earlier,” you sip your water and continue, “I think it was supposed to calm me down but it just put the pressure on!” She smiles. It’s warm and that calms you down more than anything Tyler could have said. 

His younger sister, Cassidy, pipes up, “It’s just us, no reason to be nervous. We’re not his fancy Dallas friends.” You take it as a win, but you’ve still yet to get more than a sideways glance from his elder sister, and you’re sure she’s the one who was on the phone, protesting against him bringing you along. 

You can’t blame her. They live so far and she probably rarely gets to see him, it makes sense that she’s less than thrilled at you tagging along, taking up their family time.

It makes you want to prove her wrong, show her you’re not that clingy girl looking to drive a wedge between him and his family. You're just not sure how.

_________

When the wine comes out after dinner things get easier.

Jackie disappears into a closet and returns with Scrabble. Tyler is good, which (you’re embarrassed to say) surprises you, always ready to judge a jock. As your glasses empty and refill a few times the game gets progressively sillier. You challenge Tyler a number of times. 

He confidently lays down “playwrite” and starts to tally up his total before you get a better glimpse at the board and shake your head. “Uh-uh, I don’t think so! Pick that up!” 

He looks at you adamantly, “What’s wrong with playwrite?! It’s one word!” He gestures his hand toward the board.

“That’s not how it’s spelt! It’s W-R-I-G-H-T!” Tyler squints his eyes at you, tilting his head to the side like you’re being purposely difficult. 

“That makes absolutely no sense, they write plays!”

You cross your arms over your chest, “Doesn’t matter, it’s wrong!” 

Tyler matches your stance, “Is that an official challenge?” 

When you look over at the rest of the table you can see his mother is barely holding in a laugh as his sisters smirk up at his ridiculously defensive stance. The score is close and the letter bag is empty. The G is resting on a triple letter, the P on a triple word and you hope to God you’re not too drunk to remember how to spell. You nod solemnly, watching Tyler grab his phone. 

He types something out and you can tell you're right the moment his expression softens and deflates. 

“Fine,” he pulls a few of his letters off the board and leaves only “write" remaining, before adding up the score and writing it down on the paper next to him. Candace runs through all of her letters on her next turn and you all have to subtract your remaining letters from your own scores. She beats you by 3. 

After boxing up the game and tidying the table, you all sleepily stumble up to bed, exhausted from all of the travel and wine. Tyler kisses his mom goodnight and hugs his sisters. You do this awkward hug with his mom, not sure if you’re there yet, but she wraps her arms around you and says “Night hon,” so you’re probably overthinking it. His sisters call out a good night to you before they head into their rooms, but no one looks sideways at you and Tyler entering the bedroom together, so you take it as a small victory.

_________

Scrubbing off your make-up in the bathroom is exhausting, but a necessary evil, so you stand in front of the mirror again reflecting on the past few hours, the night coming full circle. 

“I can hear you dissecting every word that was said tonight. Come to bed, babe. It’s not that real,” Tyler’s footsteps creak on the hardwood and alert you to his presence before you can see him in the mirror behind you. 

“Do they like me?” You put down the wash cloth and turn to him. “I’m nervous. Help meee,” you’re only half kidding as you whine and stick out your bottom lip hoping Tyler takes pity on you. 

He does. 

He wraps you up in his arms and your face, still damp from washing it, leaves wet blotches on his t-shirt. “They like you just fine, you psycho. Relax,” he kisses the top of your head. “I like you that’s all that matters.”

Stepping back you look up at him, “Eh.” You smirk and he calls you a little shit before kissing you hard on the mouth. His hands trail down your back to your ass, squeezing once before he reaches for the front of your shorts. 

“I don’t think so mister. Your family is here!” you chastise him in a harsh whisper. He rolls his eyes but lets go, dragging his hands back around to your butt. He rolls his eyes, but leans down and kisses your neck. 

“Fine, but just know that I’m sad about it,” the way he whispers it into you ear has you second guessing your decision,  but it’s still hard to hold in the laugh. 

“Noted, but just know that I don’t care.” You let him drag you to bed and lave soft kisses down your neck before you fall asleep.

_________

When you all tumble out of bed the next morning the sun is shining. It glints off of the water making it sparkle in the summer heat and everyone quickly decides to spend the day on the lake. 

You always feel a little scrubby next to Tyler when he’s half naked. He’s hard and toned, barely an ounce of fat on his lean body. Meanwhile, you know it’s obvious that you don’t spend enough time in the gym and definitely love carbs.

As soon as he invited you to the lake, you went out and bought a new bathing suit. It sits high enough on your torso to hide your lower belly and nip in flatteringly at your waist while the top lifts and supports as much as you could hope for, so you think you look okay. 

When his sisters make their way out on the dock you instantly want to wrap yourself up. You know you’re built differently, but it doesn’t stop you from unhelpfully comparing your bodies. They’re long and lithe, and you feel nervous that they’ll find something to pick apart and cement their dislike of you.

After a few minutes, your fears dissipate. Everyone is enjoying a relaxing day in the water and no one is staring at your thighs like they’re offended. Candace even tells you she likes your suit, so you know you’re being silly and remember that you have nothing to be self conscious about. Life isn’t a teenage rom-com and no one cares if you have some cellulite on your butt. It helps that you catch Tyler sliding his sunglasses down his nose and winking at you when his sisters aren’t looking. It makes your heart freeze before thumping wildly against your ribcage. 

You take turns getting dragged around the water on an inner tube as Tyler speeds the boat along the empty lake. Jackie shouts to be careful from the dock, drenched in the shadow of her sun-hat looking truly terrified. Everyone laughs and waves at her, cheering when Tyler jerks the boat around trying to throw you all off of the tube.

When the sun starts to set you hop in the shower and everyone ditches their bathing suits for a bath and dinner. Tyler grills up burgers outside and you all sit on deck around the table, laughing and eating, less tense than the evening prior. 

As the sun fully sets it gets chilly on the water, so you all head inside and start up a game of rummy. It’s friendlier than the game of Scrabble. It turns out none of you are very good at remembering what another player picked up and you are all holding a meld that someone else is also trying to build. 

Jackie wins, she claims she’s had longer to learn strategy and you all boo her, chucking your cards into the middle of the table before heading up to bed, thoroughly worn out from the long day on the water.. 

_________

Sunday passes largely the same way. Tyler lets you all take turns driving the boat, which is simultaneously the most fun you’ve ever had and the most terrified you’ve ever been. 

“Cassidy barely got her license and Candace has a lead foot. I don’t know what I was thinking!” He looks over at you, hat backwards on his head and looking bronze from head to toe. You can barely process what he’s saying when he looks like this, but his sisters squawk at his unfair assessment.

“I only failed one time!” Cassidy shouts over her shoulder. 

Candace nods, “And I’m the one who taught you how to drive, little brother. Have some fucking respect for your elders!” Candace sniffs, offended, and turns back towards the bow. 

After Tyler has insulted everyone’s boating abilities, he breaks out some paddle-boards from the boat garage. Turns out paddle boarding is not a hidden talent of yours. You’re far too clumsy to stand up for any length of time. All three siblings are athletic enough to maintain balance while laughing and shouting pointers at you to no avail.

That night's dinner is a little subdued because you all know you’ll be leaving in the morning and your little bubble of vacation is about to pop, but you feel like you've made headway with Candace. She sits across from you at dinner and asks about your life back in Texas and seems genuinely interested in your answers, even if it is just about the diner you work in or where your little apartment is in relation to Tyler’s house.

You know you're correct when she drags you in the house to get stuff for smores as Tyler lights a fire up in the yard. You're in the middle of grabbing the graham crackers when she corners you in the pantry. 

"I just wanted to apologize," she looks you directly in the eye and it's a little unnerving. 

"For what?” you shrug, not wanting to let her know you overheard Tyler on his phone call with her. 

"I just… I wasn't sure about you. But I'm actually really happy my brother brought you around." You smile and she does a little too, but continues, "It's hard to tell who's with him for the fame and the money and who actually likes him for his dorky self."

Her face drops when your brows knit together in confusion, "The fame?" 

It's her turn to look confused, "Yeah? Because of the…" she tapers off, tilts her head to the side, and you can see the family resemblance in the mannerism, "Did that fucking idiot not tell you what he does?"

"I just-” she stares at your with her brows knit together and it’s hard to continue, “I assumed he was an athletic trainer of some sort,” you start. "He travels a lot, and he's in good shape and, you know- it's Texas. Football’s big there. The players need to condition…"

She's shaking her head in her hands and you don’t know how this conversation went south so fast. 

"Okay. I'm going to tell you a secret. Please don't clue him in that you know...” She types into her phone, manicured fingers tapping gently against the glass. When she spins her phone around the Google search results have everything clicking together in your head. “Buuuuuut he's kind of a big deal." 

"Are you kidding me?" 

Candace looks stricken, eyes wide and palms out in front of her.

"You can't tell him I told you. He'll kill me. Please don't be mad. You can understand why he'd be cautious…" 

"I won't say anything. I just can't believe I didn't think of it. He's such a dope." You roll your eyes but start heading out of the pantry. "C'mon, they're going to get suspicious," you nudge her shoulder with yours so she knows you're okay. Candace looks relieved and follows you outside with the marshmallows. 

Your flight leaves early in the morning and you say goodbye over breakfast before loading up the car and driving to the airport. You're too tired to be mad at him for keeping you in the dark. You hate to say it, but you understand. By the time he drops you off at your house and kisses you goodbye, after thanking you for spending time with his family, you're so soft for him you forget why you were ever angry in the first place. 

_________

He’s not quite sure what to do now. It’s been so long. They’ve been dating for almost five months at this point. She’s been to his house, knows his dogs; she met his mother for Christ’s sake. 

With camp coming to an end and pre-season looming in the very near future, he’s out of time. 

So, he has her over. He makes her grilled cheese and pours her wine, just like the very first time he ever got her to come back here. He hopes the nostalgia will soften the blow of the bomb he’s about to drop. 

She sits there in her leggings, wrapped up in one of his sweatshirts. It’s now or never and he knows it. Has to spill the beans before she sees his face plastered on commercials and all over downtown Dallas next to Jamie’s on a billboard. 

He's casual, "So I, uh, have a little bit of a confession to tell you." 

She looks up and stops chewing, eyes wide and brows high. She puts her grilled cheese down and has a sip of water before turning to him, hands in her lap. “That sounds ominous.”

He doesn’t know what’s about to happen, but he knows he can’t put it off any longer, “I didn't really lie, but I've definitely omitted some truth. We're getting really close, so I think it's only fair that I tell you what you're getting yourself into."

She nods, picks her grilled cheese back up and picks at the crust, “You have some bodies buried under the pool or something?” 

He loves her. 

“No, nothing like that,” he sips his wine. "I, Uh. I'm…" he pauses and she nods for him to continue. "I’m a little famous? I play in the NHL and that's why I'm always traveling and my work schedule is so crazy."

There. It’s out in the open. She can reject him if she wants, but he did what was right. The silence stretches on as she chews her dinner thoughtfully and he has a mini-panic attack thinking of everything that can go wrong. He hardly had her buy in at the beginning of this relationship; could this be the weight that breaks the tenuous string of trust she gave him? 

He doesn’t say anything. Just waits for her and bounces his knee up and down, needing to do something to loose the frenetic energy building up in his body. 

She swallows the bite of grilled cheese in your mouth and nods, "Yeah, I know." 

The first thing he feels is relief. It’s cool and soothing and coats his body. The second thing he feels is utter bewilderment. "You know?" It comes out more accusatory than he intended. He’s just… shocked is all.

Nodding, she answers. "Yeah I've known for a while. Like a month now I think?" 

He can’t even string a whole sentence together. The only words leaving his mouth are half questions, “Who? I don’t- When did you? What?” She bites her lip to stifle a laugh and he takes a breath and tries again. 

“How did you find out?” 

She barely shrugs, gently lifts one shoulder and pats him on the knee, “A good investigator never reveals their sources…” He shakes his head, “but maybe it was a certain sister, who shall remain nameless”

It takes a minute or two for him to settle, but he stops and lays both of his hands on her knees. "It’s just as well I guess. You're okay with that? With my life?" He has to know she’s all in, just like he is. She won’t block his number and ghost him when she catches sight of the cardboard cutout of him that some of the bars downtown display as mostly a joke.

She lays both of her hands midway up his thighs, stares into his eyes and grins, "I don't scare easily."  Her smile is devastating and his heart explodes in his chest. She’s not going anywhere. She’ll still have him. All of him. 

He can’t help himself and he leans down and lays a kiss on her lips- mouth salty and soft. It’s sweeter somehow, with nothing separating them, "What a coincidence. That happens to be my favorite quality in a girl."

[dear-mrs-otome]

Kinktober - Oct 17th - Restraint/Bondage

I’d like to have spent a lot more time on this, but I’m trying to catch back up, so its getting posted before bed. @toloveawarlord requested Theo + begging + bondage - I hope this quick fic fits the bill! <3

~~~~

"I want you to beg."

Theo’s eyes narrowed to two fierce slits, and as the drawn-rope silence stretched ever more taut, you thought he wouldn't answer. 

Until finally he cut it, with a flinty tone and the creak of tested silk. "You know what it means if I do, right?"

You nodded, swallowing around a mouth suddenly dry with anticipation.

"Say it," he demanded, somehow imperious even though he was the one naked and trussed and stretched out beneath you. "What does it mean if I do? I want to know that you remember."

And remember you did, the recollections his words dredged up bringing a flush to your cheeks and another slick rush of desire between your thighs. "You return the favor tenfold."

"That's right." His voice was a dark, dark promise as he shifted, the motion accompanied by a warning groan of wood. An unsubtle reminder that he was only where he was because he was tolerating it. Gifting you this.

You sat back on his hips, framing the searing heat of his arousal in the vee of your lap. Letting the damp warmth of your center just kiss the underside of him. Taunting.

In the stillness, he sucked in a breath.

"Please then, Mistress." The words began honeyed, as sweet as you knew him to be capable of, before they took on an edge. Hard and dangerous, sharper than the cool glint of a blade in the dark. "Ride. On. My. Fucking. Cock."

Humming pensively, you leaned forward, letting the solid length of him glide through your folds as you did, glazing him with your wetness. “How about...no.” You punctuated with words with a flick of your tongue over his tiny beaded nipple, savoring the delicate shiver he tried to suppress.

A low warning growl trickled from him but you ignored it and bit down on the firm muscle of his chest, and his hips jerked beneath you. Left you half-drunk and reeling on the feeling of power, knowing he was at your mercy like this. Not the sort of power that come from conquest, exactly. You knew that was only an illusion. 

Theo was too much of a force of nature to ever be truly contained.

But there was power in being allowed to hold the leash, even if only for a moment - maybe even more so when such a proud beast had willingly bent its head to the collar. Declarations of love in its indulgence. 

“Open your mouth,” you demanded, as you sat up.

For a long minute you didn’t think he would comply, blue eyes searing yours like gaslit flames as he held you locked in a glare, before he finally did. Exposing the long fangs you had been sure you’d see, a visceral reminder of the twinned lusts that you knew simmered just below his tight-lidded surface. And you wanted - so badly you could almost taste it - to see him finally boil over.

Still keeping your eyes fixed on his, you ran a thumb down the length of one of those dangerous teeth, letting the wicked point catch on the pad. Until in a slow, deliberate lean you pressed, felt your own flesh part with a sweet sting beneath the keen tip as it sank in, blood immediately welling up around it.

A wave of heat washed over you, like a banked fire being stirred, and you both shuddered through a moan.

You smeared the wound over his tongue and felt him rattle beneath you, his mouth closing around the digit to suckle. Hard enough to hurt, as if to punish you for your audacity, and you watched the pupils of his eyes blow wide and black as he swallowed. Dark and deep enough for you to tumble into and never climb your way out of again, lost in him the way you had been from near the moment you'd met.

You tugged your thumb free of his mouth with a soft pop of sound and he tried to follow, drawing to an abrupt stop when he reached the end of the restraints that held him. A snarl twisted his features, teeth still stained pink with blood as he writhed beneath you. Bucking for a moment like some half-wild thing.

"Sit on my face." His growl was raw, painfully low, and closer to a plea than you knew he'd ever admit. "Verdomme...sit on me now. I need to taste you."

Bending over, your breasts framed his face as you drew your lips to his ear and breathed your impudent reply, like the soft flutter of a matador’s cape before the bull. “Make me.”

There was another, half-choked noise from him before his jaw clenched, the muscles there jumping as he ground down on the rest of the sound. And then the remnants of it were overpowered by an ominous creaking protest and the harsh tear of fiber.

Hands clamped on your hips in a punishing iron grip, wrenching you upward so sharply you couldn’t stifle your squeal of surprise, setting you scrabbling to grasp the headboard as you toppled forward. Before you’d even caught your balance Theo had his tongue shoved deep between your thighs, and your squeal frayed to a moan as you squirmed atop his chin, just that slight motion pressing his needle-sharp fangs against your core...but there was something breathtaking about riding that perilous edge.

He kept at it relentlessly, moving between drawing on your swollen clit and fucking you ever harder with his tongue, his fingers digging almost painfully harsh into your hips to hold you in place. Feeding on the wet heat of you like a man half-starved, his harsh smothered breaths washing over your mound ever faster. You only managed to wrench your gaze from the heady sight of his face in your lap when he rolled his eyes up to meet yours and held the contact mercilessly.

Somehow, that was the thing that had you flushing with near-embarrassment.

“Theo…” His name was the near-gasp of a prayer on your lips as pleasure roiled golden and warm through you. Pushing at the confines of your skin as if filling you from the inside out, close so close...mere drops away from overflowing. Deep inside of you, muscled fluttered like ripples on the surface of a cup, and just when it seemed about to spill -

He pulled away and half-tossed you onto the bed beside him with a bounce, leaving you crying out in dismay and frustration.

“What did I tell you?” He rose over you, one hand stroking leisurely at the proud jut of his cock as if to taunt you. “What happens now?”

Swallowing around a mouth gone dry, you reached for him and he obliged, but only let you draw him close enough to drag his lips over the tendon of your neck. His hips still devastatingly far away from yours and your aching, empty center. “Please, Theo…”

He lingered for another handful of heartbeats, and you could feel his mouth curve into an infuriating grin against your throat before he sat up and you saw it as well. “You can do better than that.” He dragged a single finger through your soaked folds and rolled forward, so that his arousal ghosted hot along the inside of your thigh. Frustratingly close to where you needed him, and yet still so very, very far. “Now...be a good hondje and beg for your treat.”

~~~~

If you want to see more of the kinktober or my other work, check the masterlist linked in my blog desc or the tag on my blog: #mrs_o’s_kinktoberfest 

[ikementally-deficient]

hi! can i ask a scenario/hq for victor with a s/o with a similar personality to his? (nsfw please?)

A thousand words or so of my very finest smut for you, my dear. Full-on Carolina Reaper.

The smile on her face was cool and careful, revealing nothing of her thoughts when she shook his hand as a prelude to farewell. Victor was jolted by how warm her hand was, how soft the skin of her wrist where his fingertips rested against it. He was tempted to pull her against him and smear her precise makeup, run his hands through her hair and make it a disheveled mess, rumple that perfectly tailored skirt suit. 

It wasn’t until he heard Goldman cough discreetly behind him and she raised one eyebrow at him over her glasses that he realised he’d been holding her hand far longer than required for politeness. The gleam in her eyes told him she knew exactly what he’d been thinking. Victor cleared his throat and released her hand, but her fingers dragged across his palm as she withdrew. He glanced sharply at her face; she answered with an infinitesimal nod, and the cool smile became a shade warmer.

“Actually, Ms. Lu, there are a few scenarios related to this deal that I’d like to go over with you as well, if you have nothing else in your schedule right now.” He ignored Goldman’s look of bafflement. “Nothing in this stage of development, just some ideas I’d like your personal insight on. We could discuss them in my office?”

Amusement flickered across her face. “As it so happens, I am free for the next little while.” She smiled the cool smile at Goldman and her own assistant. “Perhaps you two would like to get some lunch while we chat.”

Subordinates disposed of, they made their way down the hall to the CEO’s office, faces impassive, walking a careful ten inches apart. Victor ushered her in, then closed the door behind them and flicked the deadbolt. Her briefcase hit the ground with a thump and she pushed him back against the door, grinning wickedly.

“Well, Mr. Li? What’s this scenario you’d like my ‘personal insight’ on?” Her left hand left his chest to skate down his stomach and rest on his hip, thumb rubbing dangerously close to his groin. “If you tell me it’s a real growth opportunity, I might have to leave you hanging.” The aggressiveness of the move made his cock twitch.

Victor chuckled. “No, I think we can dispense with the euphemisms now.” He leans down to brush his mouth against the shell of her ear. “I’d like to fuck you blind against this door.” 

“I think that can be arranged,” she answered huskily. The hand flat on his chest clenched around his tie and she dragged his mouth to hers. He ran his hands down her back to yank her pencil skirt up around her ass and lift her against him. She hooked her legs around his hips as he spun them to place her back against the door and ground into her.

Her satin panties slid against his zipper and she moaned into his mouth. He pressed harder, seeking her tongue with his before shifting her weight to one thigh so he could free a hand, popping open the buttons of her jacket and slithering under the silk blouse. Victor could feel her muscles clench as he stroked upwards to find the lacy cup of bra hiding a hardening nipple. 

“Ah!” Lu arched against his broad chest, giving herself room to slide out of her jacket and pull her blouse up over her breasts. “Here, full access.” Her hand caught in the soft hair at the nape of his neck to pull his face down to her breast. Victor was never one to let an opportunity slide; he yanked down the cup and sucked her nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his teeth. She rolled her hips against him, rubbing against the hard muscle of his thigh. “You’re very good at this, Mr. Li.”

“Anything worth doing,” he mumbled against her nipple, “is worth doing well.” His cock was straining against his trousers and he fumbled for his belt buckle to free it, pressing his knuckles against her increasingly damp panties as he did so. Once his pants were sliding down around his thighs, he hooked the crotch of her panties aside, ignoring the creak of distressed fabric. She let out a gasp when he parted the slick folds of her sex to stroke his thumb against her clit, and bit back a shriek when his long fingers slid inside her.

“How soundproof is your office,” she hissed in a voice caught between arousal and amusement. 

“Enough that I shouldn’t need to gag you,” he huffed back as his fingers scissored inside her, seeking her most sensitive spots. 

“Ha -- maybe I should gag you, if you’re going to talk like that -- “ Lu’s head fell back against the door as Victor found what he was looking for, and set up a steady counterpoint between g-spot and clit that had her panting. Her breasts heaved into his face and he latched his lips onto the unattended nipple. His freed cock rubbed against her ass cheeks as she rocked against his hand, the satiny slide driving him crazy.

“I need to be inside you,” he said hoarsely. “Are you ready?”

“Oh god, yes -- “ she cut off as Victor withdrew his fingers and reached down to squeeze the base of his cock to guide him into her entrance. “I’m ready for you to make good on your offer, Mr. Li,” and she gave him a wicked grin that had him pushing inside in one hard thrust.

Victor paused, fully sheathed, looking down at her smeared lipstick and askew glasses, then gave a wicked grin of his own. “You mean about fucking you blind?” He scraped his nails down the backs of her thighs and leaned in, pinning her to the door with nothing but his weight and his own cock. “I hope you’re flexible, Ms. Lu.” He caught her calves and lifted them up over his elbows, bending her nearly double against the door and began thrusting, fast and deep. She gasped in time with his drilling, hooking one arm around his neck and slipping her other hand between them, rubbing the pads of her fingers against her clit and letting the tips of her nails scrape along his cock as he slid out and back in. Victor groaned, slamming into her delicious heat, feeling the tension build in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh god, that’s -- you’re so --” Her walls tightened around him as she hissed against his throat. “All I could think about during that meeting -- “ her free hand scrabbled through his hair, gripping tight as she began to shudder against him. “Victor!” 

He fucked her through her climax, then felt his knees begin buckle as his own loomed. He slid her down the door, laying her flat on the carpet and pounding into her. At last he shuddered, hilted against her plush ass, sweat dripping from his forehead. 

They lay tangled together for a few minutes, hearts pounding in unison through the aftershocks. Eventually, Lu giggled. Victor arched an eyebrow at her.

“I hope you keep a spare suit around here, Mr. Li.”

“I hope you keep spare panties in your purse, Ms. Lu.”

“Not today, unfortunately.” She shook her head, still smiling. “Good thing the rest of my afternoon is clear.”

[aniray]

Into The Mist

Into The Mist

A little oneshot for Tommy and Lizzie.

~*~*~

The rally had gone without issue.

Lizzie had sent Ruby and Charlie off to bed after supper. They’d complained a bit about not having her read a story, but she’d shooed them off fairly easily. Then she’d dismissed Frances and the other staff for the evening. Turing on the radio, Lizzie had taken her seat in the library. And she waited, like Tommy said. And she listened, like Tommy said.

And the rally went on without issue.

Mosely spoke his lies and filth. The crowd cheered. And still she sat and she waited and she listened. Then the event was finished. The sounds of a crowd dispersing peacefully came through the speakers for a moment. The evening program turned to static. And still Lizzie sat. Because there had been nothing- no gunshot, no screams and chaos- nothing Tommy had told her was to happen.

But that had been hours ago. The day was beginning to make its presence known out the window of her bedroom. She had waited up for Tommy- she didn’t know why. She had listened all night for the crunch of tires on gravel. And yet the sound only came now, as the weak morning sun failed to break through the thick fog that had surrounded Arrow house in the night.

She saw Arthur park the car in front of the fountain. She watched as he got out and half stumbled his way to the other side. For a moment she wondered if Tommy had been injured, what with Arthur dragging his brother from the car. But there was no blood that she could see. And after a moment Tommy had righted himself. Well, he stood unaided, at any rate.

A chill seemed to wrap itself around Lizzie as she watched her husband. The man was always a bit stiff, a bit distant, a bit cold. But never frozen- not even the night he’d lost Grace. But now… Now, Lizzie felt as if he had turned to ice. A part of her- the part she often hated- said go to him. But the smarter side of her said that she’d be of no help. And she couldn’t handle his abuse this early in the day.

So she stayed where she was and watched his brother speak words she couldn’t hear and didn’t care to know. She pulled her arms tighter around herself as if to ward off the chill that Tommy sent out- reaching her even through the walls and distance between them. Her mind took her to the day’s events- visiting Ada, helping Charlie with his lessons, trying to keep Ruby from ruining another of her dresses. She stood at the window and planned the dinner menu and what letters needed writing for the many Shelby charities.

So she almost missed him when he left.

He’d turned towards the field- the one that he’d blown to kingdom come not too long ago. He marched towards it as if he were heading into a meeting- preparing for a fight. And just before the fog pulled him into its cold embrace, she saw it. The twitch of his hand at his side. The sharp yank as he pulled his gun free of its holster. And suddenly she was made of ice.

‘Should you choose to depart…’

Her feet were moving before she’d had time to tell them where to go. The corridor seemed to last for ages instead of the mere seconds it usually took to get to the stairs. She barely felt the cold of the floor on her bare feet as she ran to the front door- her coat left on its hook. It had been a long while since she’d had to run barefoot outside- but her body could never stop being used to pain or forget how to push through it.

‘Either by your own hand or another…’

She heard Arthur call after her, but she ignored him. Because she could still see him- just a bit. The swish of his black coat was still there through the fog. So she chased after it. She couldn’t lose sight of it. Gravel gave way to damp grass, then grass gave way to mud and still she kept going. She could hear him now, just barely- talking to ghosts, talking to himself- talking…just talking.

She tripped.

She lost him.

Lizzie scrabbled back to her feet, careful now. She knew he was in front of her, and she knew he’d shoot her by mistake in the state he was in. So now she moved slower. She listened harder. And she heard him. Close, muttering about Irish whiskey and dead horses and barmaids not counting for something. But Lizzie didn’t give a shit what he was saying so long as he kept saying it. So long as she found him before he…

Then he was there. Appearing in front of her like a ghost out of the mist. And she wished she hadn’t seen him- not like this. She winced in pain as he screamed into the void. Her knees felt weak as she took in the gun digging into his temple- the gun held in his own hand. She crept closer, her cold feet sinking into the muck. She moved round to his front, slowly.

He was mad. She’d wondered for years, suspected for months, but now she knew. She could see it in him. In his eyes and his face and the way he held himself. Sanity had fled the confines of Tommy Shelby’s body. At least for this moment. Lizzie moved in front of him- right into his line of sight. His eyes flashed to hers- then through her to some other realm.

“Tommy…” His lashes fluttered and the gun pressed harder to his head- the skin blanching from the pressure. “Tommy, it’s me, Lizzie. Lizzie Stark.” For a moment she saw him- the boy from before the war. For a moment she saw the man who’d stolen her heart from her chest.  “You used to walk me home from the pub when I had late nights. Can you walk me home, Tommy?”

She reached out- slowly, keeping her hand palm up where he could see it if he looked- and carefully wrapped her fingers around his on the gun. It was a terrible moment. She could feel it- a dark power rising in her. One twitch of his finger and he’d be gone. One instant of weakness or fear. One small thing and Tommy Shelby would be no more. And she could stop it.

Or she could not.  

Her hand shook over his as she stayed still. Her index finger slid to rest over his on the trigger. How many times had he hurt her? How many times had he used her for business or pleasure and given nothing of himself in exchange? How many evenings did she spend watching Ruby and Charlie grow still at the sound of the door, only to relax when it was Finn or Ada or anyone not their father? ‘In my head I still pay you for it…’And she’d taken his price, hadn’t she? She’d paid it over and over with blood and tears and bruises- from him and others. He’d turned her love for him into a tool.

But how many times had he held her after she’d had a nightmare? How many times had he gone to the kitchen himself to bring her a sweet when she’d been carrying Ruby? How many times had he laughed with her in the office and joked at the Garrison? How many times had she watched him slip into Ruby’s room to kiss her goodnight?

Her hand slid back down, fingers curling around his wrist. Gently, she coaxed his arm down to his side. She put the safety on and nudged his finger off the trigger. Then Lizzie put her arm around his neck and held him close- held him tight. A heady rush of emotions bombarded her as she felt him take a shuddery breath. Tears threatened to spill as she buried her head in the crook of his neck.

“It’s alright, Tommy.” Her voice was shaky as was the rest of her- or maybe it was him. Maybe it was the both of them at once. His hand still held the gun and hers still held his wrist and it seemed appropriate. It seemed like the sum of their marriage. Him, cold and steady and destructive. Her, warm and rash and keeping the peace. “It’s gonna be alright.”

A hot tear landed on her neck, left a warm trail along her skin. But she didn’t say anything- she didn’t so much as move. Tommy’s arm came up to rest on her lower back. She let him, she fought back her tears and she held him tighter. And she didn’t know how long it was that they stood together like that, but Lizzie wasn’t moving until he did.

Finally, he pulled away. Lizzie let her arm fall from around him. There was no space between them, but there was distance now. He was back in his head, back in this world with her. She let go of the hold she had on his wrist and watched as he stared down at the gun. He took off the safety and Lizzie’s heart clenched. But she didn’t move. Tommy raised the gun, aiming at something she knew she wouldn’t see if she turned around. She didn’t flinch when he fired.

Tommy tucked the gun back into its holster. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He handed her one, and Lizzie took it with a slight nod. She watched the flicker of the flame as Tommy lit her cigarette and then his own. The brightness of the flame seemed to shock her body into awareness. Suddenly her feet ached and her toes were going numb. Her bare legs and arms were cold and she hugged herself to hold in whatever heat there was to hold.

Her movement had Tommy shrugging off his coat and wrapping it around her. He took hold of her hand and pulled her along through the field. Every step was agony, but Lizzie kept quiet. The moment felt too fragile to disturb. She was afraid that one wrong thing would send him back to screaming at nothing and pressing guns to his head. She’d not risk it so soon.

Arthur met them at the edge of the drive, but Tommy didn’t slow. Lizzie sent what she hoped was a reassuring look back to Arthur, but his eyes were on the ground and he was turning back to his car. She’d have Polly go round and check on him later. Facing forward once more, Lizzie watched as the front door opened. Mary stood, concerned expression clear on her face, as she took in Lizzie’s bare feet. The usual insecurity she felt when the staff disapproved of her were absent this time as Lizzie walked into the house.

Tommy let go of Lizzie’s hand. He walked into his study and she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. She slipped out of Tommy’s coat and tossed it on the bed. Then she went into the bath and turned on the water, letting the tub fill. Her dress was discarded on the floor and with only a bit of discomfort Lizzie sank into the hot water.

The warmth had seeped into her muscles and the sting from rocks and sticks was fading by the time the door opened. Her eyes were closed but only Tommy would come in while she was bathing and not announce himself first. Cold fingers came to rest on her stomach and she opened her eyes to see Tommy settled on the floor next to tub. His eyes met hers as his thumb drew circles into her skin. She wasn’t sure what she saw in the blue of his eyes, but it was heavy.

“What stopped you?” She bit her lip, and feigned confusion. That moment in the field was a bit too much for her think about just then. At least it was too much to think about honestly. But Tommy being Tommy couldn’t let the question alone. His hand left her stomach and he wrapped his fingers around her wrist-like she had done. “All you had to do was press down. A small thing to end Tommy Shelby. So what stopped you, Lizzie?”

She couldn’t tell him. She wouldn’t. She’d not give him anymore of her to tear apart when he got angry or use when business dictated. He knew why, and he was a prick for asking. Her hand pulled free of Tommy’s grip. Her eyes left his to stare at the ceiling instead. “Charlie and Ruby’d miss you,” she said, voice flat and empty.  She saw him give a slow nod. “Besides, it wasn’t me that stopped anything.  When've I ever stopped you doing something you wanted to do?”

Tommy stood up slowly. She could almost feel the ache of his muscles in her own body. His eyes were on her, she could feel it. But she didn’t look. She let her eyes fall closed again, trying to ignore Tommy and the field and Mosely and just everything. And it was almost working- she had almost got her mind to stop buzzing and her heart to stop aching.

But then he spoke…

“She was calling my name.” Don’t look at him. “I could see her waiting for me.” If you look it’ll only be worse for you. Her teeth sank into her lip as she tried to push out the words. They were too much- the weight heavy in her gut. She didn’t need this. God, she didn’t need this. “But then you were there- asking for a walk home.” She took a deep breath and held it- kept holding it. “So you did. Stop me. You stopped me, Lizzie.”

Then he was gone and she was sat trying to figure out what the fuck to do with all these feelings he’d left her with.

[sunmontuewrites]

Tale Feather (Kurtofsky fanfic)

So I wrote a fic, and then I wrote some more of it, and now it’s complete. I don’t even know what I’m doing with my writing anymore... Apparently 3.3K of Kurtofsky smut is where we’re going this weekend.

Based on this mood board that @team-lionheart7 made for @blueorchids (I don’t know if I should apologise for writing fic or not? Sorry if I stepped on toes - I am not sure if this is a done thing or not...?)

I will post this on AO3 once I have got my lycra and lowboys in order (i.e. corrected the spelling to ‘American’ English and if you catch any blatant non-American turns-of-phrase which are confusing let me know!)

SUMMARY:  David Karofsky runs a successful bar in the city, into which one Kurt Hummel stumbles, complete with startlingly high heels.

TALE FEATHER

               The music is loud enough that Dave can feel it in his chest as he mixes and pours drinks, feet shuffling to the beat occasionally. It’s not like he doesn’t trust his staff but he loves the buzz of a busy Saturday night, people moving on the dance floor, the energy is electrifying and he never gets bored of it. They’d bought the entire ramshackle building when it was barely compliant ten years ago in a forclosure sale and now it’s this. Offices on the first floor, apartments on the second and third, on the ground floor a café-restaurant, a couple of boutique shops and his bar. The entire building is special to him, but Tale Feather has been his special project for the last five years and he has poured his life and soul into it, the returns have been a thousand fold. It had started as a high end cocktail bar with a dance floor on Saturdays and it had been his baby. Then it had grown and matured, his cocktails somehow catching the eyes of several people, and then… it is the place to be.

               Dave owns it. Mostly. He has two investors with a 30% interest each, Wayne and Tam, but they trust him and it’s not like he would screw himself over with bad business decisions. He got his business degree and then didn’t know what the fuck to do with it so had just kept making drinks, his part-time job that had helped put him through college. He’s lucked out on having Wayne as a boss who coached him, acted as a mentor, invested and got him through the first couple of years. He obviously had self-interests but Dave knows his life wouldn’t be anywhere as good as it is without his help and is lucky enough to count him a good friend now.

               A bump to his hip from Lee has him looking up and Lee’s jerking his chin to the door and he tenses, wonders if he’s going to need to act as an additional bouncer, because he’s done that before, except no… it’s just a bunch of new people and okay, they’re all young and hot, but Dave is on the other side of thirty and all he’ll really do is enjoy looking. He lets his eyes run over them, appreciates the toned flesh on display and clothes chosen specifically to show their bodies and then notes that they’re all in heels, even the guys. His eyes skitter back, because there was…

               “Oh shit…” he says under his breath, and Lee is cackling like he’s just heard the best joke ever and Dave shakes his head.

               He recognises him of course, because he still looks the same, his body larger, more muscular, a man’s body rather than a teenagers, older than most of the other people’s he with but… Dave would bet money he’s a dancer. That they’re all dancers. He’s dressed in tight black pants and he can’t tell whether they’re leggings or jeans without getting his hands on them. The top is a simple white dress shirt, meant to be too big and tied at his waist to accentuate the hips. He doesn’t know if Kurt will recognise him but he’s approaching the bar fast and Dave lets his eyes travel up Kurt’s body. Heels. Four inch stilettos and Kurt is moving like he’s wearing regular shoes. Definitely a dancer then and the way his hips snap has him swallowing and wondering if he can maybe beat a hasty retreat to his apartment on the top floor. Instead his second of indecision has him faced with Kurt who isn’t even looking at him, which okay, he can work with that.

               “What can I get for you?”

               Kurt’s head snaps around at that and there is definitely recognition there. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing.

               “David!”

               “Kurt. Hi. What can I get you?”

               “A bottle of water to start would be great thanks,” Kurt says, and his eyes are travelling over Dave and he’s pretty sure he’s being checked out. Dave quirks an eyebrow as he cracks open a new bottle and slides it toward Kurt. He’d return the not-so-subtle once-over except he already did that when Kurt was approaching the bar and he doesn’t know if it was really Kurt checking him out or assessing how much he’s changed since school.

               “So, what’s good here?”

               “To drink?” Dave asks, and he didn’t mean to add any innuendo to that, but it’s too late now and Kurt’s lip is curling and okay… he was being checked out. His lips twitch in amusement.

               “Are there other things on offer?”

               He freezes, looks at Kurt and there’s almost a challenge in his eyes. Fuck, that was definitely a proposition. He hasn’t done casual sex in years, not since college really, and his last boyfriend and him broke up four months back. But he knows Kurt. Obviously not well, because it’s been nearly twenty years since high school, but his teenage self is hyperventilating somewhere in his chest and he’s glad that at least he’s in control. It’s not the first time he’s been propositioned in his bar, it is the first time he wants to take them up on it.

               “They aren’t printed on the menu…”

               “Maybe you can tell me about them?”

               Dave swallows and licks his lips, watches Kurt watch him and yeah okay, he’s going to do this.

               “Lee! I’m out!”

               “Sure thing!” Lee calls back, eyebrows wiggling and Dave rolls his eyes, because he’s never going to live this down. Fucked if he even cares right now. He isn’t even needed behind the bar and he comes around the side, lifting the divide to stand beside Kurt.

               “I have to check, you’re sober right?”

               “One hundred percent…” Kurt says, and his eyes are intense and Dave can feel his heart rate picking up.

               “Good. That’s good…”

               “Where are you taking me?”

               “The office, I can lock it behind me…”

               The grin Kurt gives him is filthy and he lets out a bark of laughter, fingers circling Kurt’s wrist to urge him to follow, his other hand going into his pocket to fetch the keys, and he’s impressed he doesn’t even fumble as he swipes the security fob that takes them out the back. There’s the stock room and staff bathrooms and then the little office where Dave tries to do all his business related work… Getting the key in the lock proves more difficult, especially when Kurt presses his chest against his back and lets his hips undulate.

               “Fuck, you’re hotter than you were in high school…”

               “Uh, thanks?” Dave says, a little surprised because he’s pretty sure he was never on Kurt’s radar in high school, not in that particular way anyway. He manages to get the key in and turn, pushing the office door open and pulls Kurt in, shuts the door and presses Kurt back against it, presses a knee between Kurt’s and lets his hands run up his thighs, can feel the muscles and knows the fabric is that weird stretchy-hybrid made to look like denim but which will, in fact, be conveniently easy to peel off… He runs his hand over Kurt’s cock, gets a little thrill that he can already feel it plumping up before he lets both hands rest on Kurt’s hips. Kurt’s own hands have been skating over his arms and shoulders, all covered by the leather of his jacket and he realises he should probably take it off. He shrugs out of it, tosses it toward his desk chair and ignores the fact he missed. The floor is still preferable than getting come stains.

               He’s not sure what they going to do, it’s not like he keeps supplies in his office when his apartment is five floors away. Part of him doesn’t want to take Kurt there, wants to either blow him right here, or a hand job or… He feels the fingers in his hair, curling and pulling his head down and then they’re kissing, Kurt’s body is arching away from the door to press toward him and he leans into it, pulls Kurt’s hips tighter and swallows their moans. It feels like they kiss forever, his lips become swollen and sensitive, his hands moving over Kurt’s body trying to touch everywhere the same way his tongue is trying to learn Kurt’s mouth.

               He finds the tiny patch Kurt missed when he shaved, his hands ghost under his shirt, brushes over a nipple that pebbles into hardness under a flick of his thumb and he wants to get his mouth on it. Kurt’s hands move over his shoulders, finger tips raking down his back before gripping his hips and pulling him closer into a grind before they move back up, skirting under his t-shirt. Dave focusses for a few moments on undoing the fucking buttons on Kurt’s shirt, pulling at the knot in the fabric, patience wearing thin.

               His lips have moved across Kurt’s face, teeth nipping at his throat and then Kurt’s hands are helping, stripping the shirt off and tossing it in the same direction as Dave’s jacket. There’s a fucking tank underneath but before he can swear about it Kurt’s stripping it off as well and yeah… Dave lowers his head to a tan nipple, gives it a broad swipe with his tongue before circling is a couple of times with the tip before grazing across it with his cheek, knows his facial hair isn’t short enough to hurt, but will still hopefully elicit a positive response. Kurt’s gasping moan is gratifying and he moves back up, trailing kisses and scraping his teeth across his collar bone before sucking gently at the juncture in his neck.

               “David… fuck…”

               He captures Kurt’s lips with his own again, moving his hand to stroke Kurt through his ridiculous pants, which he has to be thankful for right now because they hide absolutely fucking nothing and Kurt is scrabbling to push them down and Dave just murmurs I got you under his breath and slips both his hands down the waist band and cups Kurt’s ass cheeks in his hands, grinds them together as he feels Kurt pant warm breath against his neck before he’s sucking and biting as well. He grunts, hooks his thumbs and pulls, knows it can’t be comfortable because the fabric is tighter across the front now, not that Kurt can probably tell with how hard he’s riding Dave’s thigh. Then he’s rolling the pants down, bunching them under the crease of Kurt’s ass, can feel Kurt squirming to roll his pants down and Dave is suddenly appreciative of the easy access fly on his jeans. He slide his hands around, moves back slightly to make room and pulls both underwear and pants down so they’re around Kurt’s well muscles thighs; flushed cock straining upwards and he had absolutely zero regrets about deciding to go with this decision tonight.

               He circles his fingers around Kurt’s cock, firm but not too tight. He doesn’t know what Kurt likes and this is why he doesn’t usually do casual. Kurt isn’t complaining though and Dave watches Kurt’s cock move in his fist a couple of times while also watching Kurt’s hands lower his zipper and then Kurt’s hand is pressing against his erection and Dave groans, pushing against Kurt’s hand and shifting so his own jeans and underwear are now halfway down his thighs. Kurt shifts then, and he’s not sure how, but their cocks seem almost perfectly aligned, Kurt’s hand circling them both and Dave lets him, squeezing his own hand over Kurt’s. Fuck.

               They move that way for a while, one hand on their cocks, hips grinding a little, their free hands scraping across exposed nipples and Dave is still wearing his t-shirt but he doesn’t care, because Kurt is letting that stop him from biting at the fabric covered skin.

               “Can I blow you?” Dave asks, whispering the words after licking up Kurt’s neck, stopping and nibbling and sucking and it’s all slick heat between them. Kurt’s entire body surges toward him.

               “Fuck yes… please…”

               He kisses his way down Kurt’s chest, paying attention to each nipple before moving lower, enjoys the feel of Kurt’s ribs moving as they suck in fast breaths under his fingers and he grasps Kurt’s ass again, runs his nose up along the length of Kurt’s erection, watches Kurt as he throws his head back to only hit the door with a thunk. He runs his hands down Kurt’s legs then and… he’s still wearing the fucking heels. He groans, grips Kurt’s ankles and then runs his hand back up, hope Kurt’s aware of just how much he turn him on, how much he likes feeling the firm muscle beneath his fingers.

               His lips and tongue have been butterfly soft on Kurt’s cock, passing time while his hands explored and he lets himself press firm licks and then, lips wet, he sucks the head of Kurt’s cock into his mouth, cheeks hollowing and moves his hands to grip Kurt’s hips and ass, fingers spreading wide to hold him still while he gets a feel, Kurt’s cock dragging across his tongue, moving his head back and forward, lips and tongue moving in unison to provide as much pleasure as he knows how. Kurt’s hands flutter, seemingly undecided on where they should stay. One settles on one of his own hands, pressing it harder into Kurt’s hip and he can feel the tiny prick of nails digging into skin. The other hand combs through his hair, scraping over his scalp which makes his skin prickle, move to dig into his shoulder before running through his own hair.

               The noises they’re making sound loud over the distant bass of the music, Kurt muttering under his breath and Dave hears his name enough, it makes him suck a little harder each time, move a little faster. He lets his hand not covered by Kurt’s drop to his own cock and he just grips, focussing on Kurt’s pleasure for now. He can feel the small aborted flexes of his hips beneath his hand, against his tongue and he lets his hand holding Kurt still relax a little, urges him into a little motion; feels smug at the gasping shudders and he shifts his knees, raises his head and so he’s just got the head in his mouth. Wraps his hand around the base of Kurt’s cock and jerks hard and fast, continuing the sucking, head bobbing in synch with his hand; ignores Kurt’s scrambling fingers trying to warn him because he’s not new to this, he can tell Kurt’s close and he isn’t taken by surprise when he feels his mouth fill and he swallows, throat working and it always reminds him of oysters.

               Kurt’s finger grip his t-shirt and he lets Kurt drag him upwards, then he’s being thoroughly kissed, glad Kurt doesn’t have any hesitation about kissing him when his mouth still tastes of come. It clearly isn’t a turn off at all and it suddenly feels like Kurt has grown an additional pair of hands, they’re moving over Dave’s body like he can’t get enough of him. One hand seems to stay on his cock, he’s not sure if Kurt is trying to keep it in time with the beat of the bass but that’s what it feels like. Kurt’s teeth scrape down his neck and Dave groans, hips jerking and he lets his hands hold onto Kurt’s ass, think about what it might feel like if they ever did this properly.

               “Fuck Kurt…”

               He moves a hand to cradle the back of Kurt’s head, kisses forcefully, rougher than before, more teeth and biting and his cock is starting to ache with the need to come and he knows the space between them isn’t giving Kurt any room to move his hand, not really, but he knows what he wants; braces an arm on the door, wraps his hand around Kurt’s hand on his cock and jerks off, hard and fast while his lips, teeth and beard absolutely wreck Kurt’s pale skin. When he comes it spurts between them and he can barely breathe with watching, feels a little hysterical as it runs down Kurt’s chest and he resists the urge to run his hands through it, rub it all over him.

               He sucks in a few lungfuls of air in between some softer kisses, tries to force his heart rate to slow and ensure he’s steady on his feet before he steps back. He pulls his t-shirt over his head uses it to wipe Kurt’s chest. It won’t be the first time he’s had to go to his apartment with no shirt on, but it’s always been spilled drinks to blame before. He doesn’t miss the look Kurt gives the ink on his upper arms and chest; now that they’ve gotten off Dave has no idea what to say. He picks up Kurt’s clothes and passes it to him and watches as he dresses. The skin on Kurt’s face and neck is red-raw and Dave would feel bad if he hadn’t just had Kurt gasping against him. Beard burn is a thing he can’t avoid giving his partners, however there are probably a few bite marks which he maybe should have avoided, because he hadn’t really meant to leave those. Not that Kurt was complaining.

               “I’ll, um, see you…” Kurt says, waving a hand back in the direction they had come and Dave nods, leans forward for a final kiss and lets him go.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

               “Boss! There’s some guy peering in the window. You want me to go tell him to go away?”

               “I can do it…” Dave says, stretching out his neck and back from where he’s been crouching to count stock. It’s only just past lunch and they don’t open on a Sunday anyway, so he’s hoping it’s just someone being nosey. Or after lost property, which is pretty common. He walks to the front, slows when he sees Kurt and then speeds up again, unlocking and opening the door to the street quickly.

               “Kurt. Hi…”

               “Ooohhh… so this is Kurt huh?”

               Dave pulls a face at Andreas because he hasn’t said anything about anyone, but of course Kurt is now looking at him with one eyebrow raised and Dave just shakes his head

               “You can go and continue the stock take…” Dave says, shoving the tablet into Andreas’ hand and shooing him back to the stock room, watching him go with a pointed look that he hopes tells him to not fucking eavesdrop.

               “Sorry about that. How can I help?” Dave asks, and he smirks at the little flush of pink in Kurt’s cheeks.

               “I didn’t get your number.”

               “I didn’t think you wanted my number…” Dave says honestly, because it hadn’t really occurred to him that Kurt might want… more.

               “I waited at the bar but you never came back to work… I worried that you maybe got fired. The whole sex in the office…”

               Dave laughs, shakes his head slightly. Kurt doesn’t know he can’t get fired and he’s not sure what to tell him.

               “Why do you want my number Kurt?”

               “Honestly?”

               “Always.”

               “I’m interested in more than… just last night.”

               “Okay…”

               He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, flicking through to the fancy business cards shaped like a feather that he had made that have all his details. Passes it to Kurt and feels a little smug as Kurt takes in the logo on the frosted glass, the business card that has David Karofsky – Owner/Operator on it and then Kurt is laughing, shaking his head.

               “You have any other surprises you want to tell me about?”

               “That would be telling. You’ll just have to find them out the old fashioned way.”

               “I look forward to it.”